#it's hard for me to choose between pain or itchy but I feel like pain is important on a physiological level for knowing something's wrong

[somethingbcrrowed]

(@musesreunite continued from here.)

CONTENT WARNING: This thread contains dark themes that may be triggering to some people. Please do not continue if your triggers include imprisonment, kidnapping or being bound. Mind the tags!

Klaus really hated waking up hungover.

The sensations were just too much- sight, sound, taste, touch, smell and spiritual, all six of his senses raw like an exposed nerve ending in a broken tooth.

The first of his senses to get its shit together and function properly was smell. The place smelled like mildew, cleaning supplies and the scent of bitter metallic underneath. Like blood. His heart fluttered, and his stomach twisted with unease and curiosity.

The second sense to get its shit together was touch, and he could feel the cold hard flooring underneath him. It felt like it was made of cement or cold tile or metal bed. He definitely wasn't outside and no bed outside of a morgue felt like that. But a morgue smelled clean and sterile, almost like a hospital with an undertone of blood beneath. The stench of mildew was heavy in the air- there was no way he was in a morgue.

Was he in someone's house? In their basement? Okay, maybe he'd partied a bit too much last night and had gone home with someone from the club. Passed out in the basement or something. No biggie.

His head gave a throb as he attempted to turn onto his side, eyebrows pulling together as he found he couldn't properly move his legs. There was also.. something.. rough and itchy wrapped around his wrists that felt kinda like rope...

Was he... bound?

He was torn between excited anticipation and blind terror at the realization. It wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up bound in someone's basement, but that had been by choice and he remembered making it. He didn't remember choosing this. His eyelids fluttered open and he groaned, wincing in pain as his vision swam and his head gave another throb.

"… Oh shit... Wha..." he uttered as his wide eyes looked around frantically and took in his surroundings. A room with metal walls and a tiled floor with a drain in the middle. The light, a fluorescent nightmare hanging from the ceiling. He couldn't see any doors or windows or...

He let out a surprised grunt as his gaze found the other occupant of the room, and his expression transformed into one of pained desperation.

"Shit... H-Hey-- Hey man, you scared me. Do-- do you happen to know what the fuck's going on around here, or? D'you know how we got down here-- who-- who's doing this, are ya-- are ya still aliiiiive--- y'know, anything that-- might help--" His words seemed somewhat disjointed, almost like he couldn't focus on them, and they were interrupted completely as he looked to his left and stared at an empty spot next to him silently for a few seconds.

Then he said to the empty space beside him, "Y'know, people who can't untie the ropes because they can't actually touch anything don't get to have any opinions on what sort of escape route I should try..." as he began to wriggle his way into an awkward as hell sitting position.

[o-kaythislooksbad]

@ailesswhumptober day 22: whipping / punishment / stress position

[draft/snippet from the next chapter of fix my head, stitch my soul, where baby conner learns that being sick is just part of being alive. the physical whump/hurt takes place in the past; the emotional whump/comfort takes place in the present]

"impromptu vocabulary lesson," eve says, drying her hands on a towel while conner plops down on the bathroom floor. eve had to give him a bath after he got sick and ruined the new clothes, and the water was nice, but not as comfortable as his tank. "consequences. do you know what this word means?"

conner fidgets with the belt on his plush robe, letting his mind drift, waiting for the word to trigger a memory. he had to take his glasses off in the bath, 'cause water was going near his eyes, and without them, the robe looked like dirt. now that he's got his glasses back, he can see that its bright green, with a fluffy hood and a silly face on top to make him look like a froggy.

'green frog, green frog, what do you see? i see a purple cat, looking at me.' frogs are amphibians which can be found in vastly different regions. warty frogs are often miscategorized as toads, but there is no taxonomic difference between them.

"nuh-uh," he frowns, shaking his head to get rid of the frog thoughts. eve only asked him about one word, and he knows lotsa words, so why doesn't he know this one? it seems important, the way eve talks about it, so he scrunches his eyes shut and tries extra hard to know what it means. 

consequences depend on our choices. you can choose to do whatever you wish with your power, but you must be aware of the repercussions.

the soft voices usually help him, or at least make conner feel warm, while the sharp one usually confuses him and makes him all itchy. conner is warm, but confused, and he's still sore and tired from his busy day.

he opens his eyes to find eve pacing around the room and frowning at her phone. "all right. it's like, uhh," eve starts, then pockets her phone and looks at him, trying to find ways to explain it to him. "consequences are about cause and effect; they are the results of actions and decisions. you do one thing, and it impacts other things. do you understand?"

you decided that goin' to the library was more important than doin' your chores here, and now you're gonna have to live with that. don't you start cryin' t'me about the belt. you're takin' it, and you're countin' each strike. count wrong, and you're gettin' the buckle, understand?

conner's stomach still hurts from all the sick

one

and his heart beats too loud, too fast for his chest

two

and everything's too hot

three

and too much

fourfivesix

and he bites down on his hand until he can taste the blood running through his veins and the stinging of leather on his back fades away.

"kiddo, no," eve says, tugging his hand away from his mouth. she picks kitty off the counter and puts it in his lap, and he quickly latches on to it. "it's okay to feel frustrated, to not know the words or ways to express yourself, but this?" she gestures to the indentations in his pale skin, "hurting yourself? that's not okay."

eight.

arrogant boy. all this time with your head in the books and you can't even count right.

conner flinches as the belt gets wrapped around one calloused hand while the other sets down a near-empty glass of the smelly brown juice. the heavy buckle makes a deeper sound in the air than the belt, and it connects with bone this time. he shudders at the phantom sensation, and the look that eve gives him makes him wanna curl into a ball.

"why?" conner whispers. he's been hurt before, 'cause that's what happens when you're bad and make messes, and he was real bad today.

"question of the day," eve mutters, shaking her head. "why? because -"

"all better," conner interrupts, holding out the hand which isn't hugging kitty. "healed." conner closes his mouth so eve can't see him biting down on his tongue, deserving the bursts of pain for talking out of line.

he counts in his head all the way to ten, properly this time, then frowns as he points to his stomach. the robe's belt is nothing like the loud man's belt, but conner rips it off anyway and tosses it across the room. it's only when the belt lands with a splash in the toilet that conner realizes he made yet another mess, and he braces himself for being smacked.

"hurts still. and talked when you talked and throwed. punish now?"

"punish?" eve's eyebrows scrunch together and her lips turn down, like they did when he asked for punishment after throwing his clothes and food everywhere. "conner," she says, sitting beside him among the pile of towels, "punishments are for when someone purposefully does something really bad, and punishments are meant to teach them why their actions were bad. what's happening now, what i've been trying to teach you about all afternoon, is a consequence - your stomach hurts because you ate a lot of food, really fast, and then vomited it all out. you're not going to get punished for that."

"but i made messes all over the clean floors and the clothes and i maded you give me a bath even when i coulda bathed myself and i throwed stuff and now i'm talking back so you hafta give me smacks now." conner's little lungs are strong, but he still takes a deep breath after letting all of the words out. he cradles kitty in both hands, 'cause even though eve is saying no punishment, he's not sure he believes her, and he's not ready to give kitty back.

"you're not going to get punished for that," eve repeats, her voice as balanced as ever, "you've been following the rules, and you haven't done anything wrong. we have consequences about rule-breaking, but hitting isn't one of them. you can keep asking me, and i will do my best to assure you each time that i'm never going to hit you."

her voice is softer now, and it helps conner's hands relax their grip on kitty, 'cause he doesn't wanna hurt it, but he's not gonna let go in case eve decides to take it away, even if she doesn't give him the belt. conner rubs his eyes and yawns as he asks, "but why no?"

eve sighs as she leans against the tub. "i don't believe that physical punishments are effective at communicating what was wrong about an action, or useful in deterring that behavior from happening again."

conner's head lolls to the side and blinks sleepily at her. eve gathers up the towels, arranges them in a loose circle near the heating vents, and gives it a pat. conner crawls to it and nestles himself in the middle of the ring, sighing happily as his head connects with the soft material.

"what happened today was a series of accidents, and none of them were your fault. i should have been keeping a closer eye on you, making sure that you were being cared for; you're such an extraordinary child that i forgot you are still just a child. you're a baby, conner, and today is only your first day out of incubation. you're experiencing everything for yourself for the first time, along with your dads' memories, and it's a hell of a lot to process."

"miss my cube-ation tank," conner whispers. "lotsa water was nice."

"i guess we'll have to get you to the swimming pools later," eve says, and conner drifts off to sleep with aqua waves cascading in his mind.

[marrys-dream-world]

Imposter

Read on AO3

Summary:  Adrien's mother is kind and sweet and loving. The only problem is that it isn't her at all.

Notes: This is based off on this post by @infinitysgrace and a post athat I can’t find anymore, but was about how Emilie’s eye color could be wrong in the wishmaker flashback because it wasn’t her, it was a sentimonster. I took some liberties with sentimonster lore because I’m not 100% sure about all that, but I think it turned out well. 

One of Adrien’s earliest memories is of crying. 

He was young, perhaps three or four, and his room was blurry through his tears. When he grew older, he would get used to his father’s insistence that a night light was coddling Adrien, but at the moment, all he knew was the darkness surrounding him. The room was too big and his bed was in the middle of it, the light from the huge windows playing shadows that tricked his eyes. So he started crying, hoping it would call his parent’s attention and that they would come to him.

(When he grew older, he would learn that crying was useless.)

He felt more than saw his mother coming in, leaving the door open in a crack of light. Her arms wrap around him and she hums soothingly, the sound filling up his chest. She’s warm and smells sweet, like her favorite lavender perfume. He sinks into her, tears drying and sobs reducing to whines. He has tired himself out with that and would probably fall asleep even if left alone, but his mother doesn’t leave. She tucks him in and stays as his eyes close.

The last thing he sees are her wide blue eyes. 

-

Both his parents have drastic mood changes, but Adrien would say that his mother is the most prominent example of this. His father is usually just stoic and, if Adrien pushes him enough, gets annoyed with him. At worst, he’ll get angry and rage at Adrien, calmed down only by his mother’s calm words as she diverts his attention so Adrien can get away. His mother, though, always feels like whiplash.

“Why can’t I go with you?” Adrien, aged seven, asks his mother. He’s sitting on her bed as she packs her bag for another trip with his father. He stopped keeping count of them after the fifth. 

“You’re too young, baby.” She said and even the pet name didn’t stop the sting from her dismissive tone. “Next time, okay?”

He bits back a ‘you said that last time, too’. 

“But I’m already- “

“Adrien.” His mother chides, frowning. Her (disappointed) green eyes held him down. “I said you could stay here with me if you weren't going to be disruptive. Can’t you behave, just this once?”

He swallows back a lump in his throat. “I-I’m sorry, mother.”

But she already turned her back to him and packed the rest of her bag in silence. His mother leaves out her customary goodbye kiss when she leaves for the trip. He isn’t allowed downstairs to see them go and Nathalie insists it isn't a punishment, even though it feels like it. Adrien mopes in his room, not feeling up to enjoy his free day, no tutors or photoshoots, when all he can think about is his mother.

That’s why he’s taken back when she walks in his room.

“Mother?” He gaps, unable to hide his surprise. “I thought you left. Aren’t you going to miss your trip?!”

“I changed my mind, Adrien. Your father and I decided that the trip would be more productive with just him.” She said, eyes warm. Adrien always thought it was beautiful how her eyes could look blue or green, depending on the light. 

“But why?” He asked. She had been so excited for the trip!

“To stay with my precious son, of course.” His mother said, taking him into her arms.

All his questions evaporated right then and there. 

-

After their last trip, his parents decided to take a break from traveling. To network, his father informed him, which meant more boring family dinners and stiff ties. His mom always tuts when he complains about it, so he stays silent this time. At least it’s a dinner with Chloé, his best friend, and her family, so he and her are really only required to have dinner and then they can go off and play in the hotel rooms. 

“Arnold- “ Mrs. Bourgeois starts during dinner, before being nervously corrected by her husband.

“It’s Adrien, dear.”

“Oh right, Adrien. You grew up really well, you look more like your mother everyday.” Other people say it gushing, followed by a ‘so cute’ and pinches to the cheek. Mrs. Bourgeois says it like it’s a fact she approves of; Chloé even copies the small nod her mother makes. “You have her eyes.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I don’t think so.” He says as politely as he can, but everyone in the table still throws him confused glances.

“You don’t think you look like your mother?” His father asked, raising an eyebrow.

Adrien shook his head. “No, I just don’t think I have her eyes. Mother’s eyes are blue and green and mine are just green.”

The Bourgeois family looks at him like he grew a second head. His parents, however, become tense all of sudden.

“Emilie, Gabriel, I think your son might be colorblind.” Mrs. Bourgeois says dryly and Adrien waits for his parents to come to his defense. They don’t. 

“Maybe. You know how children are.” His mother says, lightly. “I love your hat, Audrey. Is it new?”

The topic changes to Audrey’s new fashion exploits and Adrien and Chloé are finally allowed to go play. 

(Nathalie takes him to an eye doctor Mr. Bourgeois recommended the next day. The colorblind tests come back as negative.)

-

At age eight, Adrien was already used to working on fashion shows for his father’s brand. It didn’t make them easier to go through, however. 

It’s a summer one, this time, and his clothes are light and airy and his skin felt itchy and hot in the air conditioned cat walk. Looking at the bright lights around him hurt and the camera felt like it was looking uncomfortably deep into his soul. Was it too obvious that he wanted to run away? The crowd claps everytime he comes and everyone is smiling. Except for his father. 

After the show, his father spends the rest of the ride in silence as his mother tries to defuse the heavy tension that permeated the air with small talk and gushing compliments about the clothes and Adrien’s performance. It falls flat as she hardly looks like she’s up for talking, dark shadows under her eyes and skin paler than usual. Whenever Adrien asks her if she’s sick, she denies. As soon as they arrive home, he drags Adrien from the car towards the house, grip strong on his left upper arm. 

“Do you enjoy embarrassing me in front of everyone, Adrien?” His father asked calmly, but his hand tightened on his arm. 

Adrien couldn’t speak. It felt like it was happening to someone else, his mind weirdly detached from the situation. The only thing stopping him from floating away was the pain in his arm. 

“That’s enough, Gabriel.” He heard his mother, voice muffled. It felt like he was underwater in the pool and she was speaking from far away. Her hand, though, he felt acutely as she extricated his father’s hand from his arm. “Adrien, go, please.”

He runs away without second thought, only pausing guiltily at leaving his mother with his irate father when he starts hearing his father’s screaming. Adrien hides under the blankets in his room, heart racing long after the noise stops as he tries to focus his mind into anything else. He startles when he feels a hand touching his blanket cocoon. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby.” He hears his mother’s voice and frantically tears his blanket away. 

Adrien relaxes as he looks into her wide blue eyes and comforting smile, trying to leap for a hug. She stops him. 

“Let me see your arm first.” She says and he reluctantly takes off his jacket, wincing. The bruise on his arm doesn’t look pretty, so it’s for the best that he doesn’t go out much after fashion shows. “I can’t believe I let you get hurt.”

Her tone is soft and she looks, weirdly enough, genuinely confused as she touches the bruise on his arm and coos in apology as he flinches. 

“Father is just stressed.” Adrien parrots back his mother’s usual spiel after his dad does something less than exemplary. “It’s just how she is, it’s okay.”

"It 's not okay.” His mother says right away. “I’m supposed to not let anything hurt you, Adrien.” 

She says that with such a passion that he can believe she actually means it. But instead of the elation he expected when he heard it, all he felt was a surge of anger. Because why now? After all those moments when she scolded him for avoiding his father or not looking him in the eye, why now?

“There isn’t anything we can do about it, is there?.” He snaps, echoing her words to him from what felt like yesterday. 

She deflated. “I’m sorry. There isn’t.”

