#ii open my mouth and just immediately shove my head in the dirt

[dangerlemon]

i wish i could shove my head in the ground like that myth about ostriches. i t would save me a lot of embarrassment

[thusspoketrish]

Showers in the Malfoy-Potter Household

Domestic, tooth-rotting, fluffy Married Drarry!!! Written for the prompt Fresh over at @drarrymicrofic. 2.3K words. Thank you to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for the thorough beta xx

I. That One Time with the Gloves…

“Bugger, I need to shower!” Harry shouts to the empty sitting room as he steps through the Floo, shoulders tense as he kicks off his muddy shoes, waving his wand to send them to the hamper and clearing the residual mess on his and Draco’s Brazilian Macchiato Pecan hardwood floors. On socked feet, Harry dashes up the stairs towards their ensuite, disrobing along the way as the charmed grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway strikes 14:00.

Any minute now, Draco will Floo back in from brunch with Narcissa and Lucius—the very brunch Harry said he couldn’t attend because he pulled Sunday rotation at the Ministry. In truth, he had actually signed up for THE GREATEST WEEKEND QUIDDITCH MATCH EVER!!! between the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry had been surprised to learn that the DoM swots were a bunch of dirty playing wankers—their self-important swagger causing a stir on the ground and a gloriously brutal match in the air. Harry’s pretty sure he bruised his ribs when he struck the muddy ground at the end of the match. But even with his injury, Harry couldn’t help the wicked grin that crossed his face when Timmons, the DoM’s Seeker, watched in horror as Harry staggered to his feet, punching his Snitch-full fist triumphantly into the air.

The glory. The power. Harry feels like a warrior—he feels like a bloody beast!

The little white lie and a skipped brunch with the in-laws were worth it!

Once in the bathroom, Harry uses his wand to send his scattered muddy clothes to the hamper downstairs and turns the water on scorching hot. Stepping under the spray, his sore muscles relax. It’s absolutely blissful, and he can’t help the happy moans that escape him as the water sluices away the mud and sweat from his highly earned, brutal win. He chuckles darkly to himself. Those wankers from the DoM will be sucking on this one for months to come.

The shower curtain is pulled to the side, starling Harry so badly that he nearly slips, his head whipping around to face his smirking husband.

Draco sticks his head into the shower, making sure to avoid the stream, his eyes flashing. “Well, well, well. Look who’s getting so fresh and so clean after a hard day’s work.”

Harry huffs, covering his nipples with both hands as he says, scandalised, “Merlin! You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco says, sounding far from it. “I was so eager to see my husband after a lengthy morning away from him that all I could think about coming up the stairs was giving him the best shower blowie he’s ever had in his entire life…”

Harry grins. “Babe, I’ve missed you so much,” he says eagerly, stepping back under the spray. “Come on, get undressed and join me.” When Draco doesn’t move, Harry gestures inward. “Come on...come now…”

“Yeah, okay. Let me just…” Draco pulls from behind his back Harry’s dirty Quidditch gloves, dropping them into the shower as Harry gasps. The fresh dirt mingles with the water, swirling down the drain. Harry could’ve sworn he sent those gloves flying into the hamper.

Draco’s smile is shark-like, eager, and ready for blood. “Imagine my surprise when these came flying into my chest on my way up the stairs. I was so curious, I decided to have a quick search of the laundry room hamper, and lo and behold, I found all of your Quidditch gear, sweaty and smelling of fresh mud and grass, darling. Must’ve been one hell of a rotation this morning, huh?”

Harry holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“Oh, really?”

“Er, yes…” Harry starts, running a hand through his soaked hair. “Babe, it’s those wankers from the DoM’s fault! They’re a bunch of posturing arseholes and someone had to put them in their place.”

Draco crosses his arms against his chest. “Ah, right. And that someone had to be you?”

Harry smiles sheepishly, shrugging. “Well…you know I’m the best Seeker in the Corps.”

Draco harrumphs, tilting his chin up and leaning against the wall next to the shower. “So, you know what this means, right?”

Harry bows his head. “Yeah…” he says sadly, shaking his head.

“What?”

Harry sighs. “No more Mimosa Sundays at Malfoy Manor?” he asks hopefully, peeking up at Draco through his wet, shaggy hair.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know the mimosas at my parents' are bar none.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know…so, no blowie for me?”

“You’re damn right,” Draco says, yanking his head back and sharply pulling the shower curtain shut.

Harry grumbles to himself, turning back to the shower to rinse his hair. A minute or two passes before the shower curtain opens up again, a fully naked Draco stepping inside.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t start grovelling the proper way: by sucking my cock,” Draco says with a smirk.

Harry laughs, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “How did I land such a deeply compassionate, forgiving husband?”

“With that sinful mouth of yours, obviously,” Draco drawls, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders to slowly push him down onto his knees.

II. That One Time Draco Was Trying to be Seductive...

Harry’s entering their bedroom, half an egg mayo sandwich in hand, when he notices Draco standing before the wardrobe mirror. “What are you doing?” he asks, pausing near the door.

Draco turns around, his arms spreading wide as he pops one narrow hip outward. He’s draped in an intricate floral-patterned gold bathrobe. “Do you like it? It’s new, darling. Just arrived from Italy. Rocco-inspired, heavy-weight close-knit silk lined with black satin…isn’t it gorgeous?” Draco purrs.

“Er…it’s quite something,” Harry says, biting into his sandwich.

“Neanderthal,” Draco tuts with a scowl before turning back to the mirror. He slides his hands reverently down the sides of his body as he tilts his head to the side. “It feels like fucking sex,” Draco whispers, his eyelids drooping.

Harry chokes on a bit of egg. Draco grins, ferally, as he faces Harry again.

“I have a surprise for you. Get undressed and meet me in the bathroom,” Draco says imperiously.

“Right now?” Harry asks around his sandwich, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. “Why?”

Draco runs his hands down the front of his bathrobe, his eyes fluttering shut. “The things I’m going to do to you the moment you slip this robe off my body…”

That’s all Harry needs to hear as he sets his sandwich down on the nightstand to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor before levelling Draco with a heated stare and a wolfish grin. “Is that right? Well, go on, then. I’ll meet you there in a minute,” Harry says, now unbuttoning his trousers. When Draco heads towards the bathroom, Harry picks his sandwich back up and shoves the rest of it in his mouth before getting undressed.

When he’s fully naked, he opens the bathroom door, the entire room filled with fragrant steam so thick he can barely see Draco.

“Er?” Harry says, stepping into the bathroom. Draco stumbles forward, wand in hand.

“I think I may have overdone the steam a bit,” Draco says before promptly pitching forward. Harry misses him by just an inch because he can’t bloody see, and Draco lands face first on their tiled floor.

“I thought it would be sexy,” Draco whines from his position on the floor in Harry’s lap after Harry Rennervates him. There’s a red patch on his forehead and a trickle of blood coming out of his left nostril that Harry cleans up immediately.

“You were! You were so sexy,” Harry urges softly.

“But there was no arse groping. No kissing. No fucking. It was all so unpleasant!” Draco cries.

“Aw, babe. I’m sorry. I think we should take you to St Mungo’s just in case…”

Draco sighs, sitting up but swaying slightly. “Fine. Alright. But let’s not tell them the visit is due to my failed attempt at seduction.”

Harry stifles a laugh. “Of course not. C’mere,” he says, helping Draco to his feet. “You can seduce me after the Healer has ruled out a concussion, okay?”

“Okay. But only if you promise to take my new bathrobe off with your teeth later…”

III. That One Time with the Mongrel…

Draco’s writing out a pros and cons list to determine if they’ll be purchasing a cottage in Cornwall this summer when Harry appears in front of him, a black towel cradled against his chest that’s moving.

Draco quirks an eyebrow. “What in the fresh hell is wrong with that towel?”

Harry chuckles and pulls the towel back. Pressed against his chest is a tiny, muddy little Beagle.

“No,” Draco says firmly, setting his quill down.

“Wait! Don’t be so quick about it! C’mon, babe, she was all alone in the alley by the Ministry! No mum or dad in sight. I couldn’t leave her there!”

Draco closes his eyes against the utterly heartbroken look in Harry’s eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, Harry would bring home an orphan, Draco had been preparing himself for this day since they married four years ago, only, he thought said orphan would be a wee babe, not a filthy mongrel. He exhales, nods, and opens his eyes, hand dropping away from his face. “Okay. Well. I refuse to have this mongrel in our house looking and smelling the way it does.”

Harry’s face lights up as if Draco has promised him the moon, and the stars, and all the love in his entire being. All over again.

“So, can we keep her?” Harry asks excitedly.

“Yes, Harry. We can keep her.”

Harry surges forward to press a kiss against Draco’s mouth, taking Draco off guard but aiming perfectly, nonetheless. Draco can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat as Harry begins to litter kisses all over his face, the mongrel caught between them. “You’re going to love her, I promise. Just look at her! She’s bloody adorable, isn’t she?” Harry says, holding the beast out to Draco.

Draco’s nose scrunches up as the dark-eyed creature stares up at him. She’s so small she could fit in Draco’s cupped hands, but her smell is atrocious. “Sure…” Draco says slowly, leaning away.

Harry hums happily. “I think we should name her—”

“—Beasty,” Draco interrupts, gaze flickering up to Harry. Harry rolls his eyes.

“No, silly! We should name her Pepper. Because she sorta smells like black pepper.”

Draco wants to suggest to Harry that perhaps they need to visit St Mungo’s to get his nose examined, because the last time Draco checked, black pepper smelled absolutely nothing like faeces. But he refrains, the joyous look on Harry’s face well worth going along with the madness.

“Sure, darling, whatever you want. Pepper it is. But she’s going to need a bath.”

Harry nods. “Right, yes, let’s take her upstairs to our bathroom.”

Draco smiles tightly. “Ah, no. I just had that tub put in. I don’t want this mong—Pepper staining the porcelain.”

“Oh, right, right. Okay, well, we can bathe her in the tub down here.”

Draco links his fingers together over his list. “Yes, excellent idea. So,” he starts, eyeing the now droopy-eyed, stinky monster. “Should we use a Petrificus Totalus or—?”

“DRACO!” Harry gasps, looking completely horrified. “We can’t put Pepper in a full body bind, are you insane? She’s a puppy!”

Draco frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. “She’s covered in grime and you expect me to manoeuvre this beast into the tub with its full cooperation?”

Harry glares at him. “She’s the sweetest thing, and I’m sure we won’t have any problems getting her into the bath, okay? Just follow my lead.”

Draco shrugs. Harry hasn’t led him astray yet.

When they finally enter the downstairs bathroom, tub now full of water at the perfect temperature and a mild soap, Draco suddenly gets an armful of Pepper as Harry begins to shed his jacket and jumper.

Draco stares down at her.

She is quite cute, with her large, bulbous black eyes, long, floppy ears, and wee-frowny mouth. Draco believes he can actually come to love this gross little beasty.

“Let’s get you all fresh and clean, sweetie,” Harry says, taking her back from Draco to place her in the water.

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

As Harry struggles to keep a hold on her, Pepper lifts her paws away from the water as if it’s fire, wild yelps escaping her as she struggles out of Harry’s grasp, dropping into the water first before lunging straight at Draco.

Draco catches her, her tiny little body soaking through his very nice, very clean jumper.

“Fucking fuck, fuck…” Draco mutters, staring down at Pepper, warmth exploding in his chest. She’s shivering against him and the anger and shock immediately leave his body as he cradles her, a defeated groan escaping him as a section of his heart unlocks and opens up to this little beasty.

Harry laughs. “Merlin, you are just so bloody adorable,” he says.

Draco scoffs, even as he stares down fondly at her, rocking her in his arms. “She’s a menace, that’s what she is.”

“No…I mean you,” Harry says, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, cheeks dimpled. Draco can feel the heat of a blush spilling across his cheeks as Harry leans forward to kiss him. When they part, Harry glances down at Pepper before meeting Draco’s eyes.

“We’re building our little family,” Harry says proudly.

Draco opens his mouth to say something mocking, but can’t, not with the ball of emotion that’s suddenly lodged in his throat. Instead, he blinks several times, glancing down at Pepper who’s staring up at him with her large eyes, tail wagging.

“Oh,” Draco says softly. “I suppose we are.” He sniffs. “I think it’s best if we get Beasty Pepper to the vet instead, maybe they can help us give her a proper bath. Shall we?”

Draco smiles as Harry drapes an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, let’s do it, babe,” Harry responds tenderly.

[buoyantsaturn]

I’m all eyes (1/1)

summary: So, obviously, if Nico was wearing Jason’s sweatshirt, then they must be dating, right?

word count: 1,871

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Will didn’t think he was the jealous type. Jealousy required some amount of anger, right? But he wasn’t angry - maybe just disappointed. And really, he didn’t even have all of the facts, so he shouldn’t let himself get worked up over it anyway. 

It’s just that, well. It sucked to always look over at the Big Three table to see Nico in that giant purple SPQR sweatshirt. Or, it didn’t suck - it was a good look, and purple was definitely Nico’s color, as much as Will would prefer to see him in camp orange. The part that sucked was that Jason was always sitting beside him, and that sweatshirt definitely looked like it was Jason’s size. 

So, obviously, if Nico was wearing Jason’s sweatshirt, then they must be dating, right? And on the one hand, it was exciting, because that meant Nico was into guys, which meant that Will might have a chance with him (and bonus points because he, too, was tall, blond, and blue-eyed). On the other hand, Nico was taken, and Will wasn’t a homewrecker (or whatever the fifteen year old version of a homewrecker was).

Anyway, Will had a lot of mixed feelings about seeing Nico in that sweatshirt. And he kept having those mixed feelings when he started to see more and more of Nico around camp. He would come by the archery range while Will was practicing with his shotgun (on his own target that he’d made specifically for shooting practice). He had started going to campfires (where he would pull the sweatshirt over his knees and turn himself into an adorable purple blob). He’d even started coming by the infirmary every few days so that Will could make sure he was keeping his fading in check (so, to be fair, Will had asked him to stop by occasionally, but that was for purely medical reasons).

On one particularly hot day in September, Nico entered the infirmary sans sweatshirt, and Will’s heart jumped in his chest. Sure, he’d seen Nico without that sweatshirt on a few times before, but he’d reacted the same way then, too. He tried to act normal, checking Nico’s solidity and making sure that his arms and legs still cast shadows, but the second Piper stepped into the infirmary, Will’s mind went blank.

She was wearing a giant purple SPQR sweatshirt, the one that looked just like Jason’s that Nico always wore. And hadn’t Jason and Piper been dating before they set off on the Argo II? 

“Is that Jason’s sweatshirt?” Will’s mouth asked before his brain could stop it.

Piper paused and glanced down, like she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “Oh, uh, yeah. Nyssa’s got the AC blasting in the bunker, so I snagged this from Jason’s cabin on the way here.”

“Oh.” Did that mean they were still dating? Or maybe they just had a really amicable breakup? Or...Nico, Jason, and Piper were all in some sort of polyamorous relationship? Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course, but the three of them together certainly made for an odd bunch. “Sorry, did you need help?” 

She shook her head. “Nah, just came to see what was holding Nico up. He’s been helping us try to track down Leo.” 

“Really?” Will asked, glancing at Nico in surprise. “That’s...nice of you.” 

Nico shrugged. “I’m just gonna make sure he stays dead this time.” 

Will grinned. “Ah. That’s more like it.” 

“So, am I good to go?” Nico asked. “I’d like to track Leo down before Thanatos does.” 

Will rolled his eyes fondly. “Yeah, go ahead. But as a bit of medical advice, murder might not be best for your mental health.” 

Nico scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” 

“Sure, Death Boy,” Will said, brushing off his reply. It was probably a joke anyway. Right? “Get out of here already. I’ll see you later.” 

As Nico started toward the door, Piper threw an arm around him, which Nico immediately tried to shove off, albeit unsuccessfully. Once he was sure they were gone, and once Kayla returned from her snack break, Will snuck out the back entrance.

He went to the cave under Half Blood Hill, announcing himself as he pushed the curtain aside and walked in. He found Rachel the way he usually did, one bare foot holding a paintbrush as she worked on her current project. “Hey,” she greeted, not lifting her eyes from the canvas.

“Hey,” Will replied moments before flopping down face-first onto a pile of overstuffed pillows. He was pretty sure it was the space that Rachel pretended was her bed whenever she stayed the night at camp so that Chiron wouldn’t realize that she snuck into the Apollo cabin every night to sleep on one of the spare bunks. He’d gotten close with Rachel since the end of the Titan war, seeing as he was usually the one to catch her when she collapsed after giving a prophecy. It had helped them bond. Now Rachel felt like something of a sister, except Will’s only experience with siblings were his godly siblings, who always just felt like close friends. So, anyway, Rachel was somewhere between Will’s newest vaguely-related sister and a close friend. Which meant that they had a good enough relationship that they could sit in silence without it being awkward, which was how the next few minutes passed.

Then, Will lifted his face off of a pillow and glanced to the side, spotting a familiar shade of purple. He picked it up - an oversized SPQR sweatshirt. “Whose is this?” 

“Huh?” Rachel barely glanced away for a second before turning back to her easel. “Oh. That’s Nico’s. He must’ve left it here last night.” 

Will’s head snapped up. “Nico was here? Wait, you hang out with Nico?” 

Rachel shrugged. She leaned forward and pulled the brush out from between her toes, apparently deciding that Will had become too much of a distraction for the time being. “Yeah, we go way back. We both helped Percy and Annabeth with the Labyrinth, remember? And then after that he would check in on me sometimes to, like, make sure nobody came after me. It was kinda creepy at first, you know, because he just sort of appears out of nowhere sometimes? But as soon as I started feeding him, he opened his mouth and never really shut up, so the creepiness kinda faded.” 

Will smoothed a hand across the fabric. It was soft, and big enough that it would fit him easily. And Rachel said it was Nico’s, not Jason’s - not that it could be, since he’d just seen Piper wearing Jason’s about ten minutes ago. And if Rachel and Nico were friends, then she would know-- “So Nico’s not dating Jason?” 

Rachel blinked, clearly taken aback by the question, and then laughed. “No, definitely not.”

Will’s brain was moving too fast for him to process anything. “He-- I--” He scrambled to his feet and gathered the sweatshirt in his hands. “I gotta go!” 

“Uh, bye?” Rachel called after him as Will took off out of the cave. Piper had said that she was with Nyssa at Bunker Nine, so Will took off toward the woods. He was grateful for his long legs that carried him across camp so quickly, leaping over fallen branches and thankfully not tripping up on any roots. He found himself outside Bunker Nine in no time, and it wasn’t long before his eyes landed on Nico. He sprinted up to the other boy, hunching over for half a second to catch his breath before he said, “Can I talk to you?” 

Nico nodded, his eyes wide in obvious surprise at having Will suddenly appear in front of him. (Served him right for doing the same to everyone else for the last few years.) Will led him out of the bunker and away from listening ears, and then handed over the sweatshirt.

“Oh,” Nico said, sounding almost disappointed. “Um. Thanks.” 

“Rachel told me it was yours, so I...brought it,” Will told him. “I always thought-- I mean, I assumed-- You and Jason are just so close, and I figured--” 

“I don’t like Jason,” Nico said quickly, defensively, and his cheeks began to color. “Not… Not like that, I mean. He just got this for me because he was sick of me stealing his all the time.” 

“No, right, of course,” Will replied as his heart sank. “I mean-- Oh gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume you liked guys-- I never should’ve--” 

“I do,” Nico cut in, and Will’s mouth snapped shut. “I, um. I’m...gay.” 

“Oh. Oh! Cool! I mean, I am too! Or, uh, I’m bi, but, uh. I like guys, too.”

If Will’s arms weren’t frozen at his side, he probably would’ve smacked himself for babbling like a total idiot. But maybe it was worth it to see the way Nico’s cheeks continued to grow red.

“Cool,” Nico said softly, dropping his gaze to his shoes before rapidly looking around at anything that wasn’t Will. “Would you, um. Would you maybe be interested in sitting with me at the campfire tonight?” 

Will was pretty sure his soul had left his body, but he still managed to ask, “Like, as a date?” 

Nico scuffed the toe of his shoe against the dirt. “If… If you want.” 

“Yeah!” Will said quickly, and then, “That would be, um. Cool.” 

“Cool,” Nico repeated. He started fidgeting with the sweatshirt in his hands before he suddenly held it out to Will. “You should take this. It’ll probably be cold tonight, so…” 

Will barely managed to stop himself from saying, it’s okay, I have my own. Instead, he forced his hands out to take the sweatshirt back. “Cool.” Did he know any other word in the English language besides cool? “I’ll, um. See you tonight then.” 

Nico smiled, and Will’s heart soared. “Yeah. See you tonight.” 

When Will arrived at the campfire later, happily yet nervously showing off the SPQR laurels on his chest, he made his way straight to Nico, relieved to see that the other boy had shown up in just a t-shirt. 

“Hey,” Will said, smiling brightly as he sat down in the open space beside Nico. “You know, it might get cold this far from the fire. Maybe you should borrow this.” Will held out his own neatly folded orange camp hoodie, one with a large 7 on the back and a red cross on one sleeve - a sweatshirt that was unmistakably Will’s. 

Nico smiled down at the sweatshirt, and then up at Will like this was exactly what he’d been hoping for. “Okay,” he said as he took the sweatshirt and pulled it on over his head. 

“It might be a little big on you,” Will warned, but Nico only smiled brighter when his head popped out of the neck hole. 

“That’s okay,” Nico replied. Just the very tips of his fingers stuck out the ends of the sleeves, and Will got the sudden urge to hold Nico’s hand. Maybe he would try later, when Nico didn’t have all of his focus directed at Will. “That’s how I like it.” 

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[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 19 of 27: Cursed

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

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A/N: Better late than never lol! Here it is! Thank you for being patient though! ilysm <3 This was a difficult one, I hope you like it! Btw, I recently found out that Dracos mum is called “Narcissa” and not “Narzissa” in the english version. She’s called “Narzissa” in the German Books. However, I’ll keep calling her Narzissa in this story (because I’m lazy and don’t want to change it). Enjoy!

Words: 3.4k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post war Warnings: tw eating disorder (mentions of it) --> please be aware that the way eating disorders are approached by the purebloods in this story is not something i (the author) approves of. I just thought it’d be a more realistic way for them to act like this.

It felt wrong.

Draco only used the Room of Requirements to be with you. He never went here on his own. Not that he would ever admit it – but the room scared him. The last time he’d been here alone was at the beginning of this school year. He found out then that it didn’t change for him anymore. All he saw when he walked in were the dirty, cracked windows and the flies and spiders that died in front of them. Old furniture, forgotten books and dirt was scattered around, piling up and towering over him.

As he stood there, his gaze was drawn to the end of the room. Hiding behind the corners, buried under black linen, there it was. The vanishing cabinet. He felt its presence. Looming, waiting, calling for him. Alright, to be fair, the last part was probably only in his imagination. It didn’t change his feelings towards this particular room of Hogwarts though.

It was different when you were with him. It changed for you and turned the monster that it was for Draco into a purring housecat. With you, it felt like a vacation. As if he had travelled to a small cottage, far away from roaring cities or ancient castles.

However tonight, you were not here. Astoria Greengrass had taken your place. She sat on a couch across from Draco, back straight, hands neatly folded in her lap. Her black hair was tied up in a bun and not a single strand of hair was out of place. The spitting image of her mother, Draco thought. He had always wondered about how different the Greengrass sisters looked. Astoria inherited the sharp features, thin lips, and slim figure of her mother. Daphne resembled their father a lot more with her round face, long blonde hair, and the doe-like eyes. The both of them were like night and day. Yin and Yang.

Draco looked around the room which had turned into a smaller version of the Slytherin common room. All the important details where there – from the green colors to the Slytherin emblems on the pillows and carpet. Only the windows were out of place. They didn’t offer him a view inside of the lake but were the same cracked ones, he had seen one too many times in his life. It reminded him that he wasn’t here with you.

It felt wrong.

 ***

Draco leaned back against the chair. He crossed his leg and his fingertips tapped a non-recognizable rhythm on his right upper thigh. Astoria didn’t look up at him when she spoke. He could tell that the words had been carefully chosen in advance. Remembered and recited in front of a mirror. Yet she couldn’t meet his eyes. Draco noticed the way she plucked at the skin on her thumb.

When you’d ask him tomorrow for how long the conversation went on, he wouldn’t have an answer. Time seemed to stand still the moment Astoria opened her mouth for the first time.

“Say something,” she whispered when she finished, and the silence became unbearable.

Draco noticed that there wasn’t a fireplace. Another thing that the Room of Requirement had gotten wrong.

“Say something,” Astoria repeated herself, her voice shaking a little more this time.

Draco stopped the tapping. “Is that why?”, he finally asked.

She hesitated and then nodded. Draco sighed and looked out of the window.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while.

Astoria scoffed. “Me too.”

“I am,” he looked back at her.

For the first time since he had entered the room, Astoria lifted her head. When her eyes met his, he saw the anger in them. “I’m dying and all you have to say is ‘Sorry’?”, she spat out.

“You don’t know that,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

Astoria raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“That you’re dying.”

She looked at him as if he was a little slow in his head. “I … I just told you.”

“You told me about the family curse,” Draco corrected her. “No one can say if it will happen to you.”

She let out a huff, stunned by his reaction. Had he not listened to a word she said? “I told you about the clairvoyant at Knockturn Alley!”

“Seers say a lot of shit.” He shrugged and added: “Especially when you pay them.”

Astoria lost her posture – with wide eyes and a shake of her head, she let herself slump back against the pillows. “I can’t believe you’re not taking me seriously.”

Draco sighed and began tapping on his thigh again. The same rhythm from before. “I am, Astoria. I believe you.”

But I don’t want to, he added in his mind. He had heard rumors of the Greengrass curse before – only once, when he was maybe eight or nine years old and while he pretended to be asleep on an armchair, he listened to his mother and her friend.

“The poor woman,” Narzissa had said. “And those girls …”

“We don’t know if it will happen to them,” her friend replied softly.

“Why risk it though?”, he remembered his mother ask. “And decide to give birth to not only one but two girls?”

“Well, if one dies, she will still have the other.”

Looking back, the joke was tasteless and not the least bit funny. He didn’t remember how his mother responded to it. Back then, Draco didn’t understand what the women were talking about. So he had shoved the memory back and forgot – until tonight.

When Astoria came up to him at the Winter Dance, she was more … vague. Talking about how something had changed in her life, how decisions were made for her and that she was left with no option but to finally confine in him. Merlin, Draco had thought she was pregnant. This was worse – for obvious reasons.

“If you believe me, why are you like this?”, her voice ripped him from his thoughts. Draco hadn’t notice that he was staring out of the window again.

He cleared his throat and focused back on the Slytherin girl. “I believe you’re overexaggerating.” It was the truth. Or better – it was a truth. The one he was able to share with her.

“I’m dying.”

“You’re not!”, he replied with a sharp voice.

