#IT EVEN CAME HALF ALIVE AND DIZZY TO BITE ME ONE LAST TIME

[boydykewannabe]

my name is inigo montoya. youve bitten every single part of my body and woken me up. prepare to die

[vad-hander]

JAEBEOM, THE GUY FROM THE BAR

Pairing: Jaebeom x reader

Genre: Series | Eventual Smut | Angst | Fluff

Warnings: break up, cheating, strangers to lovers, mentions of drinking

Words: 3.8k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Your head felt dizzy and you wouldn’t lie if you’d say that everything caved in and pulled out from under you.

The first sip you took was when your foot exited the store, unscrewing the lid of the wine you bought, immediately. It burned your throat, but the whole in your chest burned ten times stronger and you chose to deal with your inner pain first. Your feet walked you through the streets of Seoul, trying to focus your brain on something other than the void inside of you but failed miserably. The first bottle didn’t do its job yet and when you pressed it against your lips for another sip you noticed how it was already empty. The nearest bin became it’s grave and the nearest store became your saviour, allowing you to buy another drink. This time your eyes fell onto the beer, and you bought three bottles, opening them in the park nearby, you sat down on the grass, fishing out the cake you had baked a day before from the bag on your shoulder. Not bothering with the way you’d it eat you just bit into it, getting cake all over your face. You chuckled to yourself, wiping sweet goodness from your skin.

You turned on music in your headphones, playing every upbeat song there was, nodding your head and moving your foot to the beat, right until you felt warm trails of tears on your cheeks. You laid your head on the grass, hiding your face in your palms, not holding back anymore from crying.

You weren’t able to believe it, you couldn’t believe he did this to you. You never thought he’d cheat, you never thought you’d find out about it in such a bad way. You never expected this from Jeno, but then again, who ever expects their partner to cheat?

Your mind went again over everything you’ve been through in the past 8 months, your mind went through your friendship of 3 years, 3 years of you being head over heels for Jeno until one day you became more.

Suddenly you remembered how Jaebeom told you to break up with him making you hate everything about the situation even more. If you listened, you would’ve not went through what you just went through, but why would you listen to a stranger anyway? You hated the fact he was right, but one single memory of him made you want to see him.

You fished out your phone to search on the internet open hours of the bar. The website said 5 PM, making you shift your eyes up to the clock of your phone. It was already three, and since your plans for the day and maybe even life were ruined, you had no better things to do than just come there and wait for him. Wait for Jaebeom for no reason. Just because he was the only person that didn’t know Jeno, just because he was the only person you wanted to see.

The route in your phone promised you that you’d be there right before opening if you’ll walk, so without hesitation you sat up, collecting yourself and walking in the direction of the bar.

You tried to do everything for emptiness in your hands to bother you more, than the new feeling of having your heart ripped from your chest, and halfway to the bar you went to one more alcohol store, getting this time a proper drink - rum. You didn’t know where this rum addiction suddenly came from, but now you guessed it should be your signature drink when it came to meeting Jaebeom.

The familiar by now burn of the drink gave your brain one more reason to think about Jaebeom. You have almost forgot that you spilled your drink over him, almost forgot the way he said your name. Memories of him almost made a small shard of your heart go back in place, almost, because the image of Jeno with HER, made all of your insides clench in pain.

Jeno. Jeno. Jeno. Jeno. Your brain went in overdrive, repeating his name like a mantra. Your fingers ached to dial his number but your brain knew you had nothing to tell him. Your love have died just like that, it didn’t go somewhere overnight, you didn’t wake up and understand that you didn’t love him anymore. He killed it with his actions, Jeno killed everything there was with his actions, and now you were killing memories of him in your head, finding the neck of the bottle with your lips.

From the side you must’ve looked like a psychopath, crying, laughing, talking to your own self, walking in a quicker and slower pace. Doing everything that came to your mind. Now you were free in every meaning possible, why’d you bother about anything?

You got there quicker than your phone have promised, seeing the door of the bar being closed. Not finding a better option than just sitting on the bench not far from the entrance, you placed the bottle next to you, only realising how tired you got from walking when your butt rested against wooden material of your seat. You looked around, noticing how the area of the bar was actually pretty quiet. Your eyes ran over the streets that were surrounding the building, wondering in your mind if one of those roads led to Jaebeom’s house.

Alcohol from the rum hit you like a rock, crawling from behind your brain with tiredness. You closed your eyes for a slight second, only to feel someone touch your shoulder the next moment.

“Are you alive?” a man asked you carefully. Your eyes blew open in fear, noticing how it was much darker outside. Your eyes focused on the man in front of you.

“Jaebeom.” you said quietly, sighing.

“Celebrating your boyfriends birthday to the max?” he joked, grabbing the bottle from next to you. You tried to smile back, biting your upper lip and lifting your eyes up to the sky to prevent from crying.

“No, I’m alone here.” your voice trembled and it was the last bit before you broke down. Hot tears streamed down your face, making you feel embarrassed. You barely could see Jaebeom’s face but he went quiet and you guessed he didn’t want to deal with that, expected.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, calm down.” his hands touched your cheeks and your insides turned upside down. “We’ll work everything out, you can tell me.” His thumbs drew soothing little circles under your eyes making you want to put it all in you to stop crying. You blinked multiple times finally being able to see his face properly for the first time this evening, seeing him squatting in front of you. He probably noticed you focus your vision on him, gifting you a kind smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” you cleared your throat in a couple of seconds, finally replying. You thought he’ll let go of your face by now, but he kept his fingers glued to your cheeks, keeping his eyes glued to yours. You felt your breathing get heavier, but you attributed it to your recent crying.

“How come you’re so beautiful even when you’re crying?” he chuckled more to himself, beating air from your lungs completely.

Your hands slowly found Jaebeom’s on your cheeks, covering his hands with yours. You wanted to make him let go of you, but when you got the taste of what his hands felt like with your own, you changed your mind immediately.

People passed by, drunk and sober, some were just going in and some were already leaving. You didn’t know how long your nap took, you didn’t know how come you got so lucky to be woken up by Jaebeom and not some weird creep.

You stared at each other, both of you being scared to break the moment.

“Ya, Jaebeom, where did you get lost?” the voice of a guy made you jump in Jaebeom’s hands, turning your head in unison with Jaebeom to face the guy.

“Get lost, I’ll come later.” one of his hands left you, showing the guy to leave.

You let go of Jaebeom’s hand when he turned back to you, and he let go of your cheek too, sitting on the bench right next to you.

“Why did you sleep on the bench?” he asked not looking at you.

“Buy me a drink.”

“What?”

“You wanted to buy me a drink twice, now I agree.” you looked at him.

“I won’t.” he turned to face you.

“Why is that?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“Is that all you had? Half of the rum?”

“No…” You said shamefully.

“What else?”

“Wine, beer and then this.” you listed quickly expecting any reaction from him, but he just watched you.

“Let’s go.” he quickly stood up after some time of silence.

“Where to?”

“Cafe next block. You need food and coffee, and when you’ll tell me everything I’ll see if you’re allowed to drink any more. Come on.” he signalled for you to go with his head and you stood up too, grabbing the bottle to take with you. “Give me that.”

“Why?”

“I’ll carry it for you. Don’t worry, I won’t throw it away, I see that you have a special relationship with rum. I won’t fight it.” he shot you a smile, pulling the bottle from your hands.

***

“Eat up.” Jaebeom moved the plate closer to you when the waitress that eyed him wildly finally left your sight.

“Thank you.” you sighed, picking the fork and a knife, cutting up the pancakes in the plate. Jaebeom took the coffee pot, pouring hot beverage into your cup and placing the pot back on the table. “Hey, have coffee too.” you furrowed your eyebrows.

“You eat, you need to sober up.”

“I never offered the food, don’t even dream of that.” you played with your eyebrows and Jaebeom chuckled at you, smiling at you sweetly for a few more seconds after you lowered your eyes to the plate.

You cut through the pancakes, sticking a few pieces on the fork. Lifting your eyes up you noticed that he poured coffee for himself too. You waited patiently for him to lift his eyes up at you.

“Open your mouth.” you commanded the next second he looked at you. A smirk lit up his face and a sudden regret rushed over your body. Maybe that was a bit overboard, maybe that’s the rum inside of you speaking. Whatever it was, it was way too late now to back off. Jaebeom nibbled on his lower lip with a smile, opening his mouth slightly and extending his neck towards you. Your hand moved up and froze in the air when your eyes focused on his mouth. Redness flashed over your face at the thoughts that ran in your head. How soft would his mouth feel on yours?

His hand quickly grabbed yours, moving it towards his face, forcing the fork into his mouth and biting the pancakes off it. He let go of your hand, letting it fall back onto the table.

“So tell me, what happened?” he asked you after he finished chewing. His elbows laid on the table, making you feel as if you were under interrogation.

“Don’t be a party pooper, I just began feeling better.” you whined, making Jaebeom laugh again. What’s up with him laughing at everything you say? We’re you that funny…? You never noticed before.

“I didn’t know you considered this a party.” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded quickly, forcing your attention into the plate, knowing if you’d keep your eyes on him a second longer you’d cry.

You stared into the plate through the whole time you ate, finishing the coffee in your cup, feeling how he stared at you quietly while you were consuming everything that was on the table.

“Jeno, my boyfriend, the guy you told me to dump, I guess he dumped me.” you leaned more into the seat, seeing Jaebeom’s face for the first time in a while. He kept quiet, allowing you to continue but you didn’t do it.

“On his birthday?”

“Yeah.”

“Right after you came with miyeok guk?”

“Yeah… well, I think technically before that.” you chuckled hysterically. “I came to his place, punched in the code and got to his bedroom only to find a topless girl on top of him. They were…” you coughed awkwardly.

“Fucking?” he asked carelessly.

“Yeah… that. So… I guess he only called me last night to find out if I’ll come early when she was already there, to see if he should make her leave or what. I shouldn’t have lied, if I didn’t I would’ve lived my happy clueless life. Want to know the funny part?”

“There is one?” Jaebeom seemed surprised.

“You were right about the girl, you probably did see her somewhere because she was the one with him. I doubt she is the friends sister now.” you sighed and moved in your seat worriedly. You felt better but at the same you felt wrong sharing this with him. “The ridiculous part is that you really did read through my entire life in a second. That’s really annoying.” you looked him in the eyes, chuckling. “And concerning as well, should I be listening to you from now on in everything I do?” you tried to joke with him once again and he gifted you another smile.

“I won’t protest, but I won’t force you either.” he looked you deep in the eyes. He did that way too often as if he tried to speak to you through staring.

“Would you like anything else?” waitress broke off the silence, ruining one of your moments.

“No, thanks.” Jaebeom gave the girl the same smile he always gave you, and a weird pinch of jealousy hit your chest. “Give us the bill, please.” his voice was soft and the girl smiled even brighter than before.

“Just a moment.” she bowed and left.

“So you’re friendly like that to everyone.” you noted to yourself but did it aloud for some reason.

“I’m friendly to everyone but for you I’m all that and even more.” he leaned in and extended his hand to you, laying it with his palm up for you to lay yours on top.

“Why?” he stretched his fingers signalling to you that he’s waiting.

“There should be a reason?”

“There’s a reason for everything.” you replied, fighting an inner battle if its appropriate now to touch his hand.

“Okay, then my reason is that I’m naturally attracted to you. Didn’t I tell you already multiple times that I liked you?” he sounded so casual as if he spoke about weather. Your hands felt cold due to fear you were experiencing. Was he meaning he liked you as a person? As a company? Or did he mean something else…? Something more? The idea of asking him to clarify these questions gave you a whiplash. His whole presence gave you constant whiplash with everything he said, did and even with the way he looked at you. You knew for sure you weren’t about to forget Jeno in a second and you were afraid to tell that to Jaebeom in case he didn’t mean it in that way at all. Jeno broke your heart and you knew that you needed more time to over-live it than 8 hours. At the same time you were afraid Jaebeom would laugh at your silly assumption of him wanting you by his side in a different way.

Giving him your hand to hold wouldn’t hurt anything though, right? You thought to yourself it wouldn’t and laid your palm on top of his.

“I thought you said I’m okay and we could be friends, now you doubted to lay your hand on top of mine for 10 minutes, I’m offended.” His fingers wrapped around your hand moving it closer to his side of the table. His other hand laid on top of yours and you shivered unconsciously hoping he didn’t notice. “ you’re funny, cute and smart, that’s his loss, you shouldn’t be crying about someone who didn’t only disrespect you, he just showed what type of person he is. He’s a trash bag if he cheated, don’t waste your nerves on that. It’s better you found out more or less quickly. If you need someone to rely on I can be by your side. You can call me anytime.” Jaebeom lifted your hands off the table, finding your eyes with his, biting his lower lip. Lifting your hands higher, he lowered his head, planting a small kiss on the back of your hand. You couldn’t help but smile shyly at his gesture. “Give me your phone, by the way.”

“Oh?” you asked surprised but didn’t want to protest or question him any further, moving your hand from his and getting your phone out on the table. You unblocked it getting startled by the photo on the home screen. The photo of you being on Jeno’s back, kissing his cheek sweetly, while he bended and smiled into the camera happily. You wanted to change it quickly for Jaebeom to not see but your hands just froze. The void in your chest suddenly enlarged to the previous size.

Jaebeom grabbed the phone from your hands before you could even realise it and began doing something you couldn’t see. It took him longer than you expected and you bit your tongue to not ask questions.

You watched him focusing his vision onto the screen of your phone, probably typing his phone number into your contacts while you were just appreciating his handsome features.

“Would you like to pay by card or cash?” the waitress appeared scaring you once again.

“Card.” you said in unison. Jaebeom gave you a look, laying your phone by his side.

“I ate, I’ll pay.” you expanded your hand to grab the phone and pay with it but he caught your hand with his, making you blush because you could definitely feel the waitresses eyes on your hands.

“No.” he nodded strictly and the piercing gaze that he gave you killed your will to fight with him over that.

“Thanks for food… and for words you said…” you told him when the both of you exited the cafe. “You really are a good friend I guess.” you lifted your eyes to see his face.

“You want to go home?” he sounded disappointed. “Sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

“No, I’m just saying thank you.” you smiled. “Or were you hoping to not spend any more money on me? Didn’t you promise me a drink?” you whined jokingly.

“I thought you’re trying to run away from me.”

“No.” You shook your head.

“Good, i wouldn’t let you anyway.” he stepped closer invading your private space. “I’ll buy you as many drinks as you’d want me to…” he raised his arm and you stopped breathing to see what he’ll do next and he moved his palm closer to your cheek, making it burn with the electricity that was forming in the space between you two, but dropped his hand back down the next second. “Just stay by my side… for tonight, at least.” his hand found your wrist, pulling you to go after him towards the entrance of the bar. 15 minutes later the both of you were sitting at the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice you called him.

“Rum and coke?” Jaebeom asked with a laugh.

“I’ll have what you’ll have.”

“Okay.” he nodded seriously, lifting his arm again. “Two shots of vodka.” he gestured number two with his fingers.

“Just a second.” your eyes ran from Jaebeom to bartender quickly, trying to see if he was about to tell you it was a joke, but he didn’t. Even when the shot glasses hit the bar he watched bartenders moves quietly, only looking up at you when the order was done.

“I didn’t know that’s what you meant when you said you want to buy me a drink.” you laughed awkwardly.

“That’s just because you said you want what I want.” he pushed the glass towards you more.

Your eyes ran between Jaebeom and vodka.

“Okay, on the count of 3.” you grabbed the glass.

“No, no, both of these are for you.”

“What?”

“Drink.” he gestured.

“Jaebeom.” you sighed disapprovingly.

“You’ll feel better when you’ll stop thinking about everything.”

“I’ll pass out, if it seemed to you that I’m a great drinker, you’re wrong. I’m not drinking often and I’m not really taking it well.”

“You can chill out, I won’t let anything happen to you even if you’ll pass out.” his hand reached your cheek, caressing it a few times.

“Give me a single reason why I should trust my life to a stranger?” you asked curiously.

“To see that I’m not just a stranger to you anymore.” his hand stopped moving and his eyes glued to you in anticipation. Your hand slowly found the glass without looking away from Jaebeom, raising it to your lips, you exhaled, quickly downing the shot. Now that you were completely sober the drink burned like hell and there was nothing to wash down vodka, so you just grabbed the other glass too, downing it in a span of a second. You felt Jaebeom’s hand move from your cheek to your neck, while you were wrinkling your face in disgust, suddenly pulling you by it from where you sat into his embrace. You fell, resting your body against his as if you were a small child, feeling his hand let go of your neck and rest against your back. Your face hid in the crook of his neck and you couldn’t not point out to yourself how bloody good he smelled. Everything about him was always too good to be true. He seemed perfect to the extent it felt concerning but you guessed it was a bit too late to back off now.

When you finally were able to open your eyes again you still felt his hands on your waist, moving yours to rest against his shoulders to push back a little. He didn’t let go of you, leaving his fingers to burn the skin of your sides even through the clothes.

“I didn’t think you’d actually drink both.” he chuckled “you fine?” you nodded yes and he allowed you to sit back.

“I want more.” you turned to face him when you sat.

“More of what?”

“Whatever you’ll buy me.” you smiled at him feeling a bit drunk. Jaebeom nodded at you, biting on his lower lip.

One more round of pure alcohol, and that’s the last thing you remember of the evening.

[schrijverr]

Vampire Venom Confession

To save an injured Alucard, Trevor lets him drink his blood. When he’s all loopy on the vampire venom in his system after, he lets it slip how much Sypha and Alucard mean to him and gets cuddles.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed any!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Alucard was injured.

He was often injured as were they all on their track through Wallachia to wipe out the last of what was left of Dracula’s forces, but he wasn’t healing. And that was cause for concern, because both Trevor and Sypha had seen him heal from much worse, much quicker.

So Trevor was trying to stop the bleeding while Sypha was looking for bandages and anything to clean the wound with.

“We’re out of bandages,” she called out, voice laced with panic. “Do you have clean cloth we could cut up?”

“No!” Trevor yelled back, of course he didn’t. They had just been attacked, their cart was mostly destroyed and all he had was night creature gut soaked clothes. “Come on, Alucard. Stay with me here. Can’t have the only good vampire in history die on me. Open those eyes.”

It was obviously a struggle, but Alucard did as he was told, groaning loudly.

“Yeah, that’s it. Focus on me,” Trevor told him. “You’re gonna be fine, just stay with me now. We’re going to need to burn this closed, okay? We don’t have any other means.”

Alucard’s eyes went wide and he shook his head no, trying to wordlessly protest Trevor’s suggestion.

“What? Why not?” Trevor asked, shaking Alucard when it looked like he wanted to slip into darkness again. Sypha was now sitting next to him, her brown also knitted in concern as she held up her hand, ready to summon fire.

“Don’t- don’t have the energy to fight it,” Alucard wheezed. “I will burn.”

“FUCK.”

The loud exclamation by Trevor was felt through them all. It was frustrating that after all this Alucard should bleed out here, just because he spend too much of himself. He had fought Dracula and lived, he shouldn’t perish from lack of resources. It was just wrong.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Sypha asked. “Don’t think of morality here.”

Alucard swallowed, guilt in his eyes as he looked away. Another wave of pain washed over him and he made up his mind as he groaned: “Blood. Need – ugh – blood.”

“Okay, then,” Trevor nodded, “that’s settled then,” before pulling off his tunic and hoisting Alucard up to his neck.

“No, I- I can’t,” Alucard protested weakly.

“You can and you will, you fucking dick,” Trevor snapped. “Now bite, asshole. You’re not kneeling over, not on my watch.”

There must have been something in his voice that made Alucard trust his judgment and convinced him that Trevor knew what he was getting into, because Sypha watched how relief flitted through his eyes before he sank his fangs into the tender meat of Trevor’s neck. And the moment blood started to flow, he drank greedily.

The effect was immediate, the flesh stitchingitself together and color returningto his skin, to the extend his skin held color that was of course.

He also got increasingly steady and soon it was him holding up Trevor instead of the other way around, while the hunter hang limply in his arms. The only reaction he gave to having fangs in his neck was softly gasping here and there that let Sypha know he was still conscious.

She wondered if Alucard knew when to stop or if the blood was too tempting now that he was drinking. She bit her lip, before tentatively asking: “Alucard? Alucard, how much do you need? Is he okay?”