-

His father went away from a trip again and his mother, once again, decided to stay. 

Spending time with his mother during father’s trip was great, especially since she was in such a good mood and looking much healthier than she did these days. She lets him have an extra scoop of ice cream for dessert as soon as Nathalie turns her back on them, she spends the whole day playing with him in the garder, she helps with his homework and makes him a snack between classes. They play the piano together, making up different tunes and giggling. 

“Don’t I have to practice this?” He asked, pointing to the sheets of the classical song he was supposed to learn. 

His mother wrinkled her nose.

“You already work too hard, Adrien, it’s nice to have some fun once in a while.” She said, twisting her wedding ring on her finger. She usually didn’t wear it when spending time with him, only when she spent time with father, so it caught his attention. “Besides, nobody has to know.” 

They watch a movie he picked that night. His mother rarely did that and when she did, she was very picky about it. Artist stuff, he supposed. This time he got to choose, though, and he picked on based on a manga he liked, Astroboy. His mother seemed excited in the beginning, but her mood quickly subdued as the movie went on. 

“Are you not liking it?” He whispered to her and she shook her head.

“I am, baby, don’t worry. Are you?”

“Yeah. It's not really like the manga, but I like it.” He said. “I just think it’s a little unfair, you know. How he doesn’t know he isn’t really the scientist’s son, that he’s just a robot.”

His mother’s arms tighten around him. “I don’t think it’s unfair.”

“Really?” Adrien watched as the images from the screen played on his mother’s blue eyes.

“Really.” She repeated. “Him knowing would be crueler.”

-

At age ten, Adrien is awakened on a rainy night by his mother shaking him.

It was the night his father was supposed to come back from a trip and he had spent a fun day with his mother, studying and playing (“You need both to be a healthy boy, Adrien!” She grinned at him and he beamed back at her). His mother had looked a little skittish earlier, looking over her shoulder often only to just find Natahalie and fidgeting with the ring on her hand, that she usually wore every time his father was traveling. She wouldn't tell him what was wrong and insisted she hadn’t been sick. Nevertheless, he worried. 

“Mother, what’s wrong?” He asked, sleepiness fading away as he noticed how frantic she looked. 

“Adrien, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Every moment I’ve been conscious, it’s been on my mind. Can you trust me?” She asked him, stroking his head with the hand that wore her wedding ring, and he nodded. “I need you to pack a small bag and come with me, okay? We’re going on a trip, just you and me.”

“A trip?” It was all he ever wanted, but the look in his mother’s blue eyes made him hesitate. “Is everything okay?”

“No, baby.” She said, kissing the top of his head. “But it will be. Hurry up, I need you to pack while I handle some things. Meet me downstairs in five minutes, okay?”

With anyone else, even his father, he would have asked more questions. This was his beloved mother, though, so he just got up and started to pack his clothes and some of his stuff that he couldn’t do a few days without. He carefully closed his door, running down the stair and to his mother by the door. She looked damp, her outfit changed and an umbrella hanging by her feet along with some bags. 

“Adrien?” She asked, turning her green eyes to him. In her left hand, she held her wedding ring.

“Mother? Are you okay?” He asked, noting how much paler and shakier she looked than when he saw her upstairs. 

“Yes, of course.” His mother said as she put her wedding ring back on. “Whatever I said to you upstairs, forget it, okay?”

“W-what?”

“I didn’t know what I was saying.” She said, eyes staring straight at her ring. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. Go back to bed, baby. Your father is back earlier than expected and he won’t like to see you up so late. ”

He nodded, unwilling to argue, and took his bag back with him to his room. His mother suddenly acting weird and standoffish wasn’t anything new, it was fine. She would go back to being his sweet, kind mother soon enough. He was sure of it. 

(She never did.)

[arsonsamruby]

sam winchester pride

i have a new fic <3 hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

it’s s1 sam coming out to dean. was THIS close to making the ending sam ugly crying alone but even though dean Is like. microaggressions boy he’s not going to be a bitch about it all that’s out of character. i think he does try very hard to support sam. like he’s not an ally but probably because he doesn’t really know what an ally is. 

anyway wtf am i even saying.

___ Sam has a headache. Dean comes by, ruffles his hair, slouches into the couch. Sam licks his lips, looking away from the screen. It has loud, bright cartoons on it and in the prickling sense of dread he’s carrying with him, the stimulation is too much. 

Half of the headache is from a hard hit he took to the head, lingering pain. The other half is stress and dehydration. Unless beer counts as hydration, then in which- well, he’s covered. The screen of the television is cracked through; it’s playing Friends reruns. 

He stands abruptly. 

“Sammy, I swear to God, if you start pacing again-” Dean warns, throwing a pillow at him. Sam ducks it, somehow. His body takes up half the room. It’s hard to find space. 

He can’t help it. His feet get itchy, his legs pull tight, and it’s nice. Nice, to put in his earphones and walk around for a little while. “I’ll go out to the parking lot, promise. I won’t bother you.” 

He smiles slightly at Dean, but his brother isn’t much looking. 

The parking lot of the motel has the sticky feeling underfoot of summer heat on asphalt, and sweat. The crumbling pollen and flowers from the trees have made his half-present allergies flare up. As a kid, Sam would have allergy seasons that ran out of sync with everyone else’s. 

Go three years without a single cold, until one awful summer would come and he’d sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. He recalls: Oregon, in a rainy patch. It had been a relief to wash all the yellow pollen away with the weekly downpour. Another thing about Oregon, he’d had a best friend there. A girl. 

Huh. He tries to tuck his smile away, but it comes through like the sun through clouds. Sam looks dumb, doesn’t he? Some goofball pacing around a parking lot and smiling to himself. 

After about ten minutes, maybe more, his pace slows. The scenery is getting too humid. He wants to roll back into bed, into those cool sheets. 

“Sammy? Is that you?” 

Sam kicks his shoes off into the dirty corner. Dean’s left a bootprint on the floor there. If Sam was looking for a fight, he’d say something. “It’s me.” 

“You got a call. Someone left a voicemail. For you.” 

His voice is sharp, pounding hail on cement. “A call?” Sam replies dumbly.

Dean nods his head over to the answering machine. “I’ll put it on for you.” 

Sam’s heart begins to slow to a rolling stretch of highway. The cars moving across it are few and far between and his breath is short and dangerous. 

“Sammy?” The effusive warmth dies down after the nickname, realizing Dean’s heard it through. The voicemail, the nickname. “You gave me this number the other day. Outside the Jewel Osco?” 

He laughs. It crackles over the phone in a friendly way. Friendly the way he kissed tiny little butterflies onto Sam’s collarbones, the way his house was cool in the summer night. 

“I guess you’re a big-time developer and all so I’m not sure if you even care. But I have the jacket you left with me? The other night?” 

He clears his throat. “If you want it back, you can drop by.” The voicemail ends. 

“You leave your jacket at your friend’s house, Sammy? Come on, it’s just like you’re little again. You want me to pick it up for you?” 

Sam realizes two things: Dean hasn’t caught what the message means, and Sam wishes he would have. 

“Dean?” 

“Mmm?” 

Sam has never been able to cry with dry eyes. He can’t hide the shaky undercurrent to his voice. His eyelids feel like cement but he keeps staring at Dean. A flush of fear is blooming high on his cheeks. 

“Me and that guy, we’re not just friends. Or whatever.” 

Sam went calling for information, at his house. Said he was a real estate developer, even though the back of his neck went red with the obvious lie. The suit was cheap and he was young. He’d gotten the information and then this guy, his name is Jude, had kissed him. Sam left the suit jacket there. He’s glad he’s getting it back, all things considered. 

He still doesn’t know what possessed him to hand over his number after buying peanut butter and sandwich bread two days later. A crack in his self control, maybe. 

“What do you mean…” Dean isn’t making jokes, at least. Sam squints hard at the floor. His head feels like a matchbox. Being struck over and over again. His headache is back, erupting with a vengeance. 

“Sam, is it something- Dad did? Is it something I did? To make you, uh.” 

Sam shakes his head, sighing deeply. He wants to be a bitch about it and spit out something sarcastic. “What do you think you could have done?” 

Dean shakes his head. Murmurs, “I don’t know,” almost that Sam can’t hear him. “I guess you’re the type, though, Sammy.” Sam knows what he means by that. “As long as you don’t go around falling in love with some starry eyed dude. We still have to find Dad.” 

“About that. Don’t tell him.” Sam pointedly raises his eyebrows. Dean doesn’t have a great record of choosing- choosing him, his secrets that he keeps tight in his fists. He doesn’t have a record of letting any opportunity to be a good son slip by. 

“Sure, sure.” Dean frowns. “Hey, what about Jess? Did you lead some poor chick on up until-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Sam’s hands are suddenly shaking. Dean leans back. He’s not the shrinking type, his shoulders stay up and guarded. “I’m not gay, I’m- I’m something else. Both, you know?” The inside of his cheek is bitten raw, he can taste the fleshier bits coming alive. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Sammy.” 

The telling was easy; now it’s muddier. Sam wades in anyway. “Who here is the expert, you or me?” The sick dread has risen in his stomach and is now lapping at his sodden brain, pulling him under. It’s hot as hell out but he pulls the blankets over his legs. 

“Sorry. Bad take.” 

“I loved her-” Dean doesn’t like hearing about Jess and Sam cuts himself off. 

“Never mind. I’m going to go get more beer.” Dean leaves. 

Sam looks between the ugly green blankets, the TV still on, the white, unearthly light seeping in through every crack. When he told Jess, she lit up with it, went on to ask him questions, run her fingers through his shower-damp hair and let him talk. 

Dean bursts through the door. “Sammy, I really do want to say- thank you for telling me. You wanna talk about it more, we can go get your girly coffee drink and we can talk about whatever.” 

The aimless tears in Sam’s eyes finally come to the surface. “Oh, come on,” Sam groans. “You don’t have to act like I’m that-” 

Dean interrupts him. “Here, Sammy. Here. The way I see it, you’re like Chandler Bing now.” 

Sam blinks at him. “Dean, he’s not-” 

“Well, maybe not in the show, but everyone knows he’s gay anyway. You’re like Chandler Bing. If you want to go with me and get a coffee, uh, tell me about the guy action you got at Stanford, I’ll be your Joey.” 

Sam swipes the back of his hand across his eyes. If tears were blood he would look like a murder victim. Dean approaches him nervously. “Seriously.” He wrestles Sam into a tight hug, holding him for a long few minutes. 

“Do we still have painkillers around? I have a headache.” The walls (brown wood and decades out of date) are no longer closing in on him under oppressive heat and thoughts of Jess. Dean isn’t mad. Just- just Dean. 

Life returns to normal.

[xenospacebabe]

Broken Wings pt. 3

Summary: After breaking one of his wings, Hawks breaks into an animal clinic for some help. Little does he know that the doctor there would occupy his mind this much

TW: Mentions of animal death.

Another busy week that seemed to endlessly drag on was coming to a close. There was a spike in Parvovirus cases in the last few days that had you hospitalizing as well as euthanizing beloved pets. You loved your job, but sometimes it really took a lot out of you. There were times where you lost more patients than you saved and it left you wondering if you were even good at what you do. However, there were the times where miracle patients made an unprecedented recovery. Those were the moments that kept you coming back.

The stress mounted on your shoulders, though. You had three dogs in isolation that were struggling to survive, so much so that you did your best to not promise anything to their owners. For now, they were resting in the silence of your closed clinic. You leaned back in your chair and let your head hang until you stared blankly at the ceiling. The muscles in your lower back burned and ached from standing and kneeling all day. Did you eat lunch today? Did you ever use the bathroom?

“Y’know I was really hoping you’d text me back this week, Doc.”

“WAH!” The sound of Keigo’s voice breaking through the fragile silence sent you backwards in your chair with a frightened shriek. But before you could hit the floor, you were looking up into Keigo’s eyes as he had rushed over to catch you. His good wing caught your chair while his hand cradled the back of your head.

“Woah easy there. I knew you’d fall for me but I didn’t think you’d do it literally.”

“Keigo! Oh shit, you scared me!” The winged hero looked so smug as he held you there. You were incredibly aware of just how close his face was to yours and you felt your stomach flip as a result. That stupid grin cracked on his lips, a wild eyebrow arching confidently.

“P-please help me up.” The shakiness in your voice was louder than you’d like it to be. But he brought you upright, nonetheless, in a smooth motion before sitting on your desk. “Thank you...”

“Hey it’s what heroes do, am I right? So-...” He reached forward with a gloved hand to fidget with the ends of your ponytail between his fingers. “What’s up? You seem more stressed than usual.”

Than usual? How would he know how stressed you are on a daily basis? You’d only seen each other twice, three times including today. What you didn’t know was that Keigo had a lot of time to fill while he allowed his wing to recover. Most of it was spent catching up on paperwork he had neglected back at headquarters. The rest of the time? He was watching you from afar. This strange instinct to keep an eye on you was out of character for him, he never paid this much attention to anyone who wasn’t a target for a mission.

But you...

Choosing to ignore that last statement, you let out a weary sigh. The tension in your shoulders relaxed and they slumped. Keigo observed you, choosing to stay quiet until you responded.

“It’s just...been a rough week. This business-...I don’t always get to save everyone and it was just a little more than I could handle this week.”

Something about that struck a chord in the depths of his heart. He knew about that reality all too well. Sometimes not everyone made it out alive, regardless of how hard he tried. And remarkably, you understood that. There wasn’t much he could say that would make you feel any better other than just a hum in his throat.

“Mmh...I get it. That’s a really heavy burden to carry.” The hand that played with your hair slipped out of its glove and rested on your shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze. You felt your anxiety dissolve a little when he smiled at you.

“Anyway...that’s why I didn’t text you. I just didn’t have the moment to spare. I haven’t really left the clinic for more than a couple hours each day.” You let out an exhausted yawn behind your hand. Keigo noticed the way your nose scrunched up when you did so, and the cute squeak your throat made.

“Mmh my goodness, sorry. How’s the wing?” Back on track. He admired your tenacity and dedication to your work. Arms slipped out of his jacket followed by his uniform shirt. The redness returned to your features and you chewed your bottom lip nervously before regaining focus. It shouldn’t be this hard to look at a shirtless man. You’re an adult, get over yourself! But then again...you reminded yourself that there were no men like Keigo.

“Not too bad. The pain killers have helped but I didn’t wanna take them too long.” The splinted wing lifted and tried to flex. There was a tightness in the limb that was driving him crazy. And boy was it itchy. You noticed and began to remove the tape and gauze so you could feel the bone with your fingers.

To your surprise, Keigo didn’t flinch. In fact, you didn’t feel much of the break anymore. That was odd. One hand gently grasped the far side of his wing and slowly flexed it open. Once more, no pain response. You let go and told him to open and close it, which he did with a little strain but after a few tries it opened and closed in a smooth motion.

“How the-...this was a completely transverse fracture two weeks ago.” You muttered to yourself, truly confused but intrigued. Without thinking, you snagged Keigo by the wrist and yanked him into the radiology suite for immediate xrays.

“Woah hey! What?! What’s wrong?”

“On the table. Flex the wing. Hold still.” You were in like a trance, transfixed on getting answers. He did as you instructed without his usual teasing banter, the less he said the quicker you’d speak to him. You said nothing throughout the process, even after the images printed and were clipped to the lightbox.

“How?!” You gasped with your eyes trained on the image of Keigo’s healed wing. There wasn’t even the typical crease that came with the fusion of broken bones after they healed. You felt stupefied just gawking at his xrays.

“What?!” He practically shrieked, you were making him nervous by not explaining as quick as you usually did.

“It’s healed. I don’t-...did you know you could heal this quickly?” Keigo had the audacity to look embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with a dumb smile on his handsome face.

