#telling himself 'there is no pain‚ you are receding' as he ignores his body screaming at him and keeps pushing himself past his limits

[maulfucker]

does anyone also think. Maul and Comfortably Numb.

[moonbaby26]

Title: Telling the Truth

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader, but also Magneto and Peter father/son interaction!

Summary: Continuation from previous chapter. Set during X-Men: Age of Apocalypse, you and the others finally defeat Apocalypse, just to end up stranded together until a way home can be devised. During the wait, you get to clear up some things with Peter on your feelings for him. Yet all goes sideways when Peter finally works up the courage to tell Magneto the truth about being his son.

Notes: For those that know the movies by heart, I made some more changes closer to the comics obviously. You’ll see.

Warnings: Some cursing, especially during the impromptu therapy session of Magneto and Peter unleashing their emotional baggage.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp , @wintwrsoldiwr , @tommy-braccoli , @amourtentiaa

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

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You didn’t know what you felt anymore. In a way it was like being outside of yourself. Just watching from somewhere far away even as you were pouring every ounce of strength you had left into your hands, blasting Apocalypse’s shield over and over.

You were trying to cause even the slightest, tangible bit of damage to him, just as Magneto was, just as Scott was. And yet, even with the three of you giving all you had, the monster had already gathered himself up again. With just the movement of one hand, he’d thrown Hank violently to the side when Beast had gotten too close while trying to help you all.

And only moments after Hank’s unconscious body had come to rest, Scott had faltered as well. In exhaustion, he’d finally had to close his eyes, pulling his glasses back down as he’d staggered backward. Then with another flick of the wrist, Apocalypse had all too easily slammed the boy into a building, the wall he hit then swelling out to cover and encase him like some living horror.

You could still hear Scott screaming even as you realized Apocalypse had now turned his attention towards you. With his every step closer, that numbness grew within you. You were too weak to fly away now, after all the energy you’d thrown at him, you were barely still standing.

But you could see the irritation in his expression. It was obvious that he couldn’t understand your loyalty to one another. Why any of you would be fighting this hard, just to die.

He kept reusing the same tricks, but they were effective. As the earth shot up around you like tendrils on a vine, you couldn’t break free. As quick and flexible as it was, it only felt like concrete wrapping all around you. It pinned your arms to your sides and wrapped around your legs, chest, and throat.

With a clenching of Apocalypse’s fist, it all drew tighter. And when your energy field finally gave out, the last of your shielding went away with it. As that light faded, the pain of being slowly crushed exploded through you. But you couldn’t scream when you couldn’t even breathe.

Apocalypse would have Xavier. That was all he wanted, then outright ignoring the straining of Magneto in the sky above him, Erik desperately trying to still do anything on his own now.

But as your sight blurred and your senses faded, it was the most surreal thing, you could still recognize Jean’s silhouette as she also moved out into midair.

Yet it wasn’t her, at least not as you knew her. Somehow that thought had still floated through your dying mind, before the world exploded all over again.

Even without being powered up, you could feel that surge. Like a pressure wave of pure, raw force. It seared across everything, hot and burning. But like a warm fire, for those far enough from the center, it only revitalized them. Hank was awakened suddenly, soon enough breaking the pieces that held you and giving you a chance to breathe again before he ran on all fours to also free Scott.

And yet for Apocalypse, someone far too close to that center, and the real target of Jean’s fury, the only option was to burn.

You were on your knees as you still tried to catch your breath, but you all knew opportunity when you saw it. She’d broken through his shield, torn through his armor. But even as his flesh seared away, it was still trying to heal back just as quickly.

Magneto had impaled him to the spot with multiple steel bars as soon as his shield had fallen, but Apocalypse was a coward. As soon as that tide had started to turn, he tried to flee.

Hank called out, “He’s getting away!” As Apocalypse tried to teleport, an energy shield rebuilding to close around him.

Even digging as deep as you possibly could, you only had enough left to make a large orb from one palm. That white light encasing just one of your hands rather than your whole body as you realized you had to make this last shot count.

And just as you thought you were not going to have another opening to get past his shield, lightning began striking down right on top of him. A hole broke in his field with the force, the white haired girl from before surprising you all with a sudden change of allegiance.

You threw your orb at once then, controlling it to come right through the opening she had made. It exploded directly against Apocalypse’s head and neck, further blasting away muscle and bone that no longer had time to heal under all the combined attacks.

But it was still Jean who dealt the killing blow. With one final powerful surge of her energy, screaming, she erased the last of him. His body broke into only ash under her red aura. It spread into the sky all around her, like wings of flame before extinguishing at last.

You were still waiting for some final confirmation that it was really over though, that you’d won. After a few moments of only the sound of the receding wind, and the sand lightly blowing past with it, it was like a collective acceptance at last.

You fell back with a large exhale, exhausted as you laid onto your back in the dirt. In the sky, you could see Magneto and Jean hover back to where Xavier was, no doubt to check on him now. You could only imagine if Magneto would soon be apologizing to his old friend, or not, for his part in all this.

But you didn’t rest in your silence for long. As you heard footsteps, you turned your head enough to see Hank’s clawed feet approaching. But he wasn’t alone. He had Raven on one side and Peter on the other, Peter more so the one he was propping up with that broken leg.

“Raven wants to go see Charles,” Hank said by way of some explanation, awkwardly helping Peter sit back down beside you as the other winced in pain. “I need you two to stay here while we see if there’s any medical supplies intact nearby, and while we try to figure out how on earth we’re going to get home now.”

While Hank spoke, you thought Raven might have still been giving you a kind of odd look. As if she was trying to make sense of something. You could assume what, after the abrupt display between you and Peter before. But you were just too tired to feel anything other than relief right now that everyone was still here at all.

“Okay,” You said, maybe just to check that you could talk, as much as your throat still hurt from being squeezed earlier. But the two older mutants were then gone just as quickly. Hank had picked up Raven, jumping over to the exposed second floor of the building where the Professor and the others were.

Peter was unnaturally quiet afterward. At least for a while before he finally looked down at you. “So holy shit, right?”

You glanced up. That phrase really could reference about anything that had happened today. You smirked tiredly. “Could you be a little more specific please?”

“I mean, your friend just vaporized that dude.” Peter answered, waving one hand. He couldn’t stop from being animated even if he tried it seemed, even when injured. “Did you know she could do that? Like damn, we could have been done an hour ago.”

You tried not to laugh. It’d hurt your ribs too much if you did. “No. I’d say she didn’t even know she could do that.”

“Well, I know who not to piss off,” He said, before going quiet for a bit again.

You still hadn’t been around him all that long in actual length of hours. But for all you’d now been through since first meeting at the mansion, it seemed like this morning was lifetimes ago. And you could sense that his mind was churning with something else he actually wanted to say.

You looked up to him again after a while. “You okay?” You asked. Which probably was still a bit ironic for you to question, as even though he had the broken leg, you were also the one laying in the dirt, too tired and hurting to properly sit up.

It still took him some time to respond though. Which told you he actually was trying to weigh his words somewhat before speaking. But when they did finally start to come out, he was still pausing and hesitating. “I’m, um, first of all, sorry about the whole surprise kiss there. I figured you’d just slap the crap out of me or something. But I thought we were going to die too, and I...I just-”

He was looking at the ground now, like there would be some answer there that would help him verbalize what he was trying to say. “I know I screw up a lot and let things go that I shouldn’t let go I guess. I already flaked out with the whole reason I came up to your house this morning, the whole Magneto thing. And I didn’t want to do that twice, not telling someone the truth again all in one day just because I was being chicken shit. You’re just really cool, and you know...I just wanted you to know that.” He looked back at you at last, as if trying to judge if any of this was making sense at all.

It did and it didn’t of course. You didn’t understand at all what he meant about why he came up to the house in the first place, or anything about Magneto. But you didn’t want to question on that when he was already making himself vulnerable with the main point you thought he was trying to make to you at least.

“Peter, I kissed you back remember? I mean yes, there was a lot of stress involved. But it doesn’t make it a mistake.” Now you were the one perhaps putting too much optimism in your thoughts here, and taking a risk. “Maybe it just made it happen a lot sooner than it naturally would have. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t want that, you know, eventually.”

Again, you’d only known each other for a day in real terms. Of course it was too much. But everybody had to start somewhere, right? You had no idea what a serious relationship could be like though, you’d never had one. Just awkward first dates that never became second dates because it was always just weird. You didn’t feel anything that way for those people and it was always evident so quickly.

And yet here came this guy, dropped into your life like a bomb in a time of utter chaos and danger, and you thought you were now finally understanding why your friends seemed to go so crazy when they told you about their “crushes” at school. It was just something that clicked. You couldn’t put rational thought to emotions like this.

“So you wanted to kiss me?” Peter finally asked in a way that was somewhat silly to you, because of course you wouldn’t have done anything like that if you didn’t actually want to. And yet you couldn’t make any dry reply to that effect when you saw the honest expression on his face as he’d asked.

Was it really so hard for him to believe that he would be wanted? You were surprised, genuinely. Of course he was quirky and odd, well maybe a great deal odd. But for all the flashy appearance and smugness you knew he could radiate, did he not actually see his own worth?

You touched his hand lightly, as you sat up at last. It hurt, but he needed to see your eyes to believe you now. You knew this was important. “You’ve had me flustered since you first introduced yourself this morning. I’m not used to that, at all, so it’s really new. I don’t really know how it’s all supposed to work, or what I’m supposed to do next. But I can at least speak to how I feel. I want to be around you more, I want to be close.”

The physical and the emotional went hand in hand really. But, you’d both have to figure out your own comfort level on that. You continued, trying to put that into words. He didn’t owe anything to you. “You need to remember it depends what you want too though. I can like you with or without kissing again. If you just want a friend, that’s okay too.”

He chuckled, seeming kind of taken aback. “Hell...” He looked away a moment, running his hand through his hair. It was obviously a nervous gesture, as it only made it look messier. “I’d really be a pathetic boyfriend you know. Like, epically bad.”

“You think so?” You asked, trying not to press too hard, but also not wanting him to keep seeming like he didn’t deserve any of this kind of attention.

“I’ll annoy you eventually, you’ll regret it.” He kept on, a little bit quieter then.

“How do you know I’m not annoying?” You countered. Of course you hoped you weren’t, you seemed to get along well with the other students, and they ran the gamut of so many kinds of personalities. But really, how was it fair for him to assume any fault would only be his?

“Pfft.” He looked back to you. “You literally glow. It’s not even metaphorical. You’re like perfect, and-“

Did Apocalypse ding him in the head too? You were having none of that. “I’m nothing of the sort. And neither are you.” But you smiled before he could take that negatively. “And I’m totally good with that.”

He quieted again, just watching you for an awkward while, before finally responding. “I guess we can try. I mean as long as you’re admitting now that your taste in guys is really this bad and you won’t get mad at me later for saying I told you so.”

It didn’t seem proper to laugh, but he made you want to. “I’ll overlook you insulting the both of us. But yes, if you want to try, then so do I.”

“Okay.” He answered. Then seemed to realize the depth of this a little more. “Shit...didn’t expect to get mutant-napped by the government, fight a god, break my leg, and become a boyfriend all in the same day.”

“And rescue a whole mutant school,” You added.

He shrugged purposefully for effect. “That’s what heroes do, babe.”

The pivot from so self conscious that he could barely accept your attraction to him, to now wanting to brag again really was something to behold. You started to quip something back, but stopped when you saw his face go serious. He was now looking at something abruptly in the distance, so you turned your head to follow his gaze.

It was Magneto.

You straightened up as well, now fully sitting up before Erik landed in front of you both.

He was direct, speaking immediately. “It will still be some time before Charles’ little CIA friend can get her cohorts to arrange your transport out of here.”

You didn’t know if the distaste in his tone was more about Moira being a government agent, or just dislike to her presence here entirely, but he only continued. “And given that Hank has no idea how to field dress wounds without access to his full laboratory, I get that responsibility.”

Peter shifted, abruptly realizing the meaning then. “I’m fine,” He lied.

Of course he absolutely wasn’t fine. But clearly distrusting about whatever Magneto now had planned and the inevitable pain it could mean for him. Peter hadn’t moved his leg at all in the entire time you’d been sitting here together.

Erik only answered him sharply, “You need a splint before you do even more damage to yourself.”

As he then raised his hands, metal rebar started to drag itself out from the broken buildings all around you, leaving no question that this was no longer a choice for Peter.

It was hard not to think that just a short time ago, Magneto had been using that same kind of power to impale Apocalypse over and over again. And yet now he showed how controlled he could be, breaking the thin rebar into lengths that could run all the way from Peter’s thigh to just above his ankle, and even bending them slightly to match the natural curvature of the knee.

“Lift his leg.” Erik spoke.

You’d been so distracted with watching him work the metal, that it took you a moment to realize the command was for you. You looked briefly to him, then to Peter. You and Peter both shared the same nervous expression.

If you just used your hands, you felt like you would only hurt him, not being able to support his whole leg in a way that wouldn’t put more pressure on the break. But you also didn’t know if you’d rested long enough sitting here to use your powers at all either.

Someone as intimidating as Magneto standing over you both impatiently certainly didn’t help.

But if it meant less discomfort for Peter, you’d at least try. You lifted both your hands, facing your palms towards Peter’s leg while focusing as best you could. Normally what would have been fairly simple now took a good deal of effort in your still drained state. But a faint white glow did start to move across his leg, eventually covering it from his hip all the way to the end of his foot.

Once enveloped, you raised just your fingertips, lifting his entire leg gently, just high enough that Magneto could place the metal bracing around it.

You heard Peter make a small sound of pain as Erik had circled other metal strips around the longer ones that ran parallel with his leg, snugging it all into place. But beyond that, the unconventional first aid seemed to be successful. His leg was effectively now immobilized as you let it back down softly, the light fading away as you let go.

“I look like a Mad Max reject,” Peter commented absently, breaking the silence after a moment as he poked at the new metal contraption.

“You’ll be running and finding trouble again soon enough I’m sure. We still heal faster than the lesser species.” Magneto responded, but not all that surprising to you really that he would still find ways to throw jabs at non mutants even in an unrelated conversation.

What did surprise you was that when Erik had started to turn to no doubt leave again now that his task was done, it was Peter that stopped him.

“Hey, wait a second.”

You didn’t think you were imagining a new anxious sound in Peter’s voice either, and it bloomed all new nerves in you as well. What was it between the two of them? There had been confusing hints of something ever since you’d gotten to Egypt, but Peter had never elaborated to you. Not that he’d really had much chance either though.

But just because of who Magneto was, it was easy to imagine things taking a dangerous turn if the wrong thing was said or done, but you had no idea how to help when you didn’t even know what had Peter so focused on him.

You felt him touch your hand, like a physical desire for support, as he asked Erik in the most serious voice you’d ever heard from him. “Do you remember a woman named Magda Eisenhardt?”

Magneto went rigid, and you froze as well. Very suddenly you were wondering if the others could still see you from here. If they were paying you any mind at all right now. But the only person here fast enough to actually get away from Erik, was here beside you with one wing clipped essentially. There’d be no escape.

“How do you know that name?” He’d turned fully back to face you both, eyes locked on Peter.

By the way Peter had seemed to pause his breathing, he wasn’t immune to the sense of threat either, but he still answered. “Well she goes by Maximoff now. She’s my mother.”

You felt like a helpless bystander watching some kind of disaster unfolding in slow motion. The frightening look in Magneto’s eyes versus the way Peter was now almost squeezing your hand painfully. The mental gymnastics your mind was now going through were chaotic. Did Magneto do something to Peter’s mother? Were they enemies? Was this some vengeance quest?

But if any of that were true, why on earth would Peter confront him now? With both of you already injured with not a chance to survive or defend against someone of Magneto’s power?

Whatever frightful things were burning through Erik’s mind as well still silenced him long enough for Peter to speak again though. And it all came out then.

“I was too afraid to tell you earlier, but I guess I’m just ripping the damn band aid off everything now. She told me about you. How she left because she was afraid of you too. But she didn’t tell you about being pregnant. She went to the states, changed her last name and had me. Me and my sister Wanda. Twins. But I didn’t know any of that about you when I busted you out of the Pentagon those years back. I didn’t know who you really were. That you were the guy I thought had just run off, or maybe you were dead. I didn’t know my father was in a damned plastic cell less than ten fucking miles away all those years when we had nothing!”

A chill went through you. The anger in Peter’s voice towards the end only added to the shock as you were forced to process everything at once. This was why. God. Just...shit.

You were all silent after that. For an unbearable amount of time there was silence.

When Erik finally did speak, you heard the anger in him too, but it was different. There was a raw pain in that, something so extremely deep coming out of him now. His fist was clenching. “She was right, boy. If it’s all true, then Magda was goddamn right to do everything in her power to hide you from me and to try to put an ocean between us back then.”

With a little horror, you could see the smallest fragments of metallic debris starting to quiver along the ground. His emotion carrying over into the environment now.

“I did remarry after I escaped Washington and went back to Europe. We even had a little girl. Anya.” There was the slightest sheen of wetness in his eyes, even though sheer anger was the only look still coming from them. “They killed them. My wife. My daughter. The humans killed them because of who I was!”

He gritted his teeth, and you could plainly see a couple tears escape his eyes then before disappearing back behind the sides of his helmet.

“They would have done the same to you and your sister eventually. To Magda too. She knew she’d be caught in the crossfire even when I didn’t. She knew what I really was.”

“It doesn’t make it right!” Peter’s voice surprised you as it broke, uneven and just as emotional as he yelled back at Erik. But he looked down again afterward, his hand trembling against yours. “I’m sorry what they did, that was our little sister too then. But you can’t just lie to someone their whole life. My mom shouldn’t have waited so long to tell me! I could have helped you...maybe it could have been different. Maybe we-”

“It would have been the same result.” Erik said coldly. “Because I would have been the same.”

With that he flew off abruptly, completely out of sight before Peter cursed under his breath, looking defeated. “Goddamnit. He really is an asshole...”

You opened your mouth to respond, maybe to try and comfort him, but then hesitated. There was so much to digest on both sides here. “I think he might just need time to cool off...” You finally said, as delicately as you could.

“Correct.” The Professor’s voice popped into both your heads then, leading you both to glance towards the broken building where the others had been, to now see they were all standing on the edge looking towards you.

“Apologies for eavesdropping,” Xavier continued. “But you were getting quite loud, both verbally and mentally, and I wanted to make sure you were safe as I had instructed the others not to interfere.”

Peter sighed, maybe a bit embarrassed at the audience, but also still clearly unused to having anyone in his head as he replied aloud. “That’s so damn weird. Guess you’re good now then?”

“Getting there, thanks to all of you.” Xavier answered with a slight amount of humor, “But helmet or no helmet, I don’t need to read Erik to tell you that he’ll be back. His anger is only towards himself, not to you. You did the right thing by letting him know the truth. He’ll come around.”

There was another odd feeling of amusement from the Professor after a moment though. “In fact, knowing how possessive Erik can be, I dare say you may get more than you bargained for, Peter, in parental attention. Good luck to you too, (Y/N). Though I’d think he’ll approve of you once he realizes how much you genuinely care about his son.”

You stared, knowing Xavier couldn’t see your ‘are you for real/horrified’ expression from this distance but that he’d definitely feel it.

You saw Raven make an exaggerated gesture of a thumbs up from way over there and Peter laughed tiredly. “We’re totally screwed aren’t we?” You sighed and he just leaned into you, teasing. “See? Too early to say it yet? Nope, it’s not. Told ya so. Told ya so. Terrible choice of a boyfriend, babe!”

You put your head on your knees as he rubbed one of your shoulders. You mumbled numbly. “I just want to sleep for sixteen hours.”

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(Continued in next chapter here)

[tales-unique]

FAULTS OF THE HEART  II

Chapter 2

That night is, quite possibly, the worst night of your life, so far. No matter how you try to position yourself you manage to aggravate your wound, rendering any progress towards sleep null and void in a matter of seconds. You hiss in frustration, sitting up after what feels like hours of fighting, deciding that there was no sense in trying while you were so wound up.

You decide instead to sate your curiosity about the place you have been brought to, starting with the room you’re in. It’s bathed in iridescent moonlight, the fire having long since burnt out, which gives it an almost ethereal glow. In its prime it must have been such a beautiful place to read and study but now it sits abandoned, a sad echo of former glory. All the books, though dusty and stained with age, look to be in good condition and, despite your fatigue, you untangle yourself from your makeshift bed to peruse them. As you edge towards them the wood creaks beneath your feet and you freeze, listening for any signs of life other than yourself in the building. When you hear nothing you release the breath you had been holding, gazing in awe at all the different books before you. Some of the names you couldn’t even understand, their beautiful cursive calligraphy written in a language that was foreign to you. Perhaps the man of the house was an avid collector of interesting books? You gently trace your finger over the spines, ignoring the burn of protest in your shoulder as you move away towards an old desk that sits under the bare window. The wood is chipped and covered in a layer of dust just like the rest of the room, the items scattered about its surface also buried. Your hand disturbs a stack of papers, the paper parched from years of exposure to the sun, to see if there’s anything you can gleam from them, but the ink is so faded that you barely make out the words. You frown at the inkwell that sits near a stack of books, some of which look like writing journals, the quill stuck inside the dried up ink. The feathering had mostly vanished, decomposed until barely any were left to cling to the brittle spine. This was someone's private space once, but not any longer. All at once the feeling that you were an invader hits you like a tidal wave and, with one last somber look, you back away from the desk to look at the door. For all you knew the man could have locked you inside, to curb any possible excursions without him knowing. The thought sent a spark of fear shooting through your system and with a brisk pace you came face to face with the door. It’s old, just as the rest of the room is, and the ornate handle is a deep brass colour under the layer of dust and grime. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the handle, sucking in a deep breath to try and calm yourself. Quickly, you tell yourself, before your fear petrifies you. The grip you have on the door handle is so tight you barely register how your knuckles are turning white, or how your shoulder aches in protest at the awkward angle you're bending at, as you peek out into the dark hallway. After a cautious once over you tentatively step out, careful to tiptoe your way down the hallway so you wouldn’t alert anyone to your presence. But it was already too late for that. The man, the lone inhabitant of the abandoned place, was already awake and wandering himself when you decided to leave your room. He had been angsty knowing there was someone, a human no less, in his castle, and so, like you, sleep evaded him. Your movements were easy to trace, the vampiric blood that flowed through his veins heightening his senses to an alarming degree. Hidden in the looming shadows he follows you, all while you are unaware, to see just what it is you’re doing wandering around at such an hour. At the end of the hallway you find a grand staircase and a hazy memory clouds your mind. You remember being swept up these stairs in the arms of your nameless rescuer, the receding image of the almost comically tall doors receding as your vision grew darker, your consciousness slipping in and out. There was even a trail of drying blood leading up to where you had been left, noticed only now that you were actively looking at the floor beneath your feet. You grimace, making sure to descend on the other side of the stairs. Once at the bottom you come to stand in front of those large doors, ever imposing, and a sense of apprehension settles like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach. Although you had no idea where you were the danger of leaving while still injured with no means to protect yourself loomed threateningly, and that alone made you hesitant. Swallowing your fear you gingerly tread towards the doors, careful in opening them lest you further injure yourself. Whatever you had been expecting, or not , when you stepped out into the night, you could have said with certainty that it wouldn’t have been impaled corpses . You freeze, your blood like ice. Corpses. Impaled. On spikes . Any and all doubts you had about the dangers outside being greater than the ones inside were now none-existent. The man who lived here, the one who had saved your life , was the same man who had done this to these people. A rational person with a sane mind wouldn’t willingly do this to someone, right? No, which meant you had to leave, and quickly, or you could be next. But, oh God , how would you get past them? You barely had time to register that they were more mummified than fresh, having been there for a while, since you were back-peddling as quickly as your legs could take you. Until your back hits something solid and more alive than the doors. You let out a scream, partially from shock and from the pain sent rocketing through your arm, twisting sharply on your heel to see the doors cast open wide and none other than the man standing there, blocking your path. “You’re up late,” he speaks with a casualness that unnerves you more than anything, his gaze solemn. Your chest heaves as you stare at him with wide eyes, panic surging through your veins. Inside you're a mess of emotions that will not be tamed. Utter chaos and turmoil. When you don't respond he lets out a defeated sigh, a weary sound that betrays how worn down he has become. "If you wanted to leave you could have just said so," he muses, frowning when you recoil away from him when he moves to pass you. He stops to look at the corpses that frame the entrance but there's no feeling there. Not anymore. His hate and anger and pain has faded into nothingness, a void he had hoped he would never fall into. You watch him like a hawk the entire time, body tense. At any point he could turn on you and you had to be ready . But the moment doesn't come. There's just him, standing illuminated in the moonlight, broken. "Where would I even go, if I could leave?" The words are quiet but you can't stand the stifling silence any longer. "You could go anywhere," he answers easily, resolute. You scoff, brushing your fingertips over your bandaged wound. It stings and you wince with a hiss. "And do what? I have no money, my arm is useless right now. I'd be dead in a day or two. And that's if I don't get found by the Baron's men first." It's true that the Baron was still a threat to you, even more so now that his hunting party had been cut down, so blood would be demanded. Just not yours if you could help it. "Who are you, anyway?" You ask, changing the subject. There's so much you want to ignore at that moment so you focus on him. There's a moment of silence before he finally responds and his voice has an edge to it that you can’t quite place. You get the feeling that he’d much rather remain nameless to you, but out of politeness he must give in. How quaint. "Your people call me Alucard," he replies, turning to look at you expectantly. You quickly stumble out your name, suddenly feeling like a caged animal under the starkness of his golden gaze. They almost glow in the light, giving him a predatory air. "Well," you clear your throat, quickly stepping past the, ahem, decorations , to stand next to him at the top of the stone steps, "thank you, Alucard. I'd have died if you hadn't helped me." It's the truth; you owe him your life, and he knows it. "You are welcome," he responds slowly, awkwardly, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes before they turn heavenward. "A beautiful night, isn't it?" He's trying to ease the tension and even though it doesn't help much you appreciate the sentiment. "Yes, it's nice," you answer softly. Looking at him as he is in that moment you find that he doesn’t seem so intimidating as you had first thought and you feel ashamed for having judged him so harshly so quickly. Not that it doesn’t diminish what you have learnt from your little excursion outside the castle. After all, there were dead bodies on his front step. Maybe there was more to this than first met the eye, maybe not, but you were determined to discover the truth.

[dccomicsimagines]

Amusement Park - Jaime Reyes x Reader

Requested by wowjeena  -  Hey can you please write about the reader and Jaime Reyes going to an amusement park?

***

“This is going to be so much fun,” you said, squeezing Jaime’s hand as you both waited in line. Jaime smiled. He was glad he had the time to finally take you to the amusement park. Being Blue Beetle ate up most of his time.

‘Potential hazards everywhere. Proceed with caution’ Scarab said.

Jaime sighed. He knew Scarab was going to be a problem. “What do you want to go on first when we get in there?” Jaime smiled, ignoring Scarab’s grumblings echoing in his head.

You pursed your lips. His heart skipped a beat. He loved the little furrow your brow got as you thought. “I don’t know. Should we go on that first?” You pointed to the tall drop tower in the distance.

‘Calculated only a ten percent chance of survival. Keep your mate away from there, Jaime Reyes.’

You stepped up to buy the tickets to get in. Jaime turned away slightly. “What do you mean there is only a ten percent chance of survival? Scarab, they take all the safety precautions.” 

‘Safety precautions could fail, leaving your mate with a ten percent chance of survival.’

“Then we’ll save them and everyone else. It’s fine.” Jaime rolled his shoulders. The image of the ride failing haunted his mind. He swallowed hard.

You gestured for Jaime to join you to get his wrist band. He came forward, letting the clerk seal the band around his wrist. “Come on.” You grabbed Jaime’s hand, leading him into the park and straight to the drop tower.

Jaime and you got in line. You grinned, watching the ride zoom up to the top and then drop the people. The people’s screams filled the air.

‘Jaime Reyes, you are putting your mate in danger. Those people are not having fun.’

“They seem to be having fun.” Jaime smiled at how you watched the ride eagerly, moving up in line. The people on the ride laughed once they reached the ground again. 

“Yeah, it’s going to be great.” You kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you finally got a day off.” 

