#ow ow ow there's this one spot that hurts so bad it's radiating pain up to my elbow

[bellaturner]

Soothing Touch

I simply ✨ADORE✨ this GIF

Summary: YN is having a terrible migraine and Alex helps her through it.

No warnings, it's just pure fluff. (I did use a lot of song references though)

2,4k words (can you guys tell me how big you like one shots to be?)

Masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Alex?" you called out from the bathroom, wincing at the sound of the front door slamming shut. Although it was shortly after noon, you could affirm that today was being a terrible day. A pounding migraine had plagued you all morning, despite taking four ibuprofens. Desperate for relief, you had decided to take a hot bath.

The warm water was inviting, and the steam rising from it was soothing. The excess daylight was making your head pulsate, so you had closed all the blinds, making the room dimly lit, the only source of light was coming from a few candles placed strategically around it.

As you sank into the tub, you let out a deep sigh of relief. It was the perfect temperature. You closed your eyes and focused on the sensation of the water on your skin, hoping it would ease the throbbing pain in your head. It felt like your brain was trying to escape from it.

Suddenly, Alex's thick Sheffield accent filled the air, "Ey, babygirl, 'ow are you?" causing you to smile weakly through your discomfort but still making you squint in pain.

You brought your hand up to your eyes, the light coming from the open door searing through your closed lids like knives. You winced in pain, feeling the warmth of the water on your skin causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead. You desperately shielded your eyes from the harsh brightness, but a few tears still managed to escape, rolling down your cheeks and mixing with the bathwater. With your other hand, you pressed gently on your temple, feeling the tension radiating outwards like a spiderweb of pain. You massaged the sore spot, hoping for any kind of relief from the excruciating ache that seemed to have taken over your entire head.

Alex raised an eyebrow, "Is everything okay, YN?" his tone was laced with concern as he looked at you, puzzled by the dark bathroom and your reaction to his entrance.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just have a bit of a headache," you replied, your voice barely above a murmur as you tried to hide the pain that seemed to radiate through every fiber of your being. Despite your best efforts to sound nonchalant, your words came out strained, revealing the true extent of your discomfort.

Alex's eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice to a whisper, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would cause you more pain.

"That doesn't look like 'a bit of a headache' to me," he said concerned, his gaze moving to the beads of sweat glistening on your forehead and the tears that had escaped your eyes when he let the light into the bathroom.

You didn't answer, but nodded your head slightly, causing a sharp wave of pain to run across your body. He closed the door as silently as he could and moved closer to the tub. As he walked toward you, you couldn't help but notice the sound of his shoes hitting the floor. They were those shiny, fashionable leather shoes, with a subtle heel that you loved so much. It echoed through the room, adding elegance to the already luxurious bathroom.

He knelt by the tub, gently reaching out to caress you, a sense of comfort washed over your body as he touched you. His touch was gentle, and at this moment, you knew that he was the one person who could ease your pain and bring you peace.

"How can I help, baby?" he asked softly, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I don't know, Al, but it hurts so bad" you whined, finally letting the tears run down your face.

"Let's start by taking this off, shall we?" he whispered, referring to a scrunchie that was holding your hair in the messiest of buns. "Don't cry, darling, you're going to make me crumble completely" he joked, knowing that you loved when he used references from his lyrics.

You let out a faint smile, and before you could even think of it, his long, skillful fingers were working on removing your hair tie. The feel of your hair being let down helping to soothe the pain a little, you hadn't realized, but the tight bun was making it worse. Some loose strains reached your back and fell ever so softly into the water.

You leaned into his hand, closing your eyes as he wiped the tears with one of them and ran the other through your hair. His touch became more soothing as he began to massage your scalp. The warm water, the soft candlelight, and his touch all combined to create a sense of calm that you desperately needed.

"Have you taken anything for it, doll?" he asked smoothly, and you nodded your head against his hands in agreement. "Hmmm..." a mumble escaped his lips, he was clearly trying to think of something to help you.

The water wrapped your body like a warm blanket, the steam rasing from it filling your lungs. Alex's strong, yet delicate hands made your head feel a bit better, but the pain was still radiating throughout your skull.

After what felt like an eternity, Al's whispery voice reached your ears again. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the sound of rushing water. You managed a weak smile, too exhausted to form words.

He got up and started to get undressed. As he removed his leather jacket, his toned arms and sculpted chest were revealed, a beautiful blue shirt hugging his body. His marvelous tattoo peeked out from underneath the fabric, adding to the allure of his physique. Even after being together for half a decade, you never grew accustomed to the sight of him. Anticipation rose in your chest, your heart beating faster.

Locking eyes with you, Al studied your reaction to his body, a mischievous glint in his eye. Even with the flickering candlelight casting constant shadows on his face, you could have sworn he winked at you.

"I've an idea," Alex's voice filled the space, mixing with the sound of his footsteps as he turned around and left. He was careful to open the door just enough for to get by and closed it as quickly as he could, so the light wouldn't hurt your eyes.

