#his clothes probably give off the illusion that he has a normal torso or something

[superbellsubways]

not safe for work

[hllfireclub]

here’s a random lil percabeth drabble i wrote last night. please forgive any spelling errors, i wrote this while half asleep lmao

(fluff, a little bit of sexy times, post-hoo)

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When Percy had told her that he was taking the day off for their anniversary, Annabeth hadn’t believed him. Sure, she would love having him to herself for an entire day, especially on their wedding anniversary, but being the director of a camp of demigods wasn’t really something you could take the day off from. She couldn’t fault him for that, not when she knows how important his job is to him, and she had come to terms with the fact that she would probably only get him all to herself after the sun went down.

So it comes as quite the surprise when she wakes to familiar lips placing soft kisses along the back of her neck. When she stirs, strong arms tighten around her waist and the kisses make a path down across the span of her freckled shoulders.

“G’morning, beautiful,” Percy murmurs against her skin, his voice still thick and gravelly from hours of not being in use. With a soft sigh, Annabeth rolls over so she can rest her forehead against his chest. Percy immediately switches his positioning to make her more comfortable, arms circling around her torso and his hand resting on the small of her back. His fingers brush against her bare skin, and her still sleep fogged mind recognizes that he’s drawing something into her skin with the tips of his fingers. It’s a simple touch, nothing incredibly intimate or significant, but it fills Annabeth with a warmth that starts at the top of her head and trickles all the way down to her toes and a flutter to erupt in her stomach.

“What time is it?” She mumbles, though her mouth doesn’t seem to get the message that she’s supposed to be awake, because it comes out more like ‘whatimeisit?’ Percy laughs quietly, the sound sending a rumble through his chest beneath her cheek.

“Almost 8:30.”

Annabeth frowns. No, that can’t be right. Percy’s usually out of bed and the house for the day by at least 7:45, and her alarm clock for the past fourteen months has been their daughter’s cries over the baby monitor. She lifts her head from his chest, blinking sleep and fog from her eyes.

“8:30? Why are you still in bed?” He laughs again, running his fingers through her curls and twirling one around his finger absentmindedly.

“I told you I was taking the day off, ‘Beth. Remember?” He nudges her side gently, giving her a teasing look that says ‘come on now.’

That warm feeling from earlier returns, only growing in intensity. Her skin tingles and grows hot under his touch, making every nerve ending he brushes against sing in joy. With the warm morning light shining through the linen curtains and illuminating Percy in all the right ways, he looks almost ethereal. The shadows falling on his jaw make it look even more defined and precise than usual, like he’s a marble statue carved by the hands of an artist, and Annabeth is hit with an overwhelming wave of butterflies. She remembers him the way he was when they first met, and it’s almost impossible to imagine that the 12 year old boy she had nursed back to health and the proud, strong and overwhelmingly good man holding her were the same person. He could have had anyone he wanted, and yet he chose her. Over and over again, he had chosen her, and she suddenly feels the urge to thank Aphrodite for deciding she was worthy of Percy loving her.

She thinks of telling him how she longed for something permanent, something that could endure hundreds and hundreds of years of battering and destruction but remain unchanged by the hands of time. Annabeth had once thought that the only way she could complete that goal was with her architecture, but she suddenly realized that she had already achieved that desire. Not in the redesigned cabin, not in the battles she’d fought, but in Percy and their daughter. If she was to be remembered only by the love that her and Percy had, the love that had brought Alexandria into the world, she was more than okay with that.

Annabeth leans into his touch, tilting her head up to kiss him softly, hoping that she could convey everything she wanted to say to him through the warmth and gentleness of their lips moving against each other. He seems to understand, nodding almost imperceptibly — so subtle she’s not even sure that he knows he did it. But its meaning is clear enough; I know. Me too.

The kiss is everything she needs it to be; soft, warm, and understanding. It makes her feel more like she’s being hugged rather than kissed, and she thinks that she could spend an eternity kissing Percy Jackson.

Percy is the one to pull back to catch his breath, resting his forehead against hers and cradling the back of her head in one large hand. Soft lips find their way to the cut of her jaw and then the crook of her neck, brushing oh-so-softly against her pulse point. With every kiss, he leaves a trail of pleasant electricity across the expanse of her skin.

“The whole day?” Annabeth asks, voice soft and yet still deafening in the sanctuary of their bedroom. She almost regrets speaking at all, afraid of shattering the illusion. But Percy doesn’t disappear, doesn’t dissolve into a cloud of mist. His hands rest on her hips, brushing his thumbs along the soft skin underneath the hem of her shirt.

“The whole day,” he confirms, and Annabeth’s heart skips far too many beats to be considered normal when he looks up at her through his eyelashes. Percy looked at her with such intense adoration sometimes that she almost feels like she’s suffocating. His lips are curved into that soft smile that hooked her in all those years ago, and the light reflecting in his eyes makes them look like sunlight hitting the waves. “Alex is having a sleepover with my mom and Paul. I’m yours, ‘Beth.”

And gods if that’s not the best thing she’s ever heard. With Percy running Camp Half-Blood and Alex requiring constant attention, it was a luxury these days if they could spend any time together outside of their bedroom at night. Having him for the entire day, all to herself, feels like a dream. She brushes a few strands of hair out of his eyes, and Percy turns his head to kiss her palm. And I’m yours. Always.

“I love you,” Annabeth breathes out, hand coming up to rest at the nape of his neck where she can card her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Percy doesn’t answer; he doesn’t have to. When he captures her lips in another kiss, he tells her everything she’s ever wanted to know. The world around them fades to black, the only thing existing in this moment being Annabeth and Percy. Nothing else matters anymore.

And then suddenly, the chaste, lazy kisses aren’t enough. Their rhythm becomes more heated, hands mapping out every curve of each other’s bodies, desperate to feel closer. More, more, more. Clothes are discarded and scattered across the room. Percy makes Annabeth see constellations and stars she’s never seen before, makes her body sing in pleasure and warmth and love. They don’t need words for this, they never have — they’ve always understood each other in unexplainable ways, knowing exactly what to do to make the other lose their breath without ever having to be told. It’s a dance of pushing and pulling and ‘I love you’s’ gasped out in between sighs and moans and names uttered as if they were prayers.

Annabeth curls into his chest when they’re done, hair sticking to the back of her neck with sweat. They lie in comfortable silence while they both catch their breath, and all she can think about is how she deserved a man like Percy Jackson. She places soft kisses across the flat planes of his chest, and his hands run up and down her sides comfortingly. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and raw from the noises he pulled from her.

“Happy anniversary, Seaweed Brain.” Again, Annabeth can feel the vibrations of his laugh reverberate inside his chest. Her eyes are closed, but she can tell he’s smiling — can hear it in his voice.

“Happy anniversary, Wise Girl.”

[dearlazerbunny]

Mistakes

Pairings: Kylo Ren x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M for mentions of suicidal intent

Words: 3800

Summary: Written for anon, who requested an angsty breakup and drunk Kylo. Anon- let me know if you like it, or if you’d like me to give it another shot! I’m still building my angst muscles, and I want it to be exactly what you want : )

From the way Kylo stalked out of the meeting room, you could tell it hadn’t gone well. You had conveniently positioned yourself at a station just outside the door so you could catch him right after he got out- meetings with Hux generally required a little emotional management afterwards, and you were the only person who ever seemed to be able to calm him down. So you stood at a terminal pretending to press buttons and waited for the inevitable explosions.

There weren’t any, thank god- just a clearly seething boyfriend who even with his mask on looked about two seconds away from Force-choking the next person in his path. You subtly slipped away from the station and positioned yourself in Kylo’s line of sight. When you were sure he saw you, you aimed for the nearest storage closet and shut the door behind you.

A few minutes later, he followed, shutting the door so hard it rattled the shelves behind you. His breathing was heavy, and you waited a few moments before carefully reaching up and finding the release buttons on his helmet, removing it and setting it on the floor beside you. His face was red, his hair wild, and you’d only seen a similar look in his eyes when he got a little too angry and threatened to go find Hux and stab him right then and there. (You’d talked him out of that one too).

“Hey. You okay?”

He stares intently at something past your shoulder like he might set it on fire through his gaze alone. “Hey. Look at me.” You tap his jaw with a finger, forcing him to make eye contact with you. “What’d General Horrible do this time?”

Usually that gets you at least a smirk, but he’s uncharacteristically quiet. Okay, so something really bad then. You try to take his hand but he yanks it away, stooping to retrieve his mask and replace it over his stony face. “I’m fine,” comes through the synthesizer, cold and impersonal. And he’s gone a second later, door swinging shut with a certain finality. You’re left watching his retreating form through the porthole. Well, that didn’t bode well.

You swapped night shifts with a friend so you could go visit Kylo instead. Making your way down the hallways, you flipped back and forth between going on the offensive (asking him to talk) or just letting him sit in silence with you curled up on the bed. Probably best to judge his mood and then decide. You key in his passcode and let the door slide open.