“Ah yeah, I guess I did. But I dunno, I just figured I needed an excuse to keep seeing you.” Once again you found yourself in close proximity to the winged hero, too close, in fact. Being this close made it suddenly dawn on you that now he didn’t need to come back anymore. He was healed and had no reason to sneak into your cute little clinic after hours.

Keigo could see the realization on your face, your expressions were incredibly loud in spite of you not having said a single word. You’d only seen each other twice before today but even he could tell there was something there.

“Hey, why don’t you take a short break and come on a test flight with me, there’s something I wanna show you.”

“What now? Keigo I-..” His back was already retreating back to your office to put his shirt and coat back on. When he returned, he held your hoodie out that was on the back of your office door. You looked at the clock, your overnight tech would be here soon to look after the hospitalized patients. Maybe you could afford to slip out for just a little while.

“Come on. You won’t let me pay you with money, so let me thank you my way.”

There really was no arguing with Keigo, he was too headstrong. So you reached for your hoodie, only for him to yank it back. Instead, he held it open for you to slide your arms into. You were trying so hard not to swoon.

“Alright...let’s go.”

A/N: I’m really glad you guys are liking this drabble. I’m thinking of making it into a fanfiction of sorts, maybe. With some conflict and maybe a lil romance. Let me know what you think! I love feedback!

[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Ch 5.5

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (references to much ecchi this chapter)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

She can't stand herself right now, so she makes him feel like he's the untolerated one

She just wants to be alone.

Between the abandonment from her parents, the fact that she wronged Hanabi and will deserve the worst outcome for it, to the way Naruto skillfully fucks up her emotions without even trying, she just wants it all to stop.

It's all… so itchy.

These events and circumstances, they gravitate to her, they stick to her fly-trap skin and die. And she can't be rid of it.

It's all fated.

Her whole existence is one incurable allergy, and continued exposure will only lead to anaphylaxis.

However, if she closes her eyes and lays very still atop her covers, she can dream of a world where everything is as it should be.

One where her parents cherish her and she and Hanabi are one of the closest sisters you'll ever see.

A world where Neji didn't lose his parents, yet it would still feel like he's always lived with her in the same house.

A world where Naruto had never been orphaned, had grown up secure in the love of his parents so that he didn't have to inebriate himself on his vices.

She just can't stand being his sister, because it makes her feel depraved.

She can't stand all the ways that she wants to compete against those other girls.

She's got the home advantage.

Proximity is everything, or it should be.

She doubts he would hate it if he found the hole had grown bigger. She doubts he would hate testing it out.

She pictures it and pictures it, and it's exciting. Tingles shoot down into her belly, traveling lower and lower.

It's so wrong how much she wants to be claimed.

She knows he wouldn't dare.

She knows he would hate it if the one offering themselves on the other side was her.

She can't stand how she had wanted to be curled against his side on the train ride to Neji, how she wished his voice would tickle her ears again like when they were kids, giving her the reassurance that she needed.

She can't stand how she had conspired with Neji to make Naruto feel off-kilter, like he didn't know her at all, just to hand off this whole cosmic unfairness onto him.

Any effort on her part brings them closer together as foster siblings, so really, could anyone blame her for giving up at this point?

She's starting to feel itchy again.

Hinata sucks in a sharp breath as she wills her legs to work.

She needs to apologize to him.

She wobbles out of her room, then leans against his bedroom door. She knocks against the wood. Her efforts are weak at first, hesitant pauses punctuated between each knock. Then desperation finally takes hold, and her knocking picks up as much volume as intensity.

She knows what she's here to do.

It's not that hard.

But the hushed desires crowding the back of her mind, the clawing need to clear the air and put her anxieties down for good, these make it so hard for her to breathe.

These make her not trust herself to be alone with him.

The door handle rotates, the click hitting her ears like the cocking of a gun hammer.

Her heart seizes in a panic.

He greets her with an affronted frown, then tugs at his earbud wires. Thunderous drums and riotous electric guitars buzzed like industrial wasps from the earbuds. When he hit pause on his phone screen, the absence of noise made their home feel like a cave.

Cold and vast.

"I-I have things to say." Her nose wrinkled with embarrassment.

Naruto stepped away from the door, allowing her passage into his room.

It feels like it's been forever since she's stepped foot in here. The posters were all different, and there was an abundance of them plastered along his walls. To her shame, the ceiling over his bed was also well-decorated with the ripped out pages of Gravure models. They all had different looks, different shapes and sizes.

Did he really have no preference?

As she hovered awkwardly in the middle of his room, he took a seat on his bed and patted the empty spot beside him.

She stared, her skepticism all too open.

"Hinata…" His eyes implored her, but when she would still go no closer to him, he was reminded of a life he had thought long-forgotten, back when he was treated like a germ. He shut his mouth, and buried that pain down deep. He couldn't bring himself to say those words. It felt way too pathetic.

His eyes followed her as she headed for his desk and slid the chair out from it. But then she stood there, staring at it too, like it would infect her.

With a growl, he collapsed onto his bed. "You're not going to sit, you're not going to talk--"

"I am going to talk."

"So talk." He laced his fingers behind his head, staring at her pointedly.

She pushed the chair back, and turned towards him, her hands wringing themselves to the point of splintering bones.

"I'm sorry. Neither of us have had a choice in all of this. The only thing we can choose to do is be better to each other."

His pointed look evolved with a lifted eyebrow. "Yeah, we kind of decided that early on, didn't we? I made sure to get along with Neji, and I protected you. It's what I could do. The bullying you endured didn't just stop for no reason."

"I-I know. And what I'm saying is, I'm the-the one whose g-given up on--" Her stuttering caused him to sit up.

"Hey, Hinata? Hey, hey, hey," He stood up and walked over to her, his hands clasping over her strangled ones. "It's okay. C'mon, it's okay. Try to breathe," he extricated her hands from each other and squeezed each of them in his own, offering her strength. "Breathe. Breathe."

But that shaky breath she took caused a few tears to let loose, and for her to question her purpose here.

When he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight, her mouth smashed against his shoulder, the sobs wouldn't stop. The air was like pins in her throat and she felt so, so itchy.

His bedroom was caked in perfume and sex just as she had always imagined, and she wanted to wipe that all away.

"I c,c,can't be a g,good s,s,sister."

She wanted to love him fully.

He stroked her hair and shushed her.

"You'll be an amazing sister. That little brat already loves you. Hell, sometimes I think I won the lottery myself, y'know?"

She wanted to pound her fists against his chest. Instead she clawed the fabric of his lounge hoodie, because she may not be able to hold onto him like this for much longer.

I don't want to be your sister.

I don't want you for a brother.

These are the things she wishes she could say. With every intention of making it up to him, if he would have her.

Before she came here, she needed to gauge how badly he wanted to be part of this family. But now that he went and said something like that… she doesn't have the heart to take this away from him.

"I-I'll do better, Naruto-lun, I,I,I'll do better."

"Geez, you push yourself hard enough, don't you?" He teased.

In the world she dreams up when her eyes are closed, she's able to press her lips to his, all questions erased from both their minds as they melt into the rightness of each other's bodies.

In reality, this is as far as they can go.

AN: I didn't feel comfortable leaving them all passive-aggressive and whatnot, because I no longer like that part of my writing? I think in the past I was fascinated with the whole concept of 'this is what happens when you let things be', but lately it's not all that fascinating, it actually feels pretty dumb. So maybe this is just one of those stories where it's like, 'Yeah, this ain't working for this'. Also, I used to think communication, even if it's healthy, was boring no matter what. Like, 'Easily solved! There is no story!', but lately my mindset on that has evolved and maybe that's because of exposing myself to better stories and media. Anyways, another short one, unfortunately, but I hope you liked it! This chapter has allowed me to go back to advancing the plot with summaries, so I'm quite looking forward to speeding things up. IDK if there is actual NH juiciness up ahead, but we'll see the story allows. 😅 I really had imagined Hinata getting up to more bold 'hint-dropping hijinks' like she did with her shirt, but it seems like it wrote itself out. :( lesigh.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 19 (Mafia AU)

Summary:  Rus is having a chance for a few regrets. Bad mistakes? Yeah, he's made a few.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings, Attempted Sexual Assault

Warning:  Heads up, let me add a warning here for attempted sexual assault and violence.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

~*~~

Read Chapter 19 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Rus came to with his head throbbing, feeling as if his skull had been stuffed full of cotton wool. The blanket under his mouth was soaked with his own drool, sticking clammy and cold to his face. With a grunt of effort, Rus tried to move and found he couldn’t. That quickly woke him up the rest of the way, that and the jangle of chains as struggled to get upright. Craning his neck, he looked up and down the length of his body to see the cuffs circling his wrists and ankles, each with its own chain fastened to a bedpost. He was still mostly dressed, he saw. His sweater was gone, but the button-up and trousers he’d been wearing were still in place, if horribly wrinkled. A small consolation that Rus clung to desperately, uncertain if he’d even know if anything had been done to him.

He had a vague, foggy memory of being carried, being moved, and burning hands moving over him but little else. No, that was wrong, he could remember more and didn’t want to, remembered Lilith and blood and fear, and might not know where exactly he was, but he knew who brought him here.

“no,” Rus whispered to himself, struggling harder, the restraints jangling with an almost cheery chime against the bedframe. “no, no, no.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep that up, little flower."

A terrifyingly familiar voice, one that carried with it its own memories of hurt and fear.

“don’t touch me!” Rus blurted hysterically, struggling harder despite the tearing pain in his wrists. “you stay away from me!”

All his struggles meant nothing, the cuffs allowed only enough give for him to lay on the bed, and he let out a weak sob as a hot hand settled on the small of his back, pinning him firmly back to the mattress.

“Darling, we haven’t even begun.” The bed shifted as Blaze sat down next to him and his hand slid up Rus’s spine in a mockery of soothing. “How well do you understand me?"

Rus could taste salt-sweetness, tears running back into his sockets and gathering nauseously at the back of his throat. That hand moved to the top of his skull, knuckles rapping against it painfully. “Answer me.”

“well enough,” Rus said dully. This was his own fault, he’d been warned, and even if Edge found him this time, who was to say what might happen between now and then.

“Better. This will go much easier on you if you’re obedient, precious.” That burning touch moved down to Rus’s face and he tried to jerk away instinctively, the chains holding him back. “Now, now, pet, calm yourself. If I only wanted to fuck you, I could have done it already, couldn’t I.” Those burning fingers skimmed lower, fondling his jaw. “Tempting, I’ll admit, such a pretty mouth. But why use force when you’ll be giving yourself to me willing?”

That confident assertion set off a spark, scorching a path of fury through Rus’s dull acceptance.

“Fuck you!” Rus spat. He twisted around to look at Blaze, truly seeing him for the first time. A fire Monster, he’d known that much, his flames the deep purple of an old ugly bruise and whatever passed for his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. His shirt was mostly unbuttoned, exposing more purple flames and leading a path down to his undone belt. A warning of things to come and Rus couldn’t help trying to struggle again, twisting fruitlessly against the restraints.

“Manners,” Blaze chided. “You’re so certain? You haven’t even heard the bargain yet.”

“I don’t care what it is!”

“No?” Blaze leaned in closer, flames crackling close to Rus’s audial canal. “What if I agreed to let up on Edge and Red? I’ve been toying with them for some time, you’re simply a shiny new game piece. I’d let them be, no more long nights worrying about when the next strike comes. They’d keep their silly little club and all their sluts would be safe.” He leaned in, his breath pouring over Rus like the heat of an opened oven. “I’ve heard you’re quite fond of those whores, hmm? Did my little kitty tell me true?”

Rus said nothing, squeezing his sockets tightly shut as he tried to keep the memories from pouring in. He couldn’t, could only think of Lilith, her pretty, confused face filling his mind’s eye as she fell to lie bleeding in the street, only to be replaced by Mona in the same way, hurt and dying. Sweet Mona who’d been kind to him from the start, tried so hard to help him, who was studying to be a nurse to help other people, their people.

But it was what Blaze said next that sent the rising uncertainty and fear in Rus’s soul boiling, a heat to match the Flame Monster’s own as he said, “Oh, there’s also your brother. Adorable little thing, isn’t he? To be honest, he’s a little more to my tastes.”

Rus jerked around as much as he could, craning his neck to glare that smug face. “you stay the fuck away from my brother!”

“Well, now, I can’t do that unless I get to stay the fuck with you. What do you say?” Two blistering hot fingers curled under his chin, hooking into his jaw and flames licked and curled painfully around his face. “Tik tok, precious, limited time only. You spread your legs so easily for Edge, what’s one more?”

He didn’t bother saying that he and Edge had never had sex, not really. There was no point; even if this Monster, this monster, believed him, it would only be more fuel for the fire of his hatred. He’d probably be fucking delighted to hear it, one more thing he could take from them, one more cruelty to inflict. There was only one bargain available, this one, right here and now. Rus wasn’t so foolish as to believe Blaze was telling the truth, but if it only kept him away from Blue, bought them a little time, what other option did he have?

Tears burned, nearly as hot as that touch, trickling down his face and hissing to stinging steam as they fell against Blaze’s hand. He couldn’t even turn away, Blaze forcing him to look up into that hated face as he whispered out, “deal.”

“What was that, precious?” Blaze smirked. “Speak up.”

“i said deal!” Rus snarled.

“Perfect.” He let go of Rus and stood, unzipping his fly. Rus closed his sockets before seeing what it revealed, forced himself not to flinch away. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction. “Now let’s see how good you suck cock to start.”

“don’t ever recall you bein’ much of a rapist. guess you learn somethin’ new every day.”

That unexpected voice seemed to come from nowhere at first, slowly solidifying by the door. Blaze whirled around, his flames crackling in loud astonishment and Rus craned his head to see, a feeble blossom of hope sprouted in his soul.

Red stood leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his trouser pockets and a smoldering cigar clenched in his jagged teeth. His eye lights were their own flames, deep red coals that matched his cold grin. “what’s the matter? don’t ya know how to greet an old friend?”

“How did you—” The question was bitten off so hard Rus could practically hear the click of nonexistent teeth over Blaze fumbling with his fly, fastening his trousers again with haste.

“eh, wasn’t too hard.” Red pushed off the wall and wandered closer, dusting off the front of his suit jacket with an absent flick of ringed fingers. “kid is wired up like a gyftmas tree, got little ornaments tucked all over in his clothes. figured you’d find a way to snag him eventually, so best to be prepared.” Rus’s sneakers were lying abandoned near the foot of the bed and Red nudged them with the toe of his shiny, expensive loafer. “you’re gettin’ soft, hothead, shoulda stripped him bare where you first took ‘im.”

Blaze crossed his arms over his chest, flames rising in a flickering dance the only sign of his agitation. “You’re assuming I didn’t want you to find me.”

“true,” Red allowed.

“I admit, I was expecting your brother. It’s so rare for you to come out and play these days.”

“well, now you’ve got me on the monopoly board, so let’s get this over with.” From that angle, Rus could hardly see Red, only from the chest down. Two gold buttons from his vest were visible and the broad chain strung across it, jewelry instead of restrains. Always that ridiculous extravagance, he thought with bitter, near hysterical amusement, even now. “you know, always had a little regret at leaving you behind that day, but, eh. can’t ask someone to choose them over their brother, can you.”

Blaze made a sound like hissing steam. “you left me to die!”

“sure did,” Red agreed, with such bald unapologetic blandness that Rus cringed into the blanket beneath him. “but that’s an ‘us’ problem.”

“You abandoned me!” Now Blaze was huffing like a bellows, his flames darkening nearly to black, lashing and crackling around him. “We came up from the gutters together and you left me behind like I was nothing, like I was ash to be scraped from your shoes!”

“you always were a fucking drama queen.” Red only puffed on his cigar, utterly calm, as if he were arguing with someone in the market over the last head of cabbage, and Rus could only listen with distant, dizzy surreality. Even his tears were drying, leaving behind itchy trails on his face. “turnin’ shit into a dust feud, like there ain’t enough people out there that want us dead? yeah, we did, dragged ourselves out, spitfire, and you shoulda already known by then that my bro always comes first.”

