#it does still stir a tiny bit of guilt because I could be working on the other classes

[otaku553]

Done with half my classes so I took a free night to just watch things and chill and draw and wow. Wow

This feels bizarre

[shyphonics]

Salad Days Chapter 3: When I was born, my mama cried, and picked me up with gloves.

(babypunk!Rodrick Heffley x reader)

part one | part two | part four

I wanna be stereotyped

I wanna be classified

I wanna be a clone

I want a suburban home

Suburban home

Rodrick wakes unusually early, 8 AM, still feeling weird. The rest of the band are still asleep. He grabs a beer from the fridge because, fuck it, nobody can tell him not to.

Getting shows is harder than he’d expected. He’s nervous, but he has to keep up a front, for the sake of the band. If he tells them he’s worried that they’ll never get a show, they might just give up. He can’t let on that there’s any negativity in his mind. He has to be a fearless leader. This has to work. This is their life now. It’s gonna be fucking amazing.

There are seven missed calls from home on his cell phone, and he decides to ignore them a little while longer. He doesn’t feel like talking to his parents, he knows they’d just be disappointed in him. He'd just have to hear about so-and-so from down the street who just got into law school. Or medical school. Or whatever the fuck kind of school.

No matter what he does, he knows he's a failure in their eyes.

Rodrick hadn't had any interest in higher education. He'd figured he didn't need it for the kind of life he was after. No matter how much his parents had guilted him.

He'd felt maybe a teeny, tiny bit guilty when everyone around him got their college acceptance letters. People started cliquing up based on which schools they'd gotten into and everything.

I hope we're dorm mates!

Are you taking psych 101?

Wow, you got a full scholarship?

Fuck off.

At one point, his dad had even caved and said, you can major in music theory!

And what, Frank? Show up to venues all like, here’s my degree! My masters in drums! Give me a show, please?

Yeah, right.

At least he'd had the rest of the band. Through everything, they'd always been on the same page. Always plotting a way out.

He takes a deep chug of his beer and pops his laptop open. He checks The Strike's website, and notices a radio feed in the top corner.

A nasally man's voice comes through his headphones. He's mid-rant, "-because they didn't understand us. And they never have, and they never will. My parents thought I was the devil. My dad loved The Eagles. I hated The Eagles with every fiber of my being. If I could say one thing to my father- and Glenn Frey- right now, it'd be: suck it. Punk never dies."

Rodrick suppresses a laugh as a song starts. He's pretty sure he recognizes it, and the words are really resonating with how he's felt since he left home.

Clicking through The Strike’s event calendar, he almost does a spit take. Friday night. They’ve got a show.

Suck it, Frank and Susan!

“Wake up, fuckers!” he yells, causing bodies to stir around the living room.

“Dude, shut up.” Ben groans from the couch.

“You shut up! We have a show! In 2 days!”

That does the trick, and everyone is up and shouting in celebration, drowning out their downstairs neighbor hitting the ceiling with a broomstick.

His email blinks with a new message:

Let’s see what you got, diaper boy.

~

Gettin’ high with your friends

On the basketball court

Sunglasses on when you sleep

Yeah, that's a sport

They're absolutely decked out. Denim, leather, patches, and studs as far as the eye can see.

You recognize Rodrick from your post at the bar, dressed like an aging member of a hair metal band, desperately clinging to his youth. He’s fumbling with his ID and a pair of dark sunglasses while Jimbo, the bouncer, impatiently crosses his arms. The rest of his band, you assume, make it through easier.

“The show’s in two days! What are you doing here?” you shout, drying a glass with a rag.

They look like a child biker gang, hopped up on sugar.

“Making ourselves known!” one of the others replies. He’s got a high pompadour, and a leather jacket that is entirely too small for him. You chuckle as they all take a seat.

“What’re you havin’?” You toss the rag over your shoulder and meet Rodrick’s eyes.

“Beer?” He says, unsure.

“Type?”

“Uh. Cheap? Cheapest, please.”

“Natty Light. Two bucks. Plus tip.” You wink, rooting around in the fridge under the bar.

“Tip? You got it out of the fridge.” Rodrick raises an eyebrow.

“And I opened it,” you pop the beer open, setting it down hard to make your point.

“Okay, okay. Uh, what’s a tip on that?” He looks panicked, digging in his wallet.

“I’m fucking with you. It’s a two dollar beer.”

He sheepishly hands you three singles, and you tuck the third into your bra. You hate to say it, you really do, but he’s kinda cute. All dressed up to drink shitty beer with his friends. He’s got a nice nose, despite the visible break, and enough eyeliner on to join a family of raccoons. It suits him.

He takes a sip and flinches, “This is awful.”

“If you hadn’t said cheap-est, you woulda had more options!” You laugh.

The rest of the guys order a round of PBRs, a four dollar option, and well whiskey shots.

“Ooh! Classy,” you mockingly fan yourself, “What fine young gentlemen.”

“Hey, how come it’s empty in here?” One of them asks.

“It is…” you check the clock behind the bar, “four pm.”

They stare at you.

“Broad daylight.” You deadpan, setting four shot glasses down on the bar.

The Strike is an old building, all chipped red paint and rickety metal. Rodrick’s eyes linger on a giant sculpture of a flaming match above the bar. Posters from their heyday line the walls: Agent Orange, Circle Jerks, Violent Femmes, Adolescents. There’s a weird song playing; the chord progression seems all out of whack, and from what Rodrick can tell, the singer is chanting suicide, suicide.

“What song is this?”

“You don’t know? it’s your favorite,” you tease, smirking at him.

He’s got nothing. You figured.

“Dead Kennedys, ‘Straight A’s.’ Come on, man. It’s a good one, too. Sixteen on the honor roll, I wish that I was dead. That was me!”

“Whoa. What? What happened?” One of the others asks. He’s got flat ironed blonde hair and big hipster glasses, and his mouth is hanging open.

“Well,” you tilt your head, “Let’s just say my hair and eyebrows have fully grown back, and my parents don’t know my whereabouts. The punks took me in, and I never looked back.”

“What do you mean they took you in?” The one with the shaved head looks at you with genuine concern.

“Okay, so like, this is a bar. People play here. People also play empty buildings, and shitty old houses.”

They’re hanging on your every word.

“I used to run the doors for house shows, collect the five bucks or whatever, stop fights, and then I could sleep in the houses. Then they started paying me, I met my band, I met Mike… and now I’m here!”

You pose, attempting to look successful.

“That’s really cool, but also, like, sad. You don’t talk to your parents?” One of them asks, eyes glittering.

“Don’t need ‘em.” You try to smile reassuringly. You hadn’t meant to bring the vibe down, but hey, they’d asked.

Rodrick’s eyes are fixed on you. His expression is strange. You decide to break the tension.

“You gonna drink that, baby boy?” You tap your fingernail next to his shot.

He looks up at you, lips trembling like they’re trying to form words. His friends are cackling.

“Uh, y-yeah, totally.”

Oh. He’s never taken a shot. None of them have, you realize, as you look down the line and see full glasses.

“C’mon, losers! Take ‘em down! What are you here for?” You holler, channeling your best drill sargent, “I’ll do it with you, fuck it!”

You pour yourself a shot of shit whiskey, raising it in the air, “Let’s go!”

They mirror you and raise their glasses.

“Here’s to Big Rod and The Diapers!”

Gulp. You look around. They’re all puckering their lips and tearing up. You have a brief moment of recovery as well.

You exhale heavily, “Yeah, that’s what happens when you get well liquor. Does a body wrong.”

They laugh, still groaning.

You turn the music up from the big stereo behind the bar, and the guys are all chatting amongst themselves. They seem to be having a great time, and you’re prepping the back of the bar for the small crowd about to pour in at five.

The whiskey hits Rodrick’s head, and he feels pretty goddamn proud of himself. This place is awesome. They have a show here. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and decides he's finally going to call home. Hearing your story had made him actually miss his mom. Maybe she’d even be proud of him.

“I'll be right back,”

His friends wave him off, and he heads into a doorway where the bathrooms are. He dials the number and sighs heavily, shaking off his nerves.

“Hello?”

“Hey, uh, hey mom,”

“Rodrick! Oh, thank goodness, did you change your mind? Are you coming home? We can start applying to colleges again, and…”

“What? No, I… I got a show! At a real venue.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed, “Are you getting paid?”

“Wh- I don't know! It's in two days. I'll let you know. Nice to know you're still so supportive, though.”

“I'm just worried about you.”

Rodrick frowns, refusing to speak.

“Do you want me to put dad on?”

“No,” Rodrick scoffs, “tell Greg I say hi.”

He hangs up, standing there, sulking for a moment. Why the hell was he expecting anything different? Don’t need ‘em.

He hears a commotion towards the front of the bar. He peeks around the corner, and sees the bouncer restraining a short, stout guy with a shitty little mustache.

“Lemme go, Jimbo!” he struggles.

“Tony! We told you not to come back here!” You march around to the front of the bar and put your hands on your hips.

“What did I even do?”

“You got broken glass and blood all over the dance floor! You know who had to clean it up?” You're right up in his face, taunting him.

Tony is part of a small group who only come to shows to beat the daylights out of each other. They're sweet when you get to know them, but reckless, and horrible for the bar ecosystem. Last Saturday had been hardcore night, and Tony and his buddies had managed to turn a very respectful pit into an absolute bloodbath.

He's still squirming. The bouncer has him in a full Nelson at this point, he's not doing himself any favors.

“I had to clean up your fucking blood, asshole! That's a health hazard!” You land a light flick on his nose and he grumbles. It's probably broken, and you feel just a little bad. “Not cool!”

Jimbo carries him outside like a child and dumps him on the curb. Rodrick is slowly creeping to the front of the bar, eyes wide. He's cautious, but part of him can't help but think how cool you are.

“Dont come back! Remember what I said, I can put the Hell's Angels on your ass in a second!" The bouncer’s voice booms.

The rest of the band notice Rodrick’s presence and they share a frightened look. This is getting serious.

Jimbo shuts the door and laughs. He's a huge man, mountain-like even. He's got long hair with a beard to match, adorned with rings, like a viking. His laugh does not match how scary he is. He sounds like Santa Claus.

You're laughing too. Jimbo is the perfect bouncer; strong and intimidating, but a total softie underneath. He's the honorary uncle of everyone at The Strike.

“You're a Hell's Angel?!” Ben pipes up, shocked.

“Nah,” Jimbo chuckles, “I just have a beard and a bike. Little fuckers like Tony scare easy, though."

Rodrick feels his heart hurt a little less as everyone around him laughs. He could get used to this. It feels like being in a weird little family.

“Oh boy,” you say quietly, hearing the familiar sound of fuck, fuck, fuck! coming down the stairs. It's Mike.

“What’s goin’ on, Mike?” you ask, grabbing a glass and filling it with seltzer water, topping it with a lime.

“Fuckin, booze delivery Saturday, show Friday! Spring break! Fuckin… frat boys!" His voice is high and nasally. Rodrick immediately recognizes his voice from the radio show earlier.

He chugs the water in one go, and slams it on the counter.

“Mike, we got plenty. All the bottles are at least half full, and the walk-in has, like, fifteen cases of beer.” You say, refilling his glass.

“Frat. Boys.” He repeats, running a hand through his tall, silver hair.

Rodrick grimaces. He really, really hopes none of those frat boys will be from back home.

“Isn't this a punk bar, though?” Ward asks.

Mike moves his head like a meerkat to look at Ward, squinting through his Buddy Holly glasses.

“Who are you? And they don't care! They'll go anywhere there's noise and booze!”

“Alright. Focus. Ideas, solutions,” you try to recenter your neurotic boss.

“They said we could come get it, but that delivery’s not gonna fit in a goddamn ‘94 Corolla.”

Ben leans back from the bar and looks at Rodrick, raising his eyebrows. Rodrick gets it, and smiles back, pointing at Ben.

“We have a van!”

Mike whips around to look at Rodrick.

“Who are you?”

“We’re Löded Diper, uh, sir?” he cringes at his own words.

“Ew. Don’t do that.”

“I don’t know why I did,” Rodrick’s eye twitches, “but we’ll totally get your booze.”

Mike gives him a suspicious glare, then ducks behind the bar to grab a notepad. He scribbles furiously and waves Rodrick over to show him the paper.

“That’s where you go. That’s who you talk to. That’s our order. Be there at 11 AM tomorrow, get it here by 1.”

“We’ve totally got it!” Chris shouts from the bar, making Mike jump.

“Don’t fuck me over!” Mike turns to point at Chris, then makes his way back up the stairs.

You look at Rodrick, mouthing nice! and giving him a thumbs up. He nods, giving you a big grin. It’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him, and it gives you a little flutter in your chest.

Pretty cute.

~

Hold my head, make me warm

Tell me I am loved

Give me hope, let me cry

Make me feel

Give me touch

The guys are all passed out for the night. Rodrick finds the radio feed from earlier and puts his headphones in, laying back on the couch. This time, the host is different.

"This is 98.7, your last independent radio option in a hundred mile radius." A calm, warm voice greets his ears, and he has a pang of recognition.

Is that...?

"I've been thinking about this song a lot today," the host says, "this one's for whoever needs to hear it."

Brain death. Mind death. School damage! Straight A's!

Rodrick sits up. Holy shit. It is you!

He closes his eyes and lets the song take him over. For how dark the lyrics are, it's oddly comforting. Today had really made him feel less alone.

Life isn't just bullshit for him- he'd known that, of course- but now he knows it. He's seen it. He's not a disgrace for going after his dreams.

He's finally in a place where that's not such a crazy idea.

If you're okay, if four other bands are okay... he's gonna be okay. He doesn't need anyone's approval. Fuck 'em.

He lays back as the song ends and another begins, a sense of relief washing over him. Eventually, he falls asleep to the sound of your smooth radio voice mixed with crunchy, old punk demos.

Everything is gonna be okay.

He knows it.

[leviiattacks]

Boxer Levi & Coach Reader

author note :: i lost the ask for this, but this is not good at all. quite literally the worst thing i have ever written /srs anyways,,,,, anon said they wanted me to post it no matter what so i hope you do enjoy whatever this is,,, the pacing is non-existent and it has not been edited 👍🏼

requests are always open :-) i promise i am usually better than this,, anyway i may just use this as a rough outline for a fic 🤔

word count :: 5.4k....... yeah......

you and levi become acquainted with each other in university. it’s all very cliche if you do say so yourself. he steps in playing the role of good samaritan heroically saving your wallet and wordlessly he hands it to you even after running for the thief. the man doesn’t do as much as pant in exhaustion.

his stamina is…never mind that, his reflexes are out of this world

he expects a thank you because anyone else would expect at least a token of gratitude shown via words but the sentence you want to ask only ends up trapping itself in your throat

it comes to the point where he nods understanding maybe you have a sore throat or just don’t want to thank him at all

eyes flicking to his hands you immediately lunge forward taking your chance.

almost immediately you feel regret for holding onto the wrist of a complete and utter stranger without permission

“your stamina it’s great!” the man turns to you, he isn’t smiling but he’s definitely intrigued by the sudden change in behavior

and that’s where it all begins

levi’s horrible at getting to know strangers, even worse at forming bonds and connections. maybe that’s why he doesn’t warm up to the idea of having to deal with new people and new settings all at once

“i hope you’ve met your coach this is aman-” introductions are cut short by levi stubbornly interjecting in the middle of your sentence 

“i have, but is she you?”

pursing your lips an awkward chuckle leaves your mouth, you look around uncomfortably wondering what he means.

“well, no?”

“then i won’t box.”

?????

you don’t even know what to say??? here you were thinking maybe he would be a little more cooperative than this.

his index finger points right at you and he takes a step forwards. his shoes come into contact with yours and you find yourself holding your breath apprehensively.

“i won’t box unless it’s you in charge.”

that is when you and levi formally meet for the first time. you are but an inexperienced coach and he, an inexperienced boxer.

“i’m getting drinks you want anything?”

“oh no don’t worry i’m good!!” you smile at levi and he nods his head venturing off to buy himself a bottle of sparkling water

levi has had you coaching him for a few years now

really he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more than respect for you. respect for the way you stay back late with him to train, respect for the schedules you make him and he’s most definitely respectful of your boxing knowledge

sure out of the two of you he’s more physically capable but it doesn’t change the fact that he becomes frustrated when he’s told he has to spend a day without you.

it’s not like you think that levi cares or anything, nothing sappy like that.

he just probably hates, no, despises having to listen to anyone else’s instructions. he finds that they somehow sound demeaning or less sincere.

every instruction you give him has a reason behind it. you don’t beat around the bush and he’s stated before that he enjoys that he knows he’s developing his skill set and progressing when he’s with you.

the olympus ring - one of the largest boxing competitions known to man is approaching soon and if levi manages to place in the top two his career is set to sky rocket in no time at all

that thought makes you feel unusually nervous

worry gnaws at your mind and you wonder about whether or not he’ll replace you after the competition concludes. after all who wants a coach with little fighting experience? all you really know is from your family. your brother and father had been professional boxers years prior.

you have no doubt at all that levi will place number one that’s for sure but you really hope he doesn’t find a replacement for you.

you’ve never had much faith in your coaching and to be left behind in the dust hurts you a tiny bit but you never bring it up because you know what? levi progressing in his career will make him happy :-)

levi’s happiness over yours and it’s not good to be selfish you suppose >:(

“y/n.” he’s waving a hand in front of your face, you’re uncharacteristically quiet today and he’s caught on

“you awake?” he asks again.

upon receiving no response levi’s now waving his hand with more tenacity

“wake. up.” he flicks at your forehead and you stir a little finally coming to your senses once you see him leaning up above you.

he looks taller than normal from this angle and your cheeks blaze, he has a habit of walking around shirtless whilst training and doesn’t realise the effect it has on you

“i- yeah good totally good. just thinking.”

“thinking about?” levi kneels to the floor looking you in the eyes and your mind falters wondering when it was he began to sit so close to you. it feels like it was just yesterday when the two of you used to eat lunch separately out of embarrassment.

the silence stretches for a second too long and his eyes narrow suspiciously leaving you to think on your feet

“i well, you have a press conference soon and i have to think of transportation and-”

“coach. i can deal with that.”

you’re a little stunned when he says that because he’s never tried to take away from your responsibilities in the past. is this a hint that he no longer wants you around?

“but it’s my job?” you reply back feeling threatened

“but you’re always doing it. i can figure it out this once.”

without even hearing the rest of what you have to say he stalks back towards his punching bag leaving your chest empty

he’s definitely thinking of replacing you is what you think

really this should not be getting you worked up.

you’ve known levi for years, you should have faith in the fact he trusts you but you find yourself indulging in self doubt more often than you intend to

guilt fills you as you scroll through the multiple job listings in front of you but you have a justification. this is your lifeline, you can’t afford to lose your source of income and it’s best to be prepared

however there’s no real amount of preparation that can get you used to the prospect of not seeing levi every day

he’s sort of just made a space for himself in your daily routine

chewing at your bottom lip you can’t get through one job listing without thinking about him and you shut your laptop down thinking tomorrow will be a better day and you’ll check back in then

why does levi even matter?? he’ll officially be an ass when he dumps you of your position?? who cares about him???

but that doesn’t stop you from caring and now you’re hunched over your closed laptop trying to understand what it is that’s making you feel this way

maybe it’s the whole attachment you have with him??

he is the very first person you’ve ever coached that’s true

he’s made you proud and allowed for your name to get out there in the boxing world

maybe that’s what’s holding you back from looking into other jobs

but that reason doesn’t make much sense

you should still be frustrated with him.

AND

you most definitely should not care about how he’s doing OR worry about who’ll patch him up when he ends up stupidly injuring himself during practice (he does that a lot)

“why do i care so much for him?” you type into google thinking there’s no person on this earth that can help you with this predicament now

honestly at this point asking AI is probably going to have to be your only reliable option

tapping on one of the first links you hope to find your answer

“what happened? yeah, you had sex?” pops onto your screen and you tap off as quick as possible.

no. you did not have sex. oh god, you haven’t even touched levi much. the most you’ve done is lace your fingers with his and offer him a hug

are you meant to have… had sex???

is it wrong for you to feel that way withou-

okay enough. this has got nothing to do with sex and your feelings are still valid. maybe you are right and you’re attached to him that’s it!!! right?

scrolling further down you nearly give up until you reach another link titled “the science of caring for those who don’t care for you.”

rolling your eyes you still hesitantly tap praying you find some sort of answer

and an answer is what you find that’s for sure

staring you right in the face in bold letters

1. you feel responsible for that person

not really, he’s very independent.

2. the person is a family member

absolutely not

3. you could be romantically attracted to the person in question

…….

romantically interested?? no. that’s wrong. not true. incorrect. not right. just not real. you are not romantically attracted to levi

,,,or are you?

that does explain why he makes you feel jittery, it explains why you shivered the one time he engulfed you in a hug at his first championship

it also explains why you feel burning jealousy when a celebrity shoves their number into your hands asking you to pass it onto levi. they don’t even look at you like you’re a human being. you’re just a messenger pigeon

they’re worlds away from you. you forever stuck in your tracksuit and them - those beautiful models in skintight dresses and heels to match are stuck in a world where everything they want is handed to them. that includes men

you know it’s not their fault and you’d kill to be like them too but you guess the whole sweaty tracksuits and boxing daily has just become your niche

nonetheless levi is a man. a popular man.

and he sure as hell has no romantic interest in his clumsy, uncoordinated coach

sighing you huddle yourself into a ball choosing not to think about it anymore

but you know you’ve already come to your conclusion

you like levi ackerman more than a coach should

and it’s taken you years to take notice of it

when you became a coach you never really thought people would talk about you much

you were clearly very wrong about that. you and levi are both hot topics on discussion forums and boxing panels. luckily for you levi finds no entertainment in such forms of boxing and so never glances at them

he’s completely unaware of all the online comments. to be honest you’re happy he’s oblivious to it all. he doesn’t deserve to deal with spiteful, mean spirited jabs

you’re less like levi and find yourself aimlessly scrolling through news articles and boxing q&a pages. it’s interesting to see what people have to say on social media

but these days all the searches for your name are filled with “replaced soon?” and “not good enough to coach ackerman?”

the headlines are cruel jokes but again you’re willing to handle taking the brunt of the press’ force instead of levi. yes, even if it hurts you.

“what you reading?” levi peers over your shoulder and you nearly throw your phone away to the other side of the room but instead you choose to grip at it tightly and shove it into your chest

you grin hiding the screen away. “something private.”

levi doesn’t look like he believes you, he wants to ask if you’re okay and if you need anything because frankly you do look slightly distraught but he decides against interrogating you

“oh okay. i’ll be back. you want anything from starbucks?” he asks.

at that moment you wish he asked you if you wanted to talk about what had been bothering you

but you know even if he did ask you’d deny his help

the olympus ring’s official press conference is one in which many rivalries will be established

levi has always had an issue with zeke jaeger one of the top contenders in his division.

it’s a long story......

one which includes the purposeful injury of a mutual friend in order to sabotage his career

you remember it all, the way you had to physically hold levi back from pouncing at the man. it had been one of the most difficult things you had to do

erwin was your friend too and you wanted him to receive justice. part of you wanted to let go and allow for levi to attack zeke with his all but you chose to be levi’s coach before you were erwin’s friends

if he wasn’t going to make good decisions for himself you would do it for him

if you had let him go through with that rash choice he could have risked suspension and suspension could completely halt some careers. suspension almost always led to shorter longevity and motivation

and so that’s why you always shift to levi’s side when he walks past zeke. there’s no way you’re taking a chance. knowing levi he could lose his cool and completely pummel him with an upper cut

so that’s what you’re doing right now. trying to edge levi to the other side of the hall but he does no such thing.

“coach, do you have to be so cautious with zeke?” he finally asks with a bland look on his face

you wince a little when he doesn’t use your name and it looks like he notices the reaction. he makes no commentary on it

“this is my job. let me do it properly.” you explain nudging him to the side so your path doesn’t coincide with zeke’s

levi looks at you poking a tongue in his cheek clearly not amused nor happy

“i’ll do what i want.” and with that said and done he walks on ahead. you take note of the fact that despite saying he’ll do what he wants he does in fact comply with your instructions and walks in the opposite direction and into a nearby convenience store

sighing you rummage through your backpack trying to find your meds

your head has been pounding since you’ve arrived and you hope to fit in at least one nap

looking up to survey the area the street is clear and there is no sight of zeke. you feel at ease at that discovery, not only does he cause you discomfort but he’s a general displeasure to interact with

his tuft of dirty blonde hair irks you to no end and you’re up for no conversation with the man who who ended erwin’s career

he’s the last person you want to ever initiate small talk with.

but fate is a weird thing is it not? because as soon as you’re sure you’ve escaped the clutches of zeke jaeger you hear a chuckle behind you

“well if it isn’t levi’s side piece?”

a hand lands on your shoulder but you shake it away immediately

jaw clenching you try to ignore zeke as best you can but he continues to taunt you

“imagine if levi got an actual coach and not a whore to fuck in the gym?”

turning to face him you see him midway through shrugging his shoulders

believe it or not there had been a time where you and zeke were good friends. a time where he hadn’t let fame get to his head.

so for him to refer to you like that does make your heart sting a little

“cat got your tong-”

and there it is

the long overdue punch

it hits him right in the jaw without warning and you’re tripping trying to stop levi - who might you add has shown up from NOWHERE.

you thought he was shopping?????

“you know if i needed to swing at him i could have?!?” you whisper shout at him completely infuriated that he’s possibly thrown away his chance of competing

“you weren’t going to though.” he says plainly and you can’t deny it.

you don’t have it in you to swing at zeke.

levi doesn’t choose to inflict more pain on his opponent and instead kneels beside him leaning by his ear

you don’t know what he whispers - you’re completely out of ear shot but it’s not even thirty seconds later till levi rises and saunters away seeming content

shooting zeke an apologetic look for the over the top beating you’re surprised to see him look...regretful?

whatever levi said you wonder what it was

it’s been a solid fifteen minutes of you walking behind levi

his back is all you’ve seen so you have no idea about his mood and it’s not that you’re intimidated or anything but peering in just to look at his face is a little odd so you choose to stay a suitable distance away

“y/n.” he says finally when he reaches his hotel room.

fishing through your backpack for his keys you’re surprised when he holds your wrist to stop you

“listen to me.” he sounds calm but slightly on edge

“has zeke always said those things?”

twiddling your thumbs you awkwardly laugh

“well no, we used to be friends. remember how i told you ages ago? he was so cool back then and yeah i miss that zeke :-) but i don’t know what’s up with him.”

you’ve never really told anyone about how you feel about zeke’s hostility so you’re getting KINDA emotional right now thinking about the friend you miss

“i mean to ask, since you started coaching me has he always said that?”

“it was a bit before that but yeah. it’s no big deal at all. people change, zeke changed. i can’t do anything about it.”

moving to find his room keys again you don’t expect for him to hold his grasp

looking up at him there’s a look of simmering anger on his face

“why did you never tell me he said that about you?”

running a hand through your hair you’re only getting anxious having to deal with this in the middle of a hotel hallway

“levi. everyone says that about me. me and you are always together, all sorts of stupid rumours spread.”

“so why do you have to deal with all the malicious comments?? it’s unfa-”

“levi, the world has never been fair.”

handing him his keys he looks between you and them. he’s deciding if he wants to continue with his questioning

ultimately he decides he’s heard enough

a few hours have passed since the incident. neither you or levi have had the courage to come out of your separate rooms to discuss anything

you know you’re going to have to break the quiet and go through his possible press conference questions with him. even if you don’t want to this is your job after all.

so that’s how you end up sitting cross legged on his bed in your pyjamas. levi’s still in the shower so you’ve welcomed your self in. it’s common practice between the two of you to do so

after the one time he walked in on you naked…there’s practically nothing to hide from each other

scribbling a few ideas down onto your notepad you’re curious of what the press have in store for him this time

“yes exactly my thoughts” the sound of levi’s voice is coming from the bathroom, you suppose he’s had to take a business call and think nothing of it

“y/n?” he scoffs and you assume at first he’s calling out for you but then things take a turn for the worst

“sometimes i think about not having y/n coach me that’s all… there’s nothing wrong with that?”

oh.

so your suspicions were correct.

glancing down at the interview questions in your lap you jot down a note at the bottom

hey couldn’t stay for long but try to review the press conference questions on your own if you have the time! :-) much lov good luck, y/n !!!!

and then you retreat.

you don’t know if you make it up but you swear you hear knocking at your door during the night. you aren’t too sure but whatever it is disturbs your sleep.

stretching outside of your room the next morning you’re drowsy and beyond exhausted. you don’t even notice levi come outside.

one of his knuckles is rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. has he not slept well?

“i tried to wake you up but i guess you were asleep?” his statement comes out as a question. you’re not used to levi exhibiting much emotion at all and right now he seems unusually inquisitive.

“i was sleeping.” not even sparing him a second of your time you give him a rehearsed smile and walk off towards the hotel cafe

you can’t find the energy to even look at him

the hall is lined up with barricades to prevent possible assault or injury and you’re behind the stage with levi

the two of you have yet to say another word to each other since this morning. levi’s buttoning his shirt up and you’re looking around for his necktie. the least he can do after yesterday’s confrontation with zeke is to look presentable

“tie?” he asks over his shoulder

throwing it at him you hear a grunt of annoyance. he must have disliked that.

“can you help me with my cuff links?”

breathing out of your nose you feel anxious. you’ll have to get really close to him to do that.

but again you have to.

you take them from his hands and stand in front of him. you don’t really know how to go about this, what way is there for you to appropriately position yourself?

he’s sat on a backstage bench and checks the time on his phone “we’ve only got a few minutes left.” he’s clearly requesting that you hurry this up but you can’t seem to do it you’re completely frozen in place

“y/n, what’s wrong?” he asks

“nothing.”

he doesn’t have to know you know

“something’s wrong.”

“we’re in a hurry it doesn’t matter.” yanking him by his right sleeve you slot one of the cuff links through the slits in his shirt.

levi silently observes you fiddling with his sleeves, you can feel his stare burn into you. even as you’re moving onto the opposite side you can see from the corner of your eye that he hasn’t stopped staring

“was it something i said to you?” he asks again

a silence drags between the both of you and you debate on whether or not you’d like to enlighten levi with the information you obtained yesterday night

“more like something you didn’t say.” you finally respond.

thrusting his arm back at him his hand lands onto his lap and he opens his mouth to respond only to be cut off by an announcer

“THIS YEARS OLYMPUS RING CONTESTANTS MAY ENTER.”

crowds can be heard cheering outside but levi still hasn’t ripped his eyes off of you

“go on, maybe you’ll find a new coach after the press conference.” your bitter smile tells him all he has to know and his face visibly drops realizing what has happened

“i–”

“mr ackerman to the stage. i repeat mr ackerman to the stage!!”

he’s torn between staying behind and explaining himself or leaving to head towards one of the most important press conferences of his life

his teeth tug at his bottom lip as he looks between you and the entrance to the stage

“go levi.”

and he does.

levi’s sat on one of many chairs on the panel, he gulps taking a sip of water to calm his nerves. he’s not even nervous about the press conference, that can wait. he doesn’t know how much you’ve heard and how much you’ve misinterpreted what he’s said

he finds it weird at first that he’s even worried because you and him have a professional relationship

but then he has to stop himself from smacking the back of his own head. he knows that much isn’t true, hell if it was a strictly professional relationship he wouldn’t be walking around shirtless to get your attention

he wouldn’t lace his fingers with yours when he was nervous either 

he wouldn’t let you tend to his injuries and scold him if this was about being professional, he doesn’t tolerate being scolded by anyone but if it’s you he’ll take it

when it’s you scolding him for fucking up one of his fists it feels okay, it feels right. he feels warm inside knowing that you have to care for him if you get that angry 

he sighs feeling exasperated waiting for the last person to join the panel and get this question and answers segment over and done with

zeke makes his obnoxiously late appearance but levi doesn’t have it in him to roll his eyes. evidently he’s still stuck on you and thinking about apologizing as soon as this is finished

zeke sits right next to levi and some members of the crowd whisper amongst themselves

“have they made up?”