You’re met with his saber glowing at your throat and you throw up your hands, eyes wide. “Kylo, it’s me, stars! Put that thing away!” He holds it a few more seconds before disengaging and letting it clunk to the floor. So unlike him, this thing is his pride and joy. He wanders to the other side of the room, running his hands through his hair and tugging at the ends, and you carefully pick up the saber by the hilt and place it on the bed. “Such a warm welcome,” you joke, taking a seat on the black silk sheets. “If only everyone greeted me like they wanted to kill me.”

“What are you doing here?”

The ice in his tone takes you aback. “Um… I just thought I’d come see if you were okay. You seemed pretty pissed earlier, so I figured-”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I- what now? Last I checked you’re the one who gave me the code.”

“A mistake.”

“A mistake?” You stand. Suddenly the bed isn’t so comfortable. “What do you mean by that...?”

“You heard what I said.” He turns on you like you’re a Resistance member standing in his way. “It was a mistake.”

“I- Kylo-”

“No. Shut up.” He’s pacing now, back and forth. You wouldn’t be surprised if his footsteps are heard on the floor below. “I need to think.”

“Excuse me? You don’t just get to tell me to shut up, Kylo-!”

“I said shut up!” All of a sudden you’re slammed up against the wall behind you, back to steel such a sudden shock you sink to the ground, head pounding. Kylo’s hand is outstretched in your direction. You’re too busy seeing red to notice the terrified expression on his face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You stand on shaky legs, using the wall to support yourself. “If you don’t want me here, say so! Use your words, Kylo, don’t hide behind your stupid Force powers!”

He walks up slowly until he’s towering over you. “I don’t want you here. Leave. Now.”

“No.” He steps back, shocked, and you get right back up in his face. “Tell me what’s going on, for god’s sake! You can’t just get rid of me that easily, Kylo!”

“Yes, I can. We’re through.”

Time seems to stop. “We- what?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Yeah… yeah I think you might have to.” You carefully step back out of his space. “Is that really what you want?”

“Yes! How many times do I have to say it!”

“But- why? What did I do wrong? What did I-”

“Out!” You’re being pushed towards the door by an invisible hand, and despite the door being pneumatic, it slams behind you. Standing in the cold hallway, you feel like you’re going numb. It’s a long trek back to your ow quarters, and all you can hear is his words echoing through your head. We’re through. We’re through. We’re through.

Sitting down on your bed, you pull your knees up to your chest, trying to find something to hold on to. Reality starts to sink in. You were… done. Over. No more Kylo and you. No more Kylo.

And it didn’t feel like there’d be any more you, either.

…..

You took a few days off from work, unable to do much other than sit in your bed and cry. Luckily, once you explained what had happened in as few words as possible, the other nurses were more than happy to cover a few of your shifts. Those few days were hell though, with nothing to distract you but your own thoughts. You kept seeing the good- the first time you’d made him laugh, when he confessed his feelings, that first kiss- only for the illusion to be shattered by the fury you’d witnessed that night. I don’t want you here. We’re through. The words kept cycling through your head over and over again, with a fresh wave of tears coming forth at every round of memories.

But you couldn’t wallow in this forever. Much as you wanted to. So you pulled yourself together- took a shower for the first time in days, put on clean clothes as opposed to your tear-soaked pajamas, pulled your hair back, and went to work.

And was promptly met with another nightmare.

The entire staff was running around ragged, dealing with an apparent rapid influx of patients. There were no rooms left, and patients lined the hallways on cots, most of them moaning in pain. It was something out of a horror movie, and in your current emotional state, you wanted to run away screaming. But instead, you rolled up your sleeves, snapped on some gloves, and went to report to your supervisor.

“Y/N.” She looks up from her desk, looking absolutely haggard. “Thank god. We need everyone we’ve got.”

“What’s been going on? Some kind of virus?”

She looks at you strangely- and maybe a touch sympathetically- before her pager beeps and she sighs. “Walk with me.” You so do, through the rows of patients, as she collects vials of painkiller and seemingly distributes it to every single person on the floor. You wanted to ask what she was doing, until you noticed that every patient had bandages around their arms, torso- one even on their neck. With several, blood was slowly leaking through the white covering, and a few uses were changing bandages right there in the hallway. Curious, you subtly looked over one shoulder, trying to categorize the wound. What you saw made your heart stop.

Light saber burns and slashes.

You hurried back over to your supervisor, who was busy pushing toradol into someone’s IV. “Are they all…?”

“Light saber,” she confirmed. “All 15 of them. And we’ve got more coming, I’m sure.”

Oh, god. Kylo. What the hell are you doing?

She looks at you with stern eyes. “Look, Y/N, normally it’s none of my business, and I stay out of my staff’s personal lives. But this has got to stop. Can you talk to him? I know you’re world famous for managing his moods.’

All at once, tears begin to form in your eyes, and you hug your waist, blinking rapidly to try and clear them before they fall. “Um- no. That wouldn’t be such a good idea.”

“Y/N, I know it must be scary as hell, but if it keeps up at this rate, half the base is going to be missing an arm before the month is up.”

“We- we’re not-” to your horror, a few tears escape and slide down your cheeks. Stars, you were so sick of crying. You take a deep breath.  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, ma’am. I’m sorry.” Your voice catches on the last word, but you try to hide it with a cough.

One look tells you your supervisor now knows exactly what’s going on, and you hate the pity that crawls across her face. “I see.” She sighs, dropping the patient’s IV tubing. “Well, go check on your roster then. Keep your head up, we don’t have time to be introspective right now.”

You grab a few vials of medication from her hand and flee, trying to wipe your eyes as subtly as possible.

……

“No, no- stop!” You toss and turn, trying to shove Kylo away from you. “Stop it! Stop saying that!” Heaving, you sit up in bed, almost hitting your head against the top of your bunk. Salt has worked its way down your cheeks and it stings a cut on your lip. You must have bitten it in your sleep. Damn him. You wipe your eyes and turn your damp pillow over to a dry side, throwing your head down onto it. Damn him, damn him, damn him. It’s been a month and he’s still in your head. Only when you shove the blankets off you in frustration do you notice the banging on your door, loud and obnoxious against the steel. You check the clock- 4AM. And you’re sure it’s not your shift. Doing a quick check to make sure your eyes aren’t too red, you throw on a t-shirt and put your hand to the scanner to open the door-

And promptly get knocked to the floor underneath a hulking mass of black.

“What the fuck- Kylo?” You scramble out from underneath him, which is kind of hard when your leg is pinned underneath his torso. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Y/N.” He looks up at you from his spot on the floor, face to the ceiling. “Hi.”

“Um- hi?” Carefully, you skirt to the edge of the room, leaving him in the center of the room. “What- what are you doing?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“So you do it by breaking down my door? I’m not even on shift, go get one of the other nurses to help you.”

“Not about that.” He shakes his head like a dog, sending his curls flying everywhere. “About us.”

“Us.” At one simple word, the tears you’d banished from your nightmare threaten to spill over once again. “There is no us. You ended that. Remember?”

“Unfortunately.” He closes his eyes into a squint. “And I- I meant- I mean-”

“Kylo.” You inch a bit closer, taking in his disheveled clothes and the tremor in his voice. “Are you… drunk?”

“Um.” He pauses, like he’s thinking. “Very.”

“Jesus- get out, Kylo. I don’t want you here.” Those same words echo in your head in his icy tone and it hurts your heart to say them.

“No- no, Y/N, please, listen-”

“Listen to what? How much you hate me? How much you never want to see me again? I get enough of that in my nightmares. Just get your ass off the floor and leave.”

He stands shakily, using you bed for support, but collapses back down onto his knees, looking for all the world like he’s begging for you right in front of your face. “Please, Y/N. I made such a big mistake. You have to take me back.” He’s crying now, pleading like he’s bargaining for his life.

“I don’t have to do anything. And I definitely don’t want to listen to this when you’re the one who broke up with me, without telling me why.” You pause, and cross your arms. “Will you tell me why now?”

He stutters. “I- I can’t-”

“Then go. Just get out.” You walk around him, head high, and open the door, pointing at the open way for all you’re worth. “Now  It’s my turn to kick you out.”

“Y/N-”

“Oh, and for the love of god, stop attacking people with that stupid saber of yours! They don’t deserve that, Kylo!”

“Maybe they do.”

“Maybe you do.” The words come out harsh, and for an instant you regret them, but at this point you just want him to leave. “Now get. Out.”

He picks himself up off the floor, silent tears still crawling down his face. God, how you wanted to kiss those tears away. Hold him, and tell him everything will be alright, just like you had so many times before. But you hold your ground, even when he looks at you so sorrowfully you feel like your heart is being ripped out of its chest. The door closes behind him, and for one moment everything is still.

Then the sobs wrack your body so powerfully they drive you to your knees, holding yourself for everything you’re worth as the ache spreads through your body.

…..        

“Heads up, we’ve got one coming in. All hands on deck.”

You nod and put your other patient’s clipboard down and pull on a fresh set of gloves while a few other nurses jog over.“What’ve we got?”

Your supervisor scans her digipad. “twenty nine year old male, unconscious for unknown reasons-” she stops abruptly. Looks up at you. “Y/N. Go take your break.”