Astoria flinched.

Draco sighed and leaned forward. “Look,” he continued, much softer now. “I’m sorry. You’re obviously very scared of this – and honestly, who wouldn’t be after receiving such news.” He paused. “But didn’t you just say you never experienced any symptoms?”

She looked to the ground. “Yes.”

“See?”, a smile played around the corners of his lips. “Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Astorias gaze stuck to the ground. His words didn’t ease her pain, he saw that. “I … Look at me, Draco,” she then mumbled.

Draco tilted his head. “I am.”

“No, truly look at me!” She lifted her head. “What do you see?”

He stared at her for a while. What do you want me to say? He refrained himself from asking that. Instead, for the first time in years, he truly looked at her. Her school uniform was in perfect condition, no spot or loose thread in sight. The diamond earrings sparkled in the soft light and around her neck hung a delicate golden necklace. Her outer appearance was perfect. As always. The only thing that was different were her eyes. He frowned when he saw it. The fire in them. Gone. The arrogant spark, challenging every Ravenclaw and Gryffindor that didn’t get out of her way fast enough. He wondered when it had left her.

“I resemble a corpse! I swear, my grandmother had a better complexion than me on the day she died!”, Astoria continued after another minute of silence.

Oh. Draco blinked. She meant that? He wouldn’t have noticed that in a hundred years.

“And I’m so thin and –”

“Because you’re starving yourself,” Draco interrupted her and immediately scolded himself for it.

Astoria, who was in the middle of shifting to a different position, stopped, and stared at him. “What?”

Draco pondered for a moment about his next words. Astoria and her fucked up relationship towards food wasn’t a secret. Well, not since fourth grade when rumors started spreading about the true reasons of why she was always so eager to get to the nearest bathroom after meals. And then her bones began to stick out underneath her school uniform. Everyone noticed it. Everyone looked the other way.  Problems like hers … they weren’t uncommon among their circles. Yet, they were problems to keep to behind closed doors. They were private. Nothing to talk about.

“Everyone needs an outlet for the stress that comes with living like we do,” his father had once said. “Women are just worse in finding the right one.”

Oh, how he hated his father.

Draco smiled sadly at Astoria. “Everybody knows, Astoria.”

“Knows what?”, she asked sharply.

“That you have issues with food.”

Astoria blinked. “I … you’re such an asshole,” she then exclaimed. “You’re an asshole, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco sighed and shifted positions. “Anyways,” he tried to change the subject. “You’re scared, I get it. But so far, you don’t have any symptoms. In fact, you started feeling ill once your mother went with you to see the seer, right? It frightened you and now you can’t stop focusing on that fear.”

Astoria scoffed. “Thanks, Mr. Therapist. You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m just guessing. It doesn’t make sense to care so much about something that might not even happen to you.”

“Doesn’t make sense to you, you mean”, Astoria corrected him.

Draco frowned.

“Because your problems are much more important.”

“My problems are real.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say in this situation. Even Draco realized that. The words had just slipped out. He hated to admit it but the egocentric, narcissistic part of himself believed them.

Astoria stood up abruptly. She smoothed over the fabric of her skirt and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. She then looked at him, no expression on her face. When she spoke, her voice was calm and quiet: “Fuck you.”

With long steps Astoria made her way towards the door.

“Shit,” Draco mumbled under his breath and got up as well. “Astoria!”

She didn’t turn around.

“Astoria, wait! Please!”

The last word made her stop, hand already reaching for the doorknob. As she turned around, there was a bitter smile playing around her dark red lips. “Why?”, she asked him. “I trusted you with something and all you’re giving me is shit.”

Draco looked down to the ground and then back up. “I don’t know how to respond to this.”

“With empathy, Draco,” she folded her arms in front of her chest. “You might want to look that word up.”

Draco let out another deep sigh. A part of him secretly wished she would ignore him and just leave. It would be easier for him. Knowing this wasn’t an option for her, he finally walked towards Astoria. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. His words had failed him, they had made everything worse for her and he hoped from the bottom of his heart that this would ease her pain just a little. Astorias body went stiff at first – only after a few seconds did she let her body relax. She leaned into his embrace as if someone took a weight off her shoulders.

“You know I’m here for you,” Draco whispered. “And I will be there in case …”

“In case, I’m dying after all.”

When Draco breathed in, he could smell her lavender shampoo. “Yes.”

Suddenly, her petite body began to tremble. At first Draco mistook it for giggling, then he heard the soft whimpers against his shoulder.

“It’ll be fine. I promise.” He hugged her tighter.

“You can’t promise me that,” she sniffed.

Draco let go of her and took a step back. He put a hand to her cheek, making her look at him. “The curse hasn’t been around for decades. It might skip your generation again.”

Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffy, silent tears running down them. “I’m so scared.”

“I know.”

“Please marry me.”

Draco closed his eyes at her plea. His head suddenly hurt and he wished you were here. You’d know how to handle situations like this.

“Astoria …”

“I know you don’t love me,” she interrupted him, her voice still trembling. “You couldn’t.”

He opened his eyes, looking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You love her.”

Her. You. Draco blinked. “What? No, I –”

“I realized it on New Years Eve.” She wiped the tears from her cheek, still holding on to him with her other hand. Astoria cleared her throat. “I didn’t believe it in the beginning but … it’s so obvious. You love her so much, how could I ever expect you to look at me the same way you look at her?”

Draco shook her head. “Astoria –”

“But you know the relationship has no future. Neither of your families would ever agree to it. You know it. You know it in your heart.”

The piercing pain in his forehead grew stronger. When he’d remember this moment, Draco wouldn’t be able to describe his feelings. Her words barely managed to get through to him. You love her, he heard her say over and over again. You love her.

No. He didn’t love you.

He couldn’t.

“Marry me,” Astoria repeated herself and took a step closer again. She had to lift her head to look into his eyes. “My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.”

“I …”

You love her. You love her. You love her.

“What do you get out of it?”, he finally managed to get out and tried to focus back on her, feeling weirdly out of breath.

Another tear rolled down her cheek. No sobs this time. “Once people will be able to see the sickness …”, she hesitated. “I won’t be looked at as the second daughter who’s living in her sister’s shadows.”

You love her.

Draco furrowed his brows at her words, utterly irritated by them. “Nobody thinks that, Astoria.”

She laughed. “Yes, they do! Daphne has always been prettier, smarter, more desired. I can’t compete with her. I am the leftover Greengrass that no one wants and that’s now dying from a family curse. Because of fucking course it would hit me and not my picture perfect sister!”

Draco stared at Astoria.

“But with you,” she continued. “With you people would see that I’m more than that. That I’m worthy of attention and of love despite … being me.”

This is wrong on so many levels, he could hear your voice in his head, clear as day.

“Have you met with the therapist yet?”, Draco suddenly asked out of the blue.

“What?” The Slytherin was thrown off by his question. “Yes.”

“Did you talk to her about this?”

Hearing this made her drop his hands, taking a few steps back. She buried her face in her hands, taking a deep breath. “Oh, fuck you, Draco!”, Astoria muttered. “Stop trying to analyze me!”

“I’m not!”, he assured her. “But … Astoria, this is so fucked up what you just said to me.”

She looked back up at him. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?”

She chuckled. “You spent a few months with a Gryffindor and now you act like our values mean nothing to you when you are the one who used to scream ‘mudblood’ the loudest.”

Draco swallowed.

“Merlin, what is wrong with me,” Astoria sighed. “After everything I just confessed, you don’t find it in you to show me a little mercy and change your mind?” She smiled at him sadly. “Do you want to marry me?”

“No.”

You love her.

 ***

The talk with Astoria left him feeling uneasy.

It handed after she asked Draco to marry her a second time and he declined. She nodded when she heard his answer, sniffled, wiped the remaining tears away and left. Not without saying “You’ll change your mind sooner or later”. When she was gone, she didn’t take the anxiety with her. Draco had to deal with that on his own. Now, as he walked through the halls of the old castle, his steps were stiff, and he had deep lines between his eyebrows.

“Calm down, she has no symptoms,” he mumbled to himself as he turned another corner.

Yet.

What if he would be wrong after all? What if the curse wouldn’t skip another generation of Greengrass women and fall upon her? What if she would die and he made her last remaining years even more miserable in her eyes because he turned down the proposal?

What if, what if, what if.

He wanted to talk to you about all of it. You’d tell him he didn’t have to feel bad. He didn’t owe Astoria. He shouldn’t be put in this position in the first place. You would find the right words. To be honest, Draco knew all of this himself. He just wanted to hear you say it out loud. Hear the words from another person to ensure that he was right. That he wasn’t crazy or selfish for not sacrificing his life, his future, for a dying girl.

“She’s not dying,” he reminded himself. A Hufflepuff boy passed him and frowned.

“My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.” It was the argument his mother had used against him countless times. He was certain that he’d hear it a lot more often soon. He was aware of how strong the argument truly was. His family could return to their former glory with all the luxury that came along with it. Fancy parties, status, high-paying careers – something he had been promised his whole life and that was stripped away the moment he was forced to become a Death Eater. The promise of a good life. An easy life.

Maybe life shouldn’t be easy for them. At least not so fast. Maybe his father shouldn’t come home from Azkaban one day to live like nothing ever happened. No, Lucius Malfoy deserved to suffer longer than his time in prison. And ultimately, so did his mother and Draco.

Draco gritted his teeth at his thoughts. He couldn’t marry Astoria. Not for that reason. Not to make the life of his family easier. His parents needed to work and plea for their redemption. Just like he did.

“Watch it, Malfoy!”, Seamus Finnigan hissed when he bumped into him. He came out of the library, a stack of books in his arms.

Draco didn’t look at him. Until now, he hadn’t even noticed that he was walking towards the library. It made sense though. The bag that hung from his shoulder seemed to become heavier with every step. The black notebook. He needed to write.

 ***

You sat alone on a table, hunched over a book. More of them piled up next to you, accompanied by an overused quill and bottle of ink.

Exams, Draco remembered. How easy it was to forget those mundane things in the midst of all the sadness. Exams, followed by entrance tests to become an Auror. Draco smiled at the thought of you fighting evil. He was certain that you’d excel at it.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, not caring about the annoyed huffs and curses from students who almost ran into him. He watched you. The way you sometimes licked the tip of your finger before turning a page. How you sighed and frowned when you didn’t understand a passage.

You love her. The words shot through his mind.

It was different to the scenes he had read in books when he finally saw it. When he blinked and it was suddenly so clear to him. His heart didn’t stop, his knees didn’t become weak, he didn’t hear violins around him. No, a ray of sunlight that fell through the window and hit your face, caused you to lift your head. In that moment, your eyes found his. A smile played around your lips as you waved at him and pointed at the seat next to you. And it was so clear to him, that he wanted this all along: to be with you. To come home to you.

You love her, Astoria had said. 

And he knew she was right.

***

A/N: How did you like it?? I’m so excited to hear from you!! <33

CHAPTER 20

HP Masterlist General Masterlist

Tag List:  @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind,  @renaissance-confiance, @doitforthevine67, @ilovemollyweasley, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee,    @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @scoote-rankle, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia,  @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen ,  @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom , @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick,  @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, , @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything,  @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main, @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks,  @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, , @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta,  @broken-but-beautiful-cassie, @lil-black-heart,  @vminenthusiastt, @dracos-sluts, @mrmoonyy, @saucysuazo, @fuzzzwald, @matsuno-nadeshiko, @amber-arsenault ,  @loveableasshole,  @spideycures, @echpr, @shiningstar-byulxx,  @twinklebug2282, @bloodiedroses, @klthmef, @ostorian ,  @bi-chai-tea, @maddieisnotok, @amandaluvssupernatural, @makeoutwithstiles,    @i-am-addicted-to-tea, @tenclouds, @lovingdracomalfoy, @lannaax, @dr-bitch-bby,  @fallinallinmendes, @suckerforparker, @runninglownad, @piercinghorizons, @dosicas, @yanaaaaaaa,  @akzer300500 @hoseokslily, @dracofeltonmalfoy, @emilianamason, @tothemoonwithclifford, @gcldreinhart ,  @angelofthorr, @k-k0129, @musicalmuffindog1410, @andydre4m, @mxl-foyrecs, @seeinorange, @vlgsqd , @justmimithings, @allthevoicesinmyhead, @pipppaaaaalouisee, @yessirrz, @2think2twice2 @spencerreidisbootiful, @find-a-little-faith, @thatguppienamedbae, @emmamarie7708, @dontpanicitsdan @jordaangx, @ceeellewrites, @drxcomvlfx, @7minutes-tomidnight, @coldheartedslytherin, @wingardiumdepressionosa, @perfect-storm95, @danisaur1324, @unlikely-y-bliss, @trentdijklfc66, @saptediavoli, @treestarrrrrrrr, @aangsupremacy @yaanasluv, @megamihatake, @lavenderblossom12, @bimbelle, @beiahadid, @weasleytwinswheezes, @bogikrmn, @gublerslut, @prongsandprancer, @superkawaiicandyfloss , @instantllamaruins​

If you want to be added to my tag list, let me know! <3

[majormaxam]

won’t you bring me an angel?

Part II

Pairing: Jasper Whitlock (Hale)  x Reader

Summary: You find yourself to be a victim of Maria’s growing newborn army in Southern Texas. Maria finds your ability more than special, but a weapon. What she doesn’t expect is for you to be as defiant as others and to Maria’s dismay, you just happen to grow close with Major Jasper Whitlock. 

Warnings: mentions of death

Word Count: 4K

Author’s Note: Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for the next update. 

A young southern maiden was to be married after her eighteenth birthday and a mother at her twenty-first, but to your mother’s dismay you weren’t one of them. In fact, you were quite the opposite. You drove your mother mad with how you rebelled against those teachings. At the age of twelve you ripped a brand new dresses while climbing a grand oak tree outside your home, also scraping your knee in the process. Your mother’s anger could not be forgotten that day, nor could you shake the anger of the day you nearly fainted while wearing a corset for the first time. She acted as if a lady was made to have her ribs crushed and smile while doing so. 

The Texas heat was enough to withstand, but added layers of fabric was enough to make even the strongest buckle. You adored the night sky beaming over the southern sky at night and you often wandered out into the fields of bluebonnets to admire its beauty. Much to your mother’s pleasing approval. She couldn’t stand it, especially when finding you wore a pure cotton nightgown while strolling into the night. 

She even tried scaring you by mentioning the gruesome animal attacks occurring outside the families land, but it didn’t stop you. You found freedom in the Texas night. 

The soft grass under your feet was enough temptation as the scent of fresh lavender filled the air with the cool evening breeze. It was enough to make you smile as you strayed from home to dance under the stars gleaming above. These were the moments you cherished the most and how could you not when such beauty could be adored? 

It was a cool April night when you first felt the cold-blooded presence nearing the edge of the woods, but you didn’t near it. You didn’t fear much, however, the sight of red eyes watching you out of the dark shadows was enough to cause your stomach to turn. You raced back into your home without looking over your shoulder or pausing to catch a breath. The next night, you locked your window by the latch and covered them with curtains in hopes of whatever was outside stayed hidden. 

When hearing of the animal attacks, you simply ignored them… not imagining they would ever occur close. Until now. 

You waited a full week to finally gain courage to go back outside during nightfall, but this time you were careful to wander far. Instead, you rested under the familiar oak tree as the current of air flowing was enough to make you chill as the warmth of bluebonnets kept you warm. The fear of the unknown seemed to subside with nature as the whistle of tree branches above you kept distracted, until the erie presence lurked over the land. 

The horses a few yards away began to neigh and take off running across the fields, causing you to sit up and catch them. However, your human eye couldn’t see what they were running from. Until the moonlight from above casted a figure of another standing over your shoulder. You were quick to turn around and take the other by surprise, but were shocked to find it wasn’t one, but three figures. 

The three females stood side by side with matching crimson eyes burning into you as their whispers were too low to overhear. You wanted to scream, but the panic rising in your throat kept you from opening your mouth. Each one of them were unbelievably beautiful as the full moon exposed each flawless feature: from their alluring smile to their perfectly curled lips. Their presence alone felt deadly as they inched closer with smiles and smirks deceiving your fate. And the moment you tried to run a bone chilling touch sent you falling to the ground with a harsh shove before the brunette stood over you. 

“Lottie says you possess quite an ability…” The turn of her head gestured towards the blonde haired female standing over her shoulder, her eyes breaking with your connection. Almost as if she was ashamed of her undoings. “I do hope she’s right.”

Within seconds pain coursed throughout your body as your screams were the only vivid memories to remind you of that night. Along with the two bite marks branded along your collarbone. It seemed like an eternity as you withered in pain, begging for it to subside and death to take its course. However, no bright lights greeted you when waking from the agony. Instead, you woke with the scent of hay and dust thick in the air and when rolling onto your side, you weren’t familiar with the surroundings as you picked your head up and observed where you were. 

It was a tattered barn grounds you laid in with the moonlight shuddering in between the tainted wood holding it up. Thick dirt traveled into the air as if someone walked along the grounds moments ago, but no one stood close. You pushed yourself up out of the hay to stand, but a pair of familiar crimson eyes cause you to freeze. It struck fear in you as your body responded within seconds, jolting back from where she stood and a deep growl traveling into your chest. 

It seemed to humour the female as she chuckled at your attempt in protection, but watched with an observing eye. “I see we have a fighter on our hands.” She spoke as if another person was present and with a stiff hand gesture, he came into view. “Do teach her what will happen if she becomes difficult… we cannot afford to lose her, yes?” 

You dug your heels into the dirt crawling further from view in hopes of avoiding her eyes, along with another unseen to you. Yet, when the female stepped away with a smirk curled into her lips you felt the shake of your legs itching to attack her. Her presence was dominant but arrogant as she disappeared into night, causing you to search with quick eyes for answers… but a deep voice hidden in the darkened corners of the barn heard your thoughts. 

“Do stay calm… Maria isn’t one to restrain from angered actions.” You followed the sound of his voice to the right as he appeared from the shadows. His matching red eyes meeting yours as the light mood shine from outside exposed his handsome features and well built body. It was hard to deny him of even a glance as you were tempted to look away, but caught yourself admiring instead. His presence sent a calming wave of emotions to settle the anger and confusion racing in your thoughts. “Do you know what you are?” 

The closer he grew you found yourself sinking further into the hay with comfort seeping in and riding out fear. Your bottom lip quivered as his question urged you to ask further and end up begging for more. “Your eyes bring death, do they not?” You were surprised to watch him stop in place with the insult thrown out. “I… I’ve been told stories about your kind since I was a child and yet, I never believed them.” He tilted his head with an alluring factor convincing you to speak more. “I am one too now, am I not?” 

He answered with a stiff nod and kept his stance a few yards away with his eyes catching the tears welling up. You hung your head low as his silence was enough to make you scream for life. His footsteps scurried into the dirt with intention, but you jerked your head up with anger filled eyes burning into him. 

“Do not come any closer.” You found him pausing once more, even lifting his hands in surrender to show he was listening to the demand. It wasn’t until you spotted the Confederate Army patch on sewn into the faded white shirt her wore on his back. “You… you’re a solider?” 

He shared a glance at his own clothing and slowly raised his head once more. “Major, ma’am… I was a major.” Her features softened once he explained further and her shoulders sunk with sadness at the sight of the patch he wore with pride. 

“My brother is a colonel.” You felt the bitter laugh leave your lips as he intently locked in on the mention of a fellow man. “he’s in Galveston, headed back home in the next month.” His eyes spoke with sorrow as your mind raced with excitement at reuniting with your brother. 

You felt a stir of emotions course in the pit of your stomach as it dramatically switched towards a controlling moment of silence. His eyes were reading you while the tilt of his head left you understanding what he was undoing. Your emotions… he was playing off your emotions. You didn’t know how or why you understood the look in his eyes or the reason behind them, but you weren’t afraid to say it either. 

“… you’re controlling me.” His eyes narrowed in disbelief as you took him by surprise with the rather extensive observation, but before he could explain you continued. “You’re controlling how I feel, are you not?” 

In that moment, his control ended as the intense warmth ran down your throat to enhance the reality of your life. You tried breathing to exhaust it, but it wasn’t even close to calming the rage filled pain. Within seconds you caught scent of a desired taste wafting in the air and before you knew it, your body responded by carrying you effortlessly towards the barn door. 

However, the major beat you to the entrance and blocked you from leaving the sliding doors. The sudden growl once against left your throat as he dared to hold you back causing your jaw to clench. 

“You can sense other’s gifts…” His words left you raising an eyebrow as the moon danced upon his blonde curls cascading over. “It seems Lottie wasn’t lying when she sensed you were unusual.” He said it as if it was an insult and immediately you wanted to react. “Do calm yourself, newborn. Maria doesn’t take to fighters in her army.” 

“I have a name… Major.” You seemed to have angered him as well as you sensed him attempting to calm himself down, but instead you found yourself craving more anger in hopes of conflict. His eyes widened as you spent those six seconds yearning for a fight, but he soon stepped away with parted lips and befuddled eyes filled with rage. His top lip snarled and nose flared as anger flared into the crimson eyes staring back at you. “…” 

“She can manipulate another’s power.” Her ice-filled tone broke both of your attentions as she appeared into view with an eager eye. “She used it against you, Jasper… did she not?” Maria seemed to receive an answer through silence as Jasper stepped away from you to return to Maria’s side. 

You blinked as he left your view and stood at her side, eager to please with just a simple task as his emotions rushed through you with admiration for the woman. He was quite smitten by her. It sent a questionable envy her way as her red eyes continued to study you. Jasper. His name was Jasper. Her hand was quick to rest on his shoulder, leaning in to place a kiss on his ear and whisper sweet names. 

“You will certainly be useful to me, love.” Maria voice was seducing the idea of life, but her eyes revealed the omissions of her lifetime. “You must feed in order to stay strong for me.” She angered you and she feed off it. “Don’t travel too far or there will be consequences.” 

Her words were enough to get you to run from the barn doors and further into the night without looking back for her seal of approval. You didn’t want it. Your legs were carrying you farther than expected as the speed of your newly reformed body kept up with the deadened heart. It felt as if you were traveling at the speed of light and you weren’t slowing down, not for a single second. 

You found yourself running into the wooded area surrounding you, but the time seemed to end with the scent of hunger causing you to travel north. It left your lip snarling and jaw quivering and within seconds, you followed the hunger. 

The unfamiliar town nearby was silent through nighttime, but the open tavern filled with drunks left you glancing twice inside the faded window. The humans inside falling prey to your starvation and before you knew it, a drunken man has stumbled out the back doors and fallen into your hands. You didn’t waste a single moment before you sunk your teeth into flesh. The blood on your tongue was enough to awaken the death inside you and before you knew it, he dropped dead at your feet. 

Footsteps followed close over your ear, but not too far from where you stood and without wiping the blood off your lips you turned your head. There he stood, his red eyes looking over you with the temptation seeming to fall over him as well. 

“… why are you following me?” You managed to whisper as the tip of your tongue licked away the blood resting at the edge of your lip. “I believed I was allowed without a watcher.” You seemed to draw out the littlest smirk on his lips before he glanced at the human by your feet. 

“I’ve seen too many newborns feast without thought, I’d rather not care for another mess.” Jasper was honest as you then seemed to mourn the death of the man at your feet. He could feel you mentally processing a life you had taken and it ran your emotions high. “It’s difficult to process.” 

You didn’t like his response as he attempted to send a calm wave over you, but you quickly stepped back from the human and him. “Says the Major…” It was harsh, but you weren’t refraining from lashing out at this time. “I don’t need your failed attempts of control or looking over my shoulder, please leave.” His footsteps followed, but this time he began to walk beside you as you began to feel the cravings crawl back up your throat. 

Hunger seemed to be feeding off your energy, but you didn’t want to give it anything in return. It was difficult to succumb to… knowing you were killing innocent humans in order to survive. How could this be your life? You awoke to crave the scent of blood and feasted. You woke with a gift that you couldn’t understand, nor control. You woke enchanted by the Major, but found him to be someone else’s instead. 

Jasper felt the pain of her hunger withering his body and he struggled to withstand it. He could hear a pulse from a mile away and he craved her itch as well. He broke his eyes away from the sights ahead and gazed upon the newborn, he was quite taken by her beauty from the moment he found her ten nights ago. He’d fallen prey to hunting that night and when he’d roamed the land to find a human girl sitting along a clearing, his bite was found. However, he couldn’t give in that night. 

He instead stood near the woods edge watching as she laid in the field of wild bluebonnets, listening to her count the stars from above before whispering lullabies. Jasper was taken by her as human, but even more spellbound as vampire. It only helped to see a fire in her belly and lawless eyes… which made him fear Maria’s doings in the future. 

“You’re still in hunger.” His words caused you to shiver as you were attempting to deny it by digging your nails into the palm of your hand. But he was right. You were still craving more. “As a newborn the hunger is unruly, you must obtain control over it.” 

You ignored him, continuing onto path less followed as you strolled further out of the unfamiliar town. However, the thumping grew heavier in your ears as the cravings of a pulse on your tongue began to take over once more. “I’m not doing that again.” You weren’t speaking to him, but yourself. 

“It will only grow worse… the aches will spread.” He was attempting to give advice, but it came off as if he knew better than you. Ultimately, he did. “If you deny this hunger, you will not be able to fight and Maria will not be happy.” 

You stopped in that moment as his words mentioned Maria and turning directly to him, you spoke. “I don’t wish to be anything to her, nor will I allow myself to be anything to her.” His eyes stayed on you, while his stoic attributes kept you begging for a reaction. “I had never seen her before, until she appeared on my father’s land…” You immediately began to think of your father and mother, who had been laid asleep inside the home. And the first thought was if she harmed them. “My parents.” 

You’d taken off before allowing your emotions to settle or even the cravings to swallow, but you knew you were close to family land. The scent of the fresh lavender was the scent you followed and fought for and Jasper followed behind you. He attempted to stop you, three times but you didn’t listen. It was as if he was sparring you from torturing yourself any further. 

The familiar sweet grass under your feet left you gasping for answers and as you passed the gates to travel further, it hit you. It was the scent of death. You could hardly bare it, nor believe it. Jasper wasn’t fighting at this point, he couldn’t defeat your strength as he tried pulling you from the porch. You made your way into the wide open door and the sight alone was enough to destroy you. 

There laid your father and mother, side by side, dead. 

A cry escaped your lips as you fell to your knees with your stomach shuttering at the sight burned into your mind. You wanted to look away, but how could you? The woman who gave you life, has lost hers… the woman who begged for grandchildren, now would never see one. Your father would never lay witness to his son returning home and your brother would return to a family deceased. 

You cradled your abdomen as the pain of loss was too much to bare and the tears soaked your cheeks. You began to cry out for your mother and father… begging for them to wake and let this horror be unreal. It had to be, because creatures like them were not real. Creatures as you are now weren’t real.  