“think there’s gonna be another brawl??”

“i hope not they’re both my favourites…”

one of the reporters right in front of the stage but behind the barricades is the first to speak

“as we all know there has been an unmistakable sense of tension between two of the most promising contenders this year. mr ackerman and mr yaeger. would you like to put the rumours at rest?”

the question makes levi clench his jaw, zeke rolls his hands into two fists feeling just as frustrated. this is boxing not a reality tv show who cares what the terms of their long broken friendship are?

zeke nudges levi’s knee with his and levi returns the movement.

for now they’ll call a truce. it seems that both he and zeke have more pressing matters to attend to

“me and levi are bros. i’m frankly upset such a rumour started in the first place!” the crowd is mumbling again and the reporter himself is stunned by the unexpected response

“i admit that a fight which some may have saw yesterday was my fault. i had made some inappropriate comments towards his coach to get at him. it was a malicious move on my part and i hope people don’t think him and i are mortal enemies because of this bump in the road.”

zeke is so well spoken when he wants to be that levi feels self conscious sitting there having said nothing.

“mr ackerman? would you like to comment or?”

levi’s eyes light up, this is an opportunity to have you hear him. he doesn’t have to wait to explain when he can throw hints right now. you may be giving him the silent treatment but you wouldn’t miss this press conference for the world

sitting up in his chair and clearing his throat levi looks directly into one of the cameras pointed at him. he’s sure you’ll be able to see him from backstage.

“me and zeke have no other disputes apart from that i assure you. i simply value my coach greatly and so i acted rashly yesterday.”

the reporter nods along feeling pleased with the answer.

a few more questions are thrown around to the other contestants, levi sits there bored out of his mind until at the last minute before everything is just about to wrap up he’s asked a question once again

“regarding your coach, have you thought of a replacement if you win the championship?”

levi presses his lips together not understanding the question

“why would i replace my current coach?” where on earth has this question even come from??

“rumours have been flying around regarding lack of experience and the fact you’re outgrowing each other now. it’s all over boxing discussion forums.”

your hands are embarrassingly shoved into your pockets as people pass behind you backstage offering you pitiful looks. maybe wearing your bright pink team ackerman tracksuit wasn’t the best choice because everyone can hear what’s going on up front

levi’s memory flashes back to the number of times you hid your phone behind your back and awkwardly chuckled saying nothing was bothering you. he understands what you were hiding now

his mouth twists into a scowl, he knows you’re a few meters away listening to all of this and hearing it coming out of a stranger’s mouth is probably upsetting you

“i plan to stick with my coach till the day i die.”

you sit up not believing what you heard, it entirely contradicts what you heard last night

some journalists are jotting down notes, members of the audience are leaning forward listening intently

“well, why is that?” the reporter presses on

levi twirls a pen around in his hands staring off into the crowd.

“i don’t think anyone else could tolerate me.

you bite back a laugh because you know that’s true :-)

“they’re a person who saw potential in me when no one else did.”

he chuckles to himself.  “your stamina it’s great!” his witty imitation of you is rather accurate

“that was the first thing coach ever said to me.” he pauses allowing himself to reminisce.

“but i did want to drop my coach the other day.” he admits.

hearing him confess to it should make you mad, you should be pissed off right now but you can’t manage to feel that way at all

“i said it because i wanted them to relax. i never really understood the magnitude of the criticism they were receiving until recently.”

levi’s staring directly at the camera and his eyes pierce into yours, it’s as if he’s actually looking right at you

“i’d be lost without them, so i want to say to the one person rooting for me backstage, thank you for everything you do for me :-)”

you’re covering your face with your hands feeling the blush creep up your cheeks now. GOD what is he doing??? you may as well be the same colour as your tracksuit, you’ve never heard him be this sentimental in his entire life

“so no, i won’t be replacing my coach any time soon. if anything i should worry about my coach replacing me.”

levi ackerman...

he’s a HUGE idiot if he thinks you’ve ever thought of seriously replacing him

levi presses his arms against your sides when you’re both alone and in the solitude of his hotel room.

“i’m sorry for thinking you wanted to fire me.“ you mumble it into his chest feeling much too embarrassed to look up at him and say it

“also i may as well say this now but i have a fat, massive, huge crush on you “

after that you awkwardly laugh to yourself. you both kinda stare at each other and you’re meant to regret telling him how you feel right now but you don’t. having that weight lifted off your shoulders feels amazing.

"you don’t have to like me back or anything and i know you don’t like me back obviously you probably like that one actress- what was her name?? the one with the long black hair she gave you her number at a fundraiser dinner. you’d both look cute together, have i said that??”

levi gives you a blank look

“i threw her number away.”

you’re open mouthed feeling completely shocked, she’s gorgeous??

“HUH?? HELLO WHY? LEVI ACKERMAN, HAVE YOU EVEN SEEN HER??”

“i have but is she you?”

the all too familiar words from years ago ring in your ears 

nostalgia hits the both of you in waves and levi takes you in for another hug. your heart hammers in your chest and with your face pressed against him once again you can feel the irregular beat of his heart too. 

that is when you and levi formally meet for the second time. this time you are but an experienced coach and he, an experienced boxer.

:-)

[mimiwrites2000]

What Does White Mean?

Chapter ONE / two

(completed)

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie

(side pairings: Pieck Finger x Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun x Hitch Dreyse, Mikasa Ackreman x someone new)

Words count: 3416

* spoilers for chapter 131 and up

Summary:

The ocean lulled them to sleep, and the sun woke them up with mild kisses. Tangled with each other, in their cabin by the beach. After the war ended, they moved together, ever since, they faced obstacles, issues, and misunderstandings. One of them was Armin’s seashells. Stubbornness got in the way, but no matter how much they tried, they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

He already filled two boxes to the rim. Pieces falling out from them, the wooden edges of the boxes barely holding them in. 

Sea shells in necklaces, bracelets, rings. But nothing was good enough, nothing was perfect.

He didn't know what the perfect one looked like, but he knew that none of them was it.

In his small workshop, that was, in fact, just a tiny storage room before he started this hobby, Armin worked his way through another piece of jewelry.

A seashell with streaks of pink, light as Annie's lips. Dots of sparkling white adorning it, just like the sparks in her eyes.

He put the final touches on the necklace, twisting the clasp in its place, giving it two tugs to insure its firmness, then opened the cabinet in his desk, and pulled out a third box.

Imperfect piece number one went in the third box.

Great.

The storage room— the workshop had a small, triangle, frosted glass window, but Armin didn't like it, it made the small place even smaller. After he moved in with Annie, he changed it immediately, to a clear transparent glass. 

Their ocean-view cabin met Armin’s dreams to the smallest detail; one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchenette were enough to satisfy them and convincing enough to buy it without second thoughts.

He spent most of his mornings either strolling by the beach or in Annie's arms, and his nights by a bonfire or under the sheets with her.

They had their breakfasts on the porch, with the salty wafts drifting with the ocean breeze, the crooning of seagulls their only companion.

Everything seemed perfect.

Except for the nights when he woke up in cold sweat, screams rupturing his lungs, Annie’s hands trying to calm him down, embracing him and running through his hair. Or mornings while Annie took longer in the shower, while he sat outside, listening to her silent sobs.

But they were ok. Armin always hugged Annie when she stepped out of the shower, and whispered that they're ok, they're alive, healthy, together.

They're ok.

But this jewelry crafting thing came out of nowhere. And Armin wished he learnt about it long before.

It was Annie who suggested it, when she saw his seashells collection accumulating to the ceiling, she said he might as well make good use of it. She didn’t specify jewelry crafts, but he found that these delicate shells needed a delicate use.

And there he was, in his former storage room, picking through seashells, twisting wires and knitting in beads.

He had been trying to make her the perfect piece. He still didn’t find the perfect one.

He eyed the two boxes — the newly third one joining them. He never thought about selling them, or giving them to anyone else, or throwing them away…

He wondered why.

Maybe because he clutched onto one seashell for more than four years, and the habit was born with the many nights he spent eyeing it, whether it was in his room at night, or in front of a crystal in an icy cold basement.

Knock knock!

“Don’t come in!” Armin’s words overlapped, he was so immersed in his daydream that the knocks on the door made him jump in his seat.

“I won’t, I promise,” from the other side of the door, Annie grumbled. Armin felt bad, he never let her in his workshop, mainly because he didn’t want to spoil the surprise that he still didn’t figure out, and secondly… well, he wasn’t ready for any judgment on his poor jewelry crafting skills.

“Armin?”

“Y-yeah?”

“It’s getting late, I was wondering if you can… you know, get dinner ready? I don’t feel like burning the kitchen.”

“Oh right,” he got up and opened the door, only to be met with an arms-crossed Annie, a passive look on her face. He didn’t know if she was upset because she was hungry, or because he was, once again, keeping her away from his workshop. “We don’t want a burnt kitchen now do we?” he asked, half jokingly

Annie tried cooking once, on his birthday. She tried baking a simple cake. They ended up with a piece of a circular char, on top of it one single candle.

“I don’t think we have-” the rest of the sentence was swallowed down Armin’s throat when he saw groceries lining up the kitchen table.

“I went out an hour ago, I didn’t want to disturb you, but don’t worry, I checked everything on the list, twice.”

“Ah, yes, thanks.”

Guilt swelt in his guts.

She didn’t want to disturb him…

She was upset with him.

He rolled up his sweater’s sleeves, washing his hands, before he started opening the groceries bags, emptying them on the counter.

Annie on the side crossing her arms.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, trying to ignore her glaring eyes by inspecting a head of lettuce in his hand.

“Anything, it doesn’t matter.”

One 

Two 

Three-

“Maybe something fast so you can get back to your small workshop-”

“Okay Annie listen-”

“No you listen!”

The lettuce head froze in his hands.

“You’ve been doing this for weeks! Even- even I don’t know how many months!”

Armin slowly put down the lettuce on the counter, looking down at his feet.

“And you never let me in! Like, ever! I don’t understand why!” she continued, her arms flailing around, before resting on her hips, “every single day, every fucking day you lock yourself up in that room for hours! And I know you’re playing around with your shells but why are you hiding like this?! I’m not gonna pretend that something is not up,” she was pacing around the kitchen, Armin watching her from the corner of his eyes. “I know I’m the one who suggested it, but- but-” she sighed, “even when we go out on the beach, your eyes are always down, searching for even more shells! What is up with you?!”

“Annie-”

“I don’t understand what you’re hiding, I don’t understand why you’re hiding it,” suddenly she stopped, Armin looked at her, “we moved in together, Armin, we live under the same goddamn roof.”

“Annie-”

“What?Annie what? You’re sorry? Keep it to yourself! You’ve already apologized twice before but nothing ever changed,” she turned, and before he could stop her, she stormed into their bedroom.

And he was left alone in the kitchen.

The ocean waves swayed in a symphony, but when he looked outside, all he saw was a dark mass that swallowed him whole.

Armin huffed, he knew this was coming, he knew it so well.

Annie wasn’t wrong.

But she wasn’t right either.

He was doing it for her. He was locking himself up to make her the perfect jewelry.

Armin kicked the heel of his shoes against the cabinet. Thud thud thud. Putting a rhythm to his mind and his thoughts.

Maybe... she was right. She didn’t know what he was doing, she felt left out.

They only have each other.

No one should leave the other in the dark.

No matter what.

Armin pushed himself off the cabinets, and walked towards the room.

He stood at the threshold, watching Annie curled on her side of the bed under the duvet.

He pressed his lips together, but he didn’t dare make a sound, even though he knew she was aware of his presence. 

He sat on his side of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. 

Annie didn’t move.

Armin sighed. He fucked up, and he must fix it. 

He kicked off his shoes, and slithered under the duvet.

His face confronted her back.

One

Two

Three-

She turned around-

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time.

Armin bit his lips to stop himself from smiling, while gazing at Annie’s stoic face, with a slight dip between her eyebrows.

They talked, confessed, together at the same time, their words overlapping.

“I know your craft means so much to you-”

“I’ve been leaving you out of this-”

“I don’t mean that you should spend every single moment with me-”

“And I want to spend more time with you-”

Then the last sentence, they breathed it together, “I promise to be a better person.”

Their eyes on each other, blue meeting blue.

Magnetic force pulled them towards each other, capturing each other's lips, hands running over each other's bodies.

Their clothes were stripped and thrown on the floor, while the groceries in the kitchen were left untouched.

~~~

The most valuable times for Annie were these moments when she woke up beside him, heads on the same pillow, skin on skin, under the blankets.

The warmth like an aura around his body made her alive, incomparable to soft rays of early morning sun filtering through the window.

It was so early and everything was quiet, even the ocean fell in a quiet slumber.

Without moving, she checked the time.

There was still a couple of hours before Armin's usual wake up time.

She usually got up before him, went on an extra walk, or maybe a dip in the ocean.

But getting up from bed and leaving this beauty behind would be as bad as a crime.

So she stayed, watching his face. His breath warm on her face, his lips slightly parted, bangs ruffled on his forehead. Mildly, she caressed them, brushing them off his forehead. Before she cupped his cheek, and she held the world and the sun and the ocean— all together in her palm.

His eyelashes fanned upon his closed eyes like sun rays. She tilted her head up, and kissed his eyelid, soft, like a feather.

Armin was a light sleeper, the last thing she wanted was to ruin his sleep.

A cold breeze wafted through the window, Annie shivered. She noticed Armin hunching his back, he must be cold as well.

She inched closer, cautious, wrapping her arms around his frame, over his shoulder, nesting her head on his chest. The warmth radiating off his body relaxed her muscles, and in those moments, deep inside, something would stir in her, feelings she wasn’t aware she would experience one day.

Arms wrapped around her, and she tensed, did she wake him up?

She peeked up at him, he was already watching her, his eyes barely open.

He tried to speak, but no voice came out. After he cleared his throat, he tried again, “Good… morning.” his voice deep, hoarse.

She rubbed her feet against the mattress, “Did I wake you up?” she whispered.

He squinted his eyes, deep in thought, “If I said no?”

“Good.”

“And if I said yes?”

Annie runs her tongue on the inside of her teeth, “I can make it up for you.”

At that, Armin props himself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow, beckoning her to continue.

With one finger pointing at his chest, she said, “I’ll make you breakfast.”

He snorted, the voice vibrated through Annie’s body, and she had to swallow.

“No,” was his simple, predictable answer.

“Your lose,” She said, swinging her legs off the bed, but before she could stand up, arms wrapped around her, rolling her in bed.

~~~

Breakfast time was long gone, so, after Armin went through the groceries from the night before, he made a light meal for both of them. While he cooked, Annie watched him, sitting on the counter, her legs swinging.

She enjoyed watching him cook, muscles of his arms flexing as he cut tomatoes, brushing his bangs away from his face, wiping his hands on the towel.

By that point she could blindly sculpt a statue of his body.

He also enjoyed catching her off guard, catching her eyes every now and then. When they first moved together, she would blush furiously and avert her eyes, but now, even though she still blushes, sometimes she would pay him back with a sudden kiss, or sometimes she would dare him with more than a kiss.

It was the privilege of a peaceful life, the result of going to hell and back, tolerating an agonizing pain for years.

A slow-paced life, where everything was in place, everything was right.

They reached the end of the labyrinthine, they might as well celebrate their victory.

Post afternoon, and after a meal with their legs tangled under the table, they strolled along the shore.

Annie never imagined that she would settle down in a cabin by the beach, every day the seagulls waking her up, and every night the ocean waves lulling her to sleep.

Hand by hand, shoes off, the sand tickling her feet, like walking on a pile of feathers.

The sun above them soft on their skin, a chilly afternoon, perfect for a walk.

Armin tried so hard to keep his gaze on the horizon, fighting the urge to peak down and hunt for shells.

He wouldn’t rest until he found the perfect shell for Annie’s piece.

However, he remembered his promise to Annie, wanted to spend more time with her, she wanted to spend more time with him.

An especially shiny shell caught his attention, tempting him to kneel down, and plunge his hands in the sand and go back to the cabin with a bag full of new shells. 

“I was thinking of going to town for a few days,” Annie said, catching Armin off guard, “my father wrote to me and said he’s holding a dinner, and we’re invited.” 

“Oh, yeah sure,” Armin answered. Her father lived only half an hour away, in the town, alongside a couple of their old friends as well.

They lived with him for a couple of weeks before, as they went hunting for their own place. He was an old nice man, but he certainly had a temper.

Armin was exceptionally nervous around her father for the first few months. For what reason, he still didn’t know, but something about that man made him rethink everything he wanted to say twice.

But after all, her father accepted their relationship, if not a bit too dramatically, for he cried and hugged Armin for the first time.

In the end, they had to move out, Annie was adamant they had their own house.

Armin smiled, “You can move out and live with your father.”

Annie raised an eyebrow.

“You know, I can move with you-” his voice got muffled; Annie’s palm on his mouth.

“No.”

“Whyyyy?” he asked, his voice choked up with a laugh, he wanted to try biting Annie’s hand on his mouth.

“If each of us would get a different room, then yeah sure,” she answered, lowering her hand, and continuing her walk.

“Not my fault you’re too loud-”

Annie started running.

The nearby village could hear Armin’s howling laugh. 

~~~

Annie waited at the cabin longer than Armin would need to catch up to her. She wondered what was taking him so long, though she had a clear idea what was holding him off.

She waited by the door, but then the sun got a little uncomfortable, so she went inside. She hated that the first thing she thought of was checking Armin’s workshop.

She immediately shook her idea, shoving it away. Intrusiveness wasn’t her trait.

But the door glowed in her sight. Walking to it, and turning the knob seemed like the most tempting thing ever.

No

“No,” she said it out loud, to convince herself to stop.

She would certainly be upset if she was in his shoes. She would never do that to him.

Nope.

Never.

One 

Two 

Three

She walked to the door. An old, small door, compared to a standard door, Armin had to bend to get through, but Annie bet she can walk through it, with her head brushing the door frame.

A tiny place for a workshop, she thought, she wondered how he keeps his tools there, the dozens of seashells bags going there, never going out again.

She was burning to know what was in there.

She was in front of the door, she could lift her hand, and turn the knob, and she could see it all for herself.

Finally,

She reached for the antique door knob.

Her palm rested on it.

Turn it turn it turn it turn it-

She twirled and walked away, right to their bedroom, without even a glance back.

A minute or two after, she heard the door of the cabin open and close. Annie got up, not thinking much of it, “Hey what took you so long-”

Armin stood there, with a handful of seashells in his hands.

Annie threw her head back…

One

Two 

Three

“Listen-”

“It hadn’t even been a day, not a single day had passed,” Annie said, frustration evident in her voice, which was as rare as the sky turning green.

“Annie, I can explain.”

Annie crossed her arms, waiting for him to explain.

Armin sighed, he didn’t want to spoil the surprise, he had to come up with something.

“I’m making something.”

“Yeah no shit.”

“No no no I mean I’m making something,” he said, his closed clutch on the seashells flailing around.

Annie sighed, “Try again.”

“I’m honest, I’m making something.”

“And?” she inquired.

A moment of silence passed, Armin trying so hard to come up with something, anything.

Annie knew that face very well, the face Armin makes when he’s trying to come up with a good fight in a debate, the face he does when he would lob a few words to hypnotize a whole crowd of people.

But not on her.

Never on her.

She knew him too well for his own good.

Without waiting for an answer, she turned around, returning to their room. She threw over her shoulder, “Tomorrow is the dinner at my father’s house,” before she vanished from sight.

Armin, left alone, stared down at the seashells in his hands.

~~~

Armin spent most of the night in his workshop, his hands working, but his mind somewhere else.

He didn’t talk to Annie since their confrontation, nor did any of them eat.

Embarrassment gnawed at him, he promised her, yet he broke the promise.

He must be a terrible partner.

Armin sighed.

He wondered why he was even trying to make Annie a piece of jewelry, to win her heart? 

Pfft

She was better off without him anyway.

She could leave him at any second and he wouldn’t even question it. She was smart, pretty, skillful, talented, gorgeous, sweet, and... nice.

And what was he? He couldn’t think of one good trait about himself. Not good enough to match hers.

And he fucked up.

He groaned, letting his head fall on the desk.

The pile of the new shells sat in his sight line, waiting to be cleaned of the sand, but he had no intention of doing so. He wanted to cage himself in his workshop forever, rather than facing Annie again after he broke his promise.

Armin swallowed, wondering how he would meet her father the next day.

Mr. Leonhart was protective, way too protective. Armin knew he wouldn’t hesitate to cut off Armin’s head if he hurt Annie.

Naaah.

He thought. Annie is much more mature than that.

He snorted at himself, he had some stupid thoughts sometime, but this one was the stupidest of them all.

Annie ranting to her father about her boyfriend.

Pffft

Armin straightened his back on the chair, thinking of what he should do.

Then, at that moment, a glimmer caught his eyes.

Armin shook his head, peeking outside the small, circular window.

He wasn’t sure if it came from outside or from the inside, but then it happened again, this time, he was sure it came from the inside of the workshop. Armin looked around, trying to find it.

The moon light filtering through the glass, gleaming upon the pile of seashells accumulated on his desk.

The glimmer happened again.

But that time, Armin caught it.

It came from one of the seashells. 

Armin scattered the pile on the desk, going over each shell, rotating it under the moonlight, trying to find that one seashell.

On his seventh try, he found it.

Something clicked, and Armin knew exactly what he had to do. Everything cleared in his mind, and he found it absurd that he only saw it now.

Locked in his small workshop, with his back bowed down. Armin finished his perfect piece when the first ray of sunshine broke the night.

.

.

.

uwu thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! next chapter (which is much much longer) will be posted in a couple of days or so can't wait for the other ships to make their cameos hahhaaa thank you for reading! like always, feedback, kudos, all is much appreciated

[impala1967dwinchester]

Jensen Ackles: Tired

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Wife!Reader, Jared x Gene

Pov: Jensen 

warnings; Panic, anxiety, guilt, collapsing, more panic, fluff, a tiny bit of angst, Swearing

Summary(request): Ouuuuh I'm sooo happy that you write for Jensen!!! Can I pleaaase request a one shot of Jensen x wife reader in which she collapses because she's been exhausted taking care of the kids and he feels guilty that he didn't notice and he's determined to help more ?? I'm so sorry if this sound dumb. No pressure if you don't wanna write it.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N- This wasn’t a stupid idea, I know that this had taken me a bit of time to write, so I’m sorry about that. I absolutely love this idea. Thank you for requesting/anon it.  (Your eye color: Y/E/C) @firefly-graphics for divider

Jensen masterlsit: 

Main Masterlsit

"Kids I need you two to sit in the living room while mommy cleans the kitchen." I heard Y/n say from my upstairs office. I was currently working on my second album for Radio company.

I had been up here for the past couple of days. Once or twice a day I'd hear Y/n get louder than normal, saying something to the twins about how they needed to stop fighting with each other.

Our twins, Ada and Jay. A boy and girl. They were bundles of energy, they run up and down the halls. There little feet leaving loud echos around our home.

"Yes, mommy will turn on Disney. You want to watch frozen two again?" I heard Y/n say. This was the first time that it sounded like the two littles had agreed on something.

A moment later I heard the soft intro music of frozen two. I smiled and continued to work on the new lyrics for our second album. We had promised our fans that the album would be out relatively soon. By soon I mean within a month's time.

I needed a break, I wasn't able to get anything done on an empty stomach. So I made my way down our elegant stairs. I saw the littles entranced by the tv, they didn't even notice me come down the stairs.

I let them be through thinking about how long it had taken for Y/n to get them to calm down. Mostly how much it had taken Y/n to get them to be quiet.

I shuffled my way into the kitchen,, passing behind Y/n as she cleaned a day's worth of dishes. I wrapped my hands around her mid-section, whispering in her ear, "Hey my love." She leaned into my touch and took a rather deep breath closing her eyes.

"Hey honey, what are you doing down here? I thought you had your album to work on." She said trying to unscrew one of Ada's sippy cups. I took the cup out of her hands and unscrewed the top with ease.

"I needed some food in my belly. Looks like you've got those kids preoccupied."I said release her from my hug and slipping a look into the fridge.

"Yeah I do, they've got me going in circles." She said finishing up by putting the cleanish dishes into the dishwasher. She turned to face me, motioning me to grab her water bottle from the fridge.

"I can see that, but hey remember you've got it. If you need anything come get me okay." I said giving her a chat kiss and walking back through the kitchen up the stairs.

I heard the music for the ending of frozen two come and go, but I could smell the start of dinner. I was done with working on the new album, so I changed into some more comfy pants, and went downstairs.

The twins were asleep on the large couch in our living room. Y/n was humming to a song in her head, I stood there and watched her. She danced around, cutting up peppers and messing with the oven for chicken.

She turned around and let out a loud shriek, "Jensen, you scared me!" She said with a huff. "You should be more careful, hell I could have thrown this knife at you." She said setting the knife down.

While I was staring at my beautiful wife I noticed a few things. Her skin seemed dull, I could see the bags under her eyes, her dancing wasn't a full-motion like it usually is. She stops and takes deeper breaths.

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked her out randomly. Giving me an odd look, a raised eyebrow. "Yeah, I'm feeling fine. Why?" Y/n asked me. "I was just wondering, that's all baby," I said kissing her cheek.

"I'm going to wake up the twins okay, if not they'll be up till five in the morning," I said, smacking her ass playful. The roll of Y/n eyes was the last thing I saw before I made my way into the living room.

"Ada, Jay. It's time to wake up." I said softly, Ada stirred in her sleep and Jay didn't even move. Ada slept like my wife does. Very softly, now on the other hand Jay sleep like a rock like his father.

"Ada, it's time to get up. Mommy is making dinner, you want dinner?' i said coaxing her to wake up. Jay still laid asleep, Ada's eyes fluttered open, "Dada!" "Hey baby girl, did you sleep good?" I asked her, hugging her.

She wrapped her small arms around my neck and looked at me with a wide smile, "Yes I sep good." She said, she giggled. A giggled much too Y/n's. "Do you want to help me get your brother up?" I asked Ada.

"Do we have to wake him up." She said a frown replacing her smile. "Yes, I'm afraid we have to," I said smiling. "Fine Daddy."She said unwrapping her arms from my neck and climbing next to her brother, she patted his shoulder.

"Jay, brotha daddy says you gotta wake up now." She said going from patting his shoulder to poking his side. "JAY! WAKE UP!" Ada screamed at the top of her, "Hey, hey there's no need to scream at him, baby." I said interru[ting her screaming session.

"Here let daddy show you how to wake him up," I said with raised eyebrows. "Jay, mommy says you'll get dessert if you wake up and eat all your dinner," I said rubbing small circles into Jay's back.

He opened his eyes and looked back and his sister and me. His eyes reminded me of his mother's Y/E/C eyes. Ada's eyes were the color of him, dark forest green, and when we went outside to play or to the beach, Ada's eyes turned to a light green something resembling an emerald.

All of a sudden my thoughts were interrupted when I heard the crash of something from in the kitchen. I rushed to go see, worried about Y/n. When I rushed in she was collapsed on the floor. "Y/n, honey," I said walking over to her. "Y/n... Y/n are you okay?" I questioned.

"Mommy?" I heard Ada and Jay say at the same time. I needed to make a quick decision. So I called Jared. Telling him that Y/n had collapsed on the floor.

Moments later I heard the door open and shut. "unc Jar." I heard Jay say, then I heard the click on heels behind him he had brought Gen with him. "Jared let me take the kids, you go help Jensen and get Y/n some washcloths a glass of cold water. Okay," Gene said.

"Hey, Auntie." Heard Ada say. "Come on kiddos let's go get some stuff from y'alls bedroom." I heard. Trying to keep Y/n's head elevated. "Hey, Jensen, What happened?" He asked. "I don't know Jar, One minute she was fine and she was cooking dinner, and next I heard a crash while getting Ada and Jay up."

"Jensen just breathe." He said, " How can I relax Jared, my wife.. my wife is lying unconscious on the kitchen floor. And I don't know how to help her." I said running a hand down my face.

"Jensen. Stop take a breath. Got get some washes clothes to get them cold as you get them. And come back here, okay." he said patting my shoulder.

I ran up the stairs passing the twins' rooms, gene gave me a sympathetic smile and was packing the twins' bags. It's a good idea take the kids to your house for a moment. I ran into our closet grabbing far too many, running back down the stairs.

Missing a few at the bottom almost tripping over my large stature. "Get them wet we're going to put some on her forehead, neck, and wrist. Get that glass of water too." Jared said.

Eventually, after Gene had taken the kiddos to their home, Jared and I moved Y/n to the couch. She started to wake up, her eye fluttering open. It was more than too nice to see her Y/E/C. Jared excused himself telling me that they would keep the kids for the rest of the night.

"We'll keep the kiddos, give Ada, Jay, Shep, and Odette a surprise a sleepover," he said patting my shoulder then left. We sat in silence for a moment.

"Wait?" Y/n said first. "I asked if you were okay," I said. "Yeah you did and I wasn't lying." She said, "So, why did this happen then, Y/n?" I questioned her.

Again we sat in silence, "Because Jensen, I feel like I'm doing this all by myself, you're so sucked into finishing the damn album you've left your wife, your wife to deal with two toddlers." She said arguing with me. She took the washcloths off her forehead and wrists throwing them onto the coffee table.

I hadn't realized how much weight I had put on her shoulders. I guess I kind of just expected that she could take it. "I... I guess I didn't realize that I was doing that." I said.

"No, you didn't. You know what just forget it, okay Jensen. I need to finish dinner and then get Ada and Jay from Gene." She said. Truing to get up, but ending up bouncing back onto the couch.

"No, look. I know that I was forgetting about things. And forgetting that you can't take this all by yourself. Yes, you're my wife and you mean the world to me. You don't realize the amount of panic that went through me when I heard that crash. I understand now.' I said

The tears starting to come out. 'You don't know what I would do without you. I wouldn't know what to do without my wife, my beautiful, strong, amazing wife. I'm sorry I fucked up. Please, Let me fix it." I said begging with my wife now.

She stared at me, reaching her hand over to my face wiping the stray tears that had fallen while I was talking away. "Okay, I guess we both fucked up. I didn't say anything to you, and you wouldn't have been able to know." She said scouting closer to me, her hands staying on my cheek.

With her warm hand still on my cheek, I leaned into the touch. "I'll finish dinner, you, Y/n you relax please." I said pleading. She shook her head, "How about we do it together." Y/n offered I smiled and grabbed her hand bringing her up from the couch. "I like that idea," I said.