“What? You just said all hands on deck-”

“You heard what I said-” she’s interrupted by the bay doors bursting open, a man laid out on a gurney between two paramedics. You barely have time to glance at the patient before he’s wheeled into a private room, but you’d know that face anywhere.

Kylo.

“Look, I don’t have time to argue with you. If you can be objective, get an IV started. If not, stay out of the room. Do you understand?”

You nod, stunned, but your body automatically grabs an IV cart and heads into the room on muscle memory alone. He’s laid out, pale and clammy, with disheveled hair and deep purple rings under his eyes. Blankets are covering most of his body, but you can imagine the rest of him doesn’t look much better. As you fumble for his left arm, you can’t help but notice bloody scratches covering the palm of his hand, like he’s been digging his nails into his own skin.

You carefully push back his sleeve and stick a vein, starting fluids and whatever else some nurse had just handed you, pushing it into the line as quickly as you could. “What happened?”

“He didn’t show up for a meeting, and when someone went to get him they found him collapsed in his quarters.” Her tone was carefully neutral as she read off the specs, and you tried to push the ever increasing panic out of your head as she continued. “Heart rhythm is shaky, and he’s unresponsive to tests.”

“Preliminary theories?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Get some blood tests in, then we’ll know more for sure.”

You nod and start collecting, thoughts racing as fast as the blood spilling into the vials.

Kylo. What happened to you?

“Y/N.” You look up from your shaky hands to see another nurse standing over your hunched form. “Normally I wouldn’t do this, but… I figured you might want to see.” She hands over a chart and you scan it quickly, wondering why she’d hand it to you-

It’s Kylo’s.

Instantly, you’re devouring it, rapidly scanning every piece of information. His counts are low all across the board and he’s definitely dehydrated, but other than that everything seems normal…? Oh. Your eyebrows raise when you get to his blood alcohol levels. “So he’s-”

“Drunk off his ass? Yeah.” You give her a look and she softens. “Look, I just figured you’d want to know there’s nothing seriously wrong with him. He blacked out. Anyone would with that much alcohol in their system. He’ll be fine, though.”

You nod at her. “Thank you.”

She shrugs her shoulders and walks away to another patient, leaving you with your thoughts. Drunk? Kylo never drank. He hated the stuff. On the rare occasion you’d smuggled some wine into his room he barely had a sip while you got tipsy. Other than that one night… Sighing to yourself, you stand and brush off your scrubs, then aim for the main hallway, heading where you never wanted to go in the first place. His room.

It’s dark and quiet. Since the diagnosis was made, the code was called off, and everyone has mostly left him alone other than to refill his fluids. You scrape a chair up to the side of his bed and sit heavily, elbows on your knees and head in your hands. You can’t stand to see him like this. He looks too vulnerable, too quiet. The commanding presence you fell in love with is completely gone, rubbed away by the pallor of his skin and his uncharacteristic stillness.

Suddenly, he stirs. First his head, back and forth, frizzing his curls onto the pillow, then the arm hooked into the IV, clearly feeling the sting of it. Before even opening his eyes, he’s already reaching to pull it out, and you do the only thing you can think of- stopping his hand with your own, grabbing his wrist before he can hurt himself further.

His eyes open, focusing on your hand hovering his in midair. Then to you. He takes you in with dark eyes, roaming over your face until he’s satisfied that it’s you and not a threat. Slowly, you release his arm  and he lets it fall back to the bed like the fight has gone out of him.

“Y/N.” His voice is rough, like it hasn’t been used in days.

“Kylo.” You stand. “I’m was just here to make sure you didn’t pull out your IV.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I’ll notify someone that you’re awake-”

“Wait.” As you turn to walk away, he grabs your own wrist. His grip is so weak you barely feel it, but it’s more than just his hand keeping you rooted in place. “Please. Stay.”

“I don’t know why you’d want me to.” You try not to let emotion color your voice. “You made it very clear you don’t want to see me.”

“I-”

“What, Kylo?” You finally explode, kicking your chair away from his bed and taking its spot, wrenching your hand from his. “What could you possibly have to say to me after three months of nothing?”

“I tried-”

“You tried when you were so drunk you couldn’t get off my floor, Kylo. I’d hardly say that counts.”

He closes his eyes. “I wanted to die.”

That stops you cold. Even your heart feels  like it stops for a beat or two. “Want?”

“I tried to drink myself to death.” He laughs bitterly, then coughs. “Guess that didn’t work out too well.”

“They found you unconscious in your quarters.”

“Damnit.” He swears with a weary resignation.

“You-” It’s just starting to sink in. “You wanted to kill yourself.”

“Have for about a month now.” The hollowness of his voice breaks your heart in half.

“Why…?”

“Because you were gone,” he rasps. “And you’re the only thing that keeps the monsters away.”

“You left me, Kylo.” Now it’s your turn to be bitter. “It’s not my fault.”

“I didn’t want to-”

“You sounded pretty damn sure!”

“Hux threatened you.”

“He- he what now?”

“Hux. Threatened you. Or, me. Both of us? I can’t-” He coughs again, this time wracking his body until he’s curled into the bed, wincing with every breath. “I can’t think.”

Slowly, you pull the chair back to his bedside- not too close- and sit back down. “Kylo. Tell me everything.”

“He wanted you reassigned. He said you were- a distraction. That you had to go. So I thought- if I cut you off, maybe he would let you stay.

I was so scared,” he whispered. “I couldn’t lose you. But if I didn’t- you’d be gone forever. I had to keep you close. So-”

“-you broke up with me,” you finish.

Tears begin leaking from his tightly closed eyes, as if he’s in pain. “I never wanted to. I never- stars, Y/N, you’re the only good thing in my life, and I-”

“Kylo.” You reach out and cover a hand with your own and he grasps it like he’s drowning. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I could have-”

“Too big a risk. Couldn’t— take the chance.”

“So you decided to kill yourself.” Your voice is thick with tears.

“I couldn’t bear what I did to you. I heard you crying every night in your sleep,” he confesses, voice still soft as a whisper. “I hurt you so badly.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to hurt yourself, Kylo!” A scared anger pours out of you as you turn his palm over to reveal scars and still-healing wounds. “If anything happened to you I’d-”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Of course I care you idiot!” The tears are falling down your cheeks now, and he shakily reaches up to wipe them away, only causing more to fall. “I still love you! I never stopped. And you are not allowed to hurt yourself, or god forbid-” you choke up, unable to finish your sentence. “Please, Kylo. For me,” you beg. “Don’t do this again.”

“I won’t. Now that I know- you love me.” He looks at you. “It’s something to live for.”

Sobbing, you fling yourself onto his chest, clutching him like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to do so. He sits up and pulls you into his arms, wrapping them around you and holding tight, riding trough the storm. “Please don’t leave me,” you whisper, and his tone matches your own when he replies,

“Not ever. Not ever again.”

[invaldalia]

Vanilla (NSFW under the cut)

She feels the claw draw across her face but this time, it's longer, drawn out in slow motion and her wires and tubes are being devoured, torn out of her chest in a display of gory despair. She... something is being dragged from her vocal cords and it's not a scream, it's a wail of inhuman pitch, her tongue tasting blood as the flesh of her throat ripped. There's more of the red, viscous oil on her face, but it's not hers. It's...it's not hers. Heat builds behind her eyes as tears burn at the edges between all-consuming depression, blind fury and the need to kill. Her vision blurs at the seams as it all sets in, the surprise machine attack, her own lackadaisical behavior, 2B pushing her aside… 2B...oh god, 2B. She can hear it in her ears, even over her deathly screech, the sound of his head separating from his neck. The damned machine ate it. “9S! YoRHa unit 9S!” 4B grabs her arm and she jolts, violently wanting to stay, needing to stay with him. “Goddamn it, someone help me! She's not moving! And alert 2B’s operator that he's lost...connection with his body.” “What about her? She's screaming like an animal!” She fights against them, screaming threats of murder and death until she feels the connection between her body and mind sever and she's plunged into darkness.

9S stares at her fist, watching it hang before gaining the burst of boldness and knocking against his door. She knows the code and it's probably unlocked, but she feels that the events of the last few days have merited a knock. Silence. And she hears him moving around before he call, “come in.” The door slides open as 2B admires the seamless edges between his neck and chin in the mirror mounted to the wall across from his bed. It's strange, he's heard that the Healers erased that part of his memory, so he can't exactly recall where the wound was, but he's read the mission reports and he knows it's somewhere between his Adam's Apple and his breastbone. He turns his head, wincing a bit at the sudden sensation, and his expression, tight and focused, softens when he sees his visitor. “9S…” Ever since he returned to his body, he's been without her. She's been avoiding him, it seems and it's troubling considering the passages involving her in those mission reports. She stares down at her clenched hands, her eyes startlingly bare. There's something written on her face, something that feels wrong on her skin. Shame. He's worn it too many times to not recognize it. “What is it?” He asks, lowering his chin to look at her. She isn't wearing her shoes either, so she's even shorter than normal. Her eyes dart up, frigid blues burning into his skin. They roam his neck, taking in its smooth perfection and desperate to ease the sight of blood and torn components from her waking vision. She bites her lip as bile eats at her insides, threatening to spew from her lips as those memories come to her. She inhales. Exhales. Reaches over and hugs him. Holds him. Her face is in his chest and her arms can barely loop around his torso but she crushes him. The air leaves his systems as he cycles through his options, finally deciding on awkwardly patting her shoulder. Her slim frame shook at the touch and he wondered if he had done something to offend her before she stood on her toes and then some, stretching her body until she could plant a kiss against his neck. 2B's skin flared starting from where her lips softly grazed, a pleasant trickle of heat that spread throughout his body. She refused to move, her lips locked against his skin and her posture giving no illusion regarding their differences in height.