Jasper fought her from the moment her parents were mentioned and when running after her, he tried grabbing her by the waist to draw her back. Her strength won and she’d made it back to her homeland, but he expected to have her fall witness to parents alive and well. Which is why he fought her once more as he didn’t want her hunger to cause havoc to her loved ones, but the stench of death was thick in the air and she sensed it too. Her hand slapped him away. It wasn’t until Jasper caught sight of the dead humans inside that it clicked, Maria had killed off her family. 

Her screams filled his ears as the inconsolable pain coursed through his body and he experienced the unsettling truth. Jasper’s knees were close to buckling as she fell on the porch, begging and screaming for her ‘Mamma’ and ‘Pappa’ to get up… but she was stranded. His grimaced face glanced down at the soil under his boots as the scent of dry blood mixed in causing him to shutter. It seemed Maria didn’t want the girl returning home and if she did, she’d return to nothing. 

He could hardly bare the pain she cried out and when he placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to ease her of the pain… she didn’t fight him, nor use it against him. Jasper felt her body soften under his touch as the shaking from her sobs began to wither away. Soon, her cries turned silent and she sat still with her eyes burning into the body of her dead loved ones. Jasper wanted to say sorry for Maria’s cruel actions, but his loyalty to the woman was rejecting him to do so. 

The numb wounds entering your body weren’t physical, but it felt as if a sharpened dagger was puncturing your dull lungs. It seemed Maria had not only taken your life, but the life of those you loved most. Silent anger was working its way into your body as the tears began to disappear and your stomach began to twist with despair. 

“…” You pushed yourself off the porch with Jasper’s hand falling from your shoulder, leaving the emotions to settle in. It took everything out of you to step into the home and passing by your mother and father’s body, daring to look away as you stepped around them. It wasn’t long before you possessed the golden locket belonging to your mother. 

Jasper watched the newborn step into them home using her speed to withstand her parents dead bodies to pass them, he soon followed. His eyes running along the home and feeling the sense of warmth families possessed, but he paused before the bedroom further into the home. He could tell it belonged to the newborn, her soft pink bedding bunched together and the leather journal resting on her nightstand. He glanced down the hall to hear her making her way throughout the home and stepped further into the home. 

Jasper grasped the journal with a tight hand and began to flip through the pages, immediately finding her name printed in black ink. (Y/N)… it suited her, a prepossessing name for quite a girl. He slammed the journal shut as her footsteps grew closer and placed it back down on her nightstand. She appeared in the doorway of her bedroom with her eyes burning into him, questioning as to why he entered the home. 

You ran your eyes along the bedroom as you stood in the doorway, allowing you to capture the last moments of your childhood before leaving. Jasper stood beside your bed with his eyes capturing the littlest details, along with the wildflowers growing at your windowsill. The locket hanging around your neck seemed to catch his attention at the sight of the gold. 

“She took my life from me.” You whispered with hatred rolling from the back of your throat. His eyes burning into you with more questions to follow. “She had no right to take my family from theirs.” He seemed to silently agree as he picked his head up and forced a stiff nod. 

It was difficult to withstand as you bitterly took one last glance and exited the home, not daring to look back at your parents. You could feel the tremble of your chest shaking as you left the family land, knowing you could never return home, nor fall to help your brother’s sudden loss. Your brother no held no family to retune home too, not anymore. 

You stayed silent while returning home to the barn, Jasper close on your tail as the sun began to rise over the Texas land. However, the sight of Maria left you enraged. She stood by the barn doors with the two females at her side as newborns began to scatter inside, following the demand she called out for. You didn’t restrain yourself, once her eyes landed on you… it was done. 

Within seconds of standing before her, you had your hand grasping her throat as your strength overpowered hers and the others attempting to rip you off. Her eyes wide as you tested her authority before all the others surrounding you. “You spilled my families blood for your own miserable pleasure.” Her eyes gleamed as the anger began to excite her. “You immoral witch.” The insult was easing off your lips as Jasper’s attempt to calm you down only caused the anger to rise. Her eyes darted over your shoulder, searching for help from Jasper as he stood only a few feet away. 

The tension between you and Maria caught attention of every vampire standing near, their eyes glance at you with questions. Each surprised to find Maria not fighting back, not even Jasper fighting for her. Maria’s smirk curled into her lips and it only flared the anger in your belly, which was enough to get you to tighten the grip on her neck. 

“We needed to feed, love. They just happened to be present.” Maria’s cold tone left you with a chill running down your spine as her soul left her emotionless eyes that stared you down. “Do not fret, it gets easier once you turn off your emotions.” Her fingers stroked your cheek as the sickened words left you frozen to her touch. “Do release me before I make you regret it.” 

You didn’t. Jasper’s strong hands grabbed you by the hips and forced you away from Maria, but you fought him with a simple push causing him to stumble. It seemed you were stronger than him… at least for now. You narrowed your eyes as Maria’s nod of approval left you realising you possessed no allies, nor friends. The major wasn’t a friend… he was far too infatuated by Maria’s twisted ways.  

You dispersed from Maria and Jasper by entering the barn and ignoring each pair of eyes that followed. This was a life you would certainly have to become accustomed to, but not one you wished to live prolonged. The stares from the surrounding vampires were causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up as their questions and whispers were in your ear. It seemed being a vampire gave you sharper hearing. 

You had yet to understood the new creature you had become, but you knew one thing… you wanted nothing more than to destroy the person who created you. You carried your eyes across the barn to find Jasper watching you, his ability noting the taste for vengeance as you had your hands wrapped around Maria’s throat. He might’ve been kind in ways, but he certainly showed where his loyalties lied. 

Jasper stepped away from Maria as (Y/N) stood alone from across the barn, her eyes burning into him as he grasped her anger and resentment flashing at him. He took his stance beside the newborn and raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel better?” His question was enough to heighten her anger again. 

“You tell me.” You were quick to snap at his rhetorical questions before glancing at Maria, who watched from afar as the two familiar woman stood at her side. “I don’t want your help Major… do return to your post and keep far from me because I will not follow a word you say.” 

Jasper was humoured by the frisky tone of hers, but caught Maria’s desperate glance as she overheard the newborn. Maria asked him to manipulate (Y/N) and he desired to do so for his sire, but she was unlike the others from the past and he couldn’t stomach his intentions. “… If defy Maria she will-“ 

“She has taken everything away from me at this point…” You held your chin high not daring to break your gaze off Maria, who seemed threatened by Jasper standing near you. “I might be unaware of why I was created, but I will fight tooth and nail to make sure I understand it to end her.” You watched his eyes break way from Maria and meet your own. “Rely the message to your Master, kiss her ring for me as well.” 

Jasper’s gaze was burned into the newborn as she left him with the threatening words directed towards Maria. He knew she possessed a fiery spirit, but he never expected her to fight back without hesitation at knowing Maria’s strength over others. Hell, he’d fallen prey to it… but Maria made a mistake with this young one. He saw it the moment she found the lifeless bodies of her parents and Jasper truly feared the worst. If it came down to Maria making the final call on her, he didn’t know if he could resist her ways.

[littlespaceporgs]

Omg some Rex fluff?? No 60 from prompt list one, “But I want to hear you sing.” Can you imagine Rex saying that?? So cute my heart 🥺🥺

A/N: Welp I had fun writing this, I’ve written it as a part ii to The Captain and The Medic - which if you click, it’ll take you to part i, but as I usually do, it can also be read independently!

The Captain and The Medic - Part ii

Word Count: 1.9k Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader Summary: You got reassigned as the new 212th medic, and during a new campaign, Rex gets injured. Chaos and stress ensues. Partly because of the 3 jedi who can’t seem to sit still.

Tags :DDD : @peacelandbread @valkyrieofthehighfae @mcu-padawan @catsnkooks @littlevodika @cherrykenobi @hounding-around @lesqui @captainrexstan

Medics were becoming few and far between as the war dragged out, even the Jedi healers were short-handed. It was for this reason that you were reassigned after a year and a half of serving with the 501st. Admittedly, you weren’t far, only going to the 212th.

You already knew a fair few members among the ranks, having to handle General Kenobi’s penchant for also never seeing a medic, something that the bastard well-respected Jedi Master had regretfully passed on down his lineage. You’d seen Waxer and Boil, when they returned with a secret small creature of some kind that needed medical attention, and you had a bone knitter on hand for Cody, who still had not shaken the habit of punching kriffing droids – which you had pleaded him to stop doing, if not for his own sake for yours, because using one of them was a rather tedious task.

It made for good entertainment, and it kept you busy, but it just didn’t compare to seeing Rex every day.

So when you were placed on the on the same campaign, excitement flooded through you, in the form of pure elation, drowning out the weariness of the amount of injuries that came with the news of a new campaign. That brings you to now, where you were waiting not so patiently with Cody and General Kenobi, expecting an arrival shortly from the 501st. Anakin Skywalker was the first off the ship immediately heading for Kenobi, with Ahsoka following half a step behind him. Ahsoka grinned widely and waved at you, and you let out a laugh at the girl’s antics. Giving a questioning glance to her Master, which he responded with a nod, she suddenly burst into a run, heading straight for you. You let out a low grunt when she smacked into you, and squeezed tightly. When Cody snickered, you silenced him with a quick glare.

“Hello, Commander Tano.”

“Hey Doc!”

General Skywalker nodded at you from where he stood with Kenobi, and pulling away from Ahsoka, you sent them both a curious glance.

“You lot haven’t been causing too much trouble for Kix while I’ve been gone?”

“Oh come on, Doc, we would never.” A new voice answered, unfiltered by the helmet he usually wore. You grinned and spun back around, to see your Captain stepping off the ramp, grinning all the while. You laughed and shot into his arms, smiling when he kissed your temple. Without hesitation, you took his face in your hands and kissed him hard. He grinned against your lips, technically neither of you were on duty yet. Your heart swelled in that moment, even seconds together – while not even close to being enough – after a few weeks made you almost blissful. He pulled away for a second, and tapped a finger on your wrist guard.

“Good to see you’ve replaced our stripes already.” He gestured to the newer, thick yellow line that was now painted next to the two blue, already starting to chip away after weeks of working.

“Oh please.” You rolled your eyes and gently slapped his arm, you wanted to catch up more, fill him in on the past few days, but Skywalker interrupted the two of you.

“Alright lovebirds, sorry doc, but I need to steal my Captain away, you can have him back when this is over and done with.” You laughed, but leant up and pressed a kiss on his cheek before he started in the same direction as the General’s and Commander’s.

“Just make sure you return him to me in one piece please? ” Cody had whacked him on the shoulder then, and you grinned harder. “Oh, and Cody?” The Commander spun and looked at you, and took in your folded arms and disgruntled expression. “Do not punch any droids today, otherwise I can and will amputate your arm.” The poor man looked thoroughly disturbed as Ahsoka broke out with a bright grin and elbowed them both, and Rex spun and gave you a thumbs up, mid-laugh. He mouthed an ‘I love you’ and begun to follow after Kenobi and Skywalker, Cody and Ahsoka still trying to tease him. You watched as he shoved them back, as they disappeared down a corridor and out of sight. Despite the light-hearted nature of the interaction, you couldn’t shake the feeling that today would go badly.

 Your heart was racing when he was brought in. There was blood spilling from a gash on his forehead, and you could see when his chest plate moved with his breathing, it wasn’t quite right, rising in two separate motions. It had stopped you from moving, eyes staring after him as Kix started his work. Your muscles were begging you to let you run to him, to help Kix in anyway you could, despite knowing that he was a very capable medic, and no further harm would come to him here.

Your patient, who when you turned around was giving you an almost amused smirk under all the dirt that was caked on him, cleared his throat.

“You know, you could just go and help him, I’ll be fine.” You made a noise half-way between a sigh and a groan, before shoving your anxieties away. He’ll be fine. You had worse problems to deal with, like preventing a dumbass wise Jedi that didn’t know what taking care of himself first was from escaping the medbay.

“And leave you to try and escape again? No chance, General.” He flinched gently as you prodded his ribs, which you determined were likely broken on account of Grievous hitting him with a well-aimed kick. Kenobi feigned a confused look.

“I would nev-” You rolled your eyes before he cut himself off with a groan as you pressed against another rib.

“Yes, you would. You’re already going to be here for the night, don’t force me to make it two,” his smirk flattened as he gave you a blank look. “If I had half a mind, I would keep you here for a week, considering I’ve now had to deal with yours, your padawan’s and your padawan’s padawan bad habits of not coming to or just plain trying to escape the medbay!”

Hours later, once the sun had set, you’d finally gotten the stubborn Jedi to remain in place. Kix was around the medbay somewhere, and almost everyone in here was silent, in a dead sleep after a hard-fought battle. You’d started singing a lullaby in mando’a under your breath, hoping that actively thinking about the lyrics would keep you awake, even as your hands were trembling slightly and your feet ached. You wouldn’t have to stay in the medbay too much longer, Kix would wake up soon and take over the rest of the night shift, as all there is left to do in these hours is monitor heart rates and make sure those who were awake weren’t in pain.

You stopped by Rex’s side, looking up at the monitor, all the while you kept singing quietly. You looked down to your datapad to enter the reading, and noticed that the beeping of the machine had increased. Sure enough, when you looked again, his heart rate was much higher than what it had been earlier, on instinct you felt your own skyrocket at the thought of something being wrong.  You immediately stopped singing and turned to look at his face, where his nose was scrunched, and you could see the movements of his eye beneath his eyelids.

“Rex?”

And one of his eyes cracked open slightly, you sighed heavily in relief. He’s awake.

His mouth pulled into a soft smile to mirror your face, both of his eyes trying to blink the tiredness away. Your eyes began to water as you took a seat beside his bed, and took one of his hands in your own. Slowly, he squeezed back.

“Hey, cyar’ika.” His voice was gravelly and thick with sleep, but it was a good sign that he could recognise you and speak at all.

“Hello, my love,” You said, brushing your hand against his cheek, and letting out a quiet, airy laugh when he blinked slowly and leant heavily into your hand. He was quite possibly still feeling the effects of the pain medication he had been put on hours ago. You noticed his eyes started flicking around the medbay, darting from patient to patient. “Can you tell me what the date is and then what happened?”

Still blinking slowly, one hand rubbed his face, and the other squeezed yours again. He spoke the correct date and then began rattling off details about the mission, from Commander Tano running ahead and Skywalker nearly losing his mind at the teenager, all the way up until he very nearly got blown up. You took in a deep breath when he finished his recount, all his memories were intact.

You raised his hand to your lips and pressed a kiss across his knuckles. Tiredly smiling at you, he reached up and tucked a hair behind your ear. The relief you felt was palpable as he seemed to be mostly there. You stood from the chair, untangling his hands from your hair, and checking the box on the datapad, signifying no signs of serious damage. You stared at his face once more, eyeing the cut on his temple and just taking in all the details.

“Alright, Rex, get some more rest in please. You’re likely going to be cleared tomorrow, so you’re going to need to be in good shape.” He groaned and grabbed your hand again, moving his thumb in small circles. Okay, maybe he was still on too many meds.

“Riddur, you need sleep, and I have more patients to see.” In an unusual show of emotion, he pouted.

“But I just want to hear you sing?” You flushed, knowing that he had most definitely heard you when you first walked over. You laughed softly, and brushed his cheek again.

“Is that what it’ll take for you to go back to sleep?” He spent a second thinking on it, before he nodded once, barely perceptible if you weren’t standing beside his head. Definitely still feeling the after-effects of the meds. You leant down and kissed him gently, stepping back before murmuring the soothing words in mando’a. He sighed and his eyes slid shut, as you walked away, allowing him to drift off, listening to the soft-spoken voice that sounded like honey and reminded him of a home that he had with only one person.

BONUS:

“No, you are not cleared!”

“I feel fine-”

“That means the pain meds are working! General Kenobi, three of your ribs are broken, and literally every other rib is bruised!”

“Doc, I’m sure Obi-wan is-”

“No, Skywalker, he is not! My medbay, my rules! And my rule is that he stays until he’s healed!”

“We outrank you, you know that right?”

“Not here, you don’t!”

“But-”

“Don’t you start, I could confine you here as well! Don’t think I didn’t see you injure your shoulder!”

“Kark, nope, Ahsoka, let’s go.”

“Anakin!”

[whythinktoomuch]

iv. to be as good as dead

(pt. i)  (pt. ii)  (pt. iii) 

tw: gore & death (but only of zombies :D)

Kara’s awareness gradually slips out of the syrupy depths of sleep, the low rumbles of Lena and Alex’s conversation casually filtering into her ears. She starts to stir, jerking fully awake only when she accidentally elbows Lena right in the ribs. 

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” Kara says hastily, as Lena clutches at her side with a wheeze. “Oops. I, yeah, sorry.” 

Kara inches over in a futile attempt to provide Lena with some more space, but her bed was never really meant to accommodate more than one person at a time.

“It’s fine,” Lena grumbles. “I actually prefer my lungs bruised.” 

“I’m sorry…” 

Alex just shakes her head as she approaches the bed, and Kara is already averting her eyes with an extended sigh. But Alex crouches down anyway, places a gentle hand atop Kara’s shoulder and squeezes. 

“I heard what happened,” she says softly. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I was leading the group, so of course it was my fault.” Kara directs her words more to her pillow than anyone else. “Like you’ve always said, if you’re the lead—”

“Forget what I said!” Alex snaps. “You’re alive, okay? And you brought everyone else back here, alive. Which means you did the right thing, and that’s all that matters.” 

Kara shrugs and just curls up into a smaller ball underneath the sheets. Alex sighs, giving Kara’s shoulder another comforting squeeze before slowly climbing to her feet. But on her way out, Alex takes one last pause by the door. She gestures aimlessly toward Kara’s bed. “So, what’s going on here? You two officially banging, or…?” 

“Oh, shut up, Alex, god! It’s not even like—”

“No, Kara was just having trouble falling asleep, so—”

“Mmhm, yeah, I bet,” Alex says, cutting off both their protests as she shuts the door behind her. 

“You’re such a fast reader,” Kara comments, as she watches Lena thumbing through her second trashy romance novel of the day. “You must really dig those, huh?” 

“I kinda hate them actually,” Lena says with a shrug. “But I’m also kinda into the fact that I hate them, so it all works out.” 

“Hm…” Kara nods thoughtfully to herself. Then, “Well, hang on, are they dirty?” 

Lena’s pale features are instantly awash in a very conspicuous shade of pink. “No,” she says several beats too late, and Kara practically pounces onto Lena’s side of the bed.  

“Oh no, no, wait!” Lena is laughing as she falls backwards, Kara scrambling on top as she grabs for the book. “No, Kara, stop, you’re not allowed to look!” 

Kara fumbles with the book, fingertips slipping off the glossy cover as Lena tosses it just out of reach behind her. But persistent as ever, Kara just climbs a bit higher, now practically straddling Lena’s stomach. Her next swipe overshoots by a tad though, and she ends up swatting at Lena’s rucksack instead. 

“No—!” Lena says in a sharp inhale, but Kara’s already caught the bag by one of the shoulder straps before it could hit the ground. 

Though considerably lighter now, the rucksack seems to still hold quite a few private things that give a distinct clink as Kara gently sets it back on the bed. 

They both stare at the bag in silence until Kara springs back into action, snatching up the romance novel with a triumphant Yoink! and jumping onto her own bed. She’s barely flipped through the first few pages when the book’s being ripped out of her hands, and Lena’s climbing into her lap and kissing her. 

All of Kara’s grunts of surprise are muffled against Lena’s soft yet sweetly insistent mouth. It’s been a while—much too long of a while, in fact—but Kara’s body eventually remembers what to do, and she’s seizing Lena by the hips and hauling her onto the bed. 

Kara’s breaths are ragged as she settles on top, her kisses near frenzied and desperate, and getting messier and messier by the second. But Lena doesn’t seem to be faring much better, with her eyes darkened, hips bucking up against Kara’s, and it’s honestly gratifying enough just to feel this wanted. 

But then Kara’s tugging at the hem of Lena’s shirt, dragging it up to expose soft skin, the paleness only marred by a slight blush of desire, when Lena stiffens underneath her. 

“Oh, is this… is this all right?” Kara asks, freezing in place. “Because we totally don’t have to.” 

Lena’s face screws up, hesitant. “Um.” 

The door swings opens, and Kara and Lena scramble off each other, in a hasty attempt to make it somehow seem like they weren’t doing exactly what they were just caught doing. 

“Wow,” says Alex, just so utterly bored. “Can’t wait to hear your excuse for this one.” 

A couple of weeks later, Kara and Lena are lazing around in the sun—Kara bouncing a tennis ball against a brick wall, Lena reading some two-dollar sci-fi thriller. They still have yet to talk about the kiss. 

It’s not that they are avoiding it, per se. It’s just been way easier to talk about all the other things worth discussing. 

Like, for example, 

“They’re gearing up for a supply run,” Lena says, eyeing the small group forming by the front gate. She watches as they pass out the guns, lace up their boots, and fix up their backpacks, and such. 

“Yeah.” Kara doesn’t look over. 

“You’re not going with them?” 

“No, Alex is gonna go this time,” Kara says shortly, already walking off toward the barracks before Lena could ask why, tennis ball left behind and forgotten. 

“Hey,” Lena says, when she eventually finds Kara lying in bed with her dusty boots still on. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“What?” 

“Let’s leave the camp for a while. Stretch our legs somewhere that’s not packed with all these people,” Lena insists. “Didn’t you say that there’s a lake nearby? Let’s go there.” 

 “… Why?” 

“Why not? It’s a free country.” 

Kara actually snorts. “There is no country anymore, Lena.” 

“Whatever, let’s just go get some privacy then,” Lena says with a shrug, and Kara perks right up. 

“Privacy?” Kara echoes. “With me.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah.” Kara nods a lot. “Yeah, okay.” 

It’s not very hard to sneak out the front gate, and the ease of their escape forces Kara to admit that maybe this is something that she’s done before. “But only like once or twice. And only when I was going absolutely stir-fucking-crazy, I swear.” 

The aforementioned lake is a trek of couple of miles, but inherent peace brought on by the very sight of it is well worth the journey. Kara stretches out beneath the shade of her favorite tree, heart and face relaxing as one as she watches Lena dip her toes in the water. 

Within minutes, Kara’s on her back with her eyes fluttering shut. And within a few more minutes, Lena is snuggled up to her, head cradled against Kara’s chest, and for a while, everything is good again. 

Kara’s just basking in the sun, taking a brief nap in between classes on a grassy hill, and Lena’s her girlfriend who adores her despite all her cheesy puns, and they’ll probably share a tub of ice cream at some point in the night before engaging in lots of sex and way too little sleep, and everything was just good. 

Almost good enough to be true

“KARA!” 

The panic in Lena’s voice has Kara’s eyes snapping open, and she feels a violent tug on her left foot. A growling zombie, lake water dripping off its disgusting, bloated body as it drags Kara closer to its snapping jaws. 

Kara immediately launches her other foot forward, smashing it into the zombie’s face as hard as she can. It gives her the leverage to slip out of her left boot and scramble to her feet. 

She shoots point blank right through the top of its head. 

But more and more zombies start emerging from the lake, all puffy and rotted, their swollen faces split open in near identical snarls. Kara shoots them down, one by one, but more just keep coming to take their place in an endless swarm. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Kara swears, her fingers clumsy as she tries to reload her gun. “Fuck it, run, Lena, run!” 

They take off sprinting, and actually manage to outrun most of the zombies that are thankfully still incapacitated by their bloated limbs, waterlogged and somewhat useless. 

When Kara throws a glance over her shoulder, just to make sure they’re still in the clear, she misses the dip in terrain, and the pothole sends her sprawling across the dirt. 

Kara turns around and a zombie is already almost upon her, its stagger increasing in speed, as if it could already taste the sweet victory of Kara’s flesh. She reaches for her gun, but it’s landed too far away, and the spare bullets even farther. By the time she faces forward again, she’s all out of options. 

A single gunshot rings out, and the zombie falls heavily on top of Kara, blood and bile spurting all over her face, mouth, and body. She coughs at the taste of decay and rotting water, clambering out from underneath the zombie, now motionless with a prominent hole through its right eye. 

Lena’s standing a couple feet away, Kara’s gun clutched in both hands. She gets the next two zombies between the eyes, then a third right through its cheek. 

The first two crumple instantly, but the last doesn’t slow one bit as it charges at Lena. 

But she doesn’t flinch, only whips out her hunting knife, leaping forward to meet the zombie head-on, and sticks the blade right through its protruding forehead with a shout. 

If Kara didn’t have an entire dollop of zombie goo still dripping from her mouth, she probably would have kissed Lena again right then and there. 

Kara’s not too sure on how or when she finds out, but by the time Alex is back from the scavenging mission, she’s stomping toward her and Lena like she already knows. 

“Listen, Alex,” Kara starts off right away, swiftly putting herself in front of Lena. “It’s not her fault. I wanted to go too, and, look, we’re fine now, and…” 

But Alex shoves right past her and yanks Lena into a violent bear hug that lifts her straight off the ground. “Thank you,” she sobs over and over again into Lena’s hair. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

(next part here)

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

Daylight | Edward Cullen x Stark!OC

Chapter 2 | Invisible String 

"You gotta step into the daylight and let it go"

Summary: Delphina Stark, to be frank, is tired. After the events of the Accords are done and half of the Avengers are now considered fugitives, she moves from bustling New York to live with her mom in Forks, Washington. Wielding a sarcastic attitude and crippling self-deprecating humor, she somehow gets wrapped up in the supernatural world.

Word Count: ~3k

Note: Click here for the Masterlist for this series ♡ || Link for my tag list in my Bio ♡

   “So, how are you enjoying the school so far?” The voice on the other side of the phone trickles into Delphina’s ear. It’s honey-sweet and wrapped with a warmth that could only belong to Pepper Potts, quelling the homesickness that’s been crescendoing since she stepped on the plane. It’s lunch period and instead of sitting at one of the tables, getting claustrophobic from everyone staring at her like it’s the circus and she’s the newest act, Delphina opted to call a few people, Pepper being at the top of that list.

   “Oh you know, I’ve already texted my mom on five separate occasions begging to be home schooled.” Delphina says.

   “And?”

   “And I received a veto all five times,” Delphina says, a small smile on her lips. Laughter trickles from the speaker into her ears, bringing a smile to Delphina’s face. She can perfectly imagine Pepper’s face right now. The way her face scrunches up, perfectly straight posture bent over slightly, and the small lines that form around her eyes when she smiles. And instead of soothing her homesickness, it ignites it, like a flickering flame being doused in oil. The easy banter and relaxed feeling another reminder of how much she misses New York.

   “Well, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Pepper trails off, her voice raising an octave, the statement sounding more like a question.

   “Oh, I’m not concerned. When she gets home from work I’m going to ambush her with a PowerPoint presentation and everything.” Delphina says, breathing out a laugh at her own joke. “But in reality, it’s not… the worst, I guess. No one has tried to kill me yet, so there’s that.”

   “That’s good, and hopefully the bare minimum for your expectations.”

