#or is he gonna wipe his hands clean and say it's probably their fault

[emmavakarian-theirin]

this whole titanic thing gets funnier/wilder the more i hear about it and the main issue is they've basically lost internet service BUT what i haven't seen people talk about is how the internet service in question is starlink, you know, one of elon musk's great schemes? the rich guy whose cars and rockets explode??

like come on tumblr do your thing tear it apart

[roosterforme]

Don't Waste Another Minute | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When you finally recognize that you have been hanging onto your relationship for all the wrong reasons, you end things. You knew there would be someone better for you, and it was a welcome realization to see that he had been right there in front of you the whole time. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, asshole Jake, drunk Jake, reader dumps Jake, crude language, alcohol, swears

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @mak-32

As soon as you told Jake that you thought he'd had enough to drink for one night, he called you a bitch for the fifth time. It was mortifying. Because this time your boyfriend said it in front of his friends instead of just quietly whispering, "I'm gonna need you to stop acting like a bitch."

The area around the pool table went quiet, and it took everything inside you to keep your head held high. His friends weren't the ones who had to deal with the aftermath of angry, drunk Jake. You were. They weren't constantly getting yelled at for hiding his keys when he couldn't walk straight. And they weren't driving around in a car that still smelled horrendous weeks after he threw up a bottle of Jack Daniels next to the center console. You were. 

Your lips were shaking as you met his glassy, green eyes. And then Bradley Bradshaw stepped forward and put a hand on Jake's shoulder. "That's not cool, Hangman," he said, his voice deep and angry. He set down the bottle of beer he had been nursing and met your eyes with chocolate brown ones that somehow made you feel a little more grounded. Then he added, "I think you should apologize to your girl."

Just as Jake scoffed, you returned your attention fully to him. You pressed your lips together until you were sure you could speak without making a fool out of yourself. "No. I'm not his girl. It's been a long time since that was something I wanted to be. I can't do this anymore, Jake." 

As you dug his car keys out of your pocket, he slurred, "I should have dumped you months ago. You don't even know how to have fun. You're just a stuck up bitch."

You tried your best to ignore him as you handed his keys to Javy and softly asked, "Can you make sure he gets back to his place safely?"

"I will," he promised, nodding at you. Then you glanced around the group of aviators you had become fond of over the past several months since Jake first brought you here. You were going to miss them, especially Bradley and the soft smiles he always gave you. And the way he just stood up for you. 

But right now his handsome face looked stony as he shook his head at Jake. You ran your hand along Bradley's arm and tried your best to smile at him as you left the group and started to dig your phone out of your pocket. "Bye," you whispered to nobody in particular. You'd get an Uber and go back to your place and snuggle up in bed, and you'd be fine. You knew you would. 

As you headed for the door, you heard Bradley angrily say, "I wish you would have had the balls to dump her months ago. She's too good for you."

That made you smile as you pushed the door open and let the cool night air and the sound of the ocean wipe your senses clean. If you were being honest with yourself, you probably only stayed with Jake for as long as you had because you were afraid he was going to hurt himself or someone else one of these Saturday nights. The sting of embarrassment was worse right now than the pain of breaking things off with him, and that fact let you know you did the right thing.

You shivered as you looked up at the moon and the smattering of stars that were visible this close to the city. And then a massive body slammed into you, which you realized was probably your fault for standing so close to the exit. 

"Shit!" grunted a deep voice.

"I'm sorry-" you started as a big arm wrapped around you, steadying you.

"It's you," Bradley said when you looked up at him over your shoulder. "You're still here."

"Yeah... it's just me." You sounded a little breathless. You noticed you felt safer after ten seconds with his arm wrapped around you than you ever had when you were with Jake.

Bradley cleared his throat and slowly released you. "I just wanted to see if you needed a ride home. You know, since you left Jake's keys with Javy."

You turned to face him fully and took one big hand in yours before anyone else could exit the bar and slam into both of you. With wide eyes, he followed you willingly as you walked backwards toward the railing. "I'm fine," you assure him, letting go of his warm hand with an embarrassed shrug. "I'll get an Uber and have someone who didn't just witness my ex boyfriend call me a bitch before I dumped him take me home."

"He should have never said that," Bradley rasped, eyes fixed on your face. "He overdoes it on the weekends, and I'm sure he doesn't actually think you're a... well, you know. You're sweet. Everyone knows that."

You smiled softly up at him. "Thanks," you whispered. You let yourself indulge in committing to memory the way Bradley Bradshaw just said you're sweet. Because it made you feel warm inside. Then you entered your passcode and opened your Uber app, but before you could do anything else, he took your phone out of your hand. 

"Let me take you home," he said as you reached for your phone. But he tucked it behind his back. "That way I'll know you get there safely."

You reached your arms around him but he took both of your hands in his as your chest brushed the front of his shirt. "Did you put it in your back pocket?" you asked as you cocked your head to the side, only pretending to be annoyed. 

"Maybe," he replied with a grin as he squeezed your hands. "But you won't need it until I drop you at your place anyway."

You studied his face. The orange flicker of light from the lamppost in the parking lot bathed him in softness as he waited for you to respond. The only time you ever saw Bradley get drunk was on his birthday when Natasha drove him home. But he'd been funny, never crass. He'd even carried you from the jukebox over to the piano when he insisted he could do a better rendition of Changes than David Bowie. You smiled at the memory, and then he was smiling back at you.

"You just had that one beer tonight?" you asked softly, already knowing the answer. You supposed he drew your gaze more frequently than you were ready to admit. Especially in the past month or so. 

"Yeah," he replied immediately. "That's all I usually have."

"I know."

There was a beat of silence between the two of you. Your words felt like an admission, and you wanted to know how he'd respond. He laced his fingers with yours and said, "I'd never do anything to put you in danger. Been drinking just one beer on Saturday nights in case you were too far gone to get Jake and yourself home safely."

Now you weren't sure what to say. He'd been silently paying attention to you this whole time, too. No wonder you felt safe around him. "Okay," you whispered, and Bradley very hesitantly released your right hand. But you stayed close to his side, your left hand still held tight in his, and he started to head toward his Bronco.

Silently he unlocked the passenger side door and helped you climb in. "Thanks," you muttered, but then he removed his hand from yours, and you suddenly shivered as he closed the door. You thought of your apartment briefly, wondering if Jake's hoodie was hanging in your closet and thinking you'd just throw away the framed photo of the two of you in Venice Beach. It didn't really hurt to think about it, but you didn't feel the need to mourn over it either.

Then you realized Bradley had already turned right out of the parking lot and then made the first left. "You don't need directions?" you asked him as he went straight through the green light. 

He laughed softly but kept his eyes on the road. "I remember where you live. I picked the two of you up there once."

You remembered it, too. He had opened the door for you and helped you into the Bronco that night as well. He had been wearing the same shirt he had on now. And he smiled at you the same way. 

But you were still surprised he knew which street to turn down and which building was yours. "You can park in one of the visitor spots," you told him as your heart swelled with nervous excitement when he shifted into park.

Bradley paused with his hand on the key in the ignition and turned to look at you. "Will you let me walk you up?" When you nodded without hesitation, he killed the engine and smiled at you. And a few seconds later, your fingers were laced with his again. And you were climbing the stairs up to your apartment door. 

"Thanks, Bradley," you murmured, glancing up at him, unsure how to ask when you might possibly see him again after this. You didn't have his phone number, and you had no real reason to keep going back to the Hard Deck, but you wanted to see him again.

And then you felt a little embarrassed by it all. Sure, he remembered where you lived and he had been looking out for you. But you just broke up with Jake earlier tonight, even though things felt like they had been over for a lot longer. And you didn't want to rebound with his coworker of all people, especially since Bradley had you feeling like you wanted him to wrap you in his arms and make you feel safe all the time. 

And now you'd been standing in front of your door for long enough that it was about to become awkward unless one of you said something. But you were afraid the words on the tip of your tongue would be enough to shatter the moment if you said them. 

Your eyes caught on the scars on Bradley's neck as he swallowed hard. "Anytime you need a ride or... anything, I'll be around," he said with one of those soft smiles. But when he went to remove his hand from yours, you wouldn't let him. And then that smile slipped as he took a step closer to you. 

You decided to say the words and shatter the moment, because you had nothing to lose. "Do you want to come in for a little while?" you asked, and Bradley was nodding immediately.

You didn't expect him to keep his hand in yours as you closed and locked the door and showed him around the small space. You'd spent time with Jake in all of these rooms, but as you listened to the deep rumble of Bradley's voice and his soft laughter, you knew you'd sooner recall these memories once he was gone. But you didn't want him to leave at all, even though it was almost midnight. 

"Do you want a glass of water?" you asked him.

"Sure," he replied so quickly, both of you laughed. And then he commented on the books you'd left out on your table while he drank his water very slowly.

"I have more of the books from that series in my room."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, still hovering close by. "I only read the first two."

You simply took him by the hand again, and he went along with you, leaving the glass of water behind. When you paused in your bedroom doorway and reached in to turn on the light, you laughed and said, "You still have my phone in your pocket."

"I know," he replied, his gaze dipping down toward the floor as he blushed. "I've been holding it captive, trying to figure out a way to ask you for your number."

"Really?" you asked, stepping closer and coaxing his gaze up to yours. 

He nodded as he squeezed your hand again. "Feels like some sort of violation of guy code if I ask for it the same night you broke up with Jake. But I really don't want to leave here until I shoot my shot."

You gasped. Bradley Bradshaw. Wanted to shoot his shot. With you. "Shoot it," you said so softly, you weren't sure if he even heard you. But then his eyes went a little wide, and that smile you liked so much was back. 

"Alright." He cleared his throat and chuckled, cheeks still pink as he said, "Hey, so, here's the thing. I've actually had a massive crush on you for months. And I'd love to get your phone number. And I realize that you just got out of a relationship, so I don't mind waiting a few weeks to use it."

You were still holding hands as you pressed your lips to his cheek, and then his free arm wrapped around your waist. You kissed the edge of his mustache, and his fingers flexed against your back. "You can have my number, Bradley."

He sucked in a deep breath as you kissed his cheek again. "Okay. Cool. That's good. And uh... how long do you think I should wait before I call you?" he asked, and you couldn't tell if he sounded more nervous or more excited. 

"You could call me tomorrow," you whispered, still amazed at how safe you felt around him. "Or you could stay a little longer. Maybe we can start the third book in the series? If you want to."

"I want to," he said softly and immediately. "I want to do both. Call you tomorrow and stay a little longer."

When you tugged him toward the bookshelf next to your bed, he followed, his eyes on you as you reached for the third book. You toed your shoes off and kicked them aside as you asked, "You coming?" Then you crawled across your bed, leaving room for Bradley. 

He only hesitated for a second before he yanked both shoes off and placed them near yours. Then the sight of him easing himself onto your bed and slowly settling back against the headboard next to you left you aching to put your lips on his face again. He was giving you that same warm smile he always did, and now you realized you'd been craving these glances in your direction for a long time. You'd been seeking out his smile at the bar and at barbeques and on beach days. 

He cleared his throat a little nervously, probably because you were staring at him now. "Do you want me to read it out loud?" he asked, his voice so raspy, it set off goosebumps along your arms. You replied by setting the book on his lap and scooting a little closer, because you wanted to shoot your shot, too.

"In a minute." You brought your hand up to his face and brushed his stubbled, rosy cheek with your fingers before you kissed his lips. And it was just that simple. A soft press of your lips against his, and you were in the midst of the best kiss of your life. Not necessarily the needy kind where you wanted to tear his clothes off, but the kind where you were aware of every nerve ending in your body. But you already knew, if you let them, your feelings for Bradley would escalate into more.

With your forehead resting on his and your lips hovering over his mustache, you smiled and said, "Okay, now you can read the book."

He laughed softly and kissed you one more time before you eased yourself away from him. Then you curled up against his side, and he brought his arm around you as you helped him hold the book open. Nothing could have prepared you for listening to the words of your favorite story read in his voice. You barely moved, your lips pressed together as his steady, deep voice and his warm scent had you slowly melting. 

Bradley read and turned the pages one handed, your cheek on his shoulder and your arm creeping around his midsection. You had no idea how much time had passed when he whispered, "Do you want me to stop?"

You didn't. It had been forever since you felt like this. Comfortable and safe. Maybe you'd never felt this way before. Like you were absolutely certain this man wouldn't hurt you. Like you were sure he'd never call you a bitch in front of his friends or in private. But you didn't know if it was okay to keep holding onto him. 

"You can take the book home with you," you told him as you sat up slightly. But he made no move to get out of your bed, and you didn't ask him to. So you just settled right back where you were, and you felt Bradley's lips brush along your hair as you fell asleep. 

-------------------------

Loud, angry pounding noises did not belong here right now. No, Bradley was enjoying sleeping on a soft cloud with his dream girl snuggled up next to him. Everything was warm and perfect and smelled nice. Why was there still pounding? He cracked his eyes open to find you starting to stir next to him. You stretched and made a cute little noise as your chest bumped his ribs, and then your eyes opened wide.

"Oh," you gasped, quickly pulling your arm away from where it had been thrown over his midsection. "Bradley." Your voice was a combination of surprise, disbelief and pleasure, and he wanted to make sure you were okay with the impromptu sleepover, but there was still someone pounding on your front door.

He cleared his throat, but his voice was still raspy from sleep as he said, "You want me to go yell at whoever that is?"

"No," you replied as you climbed on top of him and kissed his lips. Bradley wanted to put his hands everywhere on you, but he kept them at his sides, still unsure about what he was allowed to do right now. "I'll be right back. You stay here."

Then you were out of bed and across the room, glancing back with a smile before you vanished through the door. Bradley's heart was pounding as he let his head sink back against your pillow. Okay, he needed to play this cool. He couldn't fuck this up. He'd been waiting months for you to realize Jake wasn't good enough for you, and he'd been spending months trying to make sure he would be, given the opportunity.

Your phone was still in his back pocket along with his, and he pulled them out to check the time. But when he looked at your lock screen, he saw that you had seventeen missed texts from Jake. And now he thought he heard Jake's voice in your living room. 

Bradley was out of bed instantly when he heard you ask, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I came to apologize, but it looks like you should be the one apologizing to me." That was definitely Jake's voice, and he was definitely pissed off. 

"I don't know what you mean, Jake," you said as Bradley walked slowly down your hallway. He shoved both phones in his pocket and kept himself out of sight. "If you want to apologize for constantly calling me a bitch, then go ahead. Otherwise, just leave."

Jake laughed in a way that made Bradley's hands clench into fists. "You got a lot of nerve talking to me like you think I'm stupid. I saw his Bronco outside. I know he's here." Bradley squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath, and then Jake loudly said, "I knew you were a bitch. How long you been fucking Bradshaw?"

"I'm not," you insisted, your voice shaking. And as much as Bradley had loved reading your book to you and snuggling in your bed all night, now he wished he hadn't stayed. Because you didn't deserve this. 

"You really expect me to believe that?" Jake asked you maliciously. "Where is he, you fucking slut?"

"Don't you dare call her that," Bradley practically growled as he stormed into the living room. Jake was standing too close to you, and he didn't like that. But you were standing your ground as you turned to look at Bradley with some tears shimmering in your eyes. "I never touched her, and she never touched me. So just apologize or leave."