Finally, she pulled away, eyes flickering around his stunned expression before darting to her socks.

“That's...that's um...where your wound was.”

Right where his chin met his throat. His hand cupped the area, feeling nothing disturb his fingers.

Still...his body shivered at the ghost of 9S warm mouth against him…

He bridged the gap between them, pulling her close and burying his nose into her soft, sweet smelling hair. He could smell the lavender soap she used to clean her body clinging to her skin, and the scent of something warm and creamy he didn't know the name of in her hair.

2B pulled back, his breath heavy and his eyes level with her lips. Pink and full and oh so shiny, he's seen them twist into an arrogant smirk, bloom in the form of a pout and those elegant curves of her smile.

Shit…

He can't help himself. He's thought so many times about taking those lips for his own when he sees her smile. They've kissed and he’s seen her kiss someone else before, but in his mind those lips would always return to him because that was where they belonged: against his.

Isn't that why he had protected her? Because it was in the best interests of both of them? Because the thought of those lips...of her with anyone else, against anyone else...he has no point of reference anymore but he imagines that his head being torn off is a small pinprick compared to the gaping wound left in his chest when he learned that she had found comfort in the company of another YoRHa.

But isn't that why they had new bodies? New personalities with no recollection of any emotional baggage, a new body, clean and untouched by whoever spoiled her the last time. For her, she had forgotten her past lovers and cleaved only unto him.

He repays her renewed loyalty to him by pressing his lips to hers. Her face shows surprise and her body doesn't quite know how to react, her expression torn between shock and relief, her hands frozen in the position between holding him and throwing her hands up in surprise.

Finally, her mind decided this is what she wanted and slowly, as if gauging his responses to contact, she pulled him close, running her fingers through his hair.

2B wrapped his arms around her body, grasping her backside with one arm and supporting her head with the other.

Tongues fought with each other, their owners groaning whenever they could separate from the warm confines of their mouths. Saliva escaped them, following hot exhales of air and a shivering moan from his smaller partner.

Their crotches rubbed together as he shifted, bringing her as close to his body as he could manage. Her ass hit the bed with a satisfying sound, her body falling next. He landed on top of her, wet lips parted as he panted for air, inhaling her sweet scent and taking in her softly erotic face.

He bit his lip to quell his emotions, to resist the urge to take her right then, like he had done in the past. No, his 9S deserved all the pleasure in the world, to feel every wire twinge and detonate in a way only sex and drugs could make them feel.

2B’s fingers fondled the gold of her buttons, watching her writhe in anticipation. His thoughts arranged themselves from various fantasies, piecing together just how he wanted to please her tonight.

Yes... that'll be perfect.

He undid her jacket, slowly exposing her skin to the climate controlled air. There was a soft flesh of pink on her cheeks as he did so, her lust being momentarily overtaken by shame.

2B sat up, admiring her modest chest as he thought of what he needed to say.

He leaned close to her ear, pressing his lips against the soft shell.

“Take your clothes off, 9S.”

“Wha?!” She sputtered, cheeks a deep red. He smiled, holding back a laugh, pressing his lips to her neck before climbing off of her body.

He watched her as she calmed her nerves, slowly pulling off her coat, then her undershirt. Her pink, slightly hardening nipples glistened in the light, growing erect under his gaze. She stretched out her legs as she tugged off her skirt and shorts, letting them fall wherever and leaving very little to the imagination with her black panties. She seemed reluctant to take those off herself, waiting for him to do it for her.

2B pulled his shirt off, leaving his gloves and pants on for the moment. He returned to her, cupping her face with a soft, gentle hand.

And then he flipped her over.

“Gah?!” She gave him an indignant stare while he reached over her head and grabbed the pillow. “Warn me next time, 2B…”

Next time. Oh yes, there would be a next time. Perhaps when they awoke again, who knows? It depends, doesn't it? It depends on how much time they had. And he would ensure that they would have all the time in the world…

“Here, 9S.” He handed her pillow and placed his hands on her lithe hips.

She hugged the pillow to her chest, slightly confused as to why he wanted her to –

She felt his fingers, rough with the leather of his gloves, push her underwear aside and another probe her genitals. It seemed he was in no mood for subterfuge, taking those panties off and leaving her in her socks.

She held the pillow a bit closer.

9S was easy to arouse, growing wet with just his words in the times they had been together in the past. He could get her off easily now, knowing her ever weak point, her every kink.

He licked his lips, wetting them with spittle before slowly trailing down her vagina with his tongue. She made a sound of confused content, moaning shakily and clenching the pillow.

He ran his tongue to her stiffening clitoris, flicking the bud and wetting her flesh with his saliva. She always comes back tight, her body needing more lubrication to take anything in. It's frustrating, but he supposes that it's practice.

9S groaned into the pillow, the feeling of his warm organ slowly coating her body with his fluid. His mouth breathed hot air onto her as he thrust his tongue inside to explore her reactions.

Her toes curled, her breath escaping her in a meek cry that was more whimper than moan. Her back arched, driving him deeper into her canal. How did he know...how did he know she liked this? Or maybe he didn't and all he wanted to do was please her however he could.

Either way, it's enjoyable to say the least. He's skilled in the art of cunnilingus, his tongue tasting her insides and her body growing light as he used his fingers to tease her clit. Her body shook and tremored, genitalia growing slick with her own fluids. She hissed at each roll of his mouth, grinding herself on the seam of the pillowcase.

“Nghh...2B!” She cried, her voice trembling as she shook, pulling the seam against her crotch and tickling his nose with the soft fabric. She came with a harsh buck of her waist, staining her anchor with a mixture of their fluids. “A-ah…”

He pulled back, licking his lips and drawing her taste deeper into his mouth.

Her body rested against the pillow as she caught her breath, chest heaving and body trembling. She had the look of someone who got more than what they expected, her eyes low and her voice a droning moan.

2B couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

He climbed atop her, placing his hands on hers, kissing her head, face and ears. He played aftercare with her for a moment, affection flowing freely to soothe any pain that he had inflicted on her.

His erection rubbed against her backside as he pulled one glove off after another, exposing his hands. He cupped her curves slowly, admiring her, playing to her weaknesses and feeding off her confusion from his sudden switch to gentle.

The sweet scents of those collectable soaps stuck to his lips. How many of those baths did she take? He wondered if she only used these kinds of soaps or if she had more he didn't know about. Maybe later he would try one with her.

He ground his hips into hers. She made a sound of distress, needing the teasing to stop.

Had she missed him? Did it feel like her body was being torn apart when she had to watch him die? Did it feel just like it did when he watched her die at his hand?

He wondered…

He reached down between them, undoing his pants and pulling them off. His cock brushed against her backside, sending shivers down her spine.

It was actually happening, wasn't it…? She gnawed on her lips, her breathing growing erratic.

She's touched herself before but she's never had anything down...there...Christ, she was ridiculous. Why was she embarrassed by a piece of hardware?

She feels pressure against her vagina, feels it slip and glide along her wet folds. 2B presses his lips her collar, feeling her pulse rate throb against his skin.

“Relax, Nines.” He whispered, genuinely concerned for her. The last thing she needed to do was to have her body shut down due to her racing pulse.

She laughed at the usage of her nickname. It came out cracked, shards of glass they sometimes find in the sand. “S-sorry... I'm not used to...I've never done this.”

He's glad she can't see his face.

He gives her one last affectionate kiss to her forehead.

Saying that 9S is tight is obvious, her small stature guarantees it, and he's been inside her at least twice, but he doesn't quite remember this feeling of intense heat and pressure on all sides.

He grips her hips, clinging to her for stability. He can feel her stretch, her body tensing and her nails digging into the fluff material of his pillow. “Uh…! Ah…!” She arched her back, holding the pillow close as if for protection or something to stabilize her body.

“2-2B!” Oh, how he loved it when she said his name.

He pushed, sheathing himself in her body, taking joy in her surprised wail and shuddering moan.

“Gah... na...to...eeek!” She cried, tossing her head back. “D... Don't...do th...at.”

He gave her an apologetic kiss, the feeling of wet her trailing down his cock.and onto the skin of his pelvis.

He held her hips in place as he began to move, pulling out and pushing back in, slowly as if not to break her. She groaned, her chest pressed flat against the bed, the sensation of his full shaft crawling inside of her mental processes and refused to leave.

Finally, slowly, she began to move with him, the sound of the bodies loud in the soundproofed walls of the Bunker. Only the stars could see them, and only the void of space could judge them.

She arched her ass, giving him more of her as she dragged her nails on her own arm. “Ah...ah... nghh, Toobie…”

Did she really call him that?