Blaze said nothing, but he took a step back when Red came closer. One of his hands shifted to hover over Rus and he could feel the banked heat even from the distance, a warning to them both.

Not that Red seemed to care. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Rus, his words were careful, slow, as if repeating important directions to one who was easily lost. “been letting you blow off steam for a while now. lost some merchandise here and there, you’d stick your fat fingers into one of our pies and we’d lose a payday. that was fine.” A step closer and Rus could see his face now, Red’s grin wolfishly wide. “‘preciate ya leavin’ the school and the daycare alone. was a bitch settin’ those up without getting’ our names tangled up in ‘em.”

“Harming children is for Humans.” Bitterly spat, someone who’d met Humans on their terms too many times already.

“ain’t that the truth,” Red agreed lazily, His voice changed then, that easiness ceasing as it vanished into bitter, bitten cold, “gotta say though, i ain’t too keen on you threatenin’ my bro or his little pet.”

“They aren’t children. You’re here for him, then.” His hand dropped, settling in the small of Rus’s back and he couldn’t bite back a whimper at the sudden, aching heat licking at his bones. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you always were too concerned about those sluts of yours.”

“always were a sweet talker, fire crotch.” Red straightened briskly, tucking his hands back into his pockets. “time to get down to business. brought you somethin’ ya might want, thought you might consider makin’ a little swap.”

“How generous,” Blaze purred. The tension in him hadn’t eased, his flames still licking high, but he shifted like he’d found his footing. “You have nothing that I want, lover, not anymore.”

“no?” Red licked his teeth, his wet teeth gleaming in the lamplight. “not even a fresh supply of golden flower tea?”

Blaze went suddenly still, all that oozing smarm stilling into whispered astonishment. “You do not.”

“sure do.” Red pulled a hand from his pocket and dangled a small packet between two fingers. “fresh enough you can prolly smell it from there and plenty more where that came from.” He nodded in Rus’s direction, “only, he’s the direct line to it. you kill him, that’s it. supply begins and ends with the flower shop. you can have your fun with him if ya want but—” He shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling under his suit coat. “i ain’t about to tell ya how to do business, but if you want in, i don’t mind sharin’.” He licked his teeth again, his smile widening as it curled around a single word. “lover.”

Blaze rocked from foot to foot restlessly and even beneath the sunglasses, the shift of his gaze from the packet to Red’s grinning face was unmistakable. “The fuck you would!”

“the fuck i ain’t!” Red countered, “see, that’s the beauty of it. you know the value, dontcha. these rubes ain’t got a clue, not even my bro gets it, but you and me? sweetspark, you and i know the value of a buck, don’t we. an’ we definitely know the value of this.”

“You’re lying.” But the words were without heat, almost uncertain. Wanting to believe.

“you think i’d come here without proof.” Red opened the packet and poured a little into his palm. He blew across it, scattering dried petals into the air subtle scent of golden flowers filled the air. Rus could taste it, his mouth automatically watering at the familiar flavor. Golden flower tea was a palliative when he’d been growing up, Blue brewed it whenever Rus wasn’t feeling well, whether the sickness was one of the body or the soul. There was always a cup for them both on days their pop had been particularly cruel or drunk, soothing away the lingering hurts. To taste it now, here, was abhorrent.

Blaze spread his hands and the floating petals still hanging in the air disappeared in tiny flares in his palms, that familiar smell going burnt and bitter. “You left me.”

“yep, i did,” Red agreed, unapologetic. "shoulda known if the choice was between you and my bro, there ain't no choice. get that you’re pissed, have every right to be, but don't go blamin’ me for being exactly who ya always knew i was. now, if ya wanna let the flower shop go, then we’ve got a deal.”

“Do you swear it to me?” Blaze said. He didn’t look at Rus, neither of them did; he was nothing, only a pawn in their game. They were the major players, two kings on either side of a chess board, deciding who to sacrifice and who to spare.

“’course i do,” Red snorted, “you got my word, sweetspark. i promise ya.”

The two of them stood for a long, terrible moment in a heated tableau. Rus kept as still as possible, terrified of tipping the decision in the wrong direction. Then came the sound of a drawer sliding open, a painful, hot hand grabbing his wrist as a key slid into the lock. Blaze repeated it on each limb and Rus scrambled to sit up, nearly falling in his haste to get to Red.

“get your shoes on, flower shop,” Red told him, “wouldn’t wanna hurt your little tootsies before i take ya back to my bro.” Rus did as he was told, all but shoving his foot into his shoe as Red turned back to Blaze. “good to be doing business again with ya. we’ll work out the details, but first. shake on it like pals, yeah?”

He held out a hand and Blaze took it, but the sudden sound that came from Blaze made Rus jerk, looking up from his shoes to see Red using that grip to yank Blaze closer, down to his level. His sunglasses slipped down, exposing the hollows that passed for a fire Monster’s eyes gone wide, disbelieving. “You—”

The whisper died in a fall of dust scattering to the floor. Red only watched it fall in a dark, glittering cloud and the soul speared through with the sharpened bone still in his hand was the last to dissolve. No king, only another pawn taken from the board.

Red shook his head, tutting softly, and tossed the little packet of golden flowers onto the dustpile, the remaining petals scattering. “better luck next time, pal. least you went out with dollar signs dancin’ in your head.” He frowned at his dusty hand and pulled out a linen handkerchief that matched his shirt, wiping it off as he turned back to Rus. “normally woulda let one of my boys do it, but i guess i owed him that much, to take care a’ it personal-like.”

Rus couldn’t move, crouched there on the floor with one shoe on as he stared at Red with words clotting in his throat. “you…you…”

The wide slash of his grin only went wider. “go on, spit it out.”

“you killed him.” The last word broke on a sob.

"sure did," Red agreed. He looked at his cigar, his expression twisting in impatient disgust at the dust coating it. He tossed it aside and pulled out another, biting off the end and lighting it with a match struck on the bedpost. "hate to break a promise, too. been putting it off too long. kept hopin’ he’d get over it and sign back on, but he took it a lil’ too far.” Red shrugged. “eh, dogs are better anyway. loyal.”

He wandered past Rus towards the door, his voice floating back where Rus was still sitting with his shoe in his lap. “thanks for the help. knew he’d get his mitts on you eventually and lead the way to where he was holed up. didn’t figure on it goin’ that way, but it didn’t work out too bad, all things considered.” He turned back, one finger curling in a ‘come here’ gesture. “hurry up, kid, time to go.”

With one shoe still untied, Rus stumbled after him as Red led the way out of the room. They were in a large house of some sort, open and spacious where the Fell brothers’ home was all narrow hallways and mazes. No one tried to stop them as they made their way downstairs, every room echoing and empty, and Rus clung to the bannister to keep from falling. His mind still felt fuzzy and wrong, disbelieving, catching onto what Red had said minutes too late.

“you used me as bait?” A sob heaved out of Rus, helpless and wretched, followed by more, as if they’d been bottled up in his chest and now that the first escaped, they were bursting out like bubbles an opened bottle of soda.

"’course i fuckin’ did. you were a pain in the ass to boot, always takin’ off like ya did. made it harder to track whether you were just bein’ a shit or not.” Red paused on the landing impatiently as Rus tripped his way down. “knock it off with the waterworks, yer givin' me a headache."

Rus tried, hiccoughing painfully as he said, "he shot lilith."

"and she almost got you a fire dick up the ass for her troubles,” Red said. The raw crudeness made Rus wince, choking back his tears. “anyway, save the cryin’ for somethin’ important, she's fine. for now. all bandaged up and ready for a heap 'o regret for sellin’ you out."

"don't,” Rus blurted. “please. don't hurt her."

Red swung around to look at him and Rus couldn’t keep from flinching, stumbling back a step from that piercingly sharp gaze. "you defendin' her?"

"she didn't know how bad it was. she tried to stop him."

“regrettin’ after you fuck up don't mean you get off." Red started down the stairs again, but he sounded almost pensive as he said, "’course, she did get shot, that ain’t no summer picnic. i'll think about it."

Hardly soothing, but Rus nodded, relaxing a little as he wiped at his face with his sleeve, mumbling out, “thank you.

Red chuckled, low and rich with perverse humor. "heh, already thinkin' you won, kid? i ain’t as easy as my bro, said i’ll think about it.”

Outside was a long black car, expensive and indistinguishable. A Dog got out of the driver’s side and held open the door for them, Rus scrambling in after Red and sat on the seat opposite. The door wasn’t even closed when Red began rummaging through a little fridge, pulling out a clear crystal bottle of dark brown liquid. “here, have a drink. think you might need it.”

The entire bottle was probably more accurate, but it was better than nothing. Rus took the glass wordlessly, swallowing it all down in one gulp. He couldn’t hold back a grimace; the sharp burn of expensive whisky tried to wash away the taste of burnt golden flowers clinging inside his mouth, but it still lingered in his nasal cavity and he wondered dully if he’d ever be able to smell them again without remembering this moment.

Across from him, Red slumped back against the leather seat, sockets closed, his own glass dangling loosely from his broad fingers. His browbones were drawn together, a line of weariness between them and Rus suddenly wondered how long they’d been looking for him. There were no clocks in the backseat and the sun coming in through the tinted windows revealed nothing. Blue was probably hysterical and Rus couldn’t blame him, his own stupidity got him into trouble again, and Edge—

He didn’t want to think about Edge, not right now.

His mind refused to be blank, kept flittering about and Rus latched on to one of the questions lingering inside his skull, pointless and perfect for this moment. He held his own glass in both hands, the cool crystal slowly warming between them. “why was blaze so interested in golden flower tea?”

“that’s need to know, kid.” Red didn’t open his sockets as he took a sip from his glass.

“yeah, well, i need to know,” Rus said stubbornly. “you used me as bait, so tell me. why was he willing to let everything go over some stupid flowers?”

Those closed sockets slit open, the barest gleam of crimson gazing out at him. “heh. you think i owe you somethin’, flower shop?” Rus said nothing, afraid of agreeing, and Red’s sharp grin widened. “learnin’ how to be careful of those debts, huh. good for you.” He shifted in his seat, loosening his tie as he sighed. “but you got a point. okay, flower shop, here's the deal. see, most monsters and humans get a little relaxed with it, s’all. probably a strong cup of chamomile’d have the same affect.”

“unless ya have lv. golden flower tea is pretty damn useful for monsters with lv.” That sharp smile twisted unpleasantly. “sweet thing like you don’t know what it’s like carryin’ around a lump of charcoal in your chest. feel it burnin’ ya from the inside out…”

For once, Red looked away from Rus first, stared pensively into the dark depths of his glass. “that tea helps, a fucking lot. only once we came to the surface it was hard to find. don’t grow easy around here, not without help.” Red tossed back the rest of his glass and poured another, whiskey slopping out around the lip, spattering the little bar. When he offered the bottle to Rus, he accepted it, pouring more into his own glass. “ain’t had any in ages. not ’til you turned up, flower shop, you and your brother.” He chuckled roughly and shook his head. “mother angel’s mercy, fuckin’ florists of all things.”

“i didn’t know,” Rus admitted, and now that he did, he wasn’t sure if he regretted asking.

Red shrugged. “that ain’t no surprise, you ain’t got any lv and your bro don’t have enough to make any difference.”

That idle statement made Rus jerk, spilling whiskey down the front of his shirt. “my brother has lv?” His voice seemed too small, confined in that backseat.

Red paused and a brief, bothered expression flitted across his face before it smoothed again. “like i said, not enough to make any difference.” He finished off the last of his glass, the silence filled with only the hum of the engine and the tires against the road. “anyway, that’s enough explanations for you. ya did me a favor helpin’ me get a lead on that old flame burnin’ up my ass. think i might owe ya a little extra for a rough time. so tell me, whaddya want?”

Outside the tinted windows, the real world blurred past them. The really real world, where the worst thing that ever happened was a rude barista might mess up your order or a Human might call an insult from the other side of the road, and Rus never hesitated. “i want to go home. i don’t belong in all this.”

“eh, that’s already on the table.” Red crushed out the stub of his current cigar and lit another, the burning smell from the match nearly making Rus heave. “what else you got?”

“that you leave my brother alone!”

Red exhaled a cloud of foul smoke and shook his head, “that’s ‘tween me and him. care for a third try before ya strike out?”

His empty glass thudded to the carpeted floor as Rus buried his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath. He should let it go, drop the pretense of ever balancing the sheet between them. He’d be back home soon, back to the shop and the normalcy, nothing but bouquets and daydreams, oh, the daydreams. There was one thing yet that he wanted with self-destructive desperation, and the words came out barely muffled by his bony fingers, clear and stark. “i want one night, with him. with your brother. no strings attached.”

“you think i can get you that, huh? well, honey, you hit the jackpot.” Through his fingers, he could see Red’s eye lights glittering, the deep, burning crimson of a devil or maybe a djinn from the stories Blue read to him as a child. Looking at them sent a shiver down Rus’s spine like a sin even as Red spoke, his voice rough and amused as he offered a single word.

“done.”

tbc

[league-of-thots]

The Bee’s Knees

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

A/N: pretty happy with how this turned out! pretty nasty though so please read the warnings carefully. thanks @lady-bakuhoe for checking it over!

(sorry for double post it got fucked up on mobile :/)

Warnings: Smut, gun play, violence, dub-con, oral

taglist: @ikinabi, @redbeanteax, @marilla-eldriana, @kittykatkrissa

You’d always had a bit of a boring life. While your friends had been out at speakeasies and dancing with men and woman through the night, you’d had to take care of your little sewing shop. Repairing and making fine clothing you couldn’t afford wasn’t what you’d choose to do if you could, but it was what you had to do to keep yourself fed and safe.

You lived in a decent part of town, although that didn’t stop you from hearing gunshots every few nights between the law and the mafia. But then again, nowhere was completely safe from the mafia, especially with the bosses at the helm now. All of them were young, violent and eager to expand their territory and prove their worth, and the state of the city and surrounding areas were proof of that. But, nothing bad ever really happened to you, so you often ignored it and did what you wanted on your own time.

However, one day your entire life changed just from simply meeting Katsuki Bakugou, one of the new mafia bosses who’d come to power recently.

It had been a normal Tuesday night, except for the fact that you’d ran out of bread. Something so simple and you- albeit annoyed- went to the store despite it already being night. Getting there and getting your bread had been simple, it was getting home that had changed your life.

On a shortcut to get back to your little shop and home as quick as possible, you passed into an alleyway. Where you happened to run into three people, a blonde with his suit all messed up, someone with bright red hair and a lanky black haired man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Oh my god- they were all standing around a bloody and beaten body. You drop your purse in surprise and they all turn around sharply to face you. Not caring that you’d be leaving behind money and belongings, you run as fast as you can the opposite way, trying to get to a main street.

You hear them yelling behind you, telling you to stop but all you can think of is that they’re criminals, worst case they’re mafia, and you need to get away.

But they’re bigger, faster and stronger than you are. The red haired one catches up to you first, and he grabs your arm before you can get more than a block away. You try to scream, but as soon as your mouth opens up, his large hand prevents you from screaming and breathing too. You can hear them muttering about what they should do with you as your air supply is completely depleted and you start to black out.

You return to consciousness in perhaps the worst way possible, your headache from being choked out being exaggerated by the really loud yelling coming from a new man in front of the three you’d seen in the alleyway. You shake your head a little as you get your bearings and realize there's duct tape covering your mouth, and ropes tying your limbs to the chair you’re sat on. You begin screaming but the sound is muffled as because of the restraint covering your lips.

Two of the three glance back in your direction which seems to anger the leader who snaps in their faces and starts to yell at them.