Going in for a much-needed kiss. She meddled into it. "We can take advantage of the littles being at Gene, and Jared." She whispered against my lips. "Naughty," I whispered back. "Dinner first though," I said stripping the moment of its erotic nature.

"Okay, baby But you've got dish duty for a while," Y/n said her hand sliding up and down my chest.

Completed On: 04/25/2021

Taglist: @akshi8278 @wonderfulworldofwinchester @deanswaywardgirl @hit-meup69 @fofisstilinski @doctorlilo

[dothwrites]

Cas using Enochian pick-up lines on oblivious Dean. Dean doesn't get them, Cas feels rejected each time, and Sammy is done with it all! Can I have that fic, pretty please?

ah, this has been sitting here for a WHILE, so i’m sorry that i’m trash 

lost in translation

---

It begins when Dean is pathetically trying to impress his crush. 

Or at least that would be Sam’s take, if Dean cared enough to ask him. 

Dean would rather say that it began with a simple misunderstanding, one which could happen to anyone. 

He doesn’t ask Cas’ opinion of the situation (and Cas would say that’s the whole crux of the problem). 

Whoever has the correct perspective, no one would argue about the beginning of the affair. It starts one afternoon when Dean is contemplating switching Sam’s creamer with buttermilk, just for a break in the monotony. Cas is with him in the library, his customary suit and coat exchanged for a hoodie and a comfortable looking pair of jeans which Dean suspects used to belong to him (there’s something vaguely familiar about that hole in the knee, and it wouldn’t be the first time Cas has pilfered his room for clothing; several of Dean’s shirts have ended up upon the angel’s body. Cas always seems perplexed when Dean calls him on his thievery, plucking at the shirt with faint confusion--Oh this? I found this down in the laundry room a few days ago and thought it looked familiar, do you want it back? And the question is phrased so forlornly that Dean can’t help but allow Cas to steal another article of clothing out from under his very nose.). Cas dresses down these days. And slouches. Right now, his chin is in danger of disappearing into his chest. The sight delights Dean. There for a while, he hadn’t been sure Cas was capable of relaxing.

It’s an overwhelmingly quiet afternoon. It’s nice, because Dean loves to spend time with Cas when there’s no imminent blood or monsters on their horizons, but it’s also boring. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas over the top of his book. Cas seems perfectly content to sit all day reading some godawful thick, leather bound tome. Dean finds himself less than content, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He sighs, shifting in his seat as he pretends to read. After a few more minutes, he sighs again, this time with a little more spite in the sound.

(Dean’s about three seconds away from kicking his feet and whining I’m bored, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.) 

Cas mutters under his breath. Dean recognizes the guttural syllables of Enochian, which is Cas’ go-to language for when he’s saying something hateful and he doesn’t want to get called out on it. Tough luck for him, though, because Dean’s heard one of those words enough to parse its meaning. 

“Did you just call me stupid?” he demands, slapping his book down on the arm of the chair. 

Castiel looks at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “You...understood that?” he asks. “You understand Enochian?”

Not in the slightest, is what Dean should say. He understands one word, and that’s only because Cas uses it enough as an insult that it managed to stick in his mind. But something that looks like fondness, and admiration, and other nice adjectives which Dean would like Cas to apply to him, shines at the edges of Cas’ eyes. So he rolls his eyes a little bit (the audacity of Cas! Asking him if he bothered to study something which was not strictly required!) and scoffs, “Uh, kind of hard not to at this point, you know, what with...” He waves his hand at Cas, hoping that the vagueness of the gesture will cover a multitude of sins. 

And really, he should come clean. If the past fifteen years have taught him anything, it’s that nothing good comes from lying to your nearest and dearest. But this is just a little white lie. Like when he was sixteen and he told Brandy Fletcher he could play a rocking drum solo, because he wanted to impress her and there was no way he would ever be called upon to perform such a task. This is just a little fib, made so that Cas doesn’t think he’s a fucking idiot. 

Plus, there’s something which looks horribly similar to gratitude shining in Cas’ eyes. The emotion brims over until those baby blues can hardly contain it, and Cas looks so goddamned happy. Dean’s not a monster. He’s not going to take that away from Cas just so he can come clean with a Gotcha! moment. 

Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean. 

Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish. 

---

After that, things get a little weird. Considering Dean’s general life, that’s saying something. 

Dean catches Cas looking at him more, like Cas is having a one-man staring contest with the side of his face. Cas staring at him is nothing to write home about, but his looks have gained new intensity. It makes Dean’s innards squirm with worry as well as something deeper. He’s not willing to examine that feeling any closer, though it is pleasant. 

As if the soulful looks weren’t bad enough, there’s also the thoughtful slant of Cas’ eyes to worry about. Every time he looks at Dean, he looks like he’s working himself up to something momentous. Since momentous decrees from Cas usually come hand in hand with world-ending events and revelations, Dean thinks he can forgiven for dodging Cas’ presence. 

It does him no good: the bunker, for all its space, is only so large in the end, and Cas was once a heavenly messenger who has the patience of millennia. Add that to the fact that Dean needs to eat at least twice a day, and the game of Cornering Dean becomes a game of cards, in which the deck is stacked firmly in Cas’ favor. 

Dean sneaks into the kitchen sometime between midnight and two am. If Sam caught him, then he would get a talking-to about the most appropriate times to eat, better digestive function, and the ravages of heartburn in a man his age, but it’s not his brother sitting at the table when Dean flicks on the light. 

It’s Cas, who blinks owlishly at him, before his face splits into his brightest smile. 

(Cas’ brightest smile is an awkward, crooked little thing. On a regular human being it would be considered unbecoming. On Cas, it’s a thing of glory.)

“Dean,” Cas greets him. Hearing his voice in that low, rough voice never fails to send a little shiver down his spine, and today is no different. “This is an odd time for a snack.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little lamely. The shock of finding Cas in the kitchen has kind of killed his appetite, but it’s not like he can turn around and leave. “Just, you know, had a craving. Why were you here?” 

Cas looks around the kitchen, his mouth pursed. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.” 

Dean looks at him, waiting for the punchline. “You were sitting in the dark, dude.” 

“Oh. Well, I don’t need lights to see in the dark,” Cas says, as though the knowledge that his best friend has some freaky see in the dark cat eye nonsense going on with him isn’t the weirdest thing Dean’s heard all day. 

“Great.” Dean opens the fridge and pulls out a container at random. He spares one second to hope that Sam got rid of all the moldy food before he samples the contents. “Well, I think I’m going back to my room now.” 

He wants to get out of here, not so much because he doesn’t want to talk to Cas (he has no problem with late-night chats with Cas, it’s just that he would prefer such chats take place in his room, preferably in his bed, preferably while both participants were significantly less dressed), but because Cas is starting to get that look again, like he’s getting ready to drop an atomic bomb’s worth of shit on Dean in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Dean.” Cas stands up. He twists his fingers together before he realizes what he’s doing, and then places them flat against his thighs. He takes a deep breath. Before Dean can stop him, Cas opens his mouth. 

Low, rolling syllables flow through the kitchen, the harsh notations of Enochian softened by Cas’ voice. There’s a question in Cas’ eyes, and Dean would answer it, if he only knew what Cas was asking. 

The kitchen falls into silence. Dean gets the distinct impression that walking away is not the appropriate reaction. If only he knew what the appropriate reaction was. 

He settles for plastering a fake ass smile on his face and loosing a brittle laugh which threatens to shatter the lighting fixtures. The corners of his mouth hurt from the wideness of his smile, but not even the small twinge of pain can take away from the brief flash of hurt in Cas’ eyes. 

“Yeah. You bet.” Dean barely restrains himself from giving Cas a big thumbs up.

Cas’ face, if possible, turns even more disconsolate. Dean’s stomach twists at the sight. 

This would be the correct moment to confess. Cas, I don’t have the faintest idea what you said, but I’d really like it if you could say it again in English, so that I could maybe comment on it. Sorry I’m such a jackass. 

Dean does not confess. He reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder, almost buckling Cas’ knees under the friendly contact. Dean almost stops, but he continues to his room, trying to erase the memory of Cas’ stricken face. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas says something in Enochian to him the next morning, a tiny, hopeful smile darting across his face. Dean gives him a weak smile in return and tries not to focus on the longing, almost desperate tone of Cas’ voice. “Ok, Cas,” he says, when it becomes clear Cas is angling for something more than a smile that makes it look like he ate some bad tacos. 

Cas takes him by the wrist. This time the syllables which come out of his mouth are almost frantic. His eyes are wide and imploring, and his voice cracks on the last word. 

The truth, Dean. Tell him the truth. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says. Confronted by the weight of his failings and his inadequacies, he flees. All the while, he feels Cas’ eyes on his back. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas continues to mutter Enochian at him, alternating between frustrated, hurt, mocking, and pleading inflections. Each time, Dean looks at him in a mixture of helplessness and shame. 

The last time Cas tries, there’s a faint snap and tingle of grace curling around the room. Dean can taste it in the air, ozone and electricity, before it makes the lamp closest to him spark and pop. “Great, now you’re killing the furniture,” comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

Cas recoils as though Dean reached out and slapped him. He says something else in Enochian, his voice small and defeated. He won’t even look at Dean. 

If Dean were a better person, he would come clean. He would apologize to Cas and beg his forgiveness. He would take Cas’ scorn and irritation and lump it in with the rest of the shit that’s gone wrong with his life, and they would move past this. 

Dean’s not a good person. Hell, he’s not even an okay person. He’s a piece of shit who got a hell of a lot luckier than he ever deserved, and Cas is just naive enough not to realize that. 

---

It gets worse. 

Sam walks into the library one afternoon with a dazed look on his face which means he’s just emerged from being caught deep in a book. He runs his hands through his hair and only then seems to realize that Dean and Cas are sitting at opposite ends of the library, deliberately ignoring each other. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. 

“You guys okay?” he asks, glancing back and forth between them. 

“We’re good,” Dean says shortly, flipping a page of his book with unneeded aggression. 

Sam flicks his eyes towards Castiel. Cas looks over the top of his book, his eyebrows twisted in a scowl. He mutters something most definitely not English under his breath, staring at Dean. 

Sam chokes on nothing. 

“You all right there, Sammy?” Dean glances at Sam, only to see that his brother’s face is bright red. 

“Yeah, I’m great.” 

Castiel says something else in Enochian, sounding more forlorn than angry. Dean didn’t think it was possible for his brother’s eyes to get any wider. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean asks. He keeps his eyes on Cas, but the question is meant for both of them. 

“I think you two should really talk,” Sam says, looking back and forth between him and Cas. “I think you’re both missing some information.” 

“What do you mean--” Dean pauses as the obvious answer comes to him. “Hold on. You can understand him?” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Castiel says, proving that he can speak English just damn fine when he wants to. Then, because Cas is an asshole whose main job is torturing Dean, he mutters something in Enochian. 

Sam snorts. 

If he didn’t know he would later regret it, Dean would put both of them in the ground. 

“Well, if you want someone to talk to you, then knock it off and speak English!” Dean snaps. “I’ve got no idea why you’re babbling on like that and looking like I kicked your puppy when I don’t answer.” 

Cas scowls, the full wrath of Heaven in his eyes. He starts what sounds like it will no doubt be a lengthy tirade (in Enochian of fucking course), before he’s interrupted by Sam. 

“Dean doesn’t understand Enochian, Cas!” he shouts. 

Two pairs of eyes snap to Sam. Dean’s are filled with furious betrayal, Cas’ with frustrated confusion. Sam ignores them both, rolling his own eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry to cut in your drama or whatever, and I’m sure that you two could keep this up for another three weeks, but I value my sanity. Dean, nut up and tell Cas you don’t speak Enochian. Cas, stop running into a brick wall and tell him what you want. I mean, good God, it’s like I have to do everything around here myself!” 

Sam’s complaining never ceases as he peruses the shelves for the particular book he’s looking for. Both Dean and Cas are referred to multiple times as idiots, sometimes assholes, and once even idjits. Throughout his litany of abuse, Dean and Castiel refuse to look at each other, though Dean does feel a telltale prickling at the back of his neck several times. Every time he looks at Cas, however, the angel has his eyes firmly fixed on his book. 

Dean wonders if Cas would get more pissed if he told him his book was upside down. 

“You ever think about how much pain and agony you could save me if you two assholes would just talk to each other?” Sam finally snaps. Arms laden with books, he levels a fearsome glare at the both of them. “For homework, neither of you are coming out of this library until you’ve actually talked to each other like rational adults. And if you make any weird noises, I’m going to smother both of you in your sleep.” 

He stalks out of the library, leaving Cas and Dean alone once more. Cas looks up from his book, finally realizing it’s upside-down, while Dean puts down his own book. They stare at each other for a long moment, then speak at once. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t understand Enochian?” “What were you trying to say to me?” 

They stop. Dean swallows, gathers up all of his manly courage, and speaks. 

“So what were you trying to say to me? It must have been pretty exciting to get Sammy clutching his pearls.” 

Cas tilts his head. He considers Dean for a long moment before he crosses the space between them. Cas leans forward, putting his hands on the arms of Dean’s chair. The gesture boxes Dean in, a turn of events which Dean doesn’t struggle against. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t speak Enochian?” 

Pinned beneath Cas’ gaze, Dean squirms uncomfortably. Now that it’s just him and Cas, his deception seems childish. Would it really have been the end of the world if he’d told Cas he was too stupid and selfish to learn his language? It would have just been another disappointment in Cas’ life, but has it been worth these past few days of being at odds with Cas? 

Heat flushes along the bridge of Dean’s nose as he mutters, “I wanted you to think I was smart.” 

Damn super-angelic hearing. Cas doesn’t miss a beat, though his forehead creases. “You wanted...what? Dean, you are smart.” 

He says it so naturally, as though Dean doesn’t struggle over translations or speaking Latin or cross-referencing indexes or any of the thousand other things that seem to come naturally as breathing to Sam and Cas. “Yeah, sure, I’m a regular fucking genius,” Dean mumbles. 

“You’re capable of finding the problem with a faulty engine with a single look. You built your own EMF meter out of a spare Walkman. Despite your efforts to hide it, you’re very well-read, and you have an innate understanding of some fairly complicated mathematics. I’m not sure exactly what humans qualify as intelligent, but I feel as though all of those skills count.” 

Dean knows his whole face is red. Heat prickles along the tips of his ears and down his neck. “Jesus, Cas,” he mutters. Unable to withstand the force of those blue eyes, he darts his glance down towards the floor. “Most people don’t start sweet talking until the third date.” 

“Well, I’m an angel,” Castiel says, smugly, as though that solves every argument (not a bad strategy; that line’s worked for Cas for years. What else can you say after that?). 

“All right, I answered yours, now you answer mine. What were you trying to say to me?”

Amazingly, Cas’ cheeks color. 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean wheedles, when Cas doesn’t immediately answer. “I told you mine.” 

Cas looks off to the side. He actually shuffles his feet before he answers, “It was just a thought. I thought, maybe, we could...Never mind. It was stupid.” He looks back at Dean and rolls his eyes, showing how ridiculous he finds this whole trial. “I guess, roughly translated, it would amount of something like ‘If only he were as decisive as he is pretty, then there would be no problem’.” He forces a weak laugh. “I said it in the heat of the moment. I was frustrated.” 

Dean blinks in astonishment. Only one fact has managed to slip through the tangle of Cas’s words. “You think I’m pretty?” 

Castiel’s blush deepens. “Anyone who has eyes would think that,” he says, a little roughly. 

An automatic flush spreads across Dean’s cheeks, but he’s able to ignore that. He’s much more interested in what else Cas might have been telling him. “And what was something else you said?” 

Cas coughs. “’Your eyes are bright as the sunrise, yet they fail to see what is in front of them’,” he says. If possible, his already rough voice has deepened. 

“Another.” 

Cas doesn’t pretend coyness. “’You had my heart from the first time I saw your soul’,” he says, in a near whisper. 

Dean can’t hold himself back. He snatches Cas’ hoodie in his hands and drags Cas down to his level. Cas lets out a surprised grunt before he gracefully collapses atop Dean. He’s barely managed to balance himself on Dean’s lap before Dean’s lip are on his. 

Despite Dean’s rushed actions, the kiss is sweet and almost chaste. Cas’ lips are warm and chapped and utterly wonderful. At first, they’re stiff, but only for a second. Then Cas relaxes into the kiss, sighing happily as his hand cups Dean’s cheek. Cas’ stubble scratches against his chin. He’s going to bear the marks of Cas’ affection later, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it. 

Cas parts from him, but not far. In fact, he’s close enough to Dean that when whispers a phrase in Enochian, his lips brush against Dean’s. 

A shiver of delight runs down Dean’s spine. Now that he knows the gist of what Cas was trying to say to him, Enochian fills him with illicit glee. “What did that mean?” 

Cas kisses him again, adding a cunning sweep of his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips. “’Of all the stars in the heavens, you shine the brightest’,” he translates, resting his forehead against Dean’s. 

Heat floods through Dean once more. It’s everything he ever dreamed of hearing. It seems impossible that he could have it. There should be a rule against it. Dean Winchester doesn’t get what he wants. 

Except, apparently, Dean Winchester does get what he wants, as evidenced by his lapful of angel murmuring Enochian endearments into his ear. “Hey Cas?” Dean tilts his head to catch Cas’ eye. “When I first saw you, sparks flew. How would you say that in Enochian?” 

Cas thinks for a second before a smile spreads across his face. “I’ll teach you,” he promises, before he pulls Dean’s face towards him once more. 

(Sam’s warning about making weird noises makes a lot more sense now.)

[laurore-stormwitch]

Did someone say Zoya and Genya getting ready for a ball? I had this sitting in my computer for a while. I've written it at the same time of the Nikolai/Genya interaction and went for that instead, leaving this unfinished, so that's the reason why they're similar. But even if this is not wildly original I decided to post it, maybe some of you will enjoy it anyway!

together now - AO3

word count: 2661 (cause I can’t write short fics sorry)

______________________________________________________________

“Zoya, if you move again, I’m going to turn your hair purple.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. Drama queen. Whoever believed that getting ready for a party with your friends was fun, clearly never had to deal with Genya’s perfectionist and dictatorial tendencies. She purposely shifted in her chair in front of the vanity, making Genya glare at her.

“Do you want me to complete my masterpiece or not?”

No, not really. Nothing about going to Sainkt Nikolai’s ball seemed to be exciting. Dreadful and annoying were the only two terms she could come up with to describe the evening in front of her. Mainly having to do to the fact that she was going to have to watch Nikolai and his future wife simper over courtiers and nobles, with the bride-to-be practically coerced to attend the ball. And she wasn’t even allowed to get drunk; saints forbid someone attempted to murder the king again.

“Do you want your hair up or down?” Asked Genya, moving some strands of her hair over her ears.

“Are you really inquiring for my opinion?” The squaller noted ironically, pouring herself another glass of wine.

“No, of course not. Down is better, they make you seem wilder.”

She winked at her and Zoya huffed again. Genya began braiding some thin locks away from her face, leaving the rest of her mane free on her shoulders. She weaved the fine tresses with silver threads and held them in place with diamonds pins. Zoya relaxed under her delicate touch.

“A bit more practice with breaking Grisha’s orders and I’m going to tailor myself at some point. What are you going to do when the day comes?”

She had meant it as a joke, the tone light. But through the mirror she saw a shadow pass behind Genya’s eyes and immediately regretted her words and lack of tact. They knew only one person who had held as much power as Zoya was wielding now; he was rotting in a cell beneath them, and Genya would forever wear his marks on her skin. Of course her mind would have run to him; she tended to darken whenever they touched the argument surrounding Zoya’s newly acquired abilities.

“I hadn’t meant to make you think about that, Genya. I’m sorry.”

Genya smiled at her, coming back to her delightful self.

“It’s okay. I’m just a bit worried about - well, about everything. How is it going with these powers? I’ve spied on you summoning fire the other day. You were glorious.”

Zoya curled her lips and held up her arm, making the fetter made of dragon scales dangle. Juris rumbled inside her. She had told Genya what happened in the Fold, in broad outline. Zoya knew that even if they didn’t say it, they were all concerned with this. She caught them glancing at her sometimes, as if they were waiting for a ticking bomb to go off. It was unpleasant, but she understood them; after all, she was waiting for herself to go off too.

“I’m managing. I’m still not so sure of what I can or cannot do.”

Genya kept working on her hairstyle thoughtfully, letting the quiet stretch between them. She bit her lower lip before adding something else, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Does it feel good?”

Zoya understood that question too. Power is protection. No matter the cost, it would always hold its appeal for a Grisha. That was the pull they felt towards the Darkling too.

“It feels risky.” She answered after a while, releasing a long breath. It was not like her to betray uncertainty or weakness, but she hadn’t anticipated how both frightening and fascinating it would feel to be in this position. “It’s so much power, Genya. What if I can’t control it?”

“If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you, Zoya.” There was not hesitation in this answer. Yet, Zoya didn’t feel much reassured. She didn’t have a sense of who – or what – she was becoming.

“What if it’s too much power?” She realized that was not the right question, the one thing she dreaded to come true. She corrected herself. “What if it’s not enough, and I want more?”

At this, Genya paused, avoiding Zoya’s gaze, and fell terribly silent. She looked worried, almost scared. A shiver went through Zoya’s spine at the idea of eliciting something like fear in one of the people she loved most. She felt a stabbing guilt and the sudden realization that she didn’t want to explore this topic more and find out what Genya was thinking. She waved a soothing smile at her friend, hoping to stir this exchange away.  

“Enough of this. Don’t you want to show me the dress?”

Genya’s eye lightened up as she was pulled out from her gloom towards a more delightful diversion. She turned to the bed and pulled up Zoya’s gown, handing it to her. As usual, Genya had outdid herself. The gown matched the decor in her hair: Zoya thought of the dark midnight sky over Pachina while looking at it, one of the few memories she held from her childhood. When Genya moved it towards her, a million tiny crystals sparkled like stars against the sheer fabric. Zoya slipped inside it gracefully and turned to her, making the dress shimmer; the red head was gloating.

“I always give you the best dresses. All eyes are going to be stuck on you.”

Zoya doubted it, considering how equally gorgeous the other girl was looking right now, hugged by velvet the colour of blood. Genya made her wirl around on herself while she smoothed the dress; Zoya tried to reach for the wine, but Genya snatched the glass from her hands. She shrugged her shoulders at her outraged look. “What? I’m not going to let you stain this magnificent gown, excuse me.”

“You know, you have David’s adoration all for yourself.” Zoya pointed out, scowling. “Don’t get greedy. Let them admire me instead. If I can’t get drunk, I can at least have a different kind of fun.”

Genya rolled her single eye turning her gaze to Zoya, furrowing a brow at her.

“I do hope that by now you know that you have someone’s adoration all for yourself, too.”

Genya had clearly noticed the subtle shifts in Zoya and Nikolai’s behaviour, since she had been dropping this casual and mildly vague comments for a while now. At first, Zoya just ignored them; but then it occurred to her that denying what was going on was not the way to fight this. That maybe the right angle was to approach it much like a military campaign: know your enemy before you defy it. Which for her, it meant to understand what was happening so that she could crush it. And since feelings were not an area of expertise for Zoya, she had figured Genya could come in handy. So at some point she had just let it become a mutual understanding that this whatever-it-was-thing was out in the open, and she started posing carefully pondered question of her own. Zoya crossed Genya’s eye for an instant, replying with a sceptical click of her tongue.

“Both his adoration and his efforts better be for Ehri, for all our sakes. Much like his gaze better be kept on her all night like she’s the most beautiful creature to ever grace this earth. If he cannot sell it to her, at least he has to sell it for the rest of the world.”

“With you in that dress it’s going to be a challenge to look at anyone else.” Teased Genya, grinning. Zoya glared at her, pushing down the uncomfortable satisfaction this remark brought.

“He seems rather immune to my appearance and my presence.”

A poor and unconvincing objection, to say the least. Genya scoffed, handing her the wine as if she was going to need it to hear what came next. Zoya gladly took the offering.

“You do realize I’m a Corporalki, right?”

“What would that mean, apart from making people faint every now and then?”

“It means he can keep his eyes trained on the ceiling all night for all I care, because I’ll still feel his heartbeat spike up every time you pass beside him.”

Zoya didn’t much like to have this particular piece of information, that stirred some unpleasant feelings in her lungs. She swallowed the rest of the alcohol, her throat burning for something else entirely.

“Do you peer in all your friend’s visceral reaction for fun?”

“Just the two of you. Want to know what happens with you?” Mused Genya, knowing damn well the curiosity that sparkled in Zoya’s eyes and even more well feeling her breath itch. Know your enemy, right? Zoya grunted, not even bothering to try and look unfazed.

“Fine. Rip the band aid off.”

“Your heart usually beats like it’s at war. On the contrary, it slows down when he’s around, like you feel- I don’t know, safer. At home.”

Zoya fell silent, turning the words over in her head. It was always a punch in the gut when she wondered when things have started to turn and understood just how much they had turned. Instead of lingering on this painful realization, she did what she knew best and deflected the conversation again where it hurt most. She had the strange belief that if the heart was indeed a muscle, you had to train it like any other one in your body. The more pressure and blows you would put into it, the less you would feel the pain with time. Yuyeh sesh. Be cruel to your heart.

“How are the preparation for the wedding going?”

“As good as they can be.” Genya’s gaze turned sweet and affectionate, and she went along. “No one would say anything, you know. If you wanted to stay away for a while or get some distance.”

“We both know that a lot of people would say a lot of things.” Zoya held her chin high. “And you know that’s not my way of doing things. This is my place; I’m not going to let anyone take it away.”

I don’t want to live in darkness. She fought and lost and suffered to get to where she was. She was certainly not going to give it up for a bad timed and poorly chosen crush. An idiotic and simple crush. Genya nodded, getting the hint that it was enough for today. She seemed to remember something and got back to her tailoring kit.

“Speaking of Nikolai, there’s one thing missing. He gave them to me before I came here.”

Genya walked towards her and clipped what looked like a pin on her dress. She made her turn around to look herself in the mirror. Zoya felt something warming her from the inside when she looked at it; it was more of a medal than a pin. Ravka’s double eagle was shining on her chest, pleated gold, with Alina’s sun behind it and an Etherealki blue ribbon. It resembled the medals she saw on the supposedly war heroes’ generals that worked with Nikolai, but it was more elegant. She brushed her finger on it, full of pride.

“Me and David have one too.” Genya showed her the other one she was holding before securing it on herself. It was Corporalki red. “David has a Materialki purple ribbon. Nikolai told me people should always know we are his most trusted generals and friends. That we work for Ravka as much as he does, and we are owed the same respect, even at a ball.”

Respect. Recognition. Another time, Nikolai managed to surprise her. Because this wasn’t just a pretty thing, a nice embellishment. And while she had been his general for almost three years, that didn’t mean people had accepted and treated her with the appropriate regard. This was a symbol of the king’s trust, something that would force the nobles and the army to behave accordingly, even at events where it would be so easy to down-play her and treat her like another beautiful hollow courtier. Stupid thoughtful Nikolai. She was torn between wanting to kill him for making her feel like this or kiss him senseless for the same reason. Get a grip, Zoya.

“You’re not going to be like him, Zoya.” Zoya startled at Genya words, confused for a moment. She cleared her throat, shoving the treacherous thoughts she was having away. Genya had moved beside her, taking her hand in her own. Looking at Genya firm and proud gaze, she realized they were not talking about Nikolai anymore, and that she hadn’t dropped the conversation before because she was scared or angry at her. It was because she understood where Zoya’s fears were coming from, and she was facing them head on now.

“The Darkling.” She added to clarify, lingering on his name with a tremor in her voice. “Even with all the power you have, you are nothing like him. You managed to do what he had always claimed he wanted, and he had never done: you are saving Grishas, you are rebuilding the Second Army and you hold a position as the King’s right hand. What drives you is not the hunger for power; is the care you have for Ravka and your people. The Darkling wanted to control them, to own them. You protect them.”

Zoya tightened the hold of her hand, while looking at their reflections in the mirror, in the stunning gowns and the triumvirate’s pins. Two women who had believed in the wrong man and kept paying the price for their ingenuity, who had saved themselves in the end. She sucked in a breath, seeing someone she barely recognized; there was almost nothing left of the scared little girl. With the medal on her chest, diamonds in her hair and a glowing fierce light in her eyes she really looked like the leader she aspired to be. She wondered if she was still pretending, or some of the act was now true.

“Stop me before I can become like him.” Zoya blurted out, the words unsteady and whispered. Genya shook her head, leaning in towards her.

“You are different in every way. And you have something he never had; you have people who love you. Believe me, Nikolai is going to burn down all of Os Alta before he lets anything happen to you. None of us is going to let anything happen to you.”

“I’m not afraid of something happening to me, rather than to others.” What if I hurt Nikolai? What if I hurt anyone of you? Genya lowered her head on her shoulder, still holding her hand.

“We fought our way out of his grip once. We’re not going to let him bring us down. We’re stronger than we were before.”

“And we’re together, now.”

Zoya needed something to anchor herself on; the words felt uncertain, more like a question. Because she knew, deep down she knew she was still somehow living by what he had taught her: love is a weakness. And she knew that while Genya talked of friendship, Zoya herself was distancing from everyone. That she was suffocating her feelings for Nikolai, effectively cutting out the person she had relied on the most. That she didn’t know how to be close to someone. That, like the Darkling, she felt destined to be alone. And yet a part of her still needed to believe that a strand of what she conquered was going to save her, that someone was going to reach for her.

“And we’re together.”

Genya repeated, more firmly. We’re not going to let him bring us down another time. A litany. It was our blood on the skiffs, in the sand, on the rocks of a mountain. I’m nothing like him. An enchantment. And we’re together. He had taught her wrong. One day she would be free of this last cage, too.

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.21 "The 'Welcome Home' Committee"

CW: nightmares/PTSD/flashbacks, dehumanizing language/themes, collar mention, aftermath of emotional abuse/gaslighting, tourettes/ticcing, self deprecating whumpee, drugs/alcohol (explicit), discussion of past noncon/dubcon, whumpee expecting noncon/dubcon, injury/blood mention, brief sensory deprivation mention, food mention (let me know if I missed anything!)

Tyson was holding Elias close against him in their shared bed, mind almost entirely occupied with the thought of how happy he was that Elias was home safe. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like he was enjoying the way Tyson was stroking down his back gently, his body arching into the touch. Tyson watched with interest, trying to tell if he was aware of his reaction, if he was asleep. It didn't matter, he decided, he had his Elias in his arms, twitching and stirring and alive, so it didn't matter if he was awake and aware or not. Tyson was observing him closely for any signs of a nightmare just in case he was asleep, but the last time he saw him have one it wasn't evident until he woke up, gasping and searching the dark for a threat, so he was sure he wouldn't be able to tell until it was too late. When he wasn't keeping a watchful eye on Elias, he shifted his focus between the bedroom door and the window, paying extra close attention to any car or person that passed by.

Tyson was ready this time, the doors were locked and the hall light was on, he had a baseball bat hung up on the door. Elias had to feel safe, he would show him that it was ok to be home, that Tyson really wasn't going to let anything bad happen to him, not again.

Still, even with all of the new safety precautions, it wasn't too long after the sun started to rise that Elias bolted out of Tyson's arms and out of bed, his shoulders hitting the wall hard as he stumbled into the corner.

