Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/584019.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Kingdom_Hearts
  Relationship:
      Lea/Ventus, Vanitas/Ventus
  Character:
      Ventus, Vanitas, Lea_(Kingdom_Hearts)
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Carnival/Freakshow_AU, Abusive_Partner
  Series:
      Part 6 of Misfit_Carnival_(AU)
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-05 Words: 1432
****** Make-Believe ******
by absolutelyCancerous_(cal1brations)
Summary
     There's a time for playing pretend, and a time to keep your guard up.
Notes
     this_babe came up with the idea of the AU, I end up writing junk for
     it.
"You look so gorgeous.”
You smile at his voice, whispering so smooth and careful against the shell of
your ear. His arm comes to wrap around your waist. You turn over, so that you
can face him, get a little bit lost in cyan eyes and those little dimples when
he smiles at you, in all the thousands of freckles dusted across his
cheeks—little things you can notice even in the dark.
“You weren’t even looking at my face,” you mumble, wiggle up towards him so
you’re touching all the way down, front-to-front. Lea sighs, delighted at the
feeling, and gives that little roll of his hips against yours, the one that
lets you know he’s in for a little more than just snuggling tonight.
He smiles at the closeness, letting his breath ghost against your throat before
he begins pressing kisses there, soft and warm and gentle, just the way you
like. He smells like ash and grass, and it makes you smile as you pull him
closer, tug him over to straddle you.
“You okay?” He asks, every time, without fail. He even makes sure to pull back
that little bit, so he can watch your face as you answer, make sure you really
are alright with all this.
You smile, try to coax him back down to your throat, “Promise.”
Lea doesn’t ask twice, thank god, and makes quick work of your clothes. His
kisses get clumsy, a little hesitant, as both of you manage to wiggle and worm
out of your pants, because it’s always a little intimidating to be so…naked.
But he just pulls back from you, looks you over and laughs quietly,
breathlessly.
“You just get hotter every time, huh,” he muses softly, tracing his thumb
against the jut of your collarbone. You shiver, jaw hanging agape, and only
moan softly in reply, which he takes in good-nature. Generally, Lea spouts a
lot of commentary, and it’s usually okay to give him simple answers like that,
if any at all.
He rubs at your shoulders, your arms, with incredibly warm and careful hands as
he kisses you, languid and open. His tongue tastes a little of blood, and you
almost laugh about what you instantly know—chicken blood doesn’t taste very
different than human blood, apparently. But his tongue is what brings you back
to this wonderful, wonderful feeling of him taking care of you, of him rubbing
the day’s soreness from your arms and shoulders and neck, his slow kisses
getting a particular rise out of you.
He snorts at the feeling of your cock against the inside of his thigh. “I’ll
get to it,” he promises, kissing your jaw a few times, “I’ll take care of you.”
You like how Lea is gentle, maybe not how slow he is, but the way he carefully
makes his way to settle between your legs, the way his hands never touch you in
any way but careful, makes your head spin a little.
“What do you want?” He asks, softly, smiling as he rubs those warm hands on
your belly, making you shiver and sigh at the lovely feeling. This is another
thing he always asks you, no matter what he desires, it’s always about you and
you alone. He treats you much too good.
You smile at him, literally able to feel the blush reaching the tips of your
ears. “You.”
Lea grins widely at that, leaning forward to give you a quick kiss. It takes
quite a bit of effort, but he manages to hang off the edge of the bed, dig
around in his discarded pants pocket to grab a familiar little packet that he
tears open with his teeth, and then rolls the prize—one of those new, super
nice latex condoms—onto his cock. The fact he even cares about you that much,
to waste his wages on condoms for you (hopefully only  you, you think greedily)
makes you smile, makes your heart hammer that little bit in your chest.
You really, really love him.
He catches your smile, returns it tenfold, and proceeds to give you another
kiss—on the side of your mouth this time. “What’s got you so smiley?” He asks
against your cheek, one hand cupping the side of your face he isn’t presently
lavishing.
You just smile brighter, pull your arms around him in a tight hug, hoping to
convey some bit of your affection for him, boney, loving and all. “I just
really love you,” you tell him in a hushed voice, against his shoulder.
Lea chuckles, gathers you close to him as he lies atop you, like it’s the most
natural thing in the world. His condom-covered cock presses against your belly,
but you’re too delighted, too happy in holding him to care very much.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he whispers right up against your ear, and you can feel
him smiling. “Let me give you what you need—let me love you.”
His words embarrass you, because he’s a bit silly, but the fact he’s just
so kind, and that he wants to do this foryou, that makes you groan and nod
quickly in agreement. “Please,” you pant, rocking your hips to rouse his
attention, “oh, please.”
And Lea does just that, sinking inside with such self-control you’re surprised
he didn’t reach sainthood right then and there. You can feel his arms
trembling, his thighs tense as he holds completely still, waits for you to say
something, anything. His face screws up, eyebrows drawn tight together, lower
lip being bitten on. You can even feel his breathing, quick little breaths that
he refuses to let out as long, drawn-out moans.
It’s incredible.
“Love me,” you beg, pulling your arms around him and tilting your head back.
“Please—oh, god—please, love me!”
“Love? You?”
That’s not Lea’s voice.
That’s not Lea’s face, almost inches from yours, screwed up in the most intense
look of disgust you think you’ve ever seen in your entire life—the most
disgusted face you’ve ever seen Vanitas give you. He’s grimacing, looks like
He’s debating on spitting on you or slapping you, or worse.
You were pretending. You were pretending and you forgot to keep your dumb mouth
shut  while Vanitas crawled over you and worked out His hatred and anger and
frustrations.
He decides to go for the latter, and slaps you across the face.
“Silencio!” He hisses, voice laced with the thickest venom you’ve ever heard,
nonetheless, imagined. He spits out something else foreign, but you don’t have
a single idea what it means, so you disregard it. It’s not that it matters
much, anyway-- you can safely assume it’s not something you actually need to
answer to.
He presses His hand to your throat, and makes sure it’s enough pain to make you
suffer, but gives you enough room for air, so you may lie awake under Him as he
goes about His deed. It’s nothing like Lea would do, there is no sweetness or
condoms or whispered confessions of love. It’s only Vanitas working out
whatever so ails Him this evening, thought you don’t know what that could be,
either.
He finishes, but not even a brief look of satisfaction crosses his face. You
assume it’s because of what you cried out earlier that ruined the entire
exchange for Him. You don’t dare to apologize, (you don’t want to risk what
He’ll do if you speak now) and simply lie there as you listen to Him gathering
His pants and slipping His shoes back on, mumbling things that sound most like
foreign disappointment.
He doesn’t bid you goodbye, only slams the door to your wagon as He stomps off.
You don’t even bother to gather your clothes from wherever He threw them
earlier, when you hadn’t been paying attention, when you had been pretending
you were actually loved—what a joke. You simply move onto your side, curl up in
the blankets and feel the tears burning at the back of your throat, and
trickling across your face to wet the pillow under you. You can’t even please
Him; there was no hope for you to ever be a joy to anyone, especially not to
Lea.
Lea’s words were not real, and they won’t ever be. The thread of hope inside
you sings, tells you to remember that Lea was nothing like Vanitas, and that
you don’t deserve this treatment. 
You deserve to be loved—Lea loved you.
You cry yourself to sleep, wishing that Lea was there to take away the pain.
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