"Fuck you, Bradshaw," Jake spat. "I don't have to listen to a single fucking think you say."

"Get out of my apartment," you demanded. "I dumped you last night for a reason: you drink too much, and you're mean to me. And it was a long time coming. Just go."

Bradley could sense Jake's hesitation, so he took a few steps closer until he was standing right behind you. He made eye contact with him, just daring him to try something. Because Bradley wasn't in the mood to listen to him saying nasty shit about you, especially not when Jake interrupted the start of something so perfect. 

"Go," you repeated. Jake looked you up and down from head to toe and shook his head before he finally turned and slammed your front door behind him. 

"Are you okay?" Bradley asked softly, wishing he knew if it was okay to touch you. 

"Yeah," you whispered before turning and throwing your arms around his neck. 

Bradley let his hands settle on your waist as you looked up at him with bright eyes. He didn't feel bad about stepping on Jake's toes any longer. "I'm sorry if I made things worse for you by being here. But I can't really bring myself to apologize for falling asleep with you, because I liked it so much."

You laughed. It was the prettiest sound. And then you kissed him again with more heat this time, and Bradley had to convince himself to do this the right way. "Hey," he whispered as he broke the kiss. "I still need your phone number."

"Okay," you replied, and you whispered it to him as he entered it into his phone contacts. 

"Okay," he echoed as he handed your phone over for the first time since he took it from you outside the Hard Deck. You didn't even flinch as you swiped away the texts from Jake. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You ready?"

"I'm ready," you told him with a hesitant smile.

He kissed you one more time before he started to back away toward your front door. "I'm gonna go, but I'll call you."

"You better," you replied, and your smile was a little more sure now. 

"I will," he promised. "Just wait." Then he opened the door and closed it behind him as he tapped your name on his phone screen. 

You answered immediately, a giggle in your voice. "Hi, Bradley."

"Hey, so you know how you said I could call you today?"

"Yes," you replied, clearly smiling. "I do recall saying that."

"Great. So I was thinking I'd head home quick to get changed, and then I could come pick you up? Maybe we could get breakfast burritos and coffee from Lucy's Takeout? Go sit on the beach with the book?"

There was a beat of silence before you said, "That sounds nice."

"Then it's a date."

Bradley was all smiles as he ended the call and knocked on your door. When you opened it a second later, he leaned in and kissed you. "I actually need my shoes," he murmured against your lips, and you started laughing. 

"Wait here," you told him before you dashed toward your room and then returned holding his shoes and the book. Bradley slipped his shoes on and took the book in one hand as he pulled you close with the other.

"I'll be right back. Like seriously, it'll be embarrassing how quickly I get back here."

You buried your face against his chest and whispered, "It'll be embarrassing how much that makes me smile."

He had to force himself to leave after that, because the sooner he got back to you, the sooner he could start making you his.

------------------------

Just imagine Bradley reading a book to you on the beach while also feeding you breakfast. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[pppeachyyys]

the hassle i love

itoshi rin doesn't want you to go for anyone else but him.

badboy! itoshi rin, mention of blood / violence, comfort, confessions (?), gn reader

itoshi rin was not one to be a rowdy teenage boy.

at least that’s what everyone in his school thought. ‘he was the complete opposite of those kind of people’, they claimed. he was a quiet and gentle student, the kind that girls would swoon over for being so mysterious.

but deep behind that facade, you would know what he truly was like. itoshi rin was indeed a rowdy teenage boy that loved soccer and horror more than anything else. he got into fights every other day and won every single encounter he’s gotten into. he has a sour mouth, spitting words that only those with a cold heart could say. 

itoshi rin was the complete opposite of a quiet and gentle student. 

yet somehow, the way he would be careful with his words around you was different compared to the insults he threw at his blue lock teammates. he would always look out for you (claiming it was just for his own good) and almost look at you differently. 

“that burns.” rin hissed the moment the antibacterial wipe made contact with his wounded skin, once porcelain and clean. you rolled your eyes in response. 

“it’s your fault for doing this to yourself. why’d you even get into a fight this time ?” you complain. he averts eye contact, rather placing his gaze on the stack of bandages and gauzes. 

sweat is still remnant on his forehead, black hair frizzled and messier than normal. his lashes bat up and down, giving you a glimpse of his jewel-green irises. 

he mumbles something to himself that you cannot discern. choosing to ignore him, you secretly rip open a hello kitty plaster while he’s looking away and lean closer to his face, aiming at the cut under his turquoise eyes. your whole body is shifted from your chair to his, legs grazing against each other and arms touching.

that’s when rin comes to realize that you were awfully close to him this time. your hands cold against his warm cheeks, eyes concentrated on his cut. he quickly decides to himself that now would be perfect to tell you with no warning. 

“it’s cause some dude was talking about you.”

you stop for a moment which signals for him to continue talking. “he was talking about how he was gonna try and get your number from a friend…” his eyes slowly move from the table to your own e/c eyes. “... and he just kept on going on and on, saying you were probably easy and all that bullshit. so of course i had to tell him otherwise.”

he huffs. “i hate when guys assume that stuff about you. it’s like they think they can just take you like that. makes me annoyed.” 

had to tell him otherwise. makes me annoyed.

rins words go through your brain and you blink. once, twice. you’re quick to slap the bandage onto his face with a flustered look, clearly catching him off guard. now it’s his turn to blick once. twice. 

“what is that even supposed to mean ?! also, as much as i appreciate you looking out for me, i would rather you not get into fights every other day.” you scold him and the spot you hit him in becomes a bit red. 

“i can’t help it. lukewarm guys like him don’t deserve anything. plus they don’t even go to our school so it’s more of a reason to beat him up.” you roll your eyes at his words and stay quiet. 

he places a hand on the plaster, running a finger over the material. “am i a lukewarm guy, y/n ?” rin asks quietly, almost like he is scared to ask you such a question.

you aren’t sure how to react. he looks more fragile than normal. the way you had such a hold onto him, making him so weak at the sight of just you. turquoise eyes are laced with yearning. “you’re anything but a lukewarm guy rin.” you say. 

“do you prefer guys like him then ?” 

his words are cautious. you look straight back at him. it’s the first time you’ve seen him so vulnerable and you can’t help but yearn for it more. 

you’re quick to nervously place your hand against his cheek and he leans towards it in an instant, sighing. “nope. i prefer guys like you actually.” 

there’s a sudden flash inside rins eyes. “actually it’s more like i just prefer you, even if cleaning you up is a hassle sometimes. you’re my favorite, rin.” you say with a smile, praying he wouldn’t shake you off or ignore you after hearing your words. 

“your heartbeat.” 

“huh ?”

suddenly rin presses his lips against the pulse of your wrist. without another word, he kisses the spot with such gentleness, catching you off guard. 

“your heartbeat is just like mine right now.” he then takes your hand and places it to his chest. you can feel the quickening of his heart, rapidly beating against the warmth of his body. his whole face is flushed cutely. 

you attempt to not stammer over your words but the way he looks up to you was too hard to resist. his ears were burning red and you swore that your pulse was synced with his from how fast it was beating. you whisper. “rin…”.

“there’s a reason why i can’t stand when other people want you. i want you to only treat me like this. so don’t go to other guys, y/n.” 

he wraps his arms around your waist, the grip strong as though it refused to let you go. the whole room smells like rin (or was it because you were so close to him?) and your head is spinning with what you were supposed to say. 

“well… it’s not like i’ll ever treat anyone else like this. you yourself is too much of a hassle anyway.” you reply. slowly, a smile grows on your face.

“but you’re my hassle to deal with.” 

sure, itoshi rin could be considered a bad boy. but he would always be the best for you.

[aangelinakii]

DOCTOR'S ORDERS.

— an apple a day keeps the doctor away.

summary : you're gotham city football club's home medic, and there's one player who seems to like you a bit too much. he's always visiting every day, with a bruised knee, or his elbow hurts, or he's got a sore throat. this time he actually injures himself.

note : sorry this took so long but 😛😛😛

being gotham city fc's home medic certainly came with its perks; for example, travelling to away games across the states, and even across the globe, all the while putting your medical degree to good use.

the team was filled with great players, who kept in mind to say hi upon passing your office. there was roy harper, one of the best defenders in gotham, and victor stone, arguably one of the best goalkeepers in the entire league.

there was a certain midfielder, however, who seemed to make it his part-time job – as if being a professional footballer wasn't enough – who always came down to your office, somehow always injured.

today was no different, just like any other, typing away at the computer in your little nurse's office, when that certain midfielder – richard "dick" grayson – popped his head into your doorway.

"is the doctor in?" he chirped, causing you to glance up from your screen.

his raven hair had fallen over his eyebrows, slick with water and sweat. most notably about his face, blood drooled down his nose, just about lining the skin of his top lip, though part of his cheek had been stained from where he'd rubbed at it.

a sigh brushed over your lips as you stood from your desk. "what have you done now, grayson?" you questioned, trying to contain an exasperated chuckle.

with this, a grin on his face, an orange tinge to one of his front teeth from where the blood had seeped past his lips, dick strode into your office, which was almost too clean to function.

he perched himself down on the paper towel-lined cot, cleet-clad tiptoes brushing the shiny grey floor.

dick grayson always seemed much too smug for his own good when coming to you with an injury.

"it was a football to the nose this time," he explained coolly, gazing at you beneath lidded eyes. "todd's got a kick on him, everybody knows this."

an exasperated chuckle brushed past your lips as you worked at your desk, pulling on a pair of blue rubber gloves. "you say everybody knows this, but you always seem to get in the way of his fire. and then you come padding along to me like a little puppy."

when you turned around, his big blue eyes were admiring you, a soft smile on his lips despite himself.

"you just better make sure to avoid it at the game against metropolis tomorrow." you dabbed an antiseptic wipe along the skin above his lip, mopping up the dried blood. his nose had stopped bleeding by now, thank god. "i don't want to have you coming back here with any sprains."

before you, dick chuckled, his eyes folding into crescents for a moment. "you got it, doc."

but he didn't keep his promise.

at the home game against metropolis, your radio crackled from beside your computer as you clicked away at its keys. dick grayson had sprained his ankle – an injury inflicted by a foul tackle, the fault of metropolis forward, kon kent.

quickly, he was ushered into your office on a stretcher, now groaning and clenching through his teeth. you'd never seen his pain so convincing.

once he'd been laid down on the cot, stretcher still beneath him, the paramedics left, and you began to work your magic.

"i'm going to remove your boot and sock, is that okay?" you hummed, tugging on a pair of gloves.

from behind hand over pained eyes, dick grumbled and groaned. "just do whatever you have to. my ankle is gonna die."

pulling the laces from his cleets, a chuckle brushed past your lips. "i get it probably feels like that, but i can assure you that you'll be better in no time."

dick winced as you carefully removed his football boot, and peeled back his white sock, though he tried to misdirect it with a chuckle, trying to sound flirtatious through the throbbing pain of his ankle. "with those hands, i bet i will."

discarding his boot and sock to the floor, you sent the injured midfielder a glare. "careful, grayson, or those hands will make it much more than just a sprain."

as you approached the mini fridge at the other end of the small room, dick's eyes watched you from his pillow, where he was growing comfortable in your care from the patient's cot.

when you returned to the foot of the cot, he watched you uncertainly as you placed a cloth-wrapped ice pack on his red, swollen injury. he took a sharp intake of air, entire body wincing.

evidently, the chill began to soothe his pain, and his limbs relaxed. even his expression softened.

"so, what happened?" you hummed, taking your wheelie chair and pulling it up to the cot, beside the star midfielder.

from where he lay on the cot, head cozy on a fluffed pillow, his soft eyes looked up at you, intimate for a moment, before his lips curled into a smirk. "oh, you'd never believe..."

[bumblinv]

Hi! Are your requests open? If they are I'm just gonna leave this here, Neteyam, Ao'nung, Lo'ak (sperate) x OmaticayaGnReader who is sick, like flu for the na'vi or something like that, they have a fever and the chills and everything could it also be fluffy and absolutely adorable

--- personal doctors ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

neteyam, ao'nung, rotxo (seperated) x gn!metkayina!reader

you catch a cold, its time for your lover to take care of you

a/n ; im not good at writing lo’ak, so i bring you rotxo instead! i hope you dont mind<3

: ̗̀➛ neteyam

realizes your sickness even before you did

when you first sneeze or cough, his mind goes straight to the day before, recalling any peculiar food you've had

neteyam would notices too, when you pause between chores to massage your forehead

he will take over cleaning. making sure every corner is clean so you won't sneeze from the dust. he also makes sure you stay hydrated and even whips you up nutritious meals until your condition got better. usually, the fever never got up to you

but when it does, he goes in full momma mode

this man grows with 3 younger siblings, caring for someone is natural for him. he would stay by your side, whispering your name every few hours to wake you up, so he could feed and help you drink

neteyam might not be the best healer, like her sister, but he can make certain herb drinks

makes you ginger tea regularly to warm up your shivering body

you tend to get all sort of nightmares from your sickness, but dont worry, you’re waking up to neteyam since he’s cuddling you all night long. he will run his slender fingers through your hair, whispering comforting words to your ear

“everything’s okay, dear. i’m here” 

we all need neteyam in our lives:(

_

: ̗̀➛ ao'ung

acts like he doesn’t care, but the moment your temperature starts to rise, he brings his mother straight to you

the tsahik would probably do nothing. she tell him to go ask kiri for some herb tea, and to make sure you drink and eat well, since fevers could heal by itself

but mans stressed

would refuse to let you lift a single muscle. he will be the one helping you change, wipe your face to keep you fresh, feeding you

since he’s not the best cook, he would ask tsireya to make you soups, wich she happily does. she makes great food, but your tongue tastes sour and your appetite is no where to be found

so ao'nung scolds you

“quit acting like a baby and please, just eat” 

you know ao’nung. none of his scolding are anger, he’s just extremely worried.

watching you go to sleep after being scolded makes him feel like a villain. he would join you in bed and whispers an apology. gently bringing you closer to his chest as the both of you fall asleep

remember he's a worrier? it makes him act too much like a mom. he will insist on taking care of you, even when you're feeling better. will only stop until he's sure you're 100% healthy

ao'nung is a big softie

_

: ̗̀➛ rotxo 

most clueless compared to the other 2

pls dont be mad, its not his fault

something tells me he’s an only child, a one that rarely got sick too, so he doesn’t know anything about caring for ill people

rotxo might be confused, but he’s not an idiot

the moment he touches your forehead and realizes you're scorching hot, rotxo instinctively wraps a fluffy blanket around you. the man will make you drink a lot of water, and went off running to the sullys

“what the fuck?” 

“sorry lo'ak! its an emergency!”

he got home with omaticayan food wraps in hand. you’re too sick to say anything, so when he lifts your head to feed you, you don’t protest

the one thing that scares you the most is that his jokes completely disappears

all his stupid jokes, gone.

not in a bad way, this man is just so dedicated on you that he stops joking around. he cannot stand that you're feeling all sick and uncomfortable and wants you back to your healthy self

this man is so serious, even when he tried feeding you raw cloves of garlic

one time, he heard kiri saying that garlics are ‘good for boosting the immune system’ 

he’s not wrong😭😭😭

but kiri hits him on the head once she founds out

instead of feeding you raw garlic, she gives you a mix of aged garlic and honey as medicine such an asian mom move

he feels bad afterwards, would kiss your entire face despite your protest

the next day, you wake up feeling fresh. but your lover boys voice got so hoarse from sore throat and complains about his sore limbs

yes, he got your fever and yes, he never regret kissing you, even when you're sick

[wardenparker]

Mitch Keller + "Dance with me", pls? Love the TF boys in other things 2!!!