   “Don’t worry Peps, my standards are always low, keeps me from being disappointed in anything,” she says. Turning around and glancing at the clock, it reads 12:45, fifteen minutes until lunch ends and class begins.

   “I’ve got to go, my next class starts soon. I’ll talk to you later and tell dad that my plans for overthrowing the patriarchy are currently in phase one. Love you!” she says, walking towards the cafeteria entrance, bag swinging with each step and tapping against her side.  

   “Will do. I love you too.” Pepper says, laughter lacing each word. And with that, the line goes silent as the call disconnects. With a sigh, Delphina pulls the phone away from her ear and back into her pocket. Opening the door, the loud talking assaults her ears, quickly overcoming the semi-peace that covers the outside like a thick wool blanket.

   To her left, there’s a table of obnoxiously attractive people, and hidden in the midst of them is the guy from her Biology class. There’s three guys and two girls, all wearing nice clothes with perfectly styled hair. Matching amber eyes pin on her like a cat pouncing on a mouse, none of them so much as blinking when Delphina meets their gazes.

   “Family genes are weird,” she mutters to herself, snapping her gaze away and continuing forward, towards the loudest table in the room, where Bella and all her friends sit at. But before she gets too far away, Delphina swears she hears someone chuckle from the other table. She returns her attention to them, seeing the guy from Biology smirking as he looks at Delphina, amusement dancing in his eyes. She flashes him a quick smile, taking notice of the scowl the blonde woman presents in return.

   “New York, New York! How gracious of you to well… grace us with your presence.” Mike calls out upon noticing her.

   “I have a name you know,” she mutters, pulling out the chair by Bella with more force than necessary.

   “I know, but it’s kind of hard to remember,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck with his brows furrowed.

   “It’s Delphina, Mike, not that hard.” Angela pipes up, flashing a quick grin towards Delphina, which she quickly returns.

   “Whatever doesn’t matter. Back to what I was originally going to say, how you liking Forks so far?” he questions, moving from his seat across the table so he is standing by Delphina.

   “It’s cold,” she grumbles, not meeting his gaze as she pulls out her phone.

   “W - yeah. Look, I know we’re not big city New York --” Delphina hums in agreement. “But I’d say we’re alright.” he finishes.

   “How long did you practice that one in front of the mirror?” Delphina asks after a moment, moving her eyes from her screen to meet Mike’s. He promptly begins stuttering, face heating up rapidly that longer Delphina stares at him.

“I’d say about 20 minutes, heard him in the bathroom practicing everything he was going to say,” a guy teases, moving behind Delphina like that air. She turns to see Tyler, smirking at Mike before he turns to Delphina, throwing her a wink. And as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone, Mike nearly falling out of his chair as he chases after Tyler.  

“Get back here, Tyler!” he yells, nearly tripping at least a dozen times, Tyler just laughs as he runs, effortlessly avoiding Mike. “Not cool, man. Not cool!’

Delphina raises a single brow, her face void of any amusement as they run through the room, Mike screaming like a banshee and Tyler cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West.

   “But I do have a question.” she turns her attention to the rest of the table, mainly focusing on Jessica, since she seems to be in the center of all the gossip. “Who are they?” she nods her head in the general direction of the group of gorgeous people. From the way Jessica’s face lights up and a giddy smile overtakes her face, Delphina knows Jessica is the right person to ask.

   “Those are the Cullens. Their dad, Dr. Cullen, and his wife Esme adopted them. The two blondes are Jasper and Rosalie Hale, they’re twins. The big guy by Rosalie is Emmett. They like...a thing.” This causes Delphina to raise a brow, but she doesn’t interject. “The other girl is Alice, she’s kinda weird, her and Jasper are a thing. And then lastly there’s Edward, incredibly single and gorgeous, but apparently too good for anyone here.” she finishes, her tone bitter like espresso at that end.

   “Cool,” Delphina says, nodding her head and then focusing on her phone again. “So if only two of them are blood-related, why do they all look alike?”

   Jessica opens her mouth and then closes it again, like a fish fresh out of water she’s squirming from uncertainly. Before anyone else can say anything, however, Eric interrupts them, claiming the chair between Angela and Delphina.

   “Hate to interrupt, but Delphina, I’ve been dying to talk to you all day. I don’t want to spend this precious time on the Cullens. As you probably already know, I’m with the school newspaper, and as the new student - no - as the new student and daughter of Tony Stark you’re the feature, which means I need dirt.” he says, looking at Delphina with puppy dog eyes and a hopeful smile.

   “If you need dirt, there’s some outside,” she replies, pointing her perfectly manicured finger towards the building exit.

   “You know that’s not what I meant. We can delve into whatever you want: favorite color, check; childhood trauma, also check. I mean, you were in Stark Tower when Loki attacked in 2011 weren’t you? Come on, Del, you’ve got to give me something-- anything, please!” Eric pleads, holding his hands into a prayer symbol.

   “Eric, I really don’t think she wants to be on the paper,” Bella speaks up, cutting him off before he can continue talking.

   “Yeah, not really my thing. Me and the press don’t get along.” Delphina mutters, checking the time.

   12:56.

   “What does that even mean?” Jessica asks, taking a bite out of her salad.

   “It means, I spent most of my time in New York with Natasha Romanoff.” Delphina says as she shoves her phone in her pants pocket and stands up from her seat.

   “Black Widow!?” Eric exclaims, eye lighting up with excitement. Delphina nods her head, grabbing her backpack, throwing its strap over her shoulder

   “And if you remember, a few years ago, she told the media and news to kiss her ass. Take that as you will.” And with that she walks away from the table, a smirk on her lips.

   “Oh, and it’s pink, but only in pastel,” Delphina calls behind her, long out of hearing range before anyone has a chance to reply.

                                                   o0o0o0o

   The classroom is relatively empty when Delphina manages to slip in. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and a pallid complexion is sitting at a desk, intently focusing on some papers. A few students litter the room, sitting at tables that fit two people per desk, making idle chat before the bell rings to signify the start of class. Eyes flicker immediately to the guy from her Biology class with the messy copper hair and honey eyes. He’s sat in the farthest corner, not looking at anyone as he focuses on his notebook.

   Delphina approaches the teacher’s desk, gaining the woman, Mrs. Davis’ attention. She glances up at Delphina and then back to the paper in her bony fingers, and with lightning-fast speed, back up to Delphina. She clumsily stands from her chair, nearly knocking over her desk in the process. She thrusts her out towards Delphina, a nervous smile pulling at her lips that are painted with bright coral lipstick.

   “You must be Delphina Stark, welcome to History II, I’m your teacher Mrs. Davis, but I think you already knew that.” she chuckles nervously. Delphina slowly takes her hand, giving it a quick shake before dropping it.

   “That’s me,” she mutters, handing the teacher the paper she needs signing. She snatches the paper from her hands, Mrs. Davis vigorously signing it, handing it paper a second later    

   “You’ll be down there, by Edward.” with a quick nod, Delphina turns to go to her chair. She quickly reaches the desk and sits down, tossing her bag on the ground beside her. She turns to look at Edward, who is still intently focusing on his notebook.

   “Looks like I can’t get away from you. Or is it the other way around?” A moment of silence passes. A small sigh leaves her mouth as she begins mindlessly scrolling through her phone, more students filtering into the room.

   Ring.

   The bell pierces through all the noise, indicating that class has officially begun. Delphina slides her phone into her pocket, attempting to appear interested.

   “Sit down, Jeremy.” Mrs. Davis scolds one of the rowdy students in the room, a football player she’s seen hanging around school. Mrs. Davis moves from behind her desk towards the center of the room. “Today, we’ll be covering World War II, but before we jump into today’s lesson, we have a new student today.” Mrs. Davis says, pointing back towards where Delphina is sitting. “Delphina Stark.” All at once, everyone in the class turns to look at Delphina, whispering to one another as their eyes lock on her.

   She offers a pathetic wave, sinking into her chair, in hopes that the floor would swallow her whole. And whatever god is out there seems to have at least a small amount of empathy, because a moment later, everyone looks back at the teacher.

   “Since we are starting a new chapter, that also means a new assignment.” a few of the students groan, but Mrs. Davis pays them no mind. “Turn to the person at the table next to you, get a good look at them, because that is your partner for this coming project on World War II. This assignment counts for half of your semester grade, so I recommend you make the best with what you have. We’ll be going over the specifics tomorrow, but today turn to Chapter 23 in your book and start chatting with your partners.” Mrs. Davis says, finishing her announcement and moving back to her desk.

   Delphina flips open her book to Chapter 23 and turns to Edward. His gaze is already transfixed on her, no book in front of him, just a notebook and pen.

   “Mind if we share?” he asks, voice smooth like honey and as sweet as a mid summer strawberry, his lips pulling into a crooked grin.

   “Oh, now he wants to talk to me.” Raising a perfectly shaped brow at him, her eyes narrow slightly. “But sure, what’s mine is… well still mine, but I’ll let you read it too.” Hand on the side of the book, she pushes it closer to him. A faint chuckle leaves his mouth, the sound like soft bells ringing in Delphina’s ears. And she hates how much she wants to hear it again, and again, and again.

   “I'd like to apologize, actually, for how I acted earlier. It was rude of me to ignore you like that,” he says.

   “Please, I lived in the same building as Loki at one point. I don’t think anyone could top that maniac,” she says, a sly smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. He breathes out a laugh, the quiet flick of the thin paper clashing with the melodic sound.

   “But I accept your apology.”  

   “Didn’t he attack New York?” Edward asks, eyes solely on Delphina, paying no mind to the book they should be reading.

   “Oh yeah, I swear my mom nearly killed my dad when Loki attacked Stark Towers. It was kind of funny actually.” After pausing for a moment, she opens her mouth again. “Well, after I got over the trauma of the whole building almost collapsing on top of me, of course.”

   “I’ll take your word for it,” he says, the grin on his face growing ever so slightly and Delphina’s heart nearly stops in that moment

  ‘Keep it together, you idiot.’

  “You never did introduce yourself,” the teasing tone in her voice is the perfect match to the glint of mischief in her eyes. She nudges him lightly with her elbow, feeling nothing but skin that’s like cold marble and chilling to the bone.

   “Apologies, I’m Edward Cullen.”

   “Delphina Stark, but I’m sure you already knew that,” she says, rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

   “There has been talk around the school.” He reflects the smirk on her face like a mirror.

   “Great, love that for me so much.”

   “You don’t like the attention?” he asks, the laugh in his voice betraying that he already knows the answer.

   “No, despite what people think, us Starks aren’t vying for attention everywhere we go,” she mutters, glancing down at the page for a split second, if only to say she did look at their chapter.

   “So why move to a town as small as Forks, where everyone is going to talk?” he asks.

   Flick, another page turns, nearly tearing from the speed.

   “Well, it wasn’t my first choice, but my mom lives here, so here I am.” Anxiety creeps into her system, increasing each second that Edward continues to look at her, flashes of sitting in the Compound surrounded by deafening silence overwhelming, beating against her like a baseball bat hits a ball in the Big Leagues.

   “Well, let me be the first to formally welcome you to Forks.” The words are playful and light, and Delphina can’t help but lean into them, falling deeper and deeper into the haze hanging over her each time he opens his mouth. She smiles at him, pushing away the Avengers and just focusing on the sound of his laugh and the intoxicating smell of his cologne, a woody scent that feels like the best parts of nature.

   “Well, you’ve already been beat there, but thank you.”

   “I couldn’t help but notice that Mike Newton has taken an interest in you.” he says after a moment, containing his laughter long enough to speak smoothly. Delphina scoffs and rolls her eyes.

   “Yeah, wish he wouldn’t. He might be nice, or whatever, but I have a strict ‘no dating anyone that calls me a nickname based solely on where I moved from’ policy.”

   “That’s oddly specific,” Edward says. Delphina just shrugs, a smirk pulling on her lips.

   “But effective.”

   “Don’t you want to make friends?” he asks, moving his eyes away from Delphina for a second to look around the room, the other students too engrossed in their own conversations to notice them.

   “I don’t need friends, they disappoint me,” Delphina says without a moment of hesitation, quoting the iconic Vine like she’s drinking water or breathing air.

For a moment it brings her back to the Compound, before everything with Ultron happened, setting the scene for the Accords. Delphina would make obscure references to Vines or memes that were popular at the time, most of the Avengers wouldn’t understand them, Thor least of all. But he laughed at every single one anyways. Steve would shake his head and mutter something about kids these days, only giving Delphina more ammo to tease him with. As soon as the memories enter her mind, weaving through every thought until it’s all she can think about, she banishes them, refusing to fall into that melancholy.

Then, Edward laughs, not a breathy sound or a small chuckle that Delphina nearly misses, it’s not booming like Thor’s, the kind of noise you make when you don’t understand a joke. But a loud one, a genuine one that leaves his eyes looking like small crescent moons, lighting up Delphina’s dark skies. And she doesn’t think what she said is that funny, nor her wittiest line ever, but maybe it’ll become her one liner for the next lifetime, using it at every opportunity. If only to hear Edward laugh like that again.

She places her elbow on the desk, leaning her chin against it as a starry smile forms on her face, memorizing everything about this moment, the small crinkles around his eyes, the way his eyes shine, and the bright smile on his face. If only to remember back on it late at night when she inevitably has trouble sleeping.

“Should I then assume that means you wouldn’t like to be friends?”

“I can have one.”

                                                 o0o0o0o

Tags: 

@stuckupstucky 

[mandadoration]

you’re a fine girl - ii

summary: Agent Whiskey would really like you to say his real name for once, and you refuse, playing this little game of his until he finally makes you say it. The circumstances for it aren’t exactly ideal, though. 

word count: 2, 014

pairing: agent whiskey (Jack Daniels) x reader

warnings: canon-typical violence (and then some), swearing

a/n: With how short this series is, I’ve decided not to change the summary for each chapter :)

chapters: i | ii 

Read this on AO3

You’re stuck in your office doing paperwork and sorting through various agent requests nearly the entire time Whiskey is gone, and you thank whatever higher power is out there because you can’t help but rerun the memory of the tangible fear that flashed through his face when he visited you in the office right before he left. You looked through the mission debrief again an hour after his flight’s scheduled departure, skimming for any notable information that you might have missed, even if you could recite it by memory. The only notable thing is that Ginger had written down that the arms dealer had a branch in the drug trade-- something that apparently Whiskey knew due to some run-ins prior to his assignment. You knew of his past with drugs and his family, the memory of the first time you read about it in his file making your heart ache for him. Other than that, you don’t know what had gotten him so riled up. He’s gone on much more dangerous missions before, and it’s not the first one that had dealt with drugs. You had requested Ginger to let you know if anything important pops up while she supervises Whiskey’s mission as casually as possible, knowing that if you had asked if you could keep up with him yourself it would look highly suspicious. But Ginger had nodded with that knowing smile of hers and told you that you would be the first to know if something happened. 

So here you are now three days later, running on cat naps and coffee for the fear that you might miss something, once again denying Gin’s request for 200 proof alcohol. Every now and then your gaze flicks over to the black Stetson still sitting on your desk. You won’t lie that the urge to put it on has plagued you once or twice, but you haven’t given in to it. You jolt when Ginger’s request for a video call pops up on your screen, and your heart sinks as you accept it. 

“Ginger, what--”

“Whiskey is coming in hot with injuries,” she says, voice breathless and she types something on her computer. “Headed straight for medical. Triple is keeping it contained and under control, and Club Soda is on standby at the hangar to wheel him straight into theatre for emergency operation.” Your nails dig into the wood of your desk. 

“How long until he gets here?” you dare to ask, voice shaky as you give a once over to the medical report that Soda is typing up in real time on your second screen to see the extent of his injuries.

Multiple gunshot wounds. 

Fractured/bruised ribs. 

Fractured left tibia. 

Broken left fibula. 

Dislocated both hips. 

Poss. punctured lung. 

Poss. concussion/head injuries.

Risk of--

And you swipe the screen away as you feel nausea rolling in your stomach with each line that Soda fills out. 

“9 minutes and counting,” Ginger says. You clench your jaw. 

“Why didn’t we hear about this before?” you grit out. “Madrid is 9 hours away at most--”

“They’re coming in on the Blackbird,” she interrupts. “Fastest plane we could get in Spain, and they brought a doctor on board. He’s been holding steady for 4 hours.”

“That doesn’t explain why we didn’t--”

“Whiskey had requested the information remain private until he was close enough,” Ginger says. “He… he didn’t want to worry you.” You swear, and slam your fist on your desk, unconcerned with how Ginger could construe it. Agents come in hurt all the time. It came with the job and plenty of agents were bull-headed. Whiskey was just another agent coming in from just another mission with another run-of-the-mill complication.

You know in your heart that’s not true. 

“I’m meeting him in the hangar,” you say sharply, and you end the call just as Ginger starts protesting. You grab your jacket and sling it over your shoulders as you practically sprint down the hallways. The hangar was at least ten minutes away from your position in the intelligence wing, and Whiskey was, by now, seven minutes away. 

You somehow make it in five. 

Soda is already there in his scrubs with three other attendants with a gurney ready to wheel Whiskey away when he arrives, and the four are in a hushed, serious conversation that stops immediately when Tonic spots you storm in. She steps in your path to try and stop you.

“Brandy, what are you--”

You push past her and walk straight up to Soda, which sports a scared expression when you shove a finger in his face. “Did you know about this?” you demand, you voice echoing in the hangar. “Did you know he was coming in hurt?” Tears burn in your eyes that you quickly blink away. 

“No, no!” Soda stammers, hands up in surrender. “I was told, like, 15 minutes ago, I swear!” You’re about to rip him a new one when the hangar starts to buzz as the Blackbird starts to fly in and prepare for landing. Soda snaps to attention, barking orders at Tonic and Seltzer to radio in the theatre and prep for the incoming patient, and waving over Vermouth to help him with the gurney. Air whips around you as the four work with brutal efficiency, climbing up the stairs to the plane before it fully locks in and carrying Whiskey down with Triple Sec and what you assume is the doctor stumbling after them, blood smeared all over their hands and clothes. You immediately rush over as Vermouth is putting an oxygen mask over Whiskey’s mouth. 

Frankly, he looks like shit. 

There’s blood and dirt all over Whiskey, his suit torn open and messy from the patchwork job done on the plane. His moaning something unintelligible, slurred with pain as the one eye not swollen shut glazes over, and he fumbles around in disorientation. You barely keep up with the gurney as they wheel him fast as possible through the underground hallways, shouting at people to move out of their way, and you stumble once or twice when you don’t dare to take your eyes off of him. Soda practically punches the button for the emergency elevator that takes them deeper underground to the medical wing, swearing to high heaven about how they should build a medical center on each level, and Soda actually does punch the button for the floor of the medical wing when the elevator doors open and they shove everyone in. 

Whiskey’s eyes are fluttering, hissing in pain when Seltzer keeps firm pressure on the largest wound on his side, blood sluggishly dripping to the floor. He’s reaching around, looking for something, even as the other attendants try to hold him down. There’s an awful feeling building in your chest as you watch him struggle. Whiskey eventually lands a hand on your arm, digging his nails in, but it falls as he keeps searching. You call his name, softly, grabbing ahold of the hand that’s been flailing around, warm and wet with his blood, and bring his hand up to cup your face. You don’t mind that it paints you red.

“Jack.”

And Whiskey calms down. His grip tightens a fraction in yours, and he lolls his head to look at you, eyes just the slightest more focused than they were before. 

“Darling,” he rasps. Despite the obvious discomfort, Whiskey reaches into the pocket that lines the inside of his tattered jacket and pulls something out, and he presses it into your hands just in time before the elevator dings and the doors open. His hand slips from yours, unable to keep a hold with the slick blood, and he’s gone down into surgery before you can properly react. The last thing you see of him is his eyes slipping shut.

The doors to the elevator have already closed by the time you unfreeze, and your fingers ache as you force them to unfurl to see what Whiskey had given you. 

Even covered in blood, the thin, braided silver chain shines in the light of the elevator, a small pendant with a moon carved into it. There’s a crumpled up slip of paper in your shaking hands as well, and when you manage to unfold it, you can barely make out Whiskey’s handwriting past the bloodstains. 

For Brandy, my finest girl. 

It takes Tequila calling the elevator back to the main floor to finally find you collapsed against the furthest wall.

---

“Alright, honey,” Ginger murmurs, sweet and low in her throat, “let’s get you cleaned up.” 

After Tequila had discovered you with drying blood over your clothes, he had practically carried you to Ginger’s office with some kind of knowing look on his face that’s rather uncharacteristic of someone that regularly goes square dancing for the hell of it. But you’re too caught up in your head to really process anything except the last glance you got of Agent Whiskey, bruised and battered from a mission gone awry over and over again. Tequila knows he’s got god-awful bedside manners, and has resigned himself to standing by in case you start to tip over. Again. You’ve got a bruised knee to attest to that. 

You’ve long since given up trying to get the two to leave you alone. Ginger wipes the bloody handprint from your face with a warm wet rag, tilting your chin with a gentle hand, glancing at you every now and then from where she kneels in front of you. 

“Ginger,” you sigh. “I’m fine, really.” She fixes you with a hard stare that screams Yeah, right. “Seriously.”

“If you’re fine, why are you shaking?” she asks bluntly. You frown, but clench your fists to try and ground yourself. Ginger shakes her head and sits back on her heels. “Brandy, it’s okay to be worried.”

“Who says I’m worried?” you say much too fast. She motions to your face. 

“You get a little indent right here between your brows when you fuss,” she says. You scowl and reach up a hand to feel for it, but she grabs your wrist before you can smear the tacky blood on your face. You lower it back to your lap and let her wipe off most of the blood. 

“I’m just… pissed I wasn’t informed because Whiskey was afraid he’d hurt my feelings,” you say bitterly. “I’m the intelligence supervisor, these agents are under my protection, and if I don’t know everything that’s going on, and someone gets hurt, that’s my fault.” You clench your jaw. “How am I supposed to do my job if someone’s trying to put roadblocks in front of me? They need to understand that what I do is in their best interest, and that I’m perfectly capable of pushing aside emotions to deal with the problem. They need to trust me.”

“You think we don’t do things in your best interest either?” Tequila asks. You look at where he’s leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. “Trust is two-way street, Brandy. It sounds more like you don’t trust Whiskey to get shit done.” You open your mouth to argue back, but he holds up a hand and keeps talking. “If Whiskey had told you that he was coming in, in that serious condition, no less, that you would’ve been able to keep your head straight on your shoulders to keep working until he got here?” 

“Yes!” you answer incredulously. He raises an eyebrow. 

“Really? You wouldn’t have been running around like a headless chicken if you had heard that by the time he got here, he very well could’ve been dead on arrival?” You balk. 

“Tequila,” Ginger hisses. 

“Medical would’ve taken care of him,” you grit out. 

“That’s if they got here on time,” Tequila says. “Face it, Brandy. You would’ve freaked the fuck out if you had been told as soon as he radioed in.” 

You laugh humorlessly. “You’re a real son of a bitch, Tequila.” You stand up abruptly in your chair and shove past him, leaving red marks when you open the door. 

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @lavenderl3mons​

you’re a fine girl Tag: @mrsparknuts​

[kumeko]

A/N: For Nameless, the loveless zine! I haven’t thought of this series for years and I feel very nostalgic just writing this.

…

…

…

…

i.

It was instinctive, the way Soubi’s hand reached into his pocket, his fingers curling over the cool plastic. Entirely habitual and he almost pulled it out before remembering that he was sitting on a bench in the middle of a children’s park. There was a time when that wouldn’t have been a problem, when he would have lit his cigarette and felt the bitter sting of nicotine. That time wasn’t now. Soubi wasn’t sure what had changed, just as it did, and he eyed the lone straggler on the swings balefully. In the late evening, most of the kids had left for dinner, leaving behind the odd loner, and destroying any chance of a smoke break.

 Oh well, Yuiko would be here any moment anyways. Pulling out his phone, Soubi checked the time. 7:20. She should be here in another five minutes. What for, he wasn’t sure. All of her texts asking him to meet her were surprisingly evasive, only confirming the time, the place, and that he couldn’t forget to come. Maybe that was why she hadn’t called him to arrange this; Yuiko was a terrible liar and the second she’d opened her mouth, he would have known what this was all about.

Still, for the life of him, Soubi couldn’t figure out what Yuiko wanted. Even more so than most children her age, she was extremely up front about her emotions. It was oddly refreshing, compared to the Zeros or even Ritsuka; Soubi couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone so guileless. Her teacher, perhaps, but he made it a point to avoid her.

 “Soubi!” A breathless, high-pitched voice cut through his thoughts and Soubi looked up in time to catch Yuiko as she dashed through the park toward him. Her comfy t-shirt and cotton shorts were grass stained and small twigs and leaves tangled in her long hair. Even her backpack looked dirty and he wondered idly if she’d ran through a forest to get here. “I’m sorry, I’m late—”

 “You’re not,” he interrupted, motioning to her to take a breath before continuing. There were already tears in her eyes and he didn’t want to start the conversation with her bawling.

 “I’m not?” Surprised, Yuiko pulled out her phone and gasped. “I’m not!”

 Soubi resisted the urge to smile. Maybe it was the naivete. He wasn’t used to interacting with someone like her. Patiently, he waited for her to calm down before asking, “What do you need?”

 “Need?” Yuiko fidgeted in front of him, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. She scuffed a shoe along the ground. “It’s not…I don’t…um…”

 “You?” he prodded, watching as her ears flattened slightly as she grew more and more nervous. Ritsuka’s ears and tail were like that too, displaying his feelings clearly for all to see. It was cute. Had he ever been this cute as a child? He couldn’t remember, but he doubted it.

 “I…” Yuiko paused again, her tail twitching anxiously as her eyes flickered from the ground to him and the back again. Unslinging her backpack, she held it tightly before taking a deep breath. “You…” She breathed in once more, long and slow, before hurriedly shoving her backpack at him. “This is for you!”

 What was? Soubi wondered, his blank expression stiffening as he studied the offering. Was it the bag or something in the bag? Both questions lay heavy on his tongue, unable to decide which one to utter.

 Before he uttered a word, Yuiko realized what she was doing and blushed an even brighter shade of red. “O-one second!” She quickly unzipped the bag and rummaged inside. Finding her prize, she yanked it out and pressed it into his hands. “For you,” she mumbled, looking away, tears glistening once more in her eyes.

 Soubi looked down at the springing object in his hands. It was an oddly-small flower wreath, a clumsy looking thing with stems sticking out together here and there. Despite that, it still held together surprisingly well. It wasn’t something he needed, but he nodded his thanks all the same. “A wreath.”

 “A flower crown,” Yuiko corrected, rubbing her eyes and looking at him once more. She pointed to her head. “You put it on.”

 “I see.” Soubi rotated the wreath in his hands, feeling utterly bemused. He was getting used to the antics of children now, with days spent with the Zeros or Ritsuka teaching him more than he’d ever expected. Somehow, the utter randomness of children surprised him. “That makes more sense.”