The nickname was cute and he ate it up, fucking her harder and with purpose. One purpose. To make her come and scream his name at the top of her lungs.

Maybe that was irresponsible, considering he had no idea if YoRHa rooms are truly soundproof but he supposed now was the time of trying.

He increased his pace, burying himself in her, taking her in and out, making the most out of her short fuse. She was already shaking, her body nearing its end. He could hear it in her voice, the way her vowels turned into cries.

He was close himself, feeling it work right into his heart.

Taking this as a sign to finish on a high note, he kept her steady as he thrust, hard and fast deep into her. 9S cried, her body seizing up and releasing in one burst. He's forgotten how she orgasms, her body shaking and trembling and crying out for clemency. She thrusts against him, drawing his own orgasm out with her tight grip on his cock and the sound of her lovely voice saying his name.

“It's called 'vanilla,’” 9S says, showing him the handcrafted label of the soap bottle. “I like the warm way it smells.” She tips the bottle and pours a small amount into the bathwater.

“It's nice…” 2B hums as he swirls his hand around the water. His eyes watch her as she undressed, and he takes a moment to do the same.

“The smell was nice. It was in your hair.” 2B reminisced on the scent he couldn't place when he was kissing her soft, sweet lips.

“Oh, yeah...haha...it's my favorite.” She sinks into the water, her hair spreading out on the surface.

She hesitates. She's still shy, even after all this.

“Do you...want to join me for a bath, Toobie?”

He smiles, his fingers going to the spot on his neck her lips worshipped.

“Yes. That would be nice.”

[thursdays-fallen-angel]

Just Pretend

Finished rewatching s12, couldn’t resist. No regrets. Hate me for this if you will. 

12.23 All Along the Watchtower Coda, 2k; AO3 link

After Sam’s footsteps crunch over the gravel and disappear into the house, the only sound remaining is Dean’s ragged breathing, and the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears.

He can’t think. Can’t move. There’s a pain in his chest and another behind his eyes, so strong that the memory of Lucifer’s fists colliding with his flesh is one that’s actually favorable. He knows from experience that the physical ache in his chest is brought on by at least two fractured ribs, but even that is overshadowed by the ache in his heart.

Cas—Cas’ body—the body—

It lies motionless, exactly where it had fallen after Lucifer pulled his blade free. The limbs are folded at unnatural angles, the coat is twisted awkwardly around the torso, and there’s a blood-lined hole where the body’s heart should be beating. It’s too much for Dean to even try to convince himself that the body is just asleep, no matter how much he wishes that was the case.

The fact that the eyes are closed is a small mercy. Dean doesn’t think he could stomach it if they were open and vacant. Or worse, if they were charred pits in the aftermath of Cas’ grace pouring out through them.

It’s that thought that has a sob tearing from Dean’s chest, and he collapses in on himself, burying his face in his hands as the damn bursts and tears spill free. The pain digs its claws into his chest, gripping at his throat and constricting his lungs.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He had just gotten Cas back, damnit. That mess with Ramiel had been a wake-up call, and he’d thought—he’d thought that maybe he could finally get his head out of his ass, and he and Cas could be on the same page for once, in the same place for once, but then Kelly fucking Kline became the priority again and her goddamn Satan baby, and Lucifer and Crowley and now—

He never even told him how he feels. That weight in his chest, the one that’s done so much growing recently, finally got a name put to it—there’s nothing to be done with it now, except let it drag him down.

When Dean touches Cas, he’s already cold. Whether that’s because the night air has already sapped away what was left of the angel’s warmth or because the star that used to occupy the body is no longer there, Dean doesn’t know. He nearly recoils then and there, but he has already lost the chance to feel him when he’s warm—he may as well torture himself further.

It’ll make for good nightmare material, too, he thinks. This, and the too-bright shine of grace as it went supernova and dissipated into the night air. That light is still burned into Dean’s retinas, and he has a feeling it’ll stay there for a long time. And considering Dean basically let this happen, let Cas charge at Lucifer, let Sam pull him away—

He deserves any and every punishment which might be thrown his way.

Dean slides his fingers across the cold surface of Cas’ forehead and into his hair, limp, but soft as silk. He caresses Cas’ cheek, drags the pad of his thumb along the bow of his lips, touches the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t realize he’s moved until, between one blink and the next, he finds himself cradling Cas’ body to his chest, his knees digging into the gravel and his shoulders hunched. Nothing about the position is comfortable, but physical comfort is the farthest thing from Dean’s mind, because the body in his arms is an empty, dead weight, and the stab wound is even more glaringly obvious than it had been before.

And the worst part is, none of that is enough to convince Dean to settle Cas’ body back on the ground. He can’t even loosen his grip.

It can’t happen like this.

“Please,” he croaks, to no one and everyone. He swallows down the next sob that threatens to choke him, knowing full well that if he lets it take him, he won’t be able to overcome it again. “Please, please. Give him back. I need—”

He needs another chance. He could do it right. He can fix things, make Cas stay for good, keep him safe.

If he had another chance—

A tingle runs across Dean’s shoulders, the weight of a hand without a hand. Dean squeezes his eyes shut against it, confident that he’s imagining it just as he’s imagining the undeniable familiarity of the touch. It’s warm and comforting, and sets something deep in his bones at ease.

When he fails to look up, unwilling to shatter the illusion of comfort, the touch becomes firmer, more insistent. Dean’s eyes crack open, but his vision is too blurred with tears to see more than the vague outline of Cas’ prone form in his lap.

That weight on his lap is exactly where it was. It hasn’t moved. Even with his vision impaired, Dean can see that much. But that doesn’t explain…

Dean’s breath catches on the intake of a sob, and he turns his face up so quickly that it makes him dizzy. He holds Cas tight against his chest, needing to ensure that he’s not hallucinating when he looks up to see—

Amara.

Dean blinks. His shock has granted him a temporary reprieve from his tears, but considering the sight in front of him, he realizes he would prefer to be blinded by his grief than face this new addition to his crumbling reality. Amara is looking at him with a small, knowing little smile, the same one that used to fill Dean with all-consuming rage a year ago. But it’s been a long year, and now he just wants it to end.

Take me, he wants to say to her. Because if this is how it’s going to be, if he has to live with losing Cas—he would rather not. Right now, he would gladly let his soul be consumed if it meant a final, sweeping end to his pain. There’s bound to be a baby inside that needs taking care of, but maybe this time, Sam can handle that on his own. It might be easier for him to raise a kid in secret on his own, anyway. Dean can cease to be in peace.

His mouth refuses to cooperate enough for any of his pleas to be voiced, but Amara just looks at him like she knows. Her long, delicate fingers sweep through his hair then down to cradle his cheek, and when another sob breaks past Dean’s lips, she shushes him gently.

“I see now I made a mistake,” she says. Her voice is pitched soft enough that its normal seductive tone is gone. If Dean felt less empty, he would probably be grateful. Holding his gaze, Amara continues, “When I left you, it was with the thought that the one thing you wanted most in this world was your mother. Family. But I’ve seen how that turned out. I see now that I was wrong.”

The Darkness sinks to her knees, and Dean’s eyes follow. He’s still half convinced he should ask her to end it like she once said she would, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, she shakes her head.

“You wanted family,” she says again, “but I failed to understand what that meant. My brother has done much to help me understand. How, I know what it is you need to be happy.”

Dean’s eyes flutter shut when Amara’s lips graze his forehead. The skin tingles, but he’s not dead, and his soul feels pretty damn in-place, so he doesn’t know—

“Kiss him.” Amara smoothly cuts off his internal fretting and gestures to the body in Dean’s arms. She stands back and steps away, out of Dean’s line of sight. “You know what to do.”

The tingling on his forehead grows stronger as he looks back down at Cas. There’s a lump in his throat so thick that he can’t swallow, can hardly breathe. Not that it matters, anyway; his mouth has gone dry, and if this doesn’t work, then he isn’t sure he wants to be breathing, anyway.

When he leans down, the skin of Cas’ forehead is cool against his lips. For a brief second, the tingle of Amara’s kiss spikes to the point where it’s uncomfortable, and then it rushes down through him and channels through his lips into Cas’ skin. Heat sears through Dean, and light pools just beneath the skin of Cas’ forehead. Dean leans back, startled, but the light doesn’t disappear. It pulses like a heartbeat, then abruptly erupts into smaller tendrils of light which spiral all along Cas’ skin, covering his face and then disappearing beneath the folds of his clothes. The golden loops fade into the skin as if they’re being absorbed, and all Dean can do is watch, and try not to get his hopes up too high.

The last of the light fades away. Dean isn’t sure his heart is beating.

Then Cas’ eyes slit open, and the world comes crashing in around Dean all at once. His breath returns to him along with a fresh wave of tears, and grabs at every part of Cas he can reach.

“Cas? Cas, buddy, talk to me. Please.”

Cas blinks a few times before his eyes find Dean’s, and he heaves in a deep breath that fills his lungs completely. Dean sees confusion flit across his features, and one of his hands comes up to skim across his chest. When he finds it whole, his hand continues up to wrap lightly around Dean’s wrist, his brow furrowing even further.