"No! No, no, no! Please God, please!" He cried, arms wrapped around his shaking body as he slowly slid down to the floor, anguished sobs retching him forward. "I'll be g-good! I'll be good!"

"Elias!" Tyson rushed, hopping out of bed and approaching him carefully. "It's ok, you're ok!"

"I told them no! P-please, don't h-hurt me please!!" He had his eyes squeezed shut, arms pulling his legs to his chest to protect his body. Tyson watched him flinch away from injuring hands that were only there in his imagination. Tyson hadn't even tried to touch him yet. "I swear I'll be better!"

"Baby, listen to me," he tried, dropping his voice low to try and counteract Elias's hysteria, "it's me, it's Tyson. No one's gonna hurt you."

Elias shook his head furiously, ducking away further into the corner. He was sobbing and begging incoherently now, his panic manifesting into cries of "please, please d-dont, I'm so sorry, please!" and the like.

Tyson had an idea of what to say to try and calm Elias, but even thinking the words made him bitter. When Allen had first gotten back from August, Tyson and Leo had to adopt some of his heinous language in order to keep Allen calm. Tyson remembered how quickly it worked, how it could make Allen drop his hysteria in only moments. They used it only when they had exhausted all other options, because both Leo and Tyson were upset at how much it felt like speaking to a dog. But it was different with Elias, Tyson couldn't encourage him to stay in the same mindset he'd been forced into, so he wouldn't use the same language August used, he refused to. He tried again, in his own way. "Eli, everything's ok. Look at me, please."

"I c-c-cant!" He sobbed again, thrown back into hysterics. "I won't, August! I'll be good!"

Tyson wanted to put a hole through the wall. Fucking August. He broke Elias, he made him unable to sleep through the night, made him too scared to remember Tyson. It was repulsive, to see the aftermath of such a monster on the person he loved. He thought back to Allen, how fast he was able to calm down at those two, dangerously sweet words. But would Elias even react the same? What if it just made it worse? All of those fears and more ran rampant through his head, but he was running out of options, and Elias wasn't calming down, so he really didn't have another choice.

"Angel," he murmured, extending his hand slowly, trying to coax him to open up a bit, "you're alright. You're...you're a good boy, Eli."

It worked like a charm, and Tyson cringed at the effectiveness. Elias relaxed, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward. He looked so scared still, head turned to the side so he wasn't looking at Tyson, inching out of the corner slowly. His ragged breathing was evening out a little at a time. "I...I...?"

"Yeah, there you go. Good." He smiled softly at Elias in the pale blue morning sun, moving to lean against the wall with him. He was relieved when Elias rested his head against his shoulder, sighing deeply as he did. Tyson looped his fingers around his thigh, squeezing gently. "I've got you, darling."

Elias whimpered, ticcing in small twitches against Tyson. "I'm s-sorry." He breathed, muted by his guilt, barely audible.

"No, don't be, Elias. Are you ok now? Are you back with me?"

"I think so." As he spoke, he turned to look up at Tyson, blinking hard to clear the tears from his eyes. "Hm...Ty." He breathed. "My Tyson."

"Yeah. Yeah, love, that's right." He searched Elias's face for a moment, taking in the remnants of fear leftover from his nightmare. "Do you...you wanna talk about it?"

Elias didn't say anything for a long time, looking away from Tyson and instead out the window as he pondered the question. It was windy, the palm trees just outside were swaying against the breeze. He realized that it must've been early morning, and a twinge of guilt for waking Tyson up like that hit him. He didn't know if he wanted to talk about it, about August or the strangers or the pain. But Tyson deserved to know, and he was asking like maybe he wanted to hear what happened. So Elias turned his attention back to Tyson and started talking.

"I don't understand what I did wrong. I don't know why he stopped… pretending to care about me." The weight of the sentence made him feel tired all over again, and he was frightened to be admitting to his confusion. He was an idiot, to not even know what he did to be punished. He knew that it was well deserved, but that's about where the understanding stopped. "I mean...I know I messed up somehow, but I can't remember what I did. He just stopped c-caring."

"You didn't do anything, Eli. It was all him."

"No...Ty, he cared about me, at least a little. He went through all that trouble to...how could I not be good enough for him? What does that say about me?"

"It says that you're too good for a scumbag like that. Maybe he just finally realized that."

Elias froze. He didn't believe it, of course, but the words made something glimmer behind his tears. "Too...too good?"

"Yes, love," Tyson cooed softly, taking his hand, "he knew that people like him don't deserve good people like you. He must've just dropped the facade."

"So who am I...Am I good enough for you? Not too good?" His voice was desperate, borderline hopeful, if Tyson dared to believe that.

"Mhm. You're perfect." He chuckled softly, squeezing his hand ever so gently. "And I want you so badly. Good or not."

Elias finally broke a smile, a genuine, almost carefree, grin as he looked up at Tyson in adoration. He was still shaking, but his breathing was back to normal and he felt more grounded. Usually August would force him to ride out the fear from the nightmares on his own, then punish him later for keeping him awake with his whimpering. "Sorry I woke you up like that." He added it, just for good measure, because Tyson didn't hurt him, he wouldn't, but he was still nervous. He wondered when that would stop.

"You didn't, baby. Besides, it's morning anyway." He stood up, pulling Elias up with him. "Also uh...Allen's been asking about you. If you're ok with it he wanted to come check on you later."

"T...today?" He mumbled, sinking back onto the mattress and watching Tyson pick a shirt out from the closet.

"You can get settled in first, I don't want to overwhelm you-"

Elias could laugh. Settle in, what a joke. Ten months in France made this place he used to call home feel distant and strange, how could he possibly settle in? "Today's fine. I just wanna...wanna wake up and stuff first."

"You sure? You've only been home a day."

"I'm sure," he smiled at him to really sell it, and Tyson nodded approvingly.

Elias washed the dishes as they waited for Allen to show up, Tyson was tidying up in the other room. Supposedly Leo was coming too, and Elias was heavy with fear. He'd be sent away before they got there, surely, given substances to shut him up. Or maybe Tyson would allow Elias to be used, maybe he'd watch.

Elias was afraid at the dreadful excitement he felt at the idea. He was sick to his stomach with anxiety at the possibility of something like that happening, but he couldn't see past the obsessive need to be touched, to be used. He finished the dishes, ducking off to the bathroom to make sure he looked ok. His pale hair curled into small waves in front of his face, it felt unnatural to not find any dried blood in it. His wide eyes and flushed face were still tainted with injuries, but there was nothing he could do about it besides wait for them to heal. Besides, the people who used him usually liked him bruised up anyways, they usually kissed his injuries with patronizing softness or pressed on his bruises to watch him squirm. He fixed his shirt, then realized all at once that he was too sober for this, that he couldn't be used this aware. Couldn't be good. He began to frantically search through the cabinets for anything that might make him feel better, pills or even mouthwash. His eyes fell onto a pill bottle on the top shelf of the mirror, his hands fumbled over it quickly. Tiny, colorful pills spilled into his hands, it was recognizably molly. He didn't know why Tyson had it, but it was August's favorite to give Elias, and so he knew it well. He threw two pills back, chasing them with water from the sink, and then returned the bottle back to its spot. After he started to feel it just a little, he looked back into the mirror and fixed himself up a little more, forcing a smile at his reflection, just to see how it looked. Something was off, he didn't look right, he was worried that if he looked anything less than what he was used to, he would fall apart. The ground dropped from under him just a little when he realized what it was: his bare neck. He needed his collar, people were coming, he had to have it. Fucking stupid, he thought, spent months wishing you could take that thing off and now you suddenly want it again? Stupid fucking idiot.

In one of the drawers he found a silver chain, he inspected the little pendant dangling on the end, at the way the blue jewel in the middle caught the light when he turned it. He almost wanted to put it back, it was too nice for him, but he decided that it was better than nothing. He slipped it over his head, it was loose, but it would work fine. He looked so much better already.

"Elias, you ok in there?" Tyson was asking from the hallway. His voice was tight with anxiety and Elias instantly reached for the door handle and stepped out.

"I'm ok," he smiled at him, his grin lopsided so that his chipped tooth was showing just a little. "I was just getting ready."

Tyson tilted his head at him, smiling softly. "You look nice. How do you feel?"

Elias offered a lighthearted shrug, shuffling forward and standing up on his toes to kiss Tyson's nose softly. "M'ok. I cleaned the kitchen."

"I saw!" He took Elias's hand in his own and pulled him closer. "Thank you, for that. Very helpful."

Elias beamed at the praise, and Tyson was reminded again of Allen, how he lit up like a damn Christmas tree when someone said anything close to a compliment or approval, and it was quickly becoming evident that Elias was going to be the same. It was disgustingly cute how reactive they both were, how their lips twitched into a sick smile, their eyes fluttered helplessly. So beautiful, so tragic. He got this way through horrible mistreatment and brainwashing violence, but he looked so genuinely ecstatic that Tyson wasn't sure if he ever wanted to stop.

"Uh...they're waiting outside. We can let them in when you feel ready."

Elias took a breath, forcing himself to nod. He reminded himself to keep his composure, allow himself to be movable and soft and pretty. He was trembling all over, in excitement or fear he wasn't sure. Tyson rubbed his shoulder gently, still giving him a moment. When Elias finally seemed to come to terms with being around other people, he looked nervous all over again, but this time with a hint of eagerness behind his eyes. Tyson wondered how often he was allowed to see other people when he was with August. He said that August had kept him hidden away, but what exactly did that entail? When Allen was with him, he came back not used to light or sound because August had been keeping him depraved of those luxuries. Elias didn't seem like that though, he just seemed...skittish, too vigilant and too self hating to be around others. He spoke and carried himself like he knew he was less than them, and it bothered him just to be near them. And yet, at the same time, he looked exhilarated at the idea of putting himself into that position at any second. Finally, he looked up at Tyson with a wavering smile and nodded at him to tell him he was ready.

Allen looked way too good, Elias was completely baffled at how healed he seemed, like nothing had ever been wrong with him. How had he been with August and healed, how was he not broken forever? Elias didn't think he would ever be able to get there himself, all of this damage was irreversible, he couldn't imagine himself with a flushed, healthy face and a carefree grin. Or an ability to walk into a room with seemingly no issues or qualms, just existing. How could he do that?

He was also the first person to talk to Elias, which made him a little breathless at how unexpected it was. He stayed far enough away when he waved at him, politely saying "hey, Elias, how are you doing?"

Elias flinched, looking to Tyson for permission to speak, but he was given only a glance, and he was left confused and too scared to answer. Instead he just nodded his head once as a response. He looked down to see his knees were visibly wobbling, he didn't realize he was also squeezing his hands into tight fists at his sides. He couldn't force himself to relax, even though he wanted to, the molly in his system felt like metal in his veins, forcing him rigid and stiff.

Tyson quickly realized that Elias was more overwhelmed than he had hoped for, that all of his promises that he would be ok and he was sure they could come were quickly falling apart. He was standing so straight, like he'd collapse in on himself if he let his muscles relax at all. His legs were shaking with the effort of standing, Tyson wanted to scoop him up and hold him close to his chest, take away the strain of being upright, relieve him in any way he could.

"How are you settling in, pal?" Leo asked him, watching his head drop down instantly as he was addressed. He inched toward Tyson just a little, glancing up at him yet again. This time, Tyson caught his eye and realized what the look was about.

"It's ok," he whispered, rubbing his shoulder gently to reassure him, "it's alright, Eli, you can talk to them."

Elias was thankful for the permission to speak, he wanted to interact with them so bad he was buzzing, he wanted to speak to them and be heard and acknowledged. It had been so long since he'd been around people who understood him, who he could have conversation with. He worried for a split second that he might've forgotten how. "It's different. France is very different."

Leo chuckled at that, nodding his head. "Yeah, I would imagine. It's beautiful though, I hear."

Elias nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, the beach is my favorite."

Tyson was smiling at him, at how eager he was to speak, how even though he had been through hell there, he still found something beautiful in it. Elias had been trapped with August and made to do awful things that Tyson wasn't even sure the extent of yet, and still he had picked out a favorite place.

"Well I hope you didn't get too used to the food there, cause you'll have to deal with my cooking tonight." He smiled teasingly, and once Elias heard Tyson laughing, he realized it was a joke. Someone was joking with him, like an actual person. He smiled brightly at him, shaking his head.

He didn't have a response though, smiling at him seemed to be enough. Leo followed Tyson into the kitchen, leaving Allen and Elias to be alone in the living room. Allen had sat down on the couch, and Elias occasionally looked up from his spot in the center of the room, wondering if he was supposed to follow Ty. It seemed too late now, and besides, he knew in the back of his mind that he belonged here, to be observed as a centerpiece, touched if anyone felt the need for it. He wondered if, he hoped that, Allen felt the need for it. Or anyone at all, really.

"Wanna come sit with me, Elias?" Allen checked suddenly, watching as Elias straightened up to look at him, eyes wide. He quickly nodded before stumbling over to the couch, hesitating a moment before sinking down to the floor on his knees. Allen looked rather bewildered at the motion, his face flushed and mouth parted in surprise. The movement was familiar to Allen (August was consistent, he'd give him that), but it was shocking to see it from this perspective, made him want to push Elias out of the way and take his place. It took him a good thirty seconds to gather his thoughts, and when he did he felt sick to his stomach as he looked into Elias's fearful puppy dog eyes. "Oh...you don't have to..." He started to choke out.

Tyson froze when he came into the living room to see Elias like that, down on his knees with his head bowed pathetically, right in front of a flustered, uneasy looking Allen. They'd only been gone for five minutes, what had caused this? He may have grabbed Elias's shoulders a little too hard when he hoisted him back upright, causing a confused mewl to escape his throat.

"Don't sit down there like that, Eli," he scolded, "you sit on the couch, like everyone else."

"B...but I..." Elias shook his head in weak protest before shutting himself up, cringing at the stern look on Tyson's face. He was frustrated, if they wanted him on the couch why didn't they say so? Why did they want to confuse him so much? Was it to make him fail, make him easier to punish?

Tyson nodded at him once, turning and making his way reluctantly back to the kitchen. Elias huffed to himself, his shoulders drooping sadly.

"Hey," Allen said softly, grabbing his thigh gently, "it's ok. I remember when I got back I didn't use furniture for weeks. Tyson knows better now, he won't let you do that."

Elias looked at the hand on his leg. Thank God, he thought. He smiled softly at Allen, nodding along to his voice. So that was it, then, Tyson wanted him on the couch. He could look pretty on the couch, August sometimes enjoyed that.

"I know Tyson can get a little...upset, sometimes, but he means well. He just gets discouraged when he can't help."

Elias nodded eagerly again, eyes still on Allen's hand on him. Was his hand tight, or was he just imagining it? It was warm, it fit comfortably around him, and Elias found himself leaning against his arm in response to it. "Thank you," he whispered, "you've always been so kind to me."

"Well of course. What you're going through it's...well, kindness is definitely something you could use right now." Allen was smiling at him, in a way that no one had smiled at him in a long time. It was pure and friendly, not malicious or dangerous or full of lust. It was foreign, it made his chest feel hollow and sad. He didn't deserve to be looked at with such fondness. He would have ran and hid, if the smile didn't also make him feel so nice and warm all over. That made him even more upset, he didn't want to like it, not when he wasn't supposed to be receiving it in the first place. That was like enjoying a gift that had someone else's name on it, and he felt guilty for it.

Allen must've noticed his anxiety, and he pulled his hand away slowly, fingers slipping off his leg one at a time. Elias looked away from him entirely. He wanted to be back on the floor, he wanted his collar, he wanted to be hurt or touched, he wanted to be higher than he was. Most of all, he wanted to know what the hell everyone around here was expecting of him. August had rules, and even outside of those rules, Elias had gotten pretty good at reading his body language so he could guess what August wanted from him. Here was so different, he didn't know what was and wasn't allowed, he didn't know what Allen wanted from him when he grabbed his leg, or what Tyson wanted when he randomly left the room without a word to him. It was all so jumbled, made Elias feel so lost. The molly made it easier for Elias to speak, to listen, but he was still miserable and confused.

"What's wrong, Elias?" Allen asked in a hushed voice, like their conversation was ultra secret, like Leo and Tyson weren't allowed to know that it was taking place.

"It's just hard." He whispered back, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "I don't know what anyone wants anymore. When I try to guess I just look fu-fucking stupid. It's confusing."

"Have you tried asking?"

Elias gawked up at him, like the idea was bizarre. "Asking...?"

"Yeah. If you're not sure, just ask." He said this like it was simple, it couldn't go wrong. "Try it, ask me what I want."

Elias blinked at him, clearly bewildered. "Uh...wh-what do you...want?"

Allen smiled at him, nodding approvingly. "Right now, I want to sit on the couch and talk to you, and I also want dinner, but I'm waiting for it to be finished."

"O...oh." Elias breathed, looking back down at his hands. He guessed that was easy enough, the world didn't crumble around him. He couldn't hide his amazement, he couldn't believe Allen could easily say he wanted things, he must've not been taught that it was against the rules. Or maybe it was just something he outgrew, once he was away from August. Elias didn't think he'd ever outgrow it.

"What about you? What do you want?"

The confused, almost mangled, whimper Elias let out was telling enough, Allen wasn't supposed to ask him that. He was only just now realizing that it was ok to ask others that question, he obviously wasn't ready to answer it.

"Oh I don't... I c-cant..." He stammered, shaking his head vigorously. This was a test, one he could pass. He knew better than to say he wanted anything, he'd been proving that since he came back. He remembered when he accidentally begged Tyson to touch him, using the word 'need'. He must've told Allen, and now Allen was trying to get him to slip up again. He wouldn't, he would be good. He could be a mindless pet with no wants or needs.

"It's ok," Allen reassured him, his hand was on his thigh again, this time a little higher, "you don't have to answer. I get it."

Elias was breathless, he couldn't tell if it was from the question or Allen touching him, but he couldn't seem to breathe deep enough. He couldn't have wants, but still, the warm palm on his leg was enough to make him tremble. If he were allowed to want, he would want someone to lay him down and touch him everywhere, make him feel good because he hadn't felt good in so long, stroke his hair, call him 'good pet', call him 'bunny', tell him he was beautiful and perfect. If he were allowed to want, he would want that so bad it would make him cry.

"Shit, Elias, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Allen was rushing. Elias's cheeks were wet with his tears, his face was blank and sheet white. Tyson must've heard the commotion, and it wasn't long before he was in front of him, kneeling down to be at his level.

"Hey, Eli, what's going on, love?" He asked him gently, his hands on his shoulders. They weren't grabbing him as tightly now as when he put him on the couch. "Why are you crying?"

Elias wiped his face, shaking his head quickly. "I'm s-sorry!" He whined. "I don't know I j...just..."

Tyson shook his head dismissively, pulling Elias against his chest and rubbing his back. "It's ok. Everything's ok." Tyson held him close as his shoulders shook, allowing him to tire himself out a little. Once he seemed calm, Tyson pulled away from him, stroking his cheek gently as he did. At some point Allen had gotten up and left them alone in the room together, and Elias couldn't help but feel a little relaxed that he wasn't around to watch him fuck up any more. "You alright?"

Elias nodded, sniffling miserably. "I'm sorry."

"No worries, love. Go ahead and get cleaned up, dinner's done."

Elias obeyed instantly, standing up and heading to the bathroom wordlessly. He looked so rough around the edges, washed out from crying and in desperate need of an actual good nights sleep. He debated skipping dinner and going to lie down instead, but then he remembered how much he ached to talk to everyone, be around them, so he changed his mind. He never again wanted to be alone in a separate room when there were people around, it wasn't ever an enjoyable experience. Once he was decidedly more put together, he joined everyone back in the kitchen, setting himself in a chair between Tyson and Leo, mouth glued shut and eyes focused on the plate of food in front of him.

[wave0fg00dvibes]

You’re my Home - Spencer Reid x Reader

Murders, betrayal, violence, and corpses. Or, in other words, a typical day at work for Dr. Spencer Reid.

He felt the overwhelming exhaustion of the day start to catch up to him as he climbed the concrete steps to the house. His messenger bag somehow seemed heavier than usual as his limbs began to give in to the stress the day had brought. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, making sure to lock it behind him and reset the alarm system.

The little house was silent. Not eerily so, but peacefully. Spencer closed his eyes, took a deep comforting breath, and smiled. He was home.

Home was the place where he didn’t have to worry about bodies dropping left and right. There was no one to pressure him to work harder or move faster. No profiling, combat, negotiation, or death. His only worries in this house involved toddler meltdowns and diaper changes, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Spencer walked past the living room to the hallway, noticing the many toys and books scattered about. Dirty dishes sat in the sink, and daily crafts were scattered across the kitchen table, long forgotten. He smiled to himself. He could only imagine what destruction your smart, chaotic, beautiful children had caused today.

He slowly made his way down the hall, arriving at the first door and quietly pushing it open. The princess night light cast a pink glow around the room, illuminating the face of his daughter, sleeping soundly.

She was turning 5 soon. Where had the time gone?

He seemingly blinked and Ava had transformed from a fussy baby into a tiny, wildly intelligent human that understood his racing thoughts. Though so very little, she was already discovering the wonders of books and knowledge, and striving to learn all she could get her hands on. He knew from the moment she was born they had a special bond. She is one of the only people who truly understands his mind, because she shares it.

He slowly crept into her room, sitting on her bed gently, as not to wake her. He attempted to subtly kiss her forehead, but she stirred and sleepily opened her eyes, taking a moment to process what was happening.

“Daddy?” She whispered. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Hi baby. I’m here.”

The excitement in her face was quickly replaced by her small body’s urge to fall asleep again.

“I missed you today.” She drowsily muttered.

“I missed you too.” He whispered back.

“Mommy read me Chaucer, but it wasn’t the same without you. It’s okay though. We can read some different subjects together! I want to learn more math, but she doesn’t like reading those to me as much as you do.”

Spencer felt his eyes slightly water. One of his greatest fears was missing these little moments with his children. He wanted nothing more than to read books and learn with Ava all day.

He also knew that you were an incredible mother who would read the entire phone book to Ava if she asked. You weren’t offended at all by Ava’s requests to read with her Dad. You knew their bond was special, and couldn’t be matched.

“I would love to learn some math with you. We can do that tomorrow though, okay?”

She nodded, smiling brightly as her eyes drifted closed again. His heart could hardly take the amount of love he harbored for that smile.

“Goodnight, Ava.” Spencer whispered, attempting to get up. She grabbed his hand before he could stand.

“Daddy, will you please stay just a little bit longer?”

She had him wrapped around her tiny finger.

“Of course I will.”

He held her hand and smoothed her hair back as she slowly but surely fell back into a deep sleep. Spencer pressed a kiss to her forehead, slowly put her hand back, and tip toed out of her room, quietly closing the door behind him.

Next, he made his way to the nursery.

He crept down the hall and into the baby’s room with ease. Ever so quietly, he leaned over the crib to observe the little boy, sound asleep.

Grayson had just turned 6 months old. It seemed like every time he got home from work his son had grown another inch.

Spencer didn’t want to wake him. Lord knows you had enough on your plate with the little sleep you got. He didn’t want to add to that stress. So, he simply watched Grayson’s tiny, adorable body squirm in his sleep.

It seemed like just yesterday he heard Ava’s first cry. How could time be flying by this quickly?

“Goodnight, Grayson.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead.

As he turned to leave the nursery, an intense feeling of guilt overwhelmed him. Lately, he was so caught up at the bureau that he barely saw his children in the daylight. He wasn’t able to read with Ava, hold Grayson, or spend any time with you, his wife, his life partner.

Spencer would rather die than abandon his family the way his father abandoned him. He couldn’t bear the thought of his babies not knowing him, not trusting him, never knowing how much he would give up for them. He felt his mind begin to spiral. So, as with many other intrusive thoughts, he pushed it away. He could deal with those feelings another time. Right now, he needed to sleep.

He stepped quietly into your bedroom, noticing that you left his lamp on for him. He smiled softly, heavy heart lifting a bit at the thought of you waiting up for him. He quickly put on his night clothes and padded to the bed.

Your shoulders rose and fell with every relaxed breath. Though you were facing away from him, he could tell you were wearing his favorite t-shirt. He smiled again and gently pulled back the covers.

You were pulled from your sleep as you felt your husband slide into the bed beside you. You sleepily, yet excitedly turned your body to face him, smiling and reaching your arms out to hold him.

Spencer surprised you. He gently cupped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, longingly, passionately.

It must’ve been a really tough day at the BAU.

When he pulled back, his hands didn’t leave your face and you pressed your forehead to his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You gently asked.

“No.” He stated. Kind, but firm.

You nodded. He would tell you later, when he was ready. He always did.

“Did you say goodnight to the babies?”

“Of course. Always.” You could hear the drowsiness in his voice as you felt the tension in his muscles begin to relax, but there was still something bothering him.

“Hey, what’s up?” You gently prodded, running a hand through his hair. He let out a deep sigh.

“It’s really nothing. I promise.”

You looked him straight in the eye. Your glance saying more to him than your words ever could.

Don’t shut me out, Spencer. I’m here.

He averted his gaze, but you brought your hand to his face, turning it to meet your eyes again. He could see the concern blooming, and was reminded how little he could hide from you. His partner. His person.

He couldn’t help the flurry of loving thoughts running through his mind as his eyes responded.

You are so beautiful.

You smiled. You knew he meant it, but there was something more. However, the bags under his eyes suggested it could be a conversation for another time.

You leaned in and pressed a light, lingering kiss to his lips.

He smiled back at you, thankful for your understanding. He turned his bedside lamp off and promptly pulled you as close to him as possible, limbs intertwining, hearts finally whole again.

You laid like that for a solid couple of minutes before his racing mind couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do you think they will resent me for not being around?”

You slowly opened your eyes and pulled back to look him in the eye, not having the faintest idea where he was going with this.

“What?”

Spencer sat up in bed and turned the light on again. He took a deep breath, and all at once you knew what was coming.

“Did you know that children who grow up without a father figure in the house are two times more likely to drop out of high school?”

“Spencer…” You attempted to reach for him, but he was too focused now.

“Or… or what about the fact that they are more likely to have behavioral problems? Or that they are 279% more likely to carry guns and deal drugs than their peers? That’s a HUGE margin!”

“But Spence…” You sat up to face him, knowing this needed to run its course before you could help him. You softly rubbed his back as he continued.

“Children who have father involvement are far less likely to cause trouble. They get better grades in school, have better social skills, have a far greater emotional wellbeing, are less likely to succumb to obesity… the list is endless! And… and boys with absent fathers are more likely to become absent fathers themselves. What if Ava isn’t succeeding as much as she could because I’m not around? And what if I’m scarring Grayson’s idea of a father? And now the pressure of raising our children is all on you and I’m so afraid you’re going to start resenting me and I just…”

“Spencer. Hey.” You turned his head to face you, finally seeing the tears threatening to spill over.

Your heart fractured. How could he not know how much his family loved him? How could he doubt the utter adoration the three of you shared for him?

Your eyes welled up as you realized that this is what his job does to him. He sees violence, destruction, and betrayal every single day. He sees families turn on each other and split apart because of tragedies. He works relentlessly because if he doesn’t, people die.

Of course he questions every aspect of his life.

Words could never convey the magnitude of the love you shared. They couldn’t pull him out of this hole in his mind he had been painstakingly digging. So, you listened to your heart when it told you to kiss him so hard that he forgets why he was ever worried.

You grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his, slowly, but firmly. He responded immediately, but with reservation. A few tears tracked down his face as his arms tensed, holding onto you ever so tightly. You kissed him harder, hands trailing from his neck to the back of his head to get lost in his hair. He followed your lead, reserves fading, walls coming down. Slowly, his hands snaked under your shirt to trace shapes on your back. You smiled into the kiss and felt him do the same.

Before you knew it, his hands were begging you to come closer to him. You swung a leg over his so you were straddling him, holding his face again as his arms enveloped you with full force. He kissed you with the fiery passion you knew he held. He held you as if the universe were going to take you away any second. He showed you just how much he loved you with every frenzied movement, every soft touch, and every crash of your lips.

Impossibly close could never be close enough. Not for two souls intertwined, like yours.

You pulled away and pressed your forehead to his, breathing heavily. His breath matched yours as you both sat there, holding each other, waiting for the world around you to reappear.

When it finally did, you met his eyes again. Hoping to see the unique spark that only your husband possessed.

“I love you, Spencer Reid.”

“I love you too.” He smiled lovingly up at you, and there it was. His spark. Your heart leapt for joy.

“Forever and ever, ‘til death do us part. Right?”

He nodded, breaking your gaze to wipe away stray tears with the back of his hand. You wiped away the rest with your thumbs, softly stroking his face.

“You are a fantastic husband and father. You hear me?” You meant it with your whole heart, but his eyes questioned you.

Yeah?

Yeah. I promise.

He smiled and let out a sigh of complete relief, pulling your body even closer and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You held him, so unbelievably content to give your husband the security he craved. You pressed kisses into his hair as you rubbed his back, feeling him start to relax. He pulled away to look at you, with all the love in the world in his eyes. You smiled back, feeling your heart flip the same way it did the first time you met.

You reached over to turn the lamp off once more, and then settled comfortably into Spencer’s arms. His whole body relaxed as soon as you laid your hand on his chest.

There was so much more to say. So many things he needed to know, to absorb, to be sure of. So much love he needed to take with him to the job that tore him apart. But he was exhausted, and that could all wait until the morning. You snuggled into his chest and felt his arms grow tighter around you.

Just before you were about to fall asleep, you remembered something you knew would ease his troubled mind.

“You know what Ava told me today?”

“Hmm?” He answered, clearly also close to sleep.

“She said she wanted to wait to put the quadratic formula into practice until you got home.”

He let out a joyful laugh, and you joined, holding him tighter.

“Really? She did?”

“Yeah, she did. She loves you. More than anything.”

Nothing could match his smile at that moment. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips before letting his head fall back to the pillow.

“I love you.” You heard him whisper.

“We love you too, Spencer. So much.”

You snuggled impossibly closer, and with that you both slipped into a deep, relaxing sleep.

----

A/N: Here we go again, friends. How have I not seen Criminal Mind’s until this quarantine?!? My disguised blessing of Coronavirus. Anyway, thank you for reading, as always. Feel free to comment/critique/roast here or on my AO3 – wave0fg00dvibes. I love feedback! I have some more Reid stuff in the works… let me know if there’s anything specific y’all want to read! Love always. <3

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

New Fic: You Are Of Their Ilk

A sequel to my fic where Wangxian meet as children in Yunmeng ('You Need Tending' on Ao3) that immediately follows the events of the first.

I genuinely had no intentions to write a sequel but then I started having feelings about Lan Qiren in this situation and I came up with some bullet points that I think I can make a full fic out of so uhhh..Here we go!

Part 1

[Masterpost]

--

When Lan Qiren wakes the morning of their departure back to Gusu, for the first time since he was a boy he has to force himself to stay still and meditate. His first instinct, of course, is to gather up the children and leave immediately as soon as there’s light to see by. Quite frankly, the only thing that gives him enough pause to go about his typical morning routine is the fresh memory from the night before of little Wei Ying sagging into his hold like a sack of rice to sleep on his chest while he walked, the boy’s exhaustion and relief in feeling safe enough to sleep out in the open like that far too palpable for his liking.