Jaime blushed. “I know. Sorry, I’ve been so busy lately with...everything.” He glanced around to make sure no one was listening.

You nodded. “Saving the world?” You whispered in his ear. His heart skipped a beat. Your breath on his skin sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. 

‘Do not let your mate seduce you. You are letting them risk their life.’

Jaime shook his head. “Sometimes.” The two of you finally got to the front of the line and were told to go stand on numbers. Jaime watched the ride, the screams of the people being dropped filled his ears. “Are you sure about this, (Y/N)?”

“Positive.” You grinned. The daredevil in you came out. Honestly, Jaime loved it. 

‘Jaime Reyes, putting your mate’s enjoyment before their safety is selfish.’

He sighed, closing his eyes.Suddenly, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to your assigned ride seats. “This is going to be so fun.” 

Scarab tensed, almost hurting Jaime’s skin. “Ouch, relax,” Jaime mumbled. He felt his armor take over his arm as the ride operator came over to secure the ride restraints. Scarab growled at him. The ride operator gave Jaime a funny look. 

“Are you okay?” the ride operator asked, slightly concerned. 

“I’m fine.” Jaime choked, fighting Scarab’s armor from taking control. 

You looked at Jaime worriedly. “What’s wrong?” The ride operator went back to the control panel and the ride started to slowly go up. 

Jaime’s entire body jolted. The armor crept up on his skin before retracting when Jaime forced it to. “Scarab’s freaking out,” he hissed.

“Scarab’s freaking out?” You blinked in surprise, glancing down at the receding ground. “Don’t tell me he’s afraid of heights? You fly.” 

Jaime clenched his teeth. It started to hurt holding the armor back. “Scarab, stop it.”

‘Get off the ride, Jaime Reyes. Let me take control.’

The ride reached the top, jerking to a stop. “No.” Jaime’s hand clenched at the handles of the ride. You gave him a worried look before the ride dropped. 

‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!’

Jaime screamed along with Scarab. You laughed in delight. Jaime’s stomach dropped from the gravity.  Scarab sent waves of pain echoing throughout Jaime’s body. His armor covered his arms. Luckily, he was wearing long sleeves. The ride went back up again, faster this time and dropped again. 

The ride stopped after the second drop, slowly bringing everyone back to the ground. Jaime kept screaming along with Scarab. People gave him funny looks, the ride operator looked at him like he was possessed. 

“Honey, are you okay?” The restraints released. You hopped off your seat and went to Jaime who was frozen in place. He stopped screaming, eyes wide as Scarab sent shivers down his spine. 

“Yeah, okay.” He forced himself to move, getting out of the seat. His legs seized and he fell to the ground. 

“Jaime?!” You caught him. The ride operator ran over to help and escorted Jaime out to the bench outside.  

“Do you want me to call first aid?” the ride operator asked. You started to nod yes, but Jaime held up a hand.

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” He leaned forward on his knees, head in his hands. His entire body burned from the pain.

“I’ll take care of him.” You sat down next to Jaime. “Thank you.” The ride operator nodded and ran back to the ride. You rubbed Jaime’s back, running your fingers over Scarab. 

‘Never do that again.’

“Shut up.” Jaime mumbled. His hands shook. Your hand stopped on the Scarab on Jaime’s back, rubbing soothing circles into it. Scarab relaxed slightly.

‘To allow your life and your mate’s to be handled by a machine is unacceptable. No matter what adrenaline it gives you.’

You kissed Jaime’s cheek. He turned to look at you, his stomach turning at the worried look on your face. “So Scarab doesn’t like heights?” 

Jaime snorted, chuckling despite the pain. “No, he doesn’t like the idea of amusement rides.” 

“Oh.” You smiled, waving your hand. “I should have known. He doesn’t like it when we drive in my car” 

‘Your mate’s motor vehicle is a deathtrap waiting to happen.’

Jaime bit his lip. He sighed deeply. “I thought I was going to break out into full armor. It hurt so much to hold it back.” 

You dropped your hand away from Scarab and rubbed Jaime’s lower back. “I’m sorry.” You pressed your nose against his cheek, smiling into his skin. “How about we warm Scarab up to the idea?” 

‘There is no ‘warming up’. All these machines are life threatening.’ 

“He says that won’t work.” Jaime wrapped his arm around you. You pressed into his side.

‘Blood pressure rising. Sexual Intercourse commencing.’

Jaime’s face burned red as he felt a stirring below his belt. “Stop it.” He thought about his mother. It didn’t work. He then thought about Nightwing yelling at him about something. It quickly went away.

You laughed, knowing what happened. “Let’s try it at least?” You got to your feet, taking his hand. “Are you okay to walk or did Scarab get you to full salute again?” 

Jaime choked, glancing around to see if anyone overheard. “(Y/N)! Not here.” 

“Sorry.” You winked at him. “Come on, we can do the carousal. That’s not life threatening.” He let you pull him to his feet and lead him toward the carousal. 

‘Threat level of that ride is fifty percent. Do not approach.’

Jaime sighed, dreading the rest of the day. However, he saw the beautiful smile on your face and suddenly he was found the urge to find a happy medium between you and Scarab.

[iamcayc]

Sounds of Gojo | Chapter 15: Playful

A/N: Ooooh my lord, I'm sorry for the delay in posting!

Here's some sweet smut for you all <3

🚨 TW 🚨 This chapter starts with some flashbacks to Kaya's personal trauma, so references of sexual assault, death, neglect ahead

-

Cigarettes and rum. The pungent smells of both stick your nostrils while you fingers race across the ivory keys.

You can’t hear anything, not even your own heartbeat.

Your parents watch in the distance, haughty smiles taunting you as you struggle to keep up with a metronome waving frantically from its perch on the grand piano. The living room is drenched in harsh, white light, cleaning all the color out of the room except for the ruby puddle surrounding Alexander’s limp body on the floor.

You want to scream, but a palm I’m all too familiar with covers you mouth with its pair gropes my breast.

Tears stream down your cheeks and your breath comes in sobs.

“That’s it, sweetheart, stay focused on the music.” His voice is raspy and thick with intent as he palms your breast hard.

“Good girl, Kaya…”

Your heart thunders in your chest as his hand goes lower, pulling the hem of your uniform skirt up your thighs. Every ounce of you begs your body to fight back, to scream, to do anything but freeze and let this all happen again.

“… Kaya.”

Your breaths come in faster, shorter. Alexander starts to decay in front of your eyes while your parents turn their backs to you. His hand cups your mound and a strangled sob finally breaks past your lips.

“Kaya!”

You start to shake, your body trembling.

“Kaya!”

Satoru’s beautiful blue eyes are wide and dark with worry as he looms over you, his thumbs swiping tears from your wet cheeks. You inhale a slow, shaky breath that still sounds like a sob as the nightmare recedes back into the hole it’s claimed in your memory. He mutters a curse before lying back down, pulling you against his chest tightly, his face pressed against your hair as his hands rub your back slowly… soothingly.

“It was just a bad dream, kitten,” he murmurs.

Rationally, you know this. Especially since this particular nightmare pops up every so often just to remind you that you’ve lived though something extraordinarily traumatic.

But that doesn’t stop you from suffering the panic attack aftershocks for a few days.

The rational part of your brain knows that what happened to Alexander wasn’t your fault.

Just like the rational part of your brain knows that your abuser can’t hurt you anymore.

It’s just that the irrational, shattered, fucked up part of your brain seems to be in the driver’s seat right now and you can’t figure out how to say any of this without sounding like a complete fucking lunatic—

Large hands with familiar callouses cup your cheeks and force you to look in his aquamarine eyes.

“Breathe with me, Kaya.” He inhales slowly before holding the breath for a few seconds. You make a lame attempt to do the same, except it comes in like a sharp gasp and your chest wants to burst from having to hold it in while managing your racing heart.

Satoru exhales slowly, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones with the gentlest touch. You mimic him, the exhale going a little more smoothly than the inhale.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs before repeating the exercise.

You mind calms as you breath with him, focusing on the feel of his skin against yours and the lessening pressure in your chest as the panic seeps back into the night. How many years have you spent lying in bed, smothered in your emotions until they decided to give up on you? Too many, honestly.

And now, knowing how utterly safe you feel with a man who has yet to reject you and your baggage, you’re at a loss.

Once your heart slows and the sobs turn into hiccups, you pry yourself free of his hands and slip out of the bed to wash your face. You don’t dwell on the fact that Satoru just witnessed a solid ugly cry, complete with snot. Instead, you splash some cool water on your flushed skin and pad back to the bed after blowing your nose for good measure.

You almost turn on your side to hide, but the giant in your bed snakes his arms around your middle and pulls you over to face him again.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you mumble after a moment. Satoru frowns and gently flicks the tip of your nose.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Want to talk about it?”

He’s asking you honestly, which is refreshing. Most just badger you until you tell them, but there’s a stronger foundation of trust with Satoru, more so than you had even felt with Zeyan.

“It’s a variation of the same dream I have every year on my birthday.” You start picking at invisible lint on the linens. “Sometimes it’s just a flashback, but foggy, more distant. Sometimes, it’s all the worst parts of my trauma smashed together until I’m lost in it. Tonight, it was the latter.”

He keeps quiet, his fingers trailing along the edges of your body gently. The smell of his sleepy fragrance continues to ground you in the moment, rather than getting lost in the memories.

“I kept feeling his hands on me.” Satoru’s fingers pause on your hip. “My parents just watched me struggle to play while he kept touching me. Alexander was on the floor bleeding out—decomposing as my parents ignored me. I couldn’t get any part of my body to move, I couldn’t stop him, again.”

You suck in a shuddering breath and snuggle up closer to his body, startling him. He recovers quickly, snaking his arm around your waist and working his thigh between your legs to close up any gaps between the two of you. Your body responds automatically to the pure intimacy of the position sending heat through your core, your nerves alert and lust yawning despite the early-morning hour.

“But you woke me up before it got any worse,” you murmur against his chest. His fingers sketch nonsense against the skin beneath your tank top, every stroke feeding a sense of need you didn’t expect after such an intense dream. “So, thank you for that.”

Shifting your hips, you ply a bit of friction to your clit against his thigh. A lick of pleasure flares in your belly at the contact, a flare that kindles something stronger when Satoru’s hips flex into your stomach, his cock hard and needy. He releases a shaky breath as his hands become more insistent: the left pulls you in for a hungry kiss while the right guides your hips into a slow, steady, sultry grind against his thigh. You pull at his lower lip with your teeth, instincts taking over as you melt into the pure pleasure coursing through you. Your mind stops considering the dream and your birthday; instead, you lose yourself in the building frenzy between the two of you.

Your hands come into play, weaving your fingers into his hair and nudging his body on top of your, the feel of his weight as comforting as it is intoxicating. Satoru moans into your mouth as your grip tightens in his hair, pulling at the strands just enough to lace the pleasure he feels while grinding his cock against your mound with a sting of pain. Still, you can sense his hesitation in his languid motions.

As his tongue laves against your neck, you arch up against his chest, reaching down to grip his shaft with a firm hand. His lips separate from your skin with a gasp.

“Stop holding back with me,” you pant, stroking his cock slowly. He rises up on his palms, his head hanging to watch you work his throbbing, leaking manhood. After a second, his hips start to match your pace, pumping to meet your hand as he chases the sensation.

“I don’t—fuck… I don’t want to trigger you.” Your hand tightens. He groans and pumps against your hand harder. “Goddamn, you feel so fucking good.”

Leaning forward, you nip at his earlobe and rub the weeping head of head of his cock against your drenched cunt. He hisses a breath as you work the slick along his shaft.

“I need you, Toru.” His pace quickens but you let go of his cock to get his attention. Aqua eyes with pupils blown with lust find yours. “All I ever want is for you to fuck me and make me yours, over and over again. Please.”

He practically snarls at you as he hooks one of your legs over his arm, his large palm gripping your ass cheek and spreading your pussy wide open as he sheathes himself in you. You both cry out at the feeling, his balls slapping against your ass and the wet, indecent sounds of him thrusting into you filling the night. You will never get enough of feeling him inside of you, against you, on top of you. Sweat-slick skin gliding against each other as you buck your hips to meet his—you just fucking need to feel him deeper, harder.

Fuck. The way his cock stretches your tight pussy sends you higher than any drug or spirit could.

Your lips claim his. Calloused hands spread your legs even wider. Your bodies do everything they fucking can to just meld into one being. Rational thoughts are so far out the window they might as well be in space. All that’s left is the feeling of you milking his cock and his lips nipping—sucking marks all over your skin.

The keening cry you make as your vision bursts into white and incinerating desire floods your body is met with a drawn out groan that pitches higher as he cums with you, pumping his sticky mess into you in an erratic but hard rhythm.

Pure, primal satisfaction settles into your body as you run your hands through Satoru’s damp hair, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. He makes no moves to shift his position, even as he shudders from the hypersensitivity of his cock as you adjust your hips to avoid that gods-awful cramp that tries to separate your pelvic bones from the rest of your body. His gaze locks with yours as you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“What do you want to do today?” he asks, still breathless. His fingers brush limp curls from your face.

“This.” You feel no hesitation as you answer. His mouth quirks into a smile.

“You want to spend your birthday with my soft cock plugging our cum inside you?”

Wrinkling your nose, you flick him mercilessly between the eyes. “No! Jesus, why are you like this? I meant, I want to just be with you today!”

Annoyed by the ruined moment, you jab his side as extra punishment. He squawks, as per usual, and rolls off of you to avoid the next attack. You glance at the clock as you scuttle towards the bathroom; it’s just after 4 AM. A disgusting hour to be awake.

Satoru joins you after a moment, both of you cleaning up quietly before he playfully ushers you back into the bed, curling up around you before you can try and put on a new pair of panties or even a shirt.

“I’m all yours,” he murmurs against your shoulder before kissing it gently. “For as long as you want me to be, kitten.”

Your stomach jolts, warmth blooming in your chest as butterflies take flight in your gut. You lace your fingers with his, nestling into his embrace further instead of responding verbally. You know he didn’t mean within the limitations of today; he meant for the long-haul—the conversation you two dance around like idiots and never really hash out the details.

His slow, even breaths lull you back to a dreamless sleep before your brain can run away with this new information.

-

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re like a cat?” Satoru asks as you yawn for the tenth time on the train. You’re thankful that the route to Shimokitazawa is fairly direct from Yoyogi, though you continue to wish Natsumi opened one of her cafés closer to your apartment so you didn’t have to haul your ass so far when you want some of her famous French toast.

He pulls you closer to his chest, your back all but sealed against him on the crowded train. You know he’s being sweet to cover up the territorial nonsense kicking up against the wandering eyes around you, but in a weird way, you find it flattering.

“All the time.” You glance up at him, catching a glimmer of blue beneath the retro sunglasses from the first time you met. “Kento points it out all the time, to the point that nearly all the gifts he gives me are cat-themed. And it’s no surprise that Yaga made Apollo a cat, either. I’d get some serious side-eye for yawning all the time or asking to take breaks to nap during our training sessions when I was younger.”

A sky-blue eye winks at you from beneath the sunglasses and it pairs up with the Grin. “But you’re my sleepy lil’ pussy, aren’t you?”

“Seriously?”

The Grin widens and the arm curled around your waist shifts, his fingers slipping under the boxy sweater to make contact with the bare skin of your stomach. It’s an innocuous touch, but your body instantly responds with a flare of want and a rush of pleasure at his attention.

It’s annoying how quickly he can get you going.

“I bet I can get you purring right now, too.” His fingers trail along your stomach lightly, the lack of pressure but obvious intent doing exactly what he wants them to: make you wet. “Maybe I ought to give it a try, seeing as you’ve got every guy’s attention right now.”

He’s not wrong. Most of the men on the train have been eyeing you since you stepped on, even though you had Satoru hot on your ass—not to mention most of the men are with their partners or far too old for the attention to be anything but creepy. But, the quiet, wild side of you can’t help but bask in the attention. It’s not like you’re an exhibitionist. No, you’re just petty enough to want to make all the women staring daggers at you insanely jealous for stealing the attention of all the men on the train and call the hottest one of them all yours.

You cock your head to the side, exposing the side of your neck—and the vicious hickie he left there this morning. You can’t see his eyes, but his fingers dare to slip lower on your abdomen, skirting the waistband of your leggings. His cock presses against your lower back with pride as he brings his lips over the bruised skin with a sultry smile.

“Now, that’s not fair, kitten.” He chuckles against your neck just as his fingers slip beneath your leggings, tugging playfully at the band of your thong so the friction taunts your clit just right. “You know I’m weak against seeing all my marks on your gorgeous body, especially your neck.”

“What are you going to do about it?” you taunt, your eyes glancing at the station announcement. A smirk pulls at your lips as you press back against him, earning a rumbling growl and a nip to your neck.

“I have half a mind to warp us out of here and show you exactly what I plan to do about it,” he retorts with a low voice. Fluttering your eyelashes, you snatch his sunglasses, slip them on and dart out of the train just as the doors open to your stop.

You laugh at his yelp of surprise as you dodge and weave through the busy station towards the exit. This playfulness—your instinct says to brush it off as a fluke, a spur of the moment kind of thing, but you know that isn’t really true. You’ve always been playful, even as a kid.

It just got buried beneath the bullshit somewhere along the way.

Not just because of Alexander; though, yeah, he was a big dump of emotional shit.

Just life.

College.

Work.

And, of course, avoiding anything that threatens the tiny semblance of peace you’ve found after stitching yourself back together.

You know you’re at the disadvantage, what with Satoru’s height giving him a bird’s-eye view of your moves, making it easier for him to warp to you. But you still run off, dodging the tourists and locals alike as you rush towards the café. You can feel his aura blur and solidify as he warps tiny steps to close the gap, but you can see the Sleepy Sheep Café sign getting closer and the training you pushed through with Maki and Kento pays off with a final sprint towards the door.

“Got ya!” he shouts as he reappears in front of you so your only choice is to run into his arms.

A peal of laughter bubbles out of you as he spins the two of you away from the door, somehow avoiding the curious on-lookers. He starts laughing with you as he finally sets you down, stealing his sunglasses back before kissing you soundly.

“When did you get so fast?” He pulls out your inhaler from your bag, priming it for you as you catch your breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huff, mostly because your lungs are on fire. “I’ve always been fast.”

He gives you a look that you ignore as you suck in the medication, holding your breath while holding his stare. After a second, he shakes his head and starts to usher you inside the café; the scent of fresh baked goods hits you like a delightful ton of bricks. You release a slow, steady breath and steel yourself to deal with the ogling girls at the hostess station.

“Welcome in, sir!” the faux-blonde chirps, promptly ignoring you. Unruffled, you look around the café for the head of curls you know is here somewhere while Satoru asks politely for a table for two. It’s only when you’re being led to a table near the kitchen that you hear Natsumi giving directions in the back, her no-nonsense tone making you smile.

“Here is your seat, miss,” the hostess says crisply, indicating the chair right next to the kitchen’s doors—one of the worst seats in the house. A weary sigh escapes as you pull out the chair, making a mental note to start looking for restaurants with male hosts.

“I thought I heard your laugh earlier.”

Natsumi appears from the kitchen, her expressive face set in a deep frown as she takes in the table, especially your seat. Her sharp eyes pin down the hostess, who stares at her, wide-eyed.

“I’d love to know why you sat my best friend and her boyfriend at the worst table in the café on her birthday, of all days.” Satoru watches the exchange with keen interest, chin resting on the heel of his palm as the hostess’s eyes dart between you, him, and Natsumi. You almost feel bad, except that your pity won’t save her from Natsumi’s wrath.

“I-I didn’t realize… I didn’t k-know she…” the girl stammers, eyes landing on Satoru as if he’s going to swoop in and save her from her own petty grave.

“Yeah, I gathered you weren’t using your brain so much as your eyes,” Natsumi drawls. She takes the menus and your hand, pulling you along as she leads you back up to the front. “I’ll be taking care of them. Get back up front and let the others know that Kaya Nissen is a VIP from here on out, you hear me? Pull this petty shit again and you’ll be fired on the spot.”

Your new table is at the very front, by the main windows. Natsumi places the menus on the same side of the four-top, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table with a sigh.

“Sorry about that. If I’d have known your sorcerer is such a chick-magnet, I’d have warned the girls ahead of time.” She pulls her hair up into a messy bun before fixing her eyes on Satoru, assessing him in that intimidating, quiet manner that tends to make men squirm.

You wave her apology away. “I’m used to it when going out with him. Besides, you had no idea I’d show up today, of all days.”

Her eyes land back on you, brow raised. “True. I can’t say I’m not stunned to see you out and about today, let alone hear you actually laugh like that.” She glances at Satoru. “Kaya’s laugh is most-recognized part of her. Ken and I could find her in a crowded mall instantly growing up.”

He looks at you, tucking a stubborn curl behind your ear to expose the blush creeping up your cheeks. “Today is only the second time I’ve heard it.”

“You’re definitely hotter than Man-Bun,” Natsumi notes, completely redirecting the conversation. You and Satoru turn to her, blinking in surprise. You had completely forgotten about that weird run-in at the bar. “What was his name again?”

“Geto.” Satoru goes still for the smallest second before relaxing back into the chair again, draping his arm casually along the back of your chair. You put your hand on his thigh, feeling the hidden tension in the muscle there. “Sorry, I forgot to mention this last night. We went out with Kento a few nights ago and this Geto guy started making a pass—”

“A very lame, chauvinistic pass,” Natsumi interrupts.

You roll your eyes and push on. “Yes, yes, a very blatant pass at me. Ken stepped in but he made a comment about you, so I got a bit defensive.”

“What she really means is she got pissed and put him in his place in the greatest way.” Natsumi snickers as she remembers the night, which surprises you considering how many shots of tequila she’d had that night. “Took his shot of Jameson like a fucking champ and told him that you’d ruined her for all other men.”

Satoru grins at that, his brow arching with smug interest. You sigh, silently cursing Natsumi for giving him something to hold over you for the foreseeable future.

“Right, and then I compelled him to forget me.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully as he listens, probably thinking about how likely it was that your compulsion actually worked. “But Ken wouldn’t explain how he knew him, or how Geto knows you.”

He shrugs, running his other hand through his white locks idly. “We were close back when we were in high school, you could say we were best friends. Then, we grew up and started down different paths. He’s a teacher at Kyoto Jujutsu Tech, their principal’s right hand goon, really. I’m surprised he was in Tokyo at all, though.”

“I didn’t see anyone else with him that night,” you recall, leaning back against Satoru’s arm as you try to remember that night. You certainly remember puking your guts up when you got back home thanks to the Jameson.

“Hmm. All the same, try to avoid being alone with him, yeah?” He looks down at you, his smile bright but tense at the corners. “If he finds out that we’re together, his interest in you will only get more problematic.”

“Sounds like a dick,” Natsumi points out, crossing her arms. Satoru chuckles as he nods in agreement.

“More or less.” He leans forward, his smile a little brighter, a little less forced. “Now, I heard you have the best French toast in Tokyo.”

You watch the pair of them discuss the best toppings for French toast with a soft smile, the kernel of concern you’d felt when talking about Geto forgotten as you fall back into the blissful bubble that’s become your birthday. Even when Sumi grills Satoru about his salary, apartment, and all the standard points a best friend hits to make sure their other half is well-taken care of, you can’t help but feel like you’re in a dream; when was the last time you laughed this freely, this often?

He dips his head to steal a kiss when Natsumi leaves to prepare the food. You feel his smile against your lips as you automatically let the kiss linger on, the hand you’ve kept on his thigh slipping higher along his inseam.

“I’ve ruined you for all other men, huh?” he teases. His breath warms your cheeks as he nuzzles your neck, no fucks given about the other people in the café watching you two with interest. The hand draped across the back of your chair moves up into your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp expertly and doing some ridiculous things to your nerve endings.

“I knew you’d latch onto that,” you reply, a little too breathlessly than you’d have liked. You palm the growing bulge in his pants once before leaning away and poking him in the chest to keep him at bay. “Behave. We need food and then we can pick this back up later, deal?”

His blue eyes simmer as he looks at you over the rims of his glasses. “Deal.”

-

Being warped to his apartment the moment you step into the empty alley by the café doesn’t surprise you in the least.

Getting stripped naked and pressed up against the floor to ceiling window of his apartment while he eats you out from behind surprises the fuck out of you.

The noises he makes as his tongue works your clit makes your knees buckle. Your palms flatten against the glass, everything about the situation fogging your head with lust. The idea of being seen—your desire to be seen in such a lewd, exposed position short-circuiting your reason. He works a finger into your hole, the invasion pulling a low moan from you as your legs widen for him instantly at the pressure.

“I love the way you respond to me,” he chuckles as he kisses the small of your back, just above your ass. Another finger slips into you, his pace steady and slow. “My sweet, needy kitten.”

“Toru, please. Please don’t stop,” you whine as you flex your hips back to meet his fingers.

He rises to his feet, his fingers never stopping while his other hand smacks the rounded cheek of your ass sharply. “I have no intention of stopping, sweetheart. This is what you deserve after teasing me all day with that sweet ass in those leggings. Not to mention getting me worked up on the train, or while your best friend interrogated me over brunch.”

He spanks you again, making you whimper and clench at his fingers. “Besides, it’s my kitten’s birthday and she wants to spend it with me. That means spoiling her rotten so she can’t think about anything but how much I’ve ruined her for other men, right?”

You’re never going to live that one down.

Your retort dies in your throat as he pushes a third finger into you, sharp words melting in a drawn out moan. Three sharp thrusts push you harder against the window before his fingers are replaced with his tongue—fuck. You love the way his tongue dives into your dripping cunt, laving at your interior walls with a hunger you hope never leaves him.

“O-oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!” His tongue drags over your tight asshole as his finger slip back into you. “Toru, Toru, Toru!”

The sensation of his tongue prodding your puckered hole combined with the pads of his callouses massaging your fucking G-spot has you seeing stars, the edge of your climax right there. Fuck. Oh, fuck.

I need more.

“That’s it, kitten. Cum all over my fingers.” He bites the swell of your ass. “Cum for me, babygirl. Do that, and I’ll give your pussy exactly what it wants.”

His voice is your undoing. The low gravel tones pushing you over the edge, your walls clenching wildly at his fingers as your words become a slur of his name and—fuckfuckfuck.

Chest heaving, you ride out your orgasm on his fingers and acknowledge the relentless need still churning in your core. You look at him from over your shoulder, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown. He’s still fully dressed and it’s a problem.

“Toru, fuck me, please,” you beg breathlessly.

His lips tip up into a grin as he starts shedding his clothes faster than you’d ever seen to date before he crowds you up against the window again, your ass smearing your slick all over his cock as he kisses you hungrily. Fingers pull your hair back, giving him better access to your mouth as the broad head of his cock pushes into you, the stretch blissful. He groans into your mouth as you reflexively squeeze his cock with your pussy, his hips rolling steadily into yours to get as deep as he possibly can.

“You feel fucking perfect,” he moans, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder as his hips thrust into you at a steady, deep pace. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I constantly want you. I’m fucking addicted to you, the way you feel, the sound of that fucking gorgeous laugh.”

His teeth nip at your neck, making you whimper and arch your back, getting his cock even deeper. His hands work your tits, pinching at your dusky nipples in time with his thrusts. You’re a live wire; nothing but sensory overload registers in your brain as he fucks you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your life. The wet sounds of your bodies joining together echo in your ears, mingling with his grunts and moans as he plays your body like an instrument, pulling whimpers and gasps and cries from you in a raw and wild symphony.

“You’re fucking mine, and I want everyone to see you come apart on my cock.” His pace shifts into a steady pounding as he pushes your torso against the cold glass. The change in temperature on your skin makes your pussy clench his cock. “That’s my babygirl. Cum on this throbbing cock.”

You were close before but as his fingers slip between your swollen cleft to rub your juices over your clit, a strangled scream leaves your throat as you tumble head-first into another orgasm, your body spasming against the cold window and his sweat-covered chest. Praise drips from his lips like honey as he grips your hips with his large hands and pulls you back to meet his cock faster and faster. He ruts into you mercilessly, the pressure of another climax building in your core.