 “Yeah.” Yuiko glanced around before clearing her throat. Before Soubi could react, she shouted, “Happy Birthday!”

 The one kid in the playground perked his ears, glancing curiously at them. Soubi was only half-conscious of that. Instead, he stared blankly at Yuiko. “Birthday,” he repeated softly, not sure which was more surprising—someone remembering it or him uttering the word.

 Yuiko nodded, pushing her two index fingers against one another as she looked away. “I know it’s not a good gift, but I only found out today and it was the best thing I could make.”

 Well, that explained the grass stains. Soubi glanced at her hands, at the dirt on her nails and the roughness of her palms. She must have started immediately after class to get it done on time. Plopping the crown on his head, he nodded approvingly. “A little small but it fits.”

 “You look pretty,” Yuiko gushed, immediately cheering up. “You like it?”

 This time, he couldn’t stop his smile. “Yeah.”

 -x-

 ii.

Love was hard. Yayoi had read every romance book in the library and then stolen one or two from his mother’s secret stash, and this was the one lesson he’d learned from them all. Love was hard. Usually, there was an evil sheriff or hitman or villainous ex that appeared, coming between two star-crossed lovers.

 Yayoi would argue that sitting on a bench with his rival while waiting for his crush to arrive was equally as hard. He glanced to his right. As usual, Ritsuka looked entirely unperturbed, as though they weren’t sitting on a bench on opposite sides, the space between them too big for Yuiko to fit entirely. When she came back from the cafeteria, several bags of bread in hand, and sat down, she would force them to come closer. And they would, but not until she came back.

 It was a dance they went through every lunch. While Yayoi could say that Ritsuka wasn’t only a rival, they weren’t exactly friends either. He was Yuiko’s friend more than he was Yayoi’s, and that was something he was entirely fine with. There wasn’t a single romance story for the rival and the hero became friends. Still. Yayoi glanced again at Ritsuka. Would it kill the other boy to look at least uncomfortable? Then again, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Ritsuka as anything other than collected. The boy had swept in like a fierce gale, throwing Yayoi’s life into disarray, and never looked the worse for wear for it.

 “Are you fine with this?” Yayoi asked, unable to stop the words spilling out of his mouth.

 Surprised, Ritsuka turned to him. “Fine with what?”

 Yayoi tensed, his neck warm as he realized he didn’t know where he planned to take this conversation. Hell, he didn’t even know what he meant by the question. Fine with the triangle, fine with the strange number of transfer students, fine with his mother—there were so many ways to take a single question. His ears flattened as he thought about it before finally gesturing at the space between them. “With all of this?”

 “You don’t like me, right?” Ritsuka shrugged, leaning back into the bench and staring at the sky. “It’s cool.”

 “That’s not true,” Yayoi blurted, his mouth moving before his mind could catch up. His hands itched to cover his mouth, to stop these treacherous words from escaping his throat. In romance, the hero defeated the rivals, winning the heroine’s hand. They didn’t start to like their rivals, didn’t start to think of them as friends.

 Yayoi wondered, not for the first time, if he wasn’t the hero and was just another doomed suitor.

 “It’s not?” Ritsuka looked at him, really looked at him, his eyes wide and mouth agape. “Really?”

 It was too late to shove the words back now and whether he liked it or not, Yayoi had meant them. Begrudgingly as it was, he did consider Ritsuka to be his friend. “Yeah.” He paused, steeling himself before pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope from his pocket. “Here.”

 Ritsuka glanced at the envelope before gingerly picking it up. “What’s it for?”

 “My birthday party.” Yayoi coughed, looking away. “You can come if you want.”

 If he had turned around, he would have seen a pleased smile and red cheeks, a boy beside himself with joy. But he didn’t, so Yayoi could only hope that Ritsuka’s ‘Yes’ was an honest one.

 -x-

 iii.

Kio was drunk. He knew that, from the way his fingertips buzzed to the tingle up his spine. His mouth was dry, his head pounded, and tomorrow morning he would be a mess of regrets. He was so drunk, he had gone from knowing he was drunk to denying it to knowing it once more.

 Needless to say, climbing the last set of stairs to his apartment was perhaps the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. And that included getting kidnapped and beaten by a strange pair of Soubi’s ex-classmates. At least, he thought they were—Soubi had refused to explain the matter further and Kio was too afraid to ask. Their friendship had always felt delicate and while Soubi was opening up more now, he wasn’t sure what boundaries were still standing and which he could dance right past.

 That was perhaps the only reason he had accepted Soubi’s utter rejection of joining in for some birthday drinks. Well, that and the fact that Kio had asked at least ten times to no avail. If Soubi didn’t want to celebrate Kio getting one year closer to death, well, that was on him. It wasn’t like he had good taste in the first place, as evidenced by Seimei’s entire existence.

 “Woah!” Kio mumbled as he almost tripped over a step. Clutching the guard rail, he panted heavily and tried to regain his bearings. Were stairs supposed to be this hard? Was he out of shape? Next time, he was getting a ground-floor apartment. There would be none of this exercise nonsense.

 Glancing behind him, he realized he was halfway there. Just a little more, and he could dive into his futon and pass out. Future him would probably wish he’d changed first, but that was future, sober him’s problem. Drunk Kio only had one mission, and that was to get to bed. Finally reaching his door, he leaned against it and sighed. Almost there.

 His keys jangled as he tried to find the right one. As usual, it was the last one he tried. While the door swung open silently, Kio heard a thud. Looking down, he stared at a square package at his feet. Had that always been there? God, he was so drunk. He hadn’t even noticed that there had been something at his door. Crouching, he stared at it. It looked like a canvas. His fingers brushed against the slim sides. No, it had to be a canvas; he worked with them day in and day out and his body had memorized the weight and shape of the various sizes they came in.

 Mystified, he clumsily picked it up and stumbled into his apartment. Was it a delayed assignment? No, it was wrapped in the plainest wrapping paper that existed. A gift then, but there was no note, no card, no nothing. It could be for his neighbour, for all he knew. Eagerly, he tore through the flimsy wrapping. Black paint slowly appeared, followed by splashes of blue and yellow, before he finally revealed a butterfly painting.

 No, not just any butterfly painting—it was a remake of the one Soubi had made when they’d first met. Kio covered his mouth, giddy. The bastard cared. He had always known that, but it was one thing to believe it, another to find proof. Soubi cared.

 Suddenly, sleep was the last thing on his mind. Pulling out his phone, he drunk-dialed his friend. Future him would probably regret this too, but that was for future him to care about.

 Current him had to make sure Soubi knew exactly how happy he was.

 -x-

iv.

“Here.”

 Surprised by the unexpected hand thrust in her face, Yuiko looked down from Youji’s smug expression, following his arm until she was staring cross-eyed at the small, rectangular paper in his hand. Scrawled messily on the white page was Badminton tournament. She squinted, not sure if she was reading it right, before looking back at him. “Thanks?’

 Next to Youji, Natuso sighed, looking utterly unimpressed. There was no one else in the classroom, but she knew that even if there were, his next words would have remained the same. The twins never changed what they said no matter who was around, and Yuiko envied that. “I know, I know, this is a five-year-old’s idea of a gift.”

 “Hey!” Ears flattened, brow furrowed, Youji glared at his twin and growled, “This is a good gift.”

 “Is it?” Natsuo snorted in disbelief. He ran a hand through his hair and scornfully added, “You just want to beat her at badminton. That has nothing to do with her at all. You’re supposed to think of the other person, stupid.”

 “Gift?” Yuiko interrupted, cutting through the brewing argument. She gently pried the voucher from Youji’s hand, staring at it curiously. It was ridiculously plain, without even an attempt at a border or sparkles or any decoration of any sort. He must have spent five minutes on it, max, before giving it to her.

 “For your birthday, duh,” Youji grumbled, but despite his tone, he was looking away. His ears twitched slightly, an embarrassed expression on his face. “You’re not getting anything better, no matter how you cry.”

 Yuiko didn’t listen, instead looking at the paper once more. A birthday gift. Certainly not one she wanted—she liked playing badminton, sure, but gifts were supposed to be special things. Things you can’t get otherwise, and they would always be able to play badminton.

 Yet it was a gift from Youji. She hadn’t expected this, not in the least. If anything, she’d thought the twins hadn’t liked her that much.

 A gift. For her.

 Smiling broadly, she hugged Youji tightly. “Thanks!”

 Natsuo’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

-x-

v.

“Let’s hang out at my house,” Yuiko demanded, standing in front of Ritsuka’s desk. Well, it was as close to a demand as she could get, her cheeks dusted red and her voice rising an octave with each word. “Please?”

 Ritsuka was used to the beeline she made as soon as the bell rang to his desk, as though if she didn’t catch him immediately he’d slip away with the breeze. To be honest, with all that was happening around him, sometimes that was the case—between Soubi, the fights, and hunting for clues, it was sometimes hard for him to find time for his friends.

 Still, this was more direct than Yuiko usually was. He stared at her for a moment, watching as her face turned redder and redder as he kept silent. Well, it wasn’t a bad thing if she was getting more confident. Maybe one day she’d be able to fight those bullies away herself.

 Flustered, Yuiko pressed, “I really want—”

 “Sure,” he agreed, getting up.

 “—you to come…” Yuiko trailed off, a blank expression on her face before she realized what was happening. Surprised, she watched as he headed to the door. “Really?”

 “Yeah, let’s go.” Ritsuka grinned as she scrambled to grab her bag and coat. “What, you weren’t ready?”

 “Don’t tease me!” she wailed, almost tripping over a chair in her haste to get out. Stray hairs escaped her usually neat pigtails and she looked like she’d run a marathon and not just left a classroom.

 “Don’t make it so easy,” he countered, laughing as they slipped into an easy banter on their way home. It was strange. Truly strange. A year ago, even a few months ago, he could never have imagined this. Friends? Laughing? Smiling? A place that he could call his? All of them had been so far beyond his imagination that he couldn’t even picture it.

 Yet, here he was, walking home with someone as thought it was the norm. His mother and brother were the furthest thoughts from his mind, his focus instead entirely on the all-too red girl next to him. His best friend, possibly, but Ritsuka hadn’t yet mustered the courage to ask. Yuiko’s ears twitched nervously, her fingers pressing against one another, and her words ran into one another as though she was desperately trying to say something, anything. Clearly, she was up to something.

 “What’re you hiding?” he asked and that too was new. Knowing someone well enough to tell when they were lying. It was a permanence he hadn’t expected.

 “Whaat?” Yuiko yelped, her complexion turning even redder, if possible. Ritsuka imagined he could find every shade of red if he hung around her long enough. It was a pleasing thought. Shaking her head rapidly, she stuttered, “N-nothing, I’m just…Why do you think that?”

 “Hmmm?” It was tempting to push her even further. Yuiko was a terrible liar, which was a relief when compared to the Soubi’s and Seimei’s in his life. Everyone else was too good at hiding and he liked this feeling of having an upper hand for once. Still, whatever she was planning couldn’t be terrible, and it wouldn’t be bad to have a nice surprise for once. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

 “There aren’t any!” she shouted, her voice giving her away yet again.

 Ritsuka laughed. His tail swayed lazily as he wondered just what he should expect. Knowing Yuiko, it had to be something simple. Maybe a movie or a game. They could get Soubi to come over after and cook something too. Or invite Yayoi to play with them, or the Zero’s—and Ritsuka had a lot of people in his life these days. A lot of friends.

 “OK! WE’RE HOME!” Yuiko announced loudly as she stood in front of her door, shaking her keys slightly before slipping them in.

 Perplexed, Ritsuka followed her in through the door. Were her parents home? Was that why she was talking like—

 “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

 The loud shout jolted him out of his thoughts and Ritsuka’s jaw dropped as confetti rained through the hair. Standing in Yuiko’s living room were all of the people he’d been thinking of, and then some—Osamu and his teacher stood amongst the crowd.

 “Happy birthday!” Yuiko chimed in, looking at him eagerly.

 A surprise party. He would never have imagined that either, not even a few hours ago, but Ritsuka was finding that wasn’t a bad thing.

  The future, oddly enough, was something to look forward to.

[flowesona]

Sleepaway - Part I

Yandere Jungkook x reader

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

When a simple girl reaches into the heart of a the new boy, the rest of the campers find themselves in a bloody situation.

“Who is he?” Two girls were perched on a wooden camping bench, their hands curled around a mug of warm milk as they observed the campers dotted around the campfire. They had yet to notice any interesting newcomers, with the exception of the new guy who had piqued their interest.

“He’s definitely new. Popular, it seems too.” (Y/N) observed the girls milling around the young man like moths.

“Are you jealous?” Yeri smirked, nudging her friend with her elbow. Her companion shook her head, still glowering at the crowd.

“Let’s just leave him alone.” (Y/N) discarded her metal mug, walking off in the direction of the dorms with Yeri attached to her arm. She completely missed how the new guy’s gaze fell on her for a brief moment with some unreadable emotion.

🕯

The campfire had nearly died out hours ago, yet plenty of the youths still hung around. They’d been called for lights out about half an hour ago, but many of them ignored their seniors in favour of remaining outside to socialise with each other.

“Jungkook-oppa! Where are you going?” One particularly whiny teenager was hanging onto the campers arm, nestling it into her chest as if he were her teddy bear. He suppressed the desire to sigh irritably, choosing instead to give her a charming grin.

“I’m going to bed. I want to sleep.” The girl pouted but let go of him. Jungkook stood up, brushing the dirt off his backside as he went over his plan in his head.

‘Finally. The chance to fuck those two bitches up.’

His mind was purely set on the two girls he’d seen whispering maliciously about him earlier as he walked to the dorms. How satisfying it would be to make an example out of one of them, to mangle their pretty faces with his knife, no one able to hear their pathetic whimpers.

It was the reason he’d signed up to the pathetic summer camp. He could make friends wherever he went, he could get any girl he wanted if he tried. But he didn’t desire companionship. He was now craving a different type of pleasure.

To snatch someone’s pathetic, sad life away from them, to leave them begging for mercy for all the things they had done against him. Such a vision made him feel euphoric beyond all belief, in an almost arousing way.

He looked down at the crumpled piece of paper he’d pulled out of his pocket, listing all of the room arrangements. Luckily, he’d managed to pilfer the girl’s sheet from one of his admirers, and it was with ease he found the names (Y/N) and Yeri, apparently the names of the two girls as he was told by one of the girls slobbering over him.

Their room was nearly black when he arrived, save for the moonlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains. He cursed at the door’s creak as it opened but luckily neither of the dormitory’s occupants stirred. 

Jungkook’s grip on the knife was readjusted. He willed himself towards the left bed with trembling steps, the anticipation of finally carrying out his dark fantasy manifesting in physical anxiety.

But as soon as he arrived he noticed that he was missing something. Some cloth, to muffle her screams as he ripped her apart.

As quietly as possible he opened the drawer next to the bed, sifting through the neat piles of clothes until he found the perfect assistant. A pair of lacy panties, obviously an amorous gift from a lover or a scandalous secret from her parents.

Shaking such thoughts out of his head Jungkook stood up, the lace now gripped between his fingers. With one shaking hand he reached out to (Y/N)’s body, straddling her torso before going to  ease open her mouth with gentle fingers. Yet it was at that moment that he saw a beam of moonlight illuminate her face, and something overcame him.

There was a haunting beauty to her resting face. The gentle fluttering of her eyelashes, the slight purse of her lips, the glow of a sweat built up from a humid summer’s night.

It was too much for Jungkook to handle. He felt as if icy water had been poured over him, being unable to do as he intended.

No, it wasn’t the time for him to kill her. Not when he was feeling so conflicted. He couldn’t take pleasure in killing her when she was too perfect in that moment.

As gently as possible he clambered off the bed, being extra cautious to be quiet as he left the dormitory. He didn’t even notice how he was still clutching onto her undergarments, a mocking symbol of his failure.

🕯

The bright light of morning was not enough to wake up the sleepy (Y/N), leading an exasperated Yeri to slap her friend.

“What the hell?” (Y/N) murmured as she woke up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her she had sudden awakening.

“Breakfast.” Yeri said simply, shoving some clothes in her friend’s direction. (Y/N) rubbed her eyes sleepily but nodded at Yeri gratefully.

The dining hall was packed with chattering teens and the clattering of cutlery echoed off the walls. (Y/N) and Yeri were barely able to navigate their way to collect a simple breakfast and find a small corner to sit and eat.

“What’s scheduled for today?” (Y/N) asked, pushing her fork around her food absentmindedly.

“Canoeing. Seems like fun.” Her companion answered, consulting the planner they’d received upon arrival that she’d somehow managed to hold onto.

“Just you wait, I’m going to-”

“Is this seat taken?” (Y/N)’s playful threat was interrupted by the scraping of a chair and the new boy plopping himself down next to the pair, eyes twinkling.

“I guess it is now.” She replied snarkily. He seemed undeterred, stabbing a fork into the lukewarm breakfast.

“I haven’t introduced myself to you yet.” He took a second to swallow before offering his hand to (Y/N). “Jeon Jungkook.”

“(Y/N).” She answered simply. “And my partner in crime here is Yeri.”

“Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand to the other woman but she stared him down.

The rest of their meal was spent in a slightly uncomfortable silence; as much as the two girls wanted to continue their banter they didn’t appreciate the third party, no matter how charming he was.

“Can I join you for the activities this morning? I’d rather spend time with you over some silly girl slobbering over me.” Jungkook’s boldness directed at (Y/N) shocked her for a second, but he was quickly rejected.

“Sorry, we’re going to be partners.” Yeri glared at him, and for a brief window of time that she was staring him down she saw an equivocal amount of malice, but that quickly vanished in place of a warm smile.

“That’s okay.” With that he stood up, picking up his plate. “I’ll see you later.”

It was easy to miss the cold look he gave Yeri before leaving.

🕯

“Easy does it.” (Y/N) mumbled as he took hold of one side of the boat. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Yeri eagerly reached for the other side to balance the canoe so they could carry it. However, their plan fell flat when a loud crash was heard from outside. The noise shocked (Y/N) enough to drop the canoe onto her foot.

“Fuck! Shit, shit, this really hurts.” Immediately her friend rolled the boat off her (Y/N)’s foot but it was too late. The skin was turning pink and swelling.

Yeri immediately rushed to her friend’s side, hooking the injured girl’s arm around her shoulders and supporting her weight to help her limp out of the storage cabin.

“Mr Lee! (Y/N) is injured and she needs help!” She called out to the instructor, who looked away from his conversation with one of the coordinators.

They laid her onto the ground, whimpering in pain as he felt around the tender area gently. The commotion caught the attention of a certain brown-haired boy, who left the crowd he was stuck in to investigate.

“She needs to go to the on-site doctor.” He heard the instructor say, and instantly his interest was peaked.

“I’ll take her.” Jungkook offered before Yeri even had the chance to open her mouth, eyes wide in fake earnestness.

“Oh! Are you sure Jungkook?” The instructor asked, slightly intimidated by his confidence.

“Yeah. You need to teach the rest of the class. I don’t mind sitting out.” One of his fangirls let out a squeal about how kindhearted he was, but (Y/N) just sighed irritably, groaning as she felt a new throb of pain blossom in her foot.

Jungkook lifted the injured girl onto his back, making sure she was well supported.

“Don’t try any funny business.” Yeri warned, missing the dark look on his face as he walked away, with his compromised victim now in tow.

[seeaddywrite]

bitch i’m a monster [Part III]

if you haven’t read Part I and Part II, i would not suggest starting here!

A/N: this part was hard to write, & it got really long? it’s almost 6k of biting, talking, & denial, with some angst on Michael’s end thrown in for fun. the last part is much more light-hearted, & will end happily. don’t believe me? i don’t blame you. i’ve lied to you twice now about how long the damn thing is going to be, but the next part really is the finale! 

major thanks to @soberqueerinthewild for listening to me bitch & moan over this section, coming up with the brilliant idea that the last part centers around, & reading over the first three drafts of this section. (why does she put up with me? the world will never know.) 

warnings for biting, blood drinking, somewhat graphic descriptions of blood & pretty obvious references to sex, though it is not explicit. also, yes, self-indulgence & ridiculousness abound. 

To Alex, it’s as if the world freezes in the next moment.

The hunger is still there, clawing at his insides, but it seems less all-consuming than it had a moment ago. It’s shock, maybe — Alex certainly feels numb enough, and the ringing in his ears and disconnect from his own body are the same symptoms he woke up to when he’d lost his leg. And really, it makes sense. This is impossible. Michael, sitting cross-legged in front of him, staring back evenly into the vampire’s eyes that Alex couldn’t conceal any longer. Their knees are touching, now that Alex has shoved himself back into a sitting position, and Michael’s got a hold of both his hands as if he’s afraid Alex will be the one to leave since he’s refused. If they’d been wearing less clothing and not trapped in the middle of the desert, it would be a scene straight out of Alex’s fantasies, and it doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

He’s known since Sebastian did this to him that Michael couldn’t ever find out, that no one could ever find out, could ever be involved in this part of Alex’s world. Every time Alex had succumbed to a moment of weakness and allowed Michael to get closer, his imagination had conjured images of the disgust, the horror, that would paint his face if he ever saw Alex like this. He’d convinced himself that keeping Michael far, far away from his darker self was the only way to keep him safe, and now that it’s all ruined, Alex has no idea what he’s supposed to do next — especially since at this moment, it feels like he’s smothering in his own skin and the only available source of oxygen is the blood flowing through Michael’s veins.

“Alex, breathe.” Calloused hands release Alex’s, only to take hold of his shoulders and shake. The motion is gentle, but it’s enough to make him realize that while he hadn’t been registering the pain, it had still taken hold. His entire body had seized, his muscles tensed, and at some point, he’d stopped breathing.  So he lets the air out of his lungs in a sharp exhale and shoves Michael back, putting at least a few inches between his body and Alex’s teeth. He can smell it now, the blood, and his baser self is locked on that scent like a shark would be on bleeding prey in open water. It doesn’t matter that Michael has no open wounds, that Alex shouldn’t be able to smell blood contained by skin. But the fragile barrier is nothing to his supernatural senses. It would take less than an instant for Alex to rend that flesh and have living blood in his mouth, flowing through his veins —

And fuck, apparently a few inches of space isn’t enough to get that scent out of his nose. Alex clenches his jaw and closes his lips, less to hide the fangs that Guerin’s already seen and more to put an added layer of pathetic protection between them and Michael’s fragile body.

“Why can’t you ever just listen?” Alex demands, though the words emerge as more of a ragged sob than the accusation he wants them to be. “Fuck, Guerin, would it kill you to just follow an order once in your life?”  Like the onset of the attacks, the release is unpredictable. Alex’s muscles suddenly unclench, and he slumps forward, elbows on his knees and shoulders hunched as he struggles to catch his breath while he can.

“This time, I think it would have killed you,” Michael says tersely, and when Alex lifts his aching head to look at him, he actually has the gall to look angry.  Alex is trying to protect him, to get him to see reason and run for once in his damned life while his entire body screams at him to do otherwise, and Michael’s pissed? Unbelievable.

“You do realize you just basically had a seizure or something, right?” Michael continues, his voice unyielding. “While we’re god knows how far from help?”

Alex’s laugh is bitter and inappropriate, but he can’t help it. “Help? Christ, Guerin, look at me.” He lifts his chin and forces his lips apart so that his fangs are on display. He knows all too well what he looks like — predatory. Inhuman. Monstrous.  He holds the position for as long as he can stand, letting Michael see everything he’s so painstakingly hidden for the last several years. Every wall he’s put in place to keep himself safely hidden away is gone, and Alex is left feeling exposed and vulnerable and off-kilter, and he’s not ashamed to admit that his temper is short. “What the hell do you think a hospital can do for me? I’m a vampire, Michael.   I can’t go to a doctor any more than you can. They don’t exactly give the kind of blood transfusions I need.”

“Right.” Michael is quiet for a moment, and Alex uses the respite to duck his head, chin to chest, and tries to figure out his next move. If Michael won’t leave him, the next logical solution is for Alex to leave — but he’s not optimistic about his ability to even stand, right now, let alone move fast enough that Michael won’t be able to keep up with him. Under normal circumstances, he could run faster than the human (or alien) eye could track; he could get back to Roswell in five minutes and this entire nightmare would be over. But somehow, Jesse Manes has enough information on vampires to know what constant exposure to sunlight does to Alex. He has enough data to organize the perfect trap for Alex and Michael — and as long as they make it out of this damned desert alive, Alex is going to find out how, exactly, his father knows all of it, and he’s going to make damn sure this never happens again. With his teeth, if necessary.

“For god’s sake, this is ridiculous,” Michael says suddenly, and Alex’s head jolts upright in surprise. Concerned, dark eyes find Alex’s and he finds himself relaxing fractionally at the warmth that has never quite dissipated from that familiar gaze, no matter how bad things have gotten between them. Even now, with his vampiric features on full display, that hasn’t changed — and the desperate hope that flares to life in Alex’s chest at the realization hurts more than hunger ever could.

“Here.” The decisive tone pulls his attention back to Michael, but before Alex can snap that he really needs to stop fucking talking long enough for Alex to get his inner beast back on a leash, there’s a pale wrist thrust in front of his face, a spiderwebbing of bluish veins immediately drawing the laser-focus of his enhanced vision. The world around him blurs alarmingly, and when it rights itself, Alex’s lips are brushing Michael’s skin. The fingers of one treacherously strong hand are wrapped around Guerin’s wrist, the others around his elbow, and Alex knows his grip is too tight, that he’s pressing finger-print shaped bruises onto the otherwise unmarred canvas of Michael’s skin. But Alex is hanging onto control by his fingernails, and all of his energy is dedicated to keeping his lips tucked over his fangs — he can’t even pull his face away, let alone release the death grip he has on Michael’s arm.

“Come on, man, just do it.” Impatience colors Michael’s order, and Alex stops breathing entirely, fury at Michael’s lack of self-preservation momentarily eclipsing everything else. “This is all because you’re hungry, right? All the pain, and the seizures, and the uh, teeth?” The hesitance around that word is understandable, and Alex is in enough physical pain that he barely feels the sting of it. “So dig in. I’m an all-you-can-eat alien buffet.”

Alex exhales raggedly and summons every iota of strength he’s got left to sit back. His fingers are still digging into Michael’s arm, and he can feel the tips of his fangs scoring his own lips, but he’s not about to sink them into Michael, so Alex considers it a win. “This isn’t a joke, Guerin,” he grinds out through a clenched jaw.  

Michael snorts. “You sure? Kind’ve sounds like one, if you think about it. ‘An alien and a vampire are trapped in the desert . . .’”