“So you accidentally killed the mark instead of subduing them, and on top of that brought back some fucking worthless extra that now I have to find out what to do with. YOU’RE ALL MORONS. GET OUT!”

The three scurry out of the office and he kicks over a stray chair, cursing loudly and sitting behind his desk. You can’t seem to take your eyes off of him. Despite your fear and the obvious lack of self restraint and loud anger he exhibits, you notice he’s gorgeous and has a way of speaking that seems to draw people and energy towards him.

“What are you looking at extra? Hah?” He snaps at you. You just look at him wide eyed and shake your head, showing that you don’t mean anything by it. He snorts and rolls his eyes, and goes back to his paperwork.

You feel incredulous and can’t believe that, after all the fuss he just pulled he straight up ignores the fact that he has a live human captive in his office. You shook your head. How the hell were you supposed to get out of here? Your fear was starting to disappear and in its place annoyance was quickly surging up. You were tired, needed to sleep and had to wake up early tomorrow to get your shop in order. Yet you couldn’t even speak to the man because of the tape across your mouth. So you decide to grab his attention, and the first step of that was making as much noise as you could through the gag. Which unfortunately, wasn’t much. He didn’t even spare you a glance.

So you decided to make a larger uproar, and start shaking on your chair - which was great for making noise, however for staying upright, not so much. You clatter to the floor with a loud crash and let out a grunt of pain as your head hits the floor, your vision a bit blurry.

“What the fuck are you doing? Seriously?” The man in charge yells and starts stomping towards you and you wince in fear as he approaches. He pulls you and the chair upright by a firm grip on your hair, close to your scalp. At this point you’re crying from pain and a little bit of fear and embarrassment. “What do you want?” he asks, even though you can’t answer. You just look up to him with watery eyes, fucking helpless in the current situation..

He curses a bit looking at you, “You know I should just get this over and done with and kill you.” he says, almost conversationally. “You saw something you shouldn’t have and I need to tie up the loose ends of my business. Can’t be on top if we’ve gotten ratted out by a little lady y’know.” His grin is sharp, it reminds you of a wolf. Despite the situation and how close you are to death, you can’t help but be aroused by both his determined attitude and gorgeous features.

Suddenly he rips off the tape gagging you, and you let out a sob in response to the quick pain that burns around your mouth. “If you’re going to kill me, why are you playing around with me so much?” you ask, a little confused.

He just lets out a laugh. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve even been around an upstanding lady such as yourself? Your reactions to things are so refreshing, everything's new and terrifying for you.”

You can hear your heart hammering in your throat as he pulls a pistol out of his pocket and holds it up to your forehead. Your eyes cross as you desperately try to keep the muzzle in sight, even if you know that it won’t make a difference.

“I promise I won’t say anything to anyone! I just don’t want to die, I have friends, I have a job, please, please don’t kill me!” You start pleading with him and straining against the restraints on your arms and wrists, crying because these could be the last few moments of your life.

He cocks his head to the side, emotionless, staring down at you from above - the light from a lamp hits his face as it turns, lighting up his blood-red eyes. When he smiles you feel as if you’ve already signed off on your death sentence, until he starts laughing so hard he has to bend over. It’s an ugly cackle but you’re too shocked at the rapid switch in behaviour to do or say anything about it.

“Oh my god- this is actually a great opportunity, I didn’t even think about it really, but - yeah alright. I’ll give you a choice, what’s your name?” he doesn’t wait for a response. “You let me use you how I please right now or die.”

What kind of choice did you have really? This was your only chance to see another sunrise, to see another normal day.

“Alright.” you get out, the word sounding sad and broken as it leaves your lips. At your agreeance, he backs off to his desk, placing the pistol down and opening a few drawers until he finds what he’s looking for. Out he pulls a wooden case. Inside another pistol, but this one is clean, more delicate looking and has a longer muzzle. He pulls some bullets from the case that it was in and loads the gun, one at a time, making eye contact with you.

What could he be doing with that? You think as he slowly walks towards the chair where you’re tied up, eyes stuck on his. He shoves the muzzle into your face.

“Open up sweetheart, this will go easy or fucking hard depending on your actions.” he smirks poking your lips with the barrel. You feel your teeth cutting against your lips as you resolutely close them. You aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of making this easy for him.

At least that’s what you think until you feel a blooming pain on the side of your cheekbone, the bastard had pistol whipped you and your mouth fell open in a scream. You feel something cold and metal shoved deep into your throat and you gagged harshly.

“I said, fucking OPEN bitch.” he seethes, shoving the gun deeper and you feel your air supply drastically restricted. “Now be a good girl and suck the gun off, my trigger finger is a bit itchy today.”

Sobbing in embarrassment, you begin to bob your head up and down the gun, shaking in fear. You close your eyes rather than have to look at the sick fascination on the man’s face as he sees you work the gun. You know he’s getting hard because of this and as much as you hate the situation you can feel your arousal growing knowing that he’s likely going to fuck you well.

A few minutes pass, the only sounds being wet noises as you blow the gun, the metallic taste of steel taking over your mouth and combined with your fear, making you want to vomit.

“Enough.” he says suddenly, and you drop your mouth open and take deep breaths trying to steady yourself as he takes it out. You open your eyes and feel your heartbeat race as he pulls out a knife in his left hand. You flinch as he brings it to your lower half, but instead of cutting into you, he instead uses it to rip through all your clothing and tears it off. He smirks as he looks at your cunt quivering as the cool air hits it.

“What’s this? Have you been hiding your enjoyment through your tears?” he leans down putting his face near yours and the gun beside up to your head as his fingers ghost across your lower lips. You bite your lip, you’re not allowing yourself to feel pleasured by this. He sees the determination in your eyes and smiles, always excited for any challenge that crosses his path.

He knows he always wins of course.

You feel him enter a calloused finger into your pussy, the slight stretch making you take a sharp breath as he moves it in and out, occasionally curling the digit. Against your will, your body responds to him, hips moving as much as they can while you’re restrained. When he deems you ready, he adds a second in, scissoring them to open you up. His thumb plays with your clit and you let out small whimpers as you feel your core heat up and start to tighten.

“You like me playing with your pretty pussy, don’t you? No matter how much you try to deny it, I can feel you tightening around my fingers, and I can see your eyes start to dilate.” as much as you want to shout that he’s wrong, you know he’s write. You’re not sure if you hate him or yourself more in that moment.

He suddenly pulls his fingers out and looks at you as you whine needily. “Wanna be full again? I have the perfect idea.” he puts the gun on a hook as he takes out the knife again and cuts the restraints on your arms. Immediately you reach to claw at any bit of him you can reach, but he grabs your hands and lets out a tsk in disappointment.

“I thought you were smarter than that. Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” he manages to hold your wrists together in one hand as he gives you a strong backhand across your face with the other, dazing you. Blearily, you realize he’s tied your two wrists together and cut off your leg restraints. He puts your tied arms behind his head and lifts you with one arm, as he picks up the gun once again and brings you to sit on his lap in his large leather desk chair.

He leans back with a self satisfied sigh as he moves his legs to spread yours further apart, watching as some of your juices drip out of your cunt.

“I want you to listen very carefully,” he says lowly, his voice a growl in your ear that makes you shiver. “What’s going to happen is that I’m going to put this pretty loaded gun up your pussy, and you’re going to get yourself off. If you can’t do that within a couple minutes, I might get impatient and pull the trigger. Got it, sweetheart?”

What else can you do but nod? You have no idea if you can even get yourself off only on penetration with the fear holding you stiff, but if you want to live you’re going to have to do it somehow. You clench in surprise as the cool metal is ruthlessly shoved into you without warning, letting out a moan.

His eyes are on you as you gradually start moving your hips into the gun, feeling it reach deep. His wrist moves in time with your movements, helping you out a bit. You try and force out the entire situation and the fear from your mind, focusing on the sensations. The cool metal providing you some sharp pleasure as you pump yourself up and down the muzzle.

You whimper as you start grinding down faster feeling one of the ridges on the weapon hit your clit every time you bring yourself down on it. You lose track of everything as you shut your eyes and lean your head into the man’s neck. He smells almost as good as he looks and you just let yourself go, losing track of time. You enjoy the sensations and soon enough you bring yourself to the edge.

You can hear yourself whimpering and cum with a shout, your juices flowing down the metal and onto his hand. You open your eyes after feeling spent, as he takes the gun out and sends it clattering onto the table. Making eye contact with you, he lewdly slurps the juices from his hand into his mouth.

“Sweeter than I thought. What a good girl you are for doing it right.” He says stroking your face rather condescending. “Now it’s my turn.”

He unbuckles his belt and shimmies them down as he stands up holding you in his arms. He then drops you onto his cock without warning, as you scream from pain and pleasure as he fills your needy cunt. 

He chuckles, the sound much deeper than before. “That’s right I want to fucking hear you scream, better yet I’ll give you a name to scream out. Katsuki Bakugou.”

He lifts you almost off his cock and slams you down again, thrusting as you come down making you see stars. Soon you’re only crying his name out as you card your fingers through his hair and tug as you lose sense of everything else but the feeling of his cock in you. 

“You take my cock so fucking well sweetheart, I haven’t even found a whore this good.” He practically cackles, speeding up his pace as he chases his own release. He slams your back onto the desk and you howl as your back arches, the pleasure he’s giving you covering up the pain of your body being banged up.

You cum shouting out his name, clamping down on his cock as he releases his load deep into you and takes heaving breaths.

He pulls out and lifts your arms over his head as he gets his clothing back on and straightens out his shirt. You want to move, run, get away, but you can’t bring yourself to even move. The most you can do is blink the tears out of your eyes and blearily look up to him. 

“So now I can go right?” You ask, your voice shaking. “You said I could live if you fucked me.”

He just laughs. “I said you could live, I didn’t say your were leaving sweetheart.”

You wail as your heart drops and you realize just how utterly fucked you are.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Widower (A Dad!Diego/The Umbrella Academy Fic)

A/N: I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So I am putting it out into the universe. But not actually making it canon (when did the Dad!Diego fics develop a canon? What is life?) so feel free to just pretend it never happened. I just needed to be angsty. Word Count: 1270 Content Warnings: Major Character Death; poorly handled grief; a few well placed swears

It had been a long time since he’d worn black. Ever since Y/N came into his life, he hadn’t felt like he needed it. He could be freer, he could let color in, he could be happy, content.

Eugene squirmed on his lap. The little boy was too young to know what was going on, just that he was uncomfortable in his itchy black baby-sized suit and that he was bored. Maggie knew a little better, in that she sensed that something was wrong, and that he was sad and squirming or complaining were the wrong thing to do. So she sat dutifully beside her father and brother on the hardback chairs, legs swinging slightly, and tried her hardest to be good. 

“Hey Diego,” Allison murmured, suddenly appearing in the row behind him, leaning forward to talk softly to her brother, a tenderness between them that wasn’t usually there. “Do you want me to take the kids tonight, give you a little time to...deal with things by yourself?”

He turned to look back at his sister, so tired of being sad that his expression was completely blank, lifeless behind the eyes.

“T-t-t-t-t-that’s…” he closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I c-c-c-an’t.”

His stutter hadn’t been this bad since they were just young kids, since he had their father scolding him several times a day for not living up to an impossible standard. Her frown deepened.

“Diego, what do you mean you can't? It wouldn’t be an imposition, and…”

He shook his head. “N-no. If I...i-if th-they’r-re n-not…” his voice dropped to a mumble unable to force his mouth to make sounds at full volume. 

“Never s-s-see th-e-em-m ag-g-g-ain,” she managed to catch, and immediately she wrapped her arms around him from their awkward position. Of course after everything that he’d been through this past week that would be his fear. She felt guilty that she hadn’t thought of it right away.

“Oh Diego,” she sighed. “They’ll be alright, I’ll make sure of it. Or I can take them to the Academy, have everyone there to watch out for them. But I understand. As a parent, your kids mean the world to you. We could have a ‘sleepover’ at your place? Me and Claire, and maybe the others?”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to tell her that he’d be okay. But he knew that was a lie. He didn’t think he’d ever be okay again. But all the old habits Y/N had helped him break - the determination that he had to do everything alone and the certainty that he wasn’t allowed to show how he was feeling - came crashing back down around him like prison bars. 

“No,” he snapped, pulling away from her comforting touch. “I’ll h-handle it.”

“If you change your mind…”

“I’m fine, Allison.”

~

“Daddy,” Maggie asked him a few mornings later at breakfast. “W-where’s Mom-my?”

His eyes met her confused and pleading ones, the beat of his heart catching with the familiar skips of her stutter, and something inside him snapped. He dropped to his knees, face buried in his hands. 

“Daddy?” she asked, voice as full of concern as a four-year-old’s could be. 

But in that moment, tumbling head over heels, around and around, in the black hole of his despair, he could no longer hear his daughter. He couldn’t feel it when her little hand tugged at his shirt. Because it required a person to do those things, and he wasn’t anymore. He was nothing but his grief. 

“Diego,” a voice cut through his fugue. He couldn’t remember when he stopped crying, giving in to emptiness instead. There was nothing special about the voice, but something tickled in his mind that said it wasn’t supposed to be there. “Diego, get up.”

He thought he might have shook his head. 

“Diego, please,” the voice asked, begged. “Your children need you.”

Klaus. It was Klaus talking to him. What was he doing here? How did he get into his house? Where had he been at the fucking funeral?

He sat up and shoved at the hands on his shoulders, pushing Klaus away from him with a snarl, like a feral animal, full of hate and pain and fear and nothing somehow all at once.

“Okay. Calm down,” he couldn’t remember the last time he had heard Klaus sound so level. Because of course he wasn’t phased. It wasn’t his wife, the love of his life lying in a coffin under a mound of fresh dirt. 

“What do you want Klaus?” he snapped, choosing anger over the pain or the numbness he had been cycling through.

“Maggie called me. She’s very hard to understand over the phone. But she said you wouldn’t get up and asked me to come fix it.”

“You can’t. You can’t fix this. Nobody can.” His voice started as a growl and faded to a sigh.

“I know that, Diego. But my niece, your daughter, called and she was scared and what else was I supposed to do? Five’s here too, my chauffeur, entertaining the Squirt and the Bean so I could talk to you.”

“Like you actually care.”

“What?! Of course I care. You’re family, all of you. Including Y/N.”

“Then why didn’t you bother to come to the funeral?”

“I don’t mix well with funeral homes or graveyards. I...just couldn’t.”

Diego frowned, wanting to snap at his brother that he should have been there anyway, but knowing that it wouldn’t have been what she wanted. Y/N had understood Klaus’s fears and nightmares almost instinctively and done everything she could to help him with them. She wouldn’t have wanted him torture himself on her account, not when she wasn’t really there anymore. So he pulled back, shifted into a seated position on the floor, sitting across from Klaus and staring off into the distance.

“Have you...seen her?” he asked after a long while, voice flat.

Klaus shook his head regretfully. “Not yet. I can try again to conjure her, for you right now, if you want?”

Diego thought about it, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Was that what he wanted? In that moment?

“No. Just, if you do find her or however it works, tell her…” he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to gather the words within him. 

“A-ask her why she le-ft,” he blurted out. “Why she a-bb-bandoned us. I c-c-c-an’t do this al-l-lone without her.” 

Another sob shook his body and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut. Klaus was quick to catch him, holding his brother up. 

“If she had the choice, I’m sure Y/N would have stayed here, for you. But she couldn’t. I know it’s not fair and sucks,” he sighed, thinking of Dave briefly before returning his focus to the matter at hand. 

“You’re not alone,” he continued sagely. “I know it’s not the same as her, but you have all of us, if you’d just stop being so goddamn stubborn and let us help you. Team Zero and all that shit or whatever.”

When Diego looked up, his view danced past Klaus to Five in the doorway, Eugene asleep on his shoulder, tiny fist balled in the lapel of Five’s jacket (he still wore that goddamn uniform so often and it was weird, though Y/N had said it made sense, a sense of identity wrapped in blue linen). 