“B-baby, please… fuck, oh god.” Putting words together isn’t working. “I’m… fuck! Toru, I’m going to—”

His shallow pants match yours as he works your clit with his fingers again. You scream just as your knees finally give out, but you don’t hit the floor. Instead, you collapse onto his bed thanks to a perfectly timed warp, his hips never stopping their rhythm as he overstimulates the fuck out of you. Like animals in heat, the two of you are a pile of grunts and whimpers, his cock urging you on to gush all over him. Just the thought of it—good fucking gods, you need to give him that. You know that’s what he’s after, why he isn’t stopping.

Another scream rips from your throat as all the stimulation finally breaks you. Tremors shake your body as he half-groans, half-yells your name like a holy litany, pumping his own release into you before you both collapse into a still-connected heap.

It feels like it’s taking years for basic communication to come back to you. Your thundering pulse all you can hear as it matches Satoru’s, his heartbeat pounding against your shoulder blade from where he still lies, catching his breath.

“Well,” he pants, “that confirms it.”

It’s ridiculous, how much effort it takes you to reply, “Confirms what?”

“You’ve ruined me for all other women.”

You know your heart would leap if you had the energy to let it. Instead, you let out a weak laugh and lace your fingers with his, the sentiment acknowledged with his hand squeezing yours.

“Another thing.” He rolls off of you, pushing you over gently onto your back while he remains propped up on his elbow. Aquamarine eyes shine brightly as he presses a sweet, slow kiss to your lips. If time stopped—hell, if the world fucking ended right now, you would die happier than you’ve felt in over a decade. That truth settles deep into your bones as you memorize his face in this moment, a moment you know both his walls and yours a nothing but a memory of a past life. When they finally crumbled, it’s hard to pinpoint; all you know is that this is the clearest you’ve ever seen Satoru Gojo and it’s the clearest he’s ever seen you.

“What?” He smiles and lets his lips barely brush against yours.

“Happy birthday.”

[willadisastercry]

Sleep deprived Keith annoying the crap out of the other paladins before crashing

Tw: depiction of sleep deprivation, insomnia, needles.

Keith has trouble sleeping sometimes... but this is a new level for him. His teammates can’t remember the last time he looked well slept and neither can he. They also don’t remember him being this hyper or social with them, like literally ever.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Shiro so annoyed,” Lance whispered over a crouched Pidge as they peered around the corner into the control room.

Keith was hovering around Shiro as he typed away on the panel in front of him, working out the strategy for their next mission.

“Well, if you really think about it, the Galra are kind of like space Russia, they have a lot of real estate, the people are really tall, and—hey, wait why wouldn’t we infiltrate the loading dock first? That’s the most reliable route because the lions won’t be far, we can just cloak them ya know, like all stealth? and if we go in where...”

“I think his mouth is twitching, watch. There it is, it did it again!” Pidge pointed out, her eyes wide in amazement.

The older boy’s mouth was indeed twitching, the corner pulling up like he wanted to say something as well as drop someone, but he refrained from both.

“I think I would’ve punted Keith across the room by now... do you think Shiro meditates, he must meditate, ya know? He’s always so calm and reasonable, always telling us that we have to breathe and whatever, no one can possibly be that zen without—“

But before Lance could finish his analysis on Shiro’s freak ability to be so zen, the basis of his argument shattered with an explosion from their team leader.

“I can’t even hear myself think, Keith!” Shiro started, a vein very visibly pumping away on his forehead as his face took on a dark flush.

“I have been watching the same surveillance loop for five minutes now beccause I can’t focus with you rambling in my ear!”

The red paladin’s face fell, his antsy pacing halted and his hands tapping his side like he was anticipating something. He took a breath. He hadn’t realized he’d started trembling.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—fuck,” Keith said before turning away, “I’ll leave you alone.”

Lance and Pidge nearly toppled over with how aggressively they flung themselves away from where they had been perched while they eavesdropped. Mostly out of curiosity at how Shiro would handle a manic-ly energetic Keith.

They could hear Shiro cursing under his breath, then ushering an apology for being so harsh but Keith likely didn’t hear it as he hightailed it out of there. He moved so quickly he didn’t even notice the pair as they stood planted in the center of the hallway failing to feign even the slightest of nonchalance.

Shiro ducked his head out to find that Keith had already disappeared and became wildly flustered when he found the very guilty-looking pair instead.

“Uhuh,” he cleared his throat, “do you guys know what’s going on with Keith? I didn’t mean to be such a dick, but he’s like next level tweaking out and I have no idea why...”

“Uh, we’re not sure either,” Pidge replied, “but he’s been like this all morning.”

“Yeah, he made Coran snap and crack a crystal in half earlier...”

“Oooo and Allura stained her dress when he wouldn’t shut up about how human mice carry infection and probably shouldn’t be near food and then she like flung her coffee...”

“And poor Hunk was trying to entertain his ramblings about the how hard it is to attain cinnamon in space and that it should be rationed and ended up burning a whole batch of snickerdoodles...”

“He was bouncing off the walls, it was weird” Pidge resolved. “And Keith never has that much energy.”

“Yeah, he’s been rambling, that’s my thing! The kid hardly says more than five words in one sentence and now he can’t shut up,” Lance added, scratching his head.

“Okay,” Shiro looked like he was running over in his head a million possibilities of what could be wrong, “will you two go check on him for me... and let him know I didn’t mean to yell at him?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll let you know if we figure it out,” Lance promised before they started after their friend.

They checked the common room first as it was the next room on their way and found only a grumpy Hunk scraping the singed bits off of the plate of cookies in front of him.

“D’you see Keith?” Pidge asked, surveying the sight before her.

“No,” he gruffed sadly, taking a bite of one of the cookies and breaking it off with a loud snap.

“Okay, keep an eye out, we think something’s wrong...” Lance looked around, “I know where he might’ve gone but we have to grab something first, let’s go.”

They took off at an urgent trot, once again more out of curiosity than concern because this just didn’t occur. Keith is a guy of few words, so when he speaks it’s usually sarcasm, not a rapid flurry of silly questions that seem more like the goofy blue paladin than the tempered red. This was weird for him. And they just wanted to know why.

But their curiosity changed quickly into fear as soon as they entered the hallway of the training room because they could hear the intense whir of the simulator working. From down the hall.

“Shit Keith,” Lance said activating their bayards they stopped to pick up on the way.

“He’s got it on the highest setting—not even Shiro can handle that intensity solo,” Pidge noted as they raced for the door.

“This kid’s got a death wish,” Lance deadpanned as he wrenched the doors of the training room open, only to be immediately met with Keith’s strangled scream as his head snapped against the floor with a sickening crack, the sentry that threw him across the room quickly closing the distance between them.

Lance ran forward and knelt down, slowly lining up shots and taking down the new sentries as soon as they regenerated while Pidge made her way to the kill switch.

By the time she got to the lever and tugged it all the way down Keith was dangling from his twisted arm and throat, shuddering gasps the only noise he was able to make in protest.

Lance had just taken out the second sentry cornering Keith with a head shot when every robot assailant powered down at once, the one choking Keith releasing his grip on his throat first, his arm pulling at an awkward angle as he fell before it was released. The pale boy let out a shrill gush before clamping his lips together tightly and pulling his slumped form up with the help of the wall.

“What the fuck was that, mullet?!”

He refused to make eye contact with his worried friends as he went to storm out like before, but this time he moved slowly, gingerly.

“I needed a good workout... to clear my head,” was all he managed. They could tell he didn’t want to let on that he was in pain, but the way he grimaced when his arm swung as he walked as well as the obvious bump protruding from his shoulder where no bone should be told them otherwise.

“Oh, that’s a load! That was not a good workout, that was a good ass-whooping! And I’m not entirely sure there’s anything left in your head to clear after the way it smacked the—“

“You’re hurt,” Pidge blurted. “The sentry dislocated your shoulder, I’m staring at the head of your right humerus and I shouldn’t be able to do that...”

“Oh... huh,” was all the mind he seemed willing to pay to his injury, his eyes bleary and wider than usual as he continued to walk away from them, but they persisted.

“We’re taking you to get that checked out by Coran. Right now,” Lance ordered.

“I’m good,” he assured, shouldering the door with his other arm.

Lance reached the door handle first and pulled on it, keeping Keith from going anywhere and spurring a low groan when his bad shoulder was jolted.

“Lance...”

He looked so tired.

He closed his eyes and continued to lean heavily into the hulking door of the training room. Under the bright artificial lights his skin looked greyer than it usually did, every bone in his face sickly accentuated and sharpened, the staple bags underneath his eyes hanging heavier than ever.

“Keith, you’re hurt and something else is obviously wrong so NO, we’re not letting you storm off to go pout to maintain your stup—“

“Shut up—“

Keith’s vision tunneled, his eyes fixed in a clearly unfocused haze as he stared at nothing.

“What?” Lance questioned, very caught off guard by the sudden interjection.

“I s-said shut u-up,” he whispered as he sucked in a shuddering breath.

The shrillness of Lance’s chastisement made his head swim and he blinked away the haze that came with the sudden levity.

“Hey, take it easy...”

It seemed the more he tried to control the tremor in his voice the worse his entire body seemed to shake.

He was fading; he could feel it.

The exhaustion had given way to anxiety as the adrenaline dripped dry allowing him to fully feel the pain in his shoulder as it pulsed angrily.

It was like the tide was washing out, the tumultuous waves of the storm that settled itself in his chest receding just before the next wave surged, and then he could feel everything he’d been ignoring.

Every individual bone seemed to ache with weariness and the pressure behind his tired eyes was so immense that it made him unsteady.

“Woah, what’s going on man?”

The floor suddenly seemed to shift beneath him, like he was walking on one of those moving conveyer belts in the airport that made your feet feel weird once you were back on solid ground.

“I think you should sit down,” Pidge urged, tugging worriedly at the hem of his shirt.

As much as his pride wanted him to protest he couldn’t seem to muster enough energy to even disagree let alone have a shred of cofidence that he could possibly get himself back to his room on his own.

They seemed to understand by his silence that he wouldn’t push away their help now and then he could feel firm hands on his good shoulder and back, guiding his trembling frame down to the floor where he came to rest his head on the knee that wasn’t bouncing.

“Where you at, mullet?”

The tinier hand had never left the middle of his back and rubbed soothing circles on the tense muscles beneath it.

“Can you tell us what you feel like right now?” Pidge asked before moving a hand to steady his restless leg.

He took a strained breath.

“D-dizzy... c-cold maybe, I-I don’t know why I can’t stop s-shaking.”

“That’s okay, don’t worry about that.”

“Here, this’ll help,” Lance added as he draped his jacket over Keith’s back, careful to not have it touch his injury.

“How’s your shoulder? Is anything else hurting?”

Keith thought about it for a solid minute, finding it sort of difficult to organize his thoughts and give Pidge an answer.

“Hurts a lot. S-so does my head... I have a headache—maybe... maybe a migraine I d-don’t know.”

“Is that what was bothering you before? The lights are pretty bright in here so that’s probably not helping... why don’t we start heading to the infirmary, before it gets worse?”

He nodded slowly against his knee and lifted his head up, his eyes still pressed together tightly. He pried one open to test his head but the swirling nausea and general agony that followed was answer enough.

“You don’t have to keep them open if it hurts.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and steeled himself as they took up his good arm and pulled him to his feet then waited for him to give the go ahead before making their way.

It was almost worse when his eyes were closed. The pounding in his head had only increased while they guided him, each step rattling his brain around so painfully that it almost distracted him from the instense heat in his shoulder.

He didn’t know why his head hurt so bad and why it was making his eyes so sensitive. He knew he’d hid it, but not hard enough to warrant this. He was also really tired, practically jumping out of his skin every few moments when he let his head tip forward slightly as if to nod off, which was entirely strange and alarming seeing as he was so drowsy he almost fell asleep while still walking.

He hadn’t noticed when they made it to the infirmary, only realizing when he was being pushed to sit down on something and a light was being shone across his now opened eyes.

“No! Oh-ouch,” he inhaled sharply when the light retreated and he was left seeing a blurred strip of bright white across his field of vision.

“I apologize, my boy, it had to be done. No concussion though! We have dimmed the lights for your comfort, the aversion is most peculiar given your injuries... “

He proded Keith’s shoulder blade and the inflamed area around it, earning a hiss when he tested the dexterity of the limb.

“The scanner detects significant ligament damage that will need to be corrected in a pod after I er... set the joint in its proper place. It will hurt for only a tick and I have several nerve blockers and muscle relaxers I can inject in the area to make the process less painful. Does that sound manageable to—“

But Coran didn’t get to hear Keith’s answer, the way his face greened and he clamped a hand over mouth was telling enough. He bit back a sob as he lurched forward, not enough time or notice for anyone to prepare before Keith was dry heaving, but they didn’t really need to worry because nothing but saliva came up.

“Were you at all ill before this today? This is the first time you’ve been sick to your stomach... when was the last time you ate?”

Silence only followed for a dobash before all three launched into different themes of admonition, but they all had the same anger to them. He knew they meant well, that they were just worried, but the bite to their words made his eyes sting like hell and he was seriously worried he wouldn’t be able to keep the tears at bay before Shiro was there telling them to be quiet.

He turned his head away and tried to breathe normally, but his chest was working up and his head throbbed pitifully and the movement made the burning in his shoulder deepen to where he had to hold his breath to keep from aggravating it. But Shiro’s warm, human hand was pulling his face towards his own, his eyes taking in Keith’s form and coming to several conclusions at once, the tension everywhere, the darkness under his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands shook entwined about themselves...

“Keith,” his voice was so low and warm, he felt his chest pang at the gentleness in it. He closed his eyes, he knew what was coming next and he was both relieved and terrified for it.

“When was the last time you got a solid night’s sleep?”

He waited, even though they both already knew the answer and then it was when his hand moved to cup the top of his head that he finally broke. He didn’t need to speak for Shiro to know the answer.

Too long. It had been entirely too long since Keith could remember going to bed and waking up refreshed, each night only more frustrating than the last as he laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, knowing full well it wouldn’t work. Nothing did.

This week had been too much though. Running on empty on far too many missions followed by a dozen insomnia-induced late night training sessions trying to tire himself out in order to snag only a few hours of rest.

He’d just kept excerting himself and not ever properly recharging, but not on purpose, he physically couldn’t.

That part wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help that, but he could let people know he was struggling and he had purposefully not alerted Shiro.

“Shit, Keith,” Shiro murmured with Keith’s forehead on his chest as he held back the sound of his crying, “you have to tell me when it gets bad like this! It’s not safe for you to be fighting and training when you’re not properly rested, you know that...”

Coran resumed analyzing his shoulder.

“And now you’re hurt because I snapped at you—Keith, I’m so sorry, I should’ve realized...”

“D-dont,” he managed through stiff breaths as Coran worked his bad arm gently out of his shirt, “s’not your fault, never is.”

Shiro set his jaw and eyed Coran who looked at him sadly and nodded.

“This conversation is far from over, but we have to get that shoulder fixed right now.”

Coran asked Pidge to gather some supplies and Lance to help him brace Keith.

“You’ll feel a small pinch in your arm now.”

He did. The area felt cold with the liquid that was now under his skin and Coran rubbed it for a minute before moving near his collarbone.

“This one might burn, but you’ll find it entirely numb in a dobash.”

This one was quicker, less to inject, longer to rub in so it spread. It burned and itched, earning a groan before he felt less of Coran’s fingers and more of just pressure.

“Oh, that’s... better.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

He felt someone kneeling behind him holding just below his shoulder and around his chest. Someone else was in front of him holding his arm up with their hand on his other shoulder, Shiro’s hands on his shaking one.

“Now I trust you’re familiar with what is about to happen, do you want me to explain what I am doing or—“

“Don’t explain, just—“

The pain that exploded with the hollow pop that followed was even grosser than the sound itself. Keith’s vision whited for a second and he was immediately ashen and panting as his body worked through the shock of the correction, his ears rang and so he wasn’t sure if he had screamed or not but with the way his throat ached he’d assumed he had.

Exhaustion weighed on him like a sopping wet blanket, making it difficult to keep his head up let alone his entire upper body. He wasn’t sure how long he had been leaned against Shiro’s chest once he started coming back to himself and realized he was the only thing keeping him upright.

Something was compressing his shoulder, pulling in places he didn’t quite like as it was wrapped tightly around the still damaged joint, making its way around his chest and back several times. Shiro held him away for a moment while something fell around his neck that held his arm against his chest and had an attachment to secure it to his side.

He tried to open his eyes and see what was going on but they were so very heavy and he was in awe of how he wasn’t entirely asleep by now, almost thankful for the steady ache behind his eyes as it was forcing him to keep them closed.

“You still there, Keith?”

He hummed into Shiro’s shirt in response.

“Hey, so we’re going to forgo the pod to repair all the torn ligaments for a little while. Coran thinks it’s best that you catch up on your sleep without the being frozen part... we’ll see how you’re feeling tomorrow, does that sound alright to you?”

It sounded superb to him. Truly.

He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline crash or the general daze from sleep deprivation, but he was entirely checked out. Sufficiently out of it to care much about anything other than Coran’s lovely altean painkillers and the comfy pillow his head was now resting on.

Once he was laid down he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness almost immediately, the last thing he knew before he was consumed in bliss was the blanket that was being pulled up to his chest and Shiro calming words.

“Rest, buddy.”

And he finally did because now he actually could.

He wasn’t sure if it was the level of exhaustion he’d brought himself to or the threat of pain when he awoke, but whatever it was keeping him asleep he was grateful for it. Coran never even had to administer a sedative to keep him down during the night, just pain killers so he wouldn’t be woken up by his shoulder.

He slept for a day and a half after that, everyone taking turns watching over him while he slept so Shiro didn’t bring upon himself a similar fate.

The next time he was conscious coming deep into the next night, nearly early morning. Shiro stirred in the chair he was posted up in when Keith groaned and tried to turn over but cried out instead.

“Crap, what—hey... you’re okay,” Shiro soothed as he held Keith’s searching hand away from the thick layer of bandages covering his shoulder.

“It hurts, Shiro! It h-hurts!”

“I know, Keith, I know it hurts.”

Shiro sounded sad, Keith didn’t want to make him sad.

“I’m sorry...”

“You don’t need to be sorry for anything, bud.”

“I was stupid, I shoulda t-told you—just didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, Keith. All of us are going to worry until you stop giving us reasons to,” he laughed weakly as he ran his hand through Keith’s hair while his breathing returned to normal.

“And until then, we’ll be here to make sure you don’t get pulverized by the training simulators and aren’t walking around delirious from not having slept in a week, okay?”

“Aha, yeah... okay.”

He tried to doze off again, but the steady pulse of pain in his shoulder seemed to prevent it. After an hour of trying, Shiro called Coran in who agreed it was also time to go into a pod.

“You will feel as good as new in no time, number four.”

Keith nodded absently as he rested his head back against the cushion in the cryopod before its doors closed with a whoosh and then cold surrounded him, lulling him off into another much needed sleep.

[bibliocratic]

If you’re in the mood for a prompt I’ve been thinking about Jon getting hurt during the apocalypse and trying to hide it from Martin in a manner very similar to what he warned Martin not to do to him. I enjoy your writing very much! Have a good day!

I am always in the mood for some good old apocalypse hurt/comfort! Thanks for the prompt <3

jonmartin, series 5 adjacent but no spoilers, hurt/comfort

It's been a long two days.

Jon's breathing is hard-won, gravel-scraping up a dry and scream-torn throat. If he is sleeping, and Martin can't tell, even now if that's what to call it when the Archive's Eyes are closed, his head is mercifully free of dreams.

Martin's hands are sweat-lathered, muscles taut with a wired and overworked exhaustion. The scabs on his arms are itching from where Jon's blunted, gnawed nails dug and scored in a senseless panic,  as the rest of his body convulsed, set upon some feverish pyre.  

Martin doesn't even think Jon knew who he was. Doesn't know how long it will take for Jon to claw himself back.

It's been a long two days, but then days don't exist any more, so maybe he's getting the times wrong again. Martin shakes his shaggy head free from the dizziness building up, dust and grime clogging the smooth-running of him, adjusts his tremulous hold on the cricket bat, already soiled and discoloured dark along its edge. The sky hasn't taken on a night-pall since the world crashed sideways; it's the perpetual grey of an un-tuned station, studded with the great flexing, conjoining, bifurcating pupils that are now all staring at their beleaguered Archivist as he sweats and burns and cries out and whatever Martin can do for him, it is clearly not enough.

They'd thought it was the Hunt when it had attacked.  Slaughter at a push. Jon had cast his face in a dissatisfied, pained expression, bemoaning his own slowness as Martin disinfected the snag-toothed wound of the now decimated beast,  cleaning off the blood as thoroughly as possible, bandaging the area as Jon shook jittery with adrenaline and pain they'd no remedy for.

It was clearly sore to walk on. Jon had grunted as he stood, waved off Martin's fussing, trying to grind down any insurrection of his body even as they went mud-trudge slow across the vacant domain.

He'd grown ashen as his steps lost their stride and turned to shuffling. Martin had been the one to set his jaw and put his foot down, setting up camp in that nether-grey of something that would never be night again, shoring his spine with his own brand of stubbornness. Jon had agreed, but clearly not happy about their lack of progress, and they compromised on resting for a few hours, see if Jon's body would heal the injury on its own.

When Martin had asked Jon later if he was feeling better, Jon had said yes. Had said it was all healed up even as he shouldered his backpack, that they should really get moving. Martin had made a quip about Jon's super healing abilities and Jon had, he'd smiled like he was in on the joke, hadn't he?

Jon had said he was fine, and Martin believed him because he trusted him to tell him the truth.

They'd walked and walked through mire and moor and Jon had ploughed on, hadn't winced and stumbled. He'd been quiet, but then there were days like that for the both of them, that wasn't – should Martin have said something? Had the lines around his eyes been tighter, had he turned away from Martin as they walked, had there been anything he'd failed to see? As they walked, when they set up camp and Martin had helped Jon with the zip that was always getting stuck on their sleeping bag, when Jon had encircled his arms bodily around Martin and grunted a weary goodnight.

Martin had tussled free from the greedy, fog-banked maw of his nightmares to Jon panting and spasming next to him. Eyes all open, pocked across his body like boils, rolling sightless, his pupils shot wide in the damp frame of his skin, frothing spit at the corners of his mouth. His skin shiny, fish-scaling with sweat, his outward front of humanity losing ground as his flesh becomes more eyes than skin, his voice crackling like corrupted tape, his words, when they slicked garbled and gibberish from his lips, all stolen from other people's tragedies.

He throws his body around  storm-wrecked and insensate, and he burns when Martin puts a hand to his forehead, and he won't wake, not for Martin's calls and shakes, not for anything.

When Martin goes to check, the wound on his leg has rooted from ankle to thigh, festering rot-black branches of something sludgy and swollen and varicose tracing the same lines as his veins.

The Corruption wars with Beholding upon the battleground of its Archive, and there is nothing Martin can do.

Their camp transitions to medical bay, but Martin is not a doctor. He tries to use the limited water they have to quench the fire-brand heat across Jon's skin; Jon flinching and fighting every pathetic gesture to comfort. Martin's mouth runs itself down shushing and failing to soothe his scalding delirium, Jon who sheds tears and pleads forgiveness and begs mercy for those he has lost. The dark lichen that is ensnaring the veins of his hip, his stomach grants him the cruelty of being able to see his burden of ghosts made material before him.

He cries at whatever Tim says to him. He tries to follow a phantom Sasha from the tent, struggles against Martin as he tries to keep him from walking out, from hurting himself more, Jon's slurring words barely understandable but for his moaning desperation that slips into anger for Martin to let go, it's Sasha, Martin, let me go, Martin!

He scratches and bites and Martin makes himself immovable, insurmountable. Jon's struggles always boil down to a grief-drowned sobbing eventually, and Martin can carry him limbless and half-collapsed back to bed.

Martin treats the yellow-weeping wound with what little antibiotic ointments they packed, cleans the swollen, reddened skin, and Jon wavers between the ghosts and shadows of his lying brain. Martin prefers the tearful, mourning Jon in some ways, because at least, there, in some ways, he at least remembers who Martin is, even if he might as well be as wraith-like as his hauntings.

It is better than Jon's terror.

When Martin looms large and unknown over him, Jon's legs scatter to push away. His eyes recognising nothing, staring up at him with suspicion. Jon's body has not been kindly used, these past years, and Jon won't let him touch his wound, kicks and pushes him away, tries to run even as his legs give under him. When every question is laced with the command of the Archive, and the compulsion tears answers Martin didn't want to give from his throat, the static in his head too much like Elias' violation and still Jon is panicking, asking his questions and not understanding the answers, and Martin dutifully retches up every horror Jon wants to be privy to, even if he's not sure it's only Jon asking, it's only Jon who wants to know any more.

Martin's body heaves up every unwanted honesty, peppering them with hysterical apologies of his own as he holds his hands over Jon's mouth to gag him, muffling the sound painfully as he presses his hands to clench Jon's jaw to immobile,  even as Jon fights him, even as every eye stares and finds him wanting.

Martin is exhausted being a prison, of being so held as hated in the eyes of someone he knows loves him. But one of them has to be stronger now. Martin has never wanted to think of Jon as dangerous, but he watches the eyes grow rounded and alert as they feed on his dredged up horrors, the static ringing howling and hungry in his head. He's not entirely sure Jon will be able to stop himself from going too far.

When Jon calms, slips back into fever-dreams, there are bruises in the shape of fingertips around his mouth, and Martin can hardly bear to look at them.

The roots have receded their front lines, the puncture wounds puckered smaller when Martin checks again, and he can't look at that either.

It has been a long two days.

Jon's shivering has settled now. He rocks and frowns and breathes shallowly, but he doesn't bawl and sob names at the air.  He doesn't try and ask any more questions. His fever broken, Martin thinks he's dream-walking again, for the roots continue their retreat steadily, the Archive feeding somehow.

Some pawing, creeping things have chanced their luck at an embattled, weakened Archive, and Martin's responsibility teeters between nurse and soldier. He's not a good fighter, but he's desperate for them both to survive this and that serves him well enough. There's blood scoring a bandoleer down and over his shoulder, a crest of viscera coating his shirt from some misbegotten creature of worm and want. He can't put weight on his right foot properly. He is so so tired, but still he sits, half folded, his grisly cricket bat over his knee, directly in front of the open mouth of their tent and  the dreaming Jon, whose eyes scatter misted and blind under his eyelids.

Jon returns as Jon maybe a day later. Disorientated, groaning as he sits up, only two eyes in his head again. He calls out Martin's name, dry-throated, in his own voice again. He sounds sluggish and cautious. Not accusatory or betrayed or scared.

Martin kneels down by the sleeping bag, checking the untroubled skin of his calf is free from wound or infection. Jon's eyes are staring at him, nervy, over-bright, but he ignores them for the moment. Exhaustion has sanded down all his edges; he doesn't have the energy he wants for his anger, not yet, not when the worry has yet to pass from his system.

“How long was I, um, out of it?” Jon asks slowly. He looks uncomfortable. The tent is permeated with the unflattering smell of sickness and blood, both of which he has noticed if the slight wince in his expression is anything to go by.

“Three days, I guess,” Martin throws out, packing up the medical supplies now he's sure they won't be needed any more. “Not that time works any more, but you know. Estimate.”

“My leg...?”

Jon has the good grace to look guilty, and Martin feels a petty, digging stab of satisfaction. Good. Good that he knows he fucked up there.

“It got infected,” he replies shortly, shoving the supplies down to the bottom of his rucksack, kicking some clothes in a bundle near the mouth of the tent. He'll fold them separately in a minute;  they're going to need to be cleaned at the next place they find water. “The thing that bit you, I think it must have already been aligned to Corruption, or whatever.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Yeah.”

“...Martin?” Jon's voice is low and tentative. He looks as weak as Martin feels. Martin closes his eyes, because he can feel what is coming, and he can't do this, not now, not with his thread-bare temper, the panic that's not unknotted from his bones. “Martin, why won't you look at me?”

Martin straightens from his hunch. Breathes out long and hard through his nose. Turns.

“Better?” he asks. He knows it comes out as a snap.

Jon's eyes go wide as they properly take him in, a blood-tainted furious wash-out of a man.

“You're hurt,” he breathes out, looking at the marks left by things Martin didn't kill fast enough, the little smarting wounds Jon dug in himself in his terror.

Martin wants to snarl at Jon to stop looking at him.

He doesn't.

“Yes,” Martin replies instead.