“Dean.” And Christ, there’ve been some times in Dean’s life where that one word has had a pretty serious effect on him, but he doesn’t think his relief has ever been as profound as it is right now. “Dean. Why are you crying?”

The sound that Dean makes in response is practically hysterical, falling somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He doesn’t even bother trying to find the words to explain himself. He raises Cas up by the lapels of his coat and answers with a wet kiss. It’s alarmingly easy to do. Cas is pliant to it in his surprise, blinking at Dean and gaping like a fish, but Dean really can’t even bring himself to care. He kisses Cas again and again until, finally, the angel gets with the program and kisses him back.

Dean doesn’t know exactly how long passes before his wits come back to him, but when they do, he quickly twists to look over his shoulder. Amara is long gone, as he half expected her to be. Cas is still halfway sprawled across his lap and panting for breath, and he redraws Dean’s attention with a gentle touch to his shoulder. Dean turns back toward him, and looking at him again, alive and breathing and staring at him in a way that’s so achingly familiar, Dean’s heart constricts. It’s just as easy to pull Cas into a tight hug as it was to kiss him.

“Don’t do that again,” Dean says. It’s useless and they both know it, but the warmth has returned to Cas’ limbs and Dean can feel it all along his front, and he knows Cas knows what he means anyway.

Proving that point, Cas huffs a soft laugh. His breath tickles Dean’s neck as he replies, “I won’t.”

There’s so many things they have to discuss, Dean knows, and there’s still the matter of Kelly’s kid besides, but for the time being, he wants nothing more than to sit here and hold Cas. He wants to bask, just this once, in the second chance he’s been given.

Dean slides his fingers into Cas’ hair and raises his eyes to the dark sky above them. Amara might have gone back to whatever corner of the universe it is that she and Chuck have decided to hide out in, but if she could hear him the first time, he’s confident she’ll hear him again.

“Thank you.”

[foreverfamilyforevervongola]

Not Alone

Rating: T Summary: Fran finds himself the target of a bully. Though it would normally take him two seconds to traumatize his harasser, this case is different. The bully happens to be the son of a Mafia family Tsuna is trying to enter a treaty with. He keeps his problem to himself, hiding his injuries. When the Varia find out, they are far from pleased, and Xanxus has to teach his headstrong charge that he’s never alone. Note: Contains bullying

Standing in the boy’s bathroom of Liceo Castelli, Fran hunched over the silver sink, warm water gushing from the tap. Using a wad of soggy paper towels, he scrubbed at his face and bare upper torso, trying to clean off the blood that oozed from fresh wounds.

Lambo stood beside him, holding his dirty and soiled school shirt in his arms. The fifteen-year-old studied him anxiously. “Fran, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” he answered, trying to ignore the pain that erupted in his split upper lip.

“This is the fourth time this month,” said Lambo hesitantly. “You should tell—”

“No.” Fran thrust the blood-stained paper towels into the trash and glanced at his reflection in the streaked mirror. His left eye throbbed and his cut lip had finally stopped bleeding. The scratches on his chest were a dark red and his entire upper body was coated in black, blue and purple bruises. Yet another sound beating from Tommy Caplin.

His friend let out an irritated huff. “Come on, man. If you’re not going to tell anyone, at least beat the guy up. Traumatize him.”

“As much as I would like to give him nightmares for the rest of his life, I’m afraid I’m going to have to show some restraint,” said Fran dryly.

“You’re part of the Varia. The Varia are not known for being able to show restraint.”

“Well, there’s an odd one in every group,” quipped Fran. “Besides, you do remember who Tommy Caplin is, right?”

“Yeah,” admitted Lambo reluctantly. “He’s the kid of the boss of the Caplin Famiglia. Tsuna-nii and the others are trying to work out some sort of treaty with them right now. They stop using street kids as drug runners and the Vongola will offer them their services when they are needed.”

Fran pointed at him. “Exactly. Sawada has been working at this for a long time. I’m not going to screw it up just because that jerk has some beef with me. He’ll get bored eventually. I just can’t react.”

You’ve got that part down pat, Lambo could not help but think. “Fine,” he said. This wasn’t the first time they’d argued about this, and he also knew it wouldn’t be the last. “You gonna be okay?”

“Always am.” Fran rummaged through his backpack and took out a spare school shirt. He shrugged it on slowly, trying not to aggravate his injuries. He took the ruined shirt from Lambo and shoved it at the bottom of his bag. Ever since the first time, when Caplin cornered him near the edge of school properly and pummelled his face in, he decided to carry extra clothes around just in case. Standing up, Fran shrugged his bag over his shoulders. “All right. Let’s go.”

The males left the bathroom and into the hallway, where I-Pin was waiting for them. The trio of teenagers set off towards the front doors. “Any luck?” I-Pin asked her best friend.

Lambo shook his head. “Nope. He’s about as stubborn as the rest of us. Probably even more so.”

“You guys worry too much,” drawled Fran. “I’m handling it. You don’t have to stick around every time I have to clean myself up.”

I-Pin rested a hand lightly on his arm. “Don’t be silly. We promised not to tell anyone. But we’re not going to make you go through this alone.”

Fran nodded, staring straight ahead and trying to ignore the odd feeling that bubbled in his stomach. It was by chance that Lambo and I-Pin found out that he was being bullied by Caplin, stumbling across the fighting pair almost two weeks ago. It had been in the stairwell of Liceo Castelli, since the high school senior didn’t seem brave enough to fight him anywhere other than school property, where he was amongst the top dogs of the student hierarchy. No one dared to mess with him. Though the pair wanted Fran to tell someone, he adamantly refused, and continued to shut down their suggestions every time one of them brought it up.

“I don’t get what his deal is,” grumbled Lambo. “You’ve never done anything to him.”

“Apparently my severe lack of facial expressions and hefty amount of dry wit irritate him,” muttered Fran. “And I don’t think he knows I’m a member of the Varia.”

Lambo and I-Pin exchanged glances. It made sense, since the Varia tended to run on high secrecy and very few in the mafia world knew when they acquired new members. Though Fran had been a member for over five years, he still didn’t have a full active role. He wasn’t in the field very often, and Varia members didn’t interact with other mafia families unless it was to slaughter them.

“He probably wouldn’t believe me if I told him, anyway,” continued Fran, giving a lazy stretch. Not that I blame him.

Before they stepped outside completely, Fran created an illusion over his face to hide the visible injuries. He didn’t need to deal with the heckling if someone back home discovered him in this sorry state. It was just easier to keep everything a secret.

There were two limos waiting on the curb; Ryohei was there to pick up his little siblings and there was a Varia driver to pick up Fran. Saluting his friends, the teal-haired boy jogged down the sidewalk and threw open the door. He slid against the cool leather seats, finally letting out a long breath. His entire body ached and he just wanted to take a shower and rest.

It took twenty minutes to reach Varia Castle, and Fran was already later than normal. Not worrying too much about it, he shuffled up to the large oak front door and gave the handle a crank. He stepped into the spacious foyer and immediately stole for the grand staircase.

“Brat!”

“What?” he hollered, pausing halfway up the staircase and glancing over the banister. “I just got back! Give a guy a second to settle in before you start to get annoying!”

“You’re late!”

“I had stuff to do!”

Squalo appeared in the boy’s line of sight and he glowered upwards. “And I’ve got stuff for you to do, runt.”

“Like what?” asked Fran, his visions of his nice warm bed disappearing from his thoughts.

“Take out the trash.”

“Don’t we have people for that?”

Squalo snorted. “Yeah, right. Get your ass down here and do what I tell you.”

“Whatever.” Rolling his eyes, Fran went back down the stairs and dropped his bag by the front door. He slouched by Squalo, who smacked him across the head, and entered the kitchen. There was already a decent-sized pile of trash bags stacked near the glass doors that led to the backyard.

“Disgusting,” he grumbled. With a soft sigh, he took hold of two black plastic bags bulging with trash and went out the sliding glass door, where he would loop around the castle and set the bags in the dumpster.

Squalo settled down in a stool, resting his elbows against the marble island. He picked up his now lukewarm coffee and took a sip. Fran returned a few minutes later to grab another load of trash before departing again, hardly noticing that he was being watched.

“What are you doing?” asked Levi, entering the kitchen after Fran left for the second trip. He opened the fridge to get a bottle of water before turning to look at the silver-haired man with an expectant expression.

“Watching the runt.”

Levi glanced out the glass, though he could not see the boy in the sprawling grass of their yard. “Uh…am I missing something?”

“He’ll be back. He’s got one more load of trash to do. Watch him.”

Arching an eyebrow. Levi shrugged and leaned against the kitchen island. Fran soon returned, and Levi quickly caught on to the way the teen carried himself. It was with careful movement, and when he bent down to grab the last of the trash bags his lips pressed into a thin line, as if the simple action was painful for him. When he stepped back outside, he dragged the bags against the ground, and even that seemed to be too much effort for him to do.

“I know he’s lazy, but not that lazy,” remarked Levi. “Look at him—he’s walking like an old geezer.”

“So like you?” asked Squalo, finally giving up on his coffee and dumping the contents in the sink.

“Shut up,” snapped the bearded man in annoyance.

“But at least you’re seeing what I’m seeing.” Squalo frowned. “Wonder what’s with him.”