Alucard hummed that he had heard her, but stayed attached to Trevor’s neck for a few more seconds, before licking the puncture wounds until they had stopped bleeding. Then he leaned back, sitting upright by himself as if he had not been on deaths door moments ago.

Sypha was incredibly relieved to see him okay, but with the confirmation that Alucard was okay, she moved her attention to Trevor, who had not moved from where he was half sitting in Alucard’s lap, head now leaning on Alucard’s shoulder, his eyes far away.

“Is he okay?” she asked, then snapped her fingers in front of Trevor’s eyes, getting little to no response. “Hey, Trevor. Trevor. Can you hear me? Please say something.”

“He is fine, Sypha. Do not worry,” Alucard assured her. “He is just under the influence of the venom in my fangs, which is meant to relax its victims. He will be tired and he’s probably dizzy right now, but nothing he won’t recover from. The venom should be easing out of his system soon. He should drink and eat something when he gets back to us.”

Not completely convinced, but at least put at ease by Alucard’s words, she opted to quickly grab some water and a bit of bread. Then she kept a close eye on Trevor, while Alucard kept him cradled to his chest. At least the puncture wounds were healing more rapidly than normal.

When Trevor first started to stir again, a few minutes later, she perked up with relief.

Trevor groaned loudly, blinking heavily as the world spun in front of his eyes, before Alucard and Sypha came back into focus. Blearily he looked at Alucard, then he frowned in confusion, before he smiled. “You’re alive. That’s- that’s good.”

He moved to pat Alucard on the chest, against which he was resting with his torso and arms, but the movement seemed too much work and he gave up. “I’m tired,” he told them.

“I can imagine,” Sypha smiled. “Here drink this.”

She offered him the water and he didn’t even protest as she held the watersack for him. It was slightly unnerving to see him try and fail to drink properly, with half of the water spilling over his chin and down his chest.

When he had drank enough she offered him small bites of bread and he seemed okay enough to slowly munch on them, which was a relief. As he ate his last piece of bread he asked: “What happened again?”

“I was injured,” Alucard said. “You saved me by letting me drink your blood. I haven’t taken too much, but you will definitely feel the effects. Can you describe how you’re feeling to us?”

“Me?” Trevor asked surprised, then seemingly delighted that he was even asked. “Me, well, I feel great.”

“Define great,” Alucard deadpanned and Sypha couldn't help but snort at them. It was a strange sight to see Trevor, usually so closed off and guarded, act silly with his emotions just there, yet still managing to annoy Alucard.

“That’s a big ask,” Trevor told him, almost philosophically. “But, I am floating. Are we floating? You can float right?”

“Yes, I can float, but we are not floating,” Alucard said. “Do you mean that you feel dizzy by any chance?”

“Ah, yes, dizzy,” Trevor lit up when the word came to him. “I feel dizzy. But also warm and soft. Am I on a pillow?”

“No, you’re leaning against Alucard,” Sypha told him with a small grin.

“Wow, this is almost a hug,” Trevor said, completely oblivious to what impact his words might have both on himself and the others. “God, I don’t remember the last time anyone hugged me. Must have been my mother before she was killed.”

Immediately the lighthearted mood at Trevor’s antics fell and Alucard couldn't help but clutch the hunter closer to his chest, making him sigh in content. He shared a look with Sypha over that and both nodded, determined to give Trevor affection now that he was susceptible for it.

“Why am I not wearing a shirt?” The moment was broken by Trevor, who had finally discovered he was no longer wearing a shirt.

“You took it off to give Alucard access to your neck, Trevor,” Sypha answered.

“That seems slightly unnecessary,” frowned Trevor, making them both laugh at his commentary on his own actions. He looked confused. “What? What’s so funny.”

“Nothing, Trevor, nothing,” Sypha assured him. “Why don’t we get you back into a shirt, how does that sound?”

“Good,” Trevor smiled, completely okay with letting his earlier question go. “Though, I do feel a bit heavy and- hmm, un- un…movable, yes. Unmovable. Like a baby.” His eyes went wide, “Oh my God, am I a baby?”

“No, Trevor, not in that sense at least,” Alucard laughed.

Both were glad that Trevor had forgotten about his earlier comment about the hug. Even though it hadn’t left their minds yet, it was nice to not see their friend sad anymore. This was ruined when Sypha held up his tunic and Alucard had to rearrange Trevor to help him into it. The moment he had done so, Trevor had whimpered.

“What’s wrong?” Sypha immediatelyasked, jumping to all sorts of horrible conclusions. Yet nothing could have prepared her heart for Trevor softly saying: “Don’t leave me here.”

“We will never leave you, Trevor,” she promised. “We just want to help you back in your shirt.”

“You promise?” Trevor asked.

“We promise,” Alucard answered for them, quickly hugging Trevor close before helping him into his tunic in record speed so that he could pull Trevor back into his arms again.

While Alucard held Trevor tightly, Sypha started a quick fire and spread out Trevor’s cloak for them to lie on. With him in this condition they wouldn’t be traveling anyway. She also got the covering of whatever was left of the cart to use as blanket, before making her way back to the two men.

Alucard had positioned them in such a way that Trevor was now completely in his lap. Their chests were against one another and Trevor’s face was hidden in the crook of Alucard’s neck, while the vampire rubbed his back and whisper soft comforts in his ear.

When their eyes met Sypha gestured to the blankets and raised a questioning brow. Alucard nodded then turned to Trevor. “Hey, I’m going to move you now, is that okay? We’re not going far, just lying down with Sypha.”

“Still dizzy,” Trevor mumbled.

“I’ll be gentle okay?” Alucard waited until Trevor had nodded against his neck, then he slipped his hands under Trevor’s thighs and stood up slowly, using his supernatural strength to keep Trevor still as he did so.

He lowered Trevor into Sypha’s waiting arms, who cradled his head against her chest as Alucard took the blanket to spread out over them all.

Trevor ended up with his head pillowed on Sypha and Alucard curled up against his back protectively, spooning him closely. He seemed content to just lie there, sighing into Sypha as she carded her hand through his hair.

Right when they thought he had fallen asleep, he said: “This is nice. Almost like I have a family again.” Then he truly drifted off, leaving them with both fondness and an innate sadness piercing their chests as they hugged him tighter.

The next morning Trevor woke last, but still warm, pressed tightly between two bodies as they conversed about magic above his head.

“What are you two doing?” he asked. While it wasn’t uncommon for them to share body heat during the colder nights, they usually didn’t keep laying there in the morning and it was usually Sypha in the middle. He also didn’t usually wake up with a massive headache and he was sure that if he had been drinking, they wouldn’t have been sharing a bed with him.

“Keeping you company,” Sypha smiled as if it was all completely normal.

“Huh? Why?” The moment he asked the happenings of yesterday returned to him and he felt himself flush scarlet at how he had just said the most depressingly lonely things to them, before begging them to stay. “Oh God.”

He tried to curl into himself as if that would make him disappear, but that was quite impossible with how close the others were and he hated how nice it was.

“Ahw, there’s no need for that,” Sypha assured him, again carding a hand through his hair like she had done the night before.

“Yes, we really don’t mind,” Alucard assured him, squeezing him tight in that same comforting manner.

“It really does, actually,” he shot back, embarrassed. “I turned into a huge baby. You had to fucking feed me for fucks sake. And I acted like an idiot, that was so unnecessary and massively pathetic. I mean, seriously, you carried me and I nearly cried when you let go for a moment.”

Both sighed sadly.

They had predicted that Trevor in the morning would not be so open to affection and would try to rebuilt the walls he had around his heart, but they couldn't just pretend he hadn’t bared his soul to them and shown them how touch-starved he was.

“Trevor,” Sypha said, coaxing him to look at her, which he did with small pout-y and squint-y, yet unsure eyes. “We both made a promise to you yesterday. We didn’t just do that because you had lost a lot of blood and needed reassurance. We meant that.”

“You- you did?” There was the same vulnerable edge in his voice that had been there yesterday and both Sypha and Alucard could feel this was a big turning point in their lives that could be vastly different if they said something wrong.

“Yes, Trevor,” Alucard spoke up. “You’re our family too.”

The embarrassed flush came back and he hid his face in Sypha’s stomach again, unwilling to look at them just yet. Sypha couldn't help but coo slightly at the action: “Ahw, you’re so cute, Trevor. Why did you hide such a sweet sight from us?”

“‘M not cute,” came the muffled reply.

“No,” Alucard agreed, for a moment letting Trevor think he was on his side, before adding, “you’re adorable.”

Trevor turned to glare at them both, flush still prominent on his face along with a pout that did not help his argument. He sniffed: “I hate you both.”

“No you don’t,” Sypha said, digging her fingers into his sensitive sides and making him squeak, before protesting that it was cheating, but there was a smile on his face and after a brutal team up attack, he admitted: “Okay, okay, I don’t. You two don’t suck.”

Alucard and Sypha grinned, victory.

It wouldn’t solve everything in one night, but both were determined to keep their promise and if Trevor sought out hugs a bit more after and if sleeping in a cuddle pile became common place, then that was only a good thing.

~~

A/N:

This was actually sillier and less angsty than I had imagined it to be, which is a surprise because so far Trevor always makes my writing needlessly sad, but good for him.

[stoneworldsimp]

the dying poet

senku x reader

warnings: angst, mentions of food/water deprivation, swearing

day seven.

fuck, fuck, FUCK!

it felt like you had been running for hours, trying to shake this wild animal off. you made sharp turns behind large bushes in hopes of losing it, you’d hold as still as possible behind large roots on the ground, but the animal kept finding you in one way or another.

“please go away,”you panted. “c’mon. you’ve been chasing me fucking forever, can’t you just give up?!”

you were tired; your legs were about to buckle in on themselves. dinner one night was suddenly ruined when you realized the fucker was watching you eat. in the beginning you thought it was only after your food, not you; you threw a random ration away from your camp in hopes to get it away from you. in hindsight, it only worked until you fell asleep.

you were lucky to wake up the next morning alive; your set up had been ripped to shreds, and footprints were on the ground around your body. it was painstakingly slow and nerve wracking to escape your position, but once you had everything you absolutely needed, you booked it.

sprinting for miles after miles proved to be very difficult for quite some time now.

the phone...it’s weighing me down. my bag of food isn’t even half as heavy as the phone.

looking down at the call button in your hand, you thought about tossing the phone. maybe i can fix it.. no, i don’t have any tools, the fucking animal chewed on them like dog bones. is there any way to put the wire back together...?

“FUCK my life!”

you took the phone off your back and threw it to you left, careful not to trip yourself in the process. immediately, you and your body felt the difference. with your new found energy, the run away was becoming easier, and helped you see a large cave just over the horizon. using the last of your energy, you took as large of steps as you can, and practically threw your body into the cave. the animal’s footsteps were nowhere to be heard, but you figured you didn’t want to take any chances and look behind you. you were finally breaking free from being chased, just a little deeper into this cave, and if i can find specific markings then i can backtrack—

a deep, loud rumble took you away from your thoughts. in no time, you were engulfed in dust and thick particles you didn’t know of.

the caved had closed in.

day one.

“i can do it.”

“are you sure? its a pretty perilous trip—“

“you should at least bring one other person with you—“

you sighed, exasperated that you had to defend your case once again. it had been days since the decision was made; you were going to make a trip to another part of the island in hopes to find extremely specific materials for one of senku’s projects... and it was far, far away.

quite frankly, you were the only one fit for the adventure. you were known to travel well on foot, had an exceptional sense of direction and you had a good eye for natural elements, as well as food; you also were unintentionally the least helpful when staying in the village. you didn’t have the crafting skills to successfully make glass or metal components for his experiments, and you never trusted your brain when helping senku with calculations and blueprints.

hearing senku and gen talk about this long trip to another part of the island was almost a dream come true. it was perfect for someone with your skillset, and kept you from being in the way of everybody else.

“it’ll be fine. c’mon, you guys have SOME faith in our traveler, right?”

you turned around, a smile on your face as you caught senku walking out of his lab. thank you, you mouthed.

once senku reached you and the group of villagers crowding near you, he spoke up again. “this trip is a straight shot from the bridge, the only problem would be that it’s going to take some time. possibly a month just to get there. but you,” he turned to face you,”have excellent outdoorsy-type skills that will make it really easy for you to spot what we need right away. everyone needs to stop worrying, because you’ll be there and back in no time. two months will pass like nothing.”

as the rest of the group walked away, mumbling their skepticisms, senku took your hand and tugged you back to the lab.

“what’re you taking me here for? oh wait,”you planted your feet at the front of the lab curtains, keeping the both of you from entering. “are you making me help you with your math again? because—”

“no, you’re pretty terrible at calculations,”he replied. “i have something for you.”

you puffed out your cheeks in embarrassment, but your expression completely changed once the curtain was opened.

on the table, there was a telephone. if was the size of a backpack, but it still had a speaker, a microphone, and a call button.

“i made it for you to take on the trip, in case you have any emergencies. i fully trust you in your own survival skills, but you never know if something extreme happens.”

you gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. as you walked closer to the table, you touched the outer fabric. you turned back to senku. “thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me. i’m only making something that’s essential to your travels.”

“even still,” you trailed off. “i appreciate it.”

you turned back around and beamed at senku. “i’m not going to call you until i get there. i want to make sure that no enemies try to tail me if they hear me, as much as i’d want to give in right away and hear your voice. something like that...”

“how corny.” senku smiled and pulled you close while you laughed. you jumped a bit when his hands made their way around your waist.

“a bit touchy today,” you asked, grabbing hold of his shoulders. “but i’m not complaining.”

“i’m stockpiling the feeling of you for the weeks to come. we’ve never spent this much time apart before; it’s only logical.”

“i guess you’re right.”

he kissed you, multiple times; each one was deeper than the last.

day eleven.

he brought me a flower every morning, because i always slept in later than him. he’d wake up at the asscrack of dawn, just to have more time to jot ideas down. i used to try and pull him back to sleep with me, but he was so overflowing with plans, i didn’t want to stop him.

you turned on your side.

i remember he went to explore with chrome really early one morning, and apparently they found some huge meadow with a bunch of plants. ever since then, he would bring me a different kind; it was always a single flower, too. they were different colors and shapes, and some were enormous and some were smaller than my finger. he never woke me up for it, though. he would just leave it for me when i woke up on my own. it was always a surprise, almost startling when i’d open my eyes. it was my own pick-me-up for the day, in a sense.. no matter what happened the night before, waking up to a new type of flower would put me in a good mood every time. it was better than a coffee in the morning.

i wonder if he’s looking at the flowers with chrome everyday while i’m gone. man, i still wake up hoping to see a new one in front of me.

sure, reminiscing was fun and felt good, but what’s the point? you had eaten all of your food approximately two days ago, you only had about a teaspoon of water left, and there was no getting out of there. the way you came in had been covered in a dam of rocks. you couldn’t even dig yourself out.

you furiously wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. “senku...why did i think i could go alone?”

day fifteen.

poke, poke—

something was touching you. no, someone was touching you. your head bobbed side to side, in an attempt to shake them off.

damn, that’s persistent.

opening your eyes, you woke up to senku smiling. he was knelt beside your form. “wake up, sleeping beauty! it’s been almost three hours.”

it’s only been three hours?!

you sat up way too fast, and felt lightheaded as you tried to ask,”but...why didn’t you.. wake me up earlier? did everybody...did everyone eat already?”

he laughed. “yeah, sorry. we all thought you were out doing something with chrome. but,” he turned around, to grab something behind him,”i saved some in case you got hungry when you came back.”

you took the food in a dizzy haze. was it even food? you didn’t care too much, it felt like you hadn’t eaten for a long time. any food at this point was good food.

you couldn’t even swallow the first bite. “do you- is there..any water?”

“what?” senku pulled away from you, a look of disbelief painted across his face. it was clear as day.

you hesitated, feeling more lightheaded than before. “w- water?”

“don’t you remember?” he asked. he turned away from you. “there hasn’t been any water in days.”

it’s been days.

your body jolted from its spot, and harsh reality hit you square in the face.

yes, right. you shakily rubbed your eyes to make sure they weren’t cemented shut.

in the cave, finished your food, no water to be found. making yourself walk around was no use, either; without the fuel, your body was essentially just a trembling mess.

you scowled at yourself; unsure of what to do, what to even think.

day eighteen.

you remembered how he kissed you. the first kisses the most; you always had to tell him to not look so terrified. you also had to remind him to not stand like a statue when you kissed. pretty soon, after some reassurance, he got comfortable. there was nothing but confidence in the way he caressed your face in his hands. usually he was the one to pull away; you were so mesmerized, it felt as if the world completely stopped.

they were always quick and out of the way in public. usually, it was on your forehead or your one of your cheeks. the deep kisses you felt when you two were alone were incomparable. soft lips remained on yours for what felt like centuries. he tasted sweet, in his own way—

wait, who?

you licked your lips slowly, trying to think.

it was no use; you couldn’t even remember what he looked like. you lolled your head to the side and stared at the outline of a rock a couple of feet away.

once i get out of here, i’ll kiss him. whoever it was. it won’t matter if it’s just us, or more people. i’ll kiss him forever.

maybe if i go to sleep.. i can see him again.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Night Crawling

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Some explicit smutty goodness in a dive bar bathroom, some recreational drug use, some Sam feels. 

A/N: I really thought I was going to write PWP for once. As usual, some feels snuck in. Set at some vague point in Season 5. 

I’ve had the new Miley Cyrus album on repeat all day; inspiration, title, and bathroom graffiti quote all came from “Night Crawling.” Listen to that and “Gimme What I Want” if you want maximum ~atmosphere~ or whatever while reading. 

“Another?” Sam asks, leaning in to make himself heard over the music. He gives me a twisted, wicked version of his usual dimpled smile. There’s a drop of tequila clinging to his lip, and I want to lick it off. He’s so close. 

My head is still spinning from the last shot and from his attention. I shake it off. 

“Bathroom, I’ll be back,” I tell him. 

Sam’s in a fucking mood tonight. Not that I blame him. Time is ticking away, faster by the day it feels like; if Lucifer was after me, I’d take whatever escape I could get. 

Dean’s at the motel, hopefully putting some ice on his twisted ankle or maybe sleeping, and normally Sam would be fussing over him like an overgrown fucking mother hen. Instead, he suggested that we go “blow off some steam,” looking at me with this glint in his eyes, like he was daring me. 

So… here we are, getting fucked up in a grimy rock club, watching some Nine Inch Nails wannabes wail like a porn soundtrack over a dirty industrial bassline. 

Sam fucking Winchester. Always full of surprises. 

It’s one of those single-occupancy dive bathrooms where I don’t want to touch anything or, like, inhale too hard. It’s impossible to tell what color the walls originally were under the layers of concert flyers and graffiti. There’s probably enough cocaine residue on the chipped porcelain sink counter to get an elephant high. That kind of place. 

He wants me almost as much as I want him, I’m pretty sure, but I never thought either of us would act on it. Too many complications, too many ways to fuck it all up… now, though? The entire world is fucked. Might as well get laid before it all goes to shit.

Two lines of red Sharpie scrawl next to the mirror grab my attention: night crawling, sky falling, gotta listen when the Devil’s calling. 

Yeah. Well. 

I don’t think either of us will make it out of this alive, but he doesn’t want to. That’s what this is all about, really. He started this apocalypse. He’ll never forgive himself if he lives through it. I’ll never forgive him if he doesn’t. 

I wash my hands and splash some water on my cheeks, bracing myself. I can feel the chemicals kicking up my spine, now.

If Sam fucking Winchester needs to indulge his self-destructive streak and get out of his head for a night, I’ll keep him company. Fuck knows I’ll never say no to him. I’ll stay with him til the end, if he lets me. 

It hits me again: this is the end. The world is about to end, and that sweet, sexy, puppy-eyed motherfucker out there is at the center of all of it. Heaven, hell, good, evil… and Sam. If tonight is what we’ve got — if this is all we’ll ever get — I’ll take it. I’ve always wanted more, but… this’ll do. It’ll have to do. 

He’s slouching against the wall, right outside the bathroom hallway. He gives me this dark, hungry grin when he sees me, and maybe whatever was in that pastel blue pill is making itself known, or maybe it’s just Sam that’s sending a wave of prickly heat over my skin… either way, it feels good. 

“C’mon,” he says, passing me a cup of ice water, and then he’s gripping me by the wrist, pulling me into the crowd. 