Jon's hands are taking on gestures of panic.

“Martin, will you – God, s-sit down, I-I-I'll get the medical supplies, take a look at them, make sure they're nothing – ”

“No,” Martin says. He's struggling to remain impartial, to remember how to be gentle to those he wants to treat gently. He breathes out another jagged exhale. “No. I'll sort them myself.”

Jon's pushing himself up to standing, staring critically at the disastrous image Martin makes, motioning to the rucksack.

“If you just let me – ”

“No,” Martin snaps. “No, I don't want you to help me, alright? What I want, ok, is to make sure you're all healed,  and then I want as close to a bath as I can get in this bloody hellscape, and then I want to get some fucking sleep for a bit. That at the moment, that is the limit of what I am capable to wanting.”

There's a tense pause.

“You're angry at me,” Jon says in a small voice.

“Ten points there, Jon, really perceptive,” Martin snarks back. He can't look at Jon because he knows that would have stung, and he knows he wanted it to, wanted Jon to know a fraction of how much these last few days have hurt.

“Because I didn't tell you about my leg?”

“Oh, I'm not sure. Do you think that's possibly something I might be a bit upset about?”

“Martin...”

“If you're going to – to give me excuses, I don't want to hear them. Of course I'm upset! I'm furious actually. Because you told me it was fine. You told me it was healed, and I trusted you to tell me the truth, because unlike you, Jon, I can't read people's bloody minds, s-so trusting you is all I have to go on. Apparently that was asking too much from you.”

Jon flinches at that. Martin bites his tongue so hard it hurts, and tells himself that Jon deserves his honesty, not, never his cruelty. That this is not the man he wants to be.

“I am angry,” he repeats, deliberately quieter. “And we will talk about it later. But I – I cannot deal with it right now. Not without saying something I'll regret. So I want you to drop it, and just – leave me alone for a bit.”

Jon nods jerkily, looking cowed and miserable.

“Alright,” he says. “Alright, I'll – er, go, have a scout around for any water?”

It's as open an offer for space as Martin's going to get.

Martin must have collapsed onto the sleeping bag first before anything else because he wakes up with his shirt still starchy with blood what must be hours later. He blinks, turns over, groaning at his protesting muscles. Jon's eyes immediately swivel to him from the other side of the tent.

“You fell asleep,” he says quietly. He's clearly been sitting nearby, waiting for Martin to open his eyes. “I didn't want to – There's a stream, not too far, and I, um got water, if you want to wash... I've used some, so it's er, it's safe, and I've, er boiled it in case of, er bacteria and things. I'll – I'll get it and then give you some privacy....”

He's stumbling up. Martin reaches out a scratch-marked hand, and murmurs 'Jon'.

He doesn't know what he wants. He feels gross and sluggish and wrung-out empty, and the ashes of his anger are still embers he could stoke into expression.

Jon lingers. Looks from Martin's eyes to Martin's outstretched hand. He still has bruises the shape of fingertips near the side of his mouth, and he strikes an ill, frail figure in this light.

Martin's had enough of Jon looking scared of him these past few days.

Martin repeats his name.

Jon comes over. Kneels down where Martin has sat up so they're almost the same height.

Martin's hand settles on Jon's wrist, and he exhales shakily.

“Why didn't you tell me something was wrong?” Martin asks. This is not the question he wants to ask. The question sat poisonous behind his teeth is why didn't you trust me enough to tell me the truth? Neither of them can stomach that sort of question right now.

“I thought it would go away on its own,” Jon replies, shame coating his words. “I thought I could handle it. I didn't want you worrying.”

I worry anyway, Martin does not say. Does not need to.

“You were so sick,” Martin whispers instead. “You were so sick and you weren't getting better for such a long time, a-and there was nothing I could do but watch.”

“I'm sorry,” Jon says. “God, Martin, I – I'm sorry.”

“I know you are,” Martin replies quietly. “I know.”

Martin might offer up forgiveness if he wasn't so tired. His head so thick with all the things he is powerless against in this world.

“Let me,” Jon says, at Martin's side. His fingers hover over Martin's shoulder. “Let me, please.”

Martin nods.

Jon helps him strip out of the disgusting, blood-ruined armour he's been stewing in. His movements are faltering but methodical, light-fingered and exploratory. He soaks a cloth in water that's cooling down from boiling, dabs at every small mark scattered like anvil sparks across Martin's chest, his arms, the deeper wound at his shoulder that's begun to blossom with bruising. His eyes keep flicking to Martin's face, like he's double-checking something.

Martin, for his part, turns dozy and biddable, straining to keep conscious while Jon apparently tries to put plasters over every single mark on his body.

“What did this?” Jon finally asks as he presses gauze to the slash over his shoulder.

Martin blinks slowly, rouses.

“The usual,” he says. “Bunch'a monster things, wantin' to take a bite out of you.”

Jon hums.

“I saw what was left of the cricket bat,” he says. “Very gallant of you.”

Martin huffs a laugh. Jon continues wiping the grime and dirt down from Martin's arms, stopping every once in a while to soak and wring out his cloth.

“What did this?” he asks again, peering at the imprints where fingers wrapped around the meat of Martin's arm and tightened, the crescent curve dig of nails.

Martin thinks about lying, but he doesn't have the strength. He can't shoulder it, and neither of them should have to. Secrets have never served either of them very well.

“You,” he replies, lowly. “You were, you were feverish, you didn't know what was happening.”

“I didn't...?” Jon starts, but then he reaches up, touches his own bruise-marked jaw with a dawning realisation.

“I hurt you,” he says, slow and horrified.

Martin remembers every horror and honesty the Eye dragged from his unwilling throat to bolster the crumbling body of its Avatar, and murmurs: “You didn't mean to.”

He doesn't say that he thinks it helped.  He doesn't say that if anything like this happens again, it'll be an option. He doesn't think Jon wants to hear that right now.

Jon pulls away as his mouth shapes another sorry, but Martin cuts him off, enfolds his arms around his scarecrow limbs and buries his face in Jon's throat. After a moment, Jon's trembling arms complete the circuit.

“You can't do this again,” Martin says, throat thick. “I can't – I can't do this on my own. I can't do this if you don't trust me.”

“I do,” Jon breathes in, damp and hitching. “I do trust you, I'm – I'm sorry. Martin, I'm sorry. You're not on your own. It won't happen again, I-I promise, it won't.”

They spend a long time holding each other up in that small, cramped tent, murmuring promises this life might not let them keep.

Martin crushes down the cynicism this world has tried to teach him, and chooses to believe in every single one.

[hydra-collector]

Wrath

Ship: Platonic LAMP???? I wouldn’t really know what to call it, platonic (or romantic) Intrulogical

Characters: Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders

TW: self-harm, suicidal thoughts, crying, blood and fairly visual description of injury

Words: 1542

Summary: “Shut up.”

The last word was uttered in a growl, Logan’s hands tugging at his new long sleeves in frustration. Patton didn’t hear him, Virgil gave a small glance before looking back over to Roman, and Roman was too invested in his debate with Patton to notice.

“I said, shut up.”

(In which Logan has an angry breakdown.)

~~

“Shut up.”

The last word was uttered in a growl, Logan’s hands tugging at his new long sleeves in frustration. Patton didn’t hear him, Virgil gave a small glance before looking back over to Roman, and Roman was too invested in his debate with Patton to notice.

“I said, shut up. ”

He said it louder this time, gaining the attention of the other three.

“Isn’t that kinda rude, Lo-”

“I don’t fucking care,” Logan cut Patton off. The moral side looked taken aback at his use of cursing, but didn’t say anything. Good.

“I think you’ve been plenty rude already, haven’t you, Morality?”

He refused to address Patton by his name, the cuff of his button down he was gripping cutting off the blood flow in his wrists. He straightened up, looking around at his friends.

“Do you know stupid you all sound?”

“Wow, teach-”

“Nope. None of you are allowed to say anything. I have been trying to help you for the past hour, but yet you all still refuse to listen. This problem would have been solved ages ago if you had just let me talk. You hate that, though. You hate me.”

Roman and Patton looked as if they were trying to hold back from saying something back. Logan let go of his cuff, shifting his hand so his nails could dig against his wrist. Little pricks of blood made their way out of his skin, but he didn’t dare stop.

“You all have made it very clear that you want nothing to do with me. You ignore me, interrupt me, ridicule my perfectly valid advice, villainize me for simple mistakes that I immediately fix, ignore my obvious mental health issues while you make a big deal out of each other’s slight concerns, and you,” he shot a look at Patton, “don’t respect my boundaries.”

“We-”

Patton cut himself off this time, anxiously tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie hanging down over his chest. He hadn’t deserved that gift, Logan decided.

“Maybe you’re all right. Maybe I’m not important. Virgil may be a key component of Thomas, but are you really going to pretend that Anxiety is more important than Logic?!?”

He looked around, letting the thought sink into their minds. The guilt was showing on their faces, he could tell that they felt bad, once Logan finally had the balls to call them out on it.

“Or maybe I’m just not important to you. I’m annoying, stupid, intrusive, boring, the list and insults go on, and I’m not good enough for any of you. I have tried harder. I have done everything I can to make you all listen, to make you all care, to show that I know full well how much feelings affect me in the best way that someone like me can. But you don’t want that. You don’t want anybody harder to deal with than Anxiety, you don’t want someone as useless and incompetent at I am because you refuse to make an effort to understand me, how I work, how I feel things, because I’m the problem!”

His voice was getting louder, bloody half circles drying as he shoved his finger into his chest, pointing to himself. He could feel salty tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, not making an effort to ignore them anymore.

“And look where that got us!!! Thomas is miserable because Anxiety has him staying up to ungodly hours of the night, Morality has him giving up his free time when his friends are mildly inconvenienced, and Creativity has him destroying his mental health over his self worth! I could help if you all would fucking let me!!! Virgil’s scared for Thomas’s mental health, for Roman’s mental health, for Patton’s mental health because somehow Patton destroying Thomas’s life hurts him, while I’m left here to figure this out on my own, while knowing the people who I care about hate me!!!”

It was a scream at this point, the words beginning to scratch at his throat as tears really began to fall.

“And maybe I’m not good enough!! Maybe I’m not logical enough!! Because what kind of Logic does something like this!?!?”

Logan yanked up his sleeve, tearing bandages off of numerous cut marks, sweat hitting them as their dried blood glittered underneath the light. Patton made a move to approach him, but Logan let out a sound between a hiss and a scream which scared him away well enough.

“Maybe I am defective!! I’m not GOOD enough for you, I’m not good enough for THOMAS!!! I’m USELESS, I’m-”

He cut himself off by biting down hard on his right arm, teeth breaking the skin until blood leaked out. He yanked up his other sleeve, using his nails to dig past the skin on his left arm, leaving four long, thin streaks of blood.

“Logan, stop. ”

Virgil moved forward, worry and fear showing behind his eyes. Logan just missed hitting him, using a swatting motion to get him away.

“Logan, please, we can help-”

“DIDN’T I TELL YOU TO SHUT UP?!?!” Logan’s death glare darted to Roman.

He inhaled sharply, face softening to worry as he saw the looks of fear on his friend’s faces. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I have no desire to hurt any of you. You are still my friends, so the only person I will be hurting is myself.

“I’m just… so tired. So fucking tired of being ignored, and maybe you all are right. Maybe I deserve this. The blood, the pain, the absolute misery. Maybe I need to shut up, maybe I need to never say a single irritating, useless fact ever again. Maybe I need to hurt myself. Maybe I need to let Thomas make the decision to get rid of me. Maybe I deserve all of this! Maybe you guys should hate me, despise me, never give a single shit about what I say! Maybe I should fucking die, let you use me as an outlet for your anger, each of you using your own method of torture! Maybe I shouldn’t hate any of you, just hate myself for being such a useless piece of shit!!!”

He was sobbing now. Hard, painful sobs wracking his body as what he believed the ultimate feeling of misery must be. He pulled his glasses shakily off his face with his right hand, using both hands to keep them steady.

“Well… if I’m not gonna be Logic anymore, guess I won’t need these. ”

He snapped them in half, ice lacing his voice. He dropped them to the floor, reveling in the crack that came as he shattered them with his foot.

“Lo…” Patton’s voice was quiet and scared, terrified for his friend.

“I wanna die,” Logan muttered, voice wobbly and throat hurting. He took his tie in his hand tentatively before getting a firmer grip on it.

“I wanna DIE!” he screamed, ripping the tie from his neck. The back of his neck hurt from the force, his hands hurt from the grip, his arms hurt from the cuts and biting and scratching, his chest hurt from the crying, his head hurt from the crying, his legs hurt from more cuts, his throat hurt from screaming, his mind hurt so much from his stupid, stupid emotions.

He was hurting. All the time.

“Wait, wait, Logan, no, don’t leave-”

He sunk out before Virgil could finish his sentence, setting off through the corridors quickly. Surely there would be something in the Imagination, maybe a tall building, a deep lake, a ravenous monster-

He was stopped in his tracks in the Dark Side’s living room by a strong arm, the world too blurry for him to make out obstacles in his path without his glasses. The arms- which he recognized as Remus’s due to the soft amount of fat on them- tightened around his middle as he struggled to get free, mostly just succeeding in sinking into the Dark Side’s warmth.

“Re- let- Re-”

He wasn’t able to voice much more than that due to the state of his throat. He gave up, letting himself go limp in Remus’s arms as he continued sobbing, the pain in his throat reignited with every one. He barely registered being picked up and carried through the halls, processing nothing but Remus, knowing nothing but hold on, hold on.

He was dropped onto something soft, sobs receding into whimpers. His eyes were shut, it wasn’t like there was really any point in opening them without his glasses. He felt a pang in his heart at the memory of his ripped tie falling to the floor, the blurry figure of his shattered glasses already on the ground. A new round of painful sobs wracked his body at the thought.

Warm hands surrounded his body in a thick blanket, Remus wrapping it around both of them. Logan had nearly forgotten what physical contact was like, the warmth and the burning bleeding comfort into him. Remus’s arms squished around his soft belly, holding him close and tight.

He was still angry. At himself, at the others, even at Remus. But he couldn’t bring himself to give an ounce of care as he sunk into the much needed hug.

Taglist: @bluerosesbleedred @mxxangel

[ohmightydevviepuu]

for tonight you’re only here to know / part two

(artwork used with permission from carpedzem) part one | part two 

--

It’s the smell of her and the taste of her, the way her hair feels and her breath feels and her skin feels and--it’s gone.

(He’s used used to it, now, the way he dreams of Swan and not of Milah.)

(This is the lie he tells himself.)

“Is this a dream?” Hook whispers, opens his eyes and sees her face--the emeralds of her eyes--swim into a vision that refuses to focus. Waits for the flush of relief that does not--quite--come.

“I’ll pinch you, if that will help you wake up.” Her gaze is concerned even as her tone is light.

Hook laughs. It hurts. “You came back for me,” he says. He cannot keep the wonder from his voice. He doesn’t even try. He feels for a moment as if there is no filter between his brain and his mouth and this simple fact--that Hook cannot recall the last time someone, anyone came back for him--is important for her to realize.

Because it’s never happened.

Except for her, his Milah. And she died for it.

He wants to say more. Tries to.

But he cannot.

Swan smiles. Hook waits for his heart to flutter.

It does not.

“I couldn’t leave you here in the corridor, looking like the dead guy of the year.”

“Do I?” Hook is confused. “Is that why it hurts when I laugh?”

“Does it?” Her voice turns sharp and he flinches.

“No,” he says. It’s a lie. Emma’s eyes narrow and something tells him not to let her linger on this so he says, “Shouldn’t I be the one assaying a daring rescue?”

She smiles again and Hook exhales a sigh of relief that also, inexplicably, hurts. “Sorry, Hook, the only one who saves me is me.” Emma stands and holds out her hnd to him, waiting for him to pull himself up. “I’m sorry I broke my promise. I didn’t think Graham would be so hard on you.”

“He got his point across,” Hook concedes. He ignores the other thing as he reaches for her hand and squeezes. Her hand, so small in his, feels warm to him.

Warmth, but no fire.

Hook waggles his eyebrows as he levers himself upright. Every gesture, every movement, feels contrived and he shakes his head, wishing he could clear it of the fog that seems to have settled in while he was unconscious. The look Emma gives him is appraising.

Finally she says, “Follow me.”

It is not until he thinks to turn left when she goes to turn right that he realizes his mistake. Even then, he thinks--hopes--she has not noticed.

“We’re going this way,” she says, pulling at his hook. “To the dungeons.”

“I’m not certain I see that ending up well for me,” he says with a laugh he does not feel.

“Maybe it won’t,” Emma says. Her tone is light but her expression is serious. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask--to push--but some instinct is warning him to stay silent even as he has to bite down hard to keep himself speaking the words. Why? The shadows between the torches seem to lengthen, to follow them--follow her--as they move, as she moves, and they remain shrouded in semi-darkness as the bustle of the ballroom recedes further into the background.

But then she asks: “You’ve been here before,” she says, and it is not a question. “You thought we were going to the vault.”

He had--to both, though he had no reason to suspect the latter, he cannot deny that was his expectation. But all he says is, “Of course I have, darling. I’m Captain Hook, most fearsome pirate in the realm. Did it not occur to you that perhaps I have broken into the Queen’s castle before this night?”

“No,” she says. “I’m sure you have. But that’s not why you’ve been here before, is it?”

There is a commotion at the end of the hallway and this time he grabs her, pulls her into the deepening shadow. “Aye,” he whispers. “I’ve been here before. A long time ago.”

Her hands are braced on his forearms. She presses gently on his left wrist at the spot just above his brace, the spot her fingers traced and her lips brushed as she kissed it, gently, gently, that night in the cold and the rain and the darkness and the warmth they made in the bed they shared.

Hook closes his eyes and inhales, deeply. It’s a reflex, after so many years; he waits for the rush of pain that inevitably--

“It’s to do with this, isn’t it?” Emma pulls her hand away.

It doesn’t come, the pain. There is only the darkness, there is only Emma standing in front of him. The commotion is getting closer. Footsteps. Shouting.

“How do you know Graham?” There is urgency in her words, in her voice. “Do you know my grandmother?”

Hook raises his arm and shoves, raises his hook against the three Black Knights who are approaching at speed, his body between them and the princess. Emma moves to defend herself, to reach for her knife, and he stops her, his arm still in front of her as he slashes his hook at the Knights and she tenses behind him; he can feel her frustration at having to play the helpless maiden.

She screams.

It’s as if something shatters, as if the Knights are just now cognizant of whom they are chasing in this hallway, be she guarded by a pirate or not. In their distraction Emma lashes out, drops to the ground and kicks. It’s clever. It’s brilliant, in fact--takes them completely by surprise--she disables one as Hook moves in to disarm the second and then turns about to catch the third’s sword in his hook and force it to the ground.

It’s over as soon as it begins. Emma grabs his hook and pulls him along with her as they make a mad dash for the next hallway, the next shadows. Their backs are to the wall as they breathe, heavily, the energy from the fight running high and still coursing through their veins and she looks at him and Hook grins, he laughs, he says, “I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but we seem to make a good team.”

It’s heady, when she laughs; it’s warm and full of promises when she reaches for him, pulling at the lapels of his coat to bring him closer to her.

Their lips brush.

It’s ice when he clears his throat and moves before they are flush, side-stepping her embrace and the hurt in her eyes as they freeze over, go cold. Hook craves nothing so much in that moment as the feel of her mouth on his, feels it inside him like a need, like a compulsion, and yet he cannot.

He does not.

The smile on his face is suddenly fake and forced but he makes it anyway, flashes his teeth at her and gestures, half-bent at the waist with his hook pointing the way. “After you, milady.”

 “You’re going to tell me about the compass,” she says. “The truth.” Her hand hovers over her lips. “Start with the woman.”

“She was taken from me,” Hook says. The words are clipped, short. “A long time ago.”

“That’s why you want the compass, then.” As before, it is not a question. “You want to find her.”

“I would give anything to find her.” He pauses, again, for the pain. “If only it were possible.” It’s--

“Why not?” Emma presses.

“She’s dead.” It’s an echo, a memory of pain. His voice sounds hollow.

Emma’s face whitens, her eyes widen. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“It was a long time ago,” Hook snaps. Her eyebrows go up.

“And you loved her.” Fingers on her lips again. “Love--and revenge. You believe the compass will take you to the person who killed her? Find him?”

“Oh, I know who killed her,” Hook says. “I’ve known for many, many long years. The compass will reveal what I need to defeat him.”

“To kill him.” Emma’s voice does not waver when she says it. “You want to kill him.”

“Aye,” he says.

“And you went to my grandmother for help. When?”

Hook sighs. Shrugs. Repeats, “A long time ago, lass. Before you were born.”

She frowns as she steps closer, as she reaches for his face, stopping him from turning away. “That’s not possible,” she says. “You look--”

Hook looks her dead in the eyes and does not blink. “I, like you, am more than what I appear,” he says carefully. “I spent many years in Neverland.” Gently, he removes her hand and steps back into the shadow. Waits for the questions he knows are coming. Why, how, when. But what she asks is not what he expects.

“Is it true,” Emma says, “is it true that the Lost Boys cry out in the night?”

She surprises him.

And the way that she looks at him is--

“Aye,” he says. How does she always manage to surprise him? “They cry for what they have lost. Parents. Home. I suspect you, princess, would know something of that yourself. Only because of the nature of the island, they are not permitted the luxury of grief, of mourning. Neverland is an eternal present. Time does not pass and one’s hurts never quite heal.” For the briefest of seconds there is a flare of light as he whispers these truths to her. “Loss. Revenge. And love.”

He waits, and says nothing else; Emma hesitates, watching him. Her fingers twitch but she does not move, except to nod. “Graham knew my mother.”

“I know,” Hook says. “I knew him once, too. Before. The Queen extracted a price from him and he paid it on your mother’s behalf. He hasn’t aged a day since then.”

It is the truth, and he can see that it surprises her. She looks, for the first time, small. She exhales a small sound. Oh.

“An eternal present?”

“Something like that,” he agrees. He opens his mouth again, to say more, but--

“And you?”

“Me?”

“You went to her for help,” Emma says. “In your quest for revenge you went to the Evil Queen.”

That’s not--quite--how it went. Hook feels that he should explain but all he can say is, “I did. But what she asked for, I would not--could not--give. At the final test, I failed.”

“What did she want?”

Hook does not bother to hide the anger in his voice when he answers. “She wanted me to kill my father.” Emma starts to speak and he cuts her off, a silencing gesture with his hand that pushes her farther into the hallway. “Do not mistake me, I was happy to. But he had another young son and I realized--”

Now they are both silent. She is contemplative as she turns and begins, once more, to walk.

“Ariel caught you, somehow.” Her voice is pitched so that it does not carry.

He stops. “I know not what you mean.”

“Liar,” she says, half-turning to face him. “That’s what happened, and that is why you are here tonight. Something caused you to cross paths, something that caught you between what you wanted to do and what the right thing to do was. And because of it, she ran afoul of the Evil Queen. So now you are here tonight, where you can achieve both: Help the princess, and retrieve the compass.”

Ariel.

Hook almost turns away, to go back to the shadow, to the party, to the woman he wronged. But his feet do not move and he knows he must go forward. “You know the worst of me now,” he says instead of answering. Like almost everything else, the sentiment feels hollow.

And Emma looks like she does not believe him. “Do I,” she says.

Hook says nothing. He does not know how to answer truthfully and he will not lie to her.

He still wants her to trust him.

“You know what she did to my parents,” Emma says. Like before, she is certain; it is not a question. “My grandmother--you know what she did to them.”

“I know what she planned, aye. But I do not know if she succeeded,” he says. “I can only guess.”

Emma stops before a door, motions for him to block her as she pulls something from her hair and the cuff of her dress to pick the lock. “Well,” she says, speaking over a faint click. “Tonight we are going to find out. You help me, and I will help you.” She holds the door open for him and waits for him to enter before she follows and pulls the door closed once more behind them. Hook hears a noise, a buzzing in his skull, a sound he has only heard in his nightmares, that chased him from sleep on the long Neverland nights to echo with the cries of the Lost.

A hiss. A hiss of laughter.

“Well, well, well.” The voice is low and rough, oddly pitched in an off-key singsong. “If it isn’t Captain Hook.”

  The dungeons are dark, deep black that seems to permeate the very air around them, to seep into Hook’s soul--or maybe it is just the sound of that voice, that laughter, ricocheting around his brain, throughout his body, echoing in his ribcage.

For the first time since he woke up, he feels overcome. Anger, and darkness; beneath it all he feels fear. It is ruthlessly smothered, overtaken by the anger and the darkness that are being fanned by something he is not in control of, bubbling up inside him and bleeding out all around him. He cannot see straight. He can only see the creature in front of him, hanging upside-down on the bars of his cell.

“Welcome, princesssss.” The last syllable is nothing so much as a caress. The creature’s head is cocked and his tongue pokes out as if he wants to taste the word in the air, to feel the pleasure it gives him again. He releases the bar and lands on his feet.

Hook snaps his gaze back toward Emma, for this of all things is not what he expected. Swan--and him. For an instant, he can see it in her eyes--genuine fear. But the mask slips quickly into place as she draws herself upright, unwilling to appear intimidated. He wonders how long the Dark One has been imprisoned in this castle.

Twenty-eight years, at least.

More than that, it is obvious to Hook that this is not their first meeting--obvious, too, that the princess had willing tutors for her magic in spite of the Queen’s efforts to keep it from her.

Hook seethes. “You,” he spits. “You--and him?” He does not bother to conceal his fury--takes pleasure in the way her eyes widen in surprise. “All of this time, you’ve been working with him?” He gestures at the creature, directs his next words at the figure in the cell: “All of this time, you’ve been here?”

“Exactly where I needed to be,” the creature says. “Perhaps not exactly in the way I planned, but I do confess--this is quite better than my wildest imaginings. I’ve missed you, Captain. How was the island of misfit toys?”

“You two know each other?” Emma says. For the first time since Hook approached her in the ballroom she seems genuinely shocked.

“Indeed,” the creature says. “You might say--” he laughs again, and Hook flinches “--you might say that he’s my oldest friend. Didn’t he tell you?” The creature is delighted.

Her mouth falls open. She’s struggling. She’s shaking. “You?” Emma says. “You killed the woman he loves?”

“He stole her from me,” the creature says.

“Is it really theft if a woman begs you to take her away?” It’s Hook who savors the moment now. “Because you were a coward. Because she loved me. That’s what you couldn’t forgive as you ripped out her heart and crushed it in front of me.” He raises his arm and smiles. The rage is dissipating, somehow; Hook feels that he has, literally, the upper hand.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the creature says, pointing at the hook. “You still can’t kill me. And even if you could--” the smile is cold “--vengeance won’t bring her back.”

Hook says nothing. He merely watches the creature pace in its cell.

“Enough.” The torches react to Emma’s energy but Hook feels only its absence. “Enough.” She reaches for him and Hook steps neatly out of her grasp. The Dark One, watching them move--watching them dance--claps his hands with glee.

“You asked me once, princess, if I had a heart,” Hook says. “I don’t. And this is why.”

The Dark One smiles.

“What’s your plan here, crocodile?” Hook says. “What will you do, locked up and bound in this dungeon?” He makes a mocking hand gesture, his arms angled and a sick smile splitting his face as he turns on Emma. “Has all of this been about him? He will do anything–anything–to hold on to his power. Tell me something, darling. Why would you want to ally yourself with a man like that?”

Emma is looking at him, at Hook, and he can feel the weight of her gaze like an anchor on his soul. Her eyes seem to pierce his very body, as if she can see his insides, as if she is weighing them for judgment. Something in his chest constricts and Hook gasps.

“Missy...missy,” the Dark One calls in his sing-song. “You know that I’ve told you the truth.”

“The Dark One sent me after the compass,” Emma says. “He told me I could use it to find my parents. With this.” She fiddles with one of her sleeves and pulls out the vial full of sparkly dirt and Hook curses. “It’s the remnants of a portal. A magical wardrobe the Queen used to send my parents away the day I was born.”

“The Queen created a powerful curse,” the Dark One says in his low hiss. “A prison. Just like this, only worse. Their prison--is time. Time stopped, and they are trapped--somewhere horrible--everything they loved ripped from them while they suffer for all eternity. And the Queen celebrates, victorious at last.” He bobs up and down on his feet, swaying in the darkness with the rhythm of his words. “Nothing can free them from its confines, except for their child. You see, no matter how powerful...all curses can be broken.”