Fran returned and closed the sliding glass door firmly behind him. “Anything else?” he asked sarcastically.

Squalo jerked his head towards the doorway. “Get out of here.”

Relieved, Fran hurried from the kitchen. He was going to take some painkillers, stand in a hot shower for a good hour, and then sleep.

…

Dinner rolled around and though Fran wished he could just sleep through it he knew it would not go over well with the others. Grunting, he hauled himself out of his warm covers and shuffled out of his bedroom.

Ouch.

The painkillers were useless. Every bone in his body groaned with agony, and he made sure his mask was in place to hide his facial injuries. While Mammon would sense something, he wouldn’t know what. His young protégé was getting better at keeping his illusions in tight control.

“It’s about damn time,” snapped Xanxus when the sixteen-year-old slouched into the dining room. “What kept you?”

“Sleeping,” he muttered, lowering into his chair.

“Are you not feeling good, Fran-chan?” Lussuria asked sympathetically.

“Just tired, I guess.”

Belphegor tilted his head to the side. “Tired after what? Your hour-long shower?”

“Hey, you’re the one I don’t have to worry about when it comes to racking up the water bill,” voiced Mammon. “You never spend more than ten minutes in there.”

“A guy can’t enjoy himself?” defended Fran. “Geez.”

“Since the beginning of this month, you have long showers once a week,” Belphegor replied. “You also come home late once a week, and that’s when you spend forever in the bathroom. You always go right to sleep afterwards, too.”

Fran stared at the blonde prince, trying to keep his expression neutral. He’d been so concerned with keeping his problem to himself that he didn’t think anyone had noticed anything out of the ordinary. “That’s creepy,” he drawled. “That’s a little too much attention you’re giving me.”

“Well, he’s not off,” said Squalo casually. “When you took out the trash earlier today, it was as if it was a painful task for you to do.”

“Of course it was. That stuff is rank,” Fran dismissed. He stared at the tabletop, making a silent vow to start being extra careful. “Can we eat now?”

Belphegor studied Fran intently for a moment. “A painful task, huh?”

Without warning, he reared his fist back and punched Fran in the arm with all the strength he had. Letting out a yelp of pain, he gripped the pulsating spot on his arm, flinching as the pain rocketed through his limb. Concentration shattered, his illusionary mask fell, revealing his black eye and split upper lip.

“You’re such a jerk,” he rasped, heart sinking. With no reason to keep up the façade, he eased down to the carpeted dining room floor and let out a sharp breath. “That freaking hurt.”

“What the hell?” snapped Belphegor, getting up and moving to kneel by the sixteen-year-old’s side. “I knew something was up, but I didn’t think you got the complete crap kicked out of you.”

Squalo hovered over the boy and used his mechanized sword to cut through the material of his sweater. The fabric slid to the side, revealing Fran’s black-and-blue and scratched upper torso. “Gods, runt,” he muttered, inspecting the injuries that stretched from his stomach to the tops of his arms. “Someone did a number on you.”

“You ever hear of personal space?” Fran asked in irritation. He removed his ruined sweater and added, “You’re paying for that.”

“Did you put anything on those cuts, dear?” fretted Lussuria. “You don’t want them to get infected.”

“No. They’re fine.”

“Luss, get the small trash to the infirmary.”

Fran flicked his gaze over to Xanxus, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “I’m fine.”

“And I don’t care what you think. Infirmary, or I’ll force you there myself.”

“Whatever,” muttered Fran. He let Lussuria help him to his feet and he shuffled after the Sun Varia, arms crossed over his chest.

Great. Now I get to humiliate myself further by telling them who did it, he thought bitterly. So much for keeping this to myself.

They reached the sterilized section of the castle and Fran took a seat on one of the cots. Lussuria used his Sun Flames to heal the worst of the damage and then started rummaged through the cabinets. He removed some bandages, antibiotic cream and a cloth to use to help prevent infection. “You should have said something sooner,” he cooed, using a gloved hand to tilt the boy’s head back a bit. “You didn’t have to hide it.”

Fran didn’t say anything. He sat still and let the resident nurse clean the wound on his lip and the scratches on his torso with the cream. Lussuria put dry bandages over the scratches before soaking the rest. “This will ease the pain.”

The teal-haired boy felt relief the second the cool material touched his bruised flesh. Both of his arms were wrapped up with the soaked bandages, since his torso was already covered with wrappings to prevent infection to his scrapes. Satisfied with his work, Lussuria soaked the cloth in the sink at the back of the room and gave it to Fran. He held it against his black eye, muttering, “Thanks.”

“Of course, dear. Does anything else hurt?”

“No,” Fran said honestly. “I’m good.”

“Hey, Luss,” Mammon’s voice said, before the man himself appeared in a cloud of Mist waves. “How’s the squirt?”

“Right here, and I’m fine,” said Fran in annoyance.

“Hmmm.” Mammon crossed his arms. “You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Thought so.” He glanced at Lussuria. “I’ll watch the runt. Xanxus wants to talk to you.”

“I don’t need to be watched.”

“All right, Mammon-chan,” said Lussuria, ignoring the boy completely. “Make sure he rests.”

“I will.”

The Sun Varia departed, leaving the two illusionists together. With a scowl, Fran slouched against the pillows, pulling his frog hood lower over his eyes. “You are all making a big deal out of nothing.”

“‘Nothing’ is you coming home with a cut or a bruise. This—” he gestured at Fran’s battered form, “—Is not nothing.”

“It’s nothing compared to what you people come home with,” retorted Fran. “Bel-senpai got a bullet in the stomach two weeks ago. This is not life threatening.”

Mammon shook his head. “Maybe not, but it’s still serious. This isn’t the first time, is it?”

“No,” he muttered, adjusting the cloth that sat over his injured eye.

“How exactly have you been handling the pain?”

Ah, damn it all.

The top rule of his illusionist training, one that both Master and Mammon had stressed the importance of, was that illusionists could not take any substance that affected the mind. Each dose contained the risk of weakening the illusionist’s powers, and it was a risk Fran was never allowed to take.

“Painkillers,” he admitted.

The hand struck across his face before he was prepared for it. Wincing, Fran gingerly rubbed at the new bruise. I deserved that one. “Only twice,” he felt the need to defend.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t whoop your ass,” growled Mammon.

“I don’t have one. I’m sorry.”

The apology was sincere, and the teen looked so tired and spent that Mammon felt his anger drain as quickly as it had flared. Fran must have been in tremendous pain to feel compelled to sneak the pills, and it was clear he’d been going through a rough time.

“I’ll run you into the ground once you recover from these injuries. If you ever do it again, I won’t be as merciful. You better believe I’m telling Rokudo.”

Guess I’m getting a trident to the head in the near future.

Fran sensed the presence of the rest of the Varia approached the infirmary. Not at all looking forward to the inevitable conversation, dread built in his stomach as familiar footsteps came closer to his cot. Xanxus stood over his charge, his blood boiling at the number of bandages that snaked up the boy’s torso and arms. “Small trash.”

“Yeah?”

“Who did this?”

“Nobody—”

Locking his arms on either side of Fran’s head, Xanxus leaned close, so that they were almost nose to nose. “Don’t make me ask again,” he said softly.

“Tommy Caplin,” said Fran reluctantly.

Xanxus straightened, crimson eyes narrowing. “Caplin?”

“They’re the bastards who use street kids to do their drug runs,” informed Squalo. “Sawada has been trying to establish some sort of deal with them to keep the kids safe from their greasy hands.”

“Thomas Caplin Jr. is the name of Thomas Caplin Sr.’s son,” piped up Levi. “But I thought Fran and Sawada’s brats were the only mafia kids who went to public school.”

Fran shrugged when the attention turned back to him. “He’s only been there for about a month. Guess he wanted to give public school a shot or something. I don’t know.”

“And how many times has he beat the crap out of you?” Belphegor asked casually.

“Uh…four?” Fran rubbed the side of his neck. “Pretty much once a week since he started at Castelli.”

Xanxus narrowed his eyes. “You just took it?”

“No, I did not just take it,” snapped Fran with a glare. “I defended myself.”

“With…?” prompted Mammon.

“My fists. I’m not supposed to use my illusions in public, remember?”

“Don’t get smart. You know this rule has exceptions.”

“Look, I know the kid is part of the Caplin Famiglia. He may not know I’m part of the Varia, but if he finds out I don’t want him to have any reason to tell his father to pull out of the agreement.” Fran swung his legs over the edge of the cot. “I’m fine, I got it covered—”

Xanxus set a restraining hand on the boy’s chest. “I don’t know how many damn years you have to be here for it to finally be drilled into your thick trash skull. You. Are. Not. Alone.” He jabbed the teen in the chest with each word. “You don’t have to deal crap alone, and you sure as hell don’t have to deal with some scum pushing you around just so Sawada can have his little treaty. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Fran softly.

Xanxus nodded stiffly. “Good. Levi, Belphegor, bring him over to Sawada’s. He’ll want to know about this new development.”

“Of course, Boss. Come on, kid.”

Fran stepped to the floor and shuffled after the pair. Squalo glanced at their leader. “What are you gonna do?”