Mitch Keller. 1,665 words. "Dance with me." Co-written with @absurdthirst

Light undertones of dom!Mitch. Boss/employee dynamic. Mutual pining. The love is requited, they're just idiots. Garrett Hedlund as Mitch Keller is desperately underrated and I can't wait for season 2 of Tulsa King.

The bar is like a whole different place after closing. Every single night, without fail, the place goes from noisy and energetic to just being the two of you. Loud and buzzing becomes quiet and comfortable as soon as you cross the threshold after closing time. Two in the morning would be a lonely time for most people. Maybe it ought to be. Maybe it even is for Mitch Keller. You can’t be sure. But for you, two in the morning is the time you like most. When you get to be alone with the man you’ve been in love with for years.

Despite wiping down the bar top countless times during the night, there’s still a sticky film to be cleaned. Spilled liquor and beer from varying degrees of coordinated hands. Mitch knows you are watching him as the old jukebox plays and he wonders what you are thinking.

You really have to stop staring at your boss. Shit’s gonna get your fired for harassment one of these days. The music clicks over, jolting you out of your head and reminding you to clean. The floor isn’t going to sweep itself and it doesn’t matter how good Mitch’s ass look in those jeans. You’ll think about it later like you always do. But not here. Not now.

Despite the patrons paying for the songs that come over the old stereo. Mitch has a key that lets the two of you listen for free. Programming at least an hour’s worth of songs while you decompress and clean up. It had been a good night, but there’s this electric tension in the air.

Sometimes you share a single drink while you clean. Sometimes you chat about the day or about Mitch’s dad, who is the kindest landlord in the world and the reason you have this job. Sometimes you joke or bitch or play around. Tonight it seems like wanting him has you in a strangle-hold, though, so when Patsy Cline comes on the jukebox, you almost groan for the irony.

“You doing alright over there?” Mitch asks, tossing the rag into a bin and propping his hands on his trim hips.

“What?” You were staring again. Into space this time, but staring nonetheless. “Uh—yeah. Fine. Totally fine,” you lie, shaking your head and shoulders and starting to sweep again. Daydreaming — middle of the night dreaming? — about your boss needs to wait until you get home.

He chuckles and shakes his head, amazed that you don’t just give in and tell him already. The hooded glances and yearning looks only go so far and if he were a betting man – which he is – he would say you were daydreaming again. “Let’s get finished early.” He tells you. “Got something I want to do.”

“Oh—oh sure.” Something to do in the wee hours of the morning? You try not to wonder if that ex-girlfriend of his has come crawling back again, knowing that it isn’t any of your business and you have no right to be jealous even if she is. Instead you pick up the pace with an unnerved and slightly anxious energy, determined not to think about it.

Mitch caps off the beer taps and groans. “I’ve got to restock the coolers.” He tells you. “You okay to mop?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” After years in this job you could probably close the whole bar down with your eyes closed, and you nod rather than look him in the eyes, afraid to give yourself away. “If you need to go, I can finish up alone.”

“No, I’m just going to be in the back for a few minutes.” He clarifies and tosses you a grin. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone. You know that.”

“I’ll be right here when you’re done.” Without him standing there distracting you, you’ll probably work three times faster, but it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault you’re a grown woman with a completely impossible crush — it’s more than that but you can’t deal with that right now — on a man who’s so far out of your league that it’s remarkable he even remembers your name.

Mitch disappears into the back, not quite telling the truth about why he had to go back there, but he needs to bide his time. To get you finished up before he came back out.

It doesn't take you long to actually get things sorted out up front. When you had thought that you could clean this place with your eyes closed, you meant it. The jukebox turns to more upbeat songs and you work through it, reminding yourself to just get the hell through the night so you can go home and get him out of your head for a few hours. At least until you have to be back here tomorrow night. Just breathe, and sing along with Leann Rimes on the jukebox to keep yourself amused. That's what you'll do.

In the back, Mitch has basically made himself a little apartment. He doesn't need much and the bar is literally his baby, so he cleans up quickly, wanting to freshen up. When he comes back out, you have just put everything away and are obviously waiting on him to return. The song fades out and slower one starts to pour out of the speakers. "You're done." He hums quietly.

"I've had practice." It's the closest you can get to teasing him tonight, with your head swimming and your palms a little sweaty. You're not your normally boisterous self.

"You do a good job." He praises, walking closer to you and when he's right in front of you, he stops. "So I was wondering if you would do something for me." He ventures softly.

"Of course." No hesitation, no consideration. You would do anything for him.

Smiling, he holds out his hand. “Dance with me.” He orders softly, stepping closer for you to accept his offer.

“I—what?” Somehow your hand has gone up on its own, hovering over his before you even manage to process what he’s asked.

“Dance with me.” He repeats, an amused twinkle in his eyes and a curve of his lips making him appear boyish.

It’s like your brain short circuits even while your body obeys, hand settling lightly in his and feet stepping forward while your mind works in overdrive to understand. You can’t stop yourself from blurting out “Why?” despite the moment being your literal dream come true.

“Because you never ask.” He reasons easily. “And how can I kiss you without a dance first?”

Thankfully the noise that strangles in your throat is more of a squeak than a squawk, and you swallow it before it can become anything absurd or humiliating. From somewhere in the background you can hear Trisha Yearwood on the jukebox and you might be shaking a little, but your other hand finds Mitch’s shoulder just well enough that you don’t stumble. “You…” You start to catch up to the moment as he starts to move to the music, and the surprise on your face is as obvious as your breathlessness. “You…want to kiss me?”

“Been thinking about how you taste.” He admits as he moves you around the open area of the bar. Skirting the tables that now have chairs flipped up on their tops. “Have for a while.”

“I’m…” Embarrassed heat floods your cheeks, warming your entire face right down your neck and chest. “I’m even less subtle than I think I am…aren’t I?”

“‘Bout as subtle as a rattler warning off a poor bastard walkin’ barefoot.” Mitch grins at you.

“Super.” You huff at yourself, sarcasm dripping from both syllables like honey. “Thank you for bein’ nice to my dumb ass, then.”

“Wondered why you took so long.” Mitch admits. “Got impatient, so I decided to make the move.”

“Sort of thought I was invisible to you,” you admit quietly, letting him lead you through basic steps even though you know damn well the man has moves. It’s you who can’t dance for shit, so he’s being nice again.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Dead wrong.” He tells you. “Just didn’t want you to think I was a creepy boss.”

“I was the creepy employee instead, I guess,” you huff, needing to laugh so that you don’t let your cheeks get as hot as a volcano.

“Thought it was kind of cute, myself.” Mitch drawls. “But….” He lifts a brow at you teasingly. “If we’re gonna do this—” he pulls his hand off your waist to motion between the two of you, “you gotta initiate sometimes. Can’t just be me chasin’ you.” He winks. “You gotta chase back.”

Being thoroughly embarrassed but elated are apparently two sides of the same coin for you, as there is no competition between expressions on your face — just one bright, disbelieving smile that makes you feel lighter than air. “If I had known you felt this way, I would’ve said something a long time ago.”

“It all works out in the end.” He promises, smirking at you softly. The music plays and the two of you sway around the bar, getting comfortable with the closeness of your bodies pressed together.

“Suppose so.” It’s whole actual years of yearning on your part, but you’re not about to second guess this moment. Not by a long shot. Not when he fits even more perfectly against you than you’d dreamed. “Suppose it’s all about what happens next.”

“Yeah.” The songs slowly starts to fade out and he comes to a stop with you still in his arms. “So.” He murmurs, lifting a brow. “What do you want to happen next?”

“I believe…” You quirk your head at him and feel your cheeks heat up all over again. “A kiss was mentioned?”

“Yes it was.” He flashes you a roguish grin and leans on, nudging your nose with his. “So, sweetheart…dance with me.” He orders right before he presses his lips to yours.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[luveline]

Zombie!au- would love to see more grump Steve in the earlier days. And r just trying to lighten things up a bit!

thank you for requesting ♡ steve zombie!au —your attempt to cheer steve up backfires, but he's not so oblivious to your feelings as you think. fem!reader, 1k

Water drips down the length of Steve's arm. It follows a path to his elbow, shining honey-orange in the last dregs of sunlight that haunt the room. The stone wall at your back is cooling, the baking heat of the day abating with the setting sun. 

Your shirt is still damp but clean. Steve scrubbed it until the fabric turned fuzzy, the faint smell of sweat lingering despite all his efforts and dawn dish soap. He sits close enough to rest his leg atop yours, touching you without apology. It's hard to care about personal space when you spend time with someone like this, isolated. Your survival is tied to his like shared veins. 

Water sloshes over the edge of the bucket onto a towel he placed beneath it. You clear your throat, drawing his gaze. 

"Kinda weird how many towels people leave behind." 

His constant frown doesn't so much as twitch. "Why's that?" 

"We all need towels. Makes you wonder if they thought there'd be towels somewhere else… We loot all these houses and half the time there isn't a can of peaches, but there's always a couple of towels." 

"You only need one towel," Steve says. 

"Not the way we use them." 

Steve's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. You can guess what he's thinking —you're making small talk about towels. Maybe he'd rather sit in silence than listen, but if you stay silent in the wake of his bad mood any longer, you'll disintegrate. 

"I'm just saying it's weird to take soap but not the towel." 

"They probably weren't thinking about it. Not the way it happened, I mean." Steve's brows pinch together. He pulls his shirt from the soapy water filled bucket between his legs and squeezes the excess water from it. 

"Were you going to say something else?" you ask cautiously. 

Steve wrings his shirt, the muscles in his arms singing as he twists it tighter and tighter. You can't choose what to look at, his arms, the coiled definition of his upper chest, or the strange expression that plays on his fine features. Eventually he drops his sodden shirt on the towel and wipes his hands dry, not looking at you as he asks, "What did you think was gonna happen?" 

You shift your foot under his weight. He doesn't move it still, and you're glad. You need touch. You need his touch, even if he doesn't need yours. 

"I thought everybody was going to be fine." Your stomach aches remembering. "For a week, the news didn't bother me. The radio hosts were pandering and CNN were fearmongers. But then… one day I woke up and I knew it was the end." 

"When they started saying–" 

"Don't try to hide." You swallow a lump of past hurt where it swells. 

"That's why people didn't bother with towels," Steve says. "That's what I think. They knew they wouldn't make it past the week, deep down, even if they didn't know." 

You cross your arm over the other and hold your elbow. The sun sinks like a stone, dark eating the corners of the room. It feels colder now. 

It's scarier, in the dark. You worry about what you can't see. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Steve says, speaking more gently than he had been as he pulls his leg away. "I know you were trying to make me feel better. I didn't mean to kill the mood like an asshole."

"That makes a difference," you tease. 

Steve stands and grabs the bucket of dirty water, pouring it out of the open window. You can hear the loud slosh of it slapping overgrown bluegrass below. 

"I'm sorry for being a dick," he says, turned from you still, bucket braced in two rigid hands. 

"Steve, I don't care if you're in a bad mood. I just worry it's my fault." 

He tosses the bucket aside, the thin metal handle rattling as it lands. Brushing the hair from his face, Steve turns back to you and, silhouetted by the last light, gives you a tentative smile. 

"You drive me crazy sometimes, but if I'm pissed, that's my problem. Not your fault." 

You sit up, a muscle twinging between your sore shoulders. "Oh. Cool."

Steve nods to the left. "Come over here. We'll sleep where it's dry." 

You do as told, achy and worn from another day at the end of the world. You could sleep in a queen size bed every night and it'd make no difference to this kind of exhaustion, the burden of perpetual hyper vigilance like slow releasing venom. You kick the shitty single mattress you've been sleeping on for the last few days across the room and Steve spreads out a blanket for you to lay on. 

You can't sleep. Most of the time, you lay down for a few hours feigning rest while Steve sits soldier, nothing to do, nothing to darn nor sharpen nor tend to. You're in a strange limbo of having no urgent needs and no strength between you to move on yet. With a stache of protein bars you found in the desk in the den, you and Steve can stay here for a few more days. 

You sit down regardless of the sleepless tossing and turning that awaits, surprised when Steve wastes little time sitting beside you. Shirtless. He leans against the jacket you've been using as a pillow and puts his arm behind your back with the familiarity of a lover, hand on your waist. 

Your breath pulls in funny. 

"Thanks for trying," he says. 

You risk looking up at him. He looks down, a little bit of King Steve charm in the quirk of his mouth. 

"But towels?" he asks. 

"It was the first thing I could think of." 

He nods like this makes sense and pulls you into his side, rubbing yours with enough affection to floor you if you weren't already on it. "I didn't pack a towel, and neither did you. We're all the same." 

"Then how come we're here?" you ask, quiet with the embarrassment of asking such a vulnerable question. How come we lived and no one else did?

"I don't know."

You put your face in the curve of his neck hesitantly. Steve rests his cheek on top of your head.

"I'm glad we are, though," he murmurs. 

[magniloquent-raven]

i wrote this for me but yall can read it too if u want 💖it's just 2k of piercing kink lmfao

(so. cw needles)

"What's this?" Billy flicks a balled up grocery bag aside, plastic clips and crumpled receipts rustling as he shifts the mess around. He's pretty sure Steve hasn't cleaned this shitty little table out since...ever, probably. If he digs far enough he'll probably find whatever crap the previous renters left behind.

Steve flops on his side, wriggling over a cushion to join him, and propping his chin on the arm of the couch. It doesn't get him far enough to see into the drawer. Billy rolls his eyes and pinches the baggie, lifting it high enough to sarcastically wave it in Steve's face.

Needles glint in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Straight, silver, hollow-point needles, individually wrapped in neat little conjoined packages. There's other shit in the bag too, antiseptic wipes in packets stamped with green lettering, weird looking tongs, latex gloves rolled into a nearly unrecognizable blue mass.

Maybe the better question would've been why does Steve goddamn Harrington have a piercing kit?

Steve blinks at it, recognition dawning at a snail's pace. "Oh, that." He folds his arms under his chin, resting on his forearms. His cheek squishes a little and Billy wants to do something stupid. Like. Grab his face. Or kiss the dumb little wrinkle between his brows. "That's Robin's fault."

"What."

"She wanted her nose pierced. And it's, like. Cheaper to just buy the stuff for it, I guess." He blows a strand of hair out of his eyes, and Billy's fingers twitch. "I told her it was a dumbass idea. But it turns out, not for the reasons I thought. She freaked out when I put the needle through. So. Yeah. It was a whole thing."

"Hm."

Billy eyes the kit. Imagines Buckley flailing and teary with a needle stuck in her face. Expects to be amused by her being a giant baby but instead the thought...changes. Shifts. To Steve and his careful fingers, gently preparing the spot, guiding her head to the right angle...

A surge of jealousy hits him in the chest, and the scene blurs, getting less coherent, until—

Cold needle and warm hands, the sharp rush of it, pain and heat and an indefinable feeling prickling up his spine.