Anger rises up in him once more. He turns to face the crocodile and his body does not want to obey his command. There is nothing in Hook but rage; it drives him forward step by step as he advances on Emma. The anger is overwhelming and it is an outside force propelling him, forcing him. “He won’t help you,” Hook says. “This isn’t about you. You’re nothing to him.”

The Dark One smiles again, wide enough to show the remnants of his pointed teeth. “On the contrary, I have known your name, princess, since before you were born. You are everything to me.”

“Tell that to your son, crocodile,” Hook whispers. He has to force the words out, but he knows they are true, that Emma needs to know the truth. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? The sparkly dirt--whatever it is--is going to get you back to Bae.”

“Do not speak my son’s name.” The words are a growl.

“Why shouldn’t I? I am the one who took him in when he ran--from you,” Hook says, breathing heavily. “You seem to have a bit of a nasty habit when it comes to your family, if they would rather seek refuge with a pirate than a man like you. So tell me--tell all of us--what magic will you hide behind today?”

The creature is watching him, speculating; watching them, his head angled once more and his tongue tasting the air.

“Killian,” Emma says. There is an eternity in the pause after she speaks.

The Dark One makes a sound--a squeak, or maybe a squeal. He laughs again--hiss--and claps. “I do love it when a plan comes together.”

Hook falters. Meets her gaze as a wave of heat--of fire--roils through him and the torches flare.

There is a faint smile--Hook might be imagining it--a nod of her head before her knife is suddenly in her hand, positioned perfectly to parry the thrust of his hook.

Hook does not know when he moved, when he lunged, when he attacked, but with a twist of her wrist his arm is pinned behind his back and the tip of her blade is against his throat.

“Not so fast,” Emma says.

And then there is only darkness.

 It is in that moment, and not before, that he remembers.

He remembers.

Graham--the darkness--and what came after, as he woke up with his heart in her hand and the way it felt when she squeezed it, squeezing slowly, gently, the life force out of him drip by drip.

Against his will Hook was pulled up to his feet and she smiled, a cold and feral thing lined in blood-red lip paint he will remember to the end of his days. He was taller than the Queen but she towered over him in her heeled boots, the unrelieved black of her formal gown and matching headpiece adding to the perception that she was a statue, an edifice before which one could only bow and tremble.

Hook did neither, for a pirate made no allegiance to Queen or to country, even if she did hold his heart in her hands. He merely stared, keeping his face blank and unaffected until the need to breathe became overwhelming and he gasped and doubled over.

“Hello, Hook.” The Queen’s tone was inviting, if a man could be invited to his own execution. “It’s been a long time. I thought you had carried yourself and your broken heart to another realm to lick your wounds. Imagine my surprise to see you here tonight--with not one, but two women.”

Hook tried to speak but was cut off. “Your fishy friend is on her way back to the sea already. Her example has been set.” The glittering blackness of her eyes left no room for doubt as to whom the next example would be. “So you’re going to tell me how you know the princess.”

“Your granddaughter is a lovely girl,” Hook said. “I found her--quite amiable, if you know what I mean.”

The Queen gave no reaction but to squeeze harder. He felt the air leaving his lungs and she watched him, not in the least interested if he lived or he died, content for it to go either way.

It had always been thus, with the Queen.

“Tell me about her,” she said. Her hand tightened and released, the movement in time with her words. “Tell me how you came to be looking for her on tonight of all nights. Her twenty-eighth birthday.”

The words were forced from him before he could stop himself. “I did not come here looking for her. I did not know she would be here at all.”

Her twenty-eighth birthday. Hook knew--remembered--the significance of that date.

“You didn’t know,” the Queen repeated. “You didn’t know that Princess Emma would be at her own ball?”

“I was under the impression, Majesty, that it wasn’t hers.” Hook managed to raise one cheeky eyebrow and buried the relief he felt as deeply inside himself as he could--for the Queen did not know, what Emma was, what she was capable of. It was suddenly imperative that he not tell the Queen this even as he fought to keep his own mouth from speaking the words. “I accompanied the little mermaid merely to gain passage for my own mission. You know of what I speak. You know what it is I seek.”

“Ah, yes,” she whispered. “How many years has it been, Captain? How many years have you been chasing your crocodile across time and across realms? To think that all of this could have been avoided if you had only--” she clucked her tongue. “How many years have you been seeking your vengeance?”

“Longer than you have,” he spat. “And with more purpose.”

“Snow White is responsible for the death of the thing I loved most in the world,” Regina snarled. “As the Dark One is responsible for the death of your True Love. Perhaps twenty-eight years of fruitless wandering have provided you with additional motivation. Or--” her tone turned mocking “--have you forgotten her? Abandoned her in a stone hallway for a silly little girl who isn’t long for this world.”

One by one she lifted her fingers from the heart, his heart, until it was cradled in her palm, unencumbered.

“You can help me tonight or you can die right here, your revenge incomplete.”

Hook breathed in, and then out again. Just the once before she clamped back down.

Emma.

What was this witch going to do to Emma?

It was the only thought he had before the Queen spoke again.

“You have a simple choice before you, Hook. Love or revenge. Which will it be?”

Love. Love.

Love?

His pulse throbbed in his wrist and he felt as if the tattoo on his forearm was beating where his heart should have been.

  He feels the trickle of blood down his neck before he is even fully awake. There is a sound--Hook is not sure if he is hearing it, or imagining it, imagining the softness and the sweetness of her voice and the way it fills him.

Killian. Come back to me.

Hook opens his eyes and grunts in pain, barely breathing and it feels as if each breath might be his last and the only thought he has--it echoes around his empty insides, dull and painful like an old knife instead of the sharp blade piercing the edge of his skin--is that he cannot die like this.

“Regina.” The princess says only the single word, the name; it is a summons.

“The Queen,” he mumbles. It’s hardly a sound at all but Emma makes a soothing noise and hums in his ear.

“I know,” she whispers.

Hook shudders. A swirl of purple smoke rises from the floor, slowly at first but gaining speed and height and volume before it dissipates to reveal the Queen.

The Evil Queen.

And in her hand--Hook’s heart. He can feel Emma stiffen behind him but her grip does not loosen.

The Queen laughs. “You can let him go. I have no further use for him.” She squeezes his heart for emphasis and as Emma pushes him away Hook turns himself around to catch her hand in his, to feel their fingers, however briefly, intertwine, before the Queen waves her hand and Emma’s knife is replaced with an apple as red as blood.

“What is this?” Emma asks. The words are steady and calm, her voice strong and true, but Hook watches her and knows she already knows the answer to her question.

So does he.

It is the stuff of legends, of Snow White and Prince Charming and True Love and now their daughter stands before the Evil Queen, unarmed, with only a poisoned apple to show for her efforts. For she is more than they said she was--Hook has known it since the moment he first saw her--and tonight, here, right now in this dungeon, is the Queen’s last opportunity for either utter defeat or total triumph over a botched curse that spanned two generations and nearly three decades. Hook wonders if Emma knows, too. If Rumplestiltskin had taken that much effort and trouble with his plans or if he was just using her as he used everything else--a coward and an opportunist to the last.

The Queen laughs again; it is no more pleasant a sound on the second instance than it was in the first. “It’s nothing. A morsel.”

“And yet,” Emma says, “I am certain that eating it will kill me.”

“Killing you doesn’t serve my purposes,” the Queen says. “This--will do worse than that.”

“A sleeping curssssse,” the Dark One hisses. “You always did have your favorites.”

Regina whirls on him, her smile contorting into a snarl. “You demented little imp,” she says. “How long have you been helping her? What have you done? Why are you trying to break my curse?”

“What could I have done, Your Majesty? From my humble abode?”

The Queen sniffs as she opens her mouth to reply--

“I’m not eating this,” Emma says.

Regina raises her eyebrows. “It’s your choice.” She squeezes on Hook’s heart. “But we both know what will happen if you don’t.”

“But who will awaken me? I have never been in love,” she says, and it’s a lie. Hook knows it’s a lie, has known it every morning that he has woken up without her.

“My point, dear,” the Queen says with relish.

And this--this--is what he wants her to remember, this moment when he looks at her and wants to reach for her, for the flame, for the heat, for the magic and the light that she makes in the dark when her eyes glitter and there is no one but the two of them. The emotions--the anger, the rage--all of them have fallen away and Hook realizes they were not his to begin with. He wants to feel the magic, but he cannot. Not without a heart. There is only the barest warmth as she meets his gaze and inhales, deeply.

He has been betrayed--he has betrayed her--but in this, he knows what he must do.

Not revenge.

Love.

He looks at her and says, “It’s all right, Swan. Let me go. You have everything you need.”

He wants her to know that his death is not her fault, but his choice--that every choice he has made in his life has led him, somehow, to this.

“Ha!” The creature cackles and it sends a shiver through Hook, for that is a noise that he has never in his long years of chasing the Dark One heard before and he knows that it cannot presage glad tidings. Hook ignores him, shuts it out--there is nothing, no one, but her and them and this moment.

Lunacy.

Daring.

Magic.

He believes.

“What is this?” the Queen sneers. “A pirate with a hero complex? You didn’t learn your lesson from your previous failures?”

Hook swallows. “Milah is dead. I loved her, and I loved her enough to kill for her. But Emma--I love Emma enough to die for her.” He says all of this without looking away from her, from Emma--from Swan. Only when he finishes does he look at his old foe pacing behind the bars of his cell. Only then does he say, “The maid. Regina has the maid.”

It’s enough.

The Dark One is shrieking, laughter and tears as he bangs on the bars of his cell. “Regina!” He screams the name. “Regina!”

And all hell breaks loose as the Queen’s grip on Hook’s heart drives him to his knees and into the welcome embrace of the blackness.

--

@profdanglaisstuff​ @katie-dub​ @thisonesatellite​ @carpedzem​ @captain-emmajones​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @karl0ta​ @mariakov81​ @shireness-says​ @tiganasummertree​

[missfangirll]

Congrats on the followers!!! If I may ask, Jealousy, fluff, for Weilan? (if you're inspired of course!!!!)

Thank you for your ask 🥰

You didn’t specify who exactly is the jealous one, so I decided Shen Wei has to suffer 😈

But I tried to make it as fluffy as possible 😊🥰

Title is taken from the song "Honey, I'm good" by Andy Grammer.

  

I will stay true

It had all started with a hand.

With Zhao Yunlan’s hand, to be exact.

To be even more exact, with Zhao Yunlan’s hand on the back of a witness.

The hand in question had lingered there for exactly seventeen seconds – not that Shen Wei counted – and had proved to be a source of rising blood pressure for Shen Wei.

Why, or rather why now, he couldn’t tell. Zhao Yunlan had a habit of touching people, especially ones he was close to, which included an uncomfortably large number in Shen Wei’s opinion.

Not that he had an opinion about Zhao Yunlan touching people. Not at all.

So, the hand on the witness’ back, clearly meant to calm the person, had the exact opposite effect on Shen Wei, but before he could analyze his feelings further, Hei Pao Shi had to portal the suspect away, the incident leaving him with a slightly uneasy feeling for the rest of the day.

It had started with a hand and only worsened from there.

He had never before noticed just how comfortable Zhao Yunlan was with physical contact that wasn’t directed at Shen Wei himself. He half lay on Da Qing to look at a file, threw an arm around Lao Chu’s shoulder, put Xiao Guo in a headlock and ruffled Lin Jing’s hair. (He even made an attempt to pinch Zhu Hong’s cheek but aborted that mission as soon as he saw her face.)

It is his team, Shen Wei told himself, of course he would be comfortable with them. But Zhao Yunlan didn’t shy away from invading anyone’s personal space. Eventually, when he was flirting with a female police officer at a crime scene, Shen Wei had to violently stomp down the urge to walk over and kiss him senseless, just to make a point. Instead, he hid further in his hood and closed his eyes, willing his heart to resume beating.

Shen Wei very deliberately made a point to not examine the reason for his feelings, well aware that the answer to that lay in a lollipop and a promise made a lifetime ago. So he swallowed the bile in his throat and smiled, just like Kunlun had asked him to. Every time Zhao Yunlan smiled at a waiter, flirted with a secretary or gave a friend’s shoulder a jovial pat, he felt his stomach knot painfully and had to lower his gaze as not to let his pain show on his face.

Zhao Yunlan didn’t stop touching him, on the contrary, but Shen Wei found it increasingly strenuous to keep his body from responding too obviously. He wanted Zhao Yunlan to touch him, wanted to be the only one to have that privilege, and the resolve it took not to act on that desire left him feeling exhausted.

Kunlun had promised him a future, but he couldn’t be sure if this was it, if, this time, he was supposed to be the one asking for a smile, or if doing so would ruin everything. So he waited, and loved Zhao Yunlan in darkness and silence.

*

He reached his breaking point on a Tuesday.

On Friday evening, at the time Zhao Yunlan would normally return home, Shen Wei heard two voices in the corridor, one definitely Zhao Yunlan’s, the other he didn’t recognize. Intent not to eavesdrop, he retreated to his bedroom, which was farthest away from the door. He tried to occupy his mind by reading in a scientific journal, but gave up after he had read the same line a third time and still didn't know what the text was about.

A day later he was on his way to Zhao Yunlan’s apartment and had just opened the door, when he stopped abruptly. Across the hall stood a woman in her early twenties, long black hair and a very short dress, about to ring the doorbell. When Zhao Yunlan’s door opened, Shen Wei made a hasty retreat and silently closed his.

On Sunday, he didn’t even bother to go over, having seen the second pair of shoes on the doormat.

Thus, when Da Qing called him on Monday morning to tell him he was needed for a case, he felt like he hadn’t slept the whole weekend and was in an appropriately bad mood. After he had portaled in, he stubbornly focused on the crime scene photos, dodging Zhao Yunlan’s attempts to throw an arm around his shoulder or pat his knee, much to the other’s astonishment. He excused himself with urgent university matters only minutes later, leaving a confused Zhao Yunlan behind when he hastily portaled out. The rest of the day he hid in his office, ignoring his churning stomach and his phone, which had started to buzz in his desk drawer shortly after he had tossed it there.

He couldn’t face Zhao Yunlan, not even in a text message. He was behaving irrationally, he knew that, but seeing Zhao Yunlan – his Yunlan, his Kunlun – with other people made his insides freeze and his heart ache. No matter how much he reminded himself of the fact that Zhao Yunlan wasn’t his, he couldn’t ignore the pain that seared through him since he had seen… Well, he hadn’t seen anything, but his imagination insisted on presenting him a whole lot of possibilities he would have preferred not to consider.

He wanted Zhao Yunlan to be happy, he really did, but his soul screamed in agony when he realized that happiness might not include him.

When he finally left his office, he didn’t bother to take the phone. He didn’t know what to answer anyway. Later at home, after having stared at his dinner for an hour, he went to bed, tossing and turning restlessly.

He startled out of bed when he heard a rather insistent knock on his door. His alarm clock showed almost six in the morning, which meant he had slept for two hours. Drowsy and bleary-eyed he made his way to the entrance, hoping it wouldn’t be an emergency at the SID.

Outside the door, in shorts, a ratty t-shirt and without shoes, stood Yunlan, a sheepish smile on his face.

Shen Wei was suddenly wide awake. “Have you locked yourself outside? I can open your door if you –”

He was interrupted when Zhao Yunlan made a step into his apartment, suddenly standing very close to Shen Wei, giving him a considering look.

“I wanted to see you”, he said slowly, not breaking eye contact. Shen Wei closed his mouth and stepped back, motioning him in. When Zhao Yunlan sat down in the center of the living room couch, Shen Wei encountered another dilemma: sitting on the sofa would bring him very close to Yunlan, while choosing the armchair next to it would seem strange, given their past closeness. He swallowed and sat down on the armchair.

Zhao Yunlan had watched his movements and now fixed him with a gaze that Shen Wei couldn’t interpret. He shivered unconsciously and the other’s eyebrow shot up.

“Are you alright, Hei Lao Ge?”

Shen Wei winced at the title and stared at his lap. “Why wouldn’t I be? I am perfectly fine, thank you, Zhao Yunlan.”

When he felt a hand on his knee, he looked up, and the look in the other’s eyes made his breath catch. They were burning hot with emotion, dark and intense. Shen Wei began to understand how mice must feel when a snake stared down at them. He swallowed again and tried a reassuring smile, which apparently had the opposite effect, because the grip on his knee tightened.

“Shen Wei.” Zhao Yunlan tried again. “Talk to me. Are you mad at me? Have I said something stupid again? I swear, when I said you ate all –“

“I am not mad.”

Zhao Yunlan blinked at the sudden outburst and raised his eyebrow again. “Well, maybe you’re not mad at me, but clearly something is wrong.” He fixed Shen Wei. “Talk to me.”

Shen Wei closed his eyes and stayed silent. He didn’t trust his face at the moment, much less his voice.

“Xiao Wei.” A hand on his cheek, in addition to that name, made him shrink back. His resolution was crumbling and the last thing he needed now was Yunlan touching him.

Touching him like he had… Like he did with… His stomach turned again at the thought and he opened his eyes, sitting up straighter.

“Nothing is wrong, Zhao Yunlan, I assure you. You can go back to your apartment now. It is quite early.” He inhaled shakily. “I assume you are missed there.” Before he could stop himself, the sentence had made its way out, and Zhao Yunlan’s other eyebrow joined the first. He didn’t answer, just gave him such a scrutinizing look that Shen Wei had to force himself not to recede further into the chair.

After what felt like another ten thousand years, Zhao Yunlan moved. First, Shen Wei thought he really would leave, but then he took a step closer and in a fluent motion, knelt in front of Shen Wei’s armchair between his legs. Shen Wei swallowed hard.

Zhao Yunlan placed one hand on his thigh, the other reached up to cup his cheek.

“Xiao Wei”, he said again, with a warmth and tenderness Shen Wei only hazily remembered from a different life. “Xiao Wei, what do you think I did last weekend?”

Shen Wei refused to answer and only shook his head miserably.

Zhao Yunlan sighed fondly and caressed his cheek, smiling at him. “I am guessing you saw Wen Yao and Bai Yukun last weekend?” It wasn’t a question and Shen Wei didn’t answer. “Well, I didn’t sleep with either of them, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” He shrugged, and Shen Wei found himself coughing violently, staring wide-eyed at the other man. “I didn’t… I don’t…”, he wheezed.

Zhao Yunlan chuckled softly, stroking a thumb over Shen Wei’s cheekbone, and it took all of his crumbling self-control not to lean into the touch. The other man continued, sounding slightly amused. “They are Dixingren, Shen Wei. Friends of Zhu Hong.” He gave Shen Wei a meaningful look. “I asked them to tell me more about Dixing. Its history and traditions and stuff. Lao Wen is a historian, I believe you met him at the conference last month. Amazing you didn’t recognize him.” Shen Wei shrank into his chair. “Oh”, he managed.

“Yeah, and A-Kun is a wedding planner.”

Shen Wei suddenly had the very peculiar feeling of all oxygen leaving the room.

“A... wedding… planner…”, he squeezed out, “Why would….” He couldn’t finish that question, he really didn’t want to know.

Zhao Yunlan grinned at him, seemingly unfazed by his predicament. “I asked her about Dixing traditions because I wanted to ask you out, stupid.”

Oh.

Oh.

Shen Wei’s brain was still busy processing that information, when Zhao Yunlan leaned in and kissed him. He tasted of toothpaste and home, and Shen Wei couldn’t suppress a sigh. He leaned into the kiss, trailing the tip of his tongue over Yunlan’s lips and shivered with anticipation when they opened for him. When their tongues met, he closed his eyes and let himself be drawn into the other’s heat.

When they parted, Zhao Yunlan leaned his forehead against Shen Wei’s, breathing heavily, his whole face split into a wide grin. “Xiao Wei”, he said, and caressed the other’s bottom lip with his thumb, “would you go on a date with me?”

[drangues]

Point of No Return (Raised Together AU)

Dazai Osamu is twelve years old when he commits his first real crime.

In the future, he will rarely remember crimes of this magnitude, regardless of how bloody or brutal they will end up being- In the end, they all blur together, and when asked, he’d say he couldn’t care more about one or the other. Which man died screaming over what isn’t something that affects him.

(In the far future, he will rarely remember crimes of this magnitude, though not for lack of trying, and not for lack of regret.)

But this crime- His first crime- Will always, always stick with him.

(This crime, even in the far future, is one he feels no true regret over.)

He remembers that it began with blood.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Nakajima Atsushi has been gone for twenty-two hours, thirty-four minutes, and seventeen seconds by the time Dazai decides that he needs to figure out where the Headmaster has taken his closest- And only, if he’s being honest- Friend.

(Yes, he had been keeping track of the time.

Yes, he has not learned That Man’s name. He refuses to.)

It was, admittedly, a very risky decision on his part- After all, if he was caught after hours, looking for the Headmaster’s favorite unfavorite child, it wouldn’t be him that would get punished. He learned, after the first few times he tried to intervene, about how That Man seemed to enjoy punishing Atsushi for “corrupting” the other children.

(He remembers when he realized. The stench of burnt flesh still feels like it clings to him, and the echos of Atsushi’s screams ring in his ears when he’s alone.

Dazai has found that all he can do for him is be well once they see each other again. Someone needs to clean his wounds.)

Nonetheless, finding Atsushi was a risk he had to take- Punishments normally took half of this time at most, provided it wasn’t a full moon (Look into that, he reminds himself, why then- But no, no, not important-). That it was taking this long over something so stupid was… Concerning.

He slips out of his room.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It doesn’t take Dazai much longer to figure out where That Man has placed Atsushi, though getting there is another matter entirely- The orphanage is a big place, after all, and if he gives away what he’s trying to do, it could make things worse.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to find any keys once he gets there- Dazai has long become used to picking locks, and the ones at the orphanage are hardly new.

The basement door creaks as it swings open, and he holds his breath for what must be a minute while he waits and sees if anyone heard.

Nothing.

He sneaks down the stairs.

(It was what he found at the bottom that broke him.)

xxx——xxx——xxx

The first thing he notices is that Atsushi is curled up in the center of the room, shaking like a leaf and either entirely unaware of his presence or too terrified to care.

The second is the small, dark puddle under Atsushi’s tiny body.

It smells like rusted iron.

He wastes no time at all in going to his side, and the dull noises of his feet hitting the floor don’t bother him. He doesn’t have to worry about their caretakers hearing him down here.

(God knows they’d complain about having to hear the screams.)

“Atsushi,” he does his best to keep too much emotion out of his voice, because that isn’t what he needs, right now. “Atsushi, are you- Can you-“

He chokes back the obvious questions of ‘Are you okay’ or ‘Can you stand’ because the obvious answer is no, but he needs to say something-

“Atsushi, can you see me right now?”

It takes a frightening few moments for the silver haired boy to even register his words, and another few moments for him to respond, but when the glaze recedes from his eyes, just a bit, and he nods, Dazai sighs in relief.

“Good. That’s- That’s good,” he swallowed. “Can you- Talk?”

Another pause, and Atsushi coughs, voice weak, but-

“Ye-es. Yes, I can- I can talk, Osamu-san.”

He sounds like he’s been screaming.

“Sorry for taking so… So long-“

“It’s fine, it isn’t your fault, don’t apologize- Here, I’ll help you up-“

Atsushi freezes, grip going tight, and his mouth opens to respond, but Dazai is already lifting him up, and-

There’s a pained, hazy whine, and Dazai freezes. Looks down.

Ah.

Why didn’t I look more closely?

Dazai has found the source of the blood, it seems- It seeps from a clearly painful wound on Atsushi’s foot, reopened from its attempts to close thanks to Dazai’s efforts.

Not that it could close.

It’s been nailed to the ground, after all. And the nail hasn’t been removed.

He stares, eyes blank. Tremors run up and down Atsushi’s body, and he realizes, belatedly, that he’s still holding him.

Very, very gently, he sets him down, doing his best to be mindful of his foot.

He stares again.

They’d nailed his foot his-

They’d shoved and nail to it and just-

They’d-

Dazai thinks, somewhat morbidly, that the nail makes Atsushi’s foot look even smaller than it is.

It probably went through bone.

It must’ve hurt so much.

There’s so much blood-

He blinks, feeling sluggish and hazy. Atsushi. Right. He needs to- He needs to make sure he’s okay. He needs to get the nail out.

There’s a hammer, not too far away. Just out of Atsushi’s reach, actually.

Dazai picks it up, noting, distantly, that there’s blood on the head.

He thinks he knows what this was for.

Luckily, the hammer can be used to remove the nails. Dazai doesn’t know if he could do it with his fingers.

“I’m going-“ his voice sounds hoarse. He clears his throat. “I’m going to try to… Remove the nail. Okay, Atsushi?”

He gets a blank stare in response.

“Atsushi?”

The boy jumps this time, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He nods, though, hands shaking.

It’s silent, and Dazai doesn’t know why he can’t move his body.

“They. He. He tried to make me- To make me h-hammer it in myse-“ Atsushi chokes on his own words, shaky violently, now. “I c-couldn’t- The hammer- I-“

“It’s okay.”

Dazai’s own voice sounds hollow, to his ears. Atsushi looks up at him, tears trailing down his face, eyes wide.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

He kneels down, movements careful, and slots the hammer over the nail, doing his best to ignore how firmly it settles against Atsushi’s skin.

That Man really drove it in-

Hands tighten on his shoulders, and before he can think too deeply about anything, he pulls the hammer up and away from Atsushi’s foot.

Then he throws it, as hard as he can, to the other side if the basement.

Dazai doesn’t remember being this angry before.

“It’s okay,” he says again, voice dull. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay-“

Atsushi cries.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Atsushi liked to tell him about the books he read, in the quiet of the library, as he hid from the other children, or even the adults. He talked about fantasies of children escaping their tormentors, of candy houses in the woods, about true love born and raised at midnight.

(“Osamu-san,” he’d wondered aloud one night, rain pounding at their thin walls as the cold seeped into their bones, “Osamu-san, wouldn’t it be nice if that was us?”

It’s a foolish notion, Dazai knows it is, but he’s never been one to keep Atsushi from the things that keep him alive and close by, selfish as that may be.

“It would be, he’d replied, “Maybe it could be, one day.”

Atsushi had giggled, then, the sound muffled by his hands and the cold and the pain weeping through their bodies like mud.

It was a nice sound.)

He talked, sometimes, about the characters being mad. He’d mentioned that sometimes, they were so mad they saw red, so angry that they couldn’t control themselves.

So furious they couldn’t think straight.

Dazai is not seeing red. He is perfectly in control, and he is, most definitely, thinking straight.

He considers, for a moment, if this makes him a monster, for what he’s about to do next.

No, he thinks. No.

It doesn’t.

Because a monster is shaped like a grown man with an awful haircut who takes and takes and hurts and hurts, who targets the only goddamn person in the world that Dazai cares about.

A monster uses a god-shaped hole to justify his actions.

And a monster is going to be dead by day’s end, because Dazai is going to kill it.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It isn’t as easy as simply up and leaving Atsushi to do the deed, however- His friend is in no condition to stay with him while he does what he has to do.

Even now, Dazai can see the small tremors running up and down his body, and choked, raspy wheezes pull their way from his throat. The aftershocks of his crying fit, no doubt.

He purses his lips, tucking the smaller boy under his chin as he thought.

Perhaps… He could leave him down here? Not permanently, of course- They’d need to escape- But sound didn’t travel well between the basement and the main house, so he wouldn’t have to hear anything.

The key would be making sure he didn’t have to look at the source of his trauma when he was alone.

Dazai hummed under his breath, eyes mapping out what he could see in the darkness- There was a cage, at the far back, but there were manacles there, and he doesn’t fancy having Atsushi wait for him inside of iron bars, so that’s a no. The corner to the left of the cage is also out, because that’s where he’d thrown the hammer and nail. Definitely not the center of the room, because there was still a blood puddle there…

His eyes fell on the right corner, right behind the rickety stairs that led into the basement.

It was dark, so he doesn’t think Atsushi would be forced to see the rest of the area, even if he turned around. It’s positioning meant that it would hide him from any adults who came down the stairs to investigate, though Dazai hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Definitely not perfect, but it would have to do.