Sam doesn’t dance, and he sure as hell doesn’t dance with me, but he’s not fucking around: hands on my waist, hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at me, cheeks flushed, moving with the beat. I rest my free hand on his upper arm, right where the swell of his bicep flexes against the soft cotton sleeve of his t-shirt, and I can’t help but squeeze slightly, feeling hot skin and muscle under my palm. I swallow hard. 

Sam leans in closer. I can smell him, the natural scent of his sweat under the spice of his deodorant, and it’s so overwhelming that I shiver. 

He gets his lips right up against my ear, the deep rumble of his voice a physical thing that I can feel as well as hear: “Ever just get sick of being yourself?” 

Jesus. 

“Yeah,” I mumble, mouth dry. I don’t know if he hears me but it doesn’t really matter. 

“I think too much. I don’t want to think tonight. Is that okay?” 

I suck in a breath. “Don’t need to explain, Sam. I get it.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, heavy-lidded, golden skin shining with sweat in the flecks of light coming off the disco ball. “Dance with me.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, Sam, anything you want.”

I toss back the cup of water, gulping it down, too eager; some of it trickles down my chin. I don’t care. I drop the cup and run my hand up Sam’s chest. His eyes flutter closed and he licks his lips, sinful, gorgeous. For a moment I think he might say something but instead he spins me around and hauls me closer, my back to his chest. 

The song is filthy, all thudding funk hooks and wild drums. There’s this frantic heat behind it that has me sinking under the surface, swimming through the riff, and the pulse of it wriggles down my spine and works itself out through my hips as I toss my head. It’s the kind of rhythm that’s made for sweating all over a stranger. 

Sam might as fucking well be a stranger right now. I never knew he could move like this. 

His hips swivel and twist, and his hands slide down to my thighs, pinning me against the solid muscled heat of his body. I feel reckless. I feel high and overstimulated and utterly fearless, and I can feel his touch echoing through me, inside me, throbbing down my belly to where I’m empty and suddenly aching. 

As soon as I think about it, the emptiness hits me hard. My cunt is clenching around nothing in time with the gritty slap of percussion. I arch my back and rub myself against Sam shamelessly. 

He’s hard against my ass, hard and getting harder with every shrieking lick of guitar, and the awareness of it sends a thrill down through the core of me, like a bolt of lightning striking between my legs. My breath catches and hisses out of my lungs like I’m a punctured balloon. I feel dizzy. 

It’s all so intense right now. Every inch of my skin is fizzing, and the simple curl of his fingers around my wrist has me shuddering like he’s stroking something much more intimate. 

On any other night I would try to step back, to get myself under control… I’d start thinking, and I wouldn’t be able to stop, and I’d get stuck in my head instead of giving in to the mind-blowingly intimate thrill of his fingertips pressing into my pulse. 

We’re not thinking tonight. I couldn’t think straight even if I wanted to. 

The beat changes, segueing into something low and slinking and goddamn obscene. I’m dripping with sweat — mine or Sam’s? I can’t tell — and my skin is on fire, and I want Sam in this awful, all-consuming way that I’ve never wanted anything or anyone.

So I don’t think about it; I just turn, twisting in his arms until we’re face to face, or rather, face to chest. He’s biting his lip, expression almost pained as he grips my waist and slots a thigh between mine. I snake my arms around his neck and roll my hips, feeling the seam of my jeans dragging up the sensitive spot between my legs, and I’m absurdly grateful for the way the music drowns out any embarrassing noise I might make. 

There’s a drop of sweat sliding down the corded muscle of his neck. It trickles to a glittering halt right at eye level, in the hollow of his throat, and I can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. I could fall down and worship whatever god invented the v-neck. 

I don’t fall to my knees, but I do lean forward and taste his skin. Salt floods my tongue. 

Sam’s hand runs up my back, cups the nape of my neck, and he doesn’t so much guide me as yank, tilting my head to meet the rough urgent sting of his teeth and the soft slide of his tongue. I groan into his mouth, and his hands flatten at the small of my back, pulling me impossibly closer. I want to shove myself against him until I can burrow under his skin. 

His mouth. He nips and sucks and explores, lips on mine with crushing force one second, whisper-sweet the next. 

I’m melting. I must be melting. 

I hold on for dear life, delirious, drunk on the way he’s kissing me. I’ve imagined this before, but I never imagined it like this. 

We’re still dancing, or something like it anyway; his hips swivel, and I rut against him, my entire body throbbing with animalistic need. Sam shifts his weight, grinding against me, and I can feel the fat stiff length of him right up against my center. I whimper, desperate and wanton. 

One hand slides up my back, around my ribs, up, until he can trace the curve of my breast with his thumb and then pinch my nipple through my bra. When I buck against him, he does it again. My knees don’t want to support me any more. 

I’m a half-second away from coming just like this. I’m shaking. 

“The fuck are we doing?” Sam says roughly. He nips my earlobe.

“Not thinking, remember?” I snap, and then I’m stumbling back, almost falling, tugging him by the wrist as I start to weave through the crushing press of bodies. My heart is pounding. Everything blurs together. My skin feels too cold without him all over it. 

There’s one open bathroom, no line, no reason to hesitate. The heavy door closes behind us and the deadbolt slides home with a metallic echoing thud. 

He’s already crowding me back, hands on my cheeks, tip of his nose brushing mine. I grab at the front of his shirt, fingers twisting in the sweat-damp fabric. My ass hits the counter and I surge up clumsily to kiss him. The angle’s off; our teeth clack together. 

We laugh and fit ourselves back together, bodies like puzzle pieces in that fucking song Sam would never admit he loves, and I could cry with relief at the way he feels under my hands. I can feel him breathing, the harsh rise and fall of his chest, and I can feel the heat of him, blood and sweat and bone, solid and real and here and mine, at least for tonight. 

He fumbles with the button of my jeans and kisses me like he’s drowning. Then he curls two long fingers up and into me, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit. I lean back, heels skidding on the dirty tile as I try to brace myself and rock my hips up all at once. 

“Need you to fuck me,” I bite out, remarkably steady considering the way I’m trembling. 

“You gonna regret this tomorrow?” Sam asks. He twists his fingers, knuckles stretching me open, so good my eyes roll back in my head. 

Tomorrow… we’re not going to think about tomorrow. 

“Might regret waiting this long,” I groan. Understatement of the century. 

“You ‘n me both. You sure?” He’s staring down at me and he looks wrecked: pupils blown, lips swollen, hair clinging to his temples where his skin is streaked with sweat. 

“Do you feel how close I am?” I grab his wrist with one hand, holding him there, fucking myself on his fingers as I try to pull my jeans down with the other hand. 

Sam’s mouth drops open and his eyes go unfocused for a second. Whatever self-control he had left is gone. He pulls his hand away, and I whine at the loss, but together we get my pants down, and I kick them off as he gets his belt open. He’s just as big as I always imagined, proportional to those sinfully long elegant fingers, and my mouth fucking waters as I watch him stroke himself. 

He bites his lip, chest heaving, and tugs me up onto the very edge of the grimy sink counter. Before I can find my balance he’s right there, hooking an arm under my knee so that he can spread my legs wider, and he’s guiding the hot velvety head of his cock down my center and in, and the slick blunt pressure of it makes me claw at his back, trying to get him closer even though I can barely handle how good that first thick inch feels. 

“Fuuu - unnhhhhh - fuck, Sam, I need…” I choke out, and then all I can do is pant breathlessly, incoherent, as he rocks his hips and starts to stretch me open. I’m helpless like this, no leverage to do anything but sit there and take it, and he moves so maddeningly slow that I’m going out of my skull. 

“God, look at you,” he breathes. “So fucking good. Always wondered what you’d look like taking my cock. Always imagined you begging. Are you gonna beg for me?” 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up and give it to me, Sam, I swear —” 

“Yeah?” he growls. He grips my hips hard enough to bruise.

I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles together, leaning back on my hands, and then I can arch my back and pull him deeper, working myself onto his cock. 

“Sam —” I start, but before I can say anything else he slams home, grinding in hard and fast, and my voice cracks on a stuttering, incoherent whine. It’s blindingly good. He’s steely-hard and so goddamn thick I feel like I’m about to split open, like one wrong move is going to pull me apart. His first rolling thrust sparks this wrenching wave of pressure that fills me up and shakes me down to the tips of my toes, my entire body rippling with feverish heat. 

“That’s my girl,” he pants. He pulls me against him and twists up, rough and filthy, and I shudder against him, writhing, mindless and overwhelmed. 

“Sam,” I choke out. My voice is high-pitched and squeaky-thin, and the next sharp thrust makes me forget whatever I was going to say beyond, “Nnnnhhhhhyesohgod.” 

“There?” 

“Fuck. Yes.” 

He moans, low and broken, and finds that perfect spot again, grinding into it with eye-popping force.

I can feel it, pleasure cramping through me with every movement, coiling up, building around the deep throbbing ache where he’s fucking into me. I feel like a wild animal, primal and lost.

“Good girl. Fuck, feels so good.”

I clutch at his shoulders, muscles quaking, burying my face in his neck as all that white-hot pressure peaks inside me. I let out an ugly, anguished sob, can’t hold it back, and then all I can feel is the all-consuming spasm of my orgasm, tension rocketing through every inch of me, sending me out into space for a long paralyzed moment. The first pulse of it is so scary-intense that I can’t breathe, can’t control myself, can’t keep track of my own body… 

Then it all comes back at once, and I’m exquisitely aware of Sam against me as he fucks me through it, hips surging forward as I squeeze around him and urge him deeper. 

“Thought about this so many times,” he’s confessing, ragged and raw. 

“Me too,” I gasp.  

He sucks in a shaky breath, moving slower as I start to come down, and I can feel him holding back now. “Think about you so fucking much, I can’t —”

“Me fucking too, Sam.”

He kisses me, gentle in a way that could very easily destroy me. 

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” he whispers, forehead sweaty where it rests against mine.  

“Fuck, Sam, don’t — this is —” 

I feel so strange and strung-out, caught between the shivery aftershocks in my belly and the startling tenderness in his voice as he mumbles, “Wanted to take my time.”

“Sam.” 

“Wanted to take my time with you,” he repeats. He moves against me with this slow, snakelike undulation. “Wanted to lay you out and kiss you everywhere and fucking worship you.” 

“We can. We can — I want that.” 

“Never gonna be enough,” he chokes out. “I knew — I knew, if I did this, I’d never want to stop.”

My skin is lit up with the feel of him, liquid heat gathering in my gut as my body responds to every perfect touch, but I’m afraid my ribcage is about to split open with the way my heart is hammering. 

We’re in a goddamn dive bar bathroom, for fuck’s sake, and I’m fucked up, and maybe this will feel cheap and tawdry and silly in the morning, but… somehow I don’t think it will. Somehow this feels like the most important thing that’s ever happened to me. 

“Why’d we wait this long?” I ask. There’s an embarrassing wobble in my voice. 

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he grits out. “Because I was scared.” Before I can respond, he kisses me, all teeth and desperation, twisting his hips and swallowing my moan. He slides his hands under my shirt, sliding them up my back, and drags his fingernails down in trails of stinging heat. It’s pleasure and pain and fucking obliteration, and the sensory overload has me spiraling out again. 

“Fuck that,” I half-laugh. My back arches and my voice breaks, and I bite his lip hard enough that I taste copper. 

He groans, full-throated and shameless, and ducks his head, sinking his teeth into the sweat-slick curve of my neck. He sucks, nibbles, and it sets off fireworks behind my eyelids. 

“Close, Sam. So close,” I babble, breathing harsh and heavy. I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull, and I can feel him moan. “Never thought it’d feel like this. It’s — this is so much better —” 

He shudders against me, lets out this long, guttural sound, and then he shifts and pounds into me harder, and all I can do is cling to him, pulling him closer like I’m never going to let go. “C’mon, then. Fuck. Tell me what you want.” 

“Please, Sam. Just — please. Please.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he growls. “You know that, right?” 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

“Don’t leave me,” I blurt out, as the unbearable tension starts to crest. “Don’t leave me, Sam. Please.” 

I know he hears it. He gasps like I punched him. I can feel him jerk, twitch, fingers clawing at my back, cock twitching and swelling inside me as he starts to come. I bite down on the meat of his shoulder as I let go. My orgasm feels like it’s ripping something loose, an earthquake in my core, and I don’t trust myself not to say exactly what’s on my mind. There’s a surge of pleasure, one glowing wave of it then another, and I’m dimly aware of shuddering against Sam as he rocks into me one more time, clutching him close… as if I could get close enough to keep him here with me. 

It’s impossible to be sad right now. I’m chemically incapable of sadness, still soaring high, but this is so much bigger than sadness anyway. I just feel like I’m about to break. 

“That,” he says, with an ugly sound, half-laugh, half-sob. “That’s what I was afraid of. That I wouldn’t ever want to leave.” 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Let’s just — let’s not think about it. Okay? Can we go back to the motel and — can we do that again? Take our time?” 

“Just for tonight?” he asks raggedly. 

“Just for tonight. We’re not going to think about what comes next.” 

He nods. We both know it’s a lie. 

,

,

,

[whump-only]

intro -- golden (vamp whump)

Ok so I have a vampire whump addiction now..... (thanks @deluxewhump + @ashintheairlikesnow). NEW WIP NEW OCs eeeeee

tw: broken bones, reference to gore (removal of teeth), captivity, restraint, it/its as pronouns, physical abuse/manhandling, non-sexual nudity, manipulative/abusive relationship, referenced death / murder

----

“Come on. Just let me just show it to you.” Hyde phrased it as though it was a request, but he stood blocking the front door. Daring Pollen to refuse him.

“No. Find someone else. I’m leaving,” Pollen said, but they both knew that wouldn’t happen. Pollen really, really regretted agreeing to housesit, For a whole month? On Hyde’s turf? Idiot! But he didn’t think Hyde would spring this on him. 

Hyde stepped forward and took Pollen by the elbow. “I’ll protect you…” he said cheekily, pulling Pollen towards the basement door. 

“Fuck you.” Pollen planted his feet firmly. To think Pollen would agree to living with a vampire… 

“Fuck! I said just look at it. How is that hard?” Hyde snapped with that ferociousness he was capable of. It’s why he was a top tier vampire hunter, but it startled Pollen when it came out like that. 

But just like that, the flash of anger was smoothed away, and Hyde was soft, coaxing. “Listen… if you actually look at it and still think it’s dangerous, then I’ll kill it before I go? Okay?”

Pollen was baffled. Did Hyde really think this was reasonable? Knowing what vampires did to his life, to his family? “…You’re serious?”

Hyde grinned before leading the way. That smile of assured victory that everyone swooned over. That Pollen used to want to kiss. Pollen clenched his teeth. 

Hyde opened the door to the pitch black basement and already everything in Pollen wanted to say, Close the door, get the fuck out! Leave it down there! That’s what any sensible human would do. 

Hyde flicked on a pale yellow light and padded down the steps. Pollen stopped at the threshold of the door, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Run. Run! Those last words of his mother echoed in his head, the memory of that night wrapping itself around his neck, like a snake. Run! 

Hyde looked up at him, raised his eyebrows mockingly. Scared?

Pollen reasoned that if the thing somehow got loose it could kill Hyde first and give Pollen time to run away. Or something. And so, he forced himself to step down, one creaky, labored step after another. The smell of rotting, horrible something hit him so hard it triggered a coughing fit. “Ugh, god. You never crack a window down here?” Pollen called. 

Hyde was already out of sight, somewhere down there. “No windows.”

Pollen’s eyes watered and he could barely see anything in the yellow glow of the overhead light. Hyde was near the far wall, and Pollen urgently scanned the bare room for the monster. With a shock he realized it must be the figure at Hyde’s feet, curled under a blanket. 

With the clink of chains, the thing suddenly shifted and let out a whimper and Pollen’s heart leapt into his throat. 

Hyde kneeled down next to it and Pollen braced himself for it to leap up and rip open Hyde’s face.

But instead Hyde lifted it clean off the floor and held it up. Its blanket fell away and it was naked, so thin that it looked like its every bone was visible through its grey skin, making it all the more inhuman. It looked like an eerily accurate mannequin, utterly plastic and lifeless, yet still detailed in its rendering. The chain that dropped down from its neck looked heavier than its body. The thing remained limp in Hyde’s arms, its head drooped down to its chest, its bound wrists hung loosely. Its mop of black hair covered the top half of its face and the bottom was obscured with a muzzle. Its legs dangled a full foot off the ground. There was no way it was full grown, Pollen realized. 

It did not paint an intimidating picture. But Pollen still flinched when it growled suddenly. 

Hyde didn’t seem to register the sound at all, even though he was holding it against his body. He switched to holding it up with one arm. “Look at its eyes.” With the other hand he moved its matted hair out of the way and pulled up one of its eyelids. The iris was a deep, almost golden, yellow. “Such a pretty color.” 

The vampire’s eye seemed to fix on Pollen, its pupil growing small in an instant. Pollen turned away, finding himself overwhelmed. Those eyes. Just like—

“Want to touch it?” Hyde said, almost reverently. 

“No,” Pollen said firmly. “Just stop.”

“Suit yourself.” Hyde dropped the vampire so suddenly that Pollen jerked in surprise as it hit the floor and cried out.  

Hyde stepped over the cowering creature and with a gleam in his eyes. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”

Pollen stepped back, momentarily forgetting the vampire, but nonetheless terrified. Hyde was alive now, glowing with excitement. At any moment his energy could be redirected by a swift turn of anger into a quick bone cracking punch or the instant unsheathing of his knife. In this basement, Hyde could get away with anything, Pollen thought. 

But Hyde was in good spirits, seemingly assured that his presentation had been thoroughly convincing. So he was now onto logistics, “The freezer upstairs is filled with cow blood. Give the vamp a block every day or so. That’ll keep it alive but it won’t get strong enough to give you trouble. You can always lower the portion if it’s getting too energetic.”

Pollen’s head was still spinning from the slow realization of what he’d gotten backed into doing. ���And what, take off its muzzle? What if it bites me?”

Hyde grinned with chaotic glee. “I took out its fangs! And the rest of the front ones too.”

Pollen unconsciously raised his hand to cover his mouth. 

Hyde continued. “Still gotta be wary of the things growing back of course. You can use the pitchfork to pin it down, but trust me, it doesn’t move around much anyway. It’s pretty easy.”

Pollen tried to relax his clenched mouth. “Right. Cow blood. Got it.”

Hyde tapped his chin. “Other than that, I just dump a bucket of water or two every few days, to wash down the piss an everything to the drain there.”

Literally mopping shit. Unbelievable that Hyde would take him for granted like this, Pollen sulked. “I hate you. You’re a bad friend.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Hyde said tenderly. He reached for Pollen’s hand and teasingly wrapped his index finger around Pollen’s pinkie. With the other hand he gave Pollen’s butt a little squeeze. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Ridiculous. Did Hyde think he was so good that sex would make up for this?, Pollen wondered. Pollen wasn’t that desperate. 

And now Pollen was insulted. “Hey. I never say I’d do it. Chained up or not, toothless or whatever, I’m not going to be able to sleep knowing there’s a vampire under me. That’s a risk you’re willing to live with. But not me. What if it gets away and comes upstairs to kill me?”

Hyde sighed. “You really think that thing is any threat to you? Be serious.” 

“Yes!” Pollen insisted. 

Hyde’s eyes narrowed and he smirked coldly. “So sad. But I get it. Can’t be too careful with vamps. They killed your folks right?”

Pollen already knew Hyde wasn’t just giving up. But Pollen didn’t know how to stop him. How to not walk into the trap. So Pollen yielded, “Yes. And my siblings. I had two sisters.”

“That’s too bad...” Hyde turned to the vampire that had somehow managed to silently twist most of itself back under the blanket. “Hey, Goldie. Mr. Pollen doesn’t trust you…”

Hyde walked purposefully toward a metal baseball bat that Pollen hadn’t noticed before. Pollen didn’t think he imagined the dark staining on it. 

Hyde glanced over, trying to catch Pollen’s gaze. “…What can we do about that?”

Pollen felt very cold in his stomach, remembering Hyde’s promise to kill it if Pollen thought it was dangerous. “Hey, come on Hyde. Hyde! Don’t do that,” Pollen said, but he wasn’t sure. The vampire couldn’t be released back to the outside to terrorize people, they both knew that. 