Billy fiddles with the silver hoops in his ear.

There's something simmering in his gut. Nerves, maybe, partly. But it's more than that. Deeper. He bites his lip.

"You should do me too."

Steve sputters, a pink flush blooming on his cheeks.

Billy grins at him, all canine and confidence he doesn't feel. "Piercing, Harrington."

"But—"

"Nah, c'mon, we're doing this." He tosses the baggie at Steve—who fumbles, but catches it—and with his newly freed hands, strips off his shirt. He drops it on the floor, not bothered about where it might land.

Steve is doing his best impression of a fish out of water, shallow, quiet breaths the only sound escaping his gaping mouth. His entire face has gone splotchy. It's kind of adorable.

"I don't have all day," Billy prods. He does, and even if he didn't, he'd make time. But Steve doesn't need to know that. "I'm not gonna freak out, if that makes you feel any better. Cross my heart." He draws an x on his bare chest. Steve's eyes follow the motion, and linger even after he's dropped his hand.

He's been doing that a lot lately. Lingering. Looking. It's...interesting. Exhilarating.

"This is a stupid idea," Steve says faintly.

"When has that ever stopped you?"

That gets a laugh out of Steve, the corner of his eyes crinkled as he scoffs and acts offended. "Whatever, man, just don't blame me if it gets infected."

They're doing this. They're fucking doing this. Billy's stomach swoops like a bird in flight.

This is such a dumb idea.

Billy doesn't care.

He sits on the coffee table, across from Steve, who's still half-lounging on the couch. Their knees brush, and Billy feels it everywhere. He's a live wire, tense and jittery as a current runs through him, tingling in his extremities and coiling in his guts. It takes more than a little effort just to keep still and appear unaffected.

Steve eyes him, his gaze wandering up and down. "So. I'm guessing you don't want it in your nose..."

Billy snickers at that, he can't help it. "Do you say that to all the girls?"

"Good idea, mock the guy who's about to poke holes in you."

"No, no, I'm being serious," Billy dissolves into further giggles, "If you haven't figured out where to stick it yet I'd like to know."

"Har har."

"I could give you some pointers."

"Are you done?" The question is punctuated by the elastic snap of Steve pulling on a latex glove. He's trying to keep his expression neutral, unimpressed and unamused, one eyebrow raised and his lips flat, but there's a hint of mirth glittering in his eye and the corner of his mouth keeps twitching. Overall the way he's watching Billy fall all over himself laughing is too fond, too warm to be convincingly annoyed.

That shuts Billy up faster than genuine annoyance would have. He rubs the back of his neck, like he can wipe away the hot flush with his hands, and he ducks his head to hide a dopey grin.

"Alright." There's a rustling noise as Steve digs through the bag. "Um. I gotta." He waves the wipe he retrieved, vaguely gesturing at Billy's chest with it. The kit is clutched in his other hand, wrinkled between his tense fingers.

"What are you waiting for."

Steve inspects him. Silently. Eyes skimming over his chest again, flicking up to his face nervously. "You're sure about this, right?"

"Yes."

"You're really—"

"Steve. I really want you to do it."

Steve lets out a slow, quiet breath. "Okay." He nods, his expression hardening into something more determined. Something that makes Billy want to kiss his stupid face even more than usual.

It doesn't help that the next thing Steve does is put his hands on Billy's chest. He only needed one. Two fingers separated from Billy's skin by cold, damp antiseptic. Two fingers circling the hard nub of his nipple while his thumb brushes sensitive skin underneath. That would have been overwhelming enough. But Steve shifts closer to him, perched on the edge of the couch, positioning himself between Billy's thighs, and skims his palm up Billy's side, over his ribs, for no goddamn reason.

He's not keeping Billy in place, his touch is too soft for that, he's just...holding him.

Billy's insides are mush. Hot syrupy goop.

And his dick is a hard line in his jeans, straining against his zipper.

He bites his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth to keep quiet. It feels wrong somehow, to look at Steve right now, while he's getting off on something that's...it's not the same for Steve. They're not on the same page, and he knows it. But he can't tear his eyes away. He's so close. And so pretty. Even more so when he's concentrating. Dark eyes focused only on Billy. Lips parted just a little.

"Okay, I gotta use the...this thing. Now." Steve tosses the wipe aside and picks up the clamp, clicking it a couple times and staring at it like it's a note written in a foreign language.

"Mhm." Billy does his best not to squirm.

See, the thing is, Billy's the only person who's ever done anything to his nipples. Like it's never occurred to the people he's slept with that he'd enjoy it. Maybe they just didn't care to ask. And maybe he was too embarrassed to bring it up. Chicks like getting their nipples played with, okay. It's...it's stupid that he can't get himself off without one pinched between his fingers. It's weird that sometimes he neglects his cock because he's got both hands up his shirt.

Turns out being touched by someone else is on a whole different level. Touched without a flimsy barrier between them. Touched firmly, with intention. 

He sways forward, jolting a little when Steve pinches, tugs, sending a bolt of heat right through him. He grips the edge of coffee table hard enough to hear it creak.

The clamp is colder than the wipe. Or maybe he's just warmer now. He can feel his pulse pounding, and he can almost hear the blood rushing south. 

"You're being really quiet," Steve says carefully. The clamp is securely in place, but Steve hasn't taken his hand off Billy's chest yet. His palm is a little sweaty, cupped under Billy's pec, his thumb moving absently in circles that make Billy shiver. 

"Is there something you'd like me to say?" Jesus, he didn't expect to sound so hoarse. 

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it again. "Um." He busies himself with rooting through the kit to fish out a needle. "Nope. Just. Usually I can't get you to shut up, so." 

He doesn't have a witty reply. Or even a fucking stupid one. There's nothing in his head but static and a silver gleam. 

"Last chance to back out."

Billy lets out an annoyed huff. 

"Okay. Well. Here we go." 

Here they go. 

Billy's breath catches when Steve unwraps the needle, his imagination already three steps ahead. The phantom sensation is enough to make his dick throb. 

He's as patient as he can be with Steve's hesitation. His lingering a hair's breadth from Billy with the needle's point. His shaky little breath to steel himself. Billy's about ready to crawl out of his own skin by the time Steve finally thrusts in and pierces him. 

As much as he was waiting and waiting and waiting for it, he wasn't fully expecting it when it happened, and it knocks the air from his lungs. One small point of contact is his whole world for the seconds it takes to pass through, one crystalized moment, sharp and shining. And then the rush. The blanket of warmth that settles over him afterwards. 

He doesn't realize his eyes have fallen shut until he opens them again, blinking until Steve's wide-eyed stare comes into focus. 

"I've got the, uh. Barbell. Gonna put that in now."

It's a tricky part. Billy wonders vaguely if Steve actually knows what he's doing, and he finds he doesn't care. He cares even less when he feels the needle move again, tugging, rubbing against sensitive skin. His gaze drops to the little bit of tongue poking out the corner of Steve's mouth, and everything else seems a little blurry. He shifts his hips, just a little, he can't help it. It's not a conscious thought, it's just friction; Steve's clever fingers and the warm scent of honey shampoo are making him dizzy. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, letting himself sink a little deeper into the haze of sensations. 

"There! Done," Steve says it, but he doesn't pull away. "Did you want the other one—"

"Yes."

Steve blinks at him. "You seem kinda…" His gaze wanders. Downward. A little more. And then his eyes widen. "Oh."

He doesn't sound as freaked out as Billy might've expected. He mostly sounds…curious. Which. Is very interesting. 

"Well. I guess I'll do you again then."

Holy shit. 

Okay.

It's different the second time. Steve's different. He teases, wiping Billy clean for much longer than he needs to, circling and circling 'til Billy's squirming, aching, wanting more but unwilling to beg. Every time he shifts his hips a shudder jitters up his spine. His briefs are wet and sticking to the tip of his dick, still uncomfortably trapped by denim.

It's also harder to keep track of Steve's individual movements. Getting the clamp, unwrapping the needle, putting the bag down, throwing the ripped packaging aside. The first time he was hyperaware of everything, anticipation clawing at his patience. Now, he's sinking into a warm bath, he's floating on a cloud, he's loose-limbed and more focused on the hot flush on his chest and the darkness of Steve's blown pupils than anything else.

There's just…moments. The surprised part of Steve's lips when Billy accidentally lets a whimper slip. The needle point piercing his skin. The sudden wave of heat that slams him in the gut when Steve brushes his knuckle over Billy's swollen nipple, the way his vision whites out and he trembles and he fucking cums in his jeans, while sitting on Steve's goddamn coffee table.

He's not sure when exactly Steve finished up, but suddenly he's all too aware that his chest hurts and his underwear is sticky and Steve is looking uncertain again, despite his hand resting on Billy's thigh.

"So…that was…" Steve flounders. Pauses. Opens his mouth to keep floundering.

Billy kisses him. It's one little peck on the mouth. Just one. It's two seconds of contact, and Billy's heart is only racing because he just had an orgasm, okay.

"Thanks," he says, his voice embarrassingly soft. Like that's gonna make everything less weird. 

But Steve smiles at him. Cracks a grin, and then snickers. Because, yeah, sure, it's weird, it was all weird, but…maybe that's fine.

tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you 💕

[peaches2217]

🥰 Saying 'I love you' without saying it (Brotherly Mario and Luigi moment!)

YEEEEEEEEEEES! BROTHERLY LOVE LET'S GO!