“We’re all here for you,” the oldest Hargreeves assured. “And for them.” He nodded his head toward his nephew with a faint, fond smile. “No matter what.”

[mypoisonedvine]

The Bruises We Give Each Other - dark!Bucky x Reader (chapter 2)

(read chapter 1 here)

Warnings: non con smut, some violence, drugging

Word Count: 2.3k

Taglist: still just @hnryycvll @onceiwasanun and @badwolfbadwolf lol

Wandering Star

You’d learned to trust your intuition.  So, when you felt eyes on you while you were standing in your apartment, you knew exactly who it was.  

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” you said, turning to face him where he was crouched in your window.  He must have opened it while you were in the shower-- you felt the draft coming in now, somehow you hadn’t noticed before.

“Neither did I,” he responded simply.

His voice was lower than you remembered.  He hadn’t spoken at all when you’d seen him last, two weeks ago when he’d violated you on the floor.  You felt filthy even just remembering it.

“You can come inside, if you’d like,” you offered, though you regretted the wording. “Not that you need my permission for anything.”

He silently jumped down from the ledge and into your living room.  It was odd to see him in your home, when you’d only ever seen him inside the compound where you had worked before he so inconveniently killed everyone-- everyone except you, of course.  That part still made you feel very confused.  You figured he felt strange seeing you in a robe and not your work uniform.  

Yes, he certainly did have a reaction to the robe, because the first thing he did was step towards you and pull the waist-tie until it was undone.  You froze under his touch, feeling goosebumps ripple over your skin, emanating from where you could just barely the warmth of his touch on your waist through the terrycloth.

Metal fingers guided the fabric off your shoulders, and they were fucking freezing-- no wonder, with the winter weather outside.  He never seemed to mind it, never wearing much heavy gear for the cold when he was on a mission.  But he wasn’t on a mission now… was he?

You felt less uncomfortable than you expected to as you were naked before him while he was still clothed.  Even if he hadn’t seen you naked before, you got the sense there wasn’t much you could hide from him.

His hand reached up and cradled your face, and his thumb ran over the bruise on your cheek where he’d punched you.  He said nothing, but lifted his shirt to show the bruise on his gut where you’d kicked him when you tried to crawl away.

He winced as he pressed two fingers against the mark.

"Don't hurt yourself," you instinctively requested.  Why you wouldn't want him to hurt was a mystery even to you.

"Makes me think of you," he shrugged.

Pain made you think of him, too.  You had been sore all over for a long time… the marks had only just started to fade.  And though you didn’t know why he was here, you were pretty sure you would have more before he left.

His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer.  You squeaked a little, unsure of his intentions, but then he scooped you up and carried you to the sofa.  You felt awkward and small and very confused as you were folded in his arms in his walk across your living room before he set you down.  The cushions were sort of scratchy against your bare skin-- amazingly, you usually weren’t naked on this particular piece of furniture.  As he laid you back, his lips ghosted over where your neck met your shoulders and his stubble made you itchy.  Then he bit you, and you yelped.  

“Warm,” he whispered against your skin as he held you, and it was so much softer than he had any right to be.  For the first time, you really regretted the life he must have lived… or rather, the life he wasn’t able to live, because of you. 

Fingers trailed down to your legs, which he pulled apart-- gentler than you’d expected, mainly because you put up no resistance.  Two fingers prodded between your legs, and he didn’t even need to pull your underwear aside to make his next observation: “Wet,” he murmured.

You blushed, wishing you weren’t so sensitive to him.  You accepted that you weren’t afraid of him, because it couldn’t get much worse than it had already been, but you wished that you weren’t aroused by him.

Two fingers, this time skin and not machinery, pressed into you.  You hissed, still sore from his intrusion before.  He must have found that sort of thrilling because you saw his jaw clench.  Not that you were watching his face.  You’d seen that damn face every day for years, and then two weeks without it and you were wondering why he looked so different.  

As two fingers twisted inside you, his thumb pressed into your clit.  He watched you with an intense stare as your back arched and your eyes fell shut.  Closing your eyes made your heart race with fear, as if being able to see him would do anything to keep you safe.  He was strong enough to do anything he wanted to you, and you were tactical enough not to resist it.  You could choose to watch it happen or choose not to.

You hated how wet you were.  You could feel it.  You could hear it.  

His fingers slipped out of you and circled your clit, only to press them back in a moment later; it stung just as much as the first time, and you groaned.

“So tight,” he cooed, and you felt your face getting hot.  

You looked away when he began to open his jeans and free his cock.  It was all too fucking much.  He didn’t seem to mind, stroking himself with his hand, the fingers that had been inside you providing some slickness.  

You instinctively flinched away when he began to lean down, but gasped when he sucked a nipple between his lips and toyed with the bud using his tongue.  It was actually a delicate movement, and yet your sensitivity was heightened such that it made shivers run up your spine.  He moaned, ever so lightly, against your skin.  

Teeth grazed you and you yelped a little.  It was at that moment that he pressed his hips against yours, his length flush against you as he began to move and rub over your swollen clit.  His mouth left you and you watched as his head fell back in pleasure, and the sight made a series of unwanted feelings flood your brain.  

He rutted against you with a litany of groans as his cock slid through your folds, which happily supplied lubrication without much encouragement.  Just as you hoped he would finish soon and leave again, you felt his hand reach between you to guide himself to your opening.

“No more,” you whimpered.  “I can’t.  Not again.”

“You can,” he encouraged.

“I can’t,” you assured.

“You will,” he insisted, darker than before.  You whimpered but resigned yourself not to resist.

As before, your self-preservation instincts kicked in unexpectedly when he pressed the head of his cock inside you and it stung, awakening old wounds and forging some new ones as well.  Your hands flew to his chest, trying to push him off of you, but of course it was useless-- his hands wrapped around your wrists and pinned them to the armrest above your head.  He looked down at you and he didn’t seem angry or vindictive.  His face was stoic, if not a little hurt or even dejected.  You weren’t sure what to make of that.  What did he expect from you, after everything?  

He pressed further into you, slowly.  You got the impression that the pace was not about easing your pain but prolonging it, and he watched your expression morph as you tried not to cry out.  You bit your lip and forced your eyes shut, suppressing as much of your responses to his movements as you could.

He was moving so slow and there was so much of him to take, it began to feel like it would take forever.  When he finally pressed his hips against yours, he let out a little gasp before pushing against you just enough to painfully brush your cervix.

“Fuck!” you yelped, though you didn’t realize at first you’d said it in Russian.  Sometimes it slipped out. 

Nothing had ever been so deep inside you before, and you felt a headache coming on from the sheer intensity of it all.  

He pulled back just as slowly as he had pressed in, shuddering before starting the process all over again.

“S-sergeant Barnes,” you pleaded.

“Hm?” he prompted.

“More, please,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you want me to fuck you harder?”

“I want you to get this over with.”

His metal hand flew to your neck.  

“Stop acting like you don’t love it.  I know you do,” he hissed.

You didn’t even attempt to speak, just focusing on breathing as best you could with his grip around your throat.

He hooked an arm under your leg and pulled it onto his shoulder; he was so deep in you now that you yelped.

The hand on your throat moved to your jaw and gripped your face, wrenching it until you were looking up at him.

“Beg,” he commanded.

“Never,” you barked back.

And then he was fucking you, so fast and so hard and so needy, and your voice was too lost to scream so all you could do was gasp and choke.

You lost track of time at that point.  You let yourself run away into your mind until you weren’t even sure what was happening anymore.  You retained a few key moments: he wrapped his arms around you and you thought it was strange; you came twice, once right as he spilled himself inside you; there was a long silence afterward, and you might have fallen asleep at some point, or maybe you were just spaced out.

You were stirred back to reality at the sound of a kettle hissing.  You realized you were still laying on your couch, and sat up to see Barnes in your kitchen, taking the kettle off the stove and pouring some hot water over a tea bag.

You stood up onto wobbly legs and slipped on your robe from where it was discarded on the floor.

You watched him for a minute.  You’d never seen him do anything like this.  You didn’t even know if he’d had tea before.  

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said suddenly. “Yeah, you using my kettle is the least of my concerns,” you sighed.

He smirked a little, grabbing some milk from your fridge to add once it was done steeping.

“Least you could do is make me a cuppa,” you shrugged.

“Milk?”

“Sugar,” you answered instead.  “It’s by the toaster oven.”

You sat at the little table just outside the kitchen, waiting for him to come back with the steaming mugs of tea, which was only a moment of waiting.  He picked for you the one you got for supporting the local opera house.  He picked for himself a plain, dark blue one.

As he sat across from you, you expected him to say something-- he seemed like he had something to say, since he was still here.  But as he slid the cuppa over to you and took a sip of his own, he said nothing, and you two were plunged into silence.  

“Is there… something you want me to say?” you asked quietly.

“If there was, would you say it?” he returned with a raised brow.

“Depends on if it’s true,” you admitted.

“I’m curious if you have any regrets,” he relented.  “I was wondering if you would ever… apologize.”

You nodded.  “I guess that’s a reasonable thing to want.  But no, I’m not going to apologize for what happened to you--”

“What you did to me,” he corrected.

“--in the facility.”

“Why not?” 

“Everything I did to you, I did for a reason,” you explained.

“I could say the same thing,” he replied darkly.

“Well, my reasons weren’t quite so selfish,” you scoffed. 

He scoffed.  “Don’t you dare tell me that you were ‘just doing your job.’  I heard that about a hundred times that day.”

You considered that for a moment.  “I wasn’t just doing my job, but I was doing a job, and I was very good at it.  You were good at your job, too.”  You sighed.  “But, that’s all over now.”

“You chose to do what you did,” he shuddered.  “I never had a choice.”

You’d never really understood his obsession with choice, with freedom.  A side effect of his flamboyant American sensibilities, you presumed.  But you got it now, at least a bit better.

“I have a car downstairs,” he explained as he drank the last of his tea.  “We’re going to get in it, and I’m taking you to the lab.”

“The lab?  It’s destroyed.”

“I’m taking you to what’s left of it then.”

“To do what?”

“You’ll see,” he shrugged.  “Are you going to make this difficult?”

“No,” you answered quickly.

“Maybe I should use this anyways,” he proposed, pulling a syringe from his jacket-- how long had that been there?-- and brandishing it, “in case you struggle.”

“I won’t,” you promised, but you were already getting anxious, and you knew he could see it.

“You always say that,” he recalled, “but then you try to fight me.” He stepped closer to you, and popped the cap off the needle.  You willed yourself to relax but you knew he saw the fear in your eyes.

“It won’t hurt,” he promised, “it’ll calm you down.  Keep you docile.”

“No, wait--”

It was already in your neck.  Just like he predicted, you were fighting, but against sleep this time rather than him.  Logically, you knew you couldn’t will yourself to resist a drug’s effect on your body, but still a part of you was clawing at consciousness as your eyes fell shut.

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Fourteen

This chapter was so hard, you guys. I hope it kind of works. If it doesn’t, feel free to write your own version. That’s what fanfic’s for, after all.

In which Wei Wuxian experiences A Reckoning

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen

--

Wei Wuxian sits in the dark, under a tree, and tries to meditate. Inhale (he knows, he knows, he knows). Exhale (a low buzzing, a rushing like wind through the Burial Mounds).

There must be order. He cannot shake apart, he can’t be driven mad, he’s not that wounded, starving boy anymore. He will approach it like a complicated talisman he wants to recreate. Break things down.

Lan Wangji knows. It stands to reason that the rest of Gusu Lan knows—or at least the Sect Leader and Grandmaster. And they agreed to his punishment, bore him as a shame to the sect. Made him a commoner.

You made yourself a commoner. A cultivator without a core is no cultivator, therefore not nobility, therefore common. That’s the mathematics of it. Who took your core away? You did.

So what’s the problem, really? The Lan Sect has broken nothing, betrayed nothing. They have treated Wei Wuxian as a villain, deemed him a villain based on all the information possible.

The Lan clan are learned, virtuous, just. Lan Wangji is learned, virtuous, just. And if Lan Wangji sees him as a villain, then…

Then he’s a villain. Fine. He doesn’t mind being the villain. It doesn’t mean he’s evil, it means—

It means you were wrong.

A night bird screams somewhere behind him, and he flinches.

There it is. There’s the nerve. 

Under everything, every laugh, every tease, every clever sidestep, the root of it all is this unshakeable belief that he is right. He can play anyone because he knows something they don’t—that Wei Wuxian is always right. Even after everything he’s been through, he hasn’t had any regrets, because what he did was right. He saved his brother, he defended himself. That was right.

And raising an army of corpses, and cultivating as far down the dark path as you could before they caught you, all of that was right?

He never needed to be a hero, a genius, a beauty. Anytime someone flattered and admired him when he was younger, it never felt right, felt like an itchy shirt in the wrong size. It wasn’t flattery you wanted. You never needed anything from outside. You’ve just always needed to be right. 

And be honest—the voice inside him spits it at him like venom—the whole time you’ve worked here, lived as a servant, it’s not the dishonor or the work that hurts you. They want you shamed, but you aren’t, not really. It’s that it wasn’t your idea. If you’d just decided to walk away, gone to live as a farmer somewhere, wouldn’t you have been proud of yourself? Wei Wuxian, who fooled them all. Wei Wuxian who walked away.

His hackles raise, his mind springing so typically to its own defense. (What else was I to do? What would they do, if they were in my place?) But the root of that defense, the “what else could I do”—it still comes back to his fucking pride.

He doesn’t like to look at that inner spine of pride. Never has. (I never needed anything from anyone.) The defensive voice is small, but stronger, finding its feet. (How can I be proud if I never needed anything from anyone?)

That makes it worse, the venom leaks from between his teeth, over his lip, staining his skin with invisible truth. So proud that you never valued anything outside your own mind. The only standards that matter are your own.

(It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t have a choice. Things just happened to me.)

It takes pride to be a martyr too, Wei Ying.

He’s been telling himself that all the ugliness inside him came from the Burial Mounds, came as the result of his sacrifice, but what if he’s been wrong? It was there earlier, the whole time. That horrible, vicious pride. The pride that made him take an extra beating, even though he knew it hurt Yanli and Uncle Jiang to watch. The pride that never let Jiang Cheng win, even when he saw how much he needed it. The pride that only ever let him tease Lan Wangji during that perfect summer, made him push and push and push beyond what any reasonable person could take, but never ask for what he wanted, never offer anything true. The pride that drove him to the edge of his abilities, raising corpses without provocation, testing the boundaries of what he’s capable of, just because he can. Just to see what’s possible. It’s a blade without a handle, this pride; it cuts him too.

(Attempt the impossible.) The defending voice is a child, learning the motto for the first time. (I didn’t have a choice, it’s how they raised me.)

Poor Wei Ying. Nothing is his fault. Nothing is ever, ever his fault. 

The whirlpool opens up inside him, an Abyss leading him down, down, howling in his ears. Creatures move around him in the dark woods, snapping branches, breathing in the dark. The venom voice grows like a dog inside his mind, and the child shrinks back, desperate for something to hide behind. He can’t breathe; his lungs are stone, his bones are iron, he’s going to sink into the earth and leave no trace behind, and no one will miss him.

Get up.

It’s not the defender, and it’s not the accuser. It’s familiar. It’s—

Get up, Wei Ying.

It’s Madam Xiao.

Get up, Wei Ying. There’s work to be done.

No, it’s Madam Yu. 

Get up, Wei Ying. You’re no good to anyone crying in the dark.

It’s Cangse Sanren.

Get up, Wei Ying. You’re still alive, aren’t you? You survived the ghost mountain, you climbed your way with bleeding feet to the top of a pile of corpses and conquered them all. And this is where you give up? What, will you be chewed to death by rabbits? Get up, you silly boy.