The vampire too, must’ve sensed the lurch toward danger, because it broke out of its stupor. As Hyde loomed over it, it struggled and whined, tried to scrabble against the concrete, pull itself away. But Hyde firmly stepped down on a part of it, pinning it.

“Stop! No!” Pollen shouted, but Hyde raised the tool above his head—

Pollen turned away and covered his ears to block the piercing cry of the creature. With every new breath it screamed into its muzzle and seemed to choke on its own voice before screaming again.  Pollen panted in horror, unable to look up. 

“One broken leg,” Hyde reported, loudly, over the thing’s cries. “Or if we’re really being more exact, it’s probably shattered from the knee down. Still think vampy can get away?”

Pollen shook his head. “Hyde. I can’t…”

“What do you think, Goldie? Can you still crawl up the stairs and kill Mr. Pollen?” Hyde addressed it with a tone that approached tenderness. But he still held that bat, weighing it in his hand. Pollen realized Hyde never intended to kill it. 

Pollen wished he could jump up and snatch away the bat. But his body wouldn’t move. “Hyde. Hyde, please stop. Just stop.”

Hyde looked right at Pollen with dark eyes as he raised the bat again. “Sorry, Goldie. One leg to go.” 

Pollen finally unfroze and raced up the stairs two at a time, tripped once, bashing his chin into a stair, but it didn’t slow him down until he was back in the kitchen. He felt dizzy so he sank to the floor and clapped his hands over his ears as the creature wailed. 

The stairs creaked as Hyde climbed them. He softly closed the basement door, muting the sounds of pain. 

The ringing finally subsided in Pollen’s head. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Pollen demanded. 

“You know I’m the last person on earth who’d underestimate a vampire. I wouldn’t leave you in a situation where you could get hurt,” Hyde said sweetly. 

You knew it’d make me guilty, Pollen thought. To get back at me for resisting you, right? But Pollen said nothing, and took the hand Hyde offered. 

Hyde pulled Pollen to his feet. “I know it’s scary. Especially for you. But you can do this.”

Pollen rested his head on Hyde’s shoulder, pretending that this Hyde, the soft one, couldn’t switch back if he was hugging Pollen. The broken moans of the thing could still be heard through the door. This whole exercise seemed so cruel now, so unnecessary. Pollen mumbled into Hyde’s shirt. “Why can’t you just kill it?”

Hyde wrapped his arms around Pollen. “This is a rare opportunity. I’ll take it around to fairs and things, earn a little cash showing people something they’ve never seen before. It’ll be something to do between my hunting trips. Maybe I can even travel less, if the money’s good… I’m not getting younger, you know?”

The creature’s pitiful sobs echoed in Pollen’s skull. Pollen gripped Hyde’s shirt tighter. “Mhm.” 

Hyde approvingly pecked a kiss onto Pollen’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Pollen cursed the fluttery feeling it gave him. He broke out of the hug. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

Hyde began to shuttle around the house, scanning for things he might’ve forgotten to pack. The vampire had gone quiet. 

Finally Hyde stood at the door, ready to leave. 

Pollen joined him to see him off. “Have a nice trip. Kills lots of vampires for me.”

“That I will.” Hyde gave a salut and marched off. 

Pollen closed the door and slumped down to the floor. “Fuck!”

[witcherslittledove]

May I request some knifeplay with a side of humiliation? Maybe Jaskier got himself caught and Geralt has to cut him free and picks up on how much he loves the knife? And gets off on how desperate he is for it?

@jaskiersbow I believe this was your prompt? If I remember rightly!

Just You Wait

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: E

CW: witcher potions, knifeplay, humiliation (minor namecalling really), butt plugs, anal sex, bondage, canon-typical violence (and death to unnamed characters), mentions of Jask/OCs, orgasm denial.

(I think that's all the warnings but let me know if I missed anything?)

Summary: Jaskier gets imprisoned as part of a spy mission and it's down to Geralt to rescue him, and well, they might as well take advantage of the chains whilst they're there.

AO3

Jaskier should be used to getting tied up. As a Redanian spy, or occasionally Temerian depending on his mood, he sometimes needed to get caught in order to obtain the information he needed. No one ever suspected the bard, and he had a particular talent for getting into trouble, namely a tendency to sleep with the wrong person’s spouse or child. This time was no different. A quick romp with the mayor’s wife, and then his daughter, had been enough to land Jaskier in jail. The poor man never even realised that Jaskier meant to get captured, and it hadn’t taken long for Jaskier to con the guards out of the information he needed. The only problem was that he was stuck, and the guards were enjoying using him as their personal punch bag. Little did they know that every hit, every movement that made his wrists pull against the shackles, jostled the plug that Jaskier had shoved up in arse before he’d been captured. So he was trapped, chained, and unbearably horny.

The best combination in his opinion.

And unfortunately for the guards, Jaskier’s husband was almost certainly on the way. That thought kept his spirits bright through every punch to the gut and face. His lips were split, he had almost certainly broken a few ribs, and he was struggling to open one eye, but that didn’t keep him from laughing. The guards had practically signed their own death warrants the moment they laid hands on him, and Jaskier happened to find it incredibly hot whenever his husband tore down half the Continent to keep him safe.

"Just you wait til my husband gets here," he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked.

The guards looked at each other, giving Jaskier a reprieve from their brutal punches, and then they laughed. It didn’t matter though, Jaskier knew he would have the last laugh. The idiots were too busy howling to notice the sudden eerie silence in the prison, but Jaskier grinned, not looking up from the ground. A terrible scream tore through the room as a sword appeared in one of the guards stomach, blood shining in the candlelight.

Jaskier cackled. “I tried to warn you,” he sang, finally looking up to see his husband wrenching his sword from the dead guard, Geralt’s eyes were black as the night and a web of inky veins crept across the ghostly pale skin.

Geralt smirked, not bothering to wipe the blood from his sword. The second guard jumped to his feet, ready to fight but Geralt was faster. The sword flew through the air, slashing the guard's throat and he crumpled to the floor next to his companion. Jaskier cocked his head, licking his lips as he took in the bloody form of his husband, all scary face and sword raised.

Lowering the bloody weapon, Geralt cupped Jaskier’s cheek, making sure he was okay with a frantic sweep of his black eyes. It was kind of sweet really. Geralt was barely himself when he was high on the potions like this, and yet he cared so deeply that his first instinct was always to check that Jaskier was safe. And oh, how Jaskier adored him.

A low snarl rumbled in Geralt’s chest as his dark eyes took in the damage that had been done, but Jaskier just met his gaze, offering a smile. “I’m alright, dear heart,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off Geralt.

"You're hurt," Geralt growled, scenting Jaskier, one hand gripped around his still shackled wrist.

"I'm fine," Jaskier sighed, pulling his husband into a kiss, the taste of their blood on his tongue. He’d never expected to enjoy the taste of blood, but combined with the thrill of the fight and the lingering sense of danger, he was weak. He whimpered, pulling at the shackles, wanting to be free, but first... he needed Geralt to take him like this. It was a drug, an addiction, and Jaskier was the addict. He let out a pitiful "please" against his husbands lips, desperate and aching as he was.

With the final reassurance, Geralt finally snapped, his sword gliding through the air, but Jaskier didn’t even flinch as he felt the kiss of steel grazing against his chest. Thankfully, his clothes were already ruined, otherwise Geralt would be buying him a new set, but the sound of fabric tearing and the sting of the sword scratching his skin made him feel heady. Jaskier licked the blood off his lips as he strained against the chains, but Geralt was faster, holding the sword at Jaskier’s throat with a low growl. Jaskier wasn’t scared, even though his husband was more animal than man at that moment, he trusted his husband.

And holy fuck…

He could barely catch his breath, too aroused, too dizzy, too lost in Geralt. Jaskier whimpered as the tip of Geralt’s blade nudged his chin up, forcing him to look into those midnight black eyes. Gorgeous, beautiful, obsidian eyes that haunted Jaskier's dreams. When Geralt pressed the sword harder, it cut into Jaskier's throat, not much, just enough to make him cry out. He whined pitifully, unreasonably turned on by the sharp pain. Geralt let out a low growl, and the sound sent a shiver down Jaskier's spine. The witcher’s voice was truly something else, like all of Jaskier’s wet dreams combined.

"Tell me, husband, how exactly did you get yourself arrested this time?"

Jaskier didn’t answer, too tongue-tied to form the words. They both know what he did, they might be married but Geralt had never expected Jaskier to be monogamous.

"Fucked the mayor's daughter," Jaskier admitted, gasping for breath as Geralt pressed the flat of the blade against his windpipe, "and his wife...."

And maybe his son... but Geralt didn’t need to know all the details.

Geralt snarled, the tip of his sword running through the thick hair on Jaskier's chest, dancing around Jaskier's nipples. "Is that what you do, whore yourself out in exchange for information?" Jaskier nodded, whimpering as the blade traveled further down towards his cock."I should have known I married a whore, that's all bards really are."

The witcher’s words were like fire in Jaskier’s veins, he was a whore, Geralt’s slut to use and abuse as he saw fit. He wanted that, needed that and he whined, pulling again at the chains. If he didn’t get Geralt's cock in him, blessed Melitele, he might in fact die…

"Geralt, please, I'll be good."

The sword clattered to the ground but Geralt already had a dagger ready, before Jaskier could even protest. They both knew he needed the extra incentive to stay quiet, even with no one left alive to hear them, it was just a part of the game they liked to play. Sometimes Geralt liked to gag him, but most of the time it was down to Jaskier to force himself to stay as quiet as possible.

“I don’t think “good” is in your vocabulary, bard,” Geralt said with a low snarl, biting at Jaskier’s bottom lip as he finally reached down to tease Jaskier's hole.

Jaskier laughed as he felt his husband’s fingers press against the plug, flicking his hair from his eyes as he leaned in for another kiss. "I told you I'd be good for you."

The witcher tugged at the plug, pulling it out in one swift movement, and Jaskier had to bite back a moan. It stung but dear gods... did it feel good. There was an aching emptiness at his core, as he felt the oil trickle down his bloody thighs, and he heard his own voice pleading, begging, beseeching. He needed to be filled, he needed it more than the air he breathed.

Thankfully, his husband was in a worse state than he was and it didn’t take Geralt long to slick up his cock, growling as he pushed inside Jaskier. The stretch burned slightly, the witcher’s cock larger than the plug Jaskier had prepped himself with. It felt like Geralt was fucking his very soul, and he couldn’t help but choke on his own cries as his husband pounded into him at a relentless pace, hitting his sweet spot with every thrust. Jaskier couldn’t even hold on, arms sore against the shackles that bound him to the wall.

Geralt’s teeth grazed against his neck, nipping sharply at the skin. The witcher’s low voice snarled and growled, whispering utter filth in Jaskier’s ear, but it wasn’t enough. He’d never been able to cum untouched, but Geralt was too lost in his own pleasure and Jaskier’s hands were still tied, leaving him teetering on the edge of an orgasm but never quite able to fall.

Before Jaskier could beg to be touched, Geralt came with a grunt, tearing the chains from the wall. They both tumbled to the floor in a heap, bloody and exhausted. The only remaining sounds were Jaskier’s quiet whimpers as he pressed his face into Geralt’s chest, his cock still hard and leaking, and yet still feeling strangely at peace in his husband’s arms.

[extasiswings]

Hopping on this train of writing to cope with promo image-induced feelings.  No thoughts, just vibes.  Also on ao3. 

The air inside the warehouse is thick with smoke and blisteringly hot.  A snapping sound splits through the crackle of flame and Eddie is abruptly yanked off balance as Buck grabs his arm and pulls hard just as a beam from above comes crashing down. It doesn’t miss him completely—catches the side of his helmet and knocks it off, making his ears ring with the impact. 

He sees Buck’s mouth moving and shakes his head. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” Buck repeats, nearly shouting to be heard over the din of the fire. 

A light fixture groans above them before dropping down as well and it’s Eddie’s turn to push Buck out of the way, even if it means a bit of flying glass catches him in the face. 

“We need to get out of here,” he shouts, and it quickly turns into a coughing fit as he chokes on smoke, his throat and lungs burning. 

Buck nods. “Go! I’m right behind!”

Eddie turns and manages to work out a path to the closest exit with a single-minded focus. His head is aching and he’s dizzy, can feel blood dripping down his cheek as well, and when he stumbles out into somewhat fresher air he nearly collapses into Bobby before he’s passed off to the paramedics. 

Hen had been one of the first ones in and out and has since stripped off her turnout coat and is helping the other medics. Eddie doesn’t argue when she checks his throat and pupil responses before pressing an oxygen mask into his hand. 

“Where’s Buck?” Hen asks as she swipes an alcohol pad over the cut on his cheek and secures it with two butterfly strips. 

Eddie lowers the mask and coughs. “He was right—“

Behind me. 

The words fade on his tongue as he scans the area only to come up empty. And then his eyes light on the door he’d come out of, nothing clear beyond the frame but black smoke and the red and orange glare of flickering flames. 

His world tips on its axis.  His vision swims.   And the feeling—

It reminds him a little of the tsunami, when he’d noticed Christopher’s glasses around Buck’s neck and had felt himself fracturing at such a rapid pace that even now he’s sure he wouldn’t have remained standing if he hadn’t caught sight of his son over Buck’s shoulder. He can feel the same sort of cracks spidering up the foundation of his walls—the ones that he throws up when he needs to be Eddie Diaz, firefighter, medic, soldier, competent professional, any version of himself that has to play at having his life together—and he scrambles internally to shut down the panic, to plaster over the cracks before they can spread too far, because if he lets himself think—

“I need to talk to Bobby,” he says, trying to push himself up to standing. Hen shoves him back down with hands firmly on his shoulders. 

“You need to sit and keep breathing into that mask,” she says, her voice sharp with authority before it gentles. “I’ll get him, but only if you stay here.”

Eddie’s jaw tics, but he lifts the mask back up to his face and takes a few pointed breaths while she watches. Finally, she nods. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promises. 

There’s an itch between his shoulder blades that desperately wants an outlet. Something to do, something to control so he doesn’t feel so much like he’s on the edge of a cliff. So that he can work on a solution instead of his mind unhelpfully focusing on Buck’s still in there.  He’s not an idiot, he knows he’s in no shape to go back in himself, but he needs something. 

“We were in the southwest quadrant,” Eddie reports when Hen returns with Bobby, keeping his words short and clipped.  “It wasn’t overrun but there were a lot of things falling from the upper levels. He said he was coming right after me, but he could have gotten stuck.”

This is easier. Staying mechanical. Sticking to facts. There’s no room for getting overly emotional, no allowance for breaking down.  He has a commanding officer in front of him who needs information, and that is something Eddie can handle. 

“We tried him on the radio but there was no answer,” Bobby says. 

“He may have dropped it.”  When he pulled me to safety. Eddie shuts that thought down. 

“There are windows on that side,” he adds. “If the exits are blocked—“

“We’ll look at all possible options,” Bobby replies.  His face is drawn and tired, face streaked with sweat and soot. 

For some reason it’s the flicker of doubt Eddie catches in his eyes that makes him say—

“He wasn’t being reckless. I know—we all know he can be sometimes, but he wasn’t. If he’s not out, it’s because he needs help, not because he’s trying to be a hero.”

Bobby looks at Eddie for a moment, something passing across his eyes like recognition before it fades and he’s left looking more tired than before. 

“We’ll look at all the options,” he repeats finally. He doesn’t make promises. Eddie’s not sure whether or not he appreciates that. 

It takes another several minutes for anything to happen, and Eddie’s shoulders get tighter, his mood blacker. His head aches and he snaps at another paramedic, some clearly new young kid, when he notices him dressing a burn improperly. 

It doesn’t make him feel better. 

Finally though, finally, after a heart-stopping moment when the warehouse windows blow out on the side where they’d last been, Eddie hears shouts. And a figure comes stumbling around from the back of the building, knees giving out just in time for someone to catch him. 

“What happened to I’m right behind?” Eddie asks roughly when Buck is helped over, looking worse for wear but alive. 

Buck coughs and closes his eyes. “Part of the catwalk came down,” he says. “Blocked me in. Couldn’t see you. Couldn’t see anything hardly through all the...everything.”

“I didn’t know.”

Buck shakes his head and dutifully brings his own oxygen mask to his face when one is pressed into his hand. 

“Wouldn’t have wanted you to stay even if you had,” he replies. “At least I had all my gear.” 

Eddie wants to keep talking, keep asking questions, keep reminding himself that Buck is sitting next to him and going to be fine, but that irrational impulse wars with the rational thought that Buck needs oxygen not an interrogation. So he drops it.  And they both withdraw into their own heads. 

Eddie watches though. As Buck flickers between present and vacant, numb. The haunted, hunted look that passes over his face every so often a clear indication that whatever ghosts are whispering in his mind, they’re saying nothing good. When the shift ends and they’re cleaned up, Buck still looks half-dead, so Eddie snatches his keys. 

“I’m taking you home,” he says, tone booking no argument. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

Buck sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay.”

The drive is silent, but there’s a tension in the air, the weight of things unspoken. Eddie’s not entirely sure what exactly would roll off his own tongue if he opened his mouth, his head a mess, but when he parks his truck in front of Buck’s apartment, Buck finally speaks. 

“You know what I was thinking while I stuck in that building? Besides that I was going to die.”  He swallows hard. “That if it had to be someone it was good it was me.”

Eddie’s heart stops, his stomach rebelling violently at sheer wrongness of the thought. 

“That’s not true.”

Buck nods and lets out a small, bitter laugh. 

“See, I do know that actually,” he admits. “It’s one of the things I’ve been working on in therapy. Except then my parents rolled into town and it was like none of that work mattered, I was right back to square one assuming I’m not wanted, that no one would miss me—and I hate, I hate that they have that kind of power, that they can make me feel so fucking worthless.”

“You’re not though.” Eddie reaches over before he can stop himself, his hand curling around the side of Buck’s neck, thumb settling over his pulse to feel that steady thrum of alive alive alive. “God, when I thought—you’re worth everything. You have to know—“

You have to know how much you mean to me. You have to know how much I love you. You have to know I can’t lose you.

You have to know. 

Buck makes a small sound of disbelief, his gaze turning searching as Eddie bites his tongue to keep from saying too much he can’t take back. He feels somehow even more precariously positioned on the edge of a cliff than he had in the field, but that cliff was positioned above an ocean of grief. He doesn’t know what’s at the bottom of this one should he fall. 

Somehow that’s almost more terrifying. 

Eddie sways forward unconsciously and Buck presses his forehead to his. Neither of them are breathing steadily. And they stay like that for a long moment until Buck shivers and pulls back. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says quietly, and Eddie can’t quite help the frisson of want that sparks through him, the whisper of yes, please, do it then that threads through his mind. 

“But,” Buck continues, his tongue sweeping out to wet his lips as Eddie watches. “But it’s been a long and really fucking difficult day and I’m not—I don’t want to fuck this up before it even starts. If—if there’s anything to start at all, I don’t want to assume—“

“There is,” Eddie assures. I love you. I’m in love with you. 

That gets him the faintest smile as Buck reaches up to squeeze his hand. 

“Thanks for the ride home.”

“Of course. Anytime.”  

When Eddie gets home, he pauses long enough to check on Christopher before falling into bed. And only then does he think back over the day and finally, finally let himself shatter. 

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children [DP x Batman Crossover] Ch. 1

Disclaimer: It's been a while since I watched DP and the only Batman/DC stuff I've interacted with are B:TAS, the JL cartoons, and what I got from fandom osmosis so don't expect any sort of canon compliance.

In Which: the author takes advantage of the passage of time in Nanda Parbat being wonky and Danny doesn't give up, per se, but is sort of resigned to being stuck with the League of Assassins until further notice.

AO3 | Prologue | [ 1 ] | 2 |

CW for descriptions of non-consensual drug use (if there's anything you guys would like me to tag, please tell me)

-----

WHEN SOMETHING WENT WRONG WITH DANNY’S LIFE, it was usually because of one or two things: Ghosts or Vlad. And considering their truce and how even Vlad wouldn’t go this far (at least, Danny hoped), Danny was kidnapped because of ghosts. Or his association with ghosts.

Though how an organization of ninja-assassins got wind of his ‘unique’ circumstance was beyond him. The shackles they slapped on his wrists were more a formality than anything after the second time he tried to escape them with intangibility. The only reason they managed to get him contained the entire trip from Amity Park to wherever the fuck Nanda Parbat lay was because of the cocktail of drugs they pumped into his system spiked with blood blossoms.