Freak

AO3 link!

~~~

Somewhere in Brooklyn, sometime ago...

Mario was a mess.

He held his head high, and the spark behind his one good eye told Luigi he considered himself victorious, but he hadn't come out of that fight cleanly in the slightest. His knuckles were split open in three places. His shirt was torn and the collar was stretched beyond what a good washing could save. Thankfully, all of his teeth were accounted for, but he still spit blood every few minutes thanks to a split lip and what was probably a nasty bite to the inside of his cheek.

The further he tended to those wounds, the more Luigi panicked.

"Oh man. Mom's gonna freak." He wiped his brother’s bloodied hands clean as gently as possible; Mario was careful not to show any signs of pain, but he couldn’t hide the trembling in his hands. “Wh— what are we gonna tell her?”

Mario didn’t answer right away. He kept his jaw tightly clenched until Luigi decided his skin was clean enough, easing up only when the younger twin reached for the bandages he’d purchased in haste from the nearest convenience store.

“We’ll tell her the truth,” he said. “Some low-life decided to pick on the wrong guy and I wasn’t gonna let him get away with it.”

He clenched his jaw again as Luigi went back to work, wrapping broken skin in cheap gauze. He wouldn’t have much use of his hands until their mother could patch him up more expertly, but that was okay for now, he decided.

With any luck, she wouldn’t pry. All she’d care about was lecturing him — Mario, mio figlio irascibile, use your words, not your fists! — and then grounding him for the next month or two. That would be ideal. She didn’t need to know the reasoning behind his latest (and, to date, most violent) scuffle. He wasn’t ready for her to know.

Staring down at Mario’s hands, comically stiff from an overabundance of wrappings, Luigi felt a telltale stinging behind his eyes. “You fight for the dumbest things sometimes.”

“I don’t think someone spreading rumors about you is a dumb thing to fight about.”

The stinging became uncomfortably pronounced. Luigi bit his lip and fished through the plastic bag by his side once more, grabbing the water bottle hidden beneath rubbing alcohol and ointment and bloodied tissues.

“...It’s not just a rumor, is it?”

Luigi’s breath hitched. It had been phrased as a question, yet Mario’s voice lacked curiosity or incredulity, laced with a strong but not harsh I knew it sort of tone. Suddenly he didn’t have the nerve to look at him. He simply handed the bottle over to him and wiped the condensation off on his shorts, doing his best not to give into the desire to curl up into a ball and roll away.

It was his own fault. Like many other pre-teens, Luigi had a diary. Most of what he wrote within its pages was common knowledge, or just his own attempts at working through his thoughts. Most of what was inside, Mario already knew. The one secret he kept from his twin brother was tucked into its faux-leather covers. He’d stupidly believed it would be safe there.

An hour after realizing it was missing from his school bag, that secret was plastered on the library bulletin. By lunchtime it was on everyone’s lips: Oh my God, that Luigi kid’s gay! Always knew there was something wrong with him.

And three minutes after the final bell, the one who outed him was pinned to the ground in the courtyard receiving the beating of a lifetime. Had Luigi not found the strength to pry him off, he was almost convinced Mario would have killed the guy.

“You’re a freak!” the battered bully had shouted at Mario, Luigi’s diary splayed open and speckled with blood beside him. “Just like that— that fucking queer you call a brother!”

Mario was hurt, and he was going to be in massive trouble, and it was all Luigi’s fault. All because he was too chicken to keep it internalized, all because he was the weakling that always needed his brother, all because he was a fucking queer and any and every other derogatory accusation that had been thrown his way today. He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly and focused all of his energy on not crying, not here, not now.

“Weegee… why didn’t you tell me?” Mario’s voice was oddly soft. Was he upset? Was he sympathetic? He had no reason to be sympathetic. Luigi sniffed.

“Guess I didn’t want you thinking I was a freak, too,” he confessed. Mario and Luigi against the big, wide world. It had always been that way. He couldn’t stomach the thought of that changing, of Mario seeing him differently, of losing him for it. He would have kept this under wraps his whole life if it ensured that never came to pass.

An arm wrapped around him suddenly, and Mario pulled him in, jostling him almost painfully.

“Oh, give me a break, Lu,” he said. “You know who’s a real freak? Mrs. Loriey. She’s got a whole shrine set up to Robert De Niro in her supply closet! Photoshops herself into pictures with him! She’s probably shopped his face onto pictures of naked guys, let’s be real.”

“Mario!” The thought was shocking yet plausible enough that Luigi couldn’t help but laugh. Mario made a victorious noise and jostled him again.

“Or literally anyone who gets a kick out of putting other people down,” he continued, his voice getting lower as he spoke. “You know how desperate for attention people like that have to be? Imagine always thinking ‘How can I ruin some schmuck’s day so I can feel all high ‘n’ mighty?’ People like that aren’t just freaks, they’re losers, plain and simple.”

Luigi nodded, and though the first of his tears began escaping, his smile stayed strong. “So you don’t… think I’m a freak?” He chanced a glance sideways, where he found Mario smiling at him. The skin around his black eye was pale and wet where he’d held the water bottle to it and his split lip made his smile look awkward and crooked, but he knew well enough that it was genuine.

“Nah. But you know what you are?” he asked, squeezing Luigi’s shoulder. “You’re my bro. And I’ll always have your back, okay?”

He reached his other arm around to pull Luigi into a proper hug, and Luigi returned it without hesitation, sniffling and willing his tears to slow.

It had always been them against the world, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon. As far as bad days went, he decided that this one wasn’t so bad after all.

[zmediaoutlet]

murder in the city

for @wincestwednesdays - blood

They've started dimming the bunker lights at night. More like a real place, that way, a motel or a house to squat in. The concrete floors are cold on Sam's bare feet. Still doesn't totally know his way around, but that's all right. There are plenty of long nights ahead to figure out the layout. Or maybe not that many. He's been trying not to think about it, but. Lot of long nights.

The infirmary, the gun range, the library. The kitchen, and the coffeepot, and the newspaper left on the island with a couple of obits circled in thick sharpie, and it's probably meant to be a distraction for him but it's probably a real job, too. Sam leans over to check it out but his eyes blur and he sinks to his elbows, and then puts his forehead down to his clenched fists. His mouth tastes like pennies. All the time now, practically. In his throat the urge to cough rises and he breathes very carefully through his nose because he just—doesn't want to. He doesn't want to have to.

A box of black Lipton appeared on the shelves, when he kept coughing and hasn't stopped. He heats water in the old-school steel kettle, leaning against the stovetop, his fingers shoved in to the soft part of his throat next to his windpipe. Like if he strangles himself maybe that horrible tickling urge won't creep in. He keeps his eyes closed and feels his pulse thump against his fingertips, slow and steady. Imagines a day sometime soon when that'll change. Either staggering and erratic or all-too-fast—like years ago, in those worse days, when there was no unexplained tea as a clumsy attempt at care, when the iron-taste riming his teeth was all his own fault.

If all this goes the way he expects, it'll be yet another broken promise. His ears ring. It takes a second to swim past that to realize that, no, it's the kettle, whistling. God, he's tired.

"You gonna make your tea or do I gotta do it for you, Miss Marple?"

He jerks, turns. "I—sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"Unless you made me have to pee I think you're innocent, this time," Dean says, but not really smiling. He's wearing the robe he claimed, hands deep in the pockets. Squinting at Sam across the kitchen like there's something to see.

Sam turns and busies himself with the kettle. Splashing over the tea bag, pouring too fast so that it judders out of the spout, spattering the back of his hand. He hisses, and for the hissing he's punished with not being able to keep the cough down, and it stings, god—stings so bad, not that deep down-in-the-lungs coughing that feels like it's actually doing something, like the one time he got the flu and thought he'd turn inside out, but just—scratching, shredding, making his eyes water and his mouth fill with—

"Jeez, you're a safety hazard," Dean says, and he's right there, at Sam's side, taking the kettle away, a clatter of the steel somewhere, and then his hand heavy between Sam's shoulderblades. Warm, patient, while Sam hacks and shudders and tries to remember how to take breaths that feel clean. "Yeah, okay. Get it out."

There's no getting it out. Sam inhales very cautiously through his nose and doesn't say it, because that would be cruel, and it's too late or maybe early to get into that kind of fight. Especially when Dean's warm against him, and soft in that robe. His arm slides down around Sam's back, and Sam doesn't need help walking but he lets Dean take him over to the sink, and he leans down with his elbows on the porcelain rim and washes his mouth clean, spitting. With the lights low he hopes Dean can't see the color.

He sits with his back to the table and watches Dean move around the kitchen. His space, like the library's Sam's. Dean wipes up the spilled water and puts the kettle back in its place and glances at Sam, and then goes to the pantry shelf where he's got a bottle of bourbon stashed and pours a healthy glug into Sam's mug. "Seriously?" Sam says, and Dean shrugs and then pours another mug full of bourbon for himself, and brings both of them over to the table. He holds Sam's out to him handle-first and says, "It's medicine," and Sam smiles at him, too tired to do otherwise. Dean clunks his mug against Sam's, very carefully, and Sam winds the trailing string of the teabag over his knuckles and takes a sip, cautious. Hot, both temperature and alcohol, but sweet too. Might not really help but it feels good, and that's something, at least.

Dean waits for him to swallow, and then drinks his own mug down in a single shot. Grimaces into it, when it's empty. He looks as tired as Sam feels. Maybe more. Sam sits forward and sets his hand on Dean's hip, sorry in this—thin, entirely inadequate way. Knowing he'd make the same choice all the same. Dean licks his lips and sets his mug on the table by Sam's shoulder and then steps between Sam's knees, and Sam puts his forehead to Dean's sternum and holds Dean around the waist. Warm dark. His mouth tastes like bourbon now, at least.

Fingers through Sam's hair, carding it off the back of his neck. "You slept through the night once, this week?"

He takes a deep, careful breath. Raw over his raw throat. He's not supposed to lie, anymore. He promised. Dean's always asking Sam to make promises he'll be forced to break. "Once, I think," he says.

Dean sighs but doesn't call him out. Maybe he doesn't want to fight, either. Ever since they moved in here it's been—good. Better. Dean happy to have a home and Sam just—well, it doesn't matter. He leaves his forehead against Dean's chest and feels his breath rise and fall, his fingers tucked just barely inside the elastic of his boxers, holding on. Dean has a place, here, the safest place either of them has ever seen, and all this knowledge at his fingertips, and if Sam manages not to screw up these trials then it'll be—worth it. The world safer and Dean… he'll be okay, Sam thinks. In this bunker their family gave them. It's worth it, for that.

"Can't believe I got up for this sappy crap," Dean says, very quiet.

"Thought you said you had to pee," Sam says, muffled, and Dean says, "I can multitask," and then tugs on Sam's hair at the back so he's forced to tip his head and look up, and before he can say anything Dean dips down and kisses him, soft with a closed mouth, just—pressing close. When their lips part with barely a sound he holds there, his forehead against Sam's and their noses brushing and his breath coming slow against Sam's mouth. Steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Sam's anchored his whole life to it more than once. He touches Dean's throat and then drags his fingertips down, hooking the collar of his t-shirt, feeling that empty space where he used to wear—but that doesn't matter, now. Dean's here. Nothing matters more than that.

"You're wearing my shirt," Sam says, fingers caught in the v-neck.

"Finders keepers," Dean says, and then lifts up, and tucks Sam's hair behind both of his ears, and looks at him, eyes low and tender in the dim. "Man," he says, soft, and Sam doesn't know why, but then Dean touches his chin with one thumb and says, in a more normal voice, "Finish your tea, princess, and then come back to bed, huh? Cold down there without the human space heater."

"Not exactly selling it with your icicle feet," Sam says, and Dean shrugs, smiling at him kinda one-sided, but then he leaves the kitchen, and Sam's left there, listening to him scuff along the hall until he can't. He sits with his mug in both hands, looking at nothing across the empty kitchen. Since the first red spot he's been composing a note, mentally. Trying to figure how he could say everything that's worth saying. He never ends up writing anything down. Nothing he can think of comes close.

He drinks his tea. Leaves the mug by the sink knowing it'll make Dean bitch at him in the morning. His mouth still tastes like metal. But then—when he goes to Dean's room, he gets into bed and puts his arm around Dean's waist and puts his nose to the soft buzz of hair at the top of Dean's spine, and Dean sighs and pushes back against him, and he's warm against Sam's whole body except for his toes that tuck in behind Sam's ankle, freezing, like he's done since Sam's earliest memories. His skin like ice and then warming slowly against Sam's. What more could Sam ask for.

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 53

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Spirit’s Eve shenanigans part 2 - the event.

Author’s Note: See the comments for a little bonus snippet~

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

Naked, we both rush to the bathroom. 

I pee and do my best to clean all the Seb Residue™ off and outta me, while Seb wipes off the bits of red lipstick that look out of place off of his mouth and the skin around it; and then while I wipe off all my lipstick and grab his clothes, fangs and cape for him, he applies that black lipstick he was hoping for, puts on some more deodorant, and brushes his hair.

Since the shrine didn’t give my hair any oomph, I tie some of it half-up into a braid while Seb gets dressed. It’s super soft and easy to work with like this.

While I’m braiding, I wonder if our beloved fish son has any opinions on having to watch us bang. 

Right in front of his salad! 

Can fish food even be considered salad..? I dunno what it’s made of. 

I’m sure it can be. 

When I’m finished, I top him up with a snack and decide that it’s salad now. Gerard is so health conscious, wow!

Seb and I don’t dare to say a word, not wanting to distract each other while we get ready — we just focus on being as not-fucked out as we possibly can, and looking presentable. By the time we’re both done, we hear another knock.

We jog to the door to meet whoever’s there. It turns out to be Maru. 

“Oh!” 

I think we startled the poor girl by just flinging the door open in her face like that. She puts a hand over her chest, as if to soothe her heart. Oops.

She looks adorable — her costume is just a simple black cat, but rather than going the sexy route with it, she’s wearing a black onesie with a puffy tail sewn onto it and some mittens. The hood is down, she has cat ear clip-ons in her hair, and she drew a little triangular nose, freckles and whiskers onto her face. 

“Cute costume!” I smile, trying not to fawn a little. She may be, what, 19? 20? But I almost feel like I want to protect her right now...

“Thank you! Yours too, wow.” Recouped, she continues to Seb, “Um. Dad is pretty mad… he almost came down here himself but I went ahead of him.”

“Of course,” he rolls his eyes. “When isn’t he pissed at me?”

Maru shrugs awkwardly. It’s probably so weird for her, being Demetrius’ clear favorite and trying to talk to Seb about him... and on the other side of things, I know it’s hard for Seb to constantly be in Maru’s shadow. I don’t blame him for feeling some resentment towards her.

He sighs. “Thanks for taking over. That was cool of you.” 

He holds up a fist for her to bump. She smiles shyly, returning it. She shifts on her feet a little, and adds, “I’d just try to avoid him, if you can. He’s a little mad at everyone today, actually.”

“I’m willing to bet you’re safe from him.”

“Seb…” I nudge him with my elbow, furrowing my brows. 

I get that it’s hard but god damn, she can’t help it if Demetrius is gonna favor her so much!

His sister peers down at her feet, silent. Probably doesn’t know what to say to that; probably can’t deny it, but doesn’t wanna lie.

Seb shuts his eyes to recoup for a sec. “Shit, I’m… I’m sorry.” Sighs again and adds, “I know it’s not your fault. Didn’t mean to be a dick.”

Atta boy.

She smiles up at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“I dunno what happened for him to be mad at mom, but is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Maru replies, her voice quiet. “I couldn’t tell you why she’s so down, but I can tell it’s because of dad because he isn’t talking to her.”

Seb rolls his eyes. “‘Course…”

“Um,” I butt in, feeling timid.

I’ve rarely ever spoken to Maru, and the few times I have, it’s always turned into stuff that’s hard to understand for my dumb idiot baby brain, like her research and inventions. It’s super cool but man if I don’t feel confused every time. 