For his meditation, he decides it’s time to work through the guilt that had slammed into his chest the evening prior upon realizing that he had been in a position to help Wei Ying two years ago, and he hadn’t. Looking back on that experience with the clarity afforded by the future, Lan Qiren can’t help but berate himself for not looking closer to see the truth of Wei Ying’s living situation. Of course there are plenty of reasons and excuses he could provide as to why he hadn’t cottoned on, but they all feel so flimsy in the face of Wei Ying’s uncertainty and loneliness, in the hunger that hangs off his too-prominent bones like the rags of his clothing.

His guilt, though, will help no one now. He can’t go back in time and urge his younger self to ask little Wei Ying the proper questions to have figured out that he hadn’t seen his parents in who knew how long. He can’t return to that day and urge Wei Ying to return to Lotus Pier with them, to have put him in a place where he would have been recognized by Jiang Fengmian and provided shelter so much sooner. What’s done (or not) is done, and the past is in its place. What matters now is that he knows, and he can help. He will help.

Lan Qiren allows the guilt to ebb and fade as he breathes, tucks it away from the front of his mind so it will continue to fade naturally under the repetitive wearing away of time. Its purpose served, there’s no point in hanging onto it any longer and allowing it to cloud his judgement. He stirs from his meditation when he can feel the heat of the sun on his back through the window and he dresses for the day to fetch Xichen from his room next door, the boy already dressed and ready for the day as well.

“You have a question,” Lan Qiren observes as he leads Xichen slowly through Lotus Pier to the kitchens for breakfast.

“Yes Uncle,” the boy says quietly, but he says nothing further. Lan Qiren pauses and turns to face him, one eyebrow raised.

“Xichen?”

“I apologize, Uncle. It’s difficult to order my thoughts this morning.”

Unsurprising, Lan Qiren thinks to himself. Yesterday had been strange. When Wangji had asserted a few days prior in no uncertain terms that he would not willingly leave Yunmeng until they found the boy who had rescued him, Lan Qiren hadn’t..quite been prepared for how seriously he meant it.

Not that Wangji ever did anything lightly nor without intense deliberation beforehand, but he had thought, perhaps foolishly, that Wangji’s desire to find the child would fade after a day of fruitless searching. Instead, Wangji had doggedly led him and Xichen to comb through the city as thoroughly as if they were searching for a single ant in an entire pasture. For three days they had searched, scouring every alley, every street, every possible hiding place a wayward child could be. Lan Qiren’s admonishments that the child was likely gone or returned to his parents had fallen on deaf ears. Xichen’s timid attempts at comforting Wangji and coaxing him away from his searching had been similarly ignored. Neither of them had been at all convinced that Wangji would find the boy he was looking for, but then, all of the sudden, there he was, just as Wangji had described him when he had written out everything he knew could aid them in their search.

Small, filthy, cheerful, his clothes poorly made and in tatters, his shoes falling apart, his hair matted. His eyes like silver, and full of laughter. It had been practically surreal to see him there trailing along with his nephews; particularly when he had looked closer upon the boy’s cry of his name to realize just precisely who he was.

“Why does A-Ying know who you are?” Xichen finally asks, though Lan Qiren can tell instantly that that’s not the question burning at the tip of his tongue.

“He is the same boy Wangji saved from dogs two years ago. I treated his wounds then and so he remembers me now.” Lan Qiren watches recognition light up Xichen’s clever eyes.

“Oh! Right, of course, I remember now..” Lan Qiren waits patiently as he watches Xichen try to work through another thought. “Uncle...last night, before we left the infirmary..”

It would seem there’s a fresh guilt for Lan Qiren to work through at the appropriate time.

Xichen looks so hesitant to even allude to the fact that Lan Qiren had hugged them, almost as if he’s afraid of what his reaction will be, and Lan Qiren had never meant for his nephews to fear him so much. He hadn’t even realized that they do, not until he had been confronted with Wei Ying’s unself-conscious affections - as soon as he realized Lan Qiren remembered him and would help him, he had thrown himself into his arms like he was coming home. It had been a long time since either Wangji or Xichen had attempted such a thing and Lan Qiren had, perhaps foolishly, ascribed it to nothing more than a healthy amount respect and obedience. But it had still taken seeing the raw longing in Wangji’s expression the previous night when he had hugged Wei Ying goodnight to realize that perhaps it wasn’t because they no longer wanted it - perhaps, he had realized, the boys were simply afraid to ask him for it.

“Yes?” he prompts now, doing his best not to sound too curt.

“I..No one has..since Mother..” Xichen says, and Lan Qiren can’t find it in his heart to scold him for not speaking clearly when the boy looks so...confused, and upset. Instead, he sighs softly and, though the gesture still feels unfamiliar and strange, holds his arms open in an invitation that Xichen takes instantly. The boy practically trips over his own feet throwing himself into his arms to burrow into his robes. In response, Lan Qiren wraps his arms around Xichen’s narrow shoulders, holding him tightly right then and there in a breezeway in the middle of Lotus Pier.

“We need to go fetch Wangji and A-Ying,” Lan Qiren says after a few long moments. Xichen immediately nods and begins to withdraw. Lan Qiren holds his shoulders to urge him into meeting his eyes as he adds, “It will not always be appropriate to request this, Xichen, but you may always do so in private.” Lan Qiren is again momentarily guilty in response to the startled look on Xichen’s face, but the boy nods his understanding after a moment and Lan Qiren returns it before they continue on their way to the kitchens.

Once loaded up with a basket of breakfast for the four of them, Lan Qiren and Xichen make their way to the healers’ pavilion. All is quiet inside as they let themselves in and Lan Qiren frowns a bit in confusion as he leads Xichen to the room where they had left Wei Ying and Wangji. Upon pushing aside the curtain that partitions the doorway, Lan Qiren takes in the sight in front of him. Wei Ying has been bathed and clothed and is still currently fast asleep curled up in the smallest ball possible on his side, turned towards the bed’s other occupant. Wangji is lying beside him properly on his back, his hands still resting on his chest though his eyes are open as he looks up at a beam of sunlight on the ceiling. At their entrance, he turns his head enough to spot them in the doorway before he raises a finger to his lips, his little face the perfect picture of stern admonishment as he makes sure to remind them to be silent.

Lan Qiren raises an admonishing eyebrow right back but Wangji is unswayed, and when Lan Qiren looks to Wei Ying again he can understand why. His feet are tucked under the blanket but for the most part he’s not covered at all, and there’s something about the sight of his tiny, malnourished, bony frame curled up so so tightly in clothes that are a size or two too big for him that makes him seem more vulnerable than ever. His back and outward shoulder rise and fall as he breathes. With each inhale Lan Qiren can see the protrusions of his spine pressing against the linen shirt drawn tightly around him and he feels another piece of ice around his heart crack away to fall to the pit of his churning stomach.

He nods his acquiescence at his younger nephew after a long moment and gestures for Xichen to take the basket and sit down at a low table on the other side of the room to wait for their new charge to wake on his own. As the older boy does so, Lan Qiren turns to go find a healer.

They’re thankfully easy to locate, working quietly on the other end of the pavilion.

“Grandmaster Lan,” one of them greets in an undertone so Lan Qiren turns to her.

“Who should I discuss the child’s recovery with?” he asks after a moment.

“Healer Xingfu has put herself in charge of the boy,” the woman replies with a smile, voice still low. “I will take you to her.”

He follows the healer through a few more spaces before they enter what seems to be a personal workroom. The medicinal scent of various ointments and herbs tickles his nose but he does his best not to let it show as he offers a salute to a woman who can only be the head healer from what he can tell.

“Grandmaster Lan,” she greets as she stands from her desk. “Are you here to take away my favorite new patient?”

“As soon as he wakes and eats I will be taking him to Cloud Recesses.”

“Well he’ll certainly survive the journey, particularly with such a dedicated little caregiver,” she replies with a fond smile that Lan Qiren has to imagine is meant for Wangji. “Second Young Master Lan is very attentive, he would make a good healer one day if he chose it. He hasn’t left the boy’s side once, and he refuses to let anyone talk when they step into the room so that the little one can sleep.”

“My nephew is not typically so rude,” Lan Qiren starts but he stops when his statement is met only with a quiet laugh.

“Oh no, Grandmaster, no one is offended. We all find the pair of them quite charming, actually, and they’re both wonderful to have here. Besides, it’s reassuring to see that my instruction that A-Ying be allowed to rest as much as he needs while he recovers will be so thoroughly enforced!”

Lan Qiren clears his throat at that, unsure of what to say, but healer Xingfu takes pity on him and schools her features back into something a bit more professional and less..indulgent.

“As far as traveling goes, I understand the journey from here to Gusu is a relatively easy one, but it will be important that A-Ying not be pushed beyond his limits, which will likely be considerably less than either of your nephews can manage. He’s severely malnourished, dehydrated, and currently recovering from what looks like a sound beating judging by the bruises we found when we bathed him. We’ve treated his injuries as well as we can and he’ll heal with time.

“For now, it’s important that he get to sleep whenever he needs it, and that he is allowed to eat as much as he would like of good, healthy foods without making himself sick.” She gets a shrewd look in her eye as she meets Lan Qiren’s steady gaze. “I have a cousin who is one of your outer disciples, and I know from her letters that there is a rule against eating more than three bowls in a meal. If A-Ying wants more than the proscription allows, you will give him more until the day he has gained enough weight that he no longer looks years younger than he is. That boy needs all the food and rest that his little body can stand.”

“I understand,” Lan Qiren acknowledges with a nod, deciding to overlook the method of delivery for such information and instead just be grateful that he is in a position to utilize it. “Thank you for your instruction.”

Healer Xingfu watches him for another moment or two with that calculating gaze before she nods in apparent satisfaction and steps around her desk to open a small chest and withdraw a bundle of cloth.

“We washed his clothes as carefully as we could, though they are nearly ready to fall apart entirely. He had a few things tucked into his pockets, however, and we felt it would be cruel to him to take away his only possessions without warning. They’re wrapped in the clothing.”

Lan Qiren accepts the bundle of clean but ragged fabric, brushes the pad of his thumb along the frayed edges of a hole bigger than his fist in the shirt.

“What possessions?” he asks quietly as he studies the coarse fabric.

“Some scraps of food, a woven grass butterfly that has seen better days, a few smooth pebbles, the feather of a water bird..” Healer Xingfu trails off and Lan Qiren glances back up and finds himself startled to realize her eyes are a bit misty as she looks at the bundle of clothing in his arms. “Grandmaster, may I speak frankly?”

“Yes.”

“I am unsure how long exactly it will take A-Ying to physically recover from this, it may be a few months, it may be longer. But..while I admit that pains of the mind are not my area of expertise, I can say with some certainty that A-Ying’s recovery in that respect will likely be years in the making. Sect Leader Jiang has already been here to share with me what he knows of the boy’s history, and if he has been on his own like this since his parents’ demise...It’s likely he knows nothing but how to survive on the scraps the world has allowed him. He will not think or behave like other children his age who have not shared his experiences, nor should he be expected to.” She takes a deep breath in and gestures to A-Ying’s belongings again. “A boy who keeps dirt covered melon rinds in his pockets to gnaw on when he’s hungry has likely already learned to expect cruelty where he should have been shown kindness.”

Lan Qiren’s breath catches in his chest as he reflects again on the first time they had found A-Ying, the little boy who had been attacked by four dogs all bigger than he just for trying to pilfer a dumpling to eat. “Yes, I agree,” he says quietly. “I will be sure to bear it in mind.”

“Good,” Healer Xingfu says with a smile. “Then shall we go see if he’s up and ready to eat? I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Her eyes are glittering in a way that abruptly makes him sure that the..hugging incident has already been spread around at least among the healers. He refuses to feel embarrassed for it, though, and so he simply nods and follows the head healer out of her office and back through the pavilion to where the children are waiting.

When they enter the room A-Ying is sitting up in bed rubbing at his eyes with his fists while Wangji and Xichen set out breakfast for the four of them.

“Good morning xiao-Ying,” Healer Xingfu greets with an easy warmth that the boy immediately responds to, looking up from studying his new shirt with a cautious sort of hope in his eyes. “I am Healer Zhou. Are you feeling better this morning?”

Lan Qiren’s attention is pulled from the scene in front of him by Jiang Fengmian’s typically soft voice behind him.

“Master Lan, could I speak with you for a moment?” he asks and Lan Qiren very seriously considers telling him no. Despite how much he knows he would scold either of his nephews for behaving as pettily as he wishes to, he’s still having a hard time keeping himself from blaming Jiang Fengmian for all of this. It’s so much easier to lay the blame at his feet, and it’s not unfounded either.

Wei Ying is the son of his former myrmidon, and Lan Qiren knows for a fact that the two of them kept in communication after his elopement with Cangse Sanren, and the birth of their son. Their last known location was close enough to Lotus Pier that their toddler had been able to wander his way here most likely unaided, and yet he still hadn’t been found. And, most damning of all, when he had informed the Master and Mistress of Lotus Pier of just who he had found, Madame Yu had needed absolutely no explanation whatsoever before she had accurately understood the situation and, in the next breath, began criticizing both the child himself and Jiang Fengmian for his obvious desire to keep him.

Yes. It’s very easy to lay the years of Wei Ying’s hardship at Jiang Fengmian’s feet.

He follows the man from the room anyway, expression set in stern lines of disapproval. It’s familiar and comfortable on his face, and while in the future he’ll be trying to soften it for his nephews’ sake, he owes no such concessions to the man in front of him.

“We will be leaving shortly,” he says to the unspoken question in Jiang Fengmian’s eyes. “As soon as A-Ying has eaten his fill, which will likely happen quickly.”

“I...yes, of course. As much as he wants. Qiren-“

“You do not have that right,” Lan Qiren snaps, suddenly furious. They were once classmates, yes. All of them. He hasn’t stayed close enough to any member of their generation to give them the impression that they can use his name, and certainly no one of their generation who’s still alive would usually dare. (The only one who had ever had the bravery and lack of decorum to ignore his preference died years ago, and left behind her beloved son.)

“..Master Lan. For A-Ying.”

Lan Qiren unbends his stiff neck enough to see that he’s being handed a bundle of letters written on all sorts of paper, the handwriting on the outside of each packet a jumbled mixture - some neat, others hardly legible.

“What is this?”

“The letters I’ve received from his parents over the years, down to the last before the news of their deaths.”

“I see.”

“They had just decided on a courtesy name to give him when he grew older when they wrote me last,” Jiang Fengmian continues, looking slightly pained and Lan Qiren reaches out to take the offered parcel, tied neatly with cord. “Wuxian. 'To have no envy'. I won’t...I can’t tell you what to do with him, how to raise him, or anything but..if he were to stay with me I would give it to him.”

“Their wishes will be honored,” Lan Qiren says stiffly with a nod of thanks. He hates the concession in the face of his anger with the man in front of him, but he’s not going to deprive Wei Ying of his last real tie to his parents just because of his anger. The boy deserves the name his parents chose for him, and Lan Qiren is already sure that he’s going to grow into it well. “Is there anything else? I need to eat as well before we depart.”

“No. I...I don’t want him to become a stranger to Yunmeng, this is his first home, and the children would be good friends for him. But I leave that decision and all others for him in your hands.”

Lan Qiren tucks the letters into his sleeve and offers Jiang Fengmian a parting salute that’s only barely polite. He says nothing as he turns on his heel to retreat into the healing pavilion where the children are waiting for him to take them home.

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 20

The world is quiet when Erich swims back to awareness: no gunfire, no shouting, no noise, just quiet-safety-peace.

(Quincy wards hum in the back of his mind, protection-reassurance-warmth.)

(He’s home.)

(He home, he’s home, he home!)

Erich takes a careful, shallow breath, braced for pain, but— it doesn’t come. Just a slight tugging at his side, more like fresh scar instead of fresh wound, but that’s… that doesn’t… Degurechaff isn’t a healer and neither is Alexis—

But Urahara is, he remembers abruptly.

(If Urahara has healed him once again, after all the suspicion, all the fear…)

Erich grimaces. Tries to lift his hand—

Realizes that there’s someone at his side. Someone holding his hand, their grip tight-desperate-unwavering even though their breathing is the quiet-even-calm of sleep.

He tilts his head towards the other, slowly prying his eyes open—

Stares blankly at the mop of flaxen hair that meets his gaze. Wonders what he should feel, wonders if it should be a surprise that it’s Urahara asleep at his side, holding his hand as if the moment he lets go, Erich will disappear.  

Erich contemplates Urahara for a long moment, debating nudging the man awake, then sighs softly and lets his eyes drift closed again.

(He’s too tired to deal with this right now.)

(He’ll just… rest a bit more.)

(Just a few more minutes…)

\\\

“—to you in time,” Alexis is saying the next time Erich drifts awake; she sounds tired but confident, without any indication of worry that he can sense, and it’s… it’s good to hear. Good to sense.

(They’re safe.)

(They’re all safe, and Urahara is here, which means Alexis has done what he’d been dreading and oh, he’s going to need to apologize for that, for getting injured, for failing her, but for now… for now they’re all safe.)

“Mmm, but until then…” Urahara murmurs, his words trailing off with a quiet sigh as his hand tightens slightly around Erich’s and his presence shades towards doubt-worry-exhaustion. When Erich squeezes Urahara’s hand in return, the man freezes then swiftly leans in and asks, “Rerugen-san? Awake?”

Erich hums in agreement and reaches up to rub the grit from his eyes, trying to force his brain back into gear after… however long he’s been asleep. “S’matter,” he asks in concern, then wrinkles his nose and tries to clear his throat, annoyed at how rough his voice sounds.

“Ah, no, nothing—”

“The Clan is torn between ignoring him, being afraid of him, and wanting him to leave,” Alexis cuts in before Urahara can continue deflecting. When Erich turns his head enough to give her a questioning look, she snorts and shakes her head. “No one’s done anything— he saved your life, after all, and everyone could sense that, so it’s making things difficult for the hardliners to stir sentiment against him, but everyone’s… a little jumpy.”

Erich grimaces, knowing that ‘a little jumpy’ is likely to be an understatement, and wonders what — if anything — he can do about it.

(Very little, probably.)

(Damn.)

Discarding that line of thought for the moment, he carefully begins to push himself up, mindful of any lingering soreness or aches. Urahara even reaches out to help, his free hand settling between Erich’s shoulder-blades as a brace. His touch lingers as Erich settles, warm-steady-gentle in a way that Erich… finds he doesn’t particularly mind. The change is… odd, but at the same time…

(Power sheltering him, healing him, echoing trust-home-loyalty as it does.)

…at the same time, maybe it isn’t such a surprise.

Erich gives Urahara a thoughtful look, wondering at the emotions he sensed, then sets his curiosity aside for the moment, inclines his head and says, “Thank you.”

Urahara starts and drops his hand away from Erich’s back. “I… it… don’t, uhm…” he swallows and ducks his head, switching to Akitsugo to say, “I should have been at your side instead of leaping ahead. I’m sorry, Rerugen-san, because of me—”

“Stop,” Erich orders with a frown, disliking the twisting snarl of guilt-discomfort-regret that he can sense from Urahara. “Has Degurechaff been snapping at you?” he asks, wondering if this is just the result of Urahara’s own self-worth issues or if Degurechaff has made things worse.

(He wouldn’t put it entirely past her, either accidentally or on purpose.)

(Sometimes she can sound significantly harsher than she is, and Urahara won’t know how to differentiate those times.)

Urahara hesitates, clearly debating his next words, before lightly squeezing Erich’s hand and saying, “Degurechaff-san has said nothing more than the truth,” with careful, solicitous blandness.

“You are not responsible for me getting injured,” Erich snaps, infuriated by the very thought; he hopes Degurechaff hasn’t actually blamed Urahara for what happened — as much as she seems to despise Urahara, she’s not often given to blatant lies — but if she has…

(No, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions.)

(Until he knows exactly what she’s said to Urahara, he can’t assume anything.)

(Not with how Urahara has reacted to other things that have happened.)

“Erich…?” Alexis prompts as she steps closer, settling on the edge of the bed and looking between the two of them in concern. “Is there something I can help with?”

“Just a misunderstanding about fault,” Erich replies, then makes a pleased noise as Alexis hands him first his glasses and then a glass of water. He puts his glasses on, then takes the water glass and takes a sip, using that moment to put his thoughts back in order; there’s nothing to be done about Urahara except to be patient and reassuring — he knows exactly how pervasive thoughts like that can be, after all — but there are other things he can — should! — be handling, now that he’s awake. “How long have I been out, and how are my men?”

Alexis sighs and shares a commiserating look with Urahara — and when did the two of them form an understanding like that? Surely he wasn’t out that long! — before she says, “About two days, give or take. I’ve gotten most of your men squared away in the hidden caverns, and our healers have begun doing their rounds; you might lose a few more of your worst injured, but Kai seems to think the rest will survive and make a full, or mostly full, recovery.”

He breathes a sigh of relief at her words, pleased that at least something is going right. On the other hand… “Two days?” he asks with a touch of disbelief. “Did I really… that seems a bit excessive.”

Alexis arches an eyebrow at him, then pointedly jabs her finger against the new scar down his side, making him twitch away. “Does it now,” she drawls, expression warming as she flicks a glance at Urahara when the man snickers. “I have no idea why you’d think that.”

“Two days, Lexi! That isn’t just— I’m healed, surely I didn’t need two days of rest!”

“No, you need significantly more than that, but we couldn’t get away with longer, not yet,” Alexis retorts with a scowl, then sighs softly when Urahara reaches out with his free hand to brush against her arm. She moves to catch Urahara’s hand in hers, linking their fingers together, and murmurs, “Thank you, Urahara.”

“Welcome,” Urahara murmurs back, head ducked a bit and color dusting his cheeks, then slants a careful, wary look at Erich as if waiting for a reprimand.

Not that Erich is interested in reprimanding his two soulmates for getting along; he regrets that the cause is likely their shared worry for him, but… but at least something good came of the whole mess.

(He’ll take what few shreds of hope he can get, after everything he’s survived so far.)

(He’s learned that lesson far too well.)

When the wary look in Urahara’s eyes only grows when Erich doesn’t immediately react, Erich clicks his tongue and prods warmth-understanding-thankfulness at Urahara through their connection, pleased at the way Urahara blushes and starts to relax in response.

“I would have appreciated being awake for our arrival and the fallout of our decisions, but what’s done is done,” Erich tells them dryly once the danger is past, making sure to keep acceptance-understanding-warmth towards the surface to prevent another misunderstanding. “Everything seems to have worked out, at least.”

“You… needed sleep,” Urahara says a touch awkwardly, blush beginning to fade again. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then carefully adds, “Degurechaff-san… woke. When you fell. Her strength was… too much, with no warning.”

Erich purses his lips and tips his chin down, dredging through his hazy, scattered memories, but… he can’t remember much past the start of the ambush, the blazing agony of his wound, and hazy sense-memories of Urahara’s power sinking into his body.

It’s not much of a surprise — battles are always a bit of blur, especially if he’s been wounded during them — but he still despises how fallible memory can be.

“Even our Clan felt her fully awaken her powers, over a day’s march away,” Alexis tells him, a tiny, crooked smile on her face. “It was strong enough that she drove no few of your men to their knees under her fury, back where I was waiting with them. She is much stronger than I expected.”

Erich stares at her blankly, unable to process the idea of Degurechaff being strong enough to send a division to its knees when she wasn’t even standing in front of them.

(He did this.)

(He created this… this monster with his poorly thought decisions!)

(This is his fault—)

Pain sparks in the palm of one hand, snapping him from his thoughts, and he casts a wide-eyed look at Urahara.

“She was on the cusp of waking for as long as I was following you,” Urahara says firmly, before Erich can gather his scattered thoughts. “The timing was regrettable, but it would have happened eventually.”

“I started her awakening—”

“For as long as I was following you,” Urahara repeats with a frown, leaning in a bit as he does. “Rerugen-san, I sensed the moment you let your strength free, and while it did help her become aware of her powers, they were there before you did that.”

“I showed her—”

Urahara snorts, freezes briefly as his mind catches up with his actions, then swallows and carefully says, “Rerugen-san, she might have known how to weaponize it because of you, but an outpouring of strength like that is one of the first things people tend to do. It’s a natural reaction to suddenly grasping at power they don’t know how to control. I don’t know if it happens differently amongst the Quincy, but even Shinigami tend to do it when we reach a new stage of our abilities.”

Erich inclines his head slightly in grudging acceptance; he doesn’t know if he entirely believes the man about it not being his fault, but he’ll admit that he’s unfamiliar with how regular humans awaken to their spiritual powers. It sounds logical enough, but Quincy don’t (usually) have such difficulty, since they’re often born with spiritual reserves that slowly grow as they do. Desperation can cause something similar, but even then…

Well, he supposes it doesn’t matter.

Whether he’s at fault or not, it doesn’t change the fact that it happened, and that the fallout is now his responsibility.

“I’ve been giving her more focused lessons, now that your men are squared away and there’s less for her to do,” Alexis says before Erich can ask. “She’s a gifted student, though it’s probably best if she masters the basics before trying anything more advanced.”

“Given what you’ve said happened, control is probably a good emphasis for now,” Erich agrees with a wry smile, then gently pulls his hands free from Alexis and Urahara’s grips and nudges the two back a bit. “Is there anything else I should be aware of?” he asks as he shifts to the edge of the bed and sets his feet on the floor, then repeats the question in Akitsugo just to make sure Urahara understands it.

“No for me,” Urahara answers with a small shake of his head.

Alexis hums slightly and taps something at her hip, drawing Erich’s attention to where Benihime is bound to Alexis’ belt. “If the two of you aren’t bothered, I’ll keep hold of her for the moment,” she says, looking between them. “At least until Erich’s been pronounced healthy by Kai.”

“Ah, it’s… good,” Urahara pauses, considers that, then corrects with, “Fine?” before shrugging awkwardly and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Benihime is… uhm…” He frowns, then turns to Erich and says in Akitsugo, “Benihime’s starting to like both of you a bit, so… either of you can carry her, at least, uhm… at least as long as you don’t separate us by too much, or try to attack me or… or things like that.”

“So regular common sense limits,” Erich replies with a touch of amusement, then asks, “How far is too far?”

Urahara blinks at him in surprise. “Uh— she’s gotten a bit antsy during the times when Alexis was in the caves with your men and I was here with you, so probably not much further away than that?”

Erich considers the distance between the cavern shelters and the main house, then nods and tells Alexis, “Urahara says that Benihime will be fine with either of us, so long as we remember common sense and don’t go much further from him than the caverns are from here.”

“I could sense a bit of her unease when we were there,” she agrees. “It’s why I’ve had Briar and Ilsa take over moving our people into the remaining shelters and divvying up supplies.”

“How’s that going?”

“We’re going to need to ration a bit more than we were doing, but we should be fine for a few months, especially if we keep sending foragers out,” Alexis answers as she stands up and offers her hand to him. “Come on, I’ll give you the full report over a meal.”

Erich rolls his eyes at her, pointedly hands her the almost empty water glass instead of taking her hand, and then stands on his own; he doesn’t need to be babied, especially after being fully healed and then being made to sleep for most of two days.

(The soft, breathy laughter his actions startle out of Urahara is a very nice bonus, though.)

“There had better be tea,” Erich says with a playful huff, even as he gestures for Urahara to follow.

“I’ll make sure there’s an entire pot just for you,” Alexis promises with a warm smile.

Erich gives her the exasperated look that deserves, but he can’t — and won’t — mask the warmth-care-love that bubbles up in response. He’s missed her, and this, and even if the war is still grinding on, still grinding down, he’s done. He’s done. He’s done what little he can do, saved the men who look to him, and now the only thing he can do is take shelter and wait for the outcome.

It’s more of a relief than he expected, if he’s being honest.

He still has his duties but… not as many. Not as complicated.

He can just… be a Clan head again.

And maybe, just maybe, he can build something lasting with both his soulmates.

He thinks… he thinks he’d like that.

He thinks he’d like that a lot.

[carmenlire]

Plum

read on ao3

He thinks he scared himself. Just a little. Just enough for it to have an impact.

Maybe. The jury’s still out on that, he supposes.

Falling asleep last night had taken longer than he’d thought. He thinks they’d been hunger pains and he knows it’s ridiculous but a part of him still hadn’t understood.

At that point, he hadn’t eaten in forty eight hours, give or take a few minutes. He’d gotten home from work and he’d been exhausted. He’s always tired these days and even if it had been a couple of days since his last meal, the last time he’d chewed and swallowed, he’d been fine.

Until he’d gone to bed at least. It wasn’t even a struggle to collapse in bed after work. He’s a little tired of his job, of the way he feels like his superiors are always breathing down his neck, at the way the people he’s trying to help just seem to get a little meaner and a little ruder with every passing day.

He’s a little tired in general but that can’t really be helped, either. He’s usually tired. He hasn’t worked out in longer than he cares to admit-- he’s been brushing Jace off every time his brother tries to get him to go on an early morning run or join a boxing class at their gym. There are some absolutes that Alec follows and one of them is that to work out in the morning, he needs to have eaten the day before.

Perhaps it should be a warning that he hasn’t been working out lately-- the past few weeks, really the past several months-- because he just can’t make himself eat with any consistency. He usually eats once a day but it never feels quite right. So he wakes up the next morning and tells himself tomorrow as he hits snooze on his alarm for another hour of sleep that doesn’t leave him any more well rested than before.

Yesterday, all he’d been able to think about during his shift was coming home and taking off his damn tie. Dinner was a far off thing, easily avoided. He’d just wanted to slide between his sheets where nothing matters and where he doesn’t have to be a person.

Where he’s not Alec Lightwood, aiming to make senior associate within the year. He’s just a guy who’s a little sad and maybe a little hungry and so, so empty that he feels like his insides are cracking most minutes of most days.

Well, that’s not entirely true, Alec thinks and it’s not even with a wry little smile because even so small an action feels beyond him right now. He hadn’t just felt exhausted during his late evening shift-- there was a noticeable part of him that had been a little smug, a lot relieved, not inconsiderably proud. Because at that point, it’d been almost two entire days since he’d last eaten and he was happy about that-- felt the stirring of pride at his wherewithal to not give in to what his body demanded, felt good because he felt light.

Usually he feels like he carries the weight of an army behind him and so that feeling-- of being a little smaller, a little less in the way that matters, in the way he wishes for-- it’s.

Well, it’s intoxicating. A little addicting, if he’s being honest.

It’s been a rough year, Alec thinks now. So much is going on and he hasn’t felt this way in years, the way the fog rolls in, the way he sometimes thinks he doesn’t have a body. Still, some of it’s been good. There’s that weekend last month that he spent with Izzy and Jace, the three of them on the camping trip from hell. He hadn’t laughed so hard in ages as he had watching Jace try to put together a tent, as he did watching Iz take her turn during a particularly drunken round of charades.

Then there’s Magnus. Things are so good with him. Too good, a voice whispers in the back of his mind but he tries so hard to knock it back to where it came from, to make it disappear. He has a boyfriend now and just seeing Magnus makes him happy. Or if not happy, then content. Alec can be himself with Magnus and it means more than he can say to have a boyfriend and find such easy comfort within him. He takes great pride in being that person for Magnus, as well.

There’s guilt too, though. Because the longer Alec’s like this, the more he thinks that he might have an actual problem. And it terrifies him because he doesn’t see a way out. He doesn’t think there is one.