Danny had to give it to them. The League of Assassins might not have any anti-ecto weaponry, but they did their homework.

He barely remembered the trip. He catches flashes—blurry figures and words he couldn’t comprehend. A warm hand holding his, a thumb rubbing smooth circles on the back of his palm and calloused fingers running through his hair.

When he awoke, it was in a room bigger than his bedroom. His ankle was shackled to a bedpost, and the only door leading out was locked. There was a separate room for the bathroom off to the side and a shelf stacked with books decorating the otherwise bare walls, but other than that there wasn’t much else. Not even windows.

Intangibility, he learned, wasn’t an option. The blood blossoms in his bloodstream were still in circulation, rendering his transformation useless. If his nose was right, his captors were pumping blood blossoms from the vents. The sickly sweet of the flower was faint in the cool air, but the slight red haze that persisted in the room was unmistakable.

He tried, regardless. The rings barely made it half-way before his knees buckled and he started retching all over the floor. At least his stomach was empty.

-------

Danny doesn’t know how long he’s been in Nanda Parbat. Time moved differently here. Faster, he thought. He doesn’t really understand how or why, though sometimes he wondered what Clockwork thought of all of this.

(There are times, in the darkness and solitude of his cell, when Danny would call for Clockwork to rescue him. Quietly, so quietly, it was barely even a whisper. But Clockwork would hear it—Danny was sure he would. Clockwork helped him out before, so this time shouldn’t be all that different. But at the end of the night, nothingness would answer him. And Danny had to learn over and over again that even the Ghost of Time had his own rules to follow.)

It had taken a few days and Talia nearly biting the head off of the League’s physician for them to realize that blood blossoms would be an awful way to contain him. Effective at immobilizing him, yes, but the flowers left him about as helpless as Superman in a kryptonite cave.

“It all works out in the end,” Talia would say. “The blossoms were never going to become a long-term solution; you might end up developing an immunity to them given enough exposure.”

Though knowing now what Talia’s ‘long-term plan’ was for making sure Danny didn’t slip through the walls of the headquarters and fly across the ocean, Danny would rather take his chances with the blood blossoms.

Danny might not have been as smart as Vlad, but he was tricky and creative when he needed to be. He knows he’s powerful. And sure, he might forget some of his own abilities every now and then, but that doesn’t mean he can’t use them. In the time he’s been stuck in the Leage’s lair (and coherent), Danny had thought of a dozen escape plans, each one with a high chance of success. If he made an attempt, he could guarantee the League wouldn’t notice until he was a quarter-way across the globe.

Escaping wasn’t the problem. That would be the easy part.

His core burned at the thought of it. And it hurt—as if his entire being was dunked in a vat of dry ice and left to freeze. He hated how he was here and everything that he was protecting was far. Away.

Danny wanted to go home. Wanted to read comic books in his bed, play Doom with Tucker and Sam, sleep in class and make fun of the Box Ghost. He wants to eat his mom’s food, even if there’s a fifty-fifty chance that it would come alive and try to eat him instead. He wants to listen to Jazz try to psychoanalyze his problems. Wants to go fishing with his dad and eat his famous chocolate fudge. Wants to fly above the skies of Amity Park and touch what little he can of the universe before he’s called down again.

Amity Park is his haunt. His Home. The soft hum of the Ghost Portal in the basement a lullaby he’s listened to for so long that sleeping without it was next to impossible. Every fiber of his being craved to go back because how is he supposed to protect Amity if he isn’t there?

But to go back meant sacrificing everyone.

Danny doesn’t risk it.

(The—the last time was an accident. If Danny isn’t—if he isn’t careful, this time it may be an assassination. He refused to have his family’s death on his hands again.)

He has faith in Sam, Tucker, and Jazz to hold down the fort until he could find a way to escape. They’re smart. Smarter than him. They’ll work something out and—in a worst-case scenario, they’ll find a way to shut down the Ghost Portal to stop the ghosts from coming through.

Logic meant nothing to his ghost core, though. The next best thing to do was to drown out his worries with the League’s rigorous education.

Hand-to-hand and weapons combat. Geography. History. Dozens of foreign languages. Poisons and herbology and basic first-aid. His days are packed with new things to learn and to repeat until it’s drilled into his skull so deep he could recite the information in his sleep. (Hyosycamus niger, aka Henbane. Every part is highly toxic and can cause dizziness, stupor, insanity, and eventual death. It’s medicinal uses range from--)

The League demanded perfection. The Demon’s Head demanded even more than that.

Talia oversaw his education. Sometimes, there would be another, older, man by her side, observing his regimen with cold calculation. Whenever that man arrived, Danny’s instructors were always stricter.

His teachers made little effort to interact with him outside of their set schedule, and during his lessons they only ever answer pertinent questions. He supposed there would be other students of the League in Nanda Parbat, but he’s seen neither hide nor hair of them. His rooms (a bedroom + bathroom combo that led out into a large indoor space for training) are separate from everything else.

Danny slept alone, ate alone, and trained alone. And for a boy who has had his two best friends stuck to his side like glue for as long as he could remember, it’s a terribly lonely experience.

His shadow guards don’t count. They might as well be another piece of furniture. Another stone in the wall.

-------

Talia was the only one that broke his new mundane routine, as much as she was the cause of it. She was his only source of companionship in this hell hole; the only one who would really speak to him. And yeah, he knew why that was. Jazz had rambled on enough about Stockholm syndrome to know that this ‘arrangement’ was Talia’s attempts at forging a bond between them. But godit’s just so hard to be stuck inside your own mind all day when. It made him think too much. Worry. (Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif).

And then—

And then.

Danny had asked Talia a multitude of questions, but only two did she ever answer. Both asked when he was still trying to flush the drug cocktail and the blood blossoms from his system.

The first was when he asked, “Why am I here?” She answered that it was because Ra’s al Ghul, her father, wanted him. He had knowledge the Demon’s Head wanted; powers that Ra’s could only ever dream of. The man was curious—though Talia assured him over and over again that Danny wouldn’t be vivisected and studied for science.

The second answer came right after when Danny asked her “How could you be so sure?”

Talia smiled. Lacquered fingers coming up to brush away the dark strands that fell over his face. Her hands traced the curve of his jaw, cupping his cheeks to raise his eyes to hers. “Because you are my son,” she said, voice honey sweet.

He jerked from her hold.

Burned by it.

“You’re lying,” he spat. “I’m already someone else’s son. Try again.”

Talia let her hands drop to her sides. “You are my son.” She took a step closer towards him. Steady. Firm. “That is why you are here.”

“I don’t believe you.”

A pitying smile. “Be that as it may, you cannot change the truth.” She approached him, slowly backing him against the wall before she reached out to tilt his chin upwards. Some traitorous part of Danny’s mind catalogued her features. Made connections that shouldn’t exist. “I have carried you in my womb, Daniel. You were a part of me for so very long and I loved you more with each passing day. You are of my body and of my blood—not matter how much you may deny it.”

“No.” He pushed her hands away and raked his hands over his hair. “You’re lying.” She must be. They don’t look alike. Not at all. Everyone always said he was his dad’s—Jack Fenton’s—exact copy. Black haired and blue eyed and sharp-jawed. Awkward but well-meaning and with a heart of gold, his mother said. It was once of the facts of life; Danny took after his dad, and Jazz took after their mom. Simple as that.

(There is a memory resurfacing from his early childhood that Danny is desperately trying to repress again. Memories of kids teasing him on the playground, innocently cruel in the way only children can be as they tried to convince him he was adopted. That his skin looked nothing like his parents’. Dusky where his parents and sister were fair. He went home crying to his parents that same day, and they soothed away his worries with hushed words and a well-timed distraction.)

He asked no more questions after that. Talia was lying to him for some reason, and no answer she could give would be trustworthy anyways. What little of him he could see in her was only a figment of his own imagination. His mind playing cruel tricks.

Then his hopes were dashed aside when Talia showed him a picture of his father a day later.

The man in the photo looked like him. Black haired and eyes the same shade of too-bright blue. There were differences, of course. The man in the photograph was fairer, unlike Danny. He was taller and broader where Danny was lean and lanky. But despite this and all the other minute differences, this man who was supposed to be Danny’s biological father looked like him.

The same slant of the brow. The same shape of the eyes. The way the man held himself with this sense of gravitas and power that Danny couldn’t yet do in his awkward teenage years but had seen before. In a monster another man.

Danny’s future self was terrifying in its inhumanity, but it didn’t take that much of an imagination to know that he looked almost exactly like the man in the picture.

[beauregardlionett]

like you’ll never get a second chance

AO3 Link

Caleb alerted Yasha the moment he sensed his Polymorph spell drop. A quick tap to her arm and a gesture over her shoulder had the Aasimar doubling back without question.

They had fled from the Tomb Takers, only looking back to make sure their entire party was present. They had apparently gone far enough, long enough, that Caleb’s spell on Beau wore off, the mammoth fading in a blink of the eye trick. Beau and Fjord tumbled into the snow with muffled impact and groans of pain, lost under the howl of the wind. As Yasha approached, she scarcely made out Fjord stumbling to his feet and hauling Beau upright.

Caleb messaged Veth and Jester, telling them to double back so they could all be together. Jester’s spell wore off minutes earlier, her owl dropping both her and Caduceus into the snow where Veth was making headway. The trio messaged back that they would trudge their way to the party on foot.

As Yasha plowed through the snow toward Beau and Fjord, her thoughts wandered.

Yasha had seen and done a lot of morbid things in her time. If she were made to guess about her missing time, she figured it was mostly numerous heinous acts better left forgotten. Part of her was grateful she didn’t have access to those memories.

For the ones she could remember, though…those lingered with stubborn tenacity. She had braced her foot between Obann’s shoulders and torn his wings off with her bare hands - unrepentant. Yasha had tied a dead body to a belaying pin and left it hanging over the edge of their ship. She had impaled a creature and dragged its body further down her blade, just for the sick satisfaction of it all. So Yasha was no stranger to blood and gore and brutality - they were more like worn memories, cassette tapes precariously maintaining their reels after too many turns.

But seeing Beau, leaning heavily against Fjord’s shoulder, face streaked with blood from places that should never bleed, smarted like a raw wound. Through the snow and dim grey of her dark vision, Beau looked absolutely ragged. Yasha dreaded when they might find a source of light. She knew without a doubt that Beau would only look worse - would only serve as a more harsh reminder of how close they came to losing her to Lucien.

Her fingers tightened around Caleb in her arms, aching with a burn to hold on to Beau’s waist instead. She longed to tuck the monk against her side, wrap her up and keep her safe from harm. Yasha had already failed on that front once with Caleb and Beau in the past day - and now again with Beau. Each failure felt like a yawning chasm in Yasha’s chest she was scrambling to figure out how she might fill.

Caleb tapped her arm again when they were almost to Beau and Fjord, drawing her attention down to the wizard.

“I am okay,” he reassured Yasha shakily. There was a knowing glint to his eyes. “Go to her.”

Yasha hesitated for only the briefest of moments, arms tightening around her companion. As much as she wanted to go to Beau, she cared about Caleb and wanted to make sure he was safe, too. But he gave her a quiet look, and Yasha trusted him.

Setting Caleb down on his feet in the snow, lingering to make sure he had his balance, Yasha’s gaze then latched onto Beau. She couldn’t have held back her feet any longer, even if she tried. She did not move as quickly as she would have liked through the ice, but her long legs aided her trek.

Fjord spotted her coming, looking up from where Beau’s head leaned against his shoulder. The half-Orc ducked down to mutter something to Beau, prompting her to lift her head the moment before Yasha pulled her from Fjord. She swept Beau up into a hug, an arm around her waist and a hand at the base of Beau’s neck. Her fingers fit with easy warmth against the curve of Beau’s waist, the way Yasha knew they would. Yasha’s breath gusted from her chest in a tremulous exhalation of relief, leaving her dizzy.

The chasm in her chest shrank.

“Yasha?” Beau’s exhausted question was muffled against the fur of her cloak, but wiry arms wrapped around Yasha, reassuring. The monk’s limbs shook where they wreathed around the Aasimar’s torso, whether tremors of relief, terror, or faded adrenaline, Yasha couldn’t tell. All that mattered was the press of Beau’s weight - solid, warm, alive - in the secure circle of Yasha’s embrace.

She pulled back enough to examine Beau’s face, her hand sliding from Beau’s neck to cup her cheek. The pad of her thumb brushed against the frozen trail of blood leaking from Beau’s eye. The track from her ear was a stinging, icy burn against the palm of Yasha’s hand. This close to the monk, Yasha saw that some blood vessels in Beau’s eye had burst, tinging the sclera red at the corners. The hollow spaces between the chapped skin on Beau’s lips had filled in and frozen over with blood. It left a crimson crackle pattern over the monk’s mouth, haunting and mesmerizing all at once.

Yasha swallowed her rage with force.

They almost lost her. She almost lost Beau. Twice.

Don’t think that you have more time, necessarily, than you might have.

They all saw Fjord and Jester earlier. No one had freaked out - Veth had merely been excited and confused. This was their family, and Yasha was tired of waiting for the “right moment”.

“Beau,” Yasha murmured just loud enough to be heard over the wind. The monk’s eyes were already on her, but Yasha felt the intention behind that look strengthen when she called Beau’s name. Looking into her eyes like this, she could almost ignore the harrowing blood trails and stained sclera.

“May I kiss you?”

Beau blinked, her mouth opening and closing a few times as her cheeks abruptly colored pink. Yasha’s heart pulled with fondness.

“Please,” Beau squeaked after a moment, her frozen fingers curling into Yasha’s cloak.

Yasha wasted no time surging forward, sealing her lips against Beau’s with fierce intention. If this god awful frozen wasteland had taught her anything in the past days, it was that every moment counted. Something might come and rip them apart whenever - no matter how secure they thought they were. Yasha was done biding her time, because the Storm Lord knew how much they had left.

Her lips against Beau’s seared like a blazing brand. Their lips were chapped from the cold - the skin rough and chilled and uncomfortable. Yasha’s teeth knocked against Beau’s at the initial press, making Beau grin against Yasha as she huffed a laughed. Where their frozen lips gave way to the warm curve inside their mouths, the burning contrast of temperature consumed Yasha’s awareness. She chased it with passionate desperation, wanting to remember every piece of this kiss in case it became their first and last.

The frozen trails of blood on Beau’s cheeks thawed under Yasha’s hands as she cupped Beau’s cheeks with tender intent. The icy crackle on Beau’s mouth melted between their teeth, making the kiss taste coppery, metallic. Yasha still trailed every slide of Beau’s lips with her own, ignoring the tang.

When they finally pulled apart, a little breathless, Yasha caught Beau’s bottom lip between her teeth and held on for just a moment, biting just enough to feel it. As Yasha released her hold, Beau made a quiet noise of surprise that would have been lost under the wind if Yasha hadn’t been so close to her. Ducking back in, she left a chaste, brief peck against the lip she had bitten, soothing the sting.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” Yasha confessed as she pushed her forehead against Beau’s. “I didn’t think I would get to when Lucien grabbed you.”

“Yeah,” Beau said, sounding wrecked and exhausted. “Me too.”

“No more wasted time,” Yasha decided, lifting her head so she could cup Beau’s cheeks and look her in the eye. “I’m getting rid of the pin. The second we have a chance, we’re going on that date.”

“Yeah,” Beau squeaked, eyes bright and cheeks flushed as she floundered under Yasha’s intense gaze. “Yeah, yep! Okay! Let’s do that!”

Yasha didn’t try to suppress the fond grin that curled at her lips, pulling uncomfortably at the chapped skin now slightly damp from their kiss. Something overly affectionate tugged insistently at her heart, and Yasha reveled in the sensation of it. She was alive, and so was Beau. And they were going to be okay. Yasha would make it so.

Veth’s shrill voice reached them over the howling wind. “What is happening today? You too?”

The ring of Beau’s laughter made Yasha feel like she was flying.

[kingreywrites]

Our Paint Chips Away

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2865

New Dream Appreciation Week Day Seven: Memories

Summary: In the aftermath of Pascal running away from home, Eugene can't sleep. He keeps thinking about seeing the tower again, for the first time since... since it all went down. He also keeps thinking about the way Rapunzel went inside alone, and how he hadn't been sure he could have followed her in if she asked.

Note: this story is a coda to Pascal’s story!! not sure it fits the prompt but when am i ever afgsgdh it’s very late because inspiration struck me uh... very late too, but i hope you’ll still enjoy it!! this week was amazing, thanks to @gleamful-lanterns and @autumn-ravenclaw for organising it!! <3

Read on ao3

The day Pascal ran away, Eugene saw the tower again for the first time in more than half a year. Rapunzel did, too. It was way more difficult for her than it could ever be for him, because the tower had been her home and her prison for eighteen long years, and he knew it, he knew that she needed all the support he could give. His heart broke when she stumbled back, her voice trembling, but she had always been brave, and she raised herself up again, ready to confront her worst nightmare. She needed to go up there alone, and he was worried, of course he was, but he also felt incredibly proud, because she was the most courageous person he knew, and he admired her more than anyone.

More than himself, for sure.

Because the thing was, he shouldn't be scared. Or a little maybe, but certainly not more than her. After all, he hadn't even spent the equivalent of a whole day in this tower and like, the whole death thing had lasted for what, thirty minutes tops? If Rapunzel could find the courage in herself to brave the tower, he should too.

But he couldn't. His stomach was twisting on itself as he held Rapunzel close to him, and his hands were trembling, and his throat was so dry he worried the girls could hear it as he tried weakly to make light of the situation. He didn't want to be here. And when Rapunzel said she was going in alone, the relief in his heart might as well have been poison for how sick it made him feel. He should... He should have tried to help her, but he couldn't.

If she had asked him to come with her inside, would he have been able to?

The question started to haunt him as soon as he sat on Maximus to wait, hoping the horse couldn't feel how jittery he was. It haunted him for the entire time she was inside, and he couldn't see what was happening to her, couldn't know if everything was okay. It haunted him as he tried his hardest not to look to the spot where he knew Gothel fell, where he remembered digging a shallow grave with Rapunzel to bury what was left of the woman she thought to be her mother for most of her life. (It was nothing more than folded clothes, and some ashes, but they had tried their best.)

It kept haunting him even when she came back down, with Pascal in her hands, looking emotional but happy and safe. He held her tightly on the ride back, hoping to bring her comfort just as much as he was trying to ignore the dread still sitting heavy on his chest.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Because even when Rapunzel went to sleep, still giving all her attention to Pascal because the little guy deserved it, Eugene couldn’t shake his own uneasiness. His mind kept going back to the tower, and to that door he hadn’t been able to cross, despite wanting to. If Rapunzel had needed help, would he have been able to go up there? Was he really so much of a coward that some bad memories were enough to stop him from supporting the love of his life when she most needed it?

Eugene couldn't sleep. He… He wanted to think that he could have overcome his fears if the situation called for it, but the fact was - he didn't.

Before he could think better of it, Eugene pushed his cover off abruptly, and got up. He put on his clothes quickly, and laced his shoes with trembling hands. He- he needed to prove to himself that he could do it. It was even better that way, he rationalised; he could come to terms with whatever was troubling him without bothering anyone, especially not Rapunzel. He'd go in the tower, see that it was no big deal, and come back to the castle before the sun was up.

Flawless plan, no doubt.

It wasn't too hard finding a horse that was neither Max nor Fidella, and the path to the tower was burnt into his mind. He hadn't expected to go there earlier, and the surprise had made him fumble with his words as his heart sank, but he was ready now. He was ready, and so it made no sense for his pulse to get faster, or for his hands to clench tighter around the reins. He was…

He was fine. He repeated that to himself, as he dismounted the horse, and came face to face with the tower again, heart in his throat. Vaguely, he noticed that he had never seen the tower at night - he had truly not been here long enough for that to happen. That was all the more reason to not be scared, he told himself, trying to ignore how menacing it seemed, looming over him with the moonlight shining down on it.

He could do this. He should do this, just to show he could, and that was it. Just in and out, no one would have to know, and he could sleep in peace that night.

So why was he stuck in front of the door? His right hand laid flat on the cold stones of the tower, and he felt frozen in place, heartbeat echoing loudly in his head. He had gone down this way once, after he- after Rapunzel brought him back. He had been on those stairs, and he hadn’t cared, because he was too worried about Rapunzel's state of mind to be scared of a tower… So why was he now?