For a moment, Alex just stares at the smug, teasing smirk on Michael’s face, rendered utterly speechless by the cavalier attitude toward something that could cost him his goddamned life. It lasts for a moment before Alex’s patience abruptly snaps. He snarls, fangs bared, and lunges forward, tackling Michael to the ground in a blur of movement he’d believed himself incapable of only a few moments prior. It’s all too easy to pin Michael’s bulk to the sun-baked dirt with his body; Alex grips strong wrists and forces them to to the ground as he settles his weight against Michael’s thighs. Short of a miraculous disappearance of the pollen still coating his curls, there’s no way Michael can move unless Alex allows it — and he’s not feeling particularly magnanimous at the moment.

“There’s a rock in my kidney now, thanks,” Guerin gripes breathlessly, the air knocked from his lungs by the impact of his fall. His muscles go lax, head lolling to one side as he looks up into Alex’s furious face expectantly. He makes no effort to fight back; instead, Michael just waits, neck vulnerable and exposed by this new position, and Alex wants to shake him for not realizing the danger he’s inviting.

“I could kill you, and you’re cracking jokes!” he hisses, mouth dangerously close to a major artery as he bends inward, letting the tips of his fangs slide over the shell of Michael’s ear. Finally, the steady, thudding rhythm of Michael’s heartbeat accelerates as Alex pushes him further into the  desert floor, and if he wasn’t so damn hungry, so determined to make his fucking point, it would be enough to stop him. Fear isn’t an emotion he ever wants to inspire in Michael, and every human instinct he has screams for Alex to stop, to pull away and tell Michael to start running -- but they’re past that point, now, if it was ever even really an option.

“You don’t know what you’re risking right now, Guerin. If you had any idea how much I want to hold you down like this and tear into your fucking throat, you wouldn’t be laughing!”  He wants to sound angry. He wants Michael to hear the threat inherent in those words, to understand that Alex would never have let his fangs drop if he were in any kind of control, and that every second they play this game is sending him hurtling closer to the edge of a cliff that he won’t be able to avoiding falling from. Nonetheless, the words emerge as more of a desperate croak, and he has to drop his forehead to Michael’s chest to ride out another wave of agony as his body reminds him that he’s only inches from ending it.

His fingers spasm and his grip fails, but instead of pulling away, Michael just lifts one hand to cup the back of Alex’s head, repositioning them both so that Alex’s face rests in the cradle of Michael’s neck and shoulder. “If you were really out of control, you would’ve done it already,” he says quietly, and Alex can feel the words rumble through his chest where they’re pressed together. “And I trust you.” There are gentle fingers sliding through Alex’s hair, caressing the back of his head, and the soft gesture is in such fierce juxtaposition with the pain raging through his body that he’s not quite sure what to make of it.

“C’mon, Alex, just let me take care of you this time, huh?” Michael continues to cajole, his voice low and calm, almost hypnotizing, and Alex struggles to remember why biting him would be such a bad idea. He’s still on top of Michael, chest-to-chest, his face tucked into the other man’s neck, and Michael sounds so damn certain that this is the right thing to do, that it would be okay —

Alex trembles, but gives in.

There are no other options anymore; Michael isn’t going anywhere, and Alex doubts he would be able to let him, even if he wanted to. And God help him, but he’s so hungry. “Two minutes,” he rasps. “Count it out, and if I don’t stop by the time you’re done, yank my hair and make me,” he murmurs against Michael’s skin, wishing that he had the ambition to lift his head and impress the importance of such a request on this man that means so much to him. But the energy that movement would take is too much, and Alex finds himself slumping completely into Michael instead, nuzzling against his neck entirely on instinct. “Don’t let me hurt you, Michael,” he manages, though the quiet plea is barely understandable around his fangs.

And then, before logic can beat out need and instinct, before Michael can even take a breath to respond, Alex sinks his fangs into the artery pulsing just beneath his nose.

As soon as the first drop of blood hits Alex’s tongue, any semblance of rational thought ceases to exist. He’s euphoric with the sudden lack of pain, giddy with relief and the taste of something forbidden, and Michael’s hand is still on the back of his head, cradling him as he drinks like he’s something precious. In that moment, negativity and fear flee, and Alex is in no hurry for them to return.  He’s never taken blood straight from the source before, is accustomed to refrigerated, congealing goop that barely sates the hunger and leaves him cold and wanting, but able to function as human.

Michael’s blood, though, is alive. It’s hot and addictive as it drips into Alex’s mouth and turns to raw energy in his veins. Drinking it is like shoving his finger in an electrical socket and seems to create a current over his skin, cranking every nerve receptor up to ten and hyper-sensitizing his entire body. In the rush, Alex forgets to drink, reveling in pure sensation. For the first time in three long years, Alex feels like more than a reanimated corpse going through the motions of life. He feels whole, real, and he never wants to go back.

A trickle of blood distracts him as it escapes his lips and trails down damp, sunburnt skin. Alex chases it, licking a long stripe up the tendon beneath Michael’s ear before sealing his mouth back over the wound he’d made. Michael shivers beneath him, shifting restlessly, and Alex uses some of his rapidly burgeoning strength to pin him again. Inhuman heat emanates from Michael’s body, soaking through the thin cotton of Alex’s shirt and into his chest, and he presses impossibly closer, his entire body canting into Michael’s. Raw pleasure shoots up his spine as the evidence of his desire presses hard into Michael’s thigh, and Alex is too far gone to be embarrassed. He repeats the movement, a slow roll of his hips, and all but purrs when Michael responds with a cut off groan.

The low, throaty chuckle that echoes from Michael’s chest resonates through Alex’s as well due to their proximity, and he focuses for a moment, trying to unscramble his brain without disengaging from the source of his newfound energy. With the monster in his head sated by the promise of blood, it’s easier to do, and he abruptly realizes that Michael’s talking to him, murmuring something every time it seems like Alex is going to stop or pull away. The words are lost in the flood of arousal and that overwhelming energy still buzzing through his body, but Alex can  hear his voice. He’s always associated that low, lust-rough rumble with contentment, with safety, and the warm embrace cocooning him does nothing to erase that feeling. Instead, it sends the same message to Alex’s subconscious as always: he’s safe. He’s loved. He’s wanted. He’s allowed to have this.

He turns his attention back to the task at hand and drinks from the wound he’d made in slow, careful pulls, savoring every drop of blood as it slides down his throat. Each sip stokes the fire growing low in his stomach, and every shiver or shudder from Michael only encourages Alex on — he’s lost track of anything resembling time, knows only hunger and desire and the pursuit of more. The world outside is lost in a sea of pleasure, and some part of Alex knows that this could be the last time he gets to have Michael this way, the last time he’ll be allowed to touch him, and the rest of him responds with a frightening desperation.

Then, all too soon, Michael’s tugging gently on his hair, trying to get his attention, and Alex honest-to-god whines when he’s forced to disengage his fangs and look up into Michael’s flushed face. Hunger is still a low, non-exigent buzz beneath his skin, but it’s melded so completely with arousal and energy that Alex can’t separate it any longer. His lips are wet with blood, his features still twisted into a predatory visage, but Michael is smirking at him like he hasn’t noticed, and Alex can’t help but smile back. His humanity is a distant thing, present, but walled off by instinct and want, and he’s in no hurry to let it shackle him back to self-loathing and guilt.

“That was two minutes,” Michael says while his fingers trail over Alex’s temple and down his cheek. The touch is careful over the blown, black veins around his eyes, but he doesn’t shy away from them. Alex pushes into the touch, letting it soothe the need still burning through his veins. “But I’m not dizzy or anything, and you look like you could use a little bit longer.” The scrutiny should bother him, Alex knows distantly — he doesn’t like being fussed over, and it’s not Michael’s job to take care of him. But in that moment, when he wants nothing more than to meld his skin with his lover’s and keep him there, in that moment forever, it feels good to have Michael’s worried eyes on him.

But something in the back of Alex’s mind tells him that Michael’s words are important, that he needs to pay attention. Two minutes? The significance of that time frame escapes Alex, though he knows it should mean something, and he struggles to push through the influx of energy and emotion to piece it together. But Michael isn’t repeating himself, is relaxed and comfortable beneath Alex, so the attempt fails. Alex tilts his head to one side, letting his disinterest in the topic be known, and entertains himself by tracing the features of Michael’s face with a fingertip. He stalls when he hits sun-roughened lips, and leans in to press his mouth against them, fangs and all. In this state, Alex is a creature of simple pleasures, and in that moment, all he wants is to kiss Michael.

There’s no resistance. Michael’s lips part under Alex’s insistent tongue easily, and they get lost in the give and take of kissing and roaming hands. There’s a voice in the back of Alex’s head reminding him that they’re trapped out here, that his father’s trying to kill them, and that lying in the sand is hardly the right place for any of this, but he ignores it. This is what he’s wanted for years, forever, and finally, he’s able to separate himself from stupid, human worries and take it. So he grinds his hips down into Michael’s, chasing sensation and that connection with someone he loves, and makes no effort to hold himself back. His hands slide beneath Michael’s shirt, palms sweeping over the expanse of sweat-tacky skin and muscle, and Alex moans openly when Michael shifts, pressing his thigh up at just the right angle to send sparks dancing along Alex’s spine.

And for a while, it’s just the two of them lost in a fog of touch and desire. It’s all so familiar and easy, like sliding on an old, comfortable flannel after losing it for years, and Alex can’t quite believe that they’re here again, together and connected in a way that he thought was lost for good. But eventually, Michael has to breathe; Alex can feel him panting raggedly against his mouth and pulls away to give him the chance, even as his body clamors for more.

He repositions himself carefully across Michael’s chest, tucking his cheek against one shoulder, nearest the puncture marks from his last bite, and busies himself with lapping at the weeping wound. Blood has left stains on Michael’s skin and pooled in the divot of his collarbone, and Michael huffs in surprise when Alex’s tongue meets the sensitive area impatiently. The taste isn’t as good now that the blood’s been able to cool, but Alex isn’t picky — and he knows that Michael won’t mind if he bites him again. He’d basically invited it, hadn’t he?

“So, Anne Rice got the whole blood and sex thing right, huh?” Michael teases, once he’s gotten his breath back. “I guess fiction’s gotta get a lucky guess once in a while … but I’m yet to see the alien movie that gets it right.”

Alex freezes, humanity returning all too quickly with a flood of embarrassment. He doesn’t know exactly why, but something in that good-natured joke reminds him that this isn’t normal. That he’s spent the last fifteen minutes out of his mind and rutting up against his ex’s thigh like a horny teenager — and the worst part is that even now, with his entire body frozen in mortification, he’s still straddling Michael’s legs with an impossible to miss hard-on.

“I always thought it was a little unfair, you know? Vampires and werewolves were sexy, and aliens got turned into little green men who get hauled off and dissected in every fucking movie. But I guess I’ll have to let that one go if it’s actually true, huh?” Michael’s rambling, and Alex wonders if it’s because he’s realized that reality has crept back up on Alex, and is trying to help. But even the familiar teasing timbre of Guerin’s voice isn’t enough to ease Alex’s discomfiture.

“But seriously, do you get hard every time you bite someone, or am I just special?”

If Alex had been paying attention, he would’ve noticed the note of vulnerability in Michael’s voice as he asked the question. As it is, he’s too swamped with mortification and immediate protest to even wonder why Guerin’s asking. “No!” he bursts out, rolling away from the comforting warmth of Michael’s chest to put six feet of desert between them before he sinks back to the ground and wraps his arms around drawn-up knees. It’s not a reaction he’s proud of; small and vulnerable isn’t a role he adopts often, especially in the middle of a life or death situation. But today has been such a riot of emotion that Alex is exhausted, and the fact that he still has to actively work to think more like a human than an animal is wearing at his last reserves. Besides, at this point, Michael’s seen him screaming and seizing in pain, has touched every inch of his scarred flesh, and didn’t hit him when Alex sunk fangs into his neck — there’s not much Alex can do to make himself more vulnerable than that.  

Even while stewing in self-pity, it’s easy to hear Michael get up, and his footfalls on the sand are far from silent. Alex tracks him as he gets closer and is intimately aware when he flops down next to him, heedless of Alex’s deep and abiding desire to put miles between them. He’s silent, obviously correctly interpreting the rigid set of Alex’s spine and the tension in his coiled muscles as a desperate need for time to pull himself together. Alex allows the silence to linger for a while, long enough that it starts to feel tense, before admitting, “I don’t bite people, Guerin. Ever. I didn’t know it would be like that. Or I wouldn’t have —” That’s not entirely true. Alex is fairly sure he would have; he’d been perilously close to losing control. So he cuts himself off, then corrects the statement: “I would’ve warned you.” He swallows, staring out at the horizon to avoid looking at Michael. “I’m sorry.”

Alex blames his positioning on why he jumps at the hand on his back; it’s impossible to have been expecting that when he’s got himself convinced that Michael’s going to run off and put as much space between them as possible. It’s what he would do, in the same situation -- alien is one thing. Vampire, though? Dependent, and turned on by, blood? Who the fuck would want that in their lives?

“Whoa, hey, it’s just me,” Michael promises, and the hand on his shoulder slides down Alex’s spine in an achingly familiar caress. The simple touch brings back so many memories of their time together; the other man has always been overly tactile with Alex, likely because he never got much in the way of physical affection himself. But whatever the reason, Michael’s never been afraid to reach out -- and the fact that he’s doing it even now, with his own blood staining Alex’s lips, is enough to make Alex tremble. He relaxes incrementally — it’s impossible not to, with Michael’s warmth at his side and against his back — and exhales on a slow sigh.

“Look, I have about a million questions, especially about how it’s possible for you to have never bitten anyone else before,” Michael says, after a moment of fidgeting alongside Alex. He’s clearly been trying to figure out the right way to say something — he always taps the fingers of his good hand on his knee in introspective moments, and Alex has known him too long to miss the signs. Internally, he groans. He doesn’t want to talk about any of this, doesn’t want to get into the limited understanding he has of vampirism or the sad story that led him there. But he owes Michael explanations, especially now, so Alex sits up straight and nods, bracing himself.

“ — but right now, I just really want to know if you got enough.” Whiskey-colored eyes scan Alex’s body, like Michael could see the symptoms of hunger if he looked closely enough, and the only response Alex can manage is a cracked, disbelieving laugh that borders on hysteria.

“You’re worried I didn’t drink enough of your blood?” he asks incredulously, once he’s regained some semblance of composure. “I pinned you down, bit you, basically molested you, and —”

“Oh, come on, Alex,” Michael interrupts with a derisive snort. “You didn’t molest me. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the only reason we’re not still having sex on a regular basis. As far as I’m concerned, you can touch me whenever and however you want.” Michael swallows, then adds, “Believe me, man, I wanted that just as much as your vampire hindbrain did. I guess I should’ve known you didn’t really want it, though.” He huffs, a bitter, self-recriminating noise. “The power of wishful thinking, huh? For a minute there, I really thought you did.”

They’re shit at talking and always have been, but Michael’s so much better at openness than Alex. He’s got no problem putting his heart out there to get broken and has given all of his secrets to Alex with an enviable ease, but returning that openness seems all but impossible, no matter how wrong Michael is. So Alex is silent, instead, and uses the time to blink away his more predatory features.

His face shifts back to human, and when he looks up at Michael next, the other man is clearly hurt by his silence and trying to hide it with irritation. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about that? Answer my damn question. Was it enough, or are you going to have another seizure in twenty minutes?”

Frustration is rough in the words, and forces himself to lift his chin to meet Michael’s gaze head-on with a cool expression of his own. It’s not ideal, but Alex doesn’t know how to give away these pieces of himself without putting up some sort of wall between them. Once he starts giving Michael that access, there won’t be any locking him out again, and Alex is terrified of what that might mean. “I don’t know,” he answers quietly, the words starkly honest. “I’ve never been in this situation before, Guerin. I only ever drink blood from a bag, and I don’t usually make a habit of spending hours in the sun. I’ve always been careful to feed on a schedule, so I don’t lose control, so this —” he hesitates, picking at the fabric of his pants distractedly. “I just don’t know, okay?”

Michael frowns. The expression isn’t unhappy; it’s the same frown Michael wears when presented with a unique puzzle, like a difficult physics problem or a philosophical hypothetical like the ones Max is so fond of throwing out for discussion. “What difference does the sun make?” he asks finally, every inch a scientist adjusting an equation for variables.

So Alex explains what he knows about how the sun affects his blood consumption, tripping over some of the words. Besides the one-sided conversation with Sebastian right after his transformation, Alex has never had anyone to talk about these things with. It’s all been locked up in his head, hidden beneath the self-loathing he felt every time he was confronted with the reality of vampirism. It’s a relief to finally be able to say the words aloud, despite the awkward situation, and it gets easier the longer he speaks.

“Okay, so, the longer we’re in the sun the worse it’s going to get,” Michael summarizes succinctly. “Considering we’re in the middle of the desert, I think we’ve got to assume you’re going to keep burning energy pretty quickly.” He pauses to wipe sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and Alex tracks the motion with his eyes, unable to stop watching Michael — as always. “So, how much blood do you normally drink at once? If you’re following your schedule? And how often?”

Alex blanches at the frank nature of the question. Talking about the science behind vampirism is one thing — admitting to the more personal aspects is harder. He still hasn’t forgotten that less than half an hour ago, he was fangs-deep in Michael’s neck and rutting against him without any care for propriety, and this topic is coming dangerously close to touching that one. But he answers, as shortly as possible. “The bags say 300 millimeters on them. I drink three every day, at normal meal times — about six hours apart. If I push it past six, I start to notice how hungry I am, and I’ve never gone longer than seven.” He winces. “Until today, anyway.”

Most people, Alex thinks, would have a hard time believing that he doesn’t have all the information about what he is. He’d made the same assumptions about Alex, after all, and knows Liz did too, after Max revealed his heritage to her. It’s a natural response, to assume that when someone admits that they’re a different species that they know their own biology, at the very least. But Michael knows better. He understands what it’s like to be something other than human and be left with more questions than answers. He knows exactly how it feels to lack control over parts of himself, and have no idea why. So he doesn’t demand anything, doesn’t look at Alex like he’s an idiot. He just nods and adds the limited knowledge to whatever equation he’s putting together in his mind.

“So you normally have 900 millilitres of blood a day, and today you’ve had — what, maybe fifty? You spent more time apologizing than you did actually drinking anything.” There’s the barest insinuation of an accusation in the statement, and Alex finds himself giving Guerin a flat look in response. “And we’re trapped in the middle of the desert, so whatever you did actually have will be burned off in an hour or so, according to that math. I’m not liking those odds, Manes.”

Alex sighs and rubs at his face. He’s more than ready to stop discussing his feeding habits, and vampirism at all — not that he thinks he’s going to get out of it. Michael’s going to have more questions, of course, and Alex owes him the answers. And it’s not even that Michael’s being overly personal about his inquiries; he’s being entirely professional, treating everything as more of a scientific hypothesis than anything else.

But maybe that’s the problem. Alex doesn’t want to be a science experiment to Michael, nor a problem to solve. He wants everything between them to be personal, and always has. Being able to open up to someone about vampirism, about all the things he doesn’t know and all of his fears and uncertainties is simultaneously terrifying and alluring, and Alex wants Michael to be that person. But instead, he’s treating him as clinically as any doctor Alex has ever seen.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” Michael announces, folding his arms over his chest and glaring balefully at Alex when he only lapses into silence once again. It seems the safest option, considering he’s been far more open and honest about himself than he can ever remember being before.

“Just bite me again. You know you’re not going to lose your shit and kill me this time, and losing 300 mL of blood isn’t enough to hurt someone with my body mass. It’ll be fine, and then we can actually move onto figuring out how to get back to town instead of worrying about how long we have before you start screaming again.” He’s completely matter-of-fact as he speaks, and doesn’t let Alex even get a word in edgewise before pressing his body closer and tipping his head to one side, revealing the two careful puncture marks Alex made earlier. The motion tugs at the skin, and fresh blood wells at the site, making the monster in Alex’s chest snarl with want.

Instinct intervenes, and Alex’s fangs slide from his gums. His entire body thrills at the acrid scent in the air, and he’s tipping his head forward before he catches himself. “Damn it, Guerin,” he mutters, closing his eyes deliberately. 

“What if I —”

“What if you actually relax and let me take care of you?” Michael interjects. “Yeah, that’d be a real fucking shame, wouldn’t it?” The bitterness is harder to ignore now, and it hurts in a visceral way that leaves Alex aching to prove Michael wrong. “I told you. You’re not going to do anything I don’t want. You stopped when I told you to before, even when you were out of it, so I’m not worried. So just — do it and stop arguing, for fuck’s sake.”

God help him, after a few moments of vacillation, Alex does. And this time, when he’s overtaken by the rush of endorphins and energy, he doesn’t even try stop his hand from wandering down the front of Michael’s jeans.

[myriadimagines]

Common Face (pt. II)

Game of Thrones One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Margaery Tyrell

Other Characters: Cersei Lannister, Tommen Baratheon, Olenna Tyrell

Warnings: imprisonment, swearing, death (hhdfngjdf)

Requester: anonymous

Request: “i wanted to request a part 2 for 'common face' (margaery x reader). while the reader tries to keep a low profile, margaery is imprisoned (just like in the series) & the reader visits her in secret a couple of times. cersei still suspecting and maybe almost being caught to tommen? If you can, could you extend it to the Great Sept of Baelor episode? During Margaery's imprisonment the reader eavesdrops on Cersei's plans and tries to stop the wildfire, but is prevented by soldiers. Ending with the reader leaving for Mereen, to join Daenerys, knowing that he might get to see Olenna and talk things through.”

Word Count: 1,964

A/N: I hope you like it! Sorry I kinda jumped over certain parts mainly because I’m a lazy fuck but anyway, for anyone who hasn’t read it, here is Part I!!

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

You don’t care about Olenna’s multiple warnings, don’t care about the dangers of being caught, don’t care much about anything ever since Margaery’s imprisonment. Your brain feels frazzled, disconnected from your body as you find yourself unable to think straight about anything. Your body moves on instinct and impulse alone, any shred of logic thrown out of the window, simply driven by the sole fact that you love Margaery and can’t let anything happen to her. 

Or let anything else happen to her, anyway.

The Septas glance at you suspiciously as you weave in between them, keeping your head low as you follow behind the Faith Militant who leads you to Margaery’s cell. You would be suspicious too, if you were them, as the seemingly lowly servant you’ve disguised yourself as has no reason to visit the former Queen as often as you do. 

You can only hope the High Sparrow and his followers still see you as a servant, and aren’t aware of your true identity and allegiance to the Tyrells. They have eyes and ears everywhere, after all, making it all the more crucial for you to keep a low profile as to not unveil anything. You tread lightly, walking through life as if you’re being constantly watched. As a spy, being suspicious of everything and everyone isn’t new to you, yet you feel as if everything has been shifted into overdrive.

But as a Septa steps forward to unlock Margaery’s cell, you almost abandon everything to rush forward and hold her in your arms.

You remain frozen in place as Margaery looks up, cowering in a dark corner of the dismal cell. You’ve already visited Margaery as many times as can without raising suspicion, but it doesn’t make it easier to see the woman you love suffering in such horrible conditions. The only source of light is the diluted sunshine through the barred window, casting blotchy patches of light onto the opposite wall. The stench is overpowering, the air thick and heavy, and every inch of the floors and walls are covered in a layer of dirt and grime. Margaery herself doesn’t look much better, donned in drab robes that almost camouflage her into the walls, her once styled hair now hanging in limp, greasy strands obscuring her exhausted face. 

Her eyes initially narrow, before you step into the dim light, and her eyes widen with recognition. Her mouth opens, but you shoot her a look, warning her not to react before you hold out the small tray of food in your hands, “The Queen sent me. Wanted to make sure you had enough to eat.” 

The door closes behind you as Margaery’s eyes narrow at the food, and both of you immediately relax as you rush up to her. You place the tray at her side, reaching up to hold her face in your hands, and she closes her eyes as she places her hands over yours, whispering, “You’re the only thing keeping me from going insane.”

“I wish I could kill everyone here to free you, my love,” you sigh heavily, your thumb brushing against her cheek. Her eyelids flutter open as you tuck her hair behind her ears, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit yesterday when I told you I would. Cersei caught me heading to the Sept, and I didn’t want to risk being followed.”

The mention of Cersei’s name again makes Margaery coil away slightly in disgust. “That devious bitch.”

“Lady Olenna and I are doing everything we can to fix this, but…” you suck in a sharp breath, almost feeling physical pain as you continue to finish your sentence. “Cersei is a step ahead of us.” 

You can see Margaery’s jaw tighten, anger flashing through her eyes. Bitterly, she spits, “Of course she is.” 

“Margaery,” you tilt her chin to face you, softly smiling at her as she can’t help but return the smile. “I will save you.” 

The both of you suddenly stiffen upon hearing voices outside. You and Margaery share an alarmed glances, and you jump back just in time as the heavy door suddenly swings open, revealing Tommen in the doorway. You can see the surprise in Tommen’s face as he looks at you, before glancing down at Margaery. Quickly jumping to salvage the situation, you pipe up, “Queen Cersei sent me to bring food for Margaery.” 

Margaery lets out a low scoff upon hearing Cersei’s new title, and you struggle to keep a straight face as Tommen slowly nods. The boy is too naive for his own good, you think, as he simply accepts your flimsy explanation for your presence. Bowing your head, you cast one more secret glance at Margaery before you leave, leaving Tommen and Margaery alone, where Margaery will no doubt begin to work at him to get him to free her. 

And you have work to do, too. You need to figure out Cersei’s plans. 

—

Your heart hammers so loudly in your chest it threatens to explode right out of your body. You hastily shove everyone out of your way, ignoring the irritated yelling and curses thrown your way as you continue to sprint down the streets, towards the Sept of Baelor. 

A young man in front of you pulls his horse to a stop, dismounting as he greets his friend. You push him aside, snatching the reins into your hand as dig your foot into the stirrup, hoisting yourself onto his horse as he attempts to jump in front of you, blocking you. The man quickly leaps to the side as you kick the horse into a gallop, tearing down the streets as you can see the towering building of the Great Sept draws nearer and nearer.

“Move!” you yell, your voice booming through the streets with the loud clatter of hooves, and the commoners around you quickly scatter away from the path. Your mind is racing, a million thoughts spinning rapidly through your head, but one thing is clear, the one thing that is often the only thing clear for you — Margaery is your priority.

You had been tailing Cersei for days following her walk of atonement, listening in on her conversations when you could in order to find any information you could use. 

However, when all was revealed, it was more monstrous than you ever could’ve imagined. 

Tears were prickling your eyes now, the world around you becoming a muted blur as you urge your horse on faster. Cersei has the building orchestrated to explode using the wildfire under the Sept, killing everyone who stands in her way, Margaery included. You know Loras is also in the Sept, and you need to do everything you can to save Olenna’s grandchildren. 

Your horse wrestles against you as you suddenly yank your reins, narrowly pulling to a stop in front of the perimeter of guards that line the road to the Sept. Panic claws at your throat, and you struggle to breath as you demand, “Let me through.”