You heard some rustling coming from outside, but your mind was too focused on the pain to wonder what Alex was up to. A few minutes later, he returned, his shirt nowhere to be seen, making his muscular chest exposed. Taking a big breath in, you tried to stabilize yourself, not being able to handle those kinds of thoughts right now. Not when your head felt like it was being constantly hit by a hammer.

"Close your eyes, me darling, I have a surprise" he whispered, placing something on the counter and closing the door.

You obeyed, closing your eyes shut and letting your other senses take over. As you sat there, embraced by the water, the sound of a cap unscrewing and the distinct scent of peppermint wafted over to you. You breathed in deeply, the aroma calming your nerves.

You've always liked the smell of peppermint, it helped you calm down when you had a long day or when you were feeling ill. It reminded you of your early years. As a child, whenever you got sick or upset about something, your mum would brew you some peppermint tea and watch your favourite movies with you all night long.

"I hope you don't mind it, I went through your bedside table to find this." his whisper bringing you back to reality as he added a few drops of the essential oil to the bath water, the heat of it making the smell wash over the entire room.

As you allowed the calming scent of peppermint to engulf you, your mind began to wander to memories of your childhood. You remembered the cold nights snuggled up on the settee with your mum, wrapped in a warm blanket, drinking tea, and watching animated kids' movies on the TV. Those were simpler times, and the scent of peppermint always brought back those happy memories. Al's thoughtful gesture of adding the essential oil to the bathwater not only helped reduce your pain but also brought you comfort in the form of sweet nostalgia.

You opened your eyes to see Alex looking at you with a mixture of concern and love. It was moments like these that made you realize how lucky you were to have him in your life.

"I have another surprise for you," he said with a mischievous tone, and you heard the distinct sound of a champagne bottle being popped open. "Since the medication isn't helping, I thought we could try something else." He seemed pleased with his idea, even though it was a terrible one. You didn't want to hurt his feelings, so you reached out for the glass he was offering and took a small sip of the cool liquid before setting it aside to watch him finish undressing.

Alex slowly lowered himself into the tub, causing the water to ripple around you. He sighed contentedly as he settled in next to you, his body fitting perfectly against yours. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to him, his chest pressing against your back, and rested his head on the edge of the tub.

The warmth of the water and the feel of his skin against yours, his steady heartbeat and the sweet fragrance of peppermint started to work their magic. The pain in your head began to subside, and you let out a deep breath of relief. You knew that you had a lot of work to catch up on, but for now, all you wanted to do was stay in this moment with Alex.

Alex reached for something on a nearby shelf, moving slightly. He retrieved your favorite shampoo and carefully squeezed the bottle into his hand, applying the contents to your scalp and massaging it gently. The moment was nothing short of perfect, with his skilled hands washing your hair and soothing your head, and a gentle hum emanating from him and creating a pleasant sensation on your back.

You loved it when Alex sang to you, and he knew it. The soft melody of "Love is a Laserquest," one of your favorite songs, drifted into your ears, sending shivers down your spine and making you feel loved in a way you never thought possible.

"Feel better, love?" he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

As you nodded your head, Alex flashed a warm smile and gently pushed your hair to one shoulder. Then, he showered you with delicate kisses around your neck and ears, finishing off with a playful bite.

"I hate seeing you in pain," he whispered in a tender voice.

"I know," you replied, turning your head to gaze at him. "But you always make it better."

A wide grin lit up his face, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "That's because I love you, me doll," he said, his passion for you evident in his words.

With your hair now clean, you leaned back against his chest, enjoying the comfort of his embrace. His hands continued to roam over your body, occasionally making you ticklish. The pain you had been feeling earlier had dissipated, but you remained still in the quiet of the candlelit room, afraid to move or speak and break the enchanting moment.

Alex continued humming different tunes for you until the water turned cold, snapping you back to reality. Thanks to him, you felt revitalized. You turned slowly, gazing at his face. He was so perfect, it was impossible to resist him.

"I love you, Alex. Thank you for taking care of me," you smiled at him, admiring his chiseled jawline and striking nose before leaning in for a kiss.

His lips were soft against yours. Though it wasn't your intention, things heated up a bit as he explored your mouth with his tongue, causing you to let out a faint moan. You broke away with a smile against his lips.

"I love you too, darling. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I mean it," he declared, his voice full of conviction. "Now, let's get you to bed," he said, extending a hand to help you out of the tub.

He wrapped you in a soft, white towel, the fluffiest one you had ever seen, and led you towards your bedroom. As he began to dress, he tried to share his thoughts with you, but you were too busy admiring his perfectly shaped body to listen. "What do you think about that, love?" he asked, interrupting your daydreams.

"Hmm, could you repeat that, Al? I wasn't paying attention," you sheepishly admitted, your lips still moist from licking them. Alex chuckled, making you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

"Come on, doll, let's get you some rest. You could use a nap. I'll wake you up for dinner," he suggested. You nodded in agreement and followed him to the bed. As he tucked you in and kissed your forehead, you felt grateful to have someone like him in your life. You were almost