That said, it feels weird to talk about their family squabbles with her, but… 

“She told me earlier,” I continue when they’re both looking at me. I keep my eyes low and focused on nothing in particular, avoiding eye contact. “He doesn’t want to go into town, and doesn’t wanna wear the matching stuff she bought him.”

“Ohhh… That’s— damn it. He didn’t wear it.”

My shoulders slump. “Seriously?” I frown. 

Maru nods, half-shrugging, “He just has an old hazmat suit on,” adds on for Seb, “The same one he wore in that weird rain we got a few summers ago. It still has some green stains on it…” and tacks on in a mumble, “At least it’s festive, I guess.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the man. Poor Robin…

I look at Seb, whose jaw is tight. He’s holding back something. I don’t want him to have to, but at the same time, I don’t want him getting into a whole thing with Demetrius. Based on what he’s told me, their fights don’t sound pretty.

“Let’s just go,” he sighs, nodding at the stairs.

Maru nods and runs up, and we follow closely behind. Her tail nearly tickles my face. 

When we get outside, Demetrius is waiting with clear impatience. Robin stands nearby, tupperwares of cookies in hand, still upset as ever. 

Luckily, Demetrius doesn’t say anything snarky when he sees Seb. He just makes a show of sighing, turns around, and begins walking down into the town. For a moment, none of us follow. Maru winds up being the first to go. 

When she leaves, I meet Robin’s eyes and try to cheer her up, reenacting the punches I did earlier. A silent offer for me to kick his ass (for real this time!). I’m happy to see the corners of her lips upturn and the apples of her cheeks plump up in response.

“The fuck are you doing?” Seb laughs.

“Don’t worry about it, toots.”

“Toots?” Robin chimes in. 

“I said what I said.”

_______________

Abby, Sam, and Victor — a knight in bulky armor, with her helmet tucked under her arm; a beautiful princess, I’m assuming to be saved by Abby, from… something; and another vampire, in the same cheesy outfit as Seb but without makeup, respectively — are totally gobsmacked when they see Seb and I.

While Victor is bantering with Seb about their matching look amongst other topics, Abby and Sam gawk at me. 

“Can you… like… not?” I shyly ask. I can only look around and pretend to be people watching to avoid their stares for so long.

“The fuck do you mean ‘Can I not?’” Abby argues, “How in the hell did you do that?!”

“Did you, like, dye your skin?” Sam reaches out to touch my forehead with a nosy finger, but I jump away. 

“Makeup,” I lie, “Looots of makeup. Can’t touch it much or it’ll just rub right off.”

“What about the hair?” 

Abby nudges him with her elbow. “Ever heard of wigs, dumbass?” 

“That’s a sick wig, though! Like, holy crap.”

“It is pretty nice,” she agrees, emphasizing the T’s in the word “pretty.” “Must’ve been hella expensive.”

“Hella?” I pry, scrunching my nose. “The 2010s want their slang back, bozo.”

“Oh, bite me.” I bite the air in her direction, and she flinches back, laughing. “Down, girl!”

I cross my arms. “I’m an elf, not a puppy,” I grump. 

“Dog ears would be kinda…”

Abby groans. “Saaam, dude, please don’t do this.”

“I mean…” he shrugs, attempting the signature Byrne eyebrow waggle, and failing yet again. 

“Down, boy!” I laugh, feebly swatting at him. 

He turns it into a pseudo-handshake, swatting back a few times before dapping me up. We finish it with a fist bump. 

Abby fake-coughs out the word “Simp.”

The simp in question replies with great speed, “Says you.”

“The fuck you mean ‘says me?’”

I tease, “You’re big on questioning the integrity of your friends’ words tonight.”

“I’m a knight. Isn’t that a cop, in a way?”

“Acab.”

“That’s my girl!” Seb temporarily cuts in. Victor and I bark out a laugh before they continue their conversation.

“Does that make this an interrogation?” I go on through some residual giggles.

“Uh, yup.”

“It’s our right to remain silent then!”

“Yeah!” Sam agrees. “We’re sticking it to the man!”

“Neither of you have a stick,” Abby quips, unsheathing her toy sword and wagging it at us. 

“Well, y’know…” I trail off, giving Sam a quick up-and-down. Him and I share a shitty grin with each other before flashing ‘em to Abby. 

Sam finishes my sentence, “One of us does.”

She puts the sword away. “Groooss,” she whines, face palming. Sam and I laugh about it, being the mature gentlepeople we are, and exchange yet another a fist bump. “I’m getting punch, you guys want any?”

“Hell yeah,” Sam responds while I nod.

“I’ll help,” I offer, scurrying closer to Abby. 

“Sick. What about you two?” she asks a little louder to get Seb and Victor’s attention. 

“Huh?” Seb asks.

“Punch?”

They answer in unison, “Yeah, sure.” 

“Jinx!”

“You can’t say ‘jinx’ for other people, Sam.”

“Then why was I able to do it just now?”

Abby and I snort, her rolling her eyes too as we walk away from their silly argument… 

And right over to Pam, who’s pouring, like, a gallon of vodka into the punch bowl! God damnit, Pam!

We both sigh. 

“I mean,” I mutter, shrugging sheepishly, “I’m down for it.”

“You sure, tipsy?”

“Tipsy?” I snort, handing her some orange plastic cups as Pam walks away with her thoroughly boozed bev. 

“Yeah, ‘cause you get tipsy so fast.”

I groan. “Please don’t make that a thing.”

“Okay, Tipsy.”

I bump her hip with mine. “Ow,” I wince on contact. “Real metal, or something?”

She simply winks at me. 

…Huh?

Is it real or not, Ab?

I’ve gotta know how heavy that shit is if it’s real.

Is Abby, like, jacked or something?

Still ignoring my question, she wiggles a cup expectantly.

I move on. “Sure, why not?”

Abby tastes a sip. “Fuckin’— Yoba, Pam!” she whisper-yells. “This is why not.” 

She hands me the drink and I give it a sniff.

Oh my god.

I take a sip. 

Oh my—

“God!”

Abby stifles a laugh, continuing to scoop punch into the other cups. “How the fuck did your ears do that?”

I guess they moved. Shit, what did Magnus suggest? 

“Uh…” oh god, oh fuck, “trick of the light..?”

“That’s not how ears work, lady.”

“They do now, I dont fuckin’ know.” I take a hefty sip of punch. Sure as hell need it. 

Lucky for me, she just laughs it off with a weird look. I give her one back, and she laughs a little harder. 

I could swear I see a little bit of a blush on her cheeks as she observes me for a moment longer than necessary, but she puts her helmet on, hiding her complexion and giving herself the hands to carry this stuff. She handles two of the drinks while I maneuver the other three into my grasp.

Handing Seb and Victor their drinks while Abby gives Sam his, I tell them, “Dink up, gamers.”

Now that I’m passing off a drink to Vic, it’s like he’s seeing my costume for the first time. His eyes bug for a sec, “How the hell—“

“Don’t worry about it.” I shoot him a finger gun with my free hand and wink before downing another sip of punch.

He doesn’t question it. Just nods and shrugs.

It’s honestly nice that he pays less attention to me and my looks than the others. There’s a lot less pressure to exist, in a way, around him. Not that the usual attention isn’t flattering, but like, never in a gazillion years did I think I’d move to a small town like this and have a bunch of pretty people totally smitten by me, y’know?

I wonder if, being in the city for so long now, Victor is just used to seeing people way cuter than me. Maybe I’m a 10 here but a 3 or 4 there. Or maybe I’m just not his type…

For fuck’s sake — listen to me, wondering how it’s possible that he’s the only person in this group who isn’t attracted to me. Has my ego really been inflated that much?

Whatever. Either way, I'm glad at least one of my friends isn’t romantically or sexually interested in me, at least that I know of.

Seb wraps an arm around my back and pulls me in front of him. Nearly coughs the damn drink onto my head a few seconds later. 

“Pam?” he asks.

“Pam.”

“Paaam,” Victor lilts approvingly, nodding slowly and with a shit-eating grin before downing his whole cup.

“Fucking hell, dude!”

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” Abby begins chanting. 

“I mean, I already did,” Victor points out, rubbing his neck. 

Fuck. He remembered to put faux bite marks on it. 

I shoulda given Seb some of my own, heheh—

No. Down, girl.

Abby challenges him, “Chug more.”

Victor puts his hands up in mock defense. “Fine, I guess I’ll do it. Only ‘cause you’re forcing me to.” Then he walks away, empty cup in hand ready to be refilled.

“Hey,” Seb murmurs near my ear while Abby and Sam goad Victor on. His breath and low voice send a chill down my spine.

“W-what’s up?”

“Maze?”

“Oh fuck yeah, let’s go.”

The emo man takes me by the hand and we make our escape, disappearing into the hedges. While we navigate our way through, he explains the concept: get through before anyone else, and you win a huge, golden pumpkin. Nobody knows why it’s so special, but most people seem eager to get it. 

If you were to give it to anyone, it’s a sure-fire way to get in their good graces. The whole thing sounds like a silly town tradition, like bouquets, but I love the whimsy of it.

Only a few turns later, we pass Harvey, who’s all but cowering a few paces away from some hay bales.

Doctor Haywood, more like Doctor Scared-Of-Hayw— I’m sorry, that one barely even makes sense…

Seb encourages him, raising his glass (well, plastic), “Hang in there, doc.”

He replies with a shaky thumbs-up. 

We continue on, weaving our way through a mixture of fake and real spiders, some subdued (but still intimidating) monsters, and a fake-out pumpkin patch, before arriving at a dead end occupied by a Baba Yaga-lookin’ hut with feet.

“Coulda sworn this was the right way,” Seb mutters. 

I look around, trying to spot any paths we could take. I’ve got nothing.

“Need help?”

“Oh god!“ I jump, startled.

“You got that too, right?”

“Ye— Wait, he can talk to more than one person at a time telepathically?”

“I can with some effort.”

“Where the fuck are you?!” Seb laughs. 

“Look to the cliffs.”

Seb and I both turn, scanning for him. With nothing but the darkness and our stupidity to blame, it takes a few seconds to notice him – he’s practically right above us, sitting back on his hands with Linus cross-legged at his side. He waves while Magnus offers a warm smile, and I smile at them both, nudging Seb.

I think out loud, “Guess it makes sense why you could hear us.”

He winks. Cute… “Unless I was simply reading your mind again.”

I fake astonishment with a fist on my chest clutching at imaginary pearls. “You wouldn’t dare!” I proclaim, trying to sound like a generic damsel in distress from an old film.

“He would,” Seb points out.

“I would,” Magnus agrees, nodding.

“Whatever, man.” I take a long sip of my punch, definitely beginning to feel the effects. I wince a little at the sting it leaves behind. 

“Are you alright?” Linus asks, having noticed.

After shaking off the feeling a bit with Seb patting at my back and quietly chuckling to himself, I nod. 

A one-word explanation should do. “Pam.”

“Pam…” Linus nods sagely. 

Magnus looks a little confused. “Pam?”

“She spikes the punch at, like, every town gathering,” Seb explains. 

“Ohhh.”

“Surprised you haven’t noticed it more,” I poke, “with all your creeping around at these things.”

“Hush, you.”

After a little snicker, I ask, “You want some?” I dunno how to get it to them, but I’m sure we could figure it out. 

In lieu of an answer, Magnus holds up a fancy bottle of wine, a lazy, mischievous grin on his face. Linus yoinks it right from his hands and steals a sip. I guess that explains the darkness to both of their cheeks.

“Oh hell yeah.”

“You earned it,” Seb proclaims, vaguely motioning around us. “This is sick.” I enthusiastically nod at the sentiment.

“Indeed we did!” Linus agrees. 

“So uh,” Seb moves on, “about that golden pumpkin…” 

I look over to see him squiggling his eyebrows around, as he often does. He’s got a slight lil shimmy to his shoulders too this time. Dork.

Magnus smiles knowingly. “What about it?”

“Got any hints?” I interject. 

Seb tacks on, “Or answers?”

“Or answers?” I repeat enthusiastically. I mimic the emo’s earlier wiggles, earning a smile from the older men and Seb alike.

“That would be telling.”

“Th—“ I have to stop for a giggle. Pam… “That’s the point!”

“I get it,” Seb laments dramatically, “you hate us.”

I place the back of my hand on my forehead and lean against Sebastian. “M’so hurt I might faint.”

“Spirits save me,” I hear him mutter. His smile betrays the annoyance in his voice. 

Linus comes to our rescue! “Try looking more closely at those hedges behind you.” Magnus nods along.

“Not all heroes wear capes.” Seb salutes the white-haired man.��

“Thank you, Linus!” I beam, tugging Seb a few paces towards our destination. He goes along with me, laughing at my enthusiasm. “Love you, Maggg,” I add in a sing-songy tone.

“Since when do you call him Mag?” Seb questions, his nose scrunched.

I shrug. “How d’ya feel about Maggy then?”

Magnus answers, “Please, no,” while Seb and Linus both shake their heads, Linus laughing as he does so. 

I lazily swing a defeated snap in front of me. “Damn.”

“And I love you too, little elf,” Oh?! Magnus adds on, waving. “Good luck, you two.”

That nickname was so cute! It feels different hearing it from him, versus all the shadow people who called me the same.

God I wish I was always an elf.

Too giddy to respond, I beam back at him before scurrying away. 

“Little elf does it for ya, huh?” Seb asks once we’re alone again. His voice is smooth and he takes his hand from mine to place it atop my head and frick it all makes me fucking melt. 

Sometimes I forget he can just, like, sense my heart rate and shit. Wizards, man… 

“Shuddup.” Comes out as a squeak. 

“Is that who I think it is?” I hear Sam yell from somewhere nearby. 

“No,” Seb lies.

“First they abandon us,” Abby goes on, “and then they lie. Bastards.”

Victor cries, “For shame!”

“Gonna have to catch up if you want an apology,” Seb calls out. 

“You won’t just apologize because I’m an innocent little guy?” Abby pouts. I can’t see it but I’ll be damned if I can’t hear the frown in her voice. “You wouldn’t upset a little guy, would you?”

“I would.”

“Yeah I would too.”

Seb scoffs, “(Y/n) you are a little guy.”

“My point stands.”

“Betrayed by my own kin!” Abby laments. 

“For shame!” Vic repeats with more force.

“You sound more knightly than vampirey when you say that, y’know,” I respond.

“And y’sound more like a squeaky toy than elfily..? Elfly..?” Sound it out buddy! “Elfy,” he decides.

“Yeeowch,” Sam narrates, “a critical hit!”

“Goodbye,” Seb laughs, tugging me along. I stumble a little, but he helps me stay upright.

Pam.

By time we find the pumpkin, let’s fucking go, the others catch up to us, somehow. They must’ve been booking it.

“Dude, dude,” Abby greets us with urgency.

I’m surprised she didn’t immediately mourn the loss of the golden pumpkin.

Behind her, Victor has his eyes locked in on the pumpkin in Seb’s embrace. Sam is next to him, just kinda admiring the scenery. 

Abby places a palm on mine and Seb’s shoulders. “You’ll never guess who I just saw.”

“Try me,” Seb retorts while I tilt my head. 

“You remember that dude from the tower in the woods?” Oh no. “He’s here.”

How did she not see him at the fair earlier in the season?

Whatever.

I wonder if she noticed he’s a whole different color palette now. Sure, Spirit’s Eve is a good excuse and all, but I almost kinda hope she just couldn’t make out the details of his appearance in the dim lighting of his garden to begin with. 

Feeling slightly more than tipsy — living up to the girl’s new name for me, I fucking guess — I trip on my own thoughts, trying to figure out a response. 

Luckily, Seb jumps in. “He does live here, you know.”

“Well fuckin’ duh, but why have I never seen him around before? What’s his deal?”

“T’be fair, he helps Linus set this up every year,” I state. “You’ve gotta just look outside more often.”

“Really?” She squints, “Wait— How do you know that?” 

“I…” shit, shit, “I went back to his house. To apologize!”

Big mistake.

“Aaand that makes you close enough for him to tell you about stuff like that now?”

“I mean… uh.” I’m flubbing this, and if I had to guess by his silence, Sebastian is pretty stuck too. “I guess we’re friends now, yeah, I’unno. I’ve gone over there a bunch at this point.”

“And you just knew about this?” Abby grills Seb, crossing her arms. It seems like Sam and Victor’s interests have been piqued by now. 

“We… are gonna have to explain everything to them if we can’t save ourselves somehow, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Seb answers both Abby and myself. 

“And you didn’t stop her?!” Sam frowns. Fuck, that’s right — he was there for the conversation about me going on my own in the first place. “What if he’s some kind of psycho?”

“He’s—” Seb sighs, rubbing the corners of his eyes, smudging his makeup a little more than I had earlier. “He’s not.”

“Yeah?” Abby rebukes. “How would you know?”

“I already knew him.”

Oh, okay, we’re doing this I guess.

“So… you lied, then?”

Abby looks genuinely hurt. Fuck. 

Sometimes I forget that, even if she isn’t hostile towards me anymore, she still probably has lingering feelings for Seb. He was everything to her until recently, after all. Maybe he still is, but she’s just grown or something. 

“Did you know that he knew the guy?” she asks me. Still sounds hurt, but her voice has hardened a considerable amount.

“No!” I frown, worrying the rim of my cup with my thumb nails. “Not until after meeting him.” It’s not completely wrong… I met Magnus before Seb spilled about their past to me. She doesn’t have to know.

Abby seems to not know where to look, and opts to stare at the helmet in her embrace. It’s almost like she’s just as upset about being left out of this new, weird trio of ours as she is about being lied to, which I can empathize with. Shit sucks…

God. We’re a pair of real dickheads, aren’t we? I knew the weird friendship quest I was on would be as sleezy as it felt. It was stupid of me to follow through with it all that time ago.

Selfishly, part of me is still glad I did, because now I’m friends with her. There’s less drama. Less fear that she’s gonna go, like, totally apeshit on me for dating someone she was either in love with or obsessed with — maybe both? — for so long. 

She really is friendly and sweet and fun to be around when she doesn’t have it out for you, and I’m happy to know this side of her.