The guards don’t respond, instead gripping their shields and weapons tighter as the band together, relentless. You urge your horse forwards, but it tosses its head, especially as the guards slam their shields down, forming a wall that spooks your horse. Dismounting, you use all your strength to slam your body against theirs, and you can feel yourself losing your authority and control as you plead, “Please, let me through, you don’t understand, the Sept is-” 

Everyone suddenly freezes as you hear low rumbling, rubble on the street beginning to tremble as everyone around you looks at each other in confusion. Your heart plummets to the floor seconds before you do, and you collapse against the guards as you realize what’s to come.

You’re too late.

“Margaery!” her name rips through your throat, an excruciating sound of heartbreak and grief just as screams fill your ears, the commoners running away from the Sept as you watch it being rapidly swallowed by vibrant green flames. You lunge forward, though you’re held back by the guards who begin ordering everyone to evacuate, but you can’t hear them as you let out another scream. “Margaery, no!”

Sobs overcome your body, which begins to weakly tremble as you sink to your knees. You let out an anguished cry so loud you’re not even sure a human body can handle it, can handle the immense pain and agony that courses through you. Everything in your body feels like it’s collapsing — you struggle to breathe through your heaving lungs, your heart feels as if it’s cracking with each pump. Your limbs feel numb, your entire body succumbed to the grief and heartbreak, and you don’t have the energy to fight.

Her name is still on your lips, still filling your mouth and suffocating you as you manage to tilt your head up to see the Sept burning to ashes. The green flames dance maniacally against the sky, taunting you, forcing you to think about the lives it had just taken. Tears stream faster down your face now, soaking your cheeks and blurring everything around you. Bodies push past you, trampling around you as everyone attempts to flee, but you remain on the cobbled streets, sobbing so hard you surely don’t have any tears left. 

But no matter how hard you cry, the sadness doesn’t leave. It sits on your chest, weighing down on you, crushing against your ribcage. And no matter how many times you scream her name, no matter how much you plead to the cruel Gods that took her away from you, you know that nothing will bring Margaery back.

—

The sailor tips the small sack of coins you wordlessly hold out to him into his hand, eyes widening upon seeing the gold that spills out into his palm. Looking over his shoulder, he quickly drops them back into the bag, slipping it into his tattered jacket pocket as he repeats, “Mereen, you said?”

You nod in response, throat still too raw from endless nights of crying to speak. The sailor beckons for you to step onto his small boat, and you nod gratefully at him, pulling your hood further over your face as you check, one last time, to make sure you’re not being followed.

As the boat pulls away from the docks, you bitterly watch King’s Landing grow smaller and smaller the further you sail away. It has been a week since Margaery’s death, and your grief and melancholy is now mixed with fury, and a strong need for revenge. Despite wanting to slit Cersei’s throat yourself, you decide revenge which will come in the form of Daenerys Targaryen, whom Olenna had talked about the last time you saw her, and whom she will no doubt be with after she receives the tragic news about her grandchildren.

Your hands grip the edge of the boat, tears threatening to fall again as you force yourself to look away, leaving King’s Landing behind you. You need a clear head, you try and tell yourself, need to forget about the city that has now become a giant graveyard for you, a tombstone for the woman you love. 

I will save you. 

As you head into the ship’s chambers, your last words to Margaery echo in your ears. You suck in a sharp breath, sitting on the edge of the worn-down mattress as you bury your face in your hands

I will save you.

“I’m so sorry.” you choke out in a whisper, hoping she can hear you, wherever she may be. You might not have been able to save her, you furiously think, but you’re going to save the Seven Kingdoms from Cersei Lannister, if it’s the last thing you do.

tag list: @chinike / @gofandomsandotherstuff / @emmacata / @pascalisthepunkest / @musicallisto

[freddiesaysalright]

My Man Part VI

A Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader is a Broadway actress currently starring in a West End production of Funny Girl. She’s a widow, thanks to the Vietnam War, but it’s a well-kept secret. She also wants everyone to think she doesn’t care for rock music. She met Roger Taylor when he brought his date backstage. They didn’t start off great, but a party at Freddie’s turned them around. Now, they’re friends. After she was attacked by a director, Roger is there for her. Then she gets a surprise visitor with some wise words for her.

Word Count: 2.6K

Tag List: @bohemian-war @kittygirlno @rebelrebelyourefaceisamess @rockyroadthepastryarchy @goodoldfashionedloverboyy @jennyggggrrr @discodeacygotmorerhythm @x1975sos @slytherinxval @cyndagoaway @doingalrightt @lovvliies @hopefully-aesthetically-pleasing @capsparrowtara @they-call-me-peaches @hyosong @riddikuluslypotter @orchideax  If you’d like to be added, let me know!

Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV  Part V  

Part VI here we go!!!

You spent the next few days at home, recovering. Roger stayed with you all the time, leaving only for band stuff and to shower and change. You thought about telling him he could bring some things over, but you weren’t sure what kind of message that sent.

It was Roger who told you that you absolutely could not go back to work. You agreed only because there wasn’t enough makeup to cover the bruise around your eye. You also couldn’t bear the thought of performing “You Are Woman, I Am Man.” It made your stomach clench to even think about. You gave Gary the excuse that you were ill, and he bought it.

Three days after your assault, you were relaxing with Roger on your couch. You were reading your old copy of Jane Eyre, while he dozed beside you, his arm draped lazily across your shoulders. You’d always loved Jane Eyre. When times were hard, you read her story again. You told yourself that if she could overcome the things she did, you could overcome the trials of your own life.

As you read, you came across a line that struck your heart in a new way: “I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.”

You stopped. Closing the book, you glanced at Roger. He looked at peace as he slept, even with his head back and mouth slightly agape. You watched his chest rise and fall with each breath and remembered when you first met. He was acting so arrogant and you were so annoyed. Now he was at your side in the most dire situation you’d ever faced. How could this have happened? You, who were so sure you would never love again after losing George, were falling in love with Roger Taylor?

He didn’t even really look the same to you. Before - and perhaps still to others - he was the great Roger Taylor, drummer for Queen and womanizer extraordinaire. Now, he was just Roger, who held you close and punched your agent and slept on a lumpy sofa for you. Roger, who was talented and smart and passionate. Roger, a man you respected. A man you loved.

But what could ever come of it? He was also your best friend. Had his feelings changed? Had they ripened into this exciting and painful extra emotion? You weren’t even sure if you wanted an answer.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Roger shook awake and met your eyes. His sleepy face could have melted all the snow in Siberia. Your heart skipped a beat.

“You wanna get that or should I?” he asked, smirking.

You smiled. “I’ll get it.”

You padded over to the door and peered through the peephole. With a gasp and a cry of delight, you yanked the door open and threw your arms around the visitor.

“Jack!” you cried. “Oh my God!”

He laughed and spun you around. When he put you down, you saw Roger at the door. He looked between you and Jack and frowned.

“Roger,” you said. “This is my brother, Jack. Jack, this is Roger Taylor.”

Roger’s face immediately shifted and he smiled. “Oh, nice to meet you.”

He held out his hand and Jack shook it.

“So it’s true,” he said in almost a whisper.

“What’s true?” you asked.

Jack held up a copy of the issue of In Tune about you and Roger. “You’re doing it with the drummer of Queen!” He pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing the top of your head to mess up your hair as much as possible. “I’ve never been so proud of you!”

Roger looked away, grinning like an idiot.

“Get bent!” you laughed, shoving him off. “He’s just a friend.” You felt like you were lying as you said this. “Come inside, will you?”

Jack followed you into the flat, clapping Roger on the shoulder. Roger closed the door behind you. At last, Jack took in your face.

“You look like shit,” he said, playfully.

“Shut up,” you returned, rolling your eyes. “It doesn’t help that you just ruined my perfectly sloppy ponytail.”

“Did you get into another fight?” he asked.

“I’m sorry - another fight?” Roger interjected.

“She had an eventful youth,” Jack said.

Roger raised his eyebrows at you. You ignored him.

“Jack, what are you even doing here?” you wondered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled, but it’s such a long trip.”

“Dear Mother and Father sent me after some of their English connections saw the magazine,” he explained, waving it around again. “I’m supposed to set you straight.”

“What does that mean?” Roger asked.

“It usually means she and I get drunk together and then I lie to our parents about it,” Jack told him. “I was kinda iffy about this one but it was a free trip to London, so I thought - what the hell, I wanna see her show anyway.”

“I haven’t been in the show for a couple days,” you said solemnly. “Bruises look especially bad under stage lights.”

“You’re going to have to explain that,” he replied. “Do I have to beat someone up?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I once tackled you to the ground and made you eat dirt.”

“So?” he returned. “I was like twelve.”

“I was twelve,” you corrected. “You were seventeen.”

Roger snorted and you looked smugly at your brother.

“You know what, that’s fair,” Jack admitted. “But I do still need to know what happened to you.”

You looked down. “Just a really shitty director.”

“Did he try to casting couch you?” he wondered.

You could only nod. Jack pulled you close. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He kissed you on the head. “I love you so much and if I were as strong as you, I’d tackle that asshole to the ground and make him eat dirt.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you clutched his shirt and chuckled. “You’re an idiot and I love you.”

Roger looked at the pair of you incredulously. “You two are giving me emotional whiplash.”

“Sorry, Roger,” you said.

“Oh, are you on a first name basis?” Jack teased, letting you go.

You looked at him and it hit you all of a sudden that you hadn’t called Roger “Mr. Taylor” since Mark’s attack on you. It just came so naturally now.

“It’s a recent development,” Roger said. “I’ve been begging her to stop with the ‘Mr. Taylor’ but she refused.”

“Some habits are hard to unlearn,” Jack said. “But I’m glad she’s opening up.”

The corners of Roger’s mouth turned up, but stopped when he looked at the clock.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, looking at you. “Rehearsal. I’ll come back after, yeah?”

“Please do,” you replied.

He grabbed his things, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and left with a final wave.

“See ya, Roger,” you called.

“Great to meet you!” Jack added as the door closed softly behind Roger.

Jack whipped around and looked expectantly at you.

“What?” you asked, more defensive than you meant to sound.

“You love him,” he said.

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend,” you answered, too quickly.

“You know damn well I meant you’re in love with him,” he said. “Like wanna marry him, fuck his brains out, and have his babies.”

“Jack!”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

You looked deliberately away from him, biting your lip.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “So why aren’t you with him?”

“There’s a lot that goes into answering that,” you began. “You know me. I over-analyze every part of what I’m feeling until I’m ready to explode.”

“Break it down.”

“I still feel guilty about moving on from George.”

“Okay. And?”

“Roger and I are such good friends, I’m worried if I tell him how I feel, he’ll reject me and I’ll lose him.”

“And?”

“I’m still feeling weird about being touched after being groped by that director.”

“And?”

“That’s it,” you said.

“Liar,” he accused.

Glowering at him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s true.”

“There’s something else.”

You groaned.

“Just tell me!” he insisted.

“I’m…” you trailed off, unsure how to word it. “I’m afraid that I...I won’t be able to please him...y’know...in that way.”

“Are you serious?” Jack returned.

“Yes!” you cried. “I’ve been with one person ever in my life, and I was married to him. Roger Taylor has been with - I dunno - every woman in London. And you should see the women he takes out, Jack. They’re head-turningly beautiful women.”

“Well, according to this bullshit magazine, he hasn’t been out with anyone since you eloped,” he said.

“We haven’t eloped,” you said.

“Anyway,” he began. “I should tell you that your sexual prowess probably doesn’t matter to him. And you’re every bit as beautiful as any of the girls he’s dated.”

“You haven’t seen them.”

“I don’t need to. Remember my first trip home from college? I brought back my roommate and he fell in love with you?”

“What?” you returned.

“God, I was so pissed too because I was convinced he was gay. Then we were up late at night talking, and he said you were so beautiful and all this other crap until he fucking cried.”

You giggled. “I’m sorry I ruined that for you.”

“So yeah, you’re pretty, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed.

“And I do think Roger returns your feelings,” he continued. He held up the picture of you on the magazine. “I mean, look at his face here.”

You did. Roger was laughing as he looked at you in the photo. His arm was around your waist to have you near him. His eyes shone like the moon. Your expression was much the same.

“He looked like that every time he looked at you,” Jack said. “That’s how you look at the love of your life.”

Your face fell at those words.

“I know you feel guilty about George,” he said, not needing an explanation. “I loved him too and I know you risked everything for him. But he loved you so much. He’d never want you to stop living your life on his account.”

“I know,” you said.

“And honestly, I think he’d be damn proud of you for getting Roger Taylor,” he joked.

“I kinda think so too!”

You laughed together and for a moment you felt like you were a teenager again. Joking around with your big brother and the whole world ahead of you. You would never have guessed you would end up where you were.

“And as for the physical stuff after being hurt by that director,” he continued, serious now. “That’s just gonna take time. But I have a feeling that whenever you’re ready, Roger’s gonna be there for you.”

“You got all of that just from the way he looks at me?” you asked.

“It says a lot,” he said with a shrug.

“Thanks, Jack,” you replied. “I’m so glad you’re here to listen to my crazy.”

“What are gay big brothers for?”

When Roger returned that evening, you were nursing a glass of wine. You and Jack had killed a bottle while catching up before he returned to his hotel room. Now, you were back to your book. Roger smiled as he entered your living room.

“Hey,” he said. “Your brother clear off?”

“He went to his hotel room,” you said. “But he’s gonna be here for a week at least. He wants to see me in the show before he goes.”

“Are you ready for that?” he wondered, taking a seat.

You draped your legs across his lap. He gave them a gentle pat with his warm hands.

“I think I will be,” you assured him. “Nothing lifts my spirits like being on stage.”

“I admire your resilience,” he said.

You stared at him for a moment while he toyed with the fluff on your socks. You were suddenly overcome with affection for him. You smiled to yourself, and resumed comfortable silence. Roger did eventually get up to pour himself a glass of wine and then switched on the TV. You loved just existing in the same room with him.

That night, you awoke from a deep sleep from the noises in the living room. Thinking Roger had just left the TV on, you got up and headed out to switch it off. When you emerged from your bedroom, you were horrified to see the noises were coming from Roger. He was moaning, covered in sweat, and thrashing on the couch. You recognized this from the nights when George was home from Vietnam. Roger was having a nightmare. A PTSD nightmare.

You flew to his side, calling his name softly so you wouldn’t startle him. You pressed your hand onto his shoulder, and you felt how clammy his skin was. Gently, you rubbed up and down his arm until his movements slowed. He twitched away from you a few times, and you would back off for a moment before trying again.

“Roger,” you said, a little louder now.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked at you. For a split second, he moved away, as if he didn’t recognize you. Clarity swept over him and his hand shot toward you to cling to a bit of your nightgown. His chest heaved with his labored breathing, so you placed your hand over it. You could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer.

“I’m here, Rog,” you said, cupping his face with your other hand. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

He tried to sit up, but you didn’t let him.

“Easy,” you soothed. “Just rest now, my darling.”

His breathing was still shallow, so you inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

“Can you do this with me, Rog?” you requested. “Come on, deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and followed your lead. You kept a hand on his chest to feel his pulse as you settled him. His grip on your clothing relaxed as well.

“Are you alright?” you asked, when he opened his eyes again.

“Yeah...just a stupid dream,” he muttered.

“It looked pretty serious to me,” you said.

“S’nothing,” he insisted.

You didn’t answer and you shifted your body so that you were laying beside him. Without prompting, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he hooked an arm around your waist. You dragged your nails gently across his back and hummed absentmindedly.

“Sing something for me,” he said.

“What would you like to hear?” you asked.

“Anything,” he told you.

You cleared your throat and began the first song that came to mind.

“Somewhere over rainbow, way up high,” you began.

He pulled his head back and looked so intensely at you, it took your breath away.

“How’d you know?” he wondered.

“What?”

“That’s the song my mum…” he trailed off. “After my dad was...extra rough, I guess. She sang that for us.”

You realized that must have been what he was dreaming. You ached with sympathy.

“You want me to stop?” you offered.

“No,” he said, returning his head to your shoulder. “No, don’t stop.”  

“There’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby…”

As you sang, you considered everything you discussed with Jack, and realized he was right. What you and Roger had was special. You cared about one another in a way that was deeper than bones. It was your souls that spoke to each other. The only thing left to know was who was going to act on it first.

If happy little bluebirds fly

Beyond the rainbow

Why, oh why can’t I?

[aaron-rdr2]

What is love? (Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more)

Pairing: Bill Williamson & Female Oc

Rating: General audience

-

Amber felt in love with Bill Williamson two months ago. She is riding with Dutch's gang for one year now. And she knows by now that Bill has no easy life. He's drunk almost every day and is angry. She's a bit afraid of him. He's one head taller than she, and he's heavie. But she likes that he's a big guy. He's like a wild bear. She knows that he don't know how to love someone. That he has never been loved by a woman. He was always rejected by them.

Even the girl in camp ignore his flirting. It seems like he needs a hug and some kisses. But she knows too, that he isn't used to it. Amber sits on a big rock on the cliff a bit outside from camp. It's night. Some people are sleeping, the others are at the camp fire and one is on guard duty. Suddenly a cold wind blow, and give Amber goosebumps. She start to freeze. The wind comes back then and there. But she won't go back yet. She likes the view.

Suddenly she hear heavy steps coming closer. It can only be Bill. But why should he?

,,May I?" Suddenly Bill says.

He looks to the free spot on the big rock. Jeanny only nods. Then she takes in the view again. The butterfly's in her stomach start to go crazy again, and her heart start to beat faster. Bill sit down next to hear. But with a little distance to her. Then another wind blows, and she start to shake from the sudden cold. Bill takes of his huge and heavy leather coat, and place it care fully on Amber's shoulders. She slips her arms trough. But  the arms are to long. It's hiding her hands. But it's so warm, and it smells like Bill. And it smells not like whisky or dirt, it smells surprisingly good.

,,Thank you Mr. Williamson."

,,Just cal me Bill. And no worries." He say shy.

He's shy? Maybe he's sweet on her too? Both sit there in silence for a while. Bill wear one of his thick and warm flannel shirts. So the cold doesn't bother him.

Amber POV

Bill can be nice if he want. But he seems tense.

,,All good?" I ask.

,,Y-yes." He stutters.

,,You sure?"

,,No." He sighs.

Bill needs more love. Maybe he isn't as bad as everybody think in terms of love.

,,You can tell me everything. I'm not going to tell anyone." I say honest.

My heart beats so fast, and the butterfly's in my stomach go crazy. I'm afraid that he maybe hear my hammering heart. It feels like it break free in every second.

,,I appreciate it. I do. You're the first woman wich is not shoving me away, or running away from me." He Sighs.

,,Why should I? I mean I admit that I'm a bit afraid of you, but after all I've seen, I still think there's another side of you. A happy one, next to that dark side you always show." I whisper.

,,That m-means a lot to me. Thank you." He stutters.

,,No worries."

And without thinking I just hug him. I mean without hands it's a bit difficult. But I made it. But soon as I hug him from the side, he freez and panic fill his body. Shit! What I've done. I let go immideatly of him. Then I'm slipping a little further away from him, than we were before.

,,I'm so s-sorry Bill! I-I didn't do t-that on purpose." I stutter.

Now I'm even more afraid of him. I start to shake. But not from the cold. I start to shake because of fear. He looks at me. I can't interpret his facial expression. I look sad and afraid to the ground.

,,Amber. It's alright. I'm not used to it. That's alright. Don't be afraid. I'm sorry." He says panic in his voice.

,,Can you do that again pleas?" He asks shy.

I look at him confused. He blushed. Bill actually blushed. I nod unsure. Then I get close to him again, and hug him. First he freeze again. But then he shyly and carefully lay his arms on my small and skinny back. I'm very thin. But next to him, I'm a stroke in the landscape. He's so soft. He's afraid to hurt me. I never expected him to be so soft.

,,I love you." He suddenly whisper.

I freeze. And he panic once again. He immediately separate from me and get up. He turn arround and start walking. I stand up, and turn arround. I see him walking.

,,Bill wait!" I shout.

But he keeps walking.

,,I love you too!" I say loud enough that only he can hear it.

He still don't turn arround or stoop. I fall to my knees crying. A loud sob left my mouth. He seems to hear it. But he don't stop. He dissappear in his tent. I start to cry more. I must have fallen asleep. Outside next to the stone on the grass in the cold. Luckily, I'm wearing Bill's coat, otherwise I'd be sick now.

,,Amber?" I suddenly hear a familiar soothing voice.

,,Amber!" The voice calls louder.

Then I open my eyes, the sun shines bright. And as look over to Hosea, I can see that he has panic in his eyes. But his facial expression soften relieved, when he sees that I am awake. I slowly get up.

,,What happend dear?" He asks worried.

We sit down on the stone where Bill and I sat yesterday. Then I tell him everything. Meanwhile I startet to cry again. Hosea and I don't notice Bill, who iis standing behind us all the time.

,,And then I must have fall asleep on the ground." I end my declaration.

,,I'm sorry for you." He whispers.

,,It's alright." I answer.

And suddenly someone is clearing his throat behind us. We both turn arround, and see Bill. Hosea get up, say goodbye to me, and leave. Bill stand there like a hurt puppy, wich is going to get the biggest trouble of his life. He looks sad to the ground. It hurts to see him do hurt.

,,Bill?" I ask.

,,I'm so sorry Amber. I'm not good at love. I don't know what love is, I only know how it feels to be loved, and get pushed away from the person I felt in love." He says sad.

I can see tears in his eyes. Poor Bill.

,,I love you. I really do. I would like to show you what it is like to be loved. If you let me." I whisper afraid.

,,That would be wonderful." He says.

Then our eyes meet for the first time science yesterday. I slowly get up, and walk towards him. But I stop unsure.

,,May I kiss you?" I ask.

He nods.

,,But don't expect to much from me." He blush.

I smile at him. Then I get on tiptoes and lay my lips softly on his. His beard is surprisingly soft and clean. It tickles a bit, but not in a bad way. He kiss back shyly after a few seconds. Then we separate. But my arms are still around his neck. And his softly layon my hips now.

,,I love you baby." I whisper.

,,I l-love you to a-angel." He whispers unsure.

,,That's it." I smile.

Then I kiss him again. This time he kiss back right away. In me is a firework of feelings. It can only be better from now on. I will slow him a live of love, trust and hope.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

confessions and constellations [2/3]

Summary: AJ finds a crumpled up piece of paper with a poem on it. Not understanding what it means, he shows it to Clem. It seems that the two of them have a mystery on their hands. They know who wrote it, but… who is the poem about?

Preview: 

Again and again, he tries to write, tries to push those negative thoughts away. Hell, he even takes a break from the poetry format and just jots down his feelings. 

When it's just the two of us, you make me feel like I have a purpose here. Suddenly, survival isn't just the one and only goal day to day. Making you smile feels just as important as living does. I want to stay up late with you and talk and laugh and hold hands and look at the stars and make up stories about each of them. Give them all names and stupid voices until the sun comes up and they fade away. 

I know I’ll never tell you any of this. I’ll never tell you how much you’ve grown to mean to me over all these years. You’ve always been there in the corner of my eyes and now you’re all I dream about. 

I want 

Aasim sighs.

I want you.

How pathetic. 

Warnings: Aasim gets hurt in more ways than one. AJ’s an awful detective but he’s trying his best. Mitch pukes.

Author’s Note: This one’s pretty long. Thanks to everyone who read the first part! I really appreciate it! Maybe we’ll find out who the poem’s about. spoiler alert: we don’t not until the final part  

Part I | Part II  | Part III

---

The bright warmth shining in through his window is deceptive. When Aasim tugs the heavy blanket off himself and kicks it to the floor, the cool air immediately clings to any free skin. He feels goosebumps rise along his neck. 

He had another dream last night. 

In his mind, the images replay over and over again. He memorizes as much as he can. He flips over onto his side and yanks open his desk drawer to pull out one of his many notebooks. This one is red with a torn cover and some water damage on the bottom half. Drowsily, he flips to the next blank page and pulls the cap of his pen off with his teeth.

He jots down the little details before they flee his memory forever. They’re scattered, barely sentences.

the moon was enormous / not white? it was gold like the sun but cold gold/cold

fireflies instead of stars

in a city? we were on top of this huge building  lots of windows

we kissed again

He fills up the page before tossing it onto his desk. He lays back to stare up at the ceiling. 

It’s another day of survival. He’s to go check the traps and hunt after breakfast. Then, it’s back to work on his poetry...

Fuck.

Aasim groans, flinging his arm over his eyes. 

He really thought he had something last night, he really did. But, after reading back what he wrote it just seemed so... bad? He could never read something like that out loud and expect to be taken seriously. No way in hell. 

And, after he crumpled the paper up, it occurred to him once again that the whole poetry thing might be a huge waste of time and energy.

Being in love is a huge waste of time and energy.

It’s not something that’s going to help him survive day to day, it’s not going to feed him at night, and it’s not going to guarantee a roof over his head. Being in love, or rather, having this stupid, intense, mind-numbing crush wasn’t doing anything good for him. If anything, it’s just eating away at him, exhausting both his mind and his body, wasting his time. 

And for what?

For some fantasy of love? Of being loved? Of not waking up alone and having someone there to kiss him and hold him and just... be there?

That’s all it is: a fantasy. A dream. Just like the ones he has almost every night. 

He could continue with his plan, sure. Write the poem, write the note, confess with the poem, huge romantic moon, and... 

... and have one of two outcomes:

Rejection. Eternal heartbreak. Death.

Acceptance. Temporary happiness... Death. 

Because that’s all it ever ends with, right?

Aasim rises from the bed and moves about his room, continuing with his morning routine to distract himself with his thoughts. 

He’d try his hand at poetry again. 

But, he knows the truth.

Those poems will never be heard by anyone but him.

“Live in your fantasy,” he mumbles to the cold, empty room.

---

AJ wouldn’t stop talking about the poem.

“I like the part about the stars showering,” he says. “Like, they’re falling to the ground? Can you imagine if all the stars really fell like that?”

Clem smiles. “It’d be quite the sight, wouldn’t it?”

AJ nods. “But,” he holds up the paper, “it couldn’t compare to his crush?”

“So he says.”

Clem had read the poem out loud twice this morning, and each time it made her feel a little more guilty. And a little afraid. What if Aasim happened to walk by and hear them in their room? Not that Aasim ever comes this way, but still. 

“So!” AJ rubs his hands together, “where should we start?”

Clem replies, “We should narrow down the suspects.”

“Sus... sussspects?”

“Like, who we think it could possibly be.”

“Well, it’s not me,” AJ says firmly.

“And it’s not me,” Clem agrees. “And, I think it’s safe to cross off Tenn and Willy, too.”

“And Rosie,” AJ adds. 

Clem laughs. “Okay, so who do we have left?”

AJ starts counting on his fingers, “Marlon, Violet, Louis...”

“Mitch and Ruby.”

“Mitch, Ruby, um, Brody, Omar...”

Clem says, “I think that’s it.”

“Here,” AJ pulls a wrinkled piece of drawing paper off his desk and a crayon. “Write all the suspects down!”