Wei Wuxian gets up.

---

He is rolling up his one spare shirt and pair of trousers when Lin Biming finds him. If he’s surprised to see the bag on the bed in front of him, he doesn’t show it.

“Where will you go?” he asks, and in the half-light of the empty sleeping quarters he looks old, sad.

“Wherever you like. Send me anywhere, sell me off, trade me for someone competent. Someone who doesn’t scorch the laundry, eh, Master Lin?”

Lin Biming doesn’t smile back. 

“Surely another sect would take me. It’s not fair that Gusu bears this shame alone. The Grandmaster was right about that.”

Lin Biming goes to a chest in the corner and pulls out an extra blanket. He rolls it neatly and holds it out. Wei Wuxian takes it and turns to pack it away, blinking hard against the sweetness of it.

“I—” he starts, but he’s cut off.

“I’ll need to speak to the Sect Leader. If I just let you go, that’s a diplomatic issue.”

“Of course.” There’s so much more to say, to apologize for. The man deserves an explanation, but Wei Wuxian can’t think of where to begin.

“Get yourself some leftover dinner from the kitchen. I’m not sure how long your trip will be.”

Wei Wuxian slings the bag over his shoulder and follows him out the door. He tries not to think about the weight of little Lan Sizhui on his back as he ducks away towards the kitchen. Before he can enter, a hand grabs his elbow.

“Wei-qianbei?”

“Wen Ning? What are you doing here?”

“The little ones can’t sleep, so I wanted to find you. Why do you have a bag?”

Wei Wuxian looks around, but can’t find a way to stall. Take the pain, you’ve earned it.

“I have to leave.”

Wen Ning’s eyes go wide and round, his dear little mouth falling open. “Why? Did we— What did we do wrong?”

Wei Wuxian throws his arms around him. “Nothing, nothing at all. Never, ever, ever. It’s all big world things, nothing to do with you.”

“But we need you.” Wen Ning’s hands grasp the back of his shirt. “Please, you can’t leave.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s like being cut open again, things removed from inside his chest. “Wen Ning, I—”

“You have to say goodbye to them.” Wen Ning lets him go and steps back, jaw set.

“I can’t.”

“You have to. None of the others ever said goodbye. But you’re different, right? You have to be different. For the little ones, at least. They won’t understand.”

“They’ll forget soon enough. And you have your jiejie. Isn’t that better? She’ll take care of you, and you’ll forget all about this one servant. It’ll be better with her. Aren’t you glad she’s here now?”

I’m right, I’m right, agree with me.

“I am, but . . .” Wen Ning’s brow is furrowed, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t think, when she got here, I didn’t think I’d have to choose.”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Wen Ning nods once, growing a year in that one gesture, and leaves. Wei Wuxian is numb, no feeling in his fingers, no heartbeat.

He stumbles away from the kitchen (away, away, away echoing in his mind), heading for the main path down the mountain. Lin Biming can find him here, or they can send guards to capture him, he just needs to keep walking. His skin is nailed to the wall of the kitchen, and every step pulls another inch of it away.

He’s just stepped out under the trees when he hears “WEI WUXIAN” shouted with a full burst of spiritual energy, echoing and reverberating off the stone beneath him. Sparks fly past his ears and he freezes, shocked out of his despair.

He turns around gingerly to find Wen Qing staring him down, her hair loose and one red robe hurriedly thrown over her sleeping clothes. A few white clad figures are hurrying down the path behind her, but Wei Wuxian can’t look away from the fury on her face.

“Wen Qing?”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have to. After what you said. They know, and I can’t stay here if they know and it makes no difference.”

“What difference is it supposed to make? What does it matter?” He’s never heard her so angry, and the part of him that isn’t legitimately frightened is downright proud. 

He can see the figures behind her now, Lin Biming, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji.

“Just let me go, Wen Qing. It’s fine. I was only ever going to get in the way—”

“You made my little brother cry!” she bellows, and a hot wind blows his hair back from his face.

Lan Xichen reaches out to touch her arm gently.

“Lady Wen, if I may?” He turns to Wei Wuxian, looking tired but patient. “Wei Wuxian, I understand that today was difficult. Wen Chao’s reaction was . . . regrettable. And if you cannot stay in Cloud Recesses, we respect your wishes. You have more than earned that.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him, confused. “It’s not about today.”

“It’s not?”

“All this time, I—” Wei Wuxian looks around at all of them, at a loss for words. “All this time I thought you didn’t know the truth. About my golden core. I thought if you did, then you might— but I was wrong. And I don’t know what that mean; I don’t know what I am anymore; I don’t know what I’m good for, and I can’t figure that out here.”

“Why not?” It’s Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian covers his face and groans into his hands. Because of you, and the way you’re looking at me right now, because your hands are so big and warm and your eyes are so soft, and none of it means anything, and I can’t handle it.

“We all know you lost your golden core,” Lan Xichen says gently. 

“You can’t tell Jiang Cheng.” He’s a moment away from falling to his knees. “Please, you owe me nothing, but please. It will destroy him.”

“I don’t understand,” Lan Xichen sounds like he is really, truly trying. “What does Jiang Wanyin have to do with—”

“Because he’s the one who has it!”

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing says, grabbing his hands. “I’ve told no one. I swore to you I wouldn’t.”

“But you said—”

“I swore to you.”

“You said he knows. You told me that Lan Zhan knows.” His hands are the only real part of him, tethered by hers. The rest of him is smoke, looking for a shape, a container, floating around as nothing. His vision is blurry, like the moment before fainting.

“Wei Ying.” She grabs his face and shakes him a little. “I meant that he knows how you feel about him. I thought that’s what you were saying. Everyone knows. You’d have to be a blind fool not to.”

The complete reversal of Wei Wuxian’s entire life is interrupted by a quiet gasp to his right. 

“How Wei Ying feels . . . about me?” Lan Wangji is staring at him, eyebrows furrowed.

Wen Qing sighs. “And clearly I was wrong anyway.”

“And clearly,” Lan Xichen says, “there is information we are lacking.”

Wen Qing looks over at him for a long moment, then nods. “Wei Ying, it’s time to tell them.”

“Can I sit down?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he drops down into the dirt, legs kicked out like a half-crushed spider. Lan Wangji rushes over to kneel beside him, one hand hovering an inch away from his forehead.

“Are you all right?”

“You’re not the doctor,” Wei Wuxian says faintly. “She is.”

“Is he sick?” Lan Wangji asks the others.

Wen Qing smacks Wei Wuxian’s face gently. “He’ll be fine. Wei Ying, I’m going to talk to Lan Xichen. You talk to Wangji.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You invented a new type of cultivation while living off corpse potatoes and carrion. You’ll figure it out.”

Without another word, she turns to Lan Xichen and nods, gesturing him back up the path. Lin Biming, looking as stressed as ever, grabs Wei Wuxian’s bag and hurries after them.

“I guess I’m staying,” Wei Wuxian says, and somehow that sets him off laughing. “I think I’m going mad.”

“What did you mean. Wei Ying. When you said ‘he has it.’ What did you mean?”

Finally, Wei Wuxian’s eyes focus, and he can’t stop a smile at Lan Wangji’s worried face. How strange that he used to think he had no expression.

“I don’t think I can stand up right now, Lan Zhan. Will you sit by me?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t hesitate, he sits down in the dirt, white robes and all. They must make an absurd picture, white and grey sprawled out on the path like cast off clothing.

“Lan Zhan, I’m going to tell you a story. But you have to promise—”

“I promise.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan! You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“It doesn’t matter. I promise.”

The promise is a building. A house for him to live in. He stops drifting and feels the ground underneath him, and then he begins.

Part Fifteen

[voldemorthatesnose96]

Could you write a fic or a drabble with established relationship Sobbe where Sander voluntarily admits himself back into the hospital but this time Robbe goes to visit him everyday and he and Sander spend time together doing things that make Sander happy and just a whole lot of supportive!Robbe?

Exactly on Thursday night, at 00.12 AM, right when Sander walked in into their room at the flat, he said, “I need to go back to the hospital”. Shocked would be an understatement that time, but before Robbe could said anything, Sander explained that it was just him and him only; no other reasons or someone involved with his decision. After a lot of tears, hug and few discussions later for three days straight, Sander is finally admitted to the place where he used to be treated years ago. And now, Robbe is standing right in front of the his boyfriend’s hospital room—taking a very deep breath, before entering. As usual, he’s bringing new clothes, lunch box, snacks and a new sketchbook. Four days turning into thirteen, thirteen turning into twenty five, and twenty five is turning into thirty seven days. Time flies so fast and there isn’t a single day where Robbe not visiting Sander and being with him until the visiting hour is done.

“Hi, Mr Driesen.”

The first time Robbe visited the day after his boyfriend had admitted himself, Robbe had imposed his personality upon the room already. Some random sketches were scattered all around the floor; both the finished and the unfinished one—when Robbe was asking there wasn’t a single sketch of himself or them both on the those papers, Sander ruffled his hair and said “do you think I would just let your handsome face got wasted on this cold hard concrete? They are all on my sketchbooks and files, dummy!”—then, his usual leather jacket on the bed just lying absentmindedly, a poster of Bowie on the wall in front of him and a frame of their holiday pic in Sweden few years ago on the desk beside his bed. Robbe remembered a stupid accident during that trip, but it was for another story.

Sander’s immediate reaction when he sees Robbe walking towards him is always the same; a radiant smile that could light up the whole room. His hair is brunette now and cut short. Although Robbe misses Sander’s platinum blond hair very much but seeing him with his natural hair color like this, is also pleasing. Sander leans in and kisses Robbe’s entire face first before the lips. For the past two weeks, he always does that and not giving a reason why—but Robbe doesn’t mind that at all.

“Did you bring my sketchbook?”

Instead of answering to his boyfriend’s question, Robbe gives him a playful grin instead and says, “sketchbook or McDonalds fries first?”

“Both!” Sander replies automatically.

Robbe shakes his head, “sometimes you really gotta choose. Now, choose or I won’t give them all to you.”

“You could be very infuriating, Robin.”

“I know. Same goes to you. So? Which one is it?”

Sander sighs. Though his hands are itchy to draw something, but the grumbling sound of his stomach matters more.

“Alright. The fries, then.”

Robbe lets an adorable giggle as he lets himself sitting on the bed. His boyfriend is looking at him while Robbe’s busy taking out the fries and ketchup from his backpack.

“What?”

Sander shakes his head while lifting one hand to caresses Robbe’s cheek. The thing he usually does when he’s just... feeling grateful whenever the love of his life still here—supporting him, caring for him, loving him as he is. No matter how he could be such a pain the ass sometimes. Last month was his 26th birthday and the fact that it was just them two celebrating, at their own flat, was one of the most wonderful moment that could ever happened in his life. There are so many things he wants to say, but even when he tries to speak, only one phrase is coming out from his mouth.

“Ik zie u graag.”

Robbe turns his head slightly until his lips touches Sander’s palm and kisses it, “I love you too. But can we eat now? I’m kinda hungry.”

“You’re ruining the mood, Mr IJzermans.” Sander laughs but not rejecting Robbe’s hand which offering him three pieces of the fries. He suddenly remembers that it’s been almost a year since Sander had McDonalds fries. It still tastes heavenly, though.

After that, they decide to play Monopoli and Uno. Sander is terrible at Uno while Robbe is absolutely horrible at Monopoli—somehow he always ends up either in jail or losing too much money due to rent and taxes. The most favorite thing they love to do is lying on the bed, while Sander is hugging Robbe and letting him plays with his hair until he’s falling asleep; but sometimes they’re switching roles for it. It’s nearly 6 PM, which means Robbe has to go before the nurse comes in and tells him to—which is just as sucks as he forcing himself to get himself up from bed and leaving his boyfriend all alone again.

“You’re doing great,” Robbe kisses Sander’s lips before saying goodbye. “And I’m incredibly proud of you. I don’t know when will you be coming home but it doesn’t matter, because I would still coming back here everyday. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Sander smiles. His green eyes always darkened everytime he’s feeling sad or guilty.

“What would you like me to bring tomorrow?”

Instead of answering, Sander gently pulls Robbe closer and holds him tight. He buries his face in Robbe’s neck and inhales the scents on his body and clothes. And whenever Robbe is holding himself tighter, his heart always soars. There’s one thing Sander has been keeping secret from his boyfriend for these last three days; today is actually his last day being here and tomorrow, it’s gonna be him to bring himself to Robbe. Of course Sander can’t tell him yet, so he says, between his usual smirks.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow morning, Robin.”

[tearsofsyrup]

For an ask game about sending two namew and two scenarios - what about roommate Jun or roommate Joshua, when there are some tension between you two, then he's mumbling your name during sleep one night, you're waking them up, worried it's a nightmare, but it was already a HoT dream about youu aaand something happens......(you can change something since Im not giving a second scenario aaand write it of course only if you want to 💕🌺)

vivid dreams.  joshua.  smut.  1083 words.

notes. this was so hard to choose! but I went with my gut. thank you, anon!

-

You turn with a suppressed whine, seemingly unable to find a comfortable position under your thick duvet. Fatigue is pulling at your eyelids but your muscles are itchy, yearning to squirm and move despite tomorrow’s early morning. How obnoxious, you internally tell your body, frowning into your sheets.

Until a soft hum catches your attention.

Your ears open to listen more closely and you freeze in place, just barely able to consider that you might have imagined the noise when a similar one vibrates through the air again. Rolling over, you let your eyes find your roommate’s figure through the darkness where he lies beneath the sheets on his own bed. He slightly shifts, clearly asleep.

Pushing yourself up to a sitting position, you gently sigh, fingers running through your knotty hair while a yawn slowly crawls its way up your throat. Joshua’s eyebrows furrow. Your head nods in understanding.

This occurrence is not an unfamiliar one. At first, you were worried about having a sleep-talker as a roommate, scared that it would be a hindrance to your slumber. But thankfully Joshua is one of the quiet kind and he doesn’t do it regularly enough for it to be a problem. Though, he did inform you that he is usually having a nightmare if he begins talking in his sleep and that waking him up from it would be appreciated.

So as you have done in the past, your bare feet land on the floor and you stand up before carefully tiptoeing towards your roommate’s bed, making sure to avoid tripping on the clothes lying messily across your carpet.

But your body stiffens when your name is what falls from Joshua’s lips next, through increasingly heavy breaths.

Curiosity laces through the wrinkles on your forehead, eyes wide and wondering as you analyze the young man’s face. Suddenly you really want to know what Joshua is dreaming about and why you are involved. This is new.

Finally, you find yourself kneeling, hearing him groaning another, longer time and ignoring the way the sound awakens something within your abdomen. Swallow. You prepare yourself to wake him up.

But Joshua begins stirring before you can, effectively kicking the sheets off his body and letting your eyes quickly fall on the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants.

And as you sharply inhale, past events flash across your mind. That time when Joshua walked in on you while you were changing after a shower and how he was unable to look you in the eye for at least the two following days. That time when you were wearing shorts and Joshua would not quit staring at your legs before not-so-secretly smirking to himself. That time when you were on the beach with your mutual friends and your eyes were all but glued to the sight of his naked, wet chest.

You shoot straight up into a standing position at the intimidating erection that is in no way hidden by the thin fabric of his pants. And you dumbly stumble on something on the floor, face beet red and unbearably hot after your butt lands with a loud thud. So this is why you should clean, you realize.

Joshua’s eyes slowly open, chest still noticeably rising and falling. He looks confused when he registers your form on the floor, staring at him alike a deer caught in headlights. You must look ridiculous.

“Wha…” he trails off, voice rough with slumber. You gulp, listening to your thundering heartbeat.

“Uhh,” you begin, tone more frail and high-pitched than typical. “No- I was, uhh- You were talking again… In your eh, sleep. I was ju- I was gonna wake you up.”