Also, maybe I would’ve never gone to Magnus’ tower if this hadn’t happened. Maybe I wouldn’t even know him right now, and maybe he and Seb would’ve never reconnected. It would just be weighing on both of their consciences forever while I’d never meet my literal soulmate.

That would suck.

I shut my eyes for a moment and sigh, trying to sober up my thoughts. “M’sorry for not telling you sooner,” I offer softly. 

“Yeah, me too,” Seb adds. “Look, if you want I can fill you in on everything some other time, but… let’s just enjoy the night for now, yeah?”

“Yeah, enjoy the night,” Abby scoffs under her breath. She continues at her typical volume, “I’m not sure if I should feel more mad or more jealous right now. Like, what the fuck?” 

“Yeah, I… I get it,” I cut in. “You have every right to be mad at us. We didn’t mean to leave y’so out of the loop, though — we didn’t think it mattered.” Realizing that coulda sounded a little insensitive, I quickly tack on, “I mean, he’s just some dude.”  

Now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.

How am I getting so good at lying?

God, I suck.

Abby softens a little, part of her seeming to agree, but she still looks upset. She takes a few breaths that seem deeper than usual. Spares a glimpse back at Sam and Vic, who are kinda just awkwardly standing there.

It looks like Sam has something to say too, but he’s keeping his thoughts to himself for now, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like this before. 

…Like, his face, I mean. I’ve never seen him all dolled up in a pink ball gown that’s too small for him either. Obviously.

I pick at the orange plastic in my hands some more while Seb tears up the nail polish on his left thumb with the adjoined pointer.

“You, uh,” I meekly suggest, “you want the pumpkin..?” I pat the gold gourd for emphasis.

A humble peace offering.

“N—“ She cuts off her initial response and thinks about it. Her shoulders deflate while she realizes, “I mean, kinda? Fuck.” 

“I’ll take it if you don’t,” Sam mutters. 

Victor nudges him. “She didn’t ask you.” 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Abby diverts to Seb. I dunno if he’s just frazzled, or if he was brain-talking to Magnus, or what.

“Just, uh… Stressed.”

I nod. Fuckin’ same, dude, whether it’s a lie or not on his part. 

More awkward silence passes before I figure out a potential solution. 

Maybe… hm.

I clap, newly determined to fix my— our— whoever’s fuck-ups. Seb, Sam and Abby startle while Victor simply waits to see what happens.

“I have a proposition.

“Huh?”

“We can all share the pumpkin.”

Abby tilts her head. “What, like, cut it up?”

“No— well, yes?” I shake my head. “But no.”

“Graceful as ever,” Sam teases me. 

“Shut up, you’re into it,” I shoot back. His cheeks redden while he smiles and rolls his eyes. “What if I, I’unno, make something with it? Aaand we can all hang out and eat pumpkin stuff and whatever. Finish off autumn with a bang.”

“Ha. Bang. Kinky.”

“Sam!” I laugh. Victor nudges him for me. Thank you Victor. “I know I don’t have much room at my place,” I go on, “but I’m the only one with my own house, so we can do it there.”

“You drive a hard bargain, lady,” Abby ponders. 

“Am I allowed to partake in this pumpkin party?” Victor slurs. He sounds shy, almost, even in his more boisterous, drunken state.

“If you can make it out here, hell yeah.”

“Why don’t we do it tomorrow?” Seb chimes in. “You can stay over at my place if your mom lets you.”

“Or mine,” Sam adds.

Abby and I nod. Victor shrugs and nods too. “I’ll ask when she seems ready to leave later. Maybe She’ll be boozy ‘nuff to let me.”

“Cool,” I breathe.

That broke the tension, but now I have a whole thing to host. Ough.

Well… at least that’s one thing settled, for now.

[crescentmoonrider]

Mother

Toji makes it out of the pit. Toji makes it out, alive and injured and hungry, and mother isn't here patch up his injuries. Not this time, not ever again. For the prompt : Busted Lip [ @badthingshappenbingo ]

read on AO3

or under the Read More, I’m not your boss

[ do mind that this fic features heavy descriptions of injuries]

.

It hurts.

It didn’t hurt quite as much when Toji made it out, maybe because of how excited he had been, tearing through curses with the savage joy of revenge and finally seeing the light of day, but now – now it hurts like hell.

The worm wriggles inside his stomach, and he fights the urge to throw up.

He couldn’t leave the little guy in there where it would just be exorcised, couldn’t get rid of it either, not when the knife it spit out was what gave Toji a chance to make it. Not when it does nothing, but eat what falls in front of it and call out for its mom.

So Toji does his best to keep the little guy hidden inside his stomach, does his best to stumble up to a room where he can take care of his wounds, maybe rest a bit before someone comes to bother him, maybe even eat something that isn’t a curse for the first time in… ah, how long was he in there ?

Given everyone’s faces when he walked out of the pit, he thinks they’ll at least leave him alone for a while.

Shit, it hurts so much.

He tracks blood across the dark floor of mother’s room, stains her dresser while looking for the first aid supplies she used to keep for him.

Usually, she would tell him to sit in the entrance and not touch anything until she’s done cleaning him up, lest it gets dirty. She would scold him, say they both know he will never make her proud, but if he could at least stop being such a disappointment it would be the least he could do, as her son.

“You’ll never win these fights anyway, Toji, so stop picking them,” she would say.

Not that he ever really picked fights so much as watched them fall in front of him. Last time was… last time was an exception.

He grinds his teeth. Feels his stomach jump to his throat in pain when the muscles of his jaw contract around the open wound that is his mouth.

He doesn’t know what it looks like, hasn’t looked yet, but he thinks… he thinks it’s pretty bad. All of his injuries probably are, honestly, but the way he feels his bottom lip kind of hanging uselessly on the right, in a way that would definitely dry up his mouth if it didn’t constantly fill with blood…

Yeah, that doesn’t sound good. Gonna have to sew up that one for sure, if he wants to eat.

Mother could have done pretty stitches, cleaned him up all good and stitched his wounds like she did when he got hurt real bad, even though she didn’t have to and he already hurt her enough by being born wrong.

“I can’t let you trouble anyone else,” she used to say while patching up whatever injuries he brought back that day, “since you’re my fault.”

Toji never really cared why she did it, honestly. He just liked how warm her hands were.

He undresses, wincing with each move, throat tearing up with deep, animalistic moans befitting of a monkey, as he pulls cloth out of open wounds and half dry blood.

Mother’s mirror on the dresser will do, he thinks as he grabs it and smears more blood on her things, blurring the image reflected in the glass to an unrecognizable shape.

Shit.

He tries his best to wipe it with the least bloody corner of his yukata, just enough to manage a check of what needs cleaning, what needs dressing, what needs sewing.

The blood in his left eye doesn’t help with seeing all of that, but – he squints. Holds the mirror, shakily angling it to look where it hurts most.

There are deep claw marks carved in the flesh of his right shoulder and breast, and he thinks he can even see a little bit of rib shining through one of the open wounds. That’s gonna need sewing. Same for his forearms, but he’s not sure how he’ll manage that. Maybe if he just dresses them tight enough, the gashes will close on their own ? There’s no bone showing there, so surely that’s a good thing.

His back and left side down to the thigh are just a mess. He thinks he remembers being caught by some, uh, sucking, octopus-looking, thing, and literally ripping himself from its grip to avoid getting eaten. Maybe that’s what did it. Maybe it was the corrosive spit of that weird-ass snake instead.

He guesses… ah, well, that’s already mostly done bleeding, and with how big this one is, he would have a better chance just embroidering all over the exposed flesh rather than try to sew it closed. Gonna have to clean it good, dress it good, and hope skin regrows on monkeys like it does for lizards.

Lizards regrow their skin, right ? They couldn’t shed it otherwise.

Hands and feet are fucked a normal amount, same for his knees. Running and crawling and scratching at the door in the hope he will somehow manage to dig his way out of this hell, he knows no one will open, not father – not father, he said himself he has no son, threw Toji in there himself like he should have eleven years ago instead of making everyone hurt – not mother – it’s Toji’s fault he knows, something he did had to be the last straw and that’s why she slit her throat and left only this dark stain on the floor that Toji can’t even see anymore – not anyone but himself and he tried so hard to just flee, and that’s when the octopus caught him by the back of the shoulder and he –

Hands and feet are fucked a normal amount. He’s missing, what, two nails ? He’ll live. Will be a pain to stitch up anything because of that, but it’s not like he was ever going to make it as pretty as mother did anyway.

His face is the real problem, as expected.

The black eye is fine, he’s had a few before, he knows how that goes, a few days of seeing weird and like a week more of looking ugly and he’s done. But his mouth…

The gash goes from the top of his cheek – missed the eyeball, thankfully – to the bottom of his jaw. Didn’t cut the bone, he thinks, but the right side of his mouth is just limp. He can see the gums through the open wound and under his bottom lip, thinks he can feel a chip in one tooth with his tongue too, follows it down to the gum and it stings, not just his jaw but his tooth too, like the root itself got exposed. Maybe it is.

There’s iron at the back of his throat, up his nose, blood dripping and spilling from the gash kept open by Toji’s spit, too diluted to coagulate.

Even if he manages to sew it all back up properly, can that thing even heal ?

Out of nowhere, he remembers one time Tadayoshi beat up his face and then made fun of Toji for being ugly afterwards. “A face only a mother could love,” he’d said. It made Toji laugh because he couldn’t understand what Tadayoshi meant by that. Which was the wrong answer, but then again, Toji never gives the right answers to anything.

Ah… should he try fixing it right now ? With his hands all fucked up and his stomach empty save for the worm, and his eye all busted ? He’s never gonna get mother’s pretty stitches right, but ugly scars aren’t the same if they’re on his shoulder or on his face.

On her face. Fath- Jin’ichi’s eye, but mother’s full lips, mother’s straight nose. Mother who he’s never gonna see ever again, mother who won’t ever clean his wounds with her warm hands and scold him for being a disappointment, mother whose blood is getting soiled by Toji’s again, spilling on the floor where the last trace of her body was.

He wants to throw up.

The worm hasn’t even moved.

Toji puts down the mirror. There’s fresh water in the room, mother never went out so the servants made sure she always had enough at all times. Tons of clean clothes inside mother’s closet, too, since there’s no way the first aid kit has enough gauze and bandages for this mess. Jin’ichi won’t like it, but what’s he gonna do ? Throw Toji back into the empty pit ? He doesn’t have a son, so Toji doesn’t have to act like one anymore.

And mother wouldn’t mind. She wanted Toji to only ever trouble her, so it’s fine if he uses what little is left of her until there’s nothing but ashes.

It’s fine. He’ll live, even if it hurts.

He’ll make it out.

He’s hungry.

[sturniolos-blog]

band - pt 3 (pt 2 here)

warnings - swearing, abuse

12:58 am

Matt and I then walked into Dans Motel, we walked in to see and old lady with a cigarette.

Matt spoke up first, “Hi, uhm- we need a room for two, preferably two beds.” He spoke up,

The lady cleared her throat, letting out a harsh cough, jeez. She looked up at me, her eyes lingering on me for a second, probably because of my beat up bloody face.

“Nuh uh, that won’t work.” She says, typing something on her computer.

Matt looks at me with a confused look, i look back at him. She then clears her throat,

“But we do have a room with one bed.” She said, looking between the two of us.

I sighed and nodded.

“That’s fine. thank you.” Matt says.

“How many nights?” She coughs again.

Matt looks at me and I just shrug, “one night?” He says, sort of a question, i nod in agreement.

She typed something on her computer,

“300.” She says, looking back at matt.

My eyes widen, “300? what the hell- i don’t have that kind of money-” Matt cut me off by shushing me, pulling out his wallet and taking out 3 hundred dollar bills.

“Matt what are you doing?” I grab his shoulder but then he hands the lady the money.

“Alright, room 215. have fun guys.” She winks.

I sigh as matt takes the key,

we start walking to find the room.

“you didn’t have to do that, i’ll pay you back i promise..” I rub my forehead as we walk.

Matt looks at me, “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

I look up at him, taking a breath and nodding,

We make it to the room, he opened it, it was small and manageable.

Matt grabs my hand and leads me to the bathroom, “Sit.” he says as he points to the closed toilet seat, I give him a confused look and he gives me a “sit down now” look, so i do, he then crouches and goes through the sink cabinet.

He grabs a towel and rubbing alcohol, i swallow harshly,

“Um i can do this myself-”

“Shut up,” He hisses, i close my mouth. Letting out a frustrated breath as i look away.

“Thank you..” He says, his voice softer now.

He then puts the towel under warm water, squeezing it out slightly before grabbing my chin in his hand and making me look at him, he stood in between my legs as he dabbed my cuts with the towel, i let out a wince, he stopped.

“Sorry..” He whispers before continuing again, wiping all the blood off my face.

He then grabs a Q-tip and puts some of the rubbing alcohol on it, he goes to dab one of my cuts but i grab his wrist,

“That won’t work for me.” I shake my head,

Matt let’s out a sigh, “I have to clean them, Y/n..” He looks down at me, his gaze made me want to crumble.

I let go of his wrist and let him clean my cuts, as he continued cleaning them i let out hisses in pain, him muttering a sorry every now and then.

After we were done Matt walked out of the bathroom, i followed suit. He kicked off his shoes and took off his vest he had on, throwing it over an arm chair.

I looked at him for a moment, not really sure what to do as he got under the covers.

“You gonna get in or what?” He says.

I kick off my shoes too, climbing into the space next to him, the bed was small so we didn’t have much room between us.

“Matt?”

“Yes, y/n?”

“I’m not tired.” I whispered.

“Me neither.” He said as we both stared at the ceiling.

“Matt?” i broke the silence again.

“what, y/n?”

“Thank you..”

Matt cleared his throat, “Of course.. you were hurt. I would never leave you like that. and i’m sorry for rachel, she can be a real bitch sometimes.” He says softly.

I turn on my side to face him, he turned his head noticing i turned my whole body, doing the same now.

“It’s okay..” I whisper.

Matt shakes his head, “It’s not, she doesn’t know you like that she had no right to say that kind of stuff.”

“You don’t know me like that either, matt..” I said.

Matt swallowed, “What really happened?”

I shook my head, not wanting to answer.

“Y/n.”

“Matt.”

“What happened?” He asked again.

“I came home late and i didn’t answer his texts, it was my fault.” I said lowly.

Matts eyebrows furrowed, “A fucking guy put his hands on you!?” Matt sits up,

I sit up too, “Matt it’s okay he never does it that badly-”

“I don’t fucking care, y/n! That’s fucking sick.” Matt scoffs.

“Stop acting like you care matt you don’t know me!” I yell.

Matt sighs, “I know you well enough to know you don’t deserve anything like that, okay? i’m sorry but that’s really fucked up, and you can’t go back there, after what he fucking did to you? yeah no.” Matt shakes his head.

“I can’t go anywhere else, Matt. Trust me i’ve tried. And he ends up finding me anyway.” My voice cracked as tears welled up in my eyes.

Matt put his hand on my back, rubbing up and down. “Stay with me.” He whispered.

I looked at him, “What? i thought you got kicked out?”

Matt shook his head, “That’s my apartment not hers, it’s all under my name. She just moved in with me, she doesn’t even pay anything she spends all her money on weed and drugs.”

“Oh..” I whisper.

Matt nods, “yep.”

“That doesn’t mean i can stay with you, Matt. Jonathan would literally kill me.”

“No the fuck he would not. I wouldn’t let him.”

I let out a sigh, “Can I think about it?” I bit my lip.

Matt nodded and laid back down, on his side so his back was towards me, “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, matt.” I laid down too, my back facing his.

the end

[yopossum]

Not Anyone Who Says

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - AO3

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3

“The hell do y’need this for, Ellie?” Joel held a golf club over his head with one hand, wiping the sweat from his brow on his shoulder. The last remnants of the garage apartment were scattered on the driveway, some artifacts more precious than others.

“I dunno, thought I might need it someday I guess. Why?”

“Just wonderin’ why I’m bustin’ my ass packing up shit you don’t need.”

“Self defense? You could fuck somebody up with that thing, I bet! Keep it by the door at me and Sarah’s in case of intruders.”

“Christ, Ellie. Y’think you’re living in some kinda zombie movie? More likely you’ll forget you asked me to come by to clean up some mess you made and come out swingin’, bash my damn head in. Get an alarm system.”

“Fine, toss it! Unless you want it? You sure you don’t want to take up golfing, old man?” Ellie’s eyebrows waggled with a smirk.

“No, I don’t want to take up golfing, you little shit,” he huffed. Joel scowled at his younger daughter, crinkling eyes and deep smile lines betraying his stony countenance. She stuck out her tongue at him and he flicked a middle finger her direction before tossing the club into the towering junk pile.