Because here Alec sits and he’s staring at nothing in a bookstore a few blocks from his apartment and he wants to die, just a little bit. Because that would be easier for anyone involved in his shit take at taking care of himself.

He feels Magnus staring at him from where he sits within arms reach in his own chair. He feels his boyfriend rubbing a hand over his back in soothing circles but it does nothing to stop Alec from feeling like he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be anywhere.

This morning, Alec ate a plum.

This morning was day three of Alec’s little challenge to himself. He had idle plans to make it a full seventy two hours without eating. Don’t get him wrong, he’s had a few iced coffees every day and it worries him, a little maybe, because he was starting to fixate on how the coffees felt like cheating, too.

There’s oat milk in the lattes, you know.

But he’d had this date day planned with Magnus for days now. His boyfriend, his wonderful boyfriend, has planned a whole day of things for Alec, for them to enjoy together. Alec was excited for today and he’d been feeling good when he woke up.

A day off from work, a day spent with a man who he’s increasingly sure that he loves. It sounded like a recipe for a lovely day.

Plus, he’d woken feeling lighter. In the past two days, he’d lost seven pounds. He knows most, if not all of it, is water weight. But seeing the number drop so severely on the scale felt so good. It gave him confidence. It made him happy.

It filled him in a way that a meal hasn’t been able to in months.

It sounds so dire now but Alec’s never been underweight. From the outside, he looks exceedingly healthy. It does nothing but make him feel worse a lot of the time.

So, Alec knew that the plan for the day was a bookstore in the morning, followed by lunch at this place Magnus had been dying to try for weeks now, with the afternoon spent wandering the halls of an art museum further uptown.

Alec’s not stupid and he never wants Magnus to worry. So, he’d decided to break his fast and eat some fruit. That way he’d have energy for the day and when Magnus asked him what he’d had for breakfast-- his boyfriend is definitely in the camp that believes it’s the most important meal of the day-- Alec wouldn’t have to lie. It's a bonus that fruit falls squarely into a safe category of food in his brain.

Alone in his kitchen, it’d been equal parts shameful and irritating that taking that first bite of stone fruit had taken several attempts. He washed the fruit and patted it dry with a paper towel and stared at it for a long minute, most of him loathing the thought of biting into it. He felt like a failure not being able to last another minute, another hour.

But Magnus would be here within the hour and he needed to get ready.

Four tries later, and his teeth pierced the plum. Immediately, he’d thought that this had to be the best plum that he’d ever eaten. Perfectly ripe, juicy, the flavor positively bursting from the flesh.

Idly, he’d thought that maybe he’d make these lengthy fasts a more regular thing, if he could truly appreciate food like this at the end.

The plum was small and he’d finished it in a handful of bites. Almost immediately after throwing away the seed, he’d started to feel a tiny bit of shame and a whole lot of regret for eating.

He was so weak that he couldn’t wait until he had a true reason to eat-- lunch at the Korean restaurant Magnus had been raving about. If he’d waited until then, then maybe he wouldn’t have made the full three days but Magnus is worth eating for. It would have been okay, then.

Nothing for it now, he’d finally decided and had been ready when his boyfriend picked him up.

The bookstore was a little busy. Not crowded, but a fair few more people than he’d anticipated. Truthfully, though, Alec hadn’t really noticed because he’d been enjoying his time with Magnus so much.

Magnus, who has such an array of knowledge. He’s interested in so many subjects and strolling through the shelves of books and floating between genres, idly picking up paperbacks with interesting covers and hardbacks by beloved authors he wants to share with Magnus had been fun. He hadn’t noticed the time that slipped by.

They’re climbing the stairs to the second floor of the store and Alec feels a little winded. More than he’d usually ever feel walking up a single flight. His head feels a little weird, too. Light but not in a good way.

It doesn’t make sense. He ate a plum this morning.

Magnus looks over with a smile. “What do you say to a coffee while we look up here? My treat,” he adds with a wink that has Alec laughing.

Alec easily accepts and they get in the short line.

“What’d you have for breakfast, darling?”

It’s an idle question as Magnus looks over the selection of bakery treats on display. Alec looks, too, and thinks that if it was another time, if he was a different person, he might like to try a piece of the oreo cheesecake.

“A plum,” he answers simply as he turns his head to people watch the few occupied tables.

“And?”

Alec shakes his head, bemused. “And that’s it,” he replies. “I ate a plum for breakfast.”

It’s now that Magnus looks over, askance. "I told you to eat something that would give you energy until lunch, darling. A plum is nothing,” he chastises and the tone is light and teasing. “You should eat more.”

Alec keeps the easy smile on his face, though he can’t help a small part of himself from growing a little worried, a little guilty-- but there’s a kernel of anger there too that he can’t really define.

He shouldn’t be upset over his boyfriend’s light teasing. It’s not that deep. Magnus doesn’t know the sharks circling just under the edge of this conversation and Alec’s grateful for that, even more now.

“I guess you’re just the breakfast person, babe. You know I don’t really like to eat before noon.”

Magnus just harrumphs and turns toward the cashier. They’re next in line.

But Alec doesn’t feel so well. His head feels even lighter. He thinks his vision starts to waver but he thinks he’s also being dramatic. He has a tendency to do that, he knows. Sometimes he even thinks he might have some type of-- some type of disorder but he’s usually quick to tell himself that everyone feels this way about food and eating and weight and calories and he shouldn’t add more to his plate of stress.

Magnus takes the final step up to the barista but Alec stands stock still. The edges of his vision are gray and that’s weird because he thought that only happened in books. He thought it was just a clever description but oh God the tables by the window are in grayscale and now he can’t really see them at all and the volume of the bustling cafe area is muted, did everyone stop talking and--

He doesn’t think he’s breathing. He can’t feel his chest. He can’t feel his legs. He needs to sit down.

He thinks Magnus is turning back to ask him what he wants to drink but he can’t answer. His sight is set on an unoccupied table a few meters away and it’s with single minded focus that he puts one foot in front of the other and very roughly sits down as soon as he’s within reach.

More like collapses, Magnus would say.

He stares down at the ground. He counts his breaths. Everything is still quiet and Alec’s still preoccupied enough making sure that he stays conscious that he can’t immediately rationalize everything away to himself. Magnus comes over and brings the other chair around the table until they’re side by side.

“Alexander? You okay?”

Alec can’t answer. He just needs a moment. He hopes Magnus doesn’t get mad that he can’t bring his head up, that he just can’t quite manage to string together a response right now.

Magnus doesn’t seem mad, at least. He isn’t irritated. He also isn’t hovering, thank God, because Alec doesn’t think he could take that right now. His presence is quiet and calms Alec down a little and maybe it’s mixed with relief, too, that there’s someone with him right now-- that it’s Magnus who he knows he can trust.

It’s quiet for a few moments before Alec looks up and makes eye contact with Magnus. His boyfriend smiles a little but his eyes are deadly serious. “What can I do?”

Alec takes a deep breath in and slowly lets it out. He looks down and watches his hands flex, feels his fingers curl. “Can I have a lemonade?”

Normally, Alec doesn’t drink anything with sugar in it. He has a sweet tooth but prefers to stick strictly to water and his iced lattes. He knows he needs something more now.

Magnus merely nods and stands without another word. He’s back a moment later and hands over a bottle of lemonade he’d bought from the cooler. “Here you go, darling,” he says softly.

Alec drinks and Magnus goes back to sweeping a hand over his back in an aimless pattern. “It was rather warm in here, wasn’t it?”

Alec makes some noise of agreement and Magnus adds on quietly, much more subdued, “Maybe you should’ve eaten something more for breakfast.”

There’s that little flick of annoyance that Alec can’t quite squash down but he’s not stupid. And Magnus doesn’t even know the half of it. And so Alec nods a little more weakly than he’d like and says, “Yeah, maybe, babe,” unable to control the tendril of indifference in the words.

Magnus is quiet for a minute and Alec works on the lemonade and thinks through what just happened.

He’s never fainted before. He’s never come so close to blacking out. He thought he was stronger than that and he’s a little mad at his body for showing that it can have a mind of its own, too. It happened so fast that it leaves him with whiplash.

Over it all, though, is confusion because he did eat. He thought the fruit would be enough to last until lunch and it doesn’t make sense to him that he ate an hour ago and almost passed out just now.

Magnus’s voice breaks through the self recrimination. “Why don’t we take a little break, get a treat, and find a table by the windows,” he suggests. Alec knows him well enough by now to know that while it was phrased as a question, it’s anything but.

Seeing as he doesn’t really have a choice, Alec nods and they stand and make their way back over to the counter. Alec takes a look around but no one's staring at them. Everyone’s focused on their own computers and books and Alec doesn’t feel like a bug under a microscope in the way that he thought he might. He doesn’t really want any more witnesses to this.

Magnus orders a cranberry almond croissant and turns to him. Alec decides on a slice of that cheesecake, after all.

They sit down and Alec stares at the dessert. The truth is, he enjoys food. More than he should, he thinks. He likes trying new things and he has a sweet tooth and he enjoys a truly good, filling meal. The problem is that it’s been so long since it’s been worth it. He has a lot of food rules and this cheesecake breaks at least three that he can think of off the bat. It’s a little terrifying actually and he’s mad at himself that a piece of cake can make him feel genuine fear.

When did it get to this point, is all he can wonder. How do I go back.

Magnus doesn’t make him feel like a child. He doesn’t make a scene of things, doesn’t make Alec feel like he embarrassed him. In his quiet, competent way, Magnus simply takes care of him.

The day isn’t ruined, which Alec feared as he took the first bite of food. They spend awhile at that table and they both eat their treats and enjoy their coffee and talk about anything and everything that pops into their minds. Magnus doesn’t rush them from the table, seems content enough to enjoy Alec’s company at a table in the bookstore cafe rather than walking around the store like originally planned.

Eventually, they do throw their trash away and Magnus takes Alec’s hand as they start wandering the second floor. Magnus doesn’t mention what happened for the rest of the day but it lingers in the back of Alec’s mind.

The day ends up being a smash success of a date. Alec buys a few books for Magnus. They enjoy the Korean restaurant-- Magnus was right, it’s phenomenal-- and the art museum is eye catching.

It’s later that night and Magnus is spending the night at Alec’s. They’re in bed and Magnus is fast asleep.

Sleep eludes Alec for awhile, though. He can’t stop thinking about this morning at the bookstore cafe. He thinks that things might be escalating. He thinks that he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened.

He can’t help but think that maybe that episode was a sign that he was doing things right, after all.

He’s so tired and he doesn’t have any answers. He feels rather helpless, really. Maybe he knows that this isn’t normal but he can’t help the way he feels. He doesn’t know who he can tell these things to-- things like how he feels an almost compulsion to weigh himself every day even if he knows the results will devastate him, the way he has a very narrow list of safe foods and feels totally removed from what normal people eat, the way he sometimes asks himself what he’d like for his next meal but the voice in his head immediately retorts but you don’t deserve to eat.

Alec’s an adult. He knows what the signs point to. But he can’t quite make himself believe that he has a problem because it seems only logical that he hold these misgivings, given his body. It’s just the way things are for him. It feels increasingly like it's always been this way.

But maybe today scared him a little. Maybe, Alec thinks as he looks down at his boyfriend sleeping peacefully on his chest, maybe he does have someone he can talk to.

And maybe Magnus will tell him he has nothing to worry about, that these overwhelming thoughts and feelings are normal. Or, Alec thinks with a sliver of dread but an even greater sense of hope, Magnus will look him in the eye and take his hand and say that it’s okay to have a problem and that they can find a solution.

Together.

[silvercrystalwhump]

New Home

Meet my Box Boy Kai. Thank you, @ashintheairlikesnow, for inspiring this character and just my writing in general. You are one of my idols in all things whump.

CW: selective mute character, implied child abuse, implied past violence, implied noncon, implied past noncon, self-depreciation, traumatized character, human trafficking/slavery, overall box boy universe content, homophobia,

-

Please don’t! I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I’ll behave. Please, I don’t want to! I don’t wanna- please!

650439, you opened your mouth and spoke, fucktoys don’t speak. Stay still!

-

Kai wakes up with a jolt. He sits alone, in a box shivering and cold, memories of the nightmare already receding into the depths of his mind. It has been four periods of sleep since the handlers aggressively shoved him in this tight box, only allowed out every so often. The air is stiff and still; it is almost choking. He reaches up and traces his finger around the three air holes in his box.

He’s scared

Then, with a lurch, his box moves. He yelps in surprise as it lands on the ground. The handler’s voices echo around him like vultures over a carcass. The sound of a door squeak open. His box lifts, and he curls into a ball; he hates when he moves because the handlers love to slam him around and laugh at his whines and cries.

A soft voice, calmer and more patient, speaks with one of the handlers. Nothing Kai could make out by all the shuffling about the others were doing. So, he tries to lean in and glean anything he could from that gentle voice, anything that could possibly tell him where he is or where he is going.

“Thank you sir,” one of the handlers says, loud enough for Kai to hear, “Remember the three month return period starts today.”

“I am aware.”

“Thank you, enjoy him.”

No response but the footsteps begin to fade. The heavy footfalls walk away, and soon only the sound of a pair of soft padding feet are discernible. Kai did not recognize the footsteps; they are not hard enough to be his primary handler but not light enough to be another pet. Who is this?

A drawer opens, and objects fumble around outside of the box. Light trickles through the holes in his crate. He does not dare peek out them again since last time, one of the handlers almost poked his eyes out with a pencil. Kai curls into a ball, shivering through the thin fabric of his bare-end clothes.

Something stabs through the top of the box, sending Kai scrambling back into a corner of the box. He trembles, fear eating at his eyelashes, and droplets of terror start to fall freely. Kai stays impossibly silent. I don’t wanna get hurt again, please. The blade rips through the top of the box and then down the sides. The tearing of reinforced cardboard is too loud; it echoes in his head lie firecrackers in trash cans.

A pale hand fulls away the front. Life spills into Kai’s box, and he covers his eyes quickly. Then, slowly, as he pulls his hands from his eyes, he sees someone sitting cross-legged on the floor. Kai recognizes him as the same man that his handlers tapped pictures of in the walls of his room, the same curly brown hair, the same silvery grey eyes, the same face. Everything is the same.

“Hey bud,” he says softly, “You alright?”

Kai watches him from the corner of his box. When he extends a hand towards Kai, he curls further back into his corner. Kai’s gaze locks onto the box cutter in the man’s off-hand. Fear coils around his neck.

He seems to notice the fear, and he tosses the blade away from him. Then, he speaks, with a soft and gentle voice, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Kai, watching with wide and fearful eyes, leans toward and sticks his head out of the box. Flynn, Kai thinks, That’s his name, that my owner’s name. Flynn keeps his hand extended toward Kai. The box boy rubs his head against Flynn’s hand. He looks at Flynn with less fear and more curiosity. Flynn has yet to hurt him. It’s only a matter of time.

-

Flynn gently guides Kai out of the box. He tries to stand and slowly as possible to not spook the little guy. Guilt, a swarm of tadpoles in the still pool of his mind, swims and circles around his thoughts. Flynn’s hand slips off Kai’s face as he stands. Kai continues to sit on the floor, watching him with wide eyes.

This is… this is wrong.

Flynn stares down at Kai, who is slowly coming to his surroundings. Wide dark eyes flitting about the living room, each taking it all in.

“Are you hungry?” Flynn asks.

No answer. Kai just looks up at Flynn with doe eyes. Flynn takes one sweep of Kai’s body and notices the chapped lips and gaunt face. Flynn just breaks on the inside. What did they do to make a person this… scattered.

Flynn turns for his room, scooping up the pamphlet and box cutter from the table. He tosses the box cutter back into the kitchen drawer with a clatter. Then, after filling a pot and setting it on the stove to boil, he opens the door to his room. Looking over his shoulder, Flynn sees Kai. He had not moved a muscle from where Flynn guided him.

“Kai,” he softly as he gestures his head towards his room.

Like a computer program, the input is given, and the output follows a heartbeat later. Kai stands to his feet and trots over to Flynn’s side. Flynn, with a pang of guilt in his chest, steps inside with Kai at his heels.

Before today, Flynn went out and purchased a mattress and blankets for Kai. He tried his hardest to give Kai his own little space. Also, he attempted to make Kai a little canopy; however, after he set it up, both Flynn and the fabric were ripped away from the wall and torn to bits.

I didn’t pay 30 fucking grand for you to just watch him while you fucking go around and turn some good man’s son into a fucking queer!

Flynn winces at the memory and tries to keep it hidden under his skin. “Here,” Flynn says, patting to the mattress, “This is yours.”

Kai looks at him, confusion draped across his face like light spots on a rose. He cocks his head to the side, and his eyes go to the little makeshift bed. Flynn pieces his lips in mild frustration.

“You sleep here, okay?”

Kai gives him a tiny nod and sits on the mattress. Once he sits, he looks back at Flynn with eyes that would look like they had no thought if Flynn hadn’t known better. Flynn stands up and steps towards the door. A weight pulls his shoulders down along with the ton and a half of stress from school and work, not including the two hours his Dad was home.

“I’m going to make some tortellini, do you want some?”

Doe-eyed Kai says nothing but just gives him an innocent little shake. Flynn gives him a small smile before walking into the kitchen to make them some food. Yet, even as he stirs the pasta around, he can’t stop thinking about Kai. What did they do to turn an entire person into just a complacent, empty-headed body? Bile rises in his throat; the concept of box boys always was off-putting but now, seeing one in person made him want to puke. Flynn keeps glancing into his room, and Kai simply won’t move.

He finishes boiling the pasta; thankfully, it was Friday, so his father wouldn’t be home until long after two in the morning. So, he only pours enough for him and Kai. Then, he steps into his room and hands Kai a bowl and fork. Kai, gingerly, takes it and simply holds it.

“That’s yours, you can eat it,” Flynn assures Kai as he takes a bite of his own pasta.

Kai looks at it, looks at Flynn, and starts to snarf the food into his mouth.

“Heyheyheyheyhey buddy, slow down!” Flynn stampers, “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

Kai immediately stops eating and puts down the bowl. His gaze turns to the floor, and he looks both apologetic and terrified.

“Kai you can still eat just don’t inhale it. Eat just don’t eat so fast,” Flynn says as he hands Kai’s food back to him, “Nobody's gonna take your food.”

Kai, with shaking hands, takes food back and begins to eat at a regular pace.

Flynn smiles at him and says, “See it’s okay.”

Kai returns to smile for a fraction of a second. Flynn relaxes and leans back onto his bed, thinking about grades and work. His usual thoughts around this time. Everything seems okay right now. Pleasant, almost.

That’s when he hears the front door open.

[victimeyez]

Buck and Fletcher 2: Electric Boogaloo

Fanfic for @knivestothroats In The Woods Somewhere - click for masterlist

This one is actually so long I had to break it into parts, tags will be listed at the beginning of each chapter for the chapter, and links to the other parts here:

Part 1: X Part 2: X Part 3: X Part 4: X Part 5: Here

Fletcher returns to find what the trainees have done with Buck, and decides to make it up to him. MIND THE TAGS- THIS ONE GETS SPICY

Concept inspired by @deadupondaylight ‘s fic HERE

Tags: Captive whumpee, multiple whumpers, post shock torture, post water torture, Buck’s no good very bad day, intimate whumper, OOC, noncon/dubcon, explicit sex acts, scratching, gore, sadism, sorry Buck :c

Fletcher opened the door, wiping their feet on the mat. They almost called for Buck out of habit, but then remembered he had been locked in his room. The kitchen table was empty except for a mostly-empty bowl with a spoon, and a porcelain hot plate pad. 

Okay, so they must have found the key.

They checked Buck’s room anyways. The door was halfway open, no Buck inside. 

Fletcher padded into the community room, where Dayal and Petrova were watching a movie, enjoying their day off. 

“Where’s Buck?”

Dayal acknowledged them, but Petrova responded without taking her eyes off the screen.

“Taking a bath.”

“In the bathroom by his room?”

“Yes.”

“Is he conscious?”

Petrova shrugged, and Dayal smirked.

“If you killed him, you’re doing his yardwork.”

Dayal scowled but Petrova didn’t react, and Fletcher walked back to the bathroom. The door was cracked open, like it had only lightly started to swing shut rather than intended to be kept either open or closed.  They knocked lightly on the door, and when there was no response, they swung the door open.

Buck was taking a bath, yes, but fully clothed, except for a shirt ripped open over a chest covered in fading bruises and a collection of fresh burns. His nose was busted, half-dried blood trickling down into the water and dissolving in little pink swirls.

“Buck?”

He didn’t respond, and Fletcher stepped closer. There was a battery sitting on the closed toilet seat, and a pair of clamps detached and abandoned on the floor beside it. 

Fletcher pushed their sleeve up and reached down, touching Buck’s neck. There was definitely a pulse there, and at their touch Buck stirred, opening his swollen eyes puffy from crying, and groaning wordlessly.

There was a knock behind them.

“Hey, did they have my deodorant in stock?”

Fletcher turned around, O’Connor standing in the doorway looking none-too-surprised by Buck’s state.

“No, I picked a different one, but it’s still lavender. What did you all do to Buck this time?”

“We did an experiment, dry electrocution VS wet. I took notes.”

Fletcher sighed, pushing their sleeve back down to their wrist.

“And what was your conclusion?”

“Can’t be too sure since we did them back to back, but Buck could take way more in the kitchen than he could in the tub. We had to stop before we were even halfway done.”

Fletcher hummed. 

“Alright, well, you and the others are going to have to put groceries away, now that I have to tend to this one. If he gets sick, I’m blaming all of you.”

O’Connor shrugged. “We unbound him and filled it with warm water once we were done, he should be fine.”

Fletcher dismissed her to go unload groceries with the others and looked down at Buck with a sigh. 

“Alright, well, don’t want the water to get too cold, do we?”

They reached down, sacrificing their shirt to get wet, and grabbed Buck under the arms. The water was already cool, but hopefully he wouldn’t catch a chill. They pulled him to sit up, then grabbed one of his arms and pulled it around their shoulder, lifting him slowly to a standing position. 

“Come on. Can you walk?”

Buck made an uncertain noise, but did try to get his feet under him. He was shaky and still had to lean heavily on Fletcher, but they managed to walk him back to his room.

They dropped Buck on the bed and pulled their pocket knife, allowing themselves a momentary rush as Buck’s eyes saw it and widened. 

“No-”

“You ever tried to pull wet jeans off of someone? Hold still.”

Buck looked anxious but didn’t protest when Fletcher cut the last tatters of his shirt off and pulled them out from underneath him, tossing them into a heap on the floor. 

Buck whined when they started on his pants, the razor’s edge of the knife making quick work of the side seam. Down the same on his other side, and Fletcher pulled them free. Buck’s shaky hands fluttered to cover himself, his wet underwear leaving little to the imagination.

Fletcher rolled their eyes.

“You seriously want to keep those on?”

Buck nodded weakly and Fletcher sighed.

“Alright, well, you can rest for a bit. I’ll…. tuck you in here, I guess.”

Fletcher pulled the covers out from under Buck with a little jostling, until they were able to peel them to the side.

“Why?”

Fletcher glanced back up, catching Buck’s eyes on them. They watered with fresh tears and he looked so genuinely distraught Fletcher had to suppress a laugh.

“So you don’t catch a cold, dummy.”

“No. Why...did you lie?”

Fletcher sighed, exasperated, and pulled back, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“What, the key?”

“You could have just said no. Why didn’t you just tell me no? Did you just….have to get my hopes up? Is it not enough to hurt me every other way anymore?”

“Spare me the theatrics, I just forgot it, okay?”

“I thought I could trust your word, at least.”

Fletcher hated how that made them feel.

“It was a simple mistake, I hardly think that makes me untrustworthy.”

Fletcher had seen Buck hurt a million times over in a million different ways, but Buck had never, ever looked at them with a look so profoundly wounded.

They rubbed the back of their neck. The tiny nag of...not guilt, but, close, was being swallowed up by a general feeling of being pissed off. 

“Okay, yeah. It was...kind of a dick move. You asked me nicely, and I did tell you yes. If it had been intentional, that would have been pretty shitty.”

With some effort, Buck rolled onto his side, his back to Fletcher, still sitting by his legs.

“Please, please just let me sleep.”

Fletcher felt angry. They wanted to stand up and walk out and leave Buck to his little pity party. 

They felt really angry that they didn’t want to do that.

With a sigh, they pushed their wet sleeves back up, prickling with irritation.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry you couldn’t trust me this one time.”

Buck didn’t respond. 

“Are you going to mope about this all week?”

Buck closed his eyes, a defeated look on his face. His voice was low when he murmured back.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Fletcher replied automatically.

“I mean...look, I just don’t want you pouting about this. It’s really fucking annoying.”

Buck looked somehow sadder, and Fletcher thought they’d seen few things so pathetic.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Buck’s eyes flicked over to theirs again. That got his attention.

“You feel bad, because of me, sort of. So just… just try to relax.”

Fletcher’s hand caught his hip, and in one smooth motion, they caught the tip of their blade under the side of his boxers, splitting them.

“What-” Buck startled, immediately scrambling to cover himself, but Fletcher pushed his hip back to force him to lay back against the mattress.

“F- Fletcher, what are you-”

“You feel bad, so, this will feel good. You better enjoy it, because it won’t be happening again.”

Fletcher tugged the last of Buck’s modesty out of the way, and he hated how pathetic he sounded when he squeaked, too weak to fend them off. Fletcher kneeled on the bed, straddling one of his thighs to pin him back with his legs spread. They reached behind themselves, pulling something else from their pocket, and produced a small bottle.

Buck didn’t know what it was until Fletcher uncapped it, squeezing out a line of it onto their finger.

“What the - what the fuck-” Buck breathed, squirming weakly underneath them.

“Relax, it’s lube.”

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“Seriously, relax, I got it for your scars. Best way to get silicone into your skin. Though it does have other uses, of course.”

Buck keened in distress when Fletcher’s hand closed around his cock, gently stroking him.

The lube was cold but Fletcher’s hand was very warm, and after so long without any intimacy, Buck felt unbearably sensitive to their touch.

Buck’s mind was already reeling from a miserable day of torture, and this development proved to be too much for him. He clasped his hands over his mouth, trying to suppress his soft sounds even as Fletcher easily coaxed him to erection.

Fletcher sighed and stopped, scooching down Buck’s leg a little, their legs folded underneath them. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts, ‘cause seriously, never again.”

“What-” Fletcher crawled forwards, gripping his cock in their hand and in one smooth motion, leaned down and licked a stripe from base to tip.

They failed to suppress a smile against Buck’s indignant squeak.

They sucked the head into their mouth, ignoring the bittersweet taste of the lube, and hollowing out their cheeks as they sucked him in a few inches.

For a moment Buck imagined Fletcher biting down, severing his flesh and smirking at him with blood down their chin, and his stomach churned. Before he could unfreeze from his fear though, Fletcher pressed his cock deeper in their mouth and sucked.

Buck keened, his shaky hands fluttering anxiously in Fletcher’s periphery.

“Fuck, fuck, what-” Fletcher pulled off with a little pop of their lips.

“If your hands touch my head, I’m cutting them off. Just lay back and enjoy.”

Buck gave a wordless whimper, his hands falling down to his sides.

Fletcher returned to their ministrations, rubbing the tip of their tongue on the sensitive spot under the head of his cock, making him mewl. 

“F-FFuuuuccckkk-” Buck gasped, his hands curling into fists in the sheets at his sides.

This was wrong, this felt so wrong, but fuck, he was so exhausted, he had no energy to fight, he had spent every minute of his imprisonment here in pain, and Fletcher’s mouth was so warm and soft, and he so desperately just wanted to feel good again, even a little bit, even just for a moment…. 

Fletcher hummed around their mouthful and Buck whimpered as they took most of him in.

Quietly, Fletcher delighted in Buck’s little sounds. His busted nose meant he couldn’t breathe except through his mouth, so he couldn’t stifle the pathetic little moans and whimpers Fletcher drew out of him. Buck’s thighs trembled beneath him, and he was making such sweet little gasps and sobs of pleasure. Fletcher was pleased to learn Buck largely made the same noises being pleasured as he did being tortured.

Buck felt Fletcher’s hand stray underneath him, and he flinched when he felt Fletcher’s still-lubed finger press against his opening.

“W-wait- f-fuck, fuck-” Buck couldn’t form a coherant thought before Fletcher pushed a finger inside of him. He gasped, and Fletcher took his moment of surprise away from him, pushing his cock into the back of their throat. His thighs seized under Fletcher’s other hand and they felt it, indulging themselves by digging their fingernails hard into the sensitive skin there. Buck cried out in pain at that, and Fletcher used the momentary distraction to push another finger into him. Buck choked off a harsh moan and Fletcher backed off to tease the head with their tongue while they started moving their fingers inside him, gently scissoring them to stretch him open. 

The sound Buck made sounded - familiar, when had they heard it? 

When he was cut particularly deep, that was about the same sound he made.

 They grinned around their mouthful and prodded a third finger in. Buck was gasping and panting, desperate breathy moans with every breath he let out. His hips twitched underneath Fletcher, wanting to buck forwards into their mouth, wanting to press back on their fingers, wanting and needing and being too damn tired and scared to do anything about it. Fletcher pushed their fingers as deep as they could and then pulled back, pushing back in and letting their fingertips brush against his prostate. Buck’s thighs were trembling so terribly they thought the poor boy might faint. 

Fletcher rubbed the pads of their fingers against his prostate and sucked his cock down nearly to the root. At the same time, they dug their fingernails deep into his hip and raked them down his thigh hard enough to split the skin. Buck screamed, the pleasure becoming too much for him even as his scratches welled with blood. He tipped his head back, crying out as Fletcher swallowed around him, their fingers fucking him mercilessly through his orgasm. He shuddered with the aftershocks, his whimpers turning to whines of discomfort as Fletcher pushed him past oversensitivity. 

Fletcher pulled away, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand.

“That was fast. I guess it’s been a while though, huh?”

Buck flushed in shame, his hands reaching up to cover his face, and he turned onto his side, shuddering. Fletcher chuckled, giving him a pat on the ass that he flinched at like an abused puppy.

“There, we’re even, and I don’t want to hear about this shit again. Be up in time for dinner dishes.”

With shaking hands, Buck tugged his blankets over himself, trembling with exhaustion. Somehow he felt...used, even though it was supposed to be a treat. 

“Really? Bad manners, Buck. What do we say?”

Buck’s thigh throbbed where the cuts oozed blood. 

“Th-thank you..”

Fletcher smirked, the glint in their eyes the same Buck saw every time they hurt him.

“That’a boy. Sleep tight...” They closed the door behind them.

Buck somehow doubted he would.

[panda-noosh]

the other brothers wedding {finn shelby x reader}

Words: 8.4k

Summary: All Finn needs is a date to Tommy’s wedding.

Warnings: swearing, gets kinda steamy

Genre: fluff (??)

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions!

----

 “You’re lonely, Finn. There’s no point denying it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  The room swallows the words. Absorbs them into the wallpaper. Locks them in for good, so Finn will no longer be able to step foot in the office without remembering this very moment and the way Polly is looking at him now.