“Call up Caplin’s ass and threaten to beat him within an inch of his life if his spawn touches my kid again,” said Xanxus darkly before storming out of the infirmary.

Mammon smirked as Lussuria laughed. “We won’t need deals or agreements after tonight. Caplin will be bending to our will after Xan-chan and Tsu-chan are through with him.”

…

Seated in the back of Levi’s car, Belphegor grew tired of Fran’s moody silence. He poked the teen’s hood. “I got a question for you, Froggy.”

Fran glanced over at him. “What?”

���How come you went to so much trouble to hide this?”

“I dunno. Guess I figured everyone would just tell me to deal with it myself. So I did.”

“Tch.” Belphegor flicked Fran’s forehead. “Don’t be stupid. We’re not the Varia because we do crap by ourselves. We’re the Varia because we do crap together.”

“Yeah. I guess, for once in your life, you might have a point.” Fran smirked.

“Shut up before I add a new injury to your collection.”

“We’re here, brats,” spoke Levi. Their vehicle rolled up to the mansion and the man shifted the gear to park before taking out the keys. “You need us with you, runt?”

“I’m good.”

“Then I’m gonna go raid the kitchen.” Belphegor charged up to the front door and barged inside. Levi rolled his eyes and followed after the prince. Scratching at the edge of the bandages wrapped around his left arm, Fran took a breath and entered the estate.

“Yo,” he called out.

“Kufufufufu.”

Mukuro appeared in a cloud of shimmering Mist waves. The easy smile immediately slid from his face when he caught the pitiful sight of his student. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Got into a fight. I’m here to speak to Sawada about it.”

“He’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll—”

“It’s fine,” interrupted Fran. “I can wait. What are you doing slacking off when there’s a meeting?”

Mukuro arched an eyebrow. “Chrome is there in my place, insolent brat.”

“Poor Chrome.”

“Always a smartass.”

“It’s my best quality.” Fran pursed his lips. “And since Mammon is gonna snitch, I might as well tell you before he does.”

Mukuro’s heterochromatic eyes narrowed. “What’d you do?”

“I’ve, uh, had a rough time this month. I was in a lot of pain, and I couldn’t really deal, so I took some painkillers.” Fran didn’t flinch when Mukuro’s trident speared through the fabric of his hood, missing his skull by an inch. “Yeah, expected as much.”

“You must have been desperate to disobey the rule you know Mammon and I to hold sacred,” said Mukuro. He studied the bandages with a sharp frown. “You said you had a rough month. What—?”

“Fran!”

Mukuro was cut off by Lambo’s anxious call. He turned to see Lambo and I-Pin hurrying into the foyer, sliding to a halt near them. “Everything okay?” I-Pin asked hopefully.

“You won,” drawled Fran, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“About time,” breathed Lambo in relief.

“Explanation,” ordered Mukuro. “Now.”

“Tommy Caplin’s been bullying Fran since he transferred to Castelli a month ago,” said Lambo hotly.

Mukuro’s eyes darkened with anger. “Tommy Caplin—as in the heir to the Caplin Famiglia.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, well. That definitely changes some things. Let’s go.”

“But the meeting—” started Fran.

“Screw the meeting. You’re a priority.”

The group headed for Tsuna’s office. Mukuro rapped on the door, and a second later Tsuna called, “Come in.”

When the four entered, it was to see the Decimo and the rest of his Guardians packing papers into file folders. When their eyes fell upon the Varia’s junior illusionist, they froze. “Fran!” gasped Chrome, rushing to the teen’s side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Fran, wriggling away from her fussing fingers. He stared down at the bandages snaking up his arms and turned to his friends. “Do I really look that bad?”

“You look like a mummy,” said Lambo apologetically. “And your face is kinda messed up.”

Tsuna moved around his desk to approach Fran. Lightly framing his face with his hands, Tsuna asked anxiously, “What happened?”

“I got beat up.” Fran hesitated for a second, but a firm nudge to his back by Mukuro prompted him to continue. “By Tommy Caplin.”

“Caplin?” Ryohei frowned. “Isn’t he the one we’re supposed to have an EXTREME treaty with?”

“It’s Don Caplin’s kid,” said Gokudera, eyes narrowing into slits. “What’s he doing pummelling you?”

“I don’t know.” Fran shrugged. “He transferred to Castelli a month ago. I guess he doesn’t like me.”

“He’s a real jerk!” insisted Lambo. “Fran didn’t do anything to start it. Tommy likes to think he can do whatever he wants just because of who his father is.”

“You knew about this, then?” Hibari asked, crossing his arms.

“For about two weeks,” admitted I-Pin.

“I made them promise not to say anything,” put in Fran. “So if you’re gonna flip out, flip out on me.”

Yamamoto smiled darkly. “If we’re going to flip out on anyone, it’s going to be Tommy Caplin.”

“What I don’t get is how someone can be so stupid as to target a Varia illusionist,” said Gokudera.

“If I’m going to be honest here, he doesn’t know of my connections to the Vongola.”

Tsuna furrowed his brow. “You didn’t tell him?”

“No.”

“How come? You obviously knew who he was.”

“He wouldn’t believe me,” muttered Fran. “He’d probably laugh in my face.”

“That’s when you give him nightmares for the rest of his life.” Mukuro lightly tugged on the ends of Fran’s teal hair. “Have I taught you nothing?”

“I know. I wanted to.” Fran rubbed the back of his neck. “But I didn’t.”

“It was because of the treaty, wasn’t it?”

Fran looked into Tsuna’s soft, knowing expression and nodded. “You really wanted to work something out to keep those street kids safe. You spent forever negotiating with the Caplin Famiglia. I didn’t want to give them any reason to pull out.”

Tsuna set his hands on Fran’s shoulders, keeping his grip gentle but firm. “I might have invested a lot of time into this, but it doesn’t matter if one their members is harassing you. Even if Tommy Caplin didn’t know who you were, I don’t tolerate bullying. You don’t have to suffer so I can get what I want.” He tapped the teen’s nose lightly. “Family doesn’t work like that.”

“So next time I see him, I can scar him for life?”

The brunette grinned. “Absolutely. And I’ll have a little talk with his father. I’m sure I can convince him to set Tommy straight.”

“Thanks.”

Tsuna ruffled his teal strands. “Anytime. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” said Fran, warmth swelling in his chest. “A lot better now, actually.”

“We’re gonna eat dinner soon,” said Lambo. “Wanna stay?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “But Bel-senpai is in your kitchen. You might not have much food left.”

They all trickled out of Tsuna’s office, and Chrome gave Fran a hug before he set off down the corridor with Lambo and I-Pin. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Fran muttered, “Thanks. For helping me out when I was being stubborn.”

I-Pin nudged him playfully. “Of course. We’re friends. We’ll always be there to help you out, even if you insist you don’t need it.”

“Because we’re also stubborn,” added Lambo.

Fran looked down at the floor with a slight smile. For the first seven years of his life, he had been alone, living in isolation with a grandmother who barely acknowledged his existence, her senility sometimes too much to bear.

But things were drastically different, and had been for years. He had people who cared about him. He wasn’t alone.

It was about time he learned that.

…

Three Days Later

...

“You see anything?” hissed Belphegor, jostling Xanxus in his attempt to peer further out the windshield.

Scowling, the man jabbed the prince in the side. “Shut up before I knock out your teeth,” he snarled. “I’ll make you walk home, I swear.”

Huffing, the blonde settled and continued staring through the glass. Liceo Castelli loomed before them, and students were crossing the rolling lawns towards idling vehicles and buses.

Soon the person they were waiting for came into view, his frog hood making him stand out from the rest of the uniformed students. Fran caught sight of the familiar limo and started towards it.

A tall, stocky, blonde boy suddenly stepped in front of the sixteen-year-old, his pudgy face a dull red. He snagged the front of Fran’s school shirt and leaned close to his face.

“Filth doesn’t know when to quit,” growled Xanxus. “Must be as stupid as the rest of the Caplins.”

Belphegor smirked. “I bet Caplin is gonna be squealing like a pig real soon.”

The teal-haired teen’s eyes glowed purple for a brief moment before returning to normal. Tommy let go of his shirt and stumbled back, his eyes growing wide and panicked. A shrill scream escaped him as horrific images played through his mind like a movie, out of his control. He fell to the ground and jerked about wildly, his hands covering his face.

Fran stepped nimbly over his thrashing body and strode for the limo without a backwards glance. He threw open the back door and climbed across the back seat. “Yo,” he said when he realized Xanxus and Belphegor were in front. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” said Belphegor, looking over his shoulder with a wide grin. “Just making sure you handed that punk his ass on a silver platter.”

“Not bad, small trash,” said Xanxus, shifting the gear into ‘drive’. “Not bad.”

Fran’s horrible mental projections and the phone calls from both Xanxus and Tsuna were more than enough for Don Caplin to take Tommy out of Liceo Castelli, with the promise to do whatever Tsuna wanted, so long as his son was spared punishment.

Fran was cool with the arrangement—he got to traumatize Tommy and Tsuna got to save the street kids in Caplin’s territory. It was, as far as he was concerned, the perfect deal.