Sarah emerged with heaving breaths from the garage apartment, stepping cautiously down the stairs with her arms wrapped around a large cardboard box, seams straining against its contents. “Saved the worst for last! Oh my God,” she wheezed as she slid the box into the bed of the pickup. “How did you even carry these inside in the first place, Ellie?”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t, that’s how.” Ellie shrugged her shoulders in mock apology and Sarah snorted, brushing an errant curl off her sticky forehead before flipping through the massive pile of records stacked in the box. “Only helped ‘cause her taste in music is better’n her attitude,” Joel grunted with a wink. Ellie returned his earlier finger.

“You got me hooked, man! That collection’s your fault.”

“That collection’s probably a good chunk of my bank account, too.”

“Guess you won’t be retiring any time soon, then!”

“Yeah, well, gotta have somethin’ to keep me busy now that y’ain’t my problem anymore, babygirl.” Joel moved around the driveway, puzzling Ellie’s straggling belongings in wherever he found space in the truck. “Gonna be the most productive years of my career.” He grinned at them both, so damn grown suddenly. Joel took a silent steadying breath through flared nostrils. Turning his back to his daughters and leaning into the cab, he pulled a tattered rag from a rear pocket and dabbed at his stinging eyes, blinking back what he couldn’t pass off as perspiration.

Sarah and Ellie exchanged a knowing look. When he looked back at them, face a touch more red raw, and cleared his throat declaratively, they spared him any playful ribbing and instead let their eyes roam to the now empty garage.

“Plans for this place, Dad?” Sarah nodded her head toward the wooden stairs, leading to the door of the studio he’d built above the garage years before.

It was hers, first, when she was getting her degrees at UT. Save your money for when you need it, babygirl. No reason to throw it away on rent for some dump when I can set y’up right here. When she finished her undergrad and her Master’s and snagged a full-time position at the local library branch, Joel begrudgingly agreed that she was secure enough to find her own place, so long as it was close.

The apartment was Ellie’s after that. A mouthy 13-year-old with a disdain for authority and affinity for all things space, she bonded fast and fierce with the neighborhood’s newest librarian, and then, as an extension, with the librarian’s surly and solid father. Doesn’t make sense havin’ you here every damn day with your shit all over the place when there’s a whole apartment sittin’ empty out back, he’d grouched after some months. Softly, then, an admission — love ya like you’re my own, anyway — and that was that. Ellie’s beleaguered guardian, Marlene, dutiful but never maternal, had been grateful that the pair had cracked the girl’s rough shell, and was happy to speed the process along. Soon Joel brought the last of her things over. The first night, Ellie turned off the light and laid back on her bed to find the ceiling spattered with hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars. When she threw her arms around Joel in the kitchen the next morning, he held her tight and didn’t say a word.

Now, Ellie would be living with Sarah, and Joel would living with memories.

“Nope,” Joel replied, popping his hip to the side and letting his hands rest at his waist. “Not yet, at least. Haven’t really thought about it.” In truth, he’d been avoiding thinking about it, but he sucked his teeth instead of saying so.

“You could rent it out, I bet,” Sarah offered, but he shook his head.

“Not lookin’ to be anybody’s landlord. Don’t got the ego or the patience for it. Would rather just let it sit empty, in case y’all need it.” Joel distracted himself by tugging at the hem of his grey t-shirt, which had risen up over the soft swell of his tanned belly and was clinging to the clammy skin and damp dark curls there.

“Keep an open mind, Dad. You don’t have to be evil about it or anything. It’s a good place to live; could be a nice opportunity for somebody,” Sarah reasoned. She narrowed her eyes at him, face sliding into something sly but not sinister. “You never know, you might even meet someone…companionable.”

“Jesus, kid. I’m fifty years old and you want me chasin’ tail down my own damn driveway?” Joel admonished, dragging his hands over his face and hoping the peony pink heat he felt creeping up his cheeks and blushing his neck wasn’t obvious.

Ellie chimed in. “Shit, Joel, maybe we should set you up with one of those live-in elder care nurses then! Since you’re getting up there and all.” She barely got the words out before she bent forward with a wheeze, cackling as she slapped at her thigh. Sarah bit hard into her lower lip, shoulders shaking with restraint before she spat out a laugh of her own.

“Yeah, yeah. You two are real genius comedians, regular Will Livingstons. Funniest damn joke I’ve ever heard,” Joel groaned, rolling his eyes at the girls in front of him, their knees buckling as they gasped and giggled. “Y’know what’d be really funny? If I sent you both on your way and ate all the damn dinner myself. Pie included,” he threatened, puffing out his nose and crossing his arms, his mustache twitching with the slight upward twist of his mouth.

“You know we love you, Dad, we’ll stop teasing,” Sarah conceded, wiping her eyes and resting a hand on her stomach to catch her breath.

“For now!” chirped Ellie. “Know you’ll get all lonely and sad and weird about it without some normal humans around you.”

“Are you tryin’ to imply that you two’re normal humans? How the hell do you figure?”

“Just… just think about it, okay? Pleeeease?” Sarah pleaded sweetly, rich brown puppy dog eyes she got from her father and frequently turned against him, a weakness she’d played into for a lifetime.

”Maybe,” Joel grizzled. “How ‘bout that?” All sunshine, Sarah beamed at him, and he squeezed her elbow affectionately.

The evening sun, sodden with daytime, squeezed out the last of its pink and orange and slunk heavy below the tree-line. The air swelled with grackle symphony. The three made their way from the driveway across the grass, reaching the porch as the lights flicked on.

As he reached for the antique brass knob, Joel paused, and in a fraction of a second he turned on his heel and pulled his daughters into a tight embrace against his broad chest.

He pressed a silent kiss to the top of each head, aquiline nose dipping down into their hair, and breathed them in. Joel let his eyes flutter closed and imagined tucking his girls deep inside the sanctum of his rib cage, snuggled safe and sated there, his body thrumming with three heartbeats.

He opened his eyes, then chucked Sarah and Ellie gently on their respective chins with weathered knuckles.

“Go set the table while I clean off, will ya? And throw on one of those records.”

Sarah shot him a thumbs up and reached for the silverware drawer. Ellie was already halfway into the office when he started up the stairs. “Any preference?” she hollered over her shoulder.

“Pick whatever you like, kid. If you girls are happy, I’m happy.” And, really, he was.

[divinesouldariax]

h/c spell prompts with Cure Wounds and Ashton and Milo? (Romantic or platonic, dealers choice!)

Ahhh this one was nice and cathartic, in a difficult way. Thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoy it! <3 ~Martin

Content warning: this fic contains some dark and unhealthy thoughts and actions on the subjects of chronic pain, disability, self-endangerment, alcohol use, and guilt. Also, there's blood.

~

Milo was cleaning up a spill from a mug of coffee in the front room when Ashton walked in through the front door, covered in blood.

Well. Covered was maybe a slight exaggeration, but it was soaked down half of the front of his vest, dripping from their nose, and dried across their hands. He was stumbling, unsteady on his feet.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Milo said, shocked and a little horrified.

“Fight,” Ashton said shortly. They continued to walk in, heading down the hall towards their bedroom.

Milo rushed after him, grabbing the curtain to stop him from closing it behind them. “Are you drunk? You are bleeding. A lot.”

“Yeah.” Ashton sat down, wiping roughly at his nose and barely wincing.

“Fuck. Let me go get some stuff, I can heal–”

“Don’t fucking bother,” Ashton told them.

Milo frowned. They crossed their arms. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” Ashton tipped their head backwards and let out a sharp, tired laugh. “Doesn’t fucking matter what you do, Miles, it’s not gonna stop.”

“Stop bleeding? Come on, give me some credit, I can fix a broken nose. And whatever happened to…” Milo gestured at their own collarbone, seeing the gash that was probably the source of most of the blood on Ashton’s.

“No, not the fucking bleeding, I don’t care about the fucking bleeding.”

“Then–”

Ashton let himself fall backwards diagonally across his bed. His chest rose and fell as he breathed just a little more heavily than he normally did. “All of it,” they said unhelpfully.

After a pause, Milo said, “Okay. I’m gonna go get my healing stuff, ‘cause you’re getting blood everywhere.” When Ashton didn’t protest again, Milo went to fetch all of the healing supplies they had built and learned how to use after Ashton’s fall.

When they returned, Ashton had his eyes closed and he didn’t respond to Milo quietly saying his name. It wouldn't be the first time they had come home and immediately passed out drunk–at least it was on his bed this time, and not in the hallway–so Milo set to work healing up the new injuries as best as they could. The jagged cut just below Ashton’s throat was superficial, and his nose wasn't actually broken. Milo took out a handkerchief and used it with a little magic to clean away all of the blood from Ashton's clothes, skin, and the blankets underneath him. They were about to get up and leave him to rest when he spoke.

"See? Doesn't fucking matter."

"What do you mean?" Milo asked.

"Getting hurt, getting fucking healed, doesn't matter. Everything still fucking hurts."

Milo winced. "Ash…"

"I can get beat to shit and I don't even care."

"Oh, gods, Ash–"

"No, and it–it doesn't stop, and I drink and I fucking…punch somebody, just to make it stop for a second, but I know it's gonna fucking…be back. Never gonna fucking leave me alone. It's always going to fucking hurt."

And there was guilt. There was so much fucking guilt that Milo didn't know what to do with it. It was their fault that Ashton had ribbons of metal gluing their shattered bones and flesh back together, their fault that he hadn't been healed right, that he would never be free of the pain and the reminder of the fall, of the Nobodies leaving, of everyone fucking leaving them.

They wanted to get angry. Milo felt the same boiling fury in their own chest that they saw sometimes in Ashton’s eyes, and they wanted to scream, to get rid of the guilt by giving into their worst impulses and telling Ashton that he was fucking lucky to be alive, would he rather Milo hadn't bothered to save them, would he rather be dead–

But they didn't want to know the answer to that. And they didn’t want to lash out when it wasn't Ashton that they were furious with.

"Do you want me to go so you can sleep?" Milo said softly.

"No," Ashton said, their voice hitching and their hand reaching out briefly towards Milo before they pulled it back down to their side. "Fuck. I mean, you can. It doesn't fucking matter."

Already in pain, doesn't matter if it gets worse. Everybody else already left, doesn't matter if you do, too. 

Milo let out a quiet sigh, pushing the rage away to deal with another day, and stayed.

[sickstarlight]

Hay! I don’t know if you’re still talking prompts but could you do one where the sicky is super bloated and tender to the touch and the caretaker gives them a belly rub and it makes them puke all over themselves and the caretaker

When Kellan gets home, he finds Aiden on the couch, lying on his back with his long legs dangling over the arm, his t-shirt pulled up over his ribs and a hand resting on his stomach. His usually slim belly is swollen beyond belief, and he groans softly as he lifts his head to look dolefully towards the door.

“Kel,” he whines, “I think I ate too much.”

“No kidding,” Kellan says, raising an eyebrow, and throws his things down on the table by the door. “What, did you raid the whole pantry, or something?”

“I ordered food when I got home,” Aiden explains, “but I was too hungry to wait for it, so I made rice and beans in the meantime.”

Kellan sighs, shaking his head with a wry smile. “And then you ate the whole pot and everything you ordered, right?” he adds. “Honestly, Aiden, when are you ever gonna learn that your eyes are always bigger than your stomach?”

“I know, I know,” Aiden says, and moans again, rubbing his distended gut with his palm. “I feel so stuffed I can hardly move.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Kellan says, though he does, a little. “Sit up, you’re taking up the whole couch.”

“But,” Aiden protests, and whines as Kellan grabs his shoulder. “C’mon, man, cut me a little slack, huh?”

“It’s your own fault,” Kellan replies, pushing him upright and collapsing onto the couch next to him. Aiden groans as the movement jostles him, and Kellan feels a pang of guilt. He doesn’t want to actually hurt Aiden. “Come here, you big dummy,” he says gently, and puts an arm around Aiden’s waist to pull him closer. “You want me to rub your tummy for you?”

“Please,” Aiden says, shoulders slumping with relief as he leans into Kellan’s side.

Kellan hugs him close and puts a hand on the curve of his bloated belly, kneading into the taut skin. Under his hand, he can feel Aiden’s stomach churning, struggling to digest the amount of food he’d forced into it. Poor Aiden; he can’t be feeling too well in this state.

“That feels good,” Aiden mumbles, his words punctuated by a low burp. “Oops, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kellan says, and laughs. “Probably made you feel a little better, huh?”

“Yeah,” Aiden agrees, and burps again. “Oof. Thanks.”

He lapses into silence as Kellan traces circles over the rounded dome of his overstuffed stomach, aside from more burping and the occasional soft groan. His gut gurgles and rumbles, shifting palpably under Kellan’s touch. “This still helping?” Kellan asks, working into the strained muscles with the heel of his hand.

“Yeah,” Aiden murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh—“

A deep, guttural belch starts in his chest and works its way up to his throat, and then his belly hitches and he suddenly jerks forward to spew a thick stream of vomit into both of their laps and down the front of his crumpled t-shirt.

“Oh,” Kellan says, somewhat dismayed. “Gross.”

“Fuck,” Aiden manages thickly, sick still dripping from his lower lip. He’s suddenly gone very pale. “I — I’m sorry…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kellan reassures him, patting his shoulder with his free hand. “Jeez, you must have really overdone it to make yourself sick like that.”

“Guess so,” Aiden agrees, and fumbles to find a clean part of his shirt to wipe his mouth. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kellan says again, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s just clothes, they can be washed. You think you’re gonna throw up again?”

“Dunno. Maybe.” Aiden swallows hard and groans, clutching his stomach.

“We’d better get you to the bathroom just in case,” Kellan says, and carefully gets to his feet, trying not to spread the mess on his jeans all over everything else. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Aiden accepts the hand he holds out and trails miserably behind him down the hall to the bathroom. “I’m really sorry,” he says again as Kellan helps strip off his soaked t-shirt. “It just happened so suddenly. I mean, I was nauseous, but I felt like it was getting better, and then—“

“Shh,” Kellan tells him. “It’s okay, seriously. Let’s just get you out of these clothes and I’ll go grab you a clean shirt.”

Aiden nods and pulls off his jeans, already unbuttoned at the top to make room for his bulging stomach. Kellan takes his off as well and carries the whole mess out to the kitchen sink so he can rinse them out, before doubling back to Aiden’s room to find him a new t-shirt.

When he gets back to the bathroom, Aiden is leaning over the toilet, cradling his belly in both hands. “Still feeling nauseous?” Kellan asks gently, sitting down next to him.

“Mmm,” Aiden groans wordlessly, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He still looks pale, and sweat has plastered his hair to his forehead. Kellan rubs a sympathetic hand over his bare shoulders.

“You want me to rub your stomach some more?” he offers.

Aiden considers that for a moment. “Well, either it’ll help settle my stomach or it’ll make me hurl again,” he says with a shaky laugh. “And I think I’m gonna do that anyways, so I guess there’s no harm in trying.”

Kellan chuckles at that and presses himself close against Aiden’s side, massaging his swollen gut with one hand while the other rubs circles between his shoulderblades. Aiden moans quietly and leans forward a little more, resting his head in his hands as he hovers over the toilet. A long, wet belch rolls up from his stomach, and then another, and a moment later he’s burping up another wave of chunky sick into the water.

“There you go,” Kellan tells him as he feels his belly clench and shudder. “Just get some of it up, and you’ll feel better.”

“God, I hope so,” Aiden groans, and spits up another mouthful of his stomach contents.

Kellan hugs him gingerly and pats his back, giving him a rueful smile. “I’ll be right here with you,” he promises.

Aiden does end up puking a few more times, but he brings up less each time, and finally his stomach settles enough for him to sit up. “Thanks,” he tells Kellan, leaning back against him. “I think I’m feeling better now.”

“Then why don’t you take a quick shower, and you can put on a nice clean shirt for bed,” Kellan says, helping him to his feet. His stomach is still rounded and taut, but not nearly as pronounced as it was before. “And after that we’ll get you into bed, huh?”

“Yeah,” Aiden agrees, passing a hand over his belly and managing a weary smile. “That sounds nice.”