The chilly air of the night made him shudder. He clenched his jaw tightly.

"Okay," he muttered, "in and out, I'm just going in and out."

Eugene took a step. Then another. The stairs were dark, the walls covered in moss, and it all smelled of dust. This was an abandoned tower, which couldn't hurt him, and he just had to get over it.

Rapunzel hadn't put back the panel blocking the entry. Eugene climbed up easily, and there he was.

In the tower. For the first time since-

Shaking his head, Eugene started to dust off his clothes, before surveilling the room around him. He hadn't spent a lot of time within these walls, and yet they were sickeningly familiar, even in the darkness.

Around him, still on the floor, was Rapunzel's hair. The one he had-

Before he could try to stop himself, his eyes traveled to the window, and to the staircase where the- the chains that had held him were lying broken, just like they had left them. They hadn't known what to do with them back then. He had still been dizzy, though it was more from fear than blood loss, and Rapunzel had been scared and lost and… They had just left, without looking back.

He took a trembling step towards it. He was alive, he repeated to himself. He was alive, Rapunzel had saved him, and this was simply a place, nothing more. He had no reason to be scared, because he was alive and-

He still remembered how cold he had been, barely able to hold himself up as his own blood coated his side.

Eugene felt himself pale at the memory, and he stumbled back ungracefully, wavering in place as he tried to stay on his feet. He was- he was stupid, this was just a tower, and he- Rapunzel had surmounted it, and he needed to- to-

He had backed himself to the other side of the room. The side right across from the window, the… The side where Rapunzel had been held in chains, fighting to get free as her screams for him were muffled by-

This time, when Eugene tried to get away unsteadily, he tripped on his own feet and fell down heavily. His breathing was loud, and he knew he was well and truly pathetic. This was Rapunzel's tower. The place where she had suffered for eighteen years, trapped with the woman who called herself her mother. And despite the pain and the fear she undoubtedly faced, Rapunzel went up here, and she was fine. Definitely shaken up, but fine.

So why couldn't he be?

He knew she was stronger than he had ever been. She showed it everyday, when she overcame challenges after challenges, while staying optimistic even through the bad times. Eugene simply… He simply wanted to know that she could count on him, even in the hardest moments. He wanted to be able to stay at her side if she asked, no matter the place. But here he was, sitting defeated on the ground, because a few memories made him so tense he trembled.

Eugene closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. He just- he was… He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to move on from this, because everyone thought he did already, and he- he- well, Rapunzel knew he still struggled sometimes, with the nightmares and the memories, but he needed to be fine, he…

He was scared.

His nails were biting into his palms. He opened his eyes slowly, looking down at the wall to avoid looking at anything that might make him panic again, when he saw it.

The small, uncertain lines of a drawing obviously made by a kid. The scribble was messy, but it was easy to recognise who it was supposed to be - a girl with long blond hair and a smile too big for her face.

Rapunzel.

Slowly, he moved closer, his hand brushing the wood faintly. She had to have been… so young, when she did this. Nowhere near the artist she was now, but with as much joy and imagination, trying to create something to express it. There was a little sun next to the drawing, its rays uneven. It was so easy, to imagine a small, maybe five or six years old Rapunzel, doodling away with a smile on her face.

Eugene let his eyes wander softly on these walls. He got up again, still feeling numb, his gaze going up to more refined drawings, with different styles and quality as Rapunzel experimented. No matter what, though, they were always bright and sunny. There were plants, and birds, and so many Rapunzels smiling and laughing, their hair flowing with an invisible wind.

Each painting, each stroke, hid a part of Rapunzel within it. It was her, so young still, scribbling a sun with too many branches, remembering without knowing the kingdom that was missing her dearly. It was her, growing up, painting flowers upon flowers even though she could barely see some of them through her window, imagining a world she wasn't allowed to live in. It was her, charting the stars on her wall, a painting he could only slightly see in the darkness, but knew was here because she had told him of much time and patience she had needed for that.

He couldn't even see half of it from where he was, but already, he had gotten a glimpse into the world that was hers not too long ago. And… And he was still scared. He still couldn't look at the exact spot where he died, not when there was nothing here to do but think about it.

But, as he was gently tracing the contours of a little Rapunzel, looking longingly at a bird flying next to her, Eugene felt a small smile forming on his lips. This tower was full of memories. Some were painful. Some were not. It was the place that Rapunzel turned into her world, while she waited to be allowed into the real one. It was the place where she grew up, braver and kinder than anyone could have been in her situation. It was also the place where he met her, completely thrown by this determined girl with a lot of hair and a frying pan she wasn't afraid to use. It was a place full of memories, yes, but these memories were hers - these memories were theirs, and there was nothing about Rapunzel that Eugene could hate.

This tower hadn't been their ending. It had been their beginning. Rapunzel's beginning. And Eugene was still eager to leave, hoping to never come back again, but he had his answer now.

For her, he would brave anything.

------

There was a soft knock at her door. Rapunzel nearly didn't hear it - she had been asleep, after all, and had a pretty long and tiring day before that, so she could have missed it really easily… but she didn't. Opening her heavy eyes slowly, she sat up, careful to not wake up Pascal at her side. It was still night, but the sky was getting clearer, so the sun had to be coming up soon.

"Yes?" she whispered, unsure that the person behind her door would hear it.

The door opened to a crack, and Eugene poked his head through.

"Eugene?"

"Hi, uh…" he trailed off, looking embarrassed. She waved him closer, faintly concerned because Eugene never seeked her during the night. He shuffled forward, and she noticed he wasn't wearing his night outfit - had he even slept yet?

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, glancing down to make sure Pascal was still sleeping as she straightened up. "Are you- Did you have a nightmare?"

Usually, she was the one knocking at his door because of them. She knew he had some too, but he always tried to keep them to himself, so the fact that he was here, avoiding her gaze, immediately made her more alert.

"Something like that, I guess... I- I needed you," he admitted in a breath, something indescriptible in his eyes as he finally met hers. "Sorry, I-"

"Come here," she said, patting the empty space to her right. He didn't even protest, instead coming to sit next to her, throwing a glance at Pascal too to make sure the little guy wasn't bothered. Eugene was more thoughtful that he admitted, and she loved him for it - though right now, she was more worried about what was bothering him.

He looked at her, his eyes soft, and full of an emotion she couldn't name. Before she could ask him again if something was wrong, he gently brought her into a hug, and she held him back tightly against her.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, "please don't worry, I just…"

"Needed to see me?" she finished softly. He nodded. "Okay," she whispered, before adding: "You can sleep here if you want."

He hesitated a little, and nodded again. It was a little awkward, but they both shuffled under the covers, one of her hands in his and the other resting on his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe not right now," he murmured after a while, gaze wandering to her walls. "Did I ever tell you I loved the mural you painted?"

"Yes," she smiled, her eyes still on him. "You always compliment my paintings." She didn't say that she was still surprised, sometimes, that he did. Gothel had nothing against her paintings as long as it didn't inconvenience her, but she also never encouraged it, or even told Rapunzel she was good at it. Having someone in her life genuinely appreciate her creations always made her heart flutter.

"Do you plan to do more? Like…" His free hand vaguely gestured at her still blank ceiling. "That part?"

"I… Yes, I think so. I simply… I want it to mean something," she whispered. "In the tower, I painted every little things that came to mind. Birds, flowers, pretty dresses… Painting helped me feel better when I was lonely, or scared." He was looking at her again, now. His eyes were shining in the darkness. "But now, painting isn't my only source of freedom," she grinned, squeezing his hand tighter, "and I want… I want my room to be full of meaningful memories for me. Things that I can look up to and be proud to have lived through, if that makes sense."

"It does," he breathed, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I still haven't figured out what it'll be," she admitted, caressing the side of his jaw, "but I know already that you will be there for all these new memories."

His eyes widened, before he softened again, looking way more comfortable and sleepy than when he first came in. "I can't wait," he whispered, voice full of emotions.

"I can't either," she whispered back, slowly brushing his hair away as he relaxed.

It had been a difficult day for both of them, she knew. Eugene joked a lot when he was scared, and she… She was glad he came to her, in the end. She was glad he was there with her when she needed him, and she could do the same thing when he needed her. Looking up at the blank space she still needed to fill, she knew that, no matter what, she would treasure all the new memories she made with him.

She really couldn't wait.

[jamespotterthefirst]

In the Afterglow (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.7K Warning: Language Premise: The day after their first kiss in Miami. (Book 1, Chapter 10.5)

Series: Open Heart from Ethan’s POV

A/N: I took some liberties...

The azure waters of the pool rippled softly even long after all of its cheery occupants had left to sleep off the copious amounts of alcohol they had consumed. It was almost midnight by the time Ethan stepped into the pool area, determined to let the biting water wash away the misery of the day. A breeze roiled off the nearby sea carrying a cooler bite than the night before.

At once, memories of the aforementioned night flooded his consciousness before he could stop them. Soft, delicate hands roaming his body with something close to desperation; full, rosy lips moving in tangent against his like a perfect symphony that had been months in the making; the breathless, maddening way she whispered his name, sweet on her lips like honey.

Ethan pressed his eyes shut, fighting against the memories. With a shuddering breath, he reached the edge of the water, but before he could dive in, he stopped when his eyes fell on the lone figure. Sitting at the far end of the pool, pretty features back lit by the golden lights in the water, was the very same person he was struggling to forget.

The world seemed to come to a standstill as their eyes met for the first time since their kiss. In the stifling silence, Ethan could feel the riot that was his pulse and he briefly wondered if she could hear it too.

“So you are alive,” he said at last, unable to hold back the edge of sarcasm. He winced internally but his eyes remained fixed on her across the water.

They had spent the day carefully avoiding the other, starting from the moment Ethan deliberately awoke at dawn, well before her, and left to occupy his mind at the conference. He had known even then that no amount of monotonous lectures or top shelf scotch was going to erase her from his thoughts. Apparently Lilac had the same plan as Ethan because she spent the last day of the conference visiting booths on the show floor and networking. At least, that's what Ethan gathered from the brief glimpses he caught of her from afar. Judging from her easy smiles and the visibly infatuated young doctor who rarely left her side all day, she had been far more successful than Ethan at forgetting their kiss.

His hands clenched involuntarily at his sides at the memory of her new companion's hopeful smile every time Lilac so much glanced his way. Ethan allowed the dull sting of jealousy to prickle his insides. He deserved it after he pushed her away so callously the night before.

From across the water, Lilac met his gaze with quiet defiance. “Hello to you too, Doctor Ramsey.”

The formality of her address felt like a slap, especially when she had all but moaned his name the night before. You deserve it, he reminded himself.

“What are you doing out so late? We have an early flight to catch.”

“I was with a friend.”

His gut twisted in the silence.

“And where's your friend now?”

“Upstairs,” she replied, her voice as impassive as her expression. Despite her deliberate lack  of emotion, the single word communicated more. Upstairs… waiting for me.

Ethan glanced away, afraid that one more second of staring at her assessing, clever eyes would give away the torrent of agony rippling inside him. It should be him. It should be Ethan waiting for her in a warm hotel room, eager to have her in his arms. It should them, together after months of wishing for nothing else.

When he finally gathered the courage to glance back at her, he could see the same thoughts flickering in those fiery eyes he adored, as clear as the crystal water that separated them. Those eyes bore into his with bold conviction. In the silence, she was daring him to stop her, to verbalize his need for her, to fight for her.

He didn't and her expression crumpled with evident hurt. With a small, shaky sigh that felt like a knife twisting at his side, she strode through the water, determined to storm off.

“Lilac.”

The blazing wave of longing sizzling through his blood was an entity of its own, carrying Ethan toward her until they met at the stairs of the pool. Knowing damn well he had no right to stop her, he did so anyway, his hand gently taking hold of her arm.

Lilac glanced at where he touched her as though his fingers burned her. Her eyes found his and something seemed to soften in her expression. This close, he could see the lines of exhaustion marring her face, a testament to the sleepless night she also had.

“What do you want, Ethan?”

The answer to that was simple, he realized. Because what he wanted the most was currently right before him. His throat tightened, choosing to say instead—

“I want you to stay.”

Another deafening silence, so thick it was almost tangible. Lilac said nothing, though the dignified way in which she jutted her chin forward suggested otherwise. At last, she lost whatever internal battle she was fighting because her lips parted to whisper—

“Make me stay.”

Ethan's fingers flexed slightly around her wrist as he failed to stifle the thrill those words sent through him. A primal part of his brain presented him with many ways to fulfill her request, many of which involved their bodies pressed together. Fuck his conviction or every logical reason to push her away. He couldn't remember them clearly anyway when her captivating eyes fell down to settle on his lips.

“Ethan—”

She couldn't finish that sentence because he was kissing her, hard. The reunion of their lips brought a wave of relief he didn't know he needed since the previous night, since perhaps the first moment he saw her.

Lilac kissed him back just as fiercely, her arms locking around his neck. The force of their bodies meeting compromised their balance, sending them back into the pool, the sting of the cold water almost inconsequential to Ethan. Without breaking their kiss, he steadied her securely against his body.

As he deepened the kiss, his tongue lavishly taunting hers, her nails raked lightly down his chest, sending shivers down his spine. She broke the kiss to tease him with torturous little kisses along his neck, her hands sinking under the water to graze his abs. Any lower and she'd find the poof of her effect on him, though he suspected she already knew it.

“I'd hoped we could do this again,” she confessed, a hot whisper against his lips.

A spike of panic speared through him again, reminiscent of the previous night. If anyone saw them… Her career and everything she worked so hard for would be ruined. All because Ethan was weak-willed and pathetically incapable of resisting her.

“Lilac, we—”

She shook her head, as though reading his mind. “We're not at Edenbrook.”

“I'm still your boss.”

“Then I quit.”

“Be serious.”

The words were so hypocritical with her wet, half naked body pressed against his that Ethan almost laughed.

“Fine,” she allowed, pulling back enough to look at him in the eye. Her arms, however, remained around his neck, much to his delight. “We don't have to be Dr. Allende and Dr. Ramsey at this moment.” Ethan opened his mouth to argue but she pressed on. “Please, Ethan. Please let us be just Lilac and Ethan. Just this once.”

He said nothing, going against all reason to actually consider the request. Normally, he'd explain it wasn't that simple, that every action against the rules had inevitable consequences.

“Please,” she whispered, punctuating the plea with a chaste kiss.

And that was all it took to convince him. He was weak-willed when it came to her.

Without wasting another moment, he pulled her impossibly closer and captured her lips with his. The little moan that reflexively escaped her fueled him to hoist her up with almost ungraceful movements, her legs enclosing his waist at once. Apparently, she was just as inspired by their new position, particularly by his hands firmly gripping her ass, because she bit down on his lower lip, using her tongue to soothe the sting right after.

He cursed.

She pried her lips away from his to murmur in his ear. “I wasn't going to go to him.”

Dizzy and disoriented, Ethan struggled to place the words. Until his muddled brain remembered the doctor he had seen her with.

“He's not who I want.”

The words were like a catalyst, reigniting  something fierce in his chest. Without responding, he pushed her against the tiled wall of the pool, the lapping of the water mixing with her breathless moan. His lips pressed hot, desperate kisses along the curve of her neck and shoulder.

As if Ethan wasn't beyond reason already, breaking every rule for the promise of her lips, she rolled her body against his in a tantalizing little rhythm. Ethan cursed again, the sound low and gravelly.

“Lilac.”

Their mouths found each other like magnets. Ethan kissed her until their lips were raw, until they were both breathless, until they shivered slightly from the biting chill of the water. They pulled apart, panting, foreheads pressed together. A small pang of sadness ran through Ethan as he realized the end of their little spell was within sight.

Yet, her green eyes on his was a spell of its own, one that always managed to leave him reeling.

“Lilac,” he started, never tiring of saying her name. What was he going to say next? Anytime the words manifested in his mind, the cynicism that had been his comfort all these years struck them dead.

“I know,” she whispered.

How could she? How could she know when he hadn't known himself until recently.

“This can't happen again.” She smiled sadly at him, pressing one last kiss to his lips, completely unaware of how his heart shattered into fine dust. Looking as though she wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms all night, she disentangled herself from his body.

She was right.

Desperately trying to protect her own dignity, she had said the words  before he could.

Swallowing hard, he gave her a small nod. “We should go back inside. Our flight is at six and we're going straight to work after we arrive.”

Edenbrook, the place where they would revert back to their roles of attending and intern. Lilac nodded and averted her eyes from his, placing distance between them in more ways than one. With a crushing feeling, he accepted they had slipped into those roles the moment their lips broke apart.

______________________

A/N:

“This can't happen again.”

Narrator: It did.

Ahhh! Thank you for reading this. I couldn’t move on in the series without writing this. I had been thinking about it for a long time. So it was 100% self-indulgent and maybe a little AU. My reasoning is that Ethan always says, “We can’t.” And then like two scenes later he’s contracting his previous lies lol.

Anyway, thank you! And thank you to @aestheticartsx​ for helping me with this mess!

Love you guys!

P.S. I am so sorry if you tagged me in a fic and I haven’t reblogged. I will dedicate this week to catch up <3

________________________

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[honey-dewey]

Loving You is a Losing Game

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Reader

Word Count: 2,602

Warnings: Gore, loss of limbs/appendages, medical procedures, implied experimentation, big Reader whump, Marcus is depressed, this is 99% angst, I’m sorry in advance, I promise it has a happy ending. 

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Two weeks before he was going to propose to you, you disappeared from Marcus’s life. With no idea where you went or who took you from him, Marcus devotes himself to finding you, even if it costs him his life. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to keep alive in a cell, wishing you had your hero by your side. What must you lose to reunite with Marcus? 

A/N: An anon asked me to write some Reader whump with Marcus after I posted my Marcus whump, and boy oh boy did I deliver! I hope this satisfies you, anon, because I’m oddly proud of it.

Every second that passed was agonizing. Marcus was pacing up and down and up and down, waiting for Miracle Guy to return from his mission. To see if they’d caught sight of you.

You’d been gone from him for six months now. You’d missed his birthday, and Missy’s, and even your own. He’d been planning to ask you on your birthday, the ring heavy in his pocket even now. But you’d been taken, kidnapped by an unnamed threat that hadn’t shown itself again. He had been inconsolable for weeks, but dragged himself to work on the hope that one day there would be news. And today was that day. Or at least, he hoped it was.

“Marcus.”

Marcus looked up. Miracle Guy stood in front of him, worried, holding a piece of paper. A photograph. He surged forward, moved by instinct and instinct alone.

“It’s all we could find,” Miracle Guy said softly, handing over the photo. “They did DNA tests. It’s theirs.”

The photograph wavered dangerously as Marcus took in the contents. Three fingers, bloodied at the ends, lay on the pavement, the blood long since dried up into the ground. They were old.

“Marcus? Are you okay?”

Marcus shook his head. They had you. They’d injured you. They had no fear of hurting you. Would they kill you?

He looked up, vision blurry with tears and anger. “They’ll pay for this.”  

Marcus didn’t rest for days. He was fueled only by coffee, anger, determination, and fear. Even Missy, who had mourned your loss as much as he had, was worried for him. He was killing himself to find you.

Finally, he found a lead.

Well, technically someone else found it. A smashed VHS tape found near the fingers. It took Tech-No days to fix it properly, but when he did, no one liked what they heard.

There was no image on the tape. The camera had been angled towards the blank wall, the faded patterns of bricks grey and fuzzy. The sounds though. Oh god the sounds.

It started with suppressed sobs. Marcus clenched his fists, trying not to scream. That was you, sobbing, shuddering breaths so full of fear. Heavy footsteps entered the room, and your breathing picked up, racing quickly to full panic mode.

“No, please,” you begged, voice thin and weak. “Please!” You sounded desperate, and there were rough sounds, the sounds of skin on stone. A sliding noise, like metal on fabric, and then a sound so loud and shocking that everyone in the room jumped.

You screamed, high and bloodcurdling. Frenzy entered your voice as you shrieked and shrieked and shrieked. Marcus was frozen, the complete terror and pain you were conveying with a single noise making him incapable of movement. He vaguely registered someone throwing up behind him, but all he could focus on was your continued screaming.

Finally, the tape stopped, cutting off one of your screams. Tech-No stepped forward, a bit paler than he’d been before he showed the tape. “Given recent evidence, we can safely assume that tape was of them removing three of (Y/N)’s fingers.”