  All he wanted to do was ask her who had eaten the sandwich he’d left in the fridge. He and Isaiah were planning on getting a few drinks, but it was an unwritten rule between the boys to not drink on an empty stomach.

  But Polly had caught him before he got that far, as she often does.

  He stands in the doorway, staring at his aunt with what he hopes is a look of confusion, just enough to hide the tiny spasm of panic erupting in his chest.

  “You really are a witch, aren’t you, Pol?” he says, putting that tiny smile on his face to hide the truth.

  Polly takes a puff of her pipe, blows the smoke directly into Finn’s face. “I spoke to Tommy about you. He’s worried. He’s going to get you a whore to bring to his wedding if you don’t hurry the fuck up.”

  “He’s gonna get me a whore? That’s nice of him.”

  “You and I both know he’s not doing it for your benefit.”

  Finn purses his lips and looks away. “Tommy can do whatever the fuck he wants. He’s never taken an interest in me anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t take it personally, son,” says Polly. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself - himself, and the family image.”

  Finn looks up. “What?”

  “He may not give a shit about your feelings, but you walking into his wedding without someone on your arm is going to make people ask questions - questions Tommy won’t want to deal with. So, the bottom line is, you get someone for yourself, or he’ll do it for you, and he won’t take into consideration a single STD you might get from whoever he hires.”

  Finn scoffs.

  “I’m being serious, Finn,” Polly deadpans. “I’m warning you now, for your own sake. Get someone you know is safe and willing, and you’ll be alright.” She raises a brow. “Just for one night. You don’t even have to fuck them if you don’t want to.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Finn asks, because he genuinely wants to know. Polly has gone off the rails these past few years, distanced herself from the family more and more in her attempts to spend more time with her son. She’s also spent a good chunk of Finn’s teenage years trying to ‘find herself’ amongst spirits and other bat-shit crazy things that Finn wants nothing to do with.

  Why she is here right now, giving Finn directions on how to see himself through to the end of this wedding safely is a complete mystery.

  Finn isn’t sure he trusts it.

  Polly takes another puff of her cigarette and turns, facing the window. The velvet curtains match her burgundy dress, a shadow of her slim frame crawling up the wall to her left.

  She really does look like a witch.

  “I just think Tommy’s getting a bit too comfortable, that’s all,” she replies in that way of hers. “He’s tainted Arthur and John. Ada wants nothing to do with him half the time. I’d hate to see you go down the same path.”

   Finn doesn’t know how to respond; in truth, he’s never truly felt like part of the family. He’s got the Shelby name, and he’s part of the Peaky Blinders, but it’s more through association than anything else. Tommy has never looked at him as a true member, has never given him tasks he would give the other Blinders. Finn likes to tell himself it’s because his older brother is protective of him, doesn’t want to see him get hurt - but in truth, it’s most likely more so due to the fact that Finn isn’t the most skilled Shelby boy when it comes to anything pertaining to that kind of thing; he can barely shoot a gun, for gods sake. He wasn’t in the war. His Dad left long before he could ever teach Finn the basics, and his brothers have always been too busy to show him themselves.

  Finn is the throw-away piece.

  Finn swallows and looks to the ground. “I’ll - uh - have a look around for anyone interesting. Thanks for warning me, Pol.”

  Polly nods. The messy bun atop her head slumps forward, but she does nothing to fix it. ”Anytime, Finn. And pick a good one, too. Really show Tommy up tonight, yeah?”

  Finn nods. Polly can’t see him, but he does not correct his gesture. Instead, he turns on his heel and heads out, feeling a little bit sick.

  ---

  The news on the front page today is yet another bomb.

  It’s a petrol bomb this time - you suppose the culprits are mixing things up this time around, or maybe actual explosives were getting a little too tiresome to lug around Birmingham.

  “This isn’t the pub your brothers own, is it?” you ask, tilting the newspaper a little bit.

  Ada looks up from the pile of books she’s looking through and shakes her head. “No. Too big.”

  “Good.”  

  “Debatable.”

  You fold the newspaper over and stamp it, placing it back in the newspaper rack to your side. Another day doing overtime in the office because Ada needs help finishing up her work before she has to pick Carl up from the babysitters - she’s been stressed out recently, meaning she’s been getting to work later and later, and you’re the only person in the office willing to help her catch up before her time runs out and Carl is left stranded.

  “Do you ever plan on making amends with your family?” you ask.

  Ada scoffs as if the mere suggestion is beyond her wildest imagination.

  You raise a brow. “What about that younger one? Finn. He can’t be too bad. He’s my age, is he not?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well.” You lean back, lacing your fingers behind your head. “I’m only young - I haven’t really had time to fuck up my life as much as your other brothers seem to have done.”

  “Finn has messed up plenty of times.”

  You tilt your head to the side. Ada glances at you, rolls her eyes and says, “Okay, so Finn isn’t all that bad. Is that you wanted to hear?”

  You grin, spin round in your chair and pluck another newspaper off the newspaper rack. You get back to work without a word, which Ada seems most content with.

  The silence does not last forever, though, as the staircase to your left creaks; Ada is the first on the scene, craning her neck and saying, “Sorry, love, we’re closed,” but you catch the tiny lick of hesitation at the end of her sentence, the way her expression drops on the last word.

  You crane your own neck. “Who is it?”

  “What the fuck are you doing here? Who dropped you off?”

  “No one.” The voice is familiar, one you’ve only heard in tiny murmurs on the other end of phone calls Ada used to take all the time.

  And then he appears in the doorway.

  Tall, dressed in a brown suit that hugs his lean frame quite well, you’re embarrassed to admit. His hair is shaved round the sides, just like every Shelby boy you’ve ever known, and his smile is full of innocence, unlike every Shelby boy you’ve ever known.

  Ada groans, turning back to her pile of books as you stare at Finn Shelby with your mouth slightly open; he’s got his eyes planted firmly on his sister, and you’re almost certain he hasn’t seen you yet.

  “Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks. “You’ve been in hiding for god knows how long.”

  “And there’s a reason for that,” Ada shoots back. “A reason you’re damn well aware of, so why the fuck are you here?”

  “Nothing catastrophic.” Finn pulls a chair out from beneath Ada’s desk and sits down, crossing his legs. “I’m here for some actual big sister help.”

  Ada raises a brow. “Unlike you.”

  “Polly’s let me know that I need to bring someone to Tommy’s wedding or else he’s getting me a whore.”

  You cover your mouth, stifling your giggle; you aren’t sure why, but you don’t really want to make a noise lest Finn hear you. At the minute, you’re perfectly fine with being the bystander, hidden away in the corner.

  Ada takes a moment to respond. She’s got her stamp in her hand, the book open to the correct page, but she makes no move to finish her task. She just stares at the book for a little while, until Finn leans over and clicks his fingers in front of her eyes.

  She flinches away. “You’re being serious.”

  “Look, don’t make this a big deal,” he says. “It’s just for one night, and I know you’ve got all them friends - normal people.”

  “I can’t believe you actually think I’d let one of my good friends waltz into an event hosted by Thomas fucking Shelby. They’ll be dead by the end of the night.”

  “They’ll be with me,” Finn corrects. “And Tommy’s already promised this is going to be a quiet night - it’s not like him and Grace. This is purely a wedding for circumstance.”

   “Tommy promises an awful lot of things.”

  “Please, Ada. I never ask you for fuck all.”

  Ada rolls her eyes. “Now you’re gonna guilt trip me?”

  “I would never do that to you.” He leans forward, and you almost swear you see him bat his eyelashes.

  Ada pushes him away, two fingers pressed to his forehead. “You’re a pain in the ass, Finn Shelby. I wonder where you get it from.”

  Finn smirks, and something in your stomach stirs. “I think we all have a bit of that to take the blame for.”

  Ada sighs, stamps her book and nods in your direction.

  Finn spins around, eyes widening when he realises you’ve been sat there the entire time. You give a small smile, timidly waving.

  “Y/N’s single,” Ada says.

  Your eyes snap up. “You what?”

  “Are you?” Finn asks, suddenly seeming much more lively. His fingers have tightened on the arm rests of his chair, and he’s straightened up significantly, really accentuating his lean torso.

  You still haven’t entirely processed what Ada means.

  “They are,” she replies when you fail to do so. “I don’t think you’ve been out with anyone in ages, Y/N, have you?”

  “I - uh - that’s none of your fucking business.”

  “Well, this is perfect.” Finn stands up and grabs your hand, surprising you by pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His cheeks are flushed a bright red colour, and you’re almost certain this isn’t the kind of thing he does all the time - he’s been playing off some kind of script, or some older source has been telling him what to do or say to win you over. Either way, he looks most unnatural in this state, and you can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes your throat.

  “Is this for real?” you ask. “Are you asking me to go to your brothers wedding with you? We don’t even know each other!”

  “We don’t have to know each other. It’s not that serious,” Finn replies. “Tommy will probably know you’re not my real partner, so he won’t give a shit. We’re just there to make appearances - nothing more.”

  “Finn being on his own will be a right embarrassment to the family,” Ada adds over Finn’s shoulder. “Thank fuck I’m a widow.”

  You flick your eyes between the two Shelby’s; no matter how much Ada tries to distance herself from them, you can see the clear resemblance, both in personality and appearance. Finn is staring at you with a hopeful smile, and he has the exact same eyes as her, a tiny dimple in his chin, eyebrows that look like they should constantly be arched in anger but are not.

  “I don’t even know who you are,” you mumble.

  Finn’s smile wavers. “Come for a drink with me, then.”

  Your heart jumps. “What?”

  “We’ll go for a drink together,” he repeats. “I’ll let you meet my mate, Isaiah. If we run into Tommy, or Arthur, I can just tell them I’ve been seeing you for a while, I’m taking you on a tour of the town-”

  “So I’ll just have to pretend to be in love with you?”

  Finn grins. “Exactly.”

  “You’re saying that like it’s easy.”

  “Oh, Finn is very easy to love,” Ada chimes in. Finn blushes at her words, but keeps his eyes on you. “Probably the easiest out of all of us. Go on, Y/N. Give the kid a break.”

  You look back at Finn, noting that hopeful spark in his eyes, so like his sisters. You’ve never been able to resist Ada when she looks at you like that.

  And apparently Finn is the same.

  You sigh, slapping his cheek with a rolled-up newspaper. “Fine. But you’re paying for the booze. I’m sure being a mob boss pays a lot better than working in a book shop.”

   ----

   Finn isn’t sure how to do this.

  He knows it’s only fake. This is something he constantly reminds himself as he walks into the Garrison, you trailing close behind him - none of this is real. After Tommy’s wedding, it will all be over and he won’t ever have to put himself through this anxiety again.

  But he can’t quite figure out why he’s even anxious in the first place.

  He sees Isaiah first, seated at the bar, talking away to the girl behind it. A whiskey glass sits empty in front of him, and Finn says a silent prayer that his good friend isn’t drunk yet.

  He turns, glances at you. You’re casting your eyes along the surprisingly well-kept pub, hands stuffed in your pockets, shoulders drawn a little too far up for Finn to be convinced you’re relaxed. It’s complete chivalry when he reaches over and places a hand on your elbow, his attempts at soothing you when he knows his words won’t do the trick.

  You look at him. “Your family owns this place?”

  “Yeah.”

  You nod as if you understand. Finn knows you don’t. Nobody will ever really understand just how far the Shelby’s have managed to leave their mark. Small Heath doesn’t even scratch the surface.

  Finn leads you to the bar and pulls your stool out for you. You sit down next to Isaiah with a grateful smile, and it is only then that Finn taps his best friends shoulder and grabs his attention.

  Isaiah spins around, eyes widening when he sees Finn standing over him. “That twas awfully fucking quick. Do you know how long I’ve been sat here waiting for you, mate? I downed your whiskey.”

  “I don’t care,” Finn replies, before motioning to you. “Isaiah, this is Y/N. The person I’m taking to Tommy’s wedding.”

  Isaiah blinks. It’s not a drunken blink, not the ones Finn is used to seeing from his best mate. This is a blink of genuine confusion, slow and deliberate as he trails his eyes along your form.

  You offer an awkward wave, and Finn jumps in before Isaiah can pick up on how uncomfortable you are.

  “I thought I should introduce you before the big day. There’s gonna be so much happening that day, anyway - don’t wanna add anything else to the list, you know.”

  “Man, what the fuck are you on about?” Isaiah thrusts a hand in your direction. “Hello, love. I’m Isaiah. I didn’t realise Finny-Boy was getting any action.”

  “Plenty of action,” you mumble in response, and Finn pretends to cough in his attempts to hide his laughter.

  Isaiah shakes his head, leaning back against the bar. “This is bloody surreal, I’ll tell you that much. I was starting to think our Finn had no bollocks or something and that was why he refused to talk about the sex.”

  You raise a brow, glancing at Finn. “The sex?”

  “Shagging. A good ol-’”

  Finn slaps the back of Isaiah’s head. “Alright, Y/N, what are you drinking?”

  You perk up. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  Finn raises a brow. “I don’t know… I’m on the pretty strong stuff.”

  You nod. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  And Finn has to admit he’s impressed when he orders you a whiskey - all on it’s own - and you down it in the space of ten seconds, barely even wincing. You order a second one, and the conversation goes from there.

  Finn has to watch you. He can’t help it; he knows he’s hit the jackpot. Ada has plenty of friends, but most of them are hardcore Christians who wouldn’t even think of pecking him on the cheek if he asked them to. Either that, or very elderly women, and Finn might have been desperate earlier, but he isn’t sure he’d have agreed if Ada offered him one of her old librarian friends.

  It was a miracle, really, that you were sat behind that desk, had heard every drop of conversation, had agreed to come with him, and now here you are, playing the part of his partner in a way that nearly has him wishing this wasn’t just a temporary thing.

  At one point, with Finn standing beside your chair, you wrap your arm around his middle and use your other hand to absently mess with the tails of his shirt. You’re still chatting idly away with Isaiah, but at the feel of your nails scratching lightly against the fabric of his shirt, sending goosebumps to race along his skin, Finn can’t drag himself back into the conversation. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, nods along like he’s paying attention.

  And then someone claps him on the shoulder.

  Finn jumps, nearly spilling his drink over you in the process. Spinning around, he comes face-to-face with Arthur, his oldest brother and biggest pain in the ass. Ever since John died, Arthur has taken it upon himself to be the reckless, annoying brother in the family - only he does it with the added fuel of cocaine.

  His grin is clear beneath his moustache. “And what is this?”

  Your arm drops back to your side. “Hello.” You glance up at Finn. “Who’s this?”

  Finn speaks through gritted teeth. “This is my brother, Arthur. Arthur, this Y/N - my date to Tommy’s wedding.”

  Arthur pauses. Finn can see his thoughts racing, fuelled by the drugs and the alcohol and the adrenaline the mix of two can bring.

   And then he smiles, so wide and daunting that Finn very nearly grabs your hand and declares he’s off to bed for the night.

  “Well, isn’t that fucking lovely?” Arthur hollers. “How many STD’s has this one got, then?”

  Your eyes widen. You open your mouth to say something back, but Isaiah stumbles in before you get a chance.

  “Nah, mate, Y/N’s sound! An actual, working individual, as far as I’ve picked up. Hasn’t even got the clap.”

  Arthur’s eyes widen. “Serious? You’re doing all this for free?”

  You swallow. Finn watches your throat bob, reaches down and pinches your shoulder - his way of letting you know that this moment will pass, that Arthur won’t be here for good, you’ll be okay.

  He turns back to his older brother. “Where’s Tommy?”

  “Out doing god knows what.” Arthur tosses himself onto the stool next to you, orders a whiskey before turning back to Finn. “Honestly, mate, he hasn’t been on a night out in fucking ages. I think Lizzy’s got his balls hung up on the key holder by the front door.”

  Isaiah snickers. Even you crack a smile, so Finn lets himself chuckle along.

  “I hope this one doesn’t do the same with you,” Arthur continues, nodding in your direction.

  Finn opens his mouth, ready to defend your honour or whatever, but you beat him to it. Raising your glass, you say, “Finn is allowed to go on as many nights out as he pleases - as long as he doesn’t mind me doing the same.” And then you down the remainder of your whiskey.

  Isaiah hoots, slapping you on the back like you’re one of the boys, fitting so easily in the group. Arthur just stares at you, a look of mild admiration on his face that Finn has not seen in an awfully long time. Not since John died. Not since the world got so dark it was almost not worth trying to see the light.

  It makes his stomach curl, a feeling of warmth mixing with that feeling he really isn’t used to.

  Arthur glances at him and smiles. Finn smiles back, slowly placing his hand on your shoulder.

   ---

  “I don’t think Tommy is going to like me very much.”

  There. You’ve said it - you’ve spoken the truth, the one fear that has been swirling around your brain for the past three days you’ve been in Small Heath.

  Finn glances at you in the mirror, too busy fiddling with his tie to pay you too much attention, though you don’t miss the small smile that plays on his face.

  You sit on the bed behind him, messing with the cuffs of your sleeves; you’ve been dressed and ready to go since the early hours of the morning, having been far too nervous to just sit around and wait for the time to draw nearer. But now it’s here, and you’re beginning to regret this little arrangement.

  “I’m not exactly a Polly Gray,” you continue. “I work with Ada, for fucks sake. How am I meant to impress him?”

  “You don’t need to impress him,” Finn replies, because it’s easy for him to say that, easy for him to believe that when he is one of the lucky few who have had a part of Tommy’s respect from the moment they were born.

  You sigh, slumping back against the headboard. “What kinds of things would he like to talk about?”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  “He’s your brother.”

  “He’s a businessman.” Finn frowns at his reflection, undoing his tie for the nineteenth time.

  You roll your eyes and make your way towards him. He doesn’t notice your presence until your centimetres away from him, and you’re not really sure what comes over you when you reach around him and start fixing the tie for him.

  His muscles tense against you, and one glance at his reflection reveals the fresh pink hue added to his pale cheeks; your own face is heating up considerably, and it’s with an awkward stumble that you back away from him once the tie is done up.

   He swallows. You can see his Adams apple bobbing.

  He turns then, giving you a small smile. “Thanks. I’m shit at formal wear.”

  “I find that hard to believe considering you live in a suit.”

  He scowls. “Nothing like this. I don’t know what Tommy was thinking setting this as the dress code.”

  You grin. “Are the Shelby brothers gonna be wearing matching suits?”

  Finn glares.  

  You laugh, nudging his shoulder. “Kidding. Unless you are, in which case - that is very adorable, and I look forward to seeing it.”

  ---

  Even though Tommy Shelby has not been in love with anyone since dear old Grace, he has certainly gone all out for his necessary wedding.

  You don’t recall ever stepping foot inside such a nice building. Much too large, far too roomy, but pleasant nonetheless. Tinkling music rings softly through the spacious halls, and pictures are hung up along every wall, a mural of Tommy, his son and daughter and his soon-to-be-wife greeting you as soon as you step through the oversized mahogany doors.

  Your breath leaves you in a single swoop, and Finn must hear you because he immediately grabs your arm and loops it through his own, guiding you through the house.

  “Is this Tommy’s fucking house?” you hiss under your breath.

  Finn smiles, giving Alfie Solomons a smile as the two glide past each other. “Did I not mention he’s got a shit ton of money?”

  “I kind of picked up on that, but this is… a bit overkill.”

  Finn snickers. “Keep your voice down. It’s his special day, after all.”

  And so the two of you walk through Thomas Shelby’s mansion, nodding and greeting people you have no affiliation with, people you will never see again, all whilst trying to keep up the image that you and Finn are very much in love, have been in love for a while.

  At some point, an elderly woman asks when the two of you plan on getting married. Finn, always the gentleman, replied with, “When there’s a baby on the way.”

  You glare at him even now as he continues to snicker at his own humour. “It really wasn’t that funny,” you say. He simply winks in response.

  You spend the evening clinging to his arm. You’re good at small talk, and nobody seems to have much of an interest in you nor Finn, so it’s easy enough to breeze through the crowd without earning too much attention.

  However, these people are still Finn’s family, people he knows, people who have seen him grow up. It isn’t long before an elderly woman has grabbed his arm and dragged him away from you for a ‘quick catch up drink,’ an event you’re clearly not invited to.

  You’re left entirely on your own in a room full of people who associate themselves with the Shelby’s.

  Your safe place is the bar. You trudge through the thick crowd of excited party-goers, keeping your head down lest people lock eyes with you and try for conversation; you’ve never been a particularly antisocial person, but you’ve never dealt with the Shelby’s before, either - not unless you count Ada, and never before have you heard her state her last name as ‘Shelby.’

  You approach the bar and order a drink - a whiskey, because you desperately need something to get your mind off what is actually happening. Now that Finn isn’t here to distract you, you’re feeling the full heaviness of this situation.

  Pretending you’re in love with someone? It seems so bizarre, almost embarrassing. You barely know Finn, have only heard short tales and brief descriptions from his older sister, and yet here you are, hanging off his arm, laughing and smiling, listening to people talk about marriage that just makes your stomach turn to liquid because goodness gracious what would married life with Finn Shelby actually be like?

  You down your whiskey.

  “Slow down there.”

  The voice is cool, smooth, recognisable even if you’ve never heard it before. Only recognisable because everyone in Birmingham has heard of the man who owns it, heard his life, his story, the lengths he will go to to get what he wants.

  Slowly you turn in your seat. There he stands, the groom, the infamous Thomas Shelby, dressed in a suit that nearly makes you gasp with how expensive it looks, all gold chains and thick fabric. He’s gone all out for his special day, yet despite the effort put into his outfit, he is putting no effort into arranging his features to look even remotely pleased to be here.

  “You must be Y/N,” he says. “I’m Tommy.”

  “Tommy,” you repeat, even though that wasn’t what you were supposed to say. “Uh - Congratulations on the big day. Where’s the wife?”

  He sits down and faces the bartender, ignoring your question. “A whiskey, please.”

  You purse your lips, slowly turning back to the bar. Your glass is empty, your head spinning, your anxiety skyrocketing; what do you even to say to someone like Thomas Shelby, someone who has been through hell and still managed to crawl out the other side being even more successful than when he walked in?

  “Finn’s told me nothing about you,” he says.

  “Oh.”

  “Are you in love?”

  It’s such an abrupt question, and even though you’ve been telling people all evening that you and Finn are head-over-heels for each other, you can’t bring yourself to lie to him.

  He glances at you through the corner of his eye, purses his lips at your silence and says, “Don’t worry. I understand.”

  “He’s a good kid,” you hastily reply.

  “Better than the rest of us.” He sips his whiskey, slow and mysterious for absolutely no reason, but it unsettles you anyway. “You work with Ada, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is my little sister getting on?”

 “Good. She’s good. So is Carl.”

  Tommy nods. “Good.”

  You look away. “You’re not mad that I’m here, are you?”

  “Why would I be mad?”

 “Well… You don’t really know me.”

  “You’re here with Finn.”

  “Technically…”

  Tommy shoots you a glance, one eyebrow raised. “If I’m being honest, Y/N, the fact that you’re helping my brother out at all is enough to be put in my good books.”

  And for just a moment you think you’ve misheard him. You turn, scanning his face for any flicker of humour, any sign that he’s just leading you into a false sense of hope right now - you wouldn’t even be surprised.

  “I was watching you both when you walked in,” Tommy continues. “You must have said something funny, because I’ve never seen our Finn smile like that.”

  Your face heats up. “I don’t… We get along really well. It’s easy to make jokes with him.”

  Tommy nods. Says nothing, and it drives you insane, because you want to hear exactly what he’s thinking. You want him to stop this mysterious bullshit he seems to think he needs to keep up, because all it is is a waste of time, especially considering you’ll never see him again after tonight.

  You lean forward, trying to catch his eye, but he keeps his gaze on the table, aimed directly at his hand. On his finger is a wedding ring - not the one Lizzy put there tonight, but the one Grace put there years ago. “Is it hard for you?”

  He doesn’t look up, as if he expected you to ask that question, had been preparing an answer from the moment he sat down. “It doesn’t get easier.”

   “Finn was telling me a little bit about her. How much you loved her. How much you miss her.”

    “Yeah, well.” Tommy draws his shoulders back, inhales before taking a swig of his whiskey. “Finn would know firsthand; he saw the state I was in.”

   His face is not the one of a man newly married. He’s sombre, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. You have half a mind to whisk him away, break him out of this venue so he can go off and live a life he maybe deserves - in all honestly, you don’t know what that life would ever entail. One look at Tommy’s track record would make anyone believe he deserves nothing more than a hole in the ground.

   “I don’t want him going through the same thing,” he says suddenly. “I pressure him a lot, but I want him to settle down with someone he loves. I want him to have something like Grace and I.”

   You blink. “He’ll find someone. I’ll - I’ll keep an eye on him, Tommy. I will.”

  Tommy nods thoughtfully. There is nothing much left to say besides that, so together, you and Tommy sit at the bar and share a final glass of whiskey before Lizzy emerges and whisks him away to a life he does not want, a life he may or may not deserve, a life you do not want to imitate for yourself.

   You glance over your shoulder when the night starts drawing to a close; Alfie Solomons has already left, claiming he had to feed his dog; Johnny Doggs and his wife have already left; Arthur and Linda have already left, though that decision was made more by Linda from what you could tell during the brief goodbyes in which she hastily pecked your cheek, wished you luck in the Shelby family and then fled the scene.

    It feels like you’ve been at the bar all night, a waste of a good evening, in your opinion. The class and the grand lifestyle the wedding projected was certainly not for you, but you’d be lying to claim the free bar did not settle your nerves a little bit.

  Plus, knowing Finn was there for you was a good comfort.

   Your drowsy by the time the dance floor starts clearing, mind awhirl. You push yourself away from the counter, smiling to people you haven’t spoken to all night, saying hello to people who probably just think you’re part of the staff; at this point, with this much alcohol in your system, you don’t even care. Let them think whatever they want. You came here to help a friend-

  Friend.

  Can you even call Finn Shelby a friend? Do you even want to call him a friend? The more you think about it, the more your skin heats up. His hand on your own as he guided you through the crowd, his breath on your neck when he would lean in to whisper in your ear - just the thought of it is enough to make the word ‘friend’ sound so inadequate, so unsuitable. In your drunken stupor, you nearly start laughing.

    But that is such dangerous ground. He’s a Shelby, and if there’s one thing your parents - god rest their souls - would disapprove of, it’s you getting involved with a Shelby. Ada is bad enough, and she’s nothing more than a dear friend.

   “There you are.”

  You whirl around. A piece of hair falls from your up-do and cascades across your forehead; Finn frowns, gently pushing it away as he analyses the dilation of your eyes, your cracked lips which are stretched into a smile that really makes no sense, because nothing is funny right now.

  “Are you alright?” he asks, and he looks so good when he asks it, because his mouth just forms the words like he invented the god damn English language or something, and ugh-

  You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “When we get married, Tommy is invited. Best man, Tommy Shelby. How does that sound?”

 Finn draws away, keeping his hands on your waist. “Okay, you’ve definitely had a bit too much to drink.”

  “What do you think about pre-marital sex?”

  His eyes widen, cheeks going red almost immediately; it’s so adorable. You giggle and press a kiss to his face that he doesn’t recoil from, but he certainly doesn’t react how you want him to.

   You pull away. “Okay, maybe you’re not as big on pre-marital sex as I thought.”

  “Y/N-”

  “Sorry.” You step back fully, crossing your arms behind your back like a child being scolded. “I need to learn how to bite my fucking tongue, don’t I? Very not classy of me to-”

   “I don’t give a shit about classy.” When he says it, it mingles with a laugh, so the words sound jolted and lighthearted, even though you feel nothing but pure anxiety right now. “Do you know the amount of whores I’ve been with, Y/N?”

   Your eyes widen. “Finn Shelby, I am not a-”

  He steps closer, lowering his voice. “What I’m trying to say, love, is that pre-marital sex isn’t that big of an issue.”

   Even in your drunken state, his words fluster you. You open your mouth to respond, perhaps some witty, sarcastic remark that will make him believe his confession didn’t completely sober you up in the space of two seconds - but the words fall short, and your shock filters through, and the only thing you can do is stare at him with wide eyes.

  He chuckles, and for a moment, he looks just like Tommy, sounds just like Tommy. It’s weird, because for the time you’ve known of Finn Shelby, he has always been described as the quiet one, timid in his own sense, staying close to the background because his brothers never let him come any further forward.

   But here he stands, making these snide little remarks and these tiny little jokes that leave you speechless, despite you being the one to have started them.

   You look to the floor and cough. “How long is this thing meant to last?”

  “The wedding?”

  You look up. “You know what I mean.”

  Finn grins, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress trousers. “You don’t have to see me again after the wedding. I won’t be offended.”

   But there’s a bit of a dip in his tone that makes you look back up at him and raise a brow. He’s looking at you again, head tilted when he says, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

  “Do you want me to go home?”

  He pauses. “I don’t know.”

  “Not like a Shelby to be unsure of what he wants.”

  “I know full well what I want.” He takes a step back and holds out his arm. “But you’re pissed out of your head, and I’d rather wait till you can form full sentences.”

  ---

    You think it’s quite unfair that you have to go into work the day after the Shelby wedding.

   Ada takes one look at you when you walk through them mahogany doors and bursts into laughter; you don’t need to hear it from her. You know you look a mess, hair half-done from the night before, clothes leaning more towards comfortable than stylish. You honestly couldn’t bring yourself to wear anything fancier than a shirt and trousers today, and you’ll gladly slap any fucker who has anything to say about it.

  You slump down behind your desk and send Ada a glare. “You look chipper this morning.”

   “Mm. You see, Y/N, I was actually responsible last night and remembered I have work this morning.”

  “Aren’t you going straight to heaven?”

  Ada laughs even harder. You roll your eyes, turning to the stack of newspapers you have to finish sorting through before your boss walks out and sees you didn’t finish them a few days prior - the very day Finn Shelby walked into your life and derailed everything.

   Part of you knows it’s dramatic; you’ve known Finn for only a handful of days, but he’s the same man you’ve been hearing about from the first day you started work with Ada Thorn, the same man who invited you to his brothers wedding, the same man who told you last night that he would gladly have sex with you, but was decent enough to wait until you were sober enough to give proper consent.

   You haven’t stopped thinking about it since then. Last night, your alcohol-infused brain ran at a million miles per hour as you pondered over whether or not you would ever take him up on his offer, if that was even plausible considering the circumstances; he was a Shelby after all, which - on its own - is a big enough reason for you to take a step back and move on.

   It’s as these thoughts crawl back to you that you notice Ada staring at you from across the office. You perk up, giving her your best smile, as if she can somehow read your thoughts of her brother.

   “Finn was good to you last night?”

  Apparently she can.

   You look away. “Fucking hell, Ada. Give me a chance to settle in before you start, yeah?”

  “I’m just curious. I barely saw you two last night.” She folds her arms across her desk and leans forward. “You were at the venue, weren’t you?”

    Your cheeks heat up. “Yes, Ada, we were. And then he walked me home, and it was lovely - but nothing else happened.

 “Hm.” She draws back. “That was gentleman-ly of him. Didn’t expect it from one of my brothers.”

  “I thought you said he’s the decent one.

 “Oh, he is. But that’s me comparing him to actual fucking murderers.”

  You shrug. “Fair enough.”

  Ada takes a moment, but when she responds, her voice is soft, unlike anything you’ve heard from her before. “He really is a decent bloke, Y/N. He’d treat you well if you’re looking.”