Marlon Violet Louis Brody Ruby Omar Mitch

“There,” she says.

“So, we gotta see if any of them have freckles, right?” 

Clem nods. “That’ll help narrow it down.”

Honestly, she wasn’t sure what to expect. She hadn’t really paid much attention to the tiny details of anyone’s faces.

Well, with one exception-

AJ hurries to the door. 

“Hold it, goofball!”

“Clem,” AJ pouts.

“What are the rules?” she says, holding out her hand. AJ reluctantly gives her back the poem.

“You keep the poem,” he mumbles.

“And?”

“And never ever tell Aasim.”

“Right, and don’t tell anyone else,” she pockets both the poem and the list of suspects and nudges him with a smirk, “think of it like we’re undercover detectives. No one can know what we’re investigating.”

AJ grins. “Got it!”  

---

AJ’s... not very subtle.

At all.

The second they get outside, his narrowed eyes are darting from one person to the other. He’s tense, ready to strike at any moment. 

It’s very obvious that something’s up.

Clem tries to act normal as the two approach Violet. 

“Morning, Vi,” Clem greets. 

Violet yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “Good morning, I guess. Little cold, though.”

“Seems like summer’s over.”

“Awesome,” Violet sighs. She turns to smile at AJ but is surprised by his overly intense stare.

“Um...?” she quirks a brow. “Are you alright, AJ?”

“Fine!” AJ takes a step towards her. “Hmmm...” 

Clem forces an awkward laugh, placing her hand on AJ’s shoulder and pulling him back. He then relaxes, looking up at clem and shaking his head, mouthing quietly, “No freckles.”

Violet shoots Clem a puzzled look. 

“AJ’s paranoid,” Clem lies. “Had a, uh, bad dream that one of us is... secretly a robot.”

“Huh?” AJ frowns. Clem pinches him. “Oh! Yeah! Right! Robots!”

“A robot?” Violet scoffs. “Well, hate to disappoint, but I’m human. Though, I’d check up on Marlon.” She smirks, leaning forward and whispering loudly, “Only a machine would think that hair looks cool.”

Clem let out a sigh of relief. Even if Violet doesn’t completely believe them, at least she’s playing along. 

“Marlon...?” AJ whips around to search for Marlon. He spots him talking with Brody over by the gates. Before Clem can stop him, he’s wandering over to them. 

When he’s out of earshot, Violet says, “Robots, hm?”

“Yeah,” Clem sighs. “Robots.”

“Where’d he learn about robots from?”

“An old book we used to read together.”

“Right...” Violet crosses her arms. “You know, you can talk to me if something’s going on, right?”

Shit.

“Are you sure?” Clem jokes. “You could be a robot trying to trick me into telling you all my secrets.”

“Could be.”

They both watch as AJ stands close to Marlon, pointing up at his face. Marlon’s expression is surprised, and, if Clem’s guessing right, a little offended. Brody chuckles beside them as AJ’s shoulders fall, disappointed. 

“Well, guess I should go find Tenn,” Violet says. “Don’t want him to miss breakfast. Talk to you later?” 

“Sure,” Clem smiles. 

“Have fun finding your ‘robot.’“

Clem nervously waves as her friend walks off. 

AJ sulks back over to her, staring down at his feet. “It’s not Marlon,” AJ sighs. “He doesn’t have freckles, he has pimples,” AJ looks away, a little embarrassed, “there’s a difference, I guess.”

“Big difference,” Clem chuckles. “What about Brody?”

“Nope.”

Clem pulls the list out of her pocket. 

Marlon Violet Louis Brody Ruby Omar Mitch 

“Three down.” 

She was positive even before they made the list that Violet wasn’t the one. Sure, she and Aasim got along fine, from what she’s seen, but Clem couldn’t imagine Aasim falling for someone like Violet. 

Or Marlon, for that matter. After all, the two of them were constantly fighting about the safe-zone, among other things. 

And Brody, well, Clem couldn’t think of a time where she saw Aasim talking with her long enough for any real connection. So, that made sense. 

“Look!” AJ points towards the doors where Mitch and Willy are coming out.

Immediately, Clem notices that something’s off with Mitch. He’s hunched over, hand on his stomach and his feet dragging in the dirt. Willy follows him close behind, clearly panicked. 

“Suspect!” AJ whispers, already running over there. 

“Wait, AJ- ugh!” Clem shoves the list into her jacket and follows. 

Mitch seats himself at the table before flopping over, motionless. 

“Mitch...?” Willy asks. He pokes the top of Mitch’s head. “Are you dying?”

“Probably,” groans Mitch. 

AJ sits next to Willy. “What wrong with him?” he asks. 

“I don’t know!” Willy cries. “I found him like this!”

AJ shakes Mitch’s shoulder. “Hey, let me see your face!”

So subtle.

Mitch yanks his head up to stare blankly at AJ, who begins inspecting ever part of Mitch’s face. 

AJ pokes his cheek. “Your face is dirty.” 

Mitch’s face meets the wooden table with a loud thud and a pained groan.

“Well, well...” Omar’s voice rings behind them. Mitch visibly tenses. “Mitch, what’s wrong?”

“You fuck off, right now.”

“Could it be that you have a stomach ache?”

“No-ugh!” Mitch curls up on himself some more. 

Omar shakes his head, placing a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “Now, what could you have eaten that would make you sick like this?”

“I hate you,” snarls Mitch.

“Could it be, oh, I don’t know, that moldy chunk of beef jerky that I warned you repeatedly to not eat?”

Mitch snaps up, glaring at Omar’s smug face. “I don’t have a stomach ache!” he exclaims. “I feel fucking fantastic! Best I’ve felt in weeks!”

“Oh, really,” Omar says flatly.

“I feel so good I could fight a fucking bear.”

“A bear? Well, in that case,” Omar gestures over to where breakfast is cooking, “I guess you’ll need an extra helping of rabbit so you can be extra strong for that bear-”

Omar doesn’t get to finish. Mitch is up and running back towards the trees with a hand over his mouth. Clem doesn’t dare look, but oh, she can hear everything.

Omar cringes. “Told him not to eat it.”

“Man...” Willy frowns. “He gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Omar smiles. “He’ll feel better once it’s all out. I brought out a water bottle for him, too. He’s gonna need to hydrate after all that.”

Willy leaves the table to run over to Mitch. They watch as Willy pats the vomiting boy’s back. 

AJ leans over and whispers to Clem, “It’s not Mitch. No freckles, just dirt.”

Clem nods. She figured. Mitch doesn’t seem like Aasim’s type, anyway. Although, that would’ve been an interesting turn of events. What a couple they’d turn out to be. 

Marlon Violet Louis Brody Ruby Omar Mitch 

More disgusting dry heaving sounds can be heard. 

Omar tsks before turning to Clem. “Breakfast’ll be done soon. Wanna do me a favor?”

“Uh, sure?” She really hopes it doesn’t involve cooking with him. She’d never do that again. 

“I’m gonna make up a plate for Louis. When you’re done eating, wanna take it up to him?”

AJ jumps up. “Yes!” 

“Great,” Omar seems pleased with AJ’s enthusiasm and doesn’t notice the boy’s inconspicuous inspection of his face. “Figured he’d want something. He didn’t look too good this morning.”

Clem’s brows furrow. “Like Mitch, or...?”

“Like he was sleep walkin’ with Marlon dragging him by his ear.”

“That good, huh?”

“Yeah,” Omar chuckles. “I made him some coffee. Hopefully, he’s perked up by now.”

Omar leaves them to check on the food. 

Clem sighs. “It’s not Omar,” she whispers.

AJ shakes his head. “Not a single dot.”

Marlon Violet Louis Brody Ruby Omar Mitch 

She frowns. “That leaves us with two suspects.” 

“Louis and Ruby,” AJ says. He’s anxious, Clem can tell. “Which one do you think it is?”

“...I don’t know.”

They grab their breakfast and sit down. Clem has to tell him several times to slow down before he chokes, and that even if he does finish, he’d have to wait until she’s finished, as well. 

While he wasn’t the most patient of them all, Clem couldn’t say she didn’t understand. Honestly, she was just as anxious to see Louis. 

Though, that does bring up a problem, one that she’d been ignoring. 

She knows for an absolute fact that Louis has freckles. 

She knows this because she’s spent plenty of time staring at his face. 

She also knows that Louis and Aasim are almost always paired up to go hunting. 

Louis and Aasim talk. 

A lot. 

It’s not impossible that Aasim could have feelings for Louis, and it’s definitely not impossible that the poem could be about him. 

But... it’s also totally possible for the poem to be about the other remaining person on her list. 

Ruby.

Clem can’t remember if she has freckles or not. But, if she does...

This might mean they need to find a new clue. 

---

He’s not hungry, he decides. 

Aasim finds himself back in bed with his head tucked under the pillow and the blanket wrapped around his body. 

He decides, for today, that he doesn’t want to exist.

He just wants to sleep.

He’ll exist again tomorrow. 

But, not today.

He forces himself to count sheep. He pictures them jumping over a white picket fence. One, two, three...

He counts so that he doesn’t think of anything else. 

Four, five, six...

Nothing but sheep.

And a knock on his door. 

“Aasim?” Marlon’s voice calls. “You in there?”

He remains silent, unmoving.

“C’mon, dude! Breakfast’s ready!”

No.

“Remember, you and Louis got hunting duty today!”

No.

The doorknob wiggles and his stomach drops. He can hear Marlon step in. 

“Aasim?”

“I’m sick,” he lies unconvincingly.

“Yeah, me too, buddy. Now, get your ass up.”

Ugh.

 ---

When Clem turns around with the food in her hand, she sees AJ already climbing up the ladder to meet Louis. She thanks Omar and quickly follows after him. 

“Louis!” She hears AJ enthusiastically greet.

“Hm? Oh, hey, little dude.” Louis isn’t so excited. His voice is deeper than usual and weirdly muffled.

Clem balances the food in one hand and cautiously climbs the ladder. 

She nearly snorts at the sight before her. 

Louis is sitting on his chair wrapped with a heavy, tattered blanket over his head and shoulders, covering his mouth and nose, only revealing his eyes. Said eyes are half-lidded and unfocused. One hand with an empty cup sticks out from the mess of blanket. 

Clearly, this is the perfect guy for lookout duty.

AJ takes the empty cup away from him and sets it aside. “You’re still tired?” he asks. “But, you had coffee. That always wakes me up.”

“Bean juice is just a big, fat lie,” Louis mumbles. “A conspiracy, I say.”

Clem approaches him with a smile and offers him the plate. It takes him a few blinks to register that it’s her. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she teases. 

“And, suddenly, I don’t feel like death anymore.” Louis sits up and shrugs the blanket off down to his waist. He takes the plate offered to him and inhales the scent. “Never before has rabbit ever looked so divine,” he offers her a lazy grin, “thank you.” He scoots over, patting the place beside him.

Clem glances away as she feels her lips twitch and curl, but before she can move to sit, AJ lets out a huge gasp. When Clem looks back at them, AJ’s face is inches apart from Louis’. This seems to snap Louis awake as he nearly drops his plate at the sudden closeness.

“Well, uhm, hello, AJ?”

“You have freckles!” AJ points an accusatory finger in Louis’ face, nearly poking him in the eye. “Clem! Louis has freckles!”

Heat rushes through her body and pools in her cheeks.

“AJ!”

AJ pulls back, covering his mouth with both hands to hide his growing smile. He points at Louis again, bouncing with excitement. 

Clem is left there, frozen, unsure of what to say. Louis’ wide eyes hold many questions.

“Uh, yes? I’m aware?" Louis says. "Am I missing something here? I think I’m missing something,” he says. 

“It’s you! You’re-”

“The robot!” Clem blurts out. “Yep, Louis is the robot! Good job, AJ!”

“...What?” Poor Louis never looked so confused. 

From the corner of her eye, she notices AJ’s expression drop, turning into something close to a mixture of embarrassment and guilt. He covers his mouth again. Clem can tell he’s mentally kicking himself for almost exposing their secret. 

Louis eyes the two of them. “...I’m sorry, but I must be in a dream or something. Is that what this is? I fell asleep on watch and now I’m a robot? That’s the only explanation. Also, how are my freckles a sign of my being a robot?“ 

“Well, uh-” Clem bites her lip. “It’s just, AJ had a dream last night that one of us is secretly a robot, and that robot could've had freckles, so he’s a little paranoid,” she lies once again. 

AJ’s arms fall loose at his sides. “Yeah.”

“One of us is actually a robot, huh?” Louis thinks about this as he chews his food. “My money’s on Omar. How else is he able to take a rabbit and make it taste good? Only a machine could do that. Except, I don't think Omar has freckles."

"He doesn't," AJ sighs.

"Then again...” Louis frowns, “what if I am the robot, but I just don’t know? Like, I’ve been programmed to think I’m human when really I’m just a bunch of wires and buttons.”

Clem didn’t know what she expected really, but she’s not at all surprised that Louis would be taking this idea personally. 

“That would explain that charming sense of humor of yours,” she smirks.

“Hey!”

She takes a spot beside him, pushing aside the blankets. She tosses the binoculars over to AJ to keep him busy.  “Anyway, never seen you like this before,” she changes the subject. 

Louis readjusts the blanket so that it’s laying over both their laps. “Not exactly a morning person,” he admits. “Or a bean juice person.”

“You gonna be okay to go hunting?”

“Are you coming along?”

“I can.”

“Then I’m more than okay,” he grins, winking at her. She rolls her eyes and turns away to hide her own smile. 

“Who’re you hunting with?” AJ asks. 

“Who else?” Louis snorts. “Aasim and I are the dream team hunters.”

“Aasim,” AJ repeats slowly. “I like Aasim. He’s nice.”

Clem shoots him a warning look. 

But, AJ ignores her. “You like Aasim, too, right Louis?”

Clem has to refrain from smacking her forehead.

“When he’s not being a sourpuss or a buzzkill, sure. Aasim can actually be really cool,” Louis replies, completely oblivious to what’s being insinuated. “And, believe it or not, he does have a sense of humor. Sometimes.”

“So, you guys are friends?” AJ pries.

 And Clem hasn't felt this frustrated in a while.

Holy shit. 

---

After Marlon barged into his room and forced him out of bed for a second time that morning, Aasim figured counting sheep wasn't written in his fate today. So, up he was and at his desk. His notebook lays open, almost mocking him with the number of scribbles and doodled hearts. 

Again and again, he tries to write, tries to push those negative thoughts away. But still, more paper is wasted as he tears pages out and crumples them up. 

Hell, he even takes a break from the poetry format and just jots down his feelings. 

When it's just the two of us, you make me feel like I have a purpose here. Suddenly, survival isn't just the one and only goal day to day. Making you smile feels just as important as living does. I want to stay up late with you and talk and laugh and hold hands and look at the stars and make up stories about each of them. Give them all names and stupid voices until the sun comes up and they fade away. 

I know I’ll never tell you any of this. I’ll never tell you how much you’ve grown to mean to me over all these years. You’ve always been there in the corner of my eyes and now you’re all I dream about. 

I want 

Aasim sighs.

I want you.

How pathetic. 

---

"Louis? You up there?" 

Clem looks over the side to see Ruby standing there with her hands on her hips. She waves down at the redheaded girl. "Morning, Ruby!"

"Mornin' Clem! Lou with ya?"

"Doc! You've come to take my place!" Louis gleefully jumps up. He scarfs the last bite of his breakfast and gathers his blanket before motioning towards the ladder. "Ladies first-"

AJ hurries past them both and moves down the ladder.

"Or small child first, whatever."

Clem rolls her eyes, quickly going down to stop AJ from getting too close and personal with Ruby. She’s the only other person on their list, which meant that if she didn't have freckles, then the poem was definitely about Louis. 

Mystery solved, she thought bitterly. 

But, when she gets down there, she grows worried. AJ's staring up at Ruby.

"Uh-oh," AJ whispers. 

"Somethin' wrong, AJ?" Ruby asks. 

AJ shakes his head and turns around. He, not so subtly, points at Ruby with a panicked look. 

She hears Louis huff from behind. “It’s super uneventful out there. Not a single member of the smelly patrol to report,” he says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear my bed calling-”

“No, you don’t!” Marlon calls over to them, shooting Louis a stern look. “You and Aasim are hunting today!”

“If that’s true then where is he?”

Marlon approaches them. 

“He slept in this morning, he’ll be out soon.”

“Slept in?” asks Ruby. “Doesn’t sound like him. Is he sick, too?”

“No,” Marlon answers shortly. He turns back to Louis. “In the meantime, get ready. And,” Marlon points at him, “don’t be late.”

Louis holds his hands up, dropping the blanket as a result. “Excuse me? I’m ready to go, it’s Aasim who’s late. Guess I’ll just have to take Clem instead.”

“Nope,” Marlon shakes his head. 

“Why?” Clem questions. 

“Need’ja to help Violet and Brody today. They’ve, uh, kind of been on one lately. If you could try and keep the peace, then maybe they could get some actual fishing done, yeah?”

She’s not happy about it, but gathering from Marlon’s tired expression, it’s been a hell of a morning for him. Best not to argue. 

“Alright, I’ll find Vi, then.”

“Thanks.”

Louis sighs, disappointed. 

“Don’t look so down,” scolds Ruby. “Aasim can’t do all that on his own.”

“Yeah, I know-”

Clem feels AJ tug on her sleeve, pulling her aside. 

“Clem,” he whispers, “Ruby has freckles, too!”

“I noticed.”

“So, which one is it?”

“I have no clue.”

AJ reaches into her jacket pocket. “Maybe we should read it again-”

“AJ!” She looks around and smacks his hand away. “Not here.” 

“But, Clem!”

“I, ugh, I know you’re curious AJ, but now is not the time. We’ll talk about it later. Don’t let it bother you, and don’t say anything while I’m gone.”

“Okay...” AJ pouts. When Clem’s not looking, AJ sneaks the balled up paper in his fist into his pocket. 

---

The air isn't as cold now as the two boys walk through the woods. Louis is close and unaware of how many times he keeps knocking shoulders with him, a stupid grin stuck on his face as he hums quietly to himself. He carries Chairles up on his shoulder and inhales the forest scent deeply. Since they left the gates, he hasn't shut up. Aasim's short with him, barely giving any real responses. 

He can't help it, he just... feels so shitty. 

He doesn't know why. He felt fine yesterday until bedtime came, and he had a pleasant dream, but... once his thoughts really get the best of him, it's like a switch is flipped and the floodgates of constant annoyance and agitation are opened. 

They check the closest traps and find them untouched. 

After the third trap, Aasim notices his hand starting to ache. His grip on the bow is tight, stiff. He shifts it to the other hand to stretch out his fingers. 

His mind keeps wandering back to the page he wrote before they left, the one where he jotted down all his feelings then proceeded to rip it to shreds.

Because, lately, it seems like everything he writes is just absolute garbage.

"So," Louis starts, "if you could have any superpower in the world, what would it be?"

Aasim frowns. He's not playing this game. “No.”

"The power of 'No,'" Louis thinks about this, "I wouldn't have picked it myself, but it does seem fitting to someone like you."

Aasim tries his best to ignore him.

"Me? I'd have the power to breathe underwater.” Louis sighs then. “I wish Clem could have come with us.”

Of course, he does.

“Yeah,” replies Aasim flatly. “She’d actually help out.”

“Hey, I help. I’m here, aren’t I? In fact, I was ready before you!” Louis protests. “I get things done. Just because I have a different way of doing things then you doesn't mean I'm the slacker here."

Aasim says nothing. He continues to walk until a hand rests on his shoulder, stopping him. 

“Alright, grumpy pants, what’s up?”

Aasim shrugs out of his grip and keeps moving. This earns him an elbow to the arm. 

“Yoo-hoo, Aasim?” Louis flashes a big grin. “You’ve been like this since we left. Seriously, you look down-”

“Can you just,” Aasim snaps, “shut up. Please.”

Louis stops.  He cocks his head, studying Aasim’s disgruntled face with worry. “Dude, are you okay?” he asks. “You’re not usually-”

“No, I’m not okay." Aasim shoves him, hard. "I’m sick of hearing you talk. Just shut up and do what you’re supposed to.” Aasim turns and walks away, still fuming, without another word.

Louis watches him, stunned, hurt.  He rubs at the freshly sore part of his chest where Aasim pushed him and follows at a distance. 

There aren’t many walkers wandering about. Aasim manages to shoot two rabbits, and they find another one caught in a trap.

Louis says nothing the entire time.

Aasim can feel how heavy the air is between them, and he hates it. 

Fucking hell, he hates it. 

They come across a walker caught in a trap. It’s missing an arm and a jaw. There’s an arrow sticking out of its shoulder. Skin slides down its bones with every movement. 

Louis makes no jokes. He doesn’t toy with the monster. He just takes Chairles, hits the walker twice, successfully killing it, and silently cuts it down while Aasim watches. 

The body lands heavy in the dirt. Aasim sets his bow against the tree and grabs the walkers ankles and drags him away. Just as he’s about the reach some bushes, the body gets caught on something. 

“Shit,” he mumbles. He hears the sounds of footsteps and Louis’ grunt as he resets the trap. He unhooks the walker's shirt from a rock protruding from the ground. His elbow brushes against the arrow, so he yanks it out. It wasn’t very deep with only the arrowhead being buried within the rotten flesh. Aasim uses his shirt to clean it off, spitting on it to help polish it. He hears a raspy growl from behind him. 

Aasim whips around, losing his balance as the new walker stumbles towards him, 

“Ah!” Aasim’s hands fly up to shove the walker away from him. The walker falls back, as does he. Immense pain pierces through his side and sends shocks throughout his body. 

“Aasim!” 

Louis is there, grabbing the back of the walker’s shirt when it tries to crawl towards him and forces the monster back. Aasim rolls onto his side, realizing that he’d fallen onto the arrow. Now, it sticks out of him loosely. “Fuck, fuck!” 

The sound of the walker's skull being crushed echoes throughout the forest.

Aasim grinds his teeth together and squeezes his eyes shut. With shaking hands, he yanks the arrow out. “Argh! Fuck!”

Hands are all over him. “Aasim, don’t! Shit!” Louis hikes up Aasim’s jacket to inspect the damage. His flesh is torn, bleeding profusely.  Louis, panicked, looks around for something to stop the bleeding before shrugging his jacket off and lifting Aasim up to tie it around his waist. 

More horrifying shocks of pain. “Don’t-!” Aasim protests, trying to push Louis away. But, Louis holds his ground, double knotting the sleeves of the jacket around him.

“You’re not bit, right? It didn’t get you?”

“No, shit, it’s just the arrow.”

Aasim tries standing but stumbles. Louis catches him, carefully helping him to his feet. 

“Fuck, that hurts,” Aasim groans. He feels tears sting his eyes at the throbbing heat but holds them back. 

“Here, let me-”

“I can walk,” snaps Aasim. 

Louis takes Aasim’s back and his bow. He keeps a comforting hand on Aasim back as they walk back to the school.

And all Aasim can think is, you fucking idiot.

---

Ruby’s gentle with him.

His back’s to her as she works on stitching up his side. Louis is there, too, keeping a close eye on him and handing Ruby everything she needs. 

When they first walked through the gates, Ruby was already grabbing him and chewing Louis out. 

Louis tried to explain what had happened, but Ruby was too worried about getting him inside. Marlon and Omar had questioned what happened, but Ruby shooed them out the door. Aasim’s surprised she let Louis stay, though.

Shit.

It’s cold. There are goosebumps rising on his bare back and arms.

He buries his face in the pillow, wishing he could just sleep. But, every time that needle pierces his tender flesh, he’s reminded that sleep is currently just a fantasy. 

“You two need to be more careful,” Ruby says.

“I know...” Louis says quietly. “The walker just appeared-”

“You need to be alert, always! What if one of you got bit?”

Aasim squeezes his eyes shut and says, “It’s not his fault.”

Ruby’s hands still. 

He continues, “I wasn’t paying attention. He was fixing the trap like I told him to. I was stupid.”

Ruby sighs. “Well... like I said, you both need to be more careful.” 

She finishes stitching him up and sits back. “Louis, could’ja fetch some more water, please?” 

“Sure.”

He hears Louis leave and close the door. Ruby’s wiping the blood off his skin with a damped towel. 

“How does that feel?”

“Fine.”

“Truly?”

“No, it hurts.”

Ruby gives a sympathetic smile. “Well, least yer honest, for the most part. It should start to feel better soon. Wasn’t really all that deep. Ya did do more damage by just yankin’ the arrow out, though. Shoulda left it.”

Aasim nods. 

“Hey,” she nudges him. “Aside from the wound, you doin’ okay?”

“Fine,” he repeats.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Her fingers go to brush back the hair that’d fallen over his face. “Heard you slept in. Usually yer an early riser.”

He says nothing.

“I was thinkin’ about somethin’ today. It just occurred to me, really,” she says. “Do you remember that time we were in the green house and Mitch dared you to eat one of the mushrooms growing?”

A smile sneaks its way onto his lips. “But then I challenged him to a mushroom eating contest?”

“And he ate, like, six of ‘em while you didn’t eat any,” she giggles. “He certainly was a winner.”

“Was he, though?”

“Surprised he lived though that, honestly.”

“Some things never change.”

“No, not really...” Ruby sighs with a sweet smile. “Y’know, if ya ever wanna talk, I’m here.”

“...I know.”

Ruby stands. “You should be okay to walk around, jus’ don’t strain yerself, okay? Do ya need any help getting dressed?”

“No.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Just as she’s about to leave, she turns and says, “I’m glad yer alright, Aasim.”

 He starts to count sheep.

---

Eventually, after a few hours or so, he does get up. After he’s dressed and heads outside, he’s greeted by almost everyone, checking up on him and making sure he’s okay. He doesn’t see Clem, Violet or Brody anywhere, or Mitch, for that matter. He does spot Louis on the couch by himself, shuffling a deck of cards with a faraway gaze. 

He knows he should go over there and apologize, but fuck, he can’t bring himself to do it. 

He sits on the steps in front of the entrance, wincing at the pain aching in his side. He huffs, rubbing at his tired eyes. He wished he’d just stayed in bed. What a shitty day.

“Hi, Aasim.”

He’s startled by AJ. “Oh, uh, hey.”

“How’s your side?”

“Hurts, but I’m fine.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Aasim nods, not sure what else to say. He does notice that the child seems nervous. It’s likely that he doesn’t know what to say, either. 

“Aasim?”

“Yeah?”

AJ looks away and starts fumbling with his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. 

Aasim raises a brow. “Okay...?” he says. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you stabbed me.”

“No, not that.”

“Oh...” Aasim frowns. “What, then?”

AJ then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. “This is yours.” He moves up the stairs and hands Aasim the paper. Then, he begins to ramble. “I-I didn’t show anybody, and I really like it, you know. I don’t completely get it but I like the way some parts sound.”

“What are you-”

Aasim unfolds the paper.

a thousand stories I could write about us in the night sky

His heart plummets into his stomach.