You will your eyes to stay fixed on his face, as to not alarm him of the room’s third companion. It doesn’t work. Of course not, considering that the third companion is a part of his body that he can very much feel.

Joshua watches his boner for a moment, before quickly covering it with a hand and raising his stare to meet yours. He looks awake now. “Oh, uhh…”

You struggle to stand but eventually do, avoiding his eye and scratching the back of your head. “Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to interru- I don’t know. Sorry.”

A raspy chuckle passes through the air and you can’t help but glance at your roommate, confused. He looks embarrassed, sheepish and amused, all at the same time.

“Sorry? For what?” he questions.

You squirm.

“Ehh, I don’t know. For waking you up. I mean, the dream must-” You force yourself to shut up past that.

Joshua’s smile widens and his unease slowly dwindles. You try not to notice how he seems to press his palm against his erection. But your body notices, a warm ache beginning to nag at you from between your legs.

“Huh, my dream?” He keeps you locked with his stare, even in the barely lit space. “What do you mean? What was I saying?”

My name, your mind screams. My fucking name.

“Uhh, nuh-nothing out of the ordinary,” you lie. Joshua knows.

He then sits up and you completely freeze, seeing how he is now shameless about the way he is palming himself. Your thighs squeeze closer together and your breath quivers. Is he still partially asleep, you find yourself wondering. But with how fiery his dark eyes are whilst staring you rigid, you know that not to be the case.

“Honestly, I am a little upset that you woke me up” he admits, voice dripping with honey that works nothing but wonders in making you melt. “Wanna know what I was dreaming about?”

The gulp that you force down your throat is almost painful. “N-no, I mean- That’s okay, ‘cause you know- You don’t have to-”

He grins and it feels like you’ve been punched in the face.

“We were on Jeonghan’s couch, you were on my lap. Your cheeks were red, like now and your hair was a mess. You looked so cute wearing nothing but my shirt while you rode me.” Joshua grins, again looking a bit sheepish. A stark contrast to the way he is massaging his erection.

“J-Josh…” you stutter, now wondering if you are actually the one dreaming.

“It was a really nice dream,” he sighs, biting his lip while bucking his hips into his hand. You think you might faint. “And you interrupted it. So, wanna make it up?”

Are you really supposed to be able to say no to that?

[throughthewwods]

I suddenly remember the teeth grinding irritation of having a nearly finished entry be eaten. Son of a...

🤬

100 Days of Productivity

..resumed? Day 16? Yeah, 16. That sounds as good as any number.

 I hate how aches and pains can derail my momentum and how hard it can be to regain motivation when that happens, but I’m working on forgiving myself for not being a robot.

🏃🏻‍♀️ Leg was feeling better so I hula hoped for 30 minutes then speed walk/jog for another 30. I’m glad I splurged on the treadmill. I don’t always feel in a dance-y enough hula hoop, but it’s easy to zone out to some stand-up comedy while jogging.

Laughter + exercise = double dopamine boost

📦 Removed some nuisance clutter from my room. I have not seen the floor of that corner in a while.

📚 I read journal articles: how with a massive study they couldn’t find a correlation between intelligence and being poor/dying younger than those with more money, but they did find that personality might have something to do with it (more people with personalities that are more likely to make unhealthy lifestyle choices or don’t particularly choose pro-healthy. At any rate, that didn’t account for 60 to 70% of why the poor, especially POC die younger than those with money meaning that the problem mostly isn’t the result of personal shortcomings;

📚 Read about a physicians’ office that had the epiphany to extend their services into more of a network that connects patients to resources that help improve their quality of life (ex: Financial resources, community outreach services, and viable mental health resources), which both makes it possible for them to take better care of themselves and follow through with the prescription. This also helps helps their health preemptively before health issues faster.

📚 Read about a concern for Asian peoples. Apparently there’s a phenomenon where they die in their sleep from excessive stress.. Also realized I might be in a particularly jaded place when my reaction to this was, “Lucky.. my French/Irish genes just keep riding this existential dread like a bent unicycle” ✍️ I wrote another biopsychosocial reflection paper on preemptive measures to prevent sudden nocturnal deaths.

😆🤷🏻‍♀️👩🏻‍🎨

C'est la vie

—————-

Most of the time I don’t think about my obstacles as if they are my identity nor Ill-fated.  I don’t find that useful. I prefer to accept where I’m at, decide where I want to go, figure out how to get there, then do that.. It’s heavy taking on all these articles for school that paint me as a victim buried beneath the odds with little hope for better.  I understand that the tone is meant to evoke sympathy from people on the outside who could make influential changes, but from the inside the language is pretty disempowering and disheartening.

Sometimes it reminds me of my ace though. l’m lucky to I have access to knowledge.. all the knowledgeable people in my life or that I’ve sought out over the years for council about financial planning, frugalness, career, how to constructively use the resources that are out there, cooking, child development. All this shapes an escape plan out of the chaos.

Yesterday was refreshing . I felt energetic again and touched on all the important zones of my life: mom-ness, home-harth -ness, studies, dog-mom, adulting, self-care, girlfriend-ness.

Cooked a hearty dinner: barbecue chicken and green beans with biscuits slathered in butter.

Had another cozy night of everyone unwinding, cuddled up on the couch under fluffy blankets enjoying RB read more of Narnia. Tucked kiddo in.

.

.

Knowing what I know now about trauma reenactment, I could never humor a proper sub-dom dynamic again for myself, but some things are maybe hard wired. I’m not unlike many people who get exhausted from having to manage everything, control everything day in day out who relishes having one area of my life I can let go. I appreciate RB doesn’t mind being a silver medalist from time to time though. He’s an artist, really. 😆

.

.

 this morning as I wooshed the purple high in the air and fluffed pillows, I realized a while back I had set a goal for myself that I wanted to be one of those kinds of people that made their bed every morning, but I could never stick with it. Now I have a German Shepherd who sheds tumbleweeds and I make my bed every day lest I sleep in mounds of itchy fur. sometimes we become who we hoped to be without even noticing because it occurred so seamlessly as we make decisions that form a pathway.



[motleymoose]

Homecoming Pt 4: Nevvarro Ch 5

Chapter 5 The Peace Within

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Characters: Paz Viszla (Paz Vizla), Gender-Neutral Reader Words: 1.8k+ Warnings: Blood, Fluff!!!

Summary:

A little calm in the calamity.

Notes:

See? See?!? I TOLD you there was gonna be some happiness… sorta!!!

Thanks for reading! Look out for Part 5!!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Homecoming Masterlist

Sprinting down the lonely hallway, I ignored the blood dripping down my face, allowing my instincts rather than sight to guide me out of the Clan’s maze of tunnels. I didn’t know where I was, or where exactly I was going, but I knew I had to be out of the covert, away from Din Djarin and everything he believed in.

Vaguely aware of the shadowy forms darting out of the way as I passed, I kept my head down and ran. I didn’t need to breathe, didn’t need to think. All I needed to do was run. Run and forget and never feel again.

The whispering shadows thinned. The air grew cooler. But I let it all go, the only sensations I wanted were my heart beating in my chest and the soft soles of my boots slapping the smooth concrete. I didn’t stop to catch my breath, didn’t slow down to find my bearings. I ran as if it were the only thing keeping me alive.

I was so caught up in the thrill of flight that I didn’t notice the floor gradually slanting upwards. The toes of my boots caught on the treads carved into the concrete, a change from the smoothness of the hallways. But I didn’t stop to look. I just kept on running.

Until I reached a dead end. Well, not exactly a dead end, but a door. A door, guarded by two Mandalorians casually lounging against a scattering of crates. Blocking my way to freedom.

I skidded to a stop, blowing like a bellows. Sweat plastered my jumpsuit to my body, blood trickling down the back of my throat. I tried to swallow, but choked instead.

“Udesii! Me’bana? Me’viinii gar teh, vaar’ika?” the same gigantic blue-gray warrior from before asked calmly, a large gloved hand extended to show he didn’t mean any harm. He approached me slowly, a wounded and frightened creature ready to bolt. Wild and feral, my eyes were surely rolling white and my nostrils flaring in distress.

“I need… to-to get out… Now,” I panted, licking at a split in my bottom lip. My tongue came away metallic and salty, bile rising in response. The adrenaline began to ebb, and I doubled over, the pain from my injuries unfurling themselves in thorny red waves. I couldn’t help but groan.

“Easy, vod’ika. Breathe.” The blue-gray warrior angled his helmet towards his partner, speaking a clipped version of Mando’a I couldn’t understand. With a nod, the other Mandalorian took off at a light jog down the tunnel, disappearing around a corner.

The echoing bootsteps faded to nothing. His attention back on me, the large warrior squatted in front of me, tilting his visor until he knew I could see him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, his warm voice a soothing balm to my jangled nerves.

I didn’t know this warrior, and he sure as hell didn’t know me. What gave him the fragging right to ask me this?

“Naas,” I replied dryly. Mandalorians asked to find out things in a literal sense. I didn’t feel like telling him anything.

But he could sense that. “Ibac’jehaat, ad’ika. You don’t have to tell me,” he said. Unfolding himself to his imposing height, he stood straight once more and motioned me over to the crates. “Come, atinad’ika. Let me take a look at that naas on your face.”

Spent from fighting and running and ignoring the confusion of emotions, I dragged myself to the crates and hoisted onto one. I sullenly stared into space as the blue-gray Mando dug through one of the other crates, shifting the contents this way and that in his search. Soon, he held a medkit proudly aloft and plopped it beside me.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked, only half-joking. I turned my attention to his hands, unable to trust anything about him, even after the kindness he’d shown me.

“Not in the least; I never could pass my basic med training,” he deadpanned as he peeled off his gloves. His hands, I was surprised to note, were a deep golden russet bordering on bronze, strong and well-defined and peppered with thin white scars. Long fingers, the pinkie and ring finger on his left hand crooked at the first and second knuckles as if they had been broken and then healed improperly, looked warm and inviting, and I had to stop myself from reaching over to trace my fingers over the backs of his hands. He angled his visor at me. I furrowed my brow and coughed, hoping he hadn’t noticed my staring.

I was rewarded with a glob of phlegm from the depths of my guts. It was unpleasant, and I gagged a little at the taste.

He must have taken it as doubt, for he tried again to assuage my imagined fears. “Really, you don’t have to worry. I can take care of a few scrapes.” The smile in his voice sent a tingle down my spine, building on the off-centering feeling of wanting to be taken care of. By him.

I swallowed the blood and the bile and the need for comfort, choosing instead to tentatively meet his gaze. “You don’t have to…” I stopped, weakly gesturing at my face with a bloodied hand.

The warrior shrugged, busying himself with the medkit latch. “We take care of our own. Now hold still, this is gonna sting.”

“But-”

“K’uur, atinad’ika. Let me do my work in peace.”

Several quick jabs with a syringe and a liberal application of bacta gel later, and I was physically feeling a little less bruised.

Packing the unused med supplies back into the kit, he pushed the trash aside and joined me on the crate, legs splayed out in front of him, boots windshield-wipering back and forth to a beat only he could hear. The quiet between us settled around our bodies in thick, feathery layers.

I could say it was a relief to sit in companionable silence. After everything I had fought against, after all the fear and the anger and the frustration that had built up over the last week, it should have been nice to just sit and not be asked of anything. But as all things with my mind, I wouldn’t cooperate.

Tense and ready to spring at the slightest provocation, I gripped the square edge of the crate, my knuckles turning white and my nails bending against the hard plastic. The silence was nerve-wracking. It got under my skin, made me itchy and restless. With no distractions and little ambient sound, the words began to fall out of my mouth, fuzzy and coarse and prickly.

“I only wanted to get off that doshing moon,” I began, voice low and grainy. “I thought… I hoped that I could. With… him.” I couldn’t bring myself to utter Din’s name. Even though we may have shared the same adoptive buir, I didn’t have to like the guy, refused to show him much respect. Not after Bosph. Not after all of our fights. “Seeing him, I thought… I thought all Mandalorians were like my buir.”

Humming softly, the blue-gray Mando cocked his helmet in understanding. “Munit tome’tayl, skotah iisa,” he replied.

I laughed feebly. “Yeah. That he is.” Slowly, I unclamped my fingers from the side of the crate and laid them, palms up, in my lap. I stared blankly at them as I continued. “Sometimes I get so… so angry, that I can’t hold it in. The more I shove it back, the sharper it gets, until, well.” I pointed to my face again. “Can’t say what he did was unwarranted. I’ve been a bit of a fragging ass, despite his best efforts at keeping me alive.”

It was the giant’s turn to laugh, the gravelly chuckle buzzing pleasantly through the modulator.

Sighing heavily, I curled my fingers into my palms, briefly digging my nails into the oil-stained flesh. “But he-he had no right. In bringing me here. I didn’t choose to be cared for by a war criminal.” I turned my hands over, rolling the knuckles into the tops of my thighs, palms slicking with sweat as I remembered. “This isn’t my cause, you… you aren’t my people.” Biting my lip, I screwed my eyes shut, the tell-tale pricklings of tears welling behind the lids frightening me more than getting caught in a blaster fight. I was not going to cry. Not now, not in front of this warrior. Not ever.

“Let me out… please. I can’t be here. I-I don’t belong.”

The words caught him off guard as much as they did me. Shifting his body to face me, the Mandalorian brought a bare hand up to gingerly cup my chin, tipping my head back until I was forced to open my eyes and look at him. “Don’t belong? Atinad’ika,” he said quietly, dropping the hand to my shoulder with a squeeze. “Gar tal’din naas jaon’yc.”

“Don’t give me that line of kovedee’osik,” I said cooly, shrugging off his comforting hand, twisting away from his warmth. There was that biting anger again, rearing its ugly head at any sign of pity or sympathy. “I don’t want to belong. I’m just fine by myself,” I lied, mostly to myself. “I’m going.”

The blue-gray Mandalorian sat staring at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, slapping his beskared thighs with his beautiful hands, he stood up and strode purposefully to the door. “We can’t hold you against your will, atinad’ika,” he sighed, sliding back bolts with practiced ease. “Even if you don’t believe you are part of this Clan, we will always accept you back. No matter what happens out there.” Finished with the bolts, he turned to the control panel to punch in the code. “But one thing, atinad’ika.” His dark tan fingers hovered over the release button, helmet tilted towards me. “We aren’t the only ones who know about your buir. There are… other forces out there that also search for him. And if they find out that you are his…”

I froze. Frag. I hadn’t even thought about someone else out there to get me. “What would you have me do?” I asked, swallowing the cracks in my voice.

Lowering his hand, the Mandalorian turned to me, tensed as if ready for a struggle. “Are you sure you want to know?” he murmured, his vocoder barely registering the rich depths of his voice.

“Elek,” I replied nervously, knowing all too well what he was going to ask of me.

“Stay.”

______________________________________________

Notes:

Udesii! Me’bana? Me’viinii gar teh, vaar’ika? - Take it easy (Calm down!)! What’s happening (what’s happened?)? What are you running from, pipsqueak? [lit. What running you from, runt? - mashed the Mando’a] vod’ika. - little sibling ad’ika - little one, son, daughter, of any age - also used informally to adults much like *lads* or *guys* Naas - Nothing Ibac’jehaat, ad’ika - That is a lie, little one [what even is sentence structure] atinad’ika - [not not a word] little stubborn one (atin - stubborn; ad’ika - little one) K’uur, atinad’ika. - Hush, little stubborn one. Munit tome’tayl, skotah iisa, - long memory, short fuse - said to be the typical Mando mindset Gar tal’din naas jaon’yc.. - Your past is unimportant. (lit. Your bloodline is nothing important) [butchers the Mando’a] kovedee’osik - bullshit (kovedee - cow-like creature the size of a bison; osik - shit {or dung, but insulting-like}) [just gonna keep on making up words until someone corrects me] Elek - Yes