 Your eyes shoot up. “Who told you I was looking?

 “Well, you’re single, you have absolutely no social life outside of this office-”

 “Don’t fucking flatter yourself.”

  “-and I saw the way you and him spoke to each other.” You open your mouth to respond, but Ada holds up a hand to silence you. “I’m not suggesting anything before you take a fucking hissy fit, alright. I’m just saying - if no one else is ringing any bells for you…”

   You kind of hate that she has a point.

  You scoff and roll your eyes, tell her to get back to her work, but you ponder over her words for the remainder of the day - not because they were ridiculous, but because you can see where she’s coming from, why she would think like that. And it’s not as if you and Finn spent the night hanging from each others arms - in fact, you spent most of the night apart, considering Finn had family to impress and you were more interested in the free bar than anything else - but still. When you were together, there was obviously something there.

   Maybe you’re just flattering yourself, seeing things just because you want to see them. Maybe Finn really did think of this whole thing as nothing more than a fun little business deal, a taste of the world his brothers have estranged him from since he was a little boy. In years to come, someone will ask Finn Shelby what his first Big Business Deal was, and he’ll be able to say “I convinced someone to go to my brothers wedding so I didn’t have to sleep with a whore,” and that will be the end of it. You will be nothing more than the one who went to the wedding.

   The one stupid enough to go to the wedding.

  The day drags on after that - partly because of these new thoughts, and hugely because of your massive hangover. Ada tries her best to help you through it, returning the favour, but she has to leave at half six to pick up Carl, and you’re too polite to ask her to stay and tend your emotional wounds.

   So she leaves, and the office is quiet, and you finish up her work for the day because you’re also too polite to let her get in trouble by not finishing her work.

   The door starts to slowly open at around half seven. Already the streets of Birmingham are getting dark, the kids ushered into their homes as parents notice the street lights turning on, a sign that the fun is over and it’s time to start putting the little ones to bed.

   You look up from the pile of unstamped books you’ve been working through for nearly an hour now. You see nothing, just a sliver of light and a faint shadow creeping beneath the opening door. Your heart speeds up for a reason you can’t pinpoint - the most likely case is one of your co-workers has come back to check on you, which they do quite a lot considering you’re one of the youngest employees.

   You crane your neck. “Ada?”

  “Close.”

 Your heart plummets. “Finn.”

   He pokes his head round the door, offering a grin that doesn’t look a single bit pained - the bastard got off without a hangover, then. Typical. Unfair.

   He steps into the office, waving a jug of whiskey as he does so. “I brought gifts.”

  “You can keep them,” you reply, gesturing to the books in front of you. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Boring.”

  “And a hangover.”

 He snickers, tossing his fancy blazer off his shoulders and onto the chair he then proceeds to slump into. “So last night caught up with you, did it?” He pauses. “How much do you remember?”

 “Enough to know I don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t mean to sound so harsh - it just kind of happens. Finn’s expression doesn’t waver, but you see him drag his lower lip between his teeth for the briefest of moments, the only sign he’s actually heard what you said.

   You continue stamping the books. Finn watches, taking the occasional sip of his whiskey.

   “How was Tommy this morning?” you find yourself asking, just to make conversation.

   Finn chews his bottom lip. “Decent. Busy. Didn’t really talk to him much.”

  “Not even a congratulations?”

  “Pretty sure I told him I felt bad for him, but that was about it.”

 “Affectionate.”

  Finn shrugs. “You know me.”

  “Do I?”

  “Better than you probably should.”

  You purse your lips, stamping a book a little harder than necessary.

  Finn leans forward, placing his joined fingers on top of the stack. You pause, flicking your eyes up as if to say do you need something?

  He tilts his head. “You’re really gonna just sit and pretend like last night never fucking happened?”

  Your grip tightens on the stamp. “I thought that was what we both planned on doing.”

  “That was before we had our little conversation.”

  “Little?”

  “Would you say it was a big deal?”

  Fuck.

  You look down again and shrug, shoving his hands off the pile so you can continue working. “I would say I was drunk, and so were you-”

  “I don’t get drunk.”

 “You had alcohol somewhere in your fucking system, Finn, so neither of us were in our right minds.”

   He scoffs. “Speak for yourself, love. I was perfectly fine, and I knew exactly what I was saying.” He leans forward. “And I remember exactly what you said, too.”

   “Why are you such a pain in the arse?”

  Finn pulls back, holding his hands by his ears in mock surrender. “Hey, just tell me to leave and I’ll walk out that door and never turn back. Simple.”

  You open your mouth to say just that, because that sentence would make things ten times easier. Finn will leave, and you’ll hurt but it will be okay because you’ll be left with no other option than to forget him. You’ll never have to deal with the consequences of being with a Shelby if there was no Shelby left in your life to be with.

  But again, the words die. The truth pushes against your rib cage, the feelings you’ve been unable to deny from the moment he walked into your life and said come to my brothers wedding.

   Finn watches your hesitation, and then you watch him smirk, like he’s figured out some plot twist in a story he’s invested himself in. You grit your teeth and look away, shaking your head at the table as if that will somehow change something.

   “You’re a pain in the arse.” The words come out as a whisper. You’ve cracked. Finn can see it.

   He doesn’t chuckle or goad. He instead stands up and walks around the table. You tighten your grip on the stamp, refusing to look up even when you feel his presence hovering over you, willing you to notice him, notice him, notice him, everything will shatter if you notice him.

   His presence alone is strong, making you weak in the knees. But then he reaches forward and runs a finger along your jaw before cupping your chin and guiding your head to look at him. You have no other choice - you could close your eyes and pretend none of this is happening, but then you would lose the experience of having Finn Shelby look at you with that fire in his eyes, and you’re not really willing to do that.

   So you look back at him, and he smiles.

  “I don’t know how any of this shit works,” he says softly. Too soft for a Shelby. “You’re gonna have to help me out.” He tilts his head. “Do you wanna help me out?”

   You swallow, eyes drifting to his lips before you can stop yourself. “I - I can try.”

  Finn smiles once again, and then that smile is placed against your own. You didn’t realise just how desperately you wanted to feel his lips, didn’t realise just how desperate last night had left you - but now it’s happening, and the dam has broken, and your clawing at his shirt, drawing him impossibly closer until he’s forced to press his fingers against the wall behind your head just to keep himself upright. He grins against your mouth, tongue slipping between your teeth before he draws back and lifts you up. It startles you, but you wrap your legs around his waist nonetheless, letting him press you against the wall as his hands fumble for your hair, knotting themselves in the strands; you do the exact same, and he groans into your mouth, pulls away just to nip at your jaw before he realises he wants to feel your lips a little more and goes back to square one.

   “Good,” he whispers against your mouth. “Good, good.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, pulling him in for more. He laughs, breaking away from the kiss to trail kisses down your jaw, towards your neck, fingers kneading into your thighs as he holds you against him.

   You tilt your head back. “Finn.”

  “Mm?”

  “Ada will kill me if I don’t get this work done.”

  Finn pauses. His breath lingers on your flesh, and for a second, you’re tempted to just pull him back and forget you ever said anything - you’re sure he won’t mind, considering the hesitation in his movements when he finally draws away from you, letting you drop back to the floor.

   You look up at him and smile. He smiles back, a hint of frustration building behind the expression, but he’s kind enough to let you waltz past him, back to your desk.

   “Sorry,” you say, fighting to control your grin. “A busy day. You know how it is.”

  “Mhm.”

  You glance over your shoulder. “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not-” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’m not mad.” He slumps back in his chair, waving a lazy hand towards the pile of books. “Do whatever the fuck you have to do.”

  You grin. Finn rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too - a smile you had yet to see on a Shelby boy until now, a smile of genuine amusement with absolutely no malicious intent behind it.

[writer1]

A regretful Wolf and his Beauty

Chapter Seven

Beast!Rex x Fem!reader

Summary: As punishment for his actions, young prince Rex was cursed to become a monster by a witch. The only thing that saved him from his fate was an enchantress, who gave him a condition. He has to find true love in order to redeem himself and he only has until the last petal of the enchanted rose falls. Rex's family helps you by guiding your way into his heart. Rex's fate now lies in your hands.

A/N: This is a collaborative fic with @ahsokatano-thetogruta.

Warnings: Self hate, nightmares, panic attack, abandonment, mention of injury, guilt.

The sun blares through the window, reflecting off of Obi Wan's armour in just the right place to brighten up the small room. Cody lets out a quiet yawn and goes to stretch but he can't. He can't believe that he forgot that he was like this, remembering the curse and the events that happened the day before. He sighs, but then ever so slightly feels Obi Wan snuggle into him, pressing himself into Cody's table top as much as he possibly can.

Cody feels himself drift off back to sleep, but Obi Wan begins to stir. Cody chuckles with content "Good morning, Sweetheart."

Obi Wan stretches his armoured limbs out as he lets out a big yawn, his vision coming back to him as he sits up and looks down to see his boyfriend, still a desk, and then looks at himself still fully suited up in armour. "I...I thought it was all just a nightmare…" Obi Wan goes to rub his eyes, but then he hears his metal fingers scraping against his helmet, making him groan. 

Cody wants so badly just to cradle Obi Wan's face, feeling his slight stubble brush against his hand. "Oh, Obi Wan. Are you okay?" Obi Wan shakes his head. "No, I forgot about everything. I hoped it was all just a bad dream and I would wake up to see you...to see your face, and hold you while we cuddle." He sees Cody shuffle to him a bit closer.

"It'll be alright, Sweetheart. I'm right here for you. We'll get through this together. I promise." Obi Wan feels himself smile as he gets up and crouches down, wrapping his arms around Cody in a hug. "Thank you, Cyare. I'm lucky to have someone so wonderful like you in my life."

"I can say the exact same thing about you, Sweetheart." Cody leans into Obi Wan's embrace wishing he could hug him back, but this is the best that he can do while he's like this. A moment later, Obi Wan groans a little in discomfort.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Cody asks in a worried tone, Obi Wan stands up, stretching out his back. “Yeah, I’m just a little sore. Mostly in my back.” Cody realizes now that it probably wasn’t a good idea for Obi Wan to sleep on him.

“Maybe it would be better to sleep in the bed from now on, Obi Wan.” Obi Wan sighs, walking over and sitting on the bed. Cody shuffles over to stand in front of him. “I… I just don’t want to sleep without you, Cyare.” Cody sighs, shuffling closer to Obi Wan and pressing against him.

“I could sleep right beside the bed? Then you can place your hand on top of me and know that I’m there. Will that work, sweetheart?” Obi Wan nods, placing his hand on Cody’s scar.. “Yeah, that will work Cody. Thank you.” Cody would be smiling if he could, it makes him so happy that he could help his boyfriend. Obi Wan presses his face against Cody in a kiss, making the desk sigh with contentment. He loves being kissed by Obi Wan, even if it is different now.

“Do you think that anyone else is awake yet?” Obi Wan asks when he pulls away, and Cody hums. “Probably, hopefully the kids are still sleeping, they went to bed pretty late yesterday. And after the whole ordeal they deserve to sleep in, especially Rex.” Cody feels a spark of sadness at the thought of everything that Rex had gone through the day before, he really hopes that they can fix this, if not…

“Do you think that we can find a way to fix this, Obi Wan?” Cody asks, a tiny tremble of fear in his voice. Obi Wan sighs. “Truthfully Cody, I have no idea. Every curse I've ever read about had a condition or conditions set to end it, this one doesn’t.” Cody sighs, he was afraid of that answer. He hopes that they will find a way to end it. If not for their stakes then Rex's stake, Cody doesn’t know how being stuck as a werewolf might affect his Rex’ika mentally. Before him and Obi Wan can talk more, the door opens and both Kix and Jesse walk and float in. Kix’s face looks urgent. "Um, sorry to disturb you both." Kix looks sheepishly as Cody shuffles away from Obi Wan a little. "It's alright, Kix. What's up?"

"It's Rex, he had a nightmare. He didn't want us to come and get you because he said that he doesn't want to be any more of a burden on us than he already is." Kix feels bad that he went against Rex's wish, but he knows that he needs help right now, especially after having a nightmare.

Cody feels sadness and pain, hearing that his Rex'ika thinks that he's a burden to everyone. "Thank you for coming to me, Kix. I'll go and talk to him." He looks back at Obi Wan, who is now sitting up on the bed. "Would you like me to come with you, Cyare?" Cody nods, making Obi Wan get up and walk behind Cody who shuffles over to the door. Kix and Jesse lead the way to Rex's room as quickly as they can.

xxx

Kix stops just before the door, turning around to Cody and Obi Wan. "Rex was still sleeping when we left, so he might still be now." The both of them nod, being as quiet as they can as they push the door open to see Rex still asleep.

Rex looks so peaceful with the kids still sleeping in their same positions as they were the night before, but really inside he is hurting, being torn apart by the thought of what he has become. He whimpers a little and twitches ever so slightly. He was having another nightmare. 

Cody shuffles over to Rex, pressing his leg into Rex's arm, nudging him to try and wake him up. "Rex'ika?" Rex doesn't wake up and he moves his legs, as if he was trying to run away from something, or someone. Cody is finding it so difficult to keep nudging Rex, so Obi Wan goes over to help him out. "Rex? Rex, it's okay, Little one. You need to wake up." Obi wan shakes Rex's arm.

A moment later, Rex screams as he sits up quickly and his eyes snap open. His breathing is heavy as he struggles to get rid of the image in his mind. As Rex sits up, Fives, Kiara and Echo get thrown down. They all let out a startled yell as they fall onto Rex’s lap, after they get up and jump onto Cody, giving Rex some space. 

Rex’s scream also startled Anakin, his first thought was that Ventress had returned to hurt his friend. He jumps up, knocking Padmé off of his shoulder. She screams and keeps her eyes shut tight, too tired and shocked to remember that she can float. Her fall suddenly stops and she is left floating above the floor, she opens her eyes to see Obi Wan, arm outstretched, he had thankfully caught her using the force. 

Anakin feels so guilty “I am so sorry Padmé. Are you okay?” The little angel nods. “Yeah, I’m fine, Ani. Thanks Obi Wan.” 

“No thanks necessary, my dear.” Padme floats over to Anakin, nuzzling against him. Bly and Stutter are on the table beside Ahsoka, they had woken up as soon as Rex had screamed, and jumped onto the table. All three look at Rex, wondering what kind of nightmare he must have had. Rex sits on the bed, taking deep breaths.

His breathing becomes rapid and out of control, starting to hyperventilate. His mind floods with the visions from his nightmare, making him curl up and holding his head, trying to get rid of the horrible and terrifying thoughts plaguing his mind. His ears press back hard against his head. Everyone feels scared as they watch Rex break down, but Kix jumps straight into action. "Rex. Rex it's okay, just breathe for me, you're safe." Rex finds it difficult to concentrate as he sobs and his heart is beating out of control. Kix keeps his worry for his cousin under control. "Okay, could everyone except Jesse, Cody and Obi Wan please leave? There's too many people right now." Everyone nods at Kix as they leave, Anakin picks up Ahsoka as she is the only other one who finds it difficult to get around places. 

Once it is just the four of them and Rex, Kix begins to talk to Rex again. "It's alright, Rex. I need you to focus on your breathing, can you do that for me?" Rex finds it difficult to process what Kix is saying, but a small part of him begins to slow down his breathing. He's finding it difficult to breathe properly with all the sniffles and hiccups, making him lose focus for moments at a time. "Here, breathe with me. Take a deep breath in through your nose, holding it for five seconds…..and slowly out of your mouth. Like that, okay? Can you do that for me please?" Rex does as Kix says, inhaling a deep breath through his nose, holding it and then letting it out as gently as he can through his mouth, trying his best to hold back his sobs threatening to escape. Jesse, Cody and Obi Wan watch quietly. All they can do is hope that Rex will be okay. 

Rex's senses gradually come back to him as his heart rate slows down to a much steadier pace, doing as Kix had told him to. He feels shaky and weak as he tries to stand. "Rex, what are you doing? You need to stay sat down." Rex looks at Kix. "I-I'm fine."

"No you're not, you've just had a panic attack. You need to sit down and rest until your mind and body has recovered."

"I just…" Rex stumbles back down into the bed, letting out a sharp breath. "I just don't want to be a burden on anyone." The four of them frown as they see Rex begin to tear up again.

"You're not a burden Rex'ika, you never will be. We're here for you, no matter what." Cody wishes he could smile at Rex to comfort him some. Rex just looks down. 

"Would you like to talk about the nightmares?" Kix asks, trying not to pressure Rex into talking. 

Rex nods as he takes a shaky breath in and out. "Okay, so my dream last night, I was in the castle with everyone and Ventress was there. It was when we transformed, everything was the same except I was the only one affected. You all stayed the same.” Cody listens to his Vod’ika’s story, he really hopes that it isn’t going where he thinks it is. “When I looked around, you were all glaring at me with the most hateful expressions filled with disgust. You all hated me, even you, Bubby. That’s when I woke up.” Cody feels so much sadness for his Vod’ika, even if Rex had been the only one to transform, they would still love him. No matter what. "What was the nightmare you had just now, Rex'ika?" 

Rex presses his ears back, his expression tensing at the thought of it. "I was back in the ballroom, you were all still looking so disgusted at me. Then...then you all started shouting at me, making me feel scared and vulnerable. It was the way you shouted at me, throwing things near me to scare me off. You all kept backing me up all the way to the door. I had nowhere to go, but the doors opened up and I fell out, everyone was still scaring me away, so I ran...I ran as fast as I possibly could, and then I woke up." The thought is too much for Rex, sobbing as he finishes explaining his nightmare. They all feel so sorry for him, hating that he had dreamt of that. 

Kix and Jesse go over to him and snuggle into his fur to comfort him. Cody presses against his leg and Obi Wan sits beside him, rubbing his back. “That would never ever happen Rex’ika, even if we didn’t transform we would still love you with all of our hearts. I promise, you’re stuck with us.” Rex nods, pressing his leg against Cody, he cups Jesse and Kix on his chest and Obi Wan pulls Rex into a little side hug.

“Cody is right, Little One. that would never happen, whether we transformed or not we would have stood by you always. We love you.” Rex nods, thankful again for his amazing family. “Thank you, all of you.” Cody presses against him more.

“No thanks necessary, Rex’ika. We love you more than anything.” Everyone can hear a soft thumping as Rex’s tail starts to wag against the bed happily. Cody sighs, he’s happy that they could make Rex happy, even if it’s just for a little while. “Come on, Rex. I should check your burn and change the bandages.” Kix tells Rex, who nods.

“We’ll go do that, you guy’s can head down to the ballroom. We all need to figure out where to go from here.” Cody sighs. “Will you be okay with Kix and Jesse, Rex’ika?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, Bubby.” Rex smiles as he follows Kix and Jesse out of the room and down the hall, heading towards his medical office. 

The three of them arrive and Rex sits down. "Jesse, could you grab some clean bandages please and take off this one please." Kix gestures at the older bandages around Rex's arm. Jesse nods as he climbs up to the cupboard where the bandages are kept. "Got them!" He hops over to the bed that Rex sits on, climbing up his arm to start unraveling the old dressing. Rex holds his arm out so it's easier for Jesse to stand and info the bandages. Jesse gasps, making Kix float quickly over to him. Kix's eyes widen as he looks confused.

"What's wrong, is it okay?" Rex sounds worried, hoping that something bad hasn't happened. "It's fine. It's more than fine actually, the burn has fully healed and the fresh skin tissue has already repaired itself. There is a bit of a scar there though. Sorry if we worried you, Rex." Kix explains, making Rex feel equally surprised.

"It's okay. Do you have any idea how?" Kix tries to think of an answer for Rex. "Hm, I don't exactly know how, but it may be because you've changed? This new form may have given you an ability to heal quicker than usual? That's my only conclusion, I'm sorry that I can't help you, Rex." Rex shakes his head.

"It's alright Kix, thank you." He pulls Kix in for a gentle hug, being careful not to hurt him. Jesse jumps in as well making them all chuckle. Kix is happy that he could help Rex, even just a little "You're welcome, Rex." 

"Let's head to the ballroom then, if you don't mind Rex." Rex nods at Kix, following him and Jesse out of the medical room. All three head to the ballroom, Rex following along behind them. His legs feel more sturdy today, he hopes to figure out how to walk on two legs today.

They Make it to the ballroom. "AUGH!! Come on!!" They turn to see Hardcase is sitting on the ground, he's been turned into an ax. He's staring at his puzzle in its box, unable to do anything since the poor guy has no hands. Jesse runs over to him.

"Do you need some help, Hardcase?" He nods his head, trying to stop the tears of frustration from falling. "I'm going to stay and help Hardcase, Okay." The two nod as Jesse dumps out the puzzle. 

"Just tell me where you want it to go Case, and I'll put it there." Hardcase nods, telling Jesse where he wants him to put the pieces.

Both Rex and Kix leave him be, the two look around. "Stop playing the music, Wreck!" They turn to see a hat rack whip a non sentient book at the piano. Rex shakes his head, chuckling to himself, it looks like Crosshair didn't change much. All the bad batch are around the piano, it seems that Hunter is a hunting knife while his baby cousin is a book. Wrecker is a grand piano too.

Rex turns to find Cody talking to Obi Wan, Plo, and Kanan. As the two walk closer they can hear what Obi Wan is saying. "I don't know what to do, Cyare. The Knight's on patrol never returned, neither did anyone else that left the castle. Me and Kanan were thinking of going out and trying to find them."

"Rex! Kix, how are you two doing?" The keldor calls out to them as he sees them approach. "We're good." Rex tells him, Cody shuffles around so that he's facing Rex.

"How's Rex's arm, Kix?" Cody asks, he hopes that it's healing alright. Kix smiles. "It's fully healed actually, must be something to do with Rex being what he is. What were you guys talking about? The Knights never returned?" 

Obi Wan strokes his nonexistent stubble in worry. "No, they haven't. Neither have little Kiara's parents or anyone else who left before the curse. Me and Kanan would like to head out and look for them, but Cody's not very happy with that plan."

"Because it's dangerous in your current condition, Obi Wan! If anyone but them sees you, all they'll see is a walking talking suit of armor, they could hurt you or worse!!!" Cody feels fear in his heart, thinking about what they could do to his boyfriend. He shudders.

"We'll be okay, Cyare. I promise you." Obi Wan leans down and presses his face against Cody's table top. Nobody comments on it or seems to mind, they all know that this is their way of showing affection while in the forms that they are in. Cody feels scared "I...I just don't want to lose you, Sweetheart." Obi Wan pulls away and looks at him. 

"You won't lose me, I'll be right back before you know it. That's if we can go?" Obi Wan turns to Rex who nods his head. "Yes, just be careful out there."

"Of course, Rex. Thank you, we'll be as quick as we can be." Kanan agrees with Obi Wan. "Yes, we'll try to stay out of sight as much as we can, if not, we'll try to blend in."

Cody sighs in defeat. "Okay, just...be safe out there. Please." Obi Wan traces Cody's scar with his finger. "We will, don't worry, Cyare." He leans down again to kiss Cody before he gets ready to leave with Kanan.

"Ready to go, Obi Wan?" Kanan walks towards the door. "Yes, let's go. We'll be back soon, everyone!" Everyone waves at them as they leave, the door shutting behind the both of them.

Everyone goes back to what they are doing and Rex looks down to Cody. He seems sad. "He'll be okay Cody, he's strong." Cody nods as best he can. "Yeah, he is…I miss him already." Rex places his hand comfortingly on his brother's table top. 

A second later, Rex's stomach growls, making him feel embarrassed "Uh... I-I'm getting hungry." Cody chuckles a little, hoping that helping his Rex'ika out will take away his sadness. "How about we get you some food, yeah?" Rex nods, following Cody as he leads him to the kitchen. 

xxx

Kanan and Obi Wan are walking through the woods, this was the area the Knights were meant to patrol. Obi Wan and Kanan have found nothing to indicate that the knights would have been here. They are coming to the outskirts of the village, they come across a cottage on the very edge.

"Something's not right, the force feels almost like it was manipulated over here?" Kanan looks over at Obi Wan, he feels the same, but there's something else. The force presence feels… Familiar?

Suddenly Aayla secura comes running out of the cottage towards them, for some reason she had no armor on at all. Only peasant clothes.

"Aayla? What's going on, where's your armor?" She doesn't answer, looking at them in confusion until she looks through the gaps in their armor, seeing right through it to the other side. She runs screaming into the house, something the two knights know is not her usual behavior.

Depa Billaba then runs out. "Master! What's going on!" Kanan yells out to her, he doesn't understand what's going on, it's like they're completely different from the people they knew. But all she does is scream in fear, she lifts Obi Wan with the force and before he can even think he's smashed against a tree. The Knight falls to the ground. Obi Wan groans as he tries to stand. His back was already achy from not sleeping in the right position last night, but this has just worsened the pain, making it excruciating. 

"Obi Wan! Are you okay? We have to get out of here." Kanan rips Obi Wan to his feet, all the suit of armor can feel is pain, screaming as he's basically dragged away by Kanan, who doesn't stop running until they're miles away and getting close to the castle.

Obi Wan is in so much pain, his back hurts so much, he would have tears in his eyes if he had them. 

xxx

Rex is sitting down at the large dining table, finishing up his waffles and strawberries as Gregor brings out some cooked meat for him, to make sure that he won't feel hungry like he was yesterday. Rex gave up trying to use any cutlery, they are just way too small for him to hold now, so he dives into it with just his mouth "Mmm, fank yousho mush." Rex tries to thank Gregor with his mouthful, making him chuckle as he watches the thirteen year old boy enjoy his breakfast. "You're welcome, Rex."

Suddenly, Fives and Echo burst into the dining room, making Gregor, Rex and Cody turn their heads to look at the twins' worried expressions. "Is everything okay, you two?" Rex asks, feeling concerned for the two. "It's Obi Wan and Kanan! They're back, but Obi Wan is injured." Rex's eyes widen, looking over to Cody who would have had tears filling his eyes, but being a desk is making it difficult. The five of them rush to the ballroom to see Obi Wan with an arm wrapped around Kanan's neck for support.

"Obi Wan!!" Cody screams out, making Obi Wan look up to see his boyfriend shuffling as fast as he can to him. "Obi Wan! Sweetheart, what happened?" Cody asks fearfully.

"We…we found…" Obi Wan is unable to think straight because of the pain and how shocked he feels right now.

"We found Depa and Aayla, but they weren't the same." Rex fears that the same thing has happened to them too. "What do you mean, Kanan? Have they changed as well? Where are they?" 

Kanan frowns and shakes his head. "They haven't transformed like us, they didn't seem to remember us at all. The way they acted, the way they were dressed. It was all different. When Aayla went running and screaming from us, Depa came out of the house, that I assume they are living in, and then she threw Obi Wan against a tree. I ran as fast as I could to get him back here." All Cody feels is anger and sadness, not believing that this has happened. He knew that this was a bad idea, but all that matters right now is making sure that Obi Wan's injury isn't too serious.

Kix flies over, Kanan turns Obi Wan over and everyone gasps. His back is quite literally bent from the impact of the tree, they won't be able to fix this medically.

"Kix? What do we do." Cody asks him, a tremble in his voice. He shuffles closer to his boyfriend, pressing softly against the hand that's hanging down. Obi Wan does his best to lift his hand, placing it over Cody's scar. They're both so scared, Cody can feel Obi Wan trembling in pain.

"I… I don't know, Cody. We could get a hammer and bend it back into shape, but it would hurt him. I don't know what we can do that won't cause him excruciating pain." 

"I might be able to help with that!" Everyone turns to see a glowing woman, she has long flowing green hair. 

Her eyes are green as well. She has a long yellow dress and her voice almost sounds like it has an echo. She looks like a goddess, everyone feels absolutely terrified.

"Oh no, not another one!" Cody yells, he doesn't want them to be cursed any worse than they already are. The woman puts her hands up in surrender at the knights that raise their swords towards her and Rex hunches down over top of Fives, Echo, Kiara and Stutter. 

He growls at her angrily, Rex's chest is so close to the four that Fives has to put his candle out in fear of burning his Ori'vod again. "I am not here to curse any of you again, I promise. I'm only here to help you." She glides over to Obi Wan, Cody and Kanan tries to block her but she just floats through them.

Obi Wan looks up at her as she places her hand on his back gently, everyone watches as her hand glows and Obi Wan's back bends back into shape. But he doesn't scream in pain like expected, on the contrary he sighs in content. 

"There, all better. Do you believe that I'm trying to help now." Everyone in the room nods, including Rex. "What's your name, mam." The woman chuckles. 

"I go by many names. The Goddess, The Daughter, Morai, but you may call me The Enchantress." Rex walks over, bowing to her the best he can. " Well, I'm Prince Rex. Are you actually here to help us?" The enchantress nods." Of course, I helped your friend, didn't I." She gestures to Obi Wan, who's standing up and stretching his back out as if nothing happened. Cody is pressing himself into him, doing his best to hug Obi Wan.

"Now let me take a look at you, young man." The enchantress moves closer to Rex, he flinches as she goes to place her hand on the side of his face. "It's alright, I'm just going to look through your memories, to when this all happened. This is the work of a witch, am I correct?" Rex nods, looking a little nervous as her hand emits a warm glow by his face. "Hm, Ventress...that witch will do anything just to use her magic on anyone for fun."

"Can this be changed back, Enchantress?" Rex tries to not let his hopes get the best of him. The enchantress frowns as she finishes looking at Rex's memories, stepping back a little. "I cannot change you back. I don’t have the power to end the curse." Rex’s ears droop, and Cody shuffles over to him, he presses himself into Rex. He knows that Rex still blames himself. “But I may be able to change it.” Everyone including Rex looks up at her, Rex’s ears perk up.

"How?" Rex is confused. How will she be able to change it? "I am able to change the curse so that there will be a way to end it, if you will allow it." Rex nods frantically, looking around at his friends and family, who nod as well. “Yes, change it please.” She nods, using her powers to pick up the rose that Ventress had given them for payment. “This rose will bloom for thirteen years, when it starts to wilt you will have only two years to fall in love, and earn their love in return before the last petal falls or this curse will truly be permanent.” she makes the rose float down gently into his hands.

He looks at it with confusion and worry "Love me? Nobody would want to love something like me." Rex whimpers as he convinces himself that he'll never be loved by anyone. "This will be the only way, Prince Rex. Your fate lies only in your hands and those of your true love's. You must find your true love if you are to break this curse." The Enchantress starts to slowly fade away into glowing dust. 

"Please, there must be another way, Enchantress!" Rex begs her, wanting an easier way to correct his mistake. Once she disappears completely, Rex is filled with fear and regret. He tries to hold back the tears as he just stares at the rose in his hands. "Are you alright, Rex'ika." Rex turns around to see Cody. 

"I... I'm so sorry." Cody looks at Rex confused. "For what?" 

"That all of this has happened. The damage has been done and I feel that I'll never be able to fix this mess." Rex presses the rose gently to his forehead, sobbing a little. Cody shuffles closer, pressing himself against Rex's leg "It's alright, Rex'ika. We'll get through this together, we promise. Whatever you need, we'll be here to help you." Rex looks around to see everyone nod, making him feel a bit more hopeful to know that he has such a kind and loving family.

At least his family has hope now to break the curse, but all Rex can think about is, who could ever learn to love a monster like him?

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