Whoever had thrown up heaved again, the sick splattering sounds tame in comparison to what everyone else had just heard.

Marcus was the first to speak. “We’re finding them. Right now.”

———

You had lost all sense of day and night, and your only indicator of time was when your single meal arrived. A metal tray shoved under a flap in the thick metal door. Your food was typically meager and rotten, but you ate like a man starved. Mostly because in the beginning you had been.

As you crawled towards the tray, the chains binding your thick leather collar to the wall clinking, you tried your best to keep the weight off your left hand. Two weeks ago, the cruel men who’d kidnapped you had cut three of your fingers off and left you with nothing to fix the bleeding stumps. You’d eventually resorted to ripping up a pant leg to bind your hand and staunch the bleeding.

Today’s meal was a few bites of stale bread and a quarter serving of stone cold soup. You kept pace in eating, knowing that scarfing it all down would result in vomiting. And in the first months, it had. Your cell still stank from how much you’d thrown up in there, but it was buried among the other smells. Not that you could even smell it now.

You drank half the water they gave you, and used the other half to wash out your hand. It was the first major injury they’d given you, and you’d tried to take care of you. Despite your tending and the daily washings out, the hand was swollen and red, the site of the injury a sick sort of yellow with spots that were actually turning brown. It was burning hot to the touch and oozed something that reeked, even in the disgusting cell. You’d be lucky if you’d be able to keep the hand. Hell, you’d be lucky to keep the whole arm at this point.

“I’ll be lucky if I don’t die here,” you said bitterly to yourself, ripping another long strip of fabric off your discarded pants with your teeth and slowly wrapping up your hand, biting back tears. The only fingers left were your index and thumb, and they didn’t look good.

When your body succumbed to exhaustion, you curled up on the threadbare mattress and used the single moth bitten blanket to preserve body heat. Sleep was easy and dreamless now, and you often woke at the smallest of sounds. Like the man walking past your cell every so often, maybe every half hour? You wished you had a watch. You wished you had many things. Shivering beneath your blanket, you curled closer into the corner and wished for Marcus.

Marcus was not there when your eyes opened. You woke up to the harsh scrape of the door opening and two men grabbing you to drag you out. You kicked and screamed, but it did nothing. The men were stronger than you, and in your starved state, you were too weak to do much more than flail.

A rough scrap of fabric was tied around your face, killing your vision. A second one followed quickly, sitting uncomfortably between your lips and silencing your voice. Your feet didn’t want to carry you, so the men did it for you, carting around your dead weight as if it were nothing.

Just as suddenly as they’d lifted you, the men put you down, and you whined as harsh lights filled your eyes when the blindfold was removed. You were at the start of a long white hallway, branches of the hall snaking out and around. Had they put you in a maze?

A harsh jolt around your ankle sent you shrieking, kicking your feet to attempt to dislodge the heavy ankle bracelet you wore. It didn’t move, and a sharper stab raced up your leg as you danced around like you were possessed.

Finally, you started to run, racing down pristine white corridors and working yourself dizzy. You unwrapped your hand, hoping the dripping blood and pus would help guide you, like a gory version of Theseus’s yarn. But all it did was confuse you until every hallway was filled with smeared bodily fluids and you had no way to turn.

You had no idea how long you were in the maze. Hours? Days? Time was irrelevant here. Whenever you tried to stop, to rest or to find reprieve from the stabbing pain in your feet, the ankle bracelet would shock you harder and harder until you moved again. The blinding lights never dimmed, and finally, finally, your body gave out.

The anklet shocked you once, twice, three times and then yet again for good measure. All you did was twitch, lying exhausted on the floor, the world underneath you spinning like an out of control carousel. “Marcus,” you croaked, your dying voice a harsh scrape in your throat. You hadn’t had water in hours, was it hours? Spots swam through your vision as two people in white coats came to collect you, putting your limp body on a stretcher and wheeling you away. You were tossed into a cell, this one whiter and lighter than your last one. You had no time to investigate the new room as one person, the woman, poured water down your throat while the other shackled you to the wall again. The woman checked your vitals and wrote down some numbers while the man used white bandages and soft gauze pads to cover the ruin of your left hand. You weren’t coherent enough to tell if he’d put any disinfectant on the wound, but you could guess that he didn’t. No one here was that kind to you.

“Rest,” the woman said, putting a hand on your head in what you assumed was her idea of comfort. “We’ll try it again later.”

You couldn’t even argue as your body shut down, plunging you into the darkness of your dreamless sleep.

When you woke, it was not to the scientists or the bad men. It was to faint gunfire and a large figure bursting into your new cell. You scrambled upright, immediately tossing your hands up to protect your face, knees hugged to your chest to make yourself small and heavy. But no blows came, no rough hands touched your skin. Only soft shuffled footsteps and labored breathing. Braving a peak, you saw a man silhouetted by light, the familiar outline of katanas over the person’s shoulders breaking your heart.

“Marcus,” you said weakly, uncurling. As your eyes adjusted and the door slowly began to close, you were able to take Marcus in fully. He looked a wreck, exhaustion written all over his face and a broken expression twisting his usually kind features. He fell to his knees, and you crawled forward to meet him, throwing yourself into his arms and letting yourself be wracked by sobs for the first time in months. Your malnourished and anemic body shook violently, but you had never felt more steady, cradled in Marcus’s embrace.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Marcus breathed, voice unsure and wavering.

You shook your head. You had no words, no ability to speak right now. Instead, you just pressed yourself tighter to him, tears ruining his shirt. You could barely register Marcus cutting through your collar and discarding it on the floor.

Marcus stood, cradling your broken body to his chest. He carried you out, past other heroes who all fell silent at your current condition. Marcus lay you down on a stretcher once you were outside and rode with you to the hospital, holding your unruined hand the entire time. You focused only on his grip, grounding yourself to it. You would be okay as long as Marcus Moreno was holding your hand.

The next few days were very fuzzy. You were in and out of an operating room, usually asleep and always drugged. After so long in pain, the gentle numbness of not being hurt was worrying. You had been right, half of your left arm had been too badly damaged to salvage. Below your left elbow now lay nothing, no hand to hold and no fingers to squeeze. Marcus held your right hand instead, pressing kisses into your palm and slowly running his thumb over your knuckles while he read.

Aside from the arm, your injuries had been few and far between. A couple scrapes that needed disinfectant, a broken rib that had healed incorrectly and needed surgery, and the rubbed raw skin of your neck that had been healed. You’d slowly begun to gain weight again, no longer skin and bones. Your hair, which had been greasy and matted, had been shorn off and was now regrowing. Your body had finally begun to rework its circadian rhythm, your sleeps lining up with the rise and fall of the sun.

Marcus took a breath beside you, his thumb absently circling over your index knuckle as he read. He’d been touching you in some way ever since you’d been found. Gentle hands touching yours while he watched TV, shoulders pressed together when he told you about Missy, the softest of kisses against your temples  when your head hurt. You smiled, turning to Marcus and blinking slowly. He’d been working for weeks to restore your smile, and now you had it back, albeit shaky and nervous.

“What’s that look for?” Marcus asked, turning to you, one corner of his mouth rising slightly in amusement.

Your grin only grew. “You,” you said. “I love you.”

Marcus leaned forward, turning so he was fully facing you. “The day you were taken,” he said softly, taking your right hand in both of his. “I was so scared. It was two weeks before your birthday, remember? And I had been bursting with joy, because we were going to spend the evening together, just you and me.”

“Marcus,” you interrupted quietly. “What are you saying?”

“Hush dear, indulge me,” Marcus insisted, moving one hand to trace his knuckles across the curve of your cheekbone. “That night, on your birthday, I was going to ask you something. Something that would’ve changed our lives forever. I’d spent months planning, making sure the night would be perfect, and then the universe stole you from me.”

You sighed, wishing you could cup Marcus’s face in your hands. Instead, you settled on resting your only hand on his right shoulder. He put his hand against yours, the warmth seeping into your skin. “Now,” he continued. “I wish I could ask you as easily as I had wanted to. This has all brought to light how precious you are to me. How much you make me happy. Darling, my light and my love, I want to be beside you forever, and I want you at my side. We will stumble, that I’m sure of, and there will be days where we will hate the very ground the other walks upon. But I’m willing to risk the fleeting bad for the abundant good.” He reached into his pocket and produced a slender ring made of twisted silver and shining gemstones. “Will you marry me?”

You had no words. Looking at Marcus, who was so sincerely pouring his heart out, you felt some kind of shame that you had no response except shock. Not shock that he was proposing, because you two had briefly talked about marriage. No, you were shocked at his emotion. His heart wrenching tone. The look of worry on his face as you sat there, silent.

It took a minute, but you finally managed to compose yourself long enough for a very strangled sounding “Yes.”

Marcus’s face brightened as you nodded, both of you tearing up. “Here,” he said, sliding the ring onto your ring finger. “It’s beautiful.”

You smiled, pulling Marcus close and hugging him as tight as you possibly could. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Marcus breathed, embracing you as firmly as you had him. “I’m so glad I get to say that to you again.”

The pair of you spent the rest of the day pressed against each other, Marcus getting into your bed with you as you drifted in and out of sleep. While he watched some horribly violent fantasy TV show, you dozed against his shoulder, the gentle hug of the ring on your finger a constant reminder that no matter what threats came your way, you would always have Marcus.

[amedetoiles]

In another installment of things I should absolutely not be adding to my already large collection of unfinished google docs, I once more have absolutely no self control, so about that post on wedding planner!WWX.....

Set in the same verse as this. Very on brand of me to start writing a sequel for a fic I have yet to finish. Post-canon, post-reconciliation, and WQ is alive because I say so.

---

In retrospect, Jiang Cheng probably should have predicted this.

Jiang Cheng has grown up with Wei Wuxian. He knows exactly the level of ridiculousness his brother can reach. Nearly all of his childhood was dedicated to learning this exact fact. Compounded with that is how fully Wei Wuxian always throws himself into any project that catches his brother’s attention. For a long time, that had been a-jie’s wedding.

All those late nights he and Wei Wuxian had spent planning together, mapping out detailed seating charts, and designing elaborate challenges for the groom. Wei Wuxian, practically delirious with childish excitement, had proposed and demanded in equal measure extravagance after extravagance because their sister only deserved the very best in the world.

Even still, Jiang Cheng can’t say that he had expected exactly... this.

Three days after Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing tell their family about their betrothal, Wei Wuxian bursts into Jiang Cheng’s office mid-morning, his hair still uncombed and sticking out in multiple directions. His arms are full of scrolls, which he proceeds to unceremoniously dump across Jiang Cheng’s desk.

Wei Wuxian ignores Jiang Cheng’s indignant squawking and speaks rapidly, all of his words running together, and practically vibrating on his feet with a frenzy that brings Jiang Cheng abruptly back to their childhood, laying on the floor of their shared room with scrolls strewn all around them and listening while Wei Wuxian raves enthusiastically about his latest idea for a challenge.

Lan Wangji stands at the doorway, alternating between looking worried that Wei Wuxian might asphyxiate with how fast he is speaking and giving Jiang Cheng a look that says this is under no uncertain terms completely Jiang Cheng’s fault as usual.

(In the three years since his brother married Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji have formed an extremely respectful and productive relationship of tolerating each other’s presence for the exact minimum duration it takes to make Wei Wuxian happy. It is still too long for either of them.)

“The Mao and Guo sects are still feuding so they need to be seated as far apart as possible,” Wei Wuxian is saying, barely pausing for breath as he flits from topic to topic with a speed that leaves Jiang Cheng feeling faintly dizzy. “Fan shushu says he will share his recipe for Qing-jie’s xi bing. The head of the lotus harvesters will arrange to have water lilies transported from the southern borders. I have some designs for the invitations that you and Qing-jie can take a look at. And – Oh!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes light up suddenly with an unholy fervor that has never, ever boded well for Jiang Cheng, and then Wei Wuxian turns, calls I have to go! over his shoulder, and leaves as quickly as he came. Lan Wangji makes sure to shoot Jiang Cheng one final accusatory glare before following after his husband because Wei Wuxian couldn’t have married someone that wasn’t a huge petty bitch.

Jiang Cheng sits, shocked still, his desk looking like a storm had blown by, and stares at the empty space where his brother was just standing.

He may have slightly miscalculated.

---

A month later, Jiang Cheng contemplates taking Wen Qing and running away to a deserted mountain. (Who says Wei Wuxian is the only one allowed to do that anyway? At least his mountain won’t be prone to murder.)

He won’t of course. He is the Jiang sect leader, and since his birth, his wedding has always been expected to have the pomp and circumstance befitting that of a leader of a great sect. He would never run out on that responsibility no matter how fucking crazy Wei Wuxian is driving him.

But Jiang Cheng does think about it, very wistfully.

He even brings it up half-seriously with Wen Qing one morning after a disciple comes to inform him that Wei Wuxian had had his schedule completely cleared without Jiang Cheng’s knowledge or permission. Jiang Cheng is now expected to meet his brother at the gate in a quarter shichen’s time for who knows what because his brother is as obnoxiously forthcoming as he has always been.

Wen Qing laughs at him because she is terrible, and he has clearly made a huge mistake.

She also presses a light kiss to his cheek and promises to threaten Wei Wuxian with needles later if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and rest before leaving to have tea with Luo Qingyang because she’s also pretty fantastic, and Jiang Cheng has made the best decision of his life.

Even if it means standing in the middle of the tailor shop while Wei Wuxian darts around him like a deranged bird, dangling various fabric samples in front of Jiang Cheng, frowning for some obscure reason he doesn’t deign to tell Jiang Cheng because who cares what Jiang Cheng thinks about his own wedding, tossing the piece of fabric onto the growing no pile, and then picking up yet another.

On the eleventh turn of this, Jiang Cheng feels a sharp throb against his temple and takes a deep slow breath, then another, and another, so he doesn’t scream, or strangle his brother with the fabrics.

“You do realize that this is my fucking wedding?” Jiang Cheng growls with frustration.

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says immediately, nodding in a way that feels like he’s actually taking Jiang Cheng seriously even as he picks up yet another fabric sample. Jiang Cheng bites his tongue to keep himself from shouting and glares.

Wei Wuxian continues before Jiang Cheng can speak (yell), moving to hold the fabric against Jiang Cheng’s face, “But you’re my little brother.”

Jiang Cheng blinks, opens his mouth and then closes it. His throat feels suddenly inexplicably tight. An embarrassing warmth expands rapidly beneath his rib cage, and he thinks he might actually choke on it.

He looks at the fabric instead of his brother’s face because he will not cry. The red silk is a shade lighter than Wei Wuxian’s customary color and of exceptionally high quality. (That Wei Wuxian has been choosing from the most expensive of silks has not escaped Jiang Cheng’s attention. He has been trying and failing to not have feelings about this.) The patterning is beautiful, the soft, gentle swirls reminiscent of the lakes surrounding Yunmeng.

It isn’t something Jiang Cheng would have chosen on his first glance through. It is, he realizes with a swoop in his stomach, something a-jie might have picked out.

Jiang Cheng has, until now, avoided thinking too hard about all the empty spaces at his wedding, still riding the steady wonder that fills him every time he looks at the comb tucked neatly against Wen Qing’s hair. And after these last few years of having his brother beside him again, of their misshapen family relearning to fit together with all its new pieces, it is almost, almost, unfamiliar to feel that old aching loss rise within him.

He wonders how much of Wei Wuxian’s frenzied insanity is because he is feeling it too.

After all, Jiang Cheng remembers the months of spreading himself thin between sect obligations and wedding preparations, of tracking down the finest fabrics and jewelry that Jiang and Jin gold could buy in between meetings and conferences, of trying and trying and trying to make up for an absence that creased the edges of a-jie’s eyes in sorrow, even when she stood, radiant in red and gold on her wedding day.

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice and gaze softening with concern.

Jiang Cheng swallows several times, his eyes prickling along with his nose, and he stares at the spot above Wei Wuxian’s head. You don’t have to do this, he wants to say. You don’t need to do this. “It isn’t atrocious I guess,” is what comes out.

Even in his periphery, he can see Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkle with a familiar fondness. His brother nods and lays the fabric gently down on what Jiang Cheng supposes is now the yes pile.

“As expected of Jiang zongzhu,” Wei Wuxian says in a teasing tone that he only uses when he wants to piss off Jiang Cheng.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says swiftly, without any heat. Then, adds, “Yiling Laozu.”

Wei Wuxian laughs and shoves him. “Fuck off,” he says, but he’s smiling as he turns and picks up the next sample, and Jiang Cheng feels his own lips curve in an answering smile.

Okay, he thinks. Okay. He can do this.

He can let his brother have this. Maybe they can both have this.

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

OOOOH GOD I JUST HAD A NEW IDEA.

If you can do both, I will be very happy.

So...

Nanami has a fever, he overworked himself during the last fight, and he is bound in his bed, trying to recover. He keeps dreaming of Gojo while he shifts from sleep to reality and feels like he is there with him but doesn't know if it's true. He has lots of delusions and hallucinations regarding Gojo breaking his heart and feels like he is slowly burning alive.

Also, I have to add this, if you are able to describe him as tiddies out, you would save my life. I thirst for Dilfs in pain.

“I THIRST FOR DILFs IN PAIN” HAD ME WHEEZING, HELP- oh man, I hope I put Nanamin through enough pain with this one, I did my best to depict his disorientation :D Have fun, I hope this is enough f*cked up!! All I want to say is... Sorry.

(TW in the tags)

///

The blurred digits danced across the tiny screen, forcing Nanami to squeeze his chestnut-brown eyes painfully. It read 40,1°C, or so he supposed. His fever-addled brain, while aware that he was, in fact, feverish, wasn’t quite in control of the body, eyes failing him.

The blond sighed, resigned, and moved to sit up on the bed with a pitiful groan. As soon as his torso was perpendicular to the mattress, a wave of dizziness made him flop back onto the firm yet comfortable surface, head spinning in a violent, overwhelming manner.

Nanami wanted nothing more than to reach for his phone, located on the neatly-arranged night stand, next to a book and a half empty glass of water. Just an arm-length away, maybe less, and yet, the man hadn’t enough strength in him to move that much. His limbs felt heavy, bones lined with lead, head filled with grey fog, eyesight faltering.  

“I jus’ need… to call in…” he murmured, not quite sure if he’d said that out-loud, either. The effort of turning his head to look at the phone left him breathless, disoriented; shaky fingers reached for it, barely a couple of centimeters above the mattress. Beads of sweat dripped down Nanami’s pasty face and he grit his teeth, summoning every last ounce of power left in him. 

If I could just warn someone, I would be fine. I just need to sweat this off. But I have to let Satoru know, or he’ll come bursting in here soon, and get himself sick. I don’t want that to happen, taking care of him is annoying. He is annoying when he’s sick. He is always annoying. I just need to let him know I’m fine. I just need to tell him not to come. I just一

He blinked his eyes open, startled. When had he closed them? 

Nanami allowed his vision to focus, albeit slowly and not entirely efficiently either, and noticed how his arm was stretched out toward the night stand, not quite touching it due to his slightly bent elbow. It just laid there, motionless, fingers barely twitching, not obeying his command.

The sorcerer inhaled a shallow, rasped breath, trying to coax his body into cooperating to reach that damned phone. 

He didn’t need Gojou to come, he needed him not to. He wouldn’t have come anyway, Nanami thought. He never did.

The sky-eyed man wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, Nanami knew it, he’d repeated that to himself so many times, too many times, trying to carve it into his brain, to learn it by heart. Gojou wasn’t a bad boyfriend.

He was simply… a not conventional one. 

More than once, Nanami had to remind him about their dates. More than once, he had to hint that his birthday was coming up, or that he’d asked him for a favour of any sorts一 not that he’d do that, Nanami was capable of doing everything on his own.

Maybe that’s why Gojou had never bothered to offer his help. Maybe it was out of admiration and reverence in regard of Nanami’s skills一 as a sorcerer and as a civilian, too一 that he’d never offered his help, nor helped unless strictly necessary. 

Nanami forced himself to shake his head, aware that he was dozing off again, thoughts swirling in his pounding, boiling brain. No, he needed to get the phone first, he needed to inform that he wouldn’t come, and that he… maybe, he could use some help. 

Gojou’s.