“Atsushi,” he murmured. His voice was still dull, and he winced. “Atsushi, I’m going to move us, alright?”

There wasn’t a verbal response, but he felt the boy nod his head as much as he could, with it still tucked under Dazai’s chin. He took that for consent and, after a moment to brace them both, he lifted him halfway off the ground, keeping a careful arm around his waist so he didn’t fall.

(As much as Dazai would love to simply carry him, the orphanage hardly feeds them enough for him to be able to. He’d just exhaust himself, and he couldn’t be tired.

Not now.)

Once they’d moved, Dazai took great care in positioning Atsushi so that his back was to the center of the room. He went to pull away, then, but the panicked whine he got in response made him hesitate.

“Don’t leave. Please, please don’t leave me alone Osamu-“

“I’m not going to,” he pressed his face against Atsushi’s hair, sighing. “Atsushi, there’s. There’s something I have to do, okay? I won’t be gone long, I promise. Just stay here and I’ll be back soon.”

Atsushi’s hands don’t loosen their grip on his arms, but Dazai can’t bring himself to care.

Eventually, still shaking, they let go.

“Promise?”

Dazai smiles, then.

“Always.”

It was not a nice smile.

xxx——xxx——xxx

After convincing Atsushi that he isn’t leaving permanently, Dazai makes his way up the stairs- He’d considered, just for a moment, taking the hammer with him, but he doesn’t want to risk drawing Atsushi’s attention to it, again.

Best to leave it where it lay- Not like he wanted to touch it, again.

Unfortunately, this did mean he had to think of a new way to get rid of the Headmaster- Finding another hammer would take too long, after all, and now that he thought about it, there was too much risk that it’d make noise.

A knife, then? He knew the way to the kitchens, and while it might be messy, he doesn’t think you can mess up slitting someone’s throat.

Even if you are eleven and horribly malnourished.

Luckily for Dazai, the kitchen happens to be close by- Really, it’s just a matter of avoiding the floorboards that creak and being very, very quiet when he opens the drawers to look for the right thing.

Definitely not a butter knife, he thinks to himself. A cleaver is too big, though- Could i use it efficiently? And a steak knife might be too small…

His eyes fall on one of the larger knives in the set. A kitchen knife, was it? Seems light enough… Seems large enough, too. He picks it up for a moment, testing the weight, swinging it once or twice- Atsushi mentioned characters in his books doing that once, he thinks, and it’s something to do, if nothing else- And he thinks on what he’s about to do.

If this works- If Dazai really walks out of this room, knife in hand- A man will be dead by daybreak.

His hands will be bloody. It isn’t a decision he can take back, once he makes it.

Is he really going to do this? Can he do it? Does he want to-

(He thinks of Atsushi, curled up and shaking in the center of a room, tiny foot nailed to the ground-

He thinks of a piercing, painful hunger, of seeing Atsushi’s arms bloodied from how hungry the boy was-

He thinks of cold, of midnights full of pain, spent curled up in the corner of his shared room with Atsushi, thin arms wrapped around each other, murmured stories spilling from the silver haired boy’s lips-

He thinks-

“Osamu-san, wouldn’t it be nice if that was us?”

“It would be. Maybe it could be, one day.”

He thinks-

“Promise?”

“Always.”

He thinks, he thinks, he thinks-)

xxx——xxx——xxx

Dazai stares up at a wooden door- The stuff of nightmares, for kids like him, for kids like Atsushi. The home of their monster under the bed.

He opens the door, careful to keep it quiet.

Nothing moves in the darkness. He steps inside, closing it with a quiet click.

He wants to do this. He has to do this. They’ll both die here if he doesn’t.

He won’t regret it.

He can’t.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It’s warm, is Dazai’s first thought.

He stares at the body on the bed, blood slowly but surely seeping into the fabric of the sheets- Probably staining it, too, now that he thinks about it.

Good, he thinks, spiteful. That Man didn’t deserve clean place to die. Really, he deserved worse than a simple stabbing, too, but Dazai was short on time, and it was dark, and if the Headmaster has woken up and alerted someone-

He shakes the thought off, the action reminding him of the blood caking on his clothes and his skin. He made a face at the feeling.

And now it’s sticky. How fun.

Unfortunately, he and Atsushi need to leave- After all, he has no doubt that the other orphanage workers would claim it was Atsushi or himself who had done it, and he sees no reason to believe that whoever came to investigate would doubt them.

(He’d considered, briefly, killing the other workers to give them more time- They were just as much monsters as That Man was, after all… But no. Leaving was more important.)

He hopes Atsushi hasn’t been too upset while he was gone.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Getting back to Atsushi turns out to be the easy part- He opens the door with ease, still making as little noise as possible, but steps down the stairs leading to the basement loudly enough to alert Atsushi that someone is coming.

It’s getting out that’s the problem.

Because as it turns out, stepping foot out of the only place you’ve ever known, no matter how awful it was to you, is terrifying for both of them.

Dazai stares up at the gates before them.

Of course this is where he freezes. In front of gates. Not even when he’s killing someone. Of fucking course-

Atsushi’s hand tightens around his own, and he realizes, belatedly, that they’ve been clinging to each other since he got Atsushi out of the basement.

He tightens his own hand in response.

“Dazai-san,” the silver haired boy stops, face hesitant and voice hoarse. “Dazai-san, we… Need to go. Right? You’ll get in trouble for- For helping me if we don’t.”

Atsushi looks up at him, eyes still somewhat distant, but.

But it was better than it was.

Remember why you’re doing this.

It isn’t as if Atsushi doesn’t understand the situation- His friend is hardly stupid, and he knows what the blood that covered him means- So instead of arguing, he begins scaling the gates.

Opening them would make too much noise, right now.

Dazai refuses to ruin this. Not when they’ve come this far.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It had taken them a day to get out of the woods that surrounded the living hell that had been their life (they could’ve been quicker, but better safe than sorry- Atsushi is certain he heard people looking for them, after all).

It had taken them a further week of living on the streets, terrified of being found and dragged back, kicking and screaming, to find any hope of salvation.

(“I don’t want to go back, Osamu-san,” Atsushi had sobbed on their second night. “I don’t want to go back, they’ll take you, they’ll hurt you-“

“It’s okay, Atsushi. It’s okay-“

“Don’t go,” Atsushi choked out, shaking. “Don’t go, don’t go, you promised-“

“I did,” he pressed a kiss against Atsushi’s hair, eyes blank. “I won’t leave. I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise-“

The words had continued well into the night,)

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be calling it salvation.

It’s warm.

Dazai stares at the man across from them, eyes dull. Atsushi is buried in his side, half trying to avoid looking at the bloody corpse on the medical table, half unable to look away.

He doesn’t think they’ve been apart for more than a minute since their escape.

Ōgai Mori turns his gaze to them, eyes wide, and there’s a touch of something unhinged there- But Dazai tightens his grip on Atsushi’s hand and remains in place.

They have nowhere else to go, after all.

“Both of you,” the black hair man starts, “are my witnesses… And the only other ones here to witness the last words of the former boss of the Port Mafia. He died of illness, and passed on leadership to his doctor with his dying breath.”

Mori’s grin stretches wider.

“Isn’t that right, Dazai Osamu-kun and Nakajima Atsushi-kun?”

And Dazai thinks of meeting the man, and his words at the time.

(“Twenty-three stab wounds,” he’d murmured, “is not an insignificant crime.”

Dazai knew a threat when he heard one, and the man smirked at his unasked question.

“Join with the Port Mafia, and I can promise protection from the consequences of your actions. You’ll be well suited, I’m certain.”

Dazai… Considers. Slides his gaze down to Atsushi, tucked into his side, eyes wide and the tell tale purple-on-gold of his ability peering at the one who’d invaded their temporary hideaway of an abandoned building.

(And hadn’t that been an event in and of itself- Discovering abilities, discovering that they had them-)

Mori’s smirk stretches wider, and Dazai thinks, absentmindedly, that only monsters how that many teeth.

“And your little friend can even join, too.”)

Dazai is sure that, if not for No Longer Human, it would be claws digging into his side instead of Atsushi’s tight grip.

Neither of them move, though, and all Dazai can do is stare at the man in front of them.

If it was just him, he wouldn’t care. If it was just him, he could deal with it. But it isn’t just him.

(Dazai thinks of bloodied nails and hammer and an aching, desperate need-)

They have nowhere else to go.

Against his side, Atsushi gives a tiny nod.

“Yes, Mori-san.”

xxx——xxx——xxx

Dazai Osamu is twelve years old when he commits his first crime in a fit of desperation.

It won’t be the last.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Point of No Return- (Expression) Phrase denoting when one must continue on with their current path, due to turning back being physically impossible or dangerous in some manner

xxx——xxx——xxx

Author’s Note: Nyanon here again- And here’s what I’ve been working on! Hopefully this lives up to my last little… Drabble? One-shot? Though it��s definitely more violent than the last one… Uh, whoops?

Also, super sorry if this wasn’t word for word on anything that popped up in universe? For example, I couldn’t completely remember Mori’s little speech to Dazai… Hope that’s alright!

[bakubitch-minusultra]

Not Alone: Chapter Nine

-> an apocalyptic series with bnha characters but without quirks because im the writer and i can do whatever the fuck i want :P bruh its 3:45 in the morning and i have a softball game in six hours but fuck sleep right? This is the l o n g e s t chapter ive written and it took hours i was writing it while listening to true crime podcasts lol new characters unlocked

-> Word Count: 6.9k haha n i c e

-> Warnings: pervy doods, blood, sexual assault, violence, guns

-> Taglist: @5sosfckss @laudthingcat [if u wanna be added lmk <3]

The sunlight coming in the window blinded Y/n as she woke up disoriented. She shivered from the cold breeze that came from down the hall. She noticed she was lying on Kirishima still and smiled, thinking about the night before. But stopped when she noticed that his shirt was soaked in cold sweat.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, “No. No.” She pushed him and his body compressed against her push, but he didn’t stir.

“Y/n what is it?” Mina came running in the room.

Kirishima sputtered and snorted. He rolled over knocking Y/n off and onto the floor. She started to laugh, “He’s alive. I thought… He’s cold. Oh my god he’s alive. His fever broke. He’s going to live.” Y/n jumped up and grabbed the next vial of medication.

Mina rushed to his side and felt his face, “Oh fuck, I was scared. I thought for sure he was gone.” Mina hugged her when she came back. Mina smelt like Hades and Y/n smirked. They had traded sleeping partners for the night.

Y/n hugged her back, but noticed the difference in their bodies. Mina was melded into Y/n, squeezing her where as Y/n was rigid.

They gave him his next shot and pulled the bandages off his leg. The red lines had receded but the wound still looked red and angry. She knew they weren’t out of the danger zone, but she felt good knowing that they were one step closer.

He slept the entire day and Mina and Y/n hung out. They took turns keeping watch and playing with Hades. Y/n could see Hades’s affinity towards Mina getting stronger. She knew that even she felt different. She was getting closer to Mina and Kirishima.

“Y/n what’s for dinner?”

Y/n shrugged down at Mina from the window of the barn, “I can go kill a bird.”

Mina nodded, “Alright. I’ll start the fire.”

They sealed up the house completely and decided to cook in the bunker. It was gross and sweaty with a fire down there, but it made perfect sense. No smell escaped out into the wind.

She climbed down with her bow and quiver and headed across the grass. She slipped into the forest, but instead of finding a tree to climb she froze. She smelled them before she could see or hear them. She slid against the tree and waited to figure out where the smell was coming from.

“It was rude of you to leave without the escort we offered.”

Y/n turned to the voice but something smacked her in the forehead and everything went black.

Xxxx

“Wake up.” Pain overwhelmed her as she opened one of her eyes. She saw bars in front of her face. “Please wake up.”

In the muted firelight she could see a girl poking her with a stick. It made a small cut on her arm, but that wasn’t where the pain was coming from. She closed her eyes tightly and then opened them again. It was dark, the firelight licked across the dark metal bars of her cage. She turned to the girl.

“Where are we?”

“The others have us.” The girl said. Y/n’s stomach fell into her bowels. Her heartbeat and breath quickened. She pushed the door to the cage with her foot. Her boots were gone.

“Where are we specifically?”

The girl frowned at Y/n, “What?”

“Our location.”

The girl shrugged. She was skinny and filthy. She made Y/n think about Mina, which made her panic. She wondered if they knew where Mina and Kirishima were. She saw her bow and quiver leaning against the tree near her.

“There she is.”

Y/n looked up at the filthy scumbag who had chased her into town. He was grinning again. He seemed very proud of himself. “You’re a pretty girl. What’s your name? I bet it’s something pretty like Jessica or Stephanie or Grace.” Y/n licked her lips and put a finger to the source of her pain. He winced as she touched the red sticky spot. “Sorry ‘bout that. I had to surprise you. Bet it hurts doesn’t it.” He kneeled on the ground in front of her cage. “Wanna tell me about how you got outta town?”

Y/n gulped.

He rattled the cage suddenly and started laughing at her horrified expression. “Jesus you aren’t mute are you? I like it when you girls scream.” He pointed to the girl next to Y/n. “I guess we can make her scream for you.”

The girl shied away from the bars and curled into a small ball. Y/n wanted him dead. Right now.

He pointed at Y/n again, “You’re going to fetch us a good price. I know it.”

Fear rocked Y/n. She didn’t have a plan. That was one of her rules. Her plans where capture was a possibility had never included a cage. She always thought the girls were grabbed and dragged to trucks.

He walked back to the fire and howled into the night air. She watched as he unzipped his pants and peed on the fire.

“Jesus Christ that’s disgusting you fucker.” The hot steam rose from the fire, polluting the air around it. A large group of men started to bitch and complain. Y/n looked at the girl who had a disgusted look on her face.

“I don’t know about you but I don’t want that inside me.” Y/n gasped at her language. The girl grinned at her, “Names Jirou.”

“I’m Y/n.” Y/n looked around for Mina and Kirishima but she didn’t see them anywhere. “How old are you, Jirou?” She asked softly.

Jirou spat on the ground outside of her bars, “Sixteen.” She was malnourished. She would be made to work the farms. She wouldn’t be a breeder.

Y/n wouldn’t let either of them end up that way. She saw a small silver thing on the ground and looked at Jirou.

“Poke that stick this way again.”

She slipped her skinny arm through the bars and passed it to Y/n. Y/n looked back at the men. They were getting drunk and the fire was starting to dim. She flicked at the silver thing and dragged it back to her with several small movements. It was an old rusty nail with a silver tip. She reached her fingers through the bars and grabbed it.

“How old are you?” Jirou asked, watching the men.

“Nineteen.”

“You look older.”

Y/n wanted to frown at her, but the nail in her hands felt too amazing to bother. She passed Jirou the nail, “Pick your lock.”

She eyed it smiling, “Wow you’re good.” She reached her hands through the bars. Jirou made funny faces and then Y/n heard the clunk of the lock. She picked the lock faster than Y/n did. Y/n had only ever picked a couple.

She nodded, “Mom says we have to do whatever it takes to not be a breeder. I will die before I go there.” Her words reminded Y/n of the girl in the back of the truck who screamed. She felt sick. She was even more determined to save Jirou. The rusty nail clanked in the lock. “Want me to do it?”

Y/n gave her a look, “They’ll notice your tiny arm slipping through to my cage.” She fumbled with it again. “Dipshit is coming back.” She pulled her arm in and sat on the nail.

He grinned at Y/n, “I think I wanna taste the merchandise before I give it away.” He pulled a key out of his pants and licked his lips. He got down on the ground in front of her cage and stuck the key in. “You’re gonna like this.”

Y/n felt like throwing up.

He opened the door and reached in lightning fast. His huge hand grabbed her thin wrist and clamped down. He dragged her from the cage. She kicked at him but he was too strong. He pinned her to the ground on her stomach and pulled her hair, whispering into her ear, “Scream and I slit your throat.” He let go of her hair with force and shoved her face into the pine needles and dirt. Y/n coughed and choked. Her eyes flickered at Jirou.

“Don’t do this in front of her,” Y/n begged.

He shoved her face in the pine needles again, “She needs educating. Where you two are going, you’ll both be needing to know how to make a man happy. Think of me as your teacher.”

Y/n felt him grind himself against her and threw up. She couldn’t stop herself. She didn;t have anything in her stomach but bile filled her mouth. She spat it to the side of her face, scared that he would rub her face in it.

He pulled her pants down and she felt his hands on her underwear. She wanted to scream and fight but her hands were pinned. If she screamed, he’d kill her. She made the snap decision that death would be better than this and opened her mouth to scream, only to feel him put all his weight on her.

“Shhh Y/n. Don’t scream. We need to go now. Before they find him.”

Tears sprung from her eyes as she looked back and saw his open eyes still staring at her. The rusty nail stuck out only a little bit from his head, next to his eye. Blood trickled down his face.

Jirou heaved him off of Y/n quietly. The fire was only twenty feet from them and she could see that the group of men had dwindled. They must have gone to sleep. Y/n pushed herself up and grabbed her pants. She saw her knife in his boot and took it, holding it tightly. She wanted to stab him so bad.

Jirou grabbed her hand and pointed to the woods.

They walk hunched over. Y/n grabbed her boy and quiver and followed Jirou into the forest. They ran fast, even though they were barefoot. She recognized the forest after a few moments. Even in the dark she knew where they were.

“Oh shit.”

Y/n stopped after hearing Jirou speak. She was preparing for the worst but instead it was the best. She saw yellow eyes glowing in the dark. She quickly dropped to her knees, ignoring the branches that cut her skin. His paws were around her neck within seconds. His warm breath was in her hair. She started to cry and Hades held her like a mother would a child, and she elt soothed.

“He’s yours?”

Y/n nodded through the tears, “Hades.”

“He’s a big dog.”

Y/n smiled, “He’s a wolf. A tundra wolf.”

“Well we better get moving before they find us.”

Y/n stood and ran toward the farmhouse. She knew it was through the woods and not far. They could hide there until the men were gone. Her brain couldn’t seem to make her own survival important. She needed to know if Kirishima and Mina were safe. Jirou ran as fast as Y/n did. Her footsteps were a whisper in the grass beside Y/n. Y/n burted through the door. The house was dark and silent.

“Mina? Kirishima?” The living room was empty. The blankets were gone. She didn’t know where to go. She didn’t know where Mina and Kirishima would have gone. She ran down the basement steps into the bunker. Nothing was there. She ran back up the stairs, “We need to go hide. They’re gone. They might be looking for me.”

“Who?”

“My friends.” The words felt funny in her mouth.

Y/n grabbed Jirou’s sweaty fingers in the dark and pulled her back out to the barn. They slipped inside the dark of the barn. She dropped to her knees in the hay and felt for the hatch. It had hay glued on top of it. It was impossible to find even in the bright of day. She only found it because it was open when she arrived.

“Hurry climb down here.”

Hades jumped down into the whole like he had before many times. Jirou felt for Y/n in the dark and then the hatch. Y/n climbed down after her and pulled the huge hatch back over the hole.

Y/n felt around in the silence for a stool. She sat and suddenly the pain in her feet was overwhelming. She knew they had been cut.

“Did your feet get cut?”

Jirou was closer than Y/n thought, she whispered right in Y/n’s face, “No. My mom made us walk and run in the woods barefoot all the time. They always take the shoes.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah mom was a warden at a maximum security prison before. She says she knows all the worst things people can do and she knows why they do it.”

Y/n shivered at the thought.

They don’t hear voices or any noises. Eventually Y/n fell asleep on the wooden floor against the warm fur of Hades. Jirou slept against her. Y/n’s feet pounded too hard for her to get a good nights sleep.

Xxxx

“It’s been five days Y/n. He walks to the same spot and makes weird noises. I have a hunting hound. He does the same thing when he wants me to follow him. We need to get following him in the woods.” Jirou had not stopped talking for five days. Mom this and Mom that. Y/n didn’t know what to do to make her quiet. She didn’t take Y/n’s silence as a hint. “Yup that wolf is trying to tell us the way to go to find them. Are your feet better?”

Y/n looked at the cuts on the bottom and nodded, “They have scabs.” She rubbed salve into the bottoms of her feet and pull her socks over the scabs. She pulled on the boots she had stored in the farmhouse bunker ages ago.

Jirou threw a huge bone for Hades. He ran to get it and chewed it in the field, “Not so sharp is he? My hound brings it back.”

Y/n looked at the bone and grimaced, “Is that a human bone?”

Jirou shrugged, “Does it matter?”

Hades picked up the long thin bone and walked toward the same spot in the field like he had for the past five days and whined.

“Okay let’s follow him then.” Y/n slung on her backpack and looked back at the farmhouse. She had left a note in the bunker under the barn. Mina knew it was her favorite hiding place. Y/n’s heart hurt and she decided to not look behind her. She didn;t run through the field. Hades trotted along like a real dog. He didn’t wait at the meeting tree.

Nothing was the same.

She opened the cabin door and suddenly her life felt lost. She knew she would regret opening that stupid door and helping Mina. But she never imagined her regret would be being separated from them.

Her heart hurt when she thought about the kisses she shared with Kirishima. Her stomach hurt when she thought about Mina being taken.

Hades picked up the pace as they entered the woods.She reached out and brushed her fingers along the meeting tree. Instead of going the way home to the cabin he cut a hard left and they climbed a different hill.

“So then when I was twelve she says she wants to try to go to the city. So we get all dressed up and I mean bathed and spiffy. We walk all the way to the city but they don’t just let us in. We have to go through a bunch of tests and other nonsense. The city was brand new. It looked like nothing I’ve ever seen. Anyway they come to us in the bright white clothes and make me take all my brand new clean clothes off. They burned them. Mom was mad then. My aunt failed the diabetes test they gave us and so if we wanted to go into the city we would have to leave her behind. No diabetes in the city. Mom said they could shove that up their asses. So we left the city. My other aunt got grabbed there. Mom thinks it was because she tested healthy they told the bad ones to take her to the breeder farms. They drove up in their trucks and held guns on us. They dragged her into the truck. She screamed and reached for us. Mom never moved. She just watched. I never saw my aunt again.” Her story was the story of thousands of women.

“I’ve seen them taken too. They always leave the kids behind.”

Jirou put a finger to her lips, “Shh you hear that?”

Y/n listened. All she heard was her own heartbeat and it dawned on her that as Jirou chatted on, she listened to the forest the way Y/n does. Y/n doesn’t hear them. No birds, no squirrels. She stopped walking. She pulled an arrow instantly and held the bow ready.

A branch broke to the side of them. She swung the bow with the arrow trembling in her hands. A huge black bear groaned and walked past them to the ridge below them. Hades growled and crouched. He looked at Y/n but she shook her head.

They didn’t turn their backs on it. They walked up the hill backwards until the bear was far enough away. Hades’s dark hackles stayed up until he started sniffing the ground again. He wandered in a circle for a bit.

“So then I was saying to Mom… hey look I think he has a smell. Not totally useless is he?”

Y/n glared at her.

Jirou put her hands up, “What? He’s no hound but I think he’s got the scent.”

They followed him through the thick woods until he suddenly stopped waking. They hiked for hours and that was the most animated she had seen him. He growled in his low town and crawled along the forest floor on his belly. They follow him low to the ground. Y/n was scanning the forest but she saw nothing.

“There.” Jirou pointed to a man wearing camouflage high up in a tree. He held a sniper rifle. There was no way they wouldn’t get around him. She pulled her bow out but Jirou stopped her hand and pointed to a man in another tree just behind him.

“We wait for dark,” Jirou whispered.

Y/n looked at Jirou and frowned, “Where’s your home?”

Her brown eyes look haunted. “It’s back closer to the town by the big river. Mom was taken when they were looking for some girl. They searched all the houses and found my aunt and mom hiding. They didn’t find me. I snuck out the back and over the pointy log wall. The others snatched me outside the gates. The hunters were long gone though, so they were gonna wait for them to come back.”

“It was me,” the words slipped from Y/n’s mouth. Jirou crouched in some larger bush and sat, waiting for nightfall. Y/n spoke after a while. She felt awkward in Jirou’s silence. She was never silent. “I can help you find your mom.”

“She never got taken.”

“Where’d she go?”

“Knowing mom she went to hell. She was a mean and spiteful woman. Full of piss is what my aunt said.”

It hit Y/n like a club to the face, “She died?”

Jirou glanced at her, “I told you what she always said. You do whatever it takes to not go there. They woulda put her in the fields anyway. Her insides were injured having me. She couldn’t have more kids.”

Y/n wanted to cry. Jirou had a mother. She had someone. Y/n felt like it was her fault somehow.

“I’m really sorry Jirou. Do you have anywhere you can go? Do you have other people?”

Jirou shook her head, “Nope. It was me, mom and my aunt.”

Y/n decided she wouldn’t ever leave her. No matter what she wouldn’t leave her.

The day faded to night slowly. Spring was further along and the days were longer. The cool air was still fresh and crisp but the sun was getting warmer.

Hades slept again Y/n and Jirou whittled a small piece of wood. She passed the finished product to Y/n. She didn’t know what it was.

“It’s a rook.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow.

“For chess,” she said it like Y/n was an idiot.

“The game?”

Jirou nodded and smiled, “I’m making the pieces for a board. I guess I have to start over. Mine were in our village.”

Y/n looked confused, “You have a village?”

Jirou shook her head, “Nope. Had. The others came last month and burned it to the ground.”

“Life’s hard, Jirou. I’m convinced the god that everyone talked about before, hates us.”

Jirou’s eyes hardened and she pulled her dark blue hair back from her face, “Don’t ever say that. No matter what we have to believe that he’s going to help us. The evil is us.”

Hades jumped but it was too late. As she heard the branch snap behind her she saw a blak hood go over Jirou’s face. Y/n jumped but the guns were on her.

“What’ve got here?” The man standing before Y/n was grinning. He held a rifle to her face.

Hades was ready to attack but Y/n put her hand out, “No Hades. No.” He looked at her face confused. She could see it in her eyes. She shook her head and then looked at the man. “We’ll walk with you but you can’t put that over my head. If he can’t see my eyes he’s going to lose it and kill at least one of you.”

He nodded, “You walk with the wolf. I’ll kill him if I have to.” He removed the hood from Jirou who looked at Hades. Y/n gave her a sharp look. She knew the desperation on Jirou’s face was trying to over take, Y/n felt the same way. But they couldn’t win the fight. They could die like her mom.

One of the other guys with a gun smirked at Y/n. He was young and bold looking. He spoke to Y/n and she could hear the smile on his face, “I’d ask if you were spies for the other but you’re girls. What girls would help them out? So that leaves me with only one assumption,” He grinned and nudged Y/n, “You’re lookin for a date.”

Y/n doesn’t speak.

Jirou snorted, “You wish. No we’re looking for our friends. The other had us but we got away.” Y/n shot her a dirty look and Jirou scowled. “Don’t give me that look Y/n. Mom says we need to remember some ways of the world before an manners is one of the things we all seem to forget about.”

The man with the gun grinned, “Her mom sounds like the kind of girl we are always looking for. Warm my bed, bake my bread and say please and thank you like a lady should.”

Jirou shoved him, “My mom never warmed no man’s bed. She wasn't no lady. She was a survivor.” The man shoved Jirou back and Y/n caught her.

“Easy kid.”

The leader got in Y/n’s face with his gun. Y/n looked into his dark red eyes angrily, “Her mom just died creating a diversion for her to escape the hunters.” He made a face that surprised Y/n, remorseful.

“I’m sorry Jirou, is it? Never speak ill of the dead, unless they’re the monsters who started all of this.” He held his hands out.”

Jirou sniffed and wiped her nose on her arm, “It’s nothing. She died the way she wanted.” Y/n knew the pain Jirou felt and the strength she hid behind. The leader's eyes told her that he did too.

Hades nudged against her. He was nervous and whined. She looked as they entered a huge camp. The fires were lit making the woods smoky and smelled of food. Her mouth watered as her stomach grumbled. She didn’t the last time she actually ate.

“New recruits?” A man asked, looking Y/n up and down and nodded his head. Hades lunged at him. Y/n seriously thought the wolf could read minds, and that man’s mind was not pure. He jumped back, “Holy shit is that a wolf?”

Y/n laughed, she couldn’t help herself. Hades was hovering over him snarling. The men who had escorted them laughed at the fallen men and Y/n called him, “Hades.”