But he won’t come! he thought, bitter. He won’t come on his own. It’s not like him, he won’t come here, he won’t notice. I’m glad. He doesn’t need to worry, I’m fine. I’m happy that he’s not going to come, he doesn’t need to. I can handle a little cold. I don’t need to worry him. Not that he would. But it’s a good thing, because he一

A faint knock echoed through the neat apartment. Nanami opened his eyes一he’d closed them again, hadn’t he?一 and tried to pinpoint the source of the noise, curious. Certainly, something must have fallen from the table, maybe a spoon he’d left out of place.

“Spoons don’t sound like knocking when they fall, Nanamin~” someone purred from outside the door. Someone that Nanami knew, certainly. Someone that wasn’t supposed to be there, or rather, someone that he didn’t think was ever going to come.

“S-Satoru?” he croaked, weak. He wished that his technique allowed him to move objects with his mind, willing to unlock the door without, however, having the necessary strength to get up and walk the way to it. That would have meant crossing the bedroom, reaching the tiny corridor, walking through it and up to the genkan. He would have had to sit on the step at the entrance, slip his shoes on to walk the tiny distance between the wooden floor and the door, not wanting to soil his slippers.

Speaking of slippers, he didn’t know where he’d left them. He’d come home around midnight, after an extenuating fight. Nanami had wrapped everything up rather slowly, and once it was over, he barely waited for the EMTs to check him over before he gave up and walked the way home, in the freezing weather. 

The walk home, and the time from when he reached the doorstep to when he flopped on the bed, were a blur of flashes and thumping noises, voices and phones ringing, people yelling一 he’d left the TV on, he didn’t know how he allowed himself to make that mistake.

He, who would always reprimand Gojou for forgetting to turn the lights off, for not cleaning the bathroom mirror after he’d brushed his teeth, for leaving the spoon in the plate when he reheated food in the microwave. Nanami would always tell him off, tired of how careless Gojou acted, tired of how the other man seemed to have mistaken him for his personal butler, tired of一

“Nanamin, my poor Nanamin.” Gojou said, running a hand through the blond’s sweaty hair, letting his fingers cradle the mane and massage the scalp delicately, “All sick and lonely, my little Nanamin~” 

“You shouldn’t一” Nanami was caught off guard, wheezing as a painful dry coughed escaped his mouth and scraped his throat. Teary eyes glanced at the bottle on the dresser just a few meters away.

The mattress lifted and then dipped again. 

Nanami grabbed the glass of water that Gojou had filled for him, and drank greedily, letting the cold liquid soothe the agony, feeling the fog thin out in the slightest. 

“You shouldn't have come.” he finished, “You’re going to get sick too. You aren’t even wearing a mask, everyone knows that it’s necessary to protect yourself when you visit someone sick, Satoru.” he scolded, thin eyebrows furrowed on his damp forehead.

“You’re always so cold with me, Nanamin! Your lovely boyfriend came all the way here to watch you suffer, and you treat him like that? Cruel.” the white-haired man hummed, laying next to Nanami, not quite touching him. Truth is, he didn’t even seem to be willing to reach for the man.

Ah, Nanami reasoned, Infinity. Nothing gets through.

“I could deactivate it, Nanamin. The Infinity, you know, I could deactivate it and touch you. You want that, don’t you?” he teased, blinking at the ill man.

“Y-you don’t have to.”

Gojou laughed in that way that made his enemies’ skin crawl, so hollow yet light. Carefree, intimidating for just how genuinely amused he sounded.

“Oh, I wouldn't think about it, Nanamin.” he said, “It’s bad enough that you’re out of commission, we can’t have both of us out of the games.”

Nanami swallowed the dryness in his throat to no avail, averting his gaze just in the slightest, just enough to have that annoying, mocking grin out of his sight. “Good.”

“But you want me to touch you, right? You want me to care for you, you want to feel my breath on your skin, to bite into it with my teeth and let them sink in your neck, don’t you, Nanamin?” he whispered. Had he not activated the Infinity, Nanami would have been able to feel the ticklish warmth of Gojou’s breath on his ear, surely.

“It wouldn't be wise, since I’m sick.” he hummed, still not looking at Gojou. He couldn’t bear it.

Nanami couldn’t stand that cocky, teasing bastard, he couldn’t stand his malicious threats and offerings that he was then going to deny, he couldn’t stand the way Gojou referred to him and to himself, as if they were on widely different levels, as if Nanami was supposed, no, bound to do something to earn his boyfriend’s kindness.

“Go home, I’ll be fine.” he rasped out.

Leave. Please, leave. 

Was he going to cry? The fever was playing atrocious tricks on his mind and body, so Nanamin paid no mind to the sudden stinging sensation in his eyes, he didn’t care about his twitching chin and shaking hands.

“I know you will. I don’t need you to tell me you’ll be fine.” Gojou hummed, matter-of-factly, sounding almost offended at Nanami’s implication. Nanami himself really didn’t know what it was, though.

Was Gojou annoyed because Nanami had implied that someone like him could get worried? Or, was he mad because Nanami had implied that he was enough to make Gojou, of all people, worry? 

Both, probably.

“Then leave.” he hissed, heart hammering in his chest, head throbbing in the heat.

“I will.” 

“Good.” 

Gojou sat up, before a sweaty hand grabbed at his wrist, causing the man to cock a white eyebrow in what Nanami hoped wasn’t annoyance nor anger. Yet, he could tell it was.

“Do you even care?” he breathed out, eyes watery only because of the fever. “About me. Do- do you care? Did you ever...?”

The taller sorcerer grinned, features softening. “Of course I do, Nanamin. You’re one of the strongest sorcerers out there, how could I not care?” he purred, grabbing Nanami’s trembling jaw with his strong fingers, gaze penetrating.

Not reassuring in the slightest, either.

Nanami felt his face heat up, façade crumbling as hot tears welled at the corner of his blurry eyes. “Not- not as a sorcerer, Satoru!! Do you... care about me?”

The grip tightened, Gojou’s short nails leaving faint indents in his boyfriend’s cheeks, “Care how, Nanamin? What do you mean by care, what does care mean to you?” he grinned, shortening the distance between their faces, noses almost brushing against each other’s. 

“Y-you’re hurting me,” Nanami breathed out, faint, “Let go of m一”

“Say, Nanamin,” Gojou’s fingers dug deeper, grin growing wider, colder, “is it love you’re looking for? Is it what you’re asking me?”

The blond brought a shaky hand up, trying to pry Gojou’s hand away to no avail, too weakened by the debilitating fever, too shocked to act efficiently.

“Is it, Nanamin?”

“Y-yes.” he hiccupped, dry, voice barely above a whisper, his words whimpered and fragmented, “Do you love me? H-have you ever loved me?”

Gojou chuckled, licking his lips, “Of course I did, Nanamin. Of course. You’re so pretty, so strong… I would have been a fool not to love you, don’t you think?”

He did not let go.

“Do I not show you enough love, Nanamin? Do you not think I love you? Do you believe that I’m a bad boyfriend, Nanamin?” he asked.

Something in his tone wasn’t quite right. It sounded unfamiliar, having lost its arrogant edges, replaced with something that the blond couldn’t identify yet. And it creeped him out.

“N-no.” the ill one gulped, “It’s… S-sometimes, you don’t- I don’t think th-that you care. I, I feel like you don’t.” Nanami confessed, trembling.

“So you think I’m lying?” Gojou inquired.

“No!! I’m not- it’s not that.” 

“I think it is.”

Nanami shook his head vehemently, squeezing his eyes shut. He forced himself into a sitting position, willing the dizzy spell away, swallowing the bile that scratched the back of his tongue, ignoring how his shirt and bedsheets were soaked, ignoring the stale air in his room.

“P-please, Satoru, don’t一!!”

“It’s getting late, Nanamin.” Gojou sighed, clapping his hands once as he got up and stretched his legs, ignoring his boyfriend’s pleading look, ignoring his watery gaze and wet cheeks, ignoring the hand that feebly attempted to reach for his, uselessly.

“A-are you leaving me?” he sobbed, not caring about the snot that dripped down his fine nose, not caring about how pathetic and helpless he sounded. It was the fever.

“Is it not what you wanted me to do, Nanamin?” Gojou asked, hands deep in his pockets.

His eyes, clearer than the sky, bore a sour shade of regret, a glint of annoyance that Nanami prayed wasn’t addressed to him. Those eyes that looked down at him, on him, pissed.

“Y-yes, no, I don’t- I didn’t mean it l-like that, I meant一 please, wait, I’m not一”

“Goodbye, Nanamin.” Gojou muttered, headed for the door. He knocked Nanami’s glasses off the low dresser they were on, unconcerned, not bothering to pick them up.

The ill man faintly heard the door click in the distance again. Unfocused, bleary eyes scanned the room, because he couldn’t be gone, he couldn’t have left him like that, Nanami couldn’t believe that he did.

His gaze dropped to the floor, neat, untouched, glasses still placed on the dresser, the bottle still full of crystal-clear water.

Nanami could only breathe out a desperate whimper, a prayer for Gojou to come, for him to stop being so distant in every sense of the term. He wished and prayed, and fell into a restless slumber, plagued with other nightmares and suspected premonitions.

3/20/2021

[junquisite]

Mine

WORD COUNT : 2.6K

GENRE : Vampire! OC X Human! Junhee, Suggestive/Smut (Implicit)

WARNING : Well first of all, blood, blood drinking, Bootlicking/Bootkissing, mention of violence.

REQUEST : “Can i request a Vampire! OC X human Junhee smut”

NOTE : Thank you for this anon, i literally dropped all the fics i was workiong on for this and i have absolutely NO regret. It wasn’t an explicit smut but it’s.. there. feel free to send me more requests anon!

"The villagers must be feeling generous, they sent 4 boys this time." The countess said from the top of the stair and within a blink, she was standing in front of them.

"Let's see.." she whispered as she assessed the 4 men, the first one catching her eyes by how agitated he was but she passed it for nerves as she crossed him.

The last one though, she stopped to take a whiff and then turn to him. He smelled delicious.

"How old are you?" She asked as she pulled his face up with her finger. Black hair, high cheekbones, sharp features - he was beautiful. Then she looked down - slightly dirty common clothes - a peasant boy.

"22." He answered and she raised an eyebrow at him. Most families are not willing to let their kids go so early when they could work and earn them some money.

Her mind was brought back when she heard the heartbeat rising of the first guy and then felt a slight sting in her shoulder.

 She felt the boy in front of her stiffen up and her loud sigh resounded in the room. She turned around to stare down the shaking man with his hand raised as she pulled out the knife that he plunged in her back.

"It was not the villagers, they wouldn't have sent a measly man to kill me. This was personal." She said and Byeongkwan came forward.

"It was not the villagers ma'am. Do you want me to throw him out? Kill him?" He said calmly and she stifled a chuckle when she felt the other three boys shivering in fear.

"You killed my brother!" The man in front of her screamed, ready to fight her with bare hands when she waved her hand and in a second, he was at her feet, Byeongkwan's foot on his back keeping him down there.

"I did no such thing. I paid full price for him, your parents chose to do that. He had a peaceful death but.." she leaned down to his level and gave him a cold smile.

"You're not going to." 

 She got up, eyes trained on the last guy who caught her attention.

"Byeongkwan, get that boy in my room for tonight. And this-" she said as she kicked the first man with her boots, his groan resonating in the room, "-you can do whatever you like." 

Byeongkwan bowed at her as he picked the guy up, his eyes gleaming red as he looked at his prey.

"I'll be right back." And in a woosh, the three new boys found themselves alone at the bottom of the stairs of the huge Countess's mansion.

 In a world ruled by Vampires, having a certain Vampire ruler for your village was a blessing. The ruler would stop any rogue vampire from harming their village, keeping it safe in return for a few persons once a month. But they won't do that for free, they'll pay a heavy compensation to the family for the loss incurred by the loss of a member.

Junhee's village had the Countess who kept them safe. And the money was what brought him here. His sister was ill, she needed treatment from the capital which was too expensive for his family. For the heavy compensation, he was ready to sacrifice himself for his sister's life.

 After Byeongkwan had returned from wherever he took that man, he led them all in separate rooms they were to live in for whatever time period they will be here. The rooms were lavish, the mattress so soft Junhee could not hold in the sigh that left his lips. He thought If he was going to die soon, maybe that same night, Atleast it'll be in a place like this and with a full stomach as he looked at the trays of food for him.

After he had filled his stomach to the point of not being able to move, a knock was heard and Byeongkwan entered with a few garments in his hand.

"Please take a shower and wear this. The countess will like you to be in her room in an hour. I'll be here to pick you up a few minutes before an hour." And he left.

 A while later, Junhee found himself buttoning up the silk shirt he was brought and the loose pants. A knock resounded again and Byeongkwan stepped in to stare at him.

"You look nice, the countess would like it." He said as he stepped closer only to unbutton a few buttons of his shirt as he smiled. “She’ll like this more.” he added with a smug smoke and Junhee nodded,  not like he had any other option.

 He was led to the countess’s room and Byeongkwan left him there. A few minutes later the countess entered the room from a door on the other side, water dripping down her neck and changing the colour of the silk robe she was wearing, a contrast from the suit she was wearing when he first saw her. Junhee found himself standing up involuntarily when she waved at him, “Keep sitting, I’’l be there in a moment.” she said as she seated herself in front of her vanity and he hesitantly sat back on the bed.

“You’re awfully young to be here, what's your story?” she asked and Junhee wanted to lie, tell her he wanted to be here but he felt like lying was not his best option. “I needed the money.”

“Why?”

“My sister needs medical help in the city.” he said, choosing to look at the ground as he heard her humming.

“And what is your name?”

“Jun. Junhee.” he said and heard her getting up.

“Junhee~” she said it in a musical voice and he looked up when he felt her finger lifting his face up.

“That's a pretty name for a pretty face.” she said as she smiled and in a split second, she was in his lap. Her legs on both sides of his, she pulled back a little to appreciate the quickly turning red face of his. 

“Aren't you cute, turning all red like this.” she cooed as she bent down to nose around his jawline, enjoying the shudder that she felt from him and the quick intake of air.

Her hands were quick to slip from his neck to his shoulders as the unbuttoned shirt gave her the chance to feel his soft skin. She swiftly unbuttoned the rest of the shirt and discarded it away, her mouth attached to his neck before the shirt even touched the floor and Junhee jerked to grab her waist.

“Oh no no baby.” she said as she pulled back, one of her hands going in his hair to pull his head back as he whimpered, her other hand grabbing his hand on his waist and pulling both of them behind his back one by one. 

“You don't get to touch me until I say so, you got it?” she asked and he nodded, the blush still on his face as he looked sideways.

She leaned down to brush his ear with her lips as she whispered a soft “good boy” and a moan escaped his lips.

She chuckled as her lips caught his lobe, slightly pulling it for him to moan again and she smiled as she pulled away, fully sitting in his lap now and grinding slowly, low moans leaving Junhee’s mouth like music to her ear. 

“Someone is enjoying it.” she whispered as she felt him hardening under his pants with her head buried in his neck as she felt his hands coming to her waist and stopping midway. 

After marking his neck and chest up to her satisfaction she pulled up to look at his face - he looked positively debauched. His red face, a slight sheen of sweat glistening his skin, blown pupils and lips slightly open as he panted, she couldn't hold herself as she leaned in to capture his lips with hers, a gasp left his lips that she swallowed. 

Her hands grasped his own as she placed his hand on her waist now, pulling away from kissing him only when she felt like he needed to breathe. As he panted and she stared at him, she bent down to bite his lower lip, pulling at it as one of her hands went into his hair, gripping them slightly harder as she felt him buckle up against her. Her sharp teeth managed to draw blood slightly which she licked and pulled back.

“You taste different. Enough foreplaying now.” and with that warning out and about, Junhee felt her lips on his neck, his grip tightening on her waist as her teeth finally pierced skin and the pain registered. Her hand came up to clamp it on his mouth as he almost yelled, but went back to his hair when his screams turned to moans. It was painful, yes, but the pain and pleasure were taking over and with her hand in his hair, pulling them every now and then and the delicious pressure of her grinding on him was bringing him so close to pleasure.

He found himself chanting “please dont stop!” but alas, as all good things come to an end, as his vision had slightly started getting blur from the edges, she pulled back.

“I don't want you slipping out on me okay?” she said as she held his face by his chin, his eyes going in and out of focus as he nodded at her and she smirked.

Her other hand softly gripped his neck as it went down, pressing on the bite marks she left every now and then as it finally reached the waistband of his pants. Her hand slipped past it and he thrusted in her hands as she gripped his cock.

“I still have to help you out with this.”

 ~

Junhee woke up feeling a slight dizziness and found himself wrapped in the red bedsheets of the countess, and nothing else. 

He found a folded pair of clothes and was just thinking of what to do when the door opened and Byeongkwan walked in.

“You can use the bathroom and those are some fresh clothes. Please come down for breakfast.” and he bowed and left. Junhee stared at the door Byeongkwan had pointed to and remembered how the countess had walked out from there and with blood rushing to his cheeks, he went in to freshen up.

 About half an hour later he found himself alone at the dining table and munching on breakfast, feeling conflicted about whether he was happy being alive or not. What if the countess had decided she didn't want him and sent him back, without any money? He refused to think about yesterday lest he turned red here under the careful gaze of the Countess's right hand man, Byeongkwan.

When he was finished, Byeongkwan came to give him a hand to stand up which he considered refusing but took anyway.

“There's a letter in your room for you from your family.” he told him and when Junhee was about to go to his room, he was stopped.

“Your luggage has been moved to the room beside the countess on her floor. That’ll be your room from now on.” and Junhee nodded as he took the stairs, eager to hear from his family.

“One more thing” he heard Byeongkwan say and he turned around to see the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Her study is the room on the other side of your room. She’ll be there right now if you’ll need her.”

Confused, Junhee nodded and left, only to stop at the entryway of the room he was shifted to now. If he thought the room he was allotted last night was lavish, this was double, no triple it grandeur.

His appreciation of the room was cut short when he saw the letter on the table and he grabbed it.

 Dear Junhee,

Me and your mother couldn't be more thankful to have a brave son like you. When this morning  the countess’s guards borght the other two men who had gone with you,we were scared. And when only her guard came to us, it scared us more thinking either you died or they were sending you back too.

We had not expected to hear that the countess had arranged for the treatment of your sister. Yes! The countess had sent her regards and a carriage with a man of hers to escort us and get your sister treated.

We wished you could have come too but we are going to believe on countess’s words that we could see you when we’ll be back. We will be the first family to see our son after sending them to the countess and we are so proud of you Junhee.

Keep her happy and take care of yourself.

Your father.

 For a few seconds Junhee could not believe what his father had written to him. The countess, not only let him live but also helped his family? And promised them that they can meet him when they'll be back? And the other boys were sent back? Well that explained why he was alone at the breakfast table but still.

Why Byeongkwan had told him where she was made sense as he quickly went to the adjacent room and knocked, waiting with his bated breath for her voice to say “come in.”

And then he was blessed by the vision of her in her glory - her suit and boots and hair prim and proper - exuding grace and the power she holds, especially on him, and she looked up at him.

“Yes?” she asked and he felt his face turning red.

“I got a letter from my family.” he said and she nodded, getting back to the document she had in front of him.

“Thank you so much for this. I can never repay you for this.” he said and she looked up at him again.

“Oh but you can.” he saw her signalling at him to come closer so he walked, behind the desk, in front of her as she faced him.

She pulled his shirt so his face was in front of her and she nosed along his neck and he shuddered.

Leaving a small bite near the puncture wounds from yesterday which made him gasp, she pulled away to smile at him, her eyes glowing red.

“Be mine.”

Almost as if his legs lost their strength, he fell on his knees in front of her and she looked at him, amusement clear on her face.

He wasn't sure if he was still drunk on her from yesterday or if it was the gratitude surging in his veins, he found himself bending down to her boots as he placed a soft kiss on them, a sign that he was at her mercy.

“I’ll be at your service as long as you'll need me.”

 In the blink of an eye he found himself with his back on the floor of her study with her on top of him, not even one hair out of place as she looked down at him. The sound of fabric tearing brought him out of his daze as he looked at the shreds of whatever was left of the shirt barely covering him any more as she threw the rest away.

“It was in the way.” she murmured as she mouthed along his collarbones, already purple and red from yesterday and then her mouth reached the wound from yesterday.

“Mine.” she whispered as her teeth sunk in his flesh again, but surprisingly it was less painful this time as he gripped her waist.