He snarled once more and ran to Y/n’s side. He stood tall and proud with his chest out. He snarled at everyone.

“You have my friends here don’t you?”

The man with the smile frowned, “Who?”

“A girl and a guy. They’re really good friends.”

His eyes narrowed, “No one’s come recently. Except you.”

“Don’t lie to me. He’s tall with red hair and red eyes. He has an injury on his leg. She’s younger and about my size. She has pink hair and black eyes. They’re really close.”

He shook his head, “Look we don’t have anyone here. We don’t take prisoners.”

Y/n looked at the guns surrounding them and raised her eyebrows.

He laughed, “You were spying on us and have a huge wolf as a pet.”

Y/n didn’t laugh. She wanted Kirishima and Mina,”

Jirou gave Y/n a look, “Why would he bring us here if they’re not here?”

Y/n shrugged, “The smell of food.”

The guy with the gun in her face pointed at Hades, “Keep him under control and we can drop the weapons.”

Y/n patted Hades on the head and scratched his ears. He shook his head once. He was still agitated,

The camp was like nothing Y/n had ever seen. It reminded her of the band of merry men Robin Hood joined in the forest.

She heard a noise she had never heard before. She turned her head when she saw where it came from. A small boy with white blond hair ran past her. He had his arms stretched out. He latched onto Hades, making her jump to his rescue but Hades looked at her and lowered her body for the child.

“Andy no, Not the wolf. Oh my god I’m so sorry.” A dark haired woman walked up to Y/n. She looked older, maybe thirty. She was dressed in a long gathered skirt and a blouse. She was pretty in a simple way. She looked at Jirou and smiled motherly. “We need to get you cleaned up and get some food in that belly. You look like you must be starved.” She looked at the man next to Y/n, “Watch him for me while I get her taken care of?”

The man nodded and kneeled next to the boy who was shrieking and hugging her wolf. Hades panted, contented.

“His name’s Hades. Be careful, okay Andy.” The man put a hand out for Hades to sniff.

Jirou gave her a pleading look as she was getting dragged off. Y/n wanted to reach for her but she didn’t. The woman with the black hair had dark doe eyes that instantly made Y/n feel comfortable.

Y/n looked around and noticed that there were fires everywhere. Small tents lined the forest and lean-tos were staggered amongst them. She had never seen anything like it. Clothes hung from lines in the trees. The canopy provided the perfect shelter. She felt like she had entered a sacred site. Everyone was busting about, as if on a mission.

“This is like the Shire.”

“You’ve read The Hobbit?”

Her neck almost snapped as she looked back him,”Yeah, have you?”

He nodded and patted Hades once more.

“Wolfie wolfie wolfie.” The white haired angel cries into Hades’s dark fur. He looked down with the hug and struggled to escape.

“He’s done.”

The man pulled the boy off, making him make an ungodly noise, “Nooo Bakugo. I wanna hug the wolfie. I wanna wolfie. Miiiine.”

Y/n gasped, “Bakugo?” The eyes and the smile. He looked almost exactly how they described him. “Mina and Kirishima’s friend Bakugo?”

His face dropped, “Mina and Kirishima? My friends?” Y/n nodded. His face grew savage. He let go of the boy and gripped her arm harshly. He shouted in her face, “Where are they?”

Y/n pointed, “I thought they were here.”

Hades didn’t like the struggle going on. He lept in between them and knocked Bakugo to the ground. He had him by the scruff of his shirt and was making a noise she had never heard before.

“Hades.”

He ignored Y/n. She sat on the ground and made a whistle sound and Hades tugged once more on his shirt before backing away. He turned and sauntered towards her. He was overwhelmed. She was overwhelmed. He curls onto her lap and as she stroked his ears while he trembled.

Bakugo stood up and walked toward Y/n. Hades growled and snarled in her lap. She looked up at Bakugo.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

His dark eyes played in the dim light of dusk, “They’re alive?”

“Last time I saw them.”

His jaw tenses up.

Y/n turned to see a rugged man walk up to where they were, “Bakugo I need to go over some things with you.”

The white haired boy saw the man and started his tirade all over again. He was stomping his feet and pointing at Hades who trembled. She wrapped her arms around him and glared at the young boy. She hated children.

“Stop that you little brat. You’ll get us all killed,” Y/n hissed at him. The noise would no doubt draw the others or worse.

Bakugo laughed at her but his expression was lost.

Jirou walked over to Y/n in a clean dress with patches. Her hair was slicked back and wet. She was holding a platter of sorts covered in meat and something white.

“Y/n thith ith cheeth. You have to have thum.” Her mouth was near bursting as she spoke. Y/n grimaced watching her stuff her mouth. She sat beside Hades and Y/n. He raised his face instantly and started eating from Jirou’s plate.

Hades was making his weird wolf noise that he made when he was happy. It almost sounded like a cat purring but lower and deeper inside of him.

The platter was empty and Y/n had had nothing. She couldn’t stop looking up at Bakugo, who was talking to another man. He glanced at Y/n every now and then. She could tell that he wanted to talk to her.

“The people I’m looking for, Mina and Kirishima, Bakugo is their friend.” She pointed to him subtly.

Jirou raised an eyebrow, “You think that’s why Hades brought us here?”

Y/n shrugged, “Maybe. I think he smelled the food.”

Jirou grinned with food in her teeth, “Thank god for Hades and his belly.”

“I’m worried about where they are though. If they’re not here, where could they have gone?”

“The farms,” Jirou said nonchalantly, even though Y/n knew that Jirou feared the idea of it whether he had met them or not.

Y/n’s skin prickled thinking about them in the farms. Mina was old enough to be put to ‘work’ and Kirishima was strong. He would be made to work hard labor.

Y/n looked up and saw people eyeballing them. They pretended to be working near them, but they watched Hades as he ate. It made Y/n smile. If only they know how much of a pussycat he was.

She felt fingers bite into her skin, “Wolfie mine!” He shouted in her face. The little brat was back. She hated him. His greedy little fingers were wiping an orange paste on her shirt. She leaned away from him.

“Don’t look so horrified. He’s just a kid.” Bakugo picked the little monster up and carried him back to the doe eyed lady. Y/n felt sorry for her. She thought that her life must be horrid. Y/n looked at the orange stain mixed with debris smeared across her sleeve

She glanced up at Bakugo, “Is there somewhere I can wash up?”

He nodded at the dark haired lady, “Mary can take you.”

Mary smiled, “Followed me.” She passes the evil beast with the white hair to a man next to her. Y/n looked at Jirou who nodded.

“Just don’t get roped into the dress and them brushing your hair. It’s a bad experience. Hades is fine here with me.”

Y/n walked away from Hades, she knew that he would see the fear in her eyes and follow. She didn’t want him anywhere near the little monster

“You’ve never seen a child before have you?” Mary asked sweetly as they walked past a grouping of tents and lean-tos. She led her down a steep narrow dirt path.

“Not in over ten years. Just the ones left behind when the mom’s get taken. I don’t hang around long enough to get to the know them though.”

“That’s horrible. You leave little kids alone?”

Y/n didn’t care if she judged her. She was alive, “I was a kid too Mary. I barely took care of myself and Hades.”

Mary crossed her arms, “He gets tired once it’s after six. He really is a sweet boy. Once you get to know him, you’ll love him.”

She tried not to be rude but spoke her mind, “He will get you killed with noises like that. The infected love noisy things that lead to food.”

Mary looked back aghast, “We never leave camp. None of the children do.”

“So you have an agreement with the infected and the others that they stay out of your camp so the kids can be as noisy as they want?” Her sarcasm was filled with more sarcasm.

Mary laughed, “You really don’t have any social skills do you

She shrugged, “I’ve made it this long out there, alone.”

Mary looked shocked, “How long have you been alone.”

Y/n sighed, “Since the beginning.”

The walls surrounding the water were high and rocky. Nothing could get to the massive lagoon of crystal clear dark green water. The only visible path was the one she was standing on. She pulled her boots and socks off. Her scabs stung on the dirt and rocks. She pulled down her pants and ripped off her shirt. She ran down the remainder of the path. She ran onto the huge flat rocks that made a platform and dived in. The cold ripped through her instantly but she had never felt this clean. She remembered her baths as a small kid. They were filled with bubbles and hard plastic mermaids. This was much better. The freshness of the water made her feel alive in a good way. She lied on her back and floated.

She looked over at Mary as she jumped off the rock. Y/n blushed as she entered the water with a big splash. Mary had been completely naked. Y/n had never seen another naked lady before.

Suddenly a noise ripped through the air. She turned as several people jumped into the water. The waves and splashes were taking over the lagoon.

“Oh my god it’s freezing.” Y/n saw a small blonde girl who was a little older than she was next to her. Her teeth chattered and suddenly Y/n realized that her teeth were chattering too.

In a split second a hand pushed Y/n underwater. She sputtered and coughed as she forced her head above the water.

“Hey are you okay,” a guy asked, Y/n assumed it was the one who had pushed her under. Everyone was staring at her and she ran.

She ran faster to get away from their voices. She felt like a freak. She made her way to the nearest fire. She was alone, until she felt the warm breath at her hip. His cold nose felt warm against her bare skin. Y/n went to go grab her dirty clothes but Mary was there, holding a pile.

“Here,” she said. She was dripping wet too. They stood looking at each other in the firelight. Mary was so beautiful in her soaked dress with the water dripping from her.

“Thanks,” Y/n took the pile and pulled on the shirt and pants over her soaked underwear. She pulled her bra off once the shirt was on and covered her.

Mary took it in her hand, “What’s your name?”

“Y/n.”

Mary leaned in and kissed Y/n on the cheek softly, “Y/n it’s okay. You’re safe here. No infection and no others and no military. We take care of each other.” She took Y/n’s soaking bra and pile of dirty clothes and left. Y/n stood by the fire and realized she had kissed her. She had liked that Mary kissed her. It was a nice feeling. Not nice the way Kirishima’s was. Hers was sweet and soft. It made her happy.

She looked down at Hades, who had turned his face in the light of the fire and whined. She patted his head and looked to where Mary walked. She dropped Y/n’s clothes into a basket and pointed to a bright orange glow in the woods across the camp. “Come to the fire. We sing and play guitar.”

Y/n pulled on her dry clothes and wrapped her arms around herself. Hades and Y/n followed Mary through the woods to where a large bonfire is burning. She could hear the music faintly in the crackle of the flames and embers. It was folk music, but better. She hadn’t heard music since before. She felt like an outsider but the people at the fire smiled at her. Someone shoved over on the log in front of her to make space. Hades watched her sit in a crowd. He didn’t know how to respond to it and whined a little.

Heat waves rose from the huge fire making it hard to see across where the musicians sre. The logs were built higher than the people sitting. She could make out a man with a small guitar. He was old and had a beard. A man started singing with the small guitars. His voice was incredible. It was raspy and sweet. Y/n was in a trance. She sat and closed her eyes. The music brought back something soft and sweet that she never knew she was missing. The sweet voice sent shivers down her spine and her throat was thick with unfelt emotions. They sat in a huge circle, warmed by the fire and the raw human emotions inside of the song. It was about love and sacrifice.

This was the greatest moment of her life. She had experienced nothing like this, even before. Time passed, she didn’t know how much. Songs were sung. Whiskey was passed and drank and swayed her body like everyone else. Her guard was not only lowered but completely destroyed.

In the light Y/n could see Mary. She sang and laughed and drank. Her eyes sparkled in the orange glow.

Slowly people trickled away from the fire. Hades had crept up and was lying at her feet. The pile of logs and lumber on the fire had burned down to ash and in the embers she had seen something she never expected. Bakugo was the singer with the haunting voice that had lit her up. He felt the music, she could see that. His eyes were closed and his fingers gently stroked the guitar. He finished the song and Y/n couldn’t help but see him differently.

He walked over to where she was sitting and sat down beside her.

“You’re a good singer.”

“We need to talk.”

Sitting beside him made her insides crawl.. He didn’t look sweet and soft like Mary did. He looked annoyed and angry with her. She felt intimidated by him. He didn’t seem like the goof Mina described. He was intense.

“I know you.”

His long legs seemed huge compared to hers. His were thick and strong looking. His face was handsome like Kirishima’s, but more commanding. She wanted to listen to him for some reason. She felt like he could keep her safe, like he did with everyone else there.

“So where are they?”

She shook her head and tried not to watch his mouth. “I don’t know. They were at my farmhouse last time I saw them?”

“How did thg look?

Y/n gulped, “Great. Kirishima was hurt a bit but I got him medicine. They were fine when I left though.”

“Where did you meet them?

“First my cabin,” She stated the story at the beginning and tried to not stare at his lips as he processed what she had to say. She wanted him to sing to her more.

--

im so tired holy fuck

[sonid6699]

Time travels back to the start by SONid6699

Leipzig, Germany, 2016

"Underoos"

Suddenly a figure in cladded in red and blue leaped out of nowhere and stole Captain's shield, and landed in the most superhero pose ever.

"Hey everyone!!!"

"Nice job kid."

"Thanks well I could have stuck the landing a little better it's just a new suit"

Everyone was looking at the red cladded person "Underoos" as Tony had called him with curiosity and annoyance but the look on Tony's 'I am so done with it' face made him backtrack his statement.

"What it's nothing just a new suit. What. It's nothing Mr. Stark it's perfect thank you"

"Yeah don't really need to start a conversation"

"Cap-Captain big-"

Suddenly his spider sense tingled. Well tingled is a small word, it felt like his senses went overdrive. As if they were screaming at him for an upcoming threat.

Stopping his ramble mid way he observed the airport. The need to find what triggered his senses at such a level was vital. He found nothing.

"Underoos. What are you doing there's nothing over there. Roger is here in the front." Now Tony was getting annoyed and for the tenth time he questioned himself that whether he did the right thing or not by bringing a kid to this fight.

"Something is happening!!!"

"What do you mean something is happening ki-"

"Mr. Stark? I don't feel so good…. "

The tremble and fear in his voice settled a suffocating silence over the airport. All the avengers and non-avengers were trying to identify the actions behind those words but no avail.

Tony definitely did not like where this was going. Somehow he had a bad feeling about it in his gut. "Kid are you alright?" he asked in surprisingly calm voice.

"I don't know… I don't know whats happening…."

Terror invaded in everyone's heart as suddenly the kid fell on his knees the shield long forgotten fell on the ground with a clank. The scream that came next was terrifying.

"aaaahhhh… Aaaaahhhhh……… ItIt….. It… Hu…..hurts!!!!"

By this time even Sam, Barnes, Wanda and Clint had came out of wherever they were hidden to watch the commotion.

"Roos you have to tell us what's going on."

Whatever Mr. Stark was saying fell deaf to Peter's ears. He was terrified. He thought he knew what pain was but this was offwordly. He can't help the scream that escaped his lips. "aaagghh… He..help...it hu.. Hur-"

Silence. Pin drop silence covered the airport for the second time this day. Everyone's face displayed all the emotions. Sympathy, horror, astonishment, pained, terrified…….. No one knew what to say as the kid's body disintegrated into dust. Tha dust that had now flew away with the wind.

Natasha broke the silence "What the fuck!!!!"

Steve collected his composure "Tony I know we aren't on good terms but…But for the sake of God please tell us it was one of the kids trick or your plan to stop us. That the kid disintegrating into fucking dust was all planned."

Tony didn't know what to say. He can't even believe what had happened." Cap do I look like i know what's going on." He was angry know. He knew that he was desperate to stop them and take them into custody but he wasn't that inhuman that he would willing allow a kid to suffer from… Whatever just happened. "And I… don't know ok!!!! As far as I am aware this ain't in his skill set!!!!!"

"Tony I.. Didn't mean it like that. Listen-"

"Can you both fight later and discuss what the hell happened!!" Rhodey cut both of them.

Sam knew he will be seeing weird things once he joined cap but this was on another level. "Guy's listen-"

He abruptly stopped as suddenly the ash that once had fallen started integrating again taking the form of a human body. The kid's body he realized. The formation was as scary as the disintegration.

Looks like he wasn't the only one paying attention as everyone held thier weapons against…… Whatever the hell they are going to face.

¤¤¤¤¤¤

He falls on the ground, pain tearing through every cell, every atom of his body. He can still feel the pain of being torn from its neighbour and sent drifting out into space. He could still feel the pain of his atom binding together, again, and it hurt but the pain was receding. That was good he thought. He was still coughing, body still shaking, weakened due to his unplannes excursion. He was vaguely aware of being held at gun point.

"Ow" he rasped. "I am not a threat. Please…… Not a terrorist. Lower the weapons….. Please……The trial is complete I am innocent. Mysterio and Beck…… Everything was a fucking lie…. ''

Silence laid heavily on surroundings. Not even a whisper disturbing the air.

Odd. Nothing had been this overwhelmingly quiet since he’d been bit by the spider; he could always hear, see, or at least smell something. It was a bit disconcerting, though not entirely unwelcome. Sometimes he really missed having normal senses. The last time this happened was his fucking trial. Being on trial with a shock that disabled his powers was something he didnot want happening. again.

Cutting himself off from that train of thought, Peter realized he should probably try and figure out what the hell was going on and why he was he was experiencing the pain of atoms binding together again rather than be at Ned's funeral. Which he can finally go now since his name was cleared. Realizing his mind was getting off track again, Peter squinted open his eyes.

Get back on track, Parker. He reprimanded himself.

What he was met with when he eventually cracked open his eyes, however, was a dim, shimmering wall of scarlet red (which was not on the list of what he was expecting to see but it wasn’t a bad thing, either). He carefully peeled his eyes fully open, ready to slam them shut again in case the authorities didn't get the memo that he was not a terrorist.

Everything slowly came into focus, and he rapidly sat up, turning in a full circle. "What-" he breathed out. The red dissipated into whisps, and he was face to face with people who had been either dead or who had abandoned him since the funeral.

The Scarlet Witch stared him in the face, eyes returning to a normal murky brown rather than a vibrant red. Peter realized that she had trapped him in what could be described as a... bubble? with her powers so he wasn't disturbed as he regained his senses.

And as Peter spun around yet again, breathing picking up in panicked breaths, he recognized his surroundings.

Around him were the Avengers, every one of them.

He was back at the airport battle in Leipzig.

¤¤¤¤¤¤

Peter's eyes locked on Mr. Stark's, chest heaving, and he immediately thought back to the last time he'd seen the man. Alive.

We won. You did it sir. We won Tony.

Mr. Stark looked confused, eyes raking over Peter's form, clad in a red and black suit with a metallic silver spider sprawled in the middle of his chest.

"Peter?" the man asked, taking a step towards the boy, and that was all he needed to bolt away from everyone. Well in the centre as everyone seemed to be circling him. The reason unknown.

It took him a couple of minutes to arrive at the conclusion that Beck was alive. It was all his game. His fucking plan to fuck with him even more when everything was finally going to be as normal as possible. But no!!! His Peter Tingle™ had to betray him again.

Fury and rage filled him as he spoke. "What the fuck Beck. How can you be so cruel. Wasn't london enough. Want to fuck with me and my mind even more. With what the battle of airport. THIS TIME YOU CAN'T FOOL. I WON'T LET YOU. I DEFEATED YOU ONCE BEFORE. AND I WILL IN EVERY HELL DO IT AGAIN. THIS TIME I WON'T FALL IN YOUR ILLUSIONS YOU ASSHOLE"

By the time he was finished he was breathing heavily. His mind wandered to that one question again and again. How did Beck and his crew got the airport's battle. There was no footage in public media and after London he himself strengthened Stark Industries server.

"Underoos, what-" Mr. Stark said, cutting himself off as he took in the sight of Peter again.

Black and red metallic suit. Eyes filled with rage and fury. But their was hollowness in them like the kid had gone through hell. And London? Beck? Mysterio? Illusions?

"Kid I-"

"Stop!!!!!"

Peter said. No roared. Tony definitely never thought he could piss someone this much in such a short time.

"This is ridiculous" Peter yells ignoring all the looks he was getting. Ignoring the was his heart shattered upon seeing Beck using Mr. Stark's face, again to lure him into his trap.

"Peter it's me Ton-"

"Tony Stark is dead. Has been dead for a fucking whole year. Today is his death anniversary." Peter yells the illusion freezes. "I mourned him. For a whole fucking year. I went to his mother fucking funeral. I met his daughter. Do you really think I am that gullible!"

All the illusions looks confused froze In their spot. Mr. Stark no the illusion rasped "What!"

Peter turns his eyes stinging with tears, pain, exhaustion, rage. He just wanted this to end for good and for forever.

"You want a battle let's have one. And this time do not forget that you can't fool me into thinking you are dead. This time I myself will depart you to Raft."

With that he launched in attack webbing fake-Tony's hands and body to floor along with fake-cap. Disabling fake-Sam's wing and weaving him and Barnes together in a cacoon. He was fast like a shadow.

Suddenly he dodged the cars that fake-Wanda was throwing his way. Immediately webbing her hands up with the strongest webbing he had to disable her hand. This way she won't be able to to conjure magic. All the while dodging repulsor blasts from Fake-Colonel.

Again he dodged the punch fake-T'challa was gonna give and weaved him, fake-Clint and fake-Colonel similar to fake-Sam and fake-Barnes.

What he wasn't prepared was the blast from infinity stone and the sparring from Fake-Natasha.

After dodging and attacking what felt lIke eternity he was defeated. Fake-Natasha had won. But how? He didn't knew Beck's crew had such a skilled fighter. How the Blasts from fake-infinity stone seemed real. His body was aching. He wanted to rest. And he will after he capture Beck.

He tried getting out of her and Fake-Vision's hold but "You can't get out my Peter. Not until you tell us what the you did… You are doing. I thought you were on Stark's side against Cap? And who is Beck? What illusions are you talking about?" Fake-Natasha threatened very…… calmly.

"You of all people know Beck what you are doing" Peter choked. But his mind was just getting confused. The last Beck himself accepted that it was all an illusion. Had he changed tactics?

"Kid! Roos what are talking about? This is real everything is real. Their are no illusions kid." fake-Tony said.

By this time Peter had long given up on fighting instead he was waiting for the families Peter Tingle to tingle. To sense where drones could be. But his senses….. Were calmed. As if he wasn't in middle of illusions and drones. It was wrong. This was feeling real. Too much real.

"Pete-"

"Tell me a thing only my Mr. Stark would know. Something only between the two of us." He cut off fake-tony.

Tony was shocked seeing the kid's composure. The happy, bubby, nervous, like a lost puppy was gone. Instead in front of him was a kis who had suffered too much for his age. He thought of a thing only the kid and he would know."In your room you said 'If bad things happen. And you don't stop even if you have the ability then they happen because of you."

Peter's body went limp. No….. This can't happen. I know time travel is real but…… This can't happen……. Wait….. If I am back this means Mr. Stark isn't dead. He is alive and healthy.

"Mr. Stark????" He whispered. He was scared. What he isn't the real Mr. Stark. What if all this is just a dream just his imagination.

Even Natasha loosened her hold hearing the kid's scared and confused voice.

Peter immediately got out of Natasha's hold. And ran to where Mr. Stark was webbed up. He tore through the web using his super strength and hugged his Mr. Stark with all his force.

OK this wasn't what Tony expected. This kid was hugging him. Just a moment earlier he was fighting all of them and had almost defeated them and now he was hugging with such a force that he thought he might break his ribs.

"Kid-ouch easy" the hold loosened.

"You-you are alive"

Updated periodically on ao3. 4 chapters updated as of 13.5.21

[you-imagine-i-write]

Love Is Blind

Long time no see, family! Lockdown has finally prompted me to write an imagine, and boy is it a long one. I hope you enjoy and that everyone is staying safe in such difficult times xx

Summary: OUAT Peter Pan x Reader. Due to a curse many years ago, you were left blind, but Peter saw potential in you and brought you to Neverland, where you fell in love with the magical world, the Lost Boys, and most importantly Peter Pan himself. When the camp is attacked and you're injured, long held feelings come to light, and true love may change you forever.

Word Count: 2,416 words

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Birds chirped and the sun shone down on a new day in Neverland as you stepped out of your tent, arms stretched out as you yawned and tried to shake away the last of your tiredness.

“Morning, Y/N,” a chorus of Lost boys called out to you.

“Good morning, Neverland. Good morning, Lost Boys,” you beamed, in an excellent mood and overjoyed to be around family.

As you left your tent in search of Peter, you heard the Lost Boys moving around you, moving various items out of your path as you wandered around the camp whistling a jolly tune. When you heard a Lost Boy, you reached out a gentle hand to brush their arm or face in greeting, always grateful to them for letting you feel so close to them with your soft touch. Everything was black, but you’d spent so long running your fingers around the various trees and tents and such that you had an approximate picture of what Pan’s camp looked like in your head. As for the Lost Boys, you took such joy in running your fingertips across their faces to get to know the intricacies of them, and they were always happy to indulge you, so it was almost as if you could see them too. Peter didn’t often let you do the same, something about it being unprofessional in front of his boys, so you didn’t know his face as well, but you had dreamed about the boy so many times that you’d started to build an approximate picture in your head. Plus, on days where Pan was feeling particularly generous or flirty, he would let you cop a little feel that was always the highlight of your week, considering how beautiful you guessed the boy to be.

You hadn’t been blind forever but, due to a heinous crime committed by your father, you had been cursed by a witch many years ago. So, you were already blind when Peter recruited you into his ranks, bringing you to Neverland. Still, he must have seen something in you, and maybe it was the same thing you felt in him. You’d always been drawn to Peter, for as long as you could remember, and over the years your feelings only grew for the boy who had saved you from a lifetime of darkness. You’d never been able to tell him though, simply trying to enjoy every flirtatious joke and shared moment, knowing that your lack of fighting and survival skills meant you could never be truly loved by someone as amazing as Peter Pan.   

To find him, you simply followed the sound of his pipes, a beautiful sound that you guessed was almost as beautiful as him.

“Today is a good day, you know why?” you called out happily when you were close enough to the noise to know Peter could hear you, and the pipes grew quiet.

“You’re finally going to go skinny dipping with me?” Peter called back cheekily.

“In your dreams,” you laughed, before rubbing your hands together excitedly. “Today is the day I'm going to convince you to teach me how to fight.”

“Y/N-” Peter groaned.

You interrupted him quickly before he could protest, groaning, “Don’t hit me with the speech again; blah blah it’s too dangerous, I don’t want you to get hurt blah. I wish I’d been cursed with deafness instead.”

“Be quiet,” Peter hissed.

“Don’t you dare tell me to be quiet, Peter Pan,” you snapped indignantly.

Then, you heard the first gun fire.

The sounds of running footsteps filled your ears as you heard another Lost Boy approach and it was Felix that called out, “Pan, pirates are attacking!”

“Take Y/N to her tent and make sure she stays there,” Pan ordered sharply, already preparing to throw himself into battle as the noises of chaos begun to grow around them.

“No, I want to help,” you cried as you felt Felix begin to gently drag you away as the sound of Lost Boys fighting around you continued to grow, weapons clanging, screams and grunts of exertion that made your blood run cold.

“Keep her safe, Felix; I’m counting on you,” Peter growled, his voice getting further away, and you reached towards the sound of it desperately.

You felt the temperature change as you returned to the familiar space of your tent and the noises of fighting grew quieter, that was until you heard another set of footsteps approaching.

“Stay right here,” Felix ordered, before you heard him exit the tent, followed by sounds of grunting and weapons clanging.

“Felix? Felix! What’s happening?” you cried out desperately when the noise grew quiet, but your friend hadn’t returned, “Are you okay?”

“Oh look, it’s Pan’s blind little pet,” chuckled a voice that you didn’t recognise, grating and cruel; a pirate.  

Felix wasn’t responding, and unbeknownst to you he was slumped unconscious at the entrance of the tent. As fear began to shake your body, you tried to shove it aside and prove to Peter the strength and determination inside you.  

“I’m not a pet, I’m Pan’s- I'm important to him,” you yelled indignantly, trying to focus your mind to pinpoint the location of the enemy.

“A funny joke.” The pirate laughed cruelly, spitting his harsh words at you, “You’re nothing, you could never fight side by side with him, with any of them. I'm sure they see you as nothing more than a weak nuisance.”

You did your best to ignore the words, but they were ones you knew too well. They echoed in your head on the daily as you worried about your place in Neverland, your curse robbing you of the chance to be independent, to stand side by side with your Lost Boys through Hell and fire.

“That’s not true,” you cried, bringing yourself to your feet to stand against your enemy without fear, even if it was the last thing you did, “I would protect these boys with my life.”

“Protect them? You can’t even protect yourself,” the pirate hissed and then he was moving, too quickly for you to reel back from.

You felt his knife pierce you, eliciting a gasp at the pain as blood began to flow from your wound. The pirate laughed again, filling you with an overwhelming rage. You would not let this man hurt your family, and boy had he made a mistake; now you had a weapon.

You pulled the knife from your stomach in one fluid movement, ignoring the overwhelming pain as you threw yourself towards the place you’d last heard the pirate’s voice without a second of hesitation. A scream of anger ripped its way out of your throat as you brought the knife down with all the strength you had left, again and again until you felt the tear of flesh and heard the man fall to the floor.

The pain was unimaginable, and you allowed yourself to fall to the ground, hoping your sacrifice would be enough. You heard the sound of groans and footsteps, but had no strength left to fight with. You could feel your blood leaving your body, running over your hands before you could stop it, and your only regret was that you could not spend your final moments with Peter. If only you’d have told him how grateful you were for the life he had given you, and the feelings you had for him that kept you strong and happy. But now it may be too late, and in that moment you loved him even more.   

“Get Pan, NOW!” Felix’s voice yelled, full of anguish, and you almost fainted in relief (or maybe from blood loss).

He must have regained consciousness, and you felt the familiar grip of his hands on you as Felix took you into his arms, putting painful yet necessary pressure on your wound.

"What’s going on?” you groaned, desperately reaching out for Felix’s face for reassurance; you didn’t want to be alone in the cold and the dark.

“You killed him, Y/N, but he got you,” Felix crooned, placing one of his hands over your own gently as he cradled you.

The relief and pride over Felix’s words filled you, returning some of your strength and your smile, but it was nothing compared to hearing the next voice that entered the tent.

“Y/N! I’m here.”

Peter had arrived, and you could cry with joy. Despite the pain and Felix’s protests, you tried to drag yourself towards the sound of Peter’s voice. Before you could move very far, you were enveloped in Pan’s arms, surrounded by his familiar smell and feeling safe and warm.

“I killed him, Peter,” you cried with a mixture of joy and exhaustion. “He said I was nothing, but I actually killed him.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t listen to that pirate filth. To me, you’re everything,” Peter replied sharply, flooring you with the openness of his affection as you felt him brush the hair from your face.

His magic began to dance across your stomach, almost tickling you as you felt it begin to knit together your wound. The pain receded and you sighed in relief, still clutching onto Peter for comfort.

“Pan, I’m so sorry,” Felix began to stutter, obviously feeling guilty.

“No need, Felix,” Pan said smugly, sounding much happier than you’d expected as you could practically hear the grin on his face as he continued,  “Our Lost Girl has had the chance for her first blood, and we’re all very proud. And our little problem outside has been taken care of so you can go, Felix; I’ll get Y/N into bed.

You beamed with pride at his words, a small shriek of surprising leaving your mouth as Pan scooped you up into his arms. You heard Felix leave as you were placed gently on your bed and you lay down with a sad sigh that you couldn’t shake as the pirate’s cruel voice continued to repeat in your head.

“He was right, I’m not good enough for you,” you mumbled. “I can’t fight, and I cause you boys so much hassle, hell, I can’t even see you.”

The bed dipped as Peter sat next to you, his voice gentler than you thought he could speak as he said, “Oh, Y/N, surely you don’t need eyes to see how much I love you.”

A gasp left your mouth before you could stop it. Was it the blood loss making you crazy? Or was the boy you’d been in love with for God knows how many years actually confessing his feelings for you. Hell, for a while, you didn’t even know if Pan could love.

“Do you really mean it?” you asked quietly.

“Of course.”

You sat up, following the silky sound of Peter’s voice, desperate to feel close to him as it was finally time to say the words you didn’t think you’d ever have the strength to admit, the words you thought you’d die without getting to say.

You found his face and cupped it in your hand, a wide smile spreading across your face as you said, “Peter, I don’t need to see you to know how much I love you.”

“I guess love really is blind,” Peter chuckled, and you loved the way his smile felt against your fingertips

“Shut up,” you giggled, your brush with death leaving you bold enough to do the thing you’d been dreaming of for so long.

You pulled Peter’s face to you and kissed him, and time seemed to freeze. Your pains and tiredness faded away, and everything was right with the world as you fell into the deep and loving kiss.

“You should always do that when you want me to shut up,” Peter laughed when you came up for air.

“That’ll be often then,” you said with a contented smile.

“That’s the plan. Now, close those beautiful eyes and go to sleep,” Peter instructed softly, and you loved to hear the deep affection for you that the boy held in his voice.

“You think my eyes are beautiful?” you asked shyly, trying to cast your memory back far enough to remember what your face looked like.

Peter laughed again, a joyful sound, as he ran a gentle hand over your cheek. “I think you are beautiful.”

                                                             ***

The camp was woken up the next morning by a piercing scream that sent the Lost Boys into a panic, grabbing their weapons and running in the direction of Y/N’s tent, where the scream originated. Before anyone could rush inside to check on you, you threw the flaps to your tent open with a wide dramatic flourish.

The Lost Boys stopped in their tracks at the beaming smile that filled up your face, the happiest they’d seen you in all your time in Neverland. Without a word, you threw yourself at Felix and he barely caught you in his arms as you began running your hands over his face extatically.

“Felix, it’s you,” Y/N beamed, before throwing herself into the next set of Lost Boy arms she could find and repeating the action with growing excitement, again and again with each boy as she took in all of the beautiful faces around her.

“I demand to know what’s going on,” Pan’s booming voice filled the confused group, and as you turned to face the voice you knew so well, your legs turned to jelly at the sight of his face.

Peter was beautiful, so beautiful. And the concern for you on his face made a bought of laughter burst from your mouth before you could stop it. Pan turned to you with indignation, but before he could reprimand you, you had thrown yourself into his arms.

You ran your fingers over his face longingly, trying to commit every delightful detail to memory. Obviously clocking something was up, Peter didn’t stop your searching fingers for a change, and tears sprung to your eyes as you were overwhelmed by the beauty of Neverland and the faces of the boys who meant so much to you.

“You did it,” you gasped as you stared into Peter’s eyes, and the loving way that he looked at you, and everything made sense, “your true love. I can see, Peter; I can see! Thank you, so much.”

You tried to pour all the gratitude you had for Peter into your words but knew you would never be able to. Thankfully, you had the rest of time to make it up to him.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Found You

Note: Hey! Damn, it's been a while since I posted. School finals and then not having a laptop for weeks will do that to you, apparently. Anyway, this is a oneshot I had lots of fun writing! Early in my werewolf Stan AU, someone on AO3 commented that it would be pretty cool if Stan managed to escape, and... well, you'll see. Thanks to the person who gave me this idea! Hope you all enjoy :)

________________________________________

Stan was beginning to think that it was time to re-evaluate his life.

How many times did a guy have to chew his way out of something before coming to that conclusion? Twice, apparently. At least this time he’d had wolf fangs to back him up; the last time he’d chewed his way out of a sticky situation he hadn’t even had that.

He’d been so desperate for so long to just do what Pa had ordered. Make millions, prove to everyone that he wasn’t just a failure, be welcomed back home. But – it was never gonna be enough, was it? He may as well stop living in a fantasy world.

Fuck getting rich and being accepted back into his family, Stan just wanted to sleep in a bed. He wondered idly if this backwater town was hiring waiters or something. Didn’t need high school credentials or a valid ID to be a waiter, right? Sure the pay was shit and there was no hope of getting rich enough to make Pa happy, but he might be able to afford a cheap motel or something.

Not that Stan looked like prime employee material right now. When he’d first stumbled into this diner the waitress had looked like she was expecting him to either rob the place or drop down dead in front of her. Now it seemed like her suspicion had given way to pity because she placed a slice of pie in front of him alongside the coffee he’d ordered.

“It’s on the house.”

Hey, he’d take what he could get.

Stan dug into his pie, groaning happily at the warmth seeping through his mouth. The pleasure of eating actual food was slightly marred by the ache in his jaw. He winced and poked at his teeth with his tongue, checking out the damage. All things considered? Not bad. It probably wouldn’t take more than a few weeks to heal the worst of the damage. Hey, werewolf perks.

Luckily Stan had only needed to break the lock of Ford’s cage to escape – if he’d tried chewing through the bars he wasn’t sure he would have any teeth left at the end of it. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if there had been heavier security. He’d managed to break himself out before shifting into human form to unlatch the shed door, limping into the woods as quickly as he could while the night still hung heavy and quiet. He’d finally found his car and gunned it until he ended up in this dump, a town a few miles away. Sitting in this booth was the first time he’d rested since getting out of there and he was beginning to realize that everything hurt.

The whole ‘nearly-beaten-to-death’ thing wasn’t new to Stan, but that didn’t make in pleasant. From the pain in his chest he was pretty sure at least one rib was broken. Peering at his reflection in a spoon revealed that he was also covered in a myriad of ugly black, brown and yellow bruises like a patchwork blanket – a patchwork blanket with a mullet. Ugh. He put the spoon back to its original purpose of scooping pie, so he didn’t have to look at his reflection anymore.

Also, he couldn’t remember hurting his neck, but he must have somehow because a spot on the back of it was tender and swollen. When Stan reached up to feel it there was a little lump. Maybe he could get some ice for that to bring the swelling down? Nah, no use when his whole face looked like a discoloured turnip.

He wolfed down (haha, wolfed) the last of his sad little meal and felt around in his pockets for spare change. He could just finish his coffee and run, but that would make a pretty bad first impression and he was still hoping to get hired. On the other hand, this coffee was expensive as shit and Stan could probably buy himself a cheap burger or something with the cash tomorrow. Would it be better to make a good impression, stick around in this town and look for work, or steal now and search for another place?

He gulped down a mouthful of scalding, bitter coffee. It was way better than lapping lukewarm water from a metal bowl. Upgrades, people. Upgrades.

The door gave a stupidly cheerful jingle that Stan resented – partly on principle, and partly because who the fuck goes to a diner at three in the morning? (Except for Stan, because he was pathetic, and of course the waitress. At least she got paid to be there.) Stan took another sip of his drink and glanced across to get a look at the other sad sack who had just come in.

He choked.

Because holy shit that was Ford standing in the doorway, staring right back at him.

Ford’s glasses were askew and his hair mussed, like a man who had recently crawled out of bed. How the hell was he there? Stan had barely left an hour ago! He coughed and thumped at his chest to encourage his stupid lungs to start breathing again.

Ford’s eyes travelled down to some machine doohickey he was holding, and then back up to Stan. A frown flashed across his features.

“…there you are.”

Stan tried to speak but it came out as a wheeze. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Uh – Ford. Didn’t – um – didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Ford walked over and slid into the booth across from Stan, eyes scanning him. The intense gaze made Stan shrink back into his seat and cough uncomfortably. Well, at least Ford had no reason to believe that Stan was the werewolf he was missing?

“Are you some kind of – werewolf?” Ford demanded.

…shit.

Stan schooled his expression into a grin, trying to ignore the thundering of his heart pounding against his chest. “Werewolf? Psh, Ford, you know those don’t exist.”

Ford rolled his eyes at Stan’s forced nonchalance. “Stanley, please. I tagged you with a tracker, I know it’s you.”

Well, Ford kinda had him there.

“Wait, wait wait wait – you chipped me?” Stan hissed. Ford only nodded to himself with self-satisfaction. Stan cursed and reached up to scratch at that tiny lump in his neck, wincing as his fingers prodded tender flesh. Damn. He should have noticed earlier and clawed it out.

And now Ford was watching him with that calculating stare. Stan stared back defiantly, swallowing down the growl that bubbled up in his chest. He would not be out-stared, dammit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ford’s question broke the frigid silence. Stan blinked.

“You – uh, what?”

Ford pressed on. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were? Who you were? Hell, this entire mess could have been avoided if you’d just-”

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?” Stan couldn’t bite down a hint of a growl, and he took pleasure in seeing his brother’s eyes widen at the low rumble.

“…I didn’t say that.”

“May as well have.” Calm down, he had to calm down. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool in front of people. Of course, it would have been easier to control himself if he wasn’t exhausted and aching all over and starving and shivering and afraid and so so angry. The gritting of his teeth was already becoming awkward around sharp canines and the beginnings of a large, lolling tongue. He had to get out of there now.

“-back to my house.” Ford was continuing. How long had he been speaking for? “You could be a danger to yourself and others in this state.”

“I’m fine.” Stan stood up roughly. Thank god the waitress had ducked into the kitchen for something – she wouldn’t be monitoring to make sure he paid. And as an added bonus she also wouldn’t see the inhuman gleam of his irises. He yanked his hood over his head just to be sure and stalked for the door.

“Need I remind you that you attacked a man just yesterday?” Ford followed him relentlessly. Stan shouldered through the door and his dirty boots crunched in the thin layer of snow outside. Fat flakes spiraled down around him and stung his face as he stomped to his car, Ford in fast pursuit.

Ugh, the snow muffled the sounds around him so all he could hear were the sounds of two bodies, magnified and echoing – harsh breathing and the pounding of blood in his ears, crunching of footsteps behind him and the minute scrape of fabric brushing against itself in movement. The sensation of being followed made him shiver, made every muscle in his tired body tense.

It’s just Ford. Not some rando. He won’t hurt you, calm down. Focus on the moment, Ford is talking to you.

“No.” Stan snapped out. “No, I attacked his fucking dog. He’s the one who tried to bash my skull in.”

Footsteps behind him brought to mind a similar sound. Footsteps crunching in snow as the person followed him when he tried to crawl away. He could still see the burly figure looming over him. Red, red hair and red, red blood on his own pelt-

His breaths came quick and fast, gulps of frigid air. Ford was speaking to him loudly but the words all blurred together. A hand reached for him and Stan jerked away.

“No!”

His voice rumbled with a low growl and Stan cursed to himself, claws digging into his own bicep as he tried to force the Shift away. Now was not the time to have a breakdown. He was supposed to be in control, goddammit!

But the urge to Shift sat heavy in his chest, almost an ache. Shifting made him safe, because shifting made him dangerous, and nothing can hurt you if you hurt it first and every cell in his body was screaming for him to run away-

Stan didn’t realize he’d sunk to his knees until he felt the snow soaking through his pant legs. Burning, biting cold. Pain radiated from his arm, too – his claws had slid under the skin of his arm and sent pain stinging through him. But the pain was good, it kept him grounded.

“Stanley-”

“Shut. Up.” Stan growled out. Ford shut up.

Deep breath in, deep breath out, forcing his lungs to expand and contract. Slowly the Shift settled itself, claws shrinking into dirty nails and fangs becoming blunt and fur (when had the fur appeared?) receding into skin.

Stan ran his tongue over his teeth to ensure that they were wholly human once again. The fluctuation between states hadn’t helped their aching – his gums throbbed and he could taste blood.

“Oooookay.” He pulled in another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Alright. I’m good.”

Ugh, the snow was soaking through his pants. Stan pulled himself up and tried dusting the white powder off, but his body heat had already caused it to melt into the fabric. He cursed.

“…are you okay?” Ford finally said.

A glance at Ford’s face showed equal amounts of wariness and concern. Which, hey, Stan didn’t think that his brother would be concerned about him, so that was a nice surprise.

…but there was also the possibility that he was just worried Stan would go apeshit and tear him to pieces. That would make more sense.

“You’re fine, I’m not dangerous or anything unless I wanna be.” Stan waved a hand. “Just my Shifting acting up. Funnily enough, it’s hard to not slip into danger mode when you’ve been locked in a cage for hours on end! Funny how that happens, huh?”

Ford had the grace to look a little guilty. He reached to take Stan’s arm, then hesitated before his fingers made contact. “…look. Can I at least take you home? You shouldn’t be driving in this state.”

Stan had to suppress a laugh. Sure, take the homeless man home. That had to be some kind of paradox, right? He spat a glob of blood into the snow to clear his throat before responding. “No need, I’m fine.”

Ford was staring at him in horror now. Stan blinked.

“…what?”

“Was that blood?”

“Er. Yeah. Why?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were badly injured? You could have internal bleeding!” Ford shrilled, making Stan take a step back and laugh nervously.

“Seriously, I’m fine, I just broke a couple teeth on the-”

“You broke a couple -” Ford spluttered. “I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”

“I don’t need to go to the-”

“We are going to the hospital now!”

“Ford-”

“Hospital. Now.”

…you know what? Stan’s day couldn’t get any weirder. He shrugged.

Ford grabbed him by the arm and started towing him through the car park, Stan trying not to limp as he followed. From Ford’s worried cluck he didn’t do a very good job.

“Aren’t you gonna, like, try to study me or whatever?” Stan managed as he was pushed into a car. Ford dropped into the driver’s seat.

“Of course I am, I’ve never seen a werewolf before, but that will be after I know my brother isn’t dying!”

“…fair enough. Can I pick the music?”

“No.”

[kiwisfics]

Varian x Reader - Cassandra’s Revenge

Request: @technolilly - Hi! I'm currently dying cause I'm in love with Varian and I need some angst, have you seen Cassandra's revenge? If so *SPOILER AFTER THIS MARK DONT READ IF YOU HAVENT SEEN IT* How about she uses reader as a motive for Varian to tell her the incantation instead? And she hurts reader until Varian says it? Then angsty confession with Cassandra mocking it?

A/N: For clarification, I actually love Cass; she's a great character, villain or not; but I'm an avid whumper, so I may have taken this prompt and uh... Ran.

All the whump aside, there’s a happy ending. (The ending is also a little rushed, sorry)

I cut this off sooner than I was going to, but I figured if anything, I’d make a part two with recovering fluff (and maybe some nightmare angst)

Warnings: ooc Cass, torture, violence, blood, threats, broken bones, drugging, humiliation (minor, but the ask mentioned Cass mocking a confession and I took liberties), guys this is really dark you gave me permission to pretty much torture reader and torture is my writing forte

---

The tip of one of the multitude of black rocks dug into the soft skin of your neck, one wrong move away from digging in and causing pain, or something far worse. 

"Let her go, Cassandra!" There was raw fear in his voice- he couldn't lose you; and his voice broke as he said her name. 

Varian looked a smidge worse for wear. His right eye was bruising over and a shallow cut marred his left cheek, but it could've been worse. You were almost grateful she'd turned to you as a bartering chip, rather than hurting him until he caved. 

(He wouldn't, for the record. Not for his own sake. He was holding onto the trust Rapunzel had given him with an iron grip and no amount of pain would shake that, you were certain. He'd be well and truly too far gone before any part of that incantation left his lips for his own sake. Maybe Cassandra knew that; that would explain why she'd turned her attention onto you.)

If you were in any position to fight back, you were certain you would've wiped her smug grin right off of her face, or at least tried to. But you weren't in that position, and the panic in Varian's tone was making your own panic more profound—he knew her, you'd never met this woman, and if Varian was worried, then what did that mean for you?

You swallowed, which was more than enough for the rock to break skin, leaving a thin trial of blood to drip down your skin and pool against your collarbone. 

Varian dared to take a step in your direction, but a wall of rocks exploded from the ground inches in front of him and, what honestly seemed to perturb him more, Cassandra placed a hand below your chin. The rock against your flesh receded enough for her to force your head forward. Your eyes met Varian's and you forced yourself to hide the fear in your expression. 

"I'd stay back if her safety's your priority," Varian's jaw clenched, you could see it from across the room, along with the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek, weighing his options, "I'll let her go, once I have that incantation." 

"Don't give her-!"

"Quiet!" The rock's proximity to your neck returned, and your mouth snapped shut as Cassandra's grip tightened painfully, "What do you say, Varian? I'd say that's more than a fair trade."

He rose his hands, not that he could be perceived as any kind of threat with his bag tossed into a far corner of the room. Without his alchemy, all he had was his words, and you doubted she had any intention of listening to them, "Cass, just let her go, she doesn't have anything to do with this!"

He rounded the rocks as he spoke, chancing another step forward before he stopped of his own volition before Cassandra could block him once again.

"She didn't have anything to do with this, until she became important to you." Cassandra turned your head to the side, eyeing your face before she laughed, "Where'd you even meet her? Did she fall into your lab?"

Honestly, not far from what had actually happened, but now was far from the time for recalling your meeting. 

"Just think about what you're doing. This isn't the road you want to go down, I know." He took yet another step, and rocks emerged from the ground again. 

This time, the rocks weren't the jagged weapons that you'd grown used to seeing, they resembled hands, "You know?" The hands wrapped around both his wrists and then melted back into the ground, bringing Varian to his knees. "No, Varian, you lost your nerve, I won't."

You knew enough about Varian's past. His guilt was palpable the moment he was reminded of what he'd done and he did his best to make up for everything he'd been responsible for. You didn't fault him for seeing himself in Cassandra, even if you were in the middle of this. To be fair, even if he did make a run for his bag, there was no guarantee anything in it would be more than an inconvenience to her with her control over the rocks.

"I want that incantation, Varian." She released your jaw, leaving burning fingerprints in her wake that would undoubtedly turn to bruises before a new day broke. 

She moved toward Varian, and for a moment you were sure that he was going to get the worst of this experience. But she crouched down in front of him, making a show of turning her arm to a weapon, "Do you really want to know what I'll do to her to get it?"

His eyes snapped in between you and Cassandra, and you gave a resolute shake of your head, steeling your expression to avoid giving him any more of a reason to tell her the incantation. Both you and Varian were holding out on the hope that Rapunzel would be here soon, and that this could all turn into fuel for future nightmares, until then, he just needed to keep that incantation to himself. 

You bit back any cry of pain that attempted to escape you, biting into your cheeks hard enough to draw blood and, as you clenched your eyes tightly, the taste of blood flooded your mouth. 

For now though, Cassandra stood, and you braced yourself for what was to come.

The rock against your neck suddenly shot forward, cutting deep into the side of your neck - anything vital was missed, but that was certainly the point; you couldn't be a bartering chip if you were dead, could you?

"Cassandra, Wait!" Varian struggled against his confines as she approached, doing nothing but rubbing his wrists raw. He wasn't getting loose, even he knew that. 

"One last chance, Varian," the blade on her arm pressed against your cheek in a grisly promise, as the weapon against your neck receded completely, "what's the incantation?"

"Don't do this! Don't hurt her!" 

The blinding pain that ignited on your face made clear that she hadn't appreciated that answer. 

You cried out, your hands - trapped against your sides by her rocks - pulling against their own confines in a desperate attempt to still your bleeding as well as defend yourself as a blow against your stomach made you keel over. 

"Cassandra, stop!" Varian's voice dropped an octave or two, making clear that his previous worry was turning to anger, "Let her go!" 

She snickered and the rocks holding you steady crawled higher, reaching just below your chest before they tightened around your midsection, resulting in an audible snap seconds before you started to scream. 

You could hear Varian screaming something, but your ears were ringing in response to the pain in your torso. The radiating burning in your ribs was enough to distract you from the fact that she'd grabbed your face again, maneuvering it so Varian could see the way your eyes glossed over from agony. 

Your breaths came out in shallow gasps and the pain didn't stop, but, eventually, the far away look in your eyes faded as you returned to the moment. 

God, where was Rapunzel?

Cassandra released your face once again, and her attention turned to Varian's discarded bag, not that either of you noticed. 

"You're going to be okay, (Name)," he was crying, and, all your pain aside, that made you hate her more than anything, "you're going to be okay!" 

You were sure that you were crying yourself, but you could hardly focus on anything other than the pain. You wished that the cuts were deep enough to knock you out, at this point. It would be much easier to deal with unconsciousness than to deal with the pain. 

Through the pain, you were still able to meet his eyes and hiss out, "Don't tell her."

She returned, a vial in her hand. 

You eyed the vial cautiously, but her grip on it kept the label hidden. You had no idea what Varian deemed necessary to carry in his bag, and, faced with finding out, you decided that you'd much rather remain ignorant. 

"I'm sure there will be plenty left to get me that incantation," she lifted the vial between two fingers, revealing the label: truth serum. You were going to yell at Varian for this later, no doubt, both for deciding to start labeling his vials now, and for carrying that around, "but first," she grabbed your jaw, and forced your mouth open. 

You briefly wondered what she got out of this; why she didn't just give the serum to Varian and get this over with, but you recognized the opportunity the instant the glass rested against your lips. 

If she was going to prioritize tormenting you over getting the incantation that she so desired, then, by all means, you'd use that to your advantage. 

Before she could see it coming, you forced your head forward and grabbed the vial between your teeth, tilting your head back and swallowing the entirity of the bottle. 

Cassandra growled, snatching the bottle back—you let go soon enough to avoid chipping any teeth—but she was a second too late, and you couldn't help flashing a grin, even through the pain you were in, "Whoops."

Rage flashed in her expression, but it melted back into self-satisfaction in a moment, "You shouldn't have done that." 

The threat of pain didn't miss you, but you remained unperturbed. Well, as unperturbed as you could be with the pain that coursed through your body with every shallow breath you took. 

She paced in front of you, and you could tell that, despite the facade, she was growing uncertain, "What's the incantation?"

You started to laugh, but you were immediately interrupted by a blinding pain, "I don't know." 

She knew that, but she had to ask. She rolled her eyes, "Aren't you proud of yourself? Well, (Name)," you didn't like hearing your name came from her mouth, particularly when you knew she'd only learned it from Varian's panicked yelling, "wouldn't you rather Varian be the one in your position? He's the one that got you into this mess after all." 

"No," the answer came without a thought, as it would have without the truth serum. You cocked a brow, maybe she expected the answer to be yes, and that it would hurt Varian, but you would rather take this pain ten-times over, rather than have to watch Varian be hurt. 

He probably felt the same, which, honestly, made you feel guilty, even if you couldn't do anything about your current predicament. 

Even if Cassandra had expected your answer to be yes, her expression perked up, "Really? And why would that be?"

Oh, crap.  

You bit back your answer, well aware that it wasn't something that you wanted to admit, but you had downed an entire vial of truth serum, "Because-because I," you bit down on the insides of your cheeks, but there was no stopping your answer, "Because I love him." 

Varian's gritted teeth and furrowed brow instantly relaxed in an expression of surprise at your answer, his mouth dropping open, and brows raising, 

If you hadn't been in such an awful situation, you would have admired how adorable he looked in the moment, but Cassandra's laugh shattered the moment, and he returned to anger. 

"Awe, isn't that cute!" She had the gall to pinch your cheek, and you jerked your head away without thinking, resulting in a massive spike of pain in your ribs. "She loves you, Varian!"

The sickly sweet tone lead into more pain as she intentionally pressed her thumb into the deep cut on your cheek. 

She opened her mouth, likely to continue mocking you, but a familiar voice interrupted before she could. 

"Cass!" Instantly Cassandra's face fell and she swung around. 

Rapunzel's appearance earned a sigh of relief from you, and the rocks pinning you in place receded into the ground as the two fought. 

You hit the ground, hard, causing the pain in your ribs to grow exponentially worse. You curled into a ball and pressed your arms against your torso, careful not to apply too much pressure.

"(Name)!" Varian's restraints must have broken as well, because you looked up soon enough to see him hit his knees from a run and slide the last few inches to your side, "(Name), are you alright?" 

You groaned before the truth serum forced a answer from your lips, "No. I think something's broken."

"Right, yeah, stupid question," his hand rested against your cheek softly, cautiously, as if he'd hurt you. Even with the cut burning, you tilted your face into his hand, "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. If it wasn't for me, this never- never would've happened." His voice cracked as he spoke, and you quickly forced yourself to sit up.

"Hey, hey," you rested your own hands against his cheeks, "this wasn't your fault, you didn't do this." You winced as you shifted onto your knees, "I'll be fine, Var." 

Your assurances didn't stop the quiet sobs that began to rock his body, and tears filled your own eyes in response, "If you hadn't met me, then-" 

"Varian, I'd rather go through this pain a hundred times over than to have never met you." 

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and gave you a shaky, tear-filled smile, "I love you too." 

For half a second, you were sure your expression matched the one he had made when you'd admitted your feelings, but your shock melted into a grin, "Good, you not feeling the same would've been the worst part of this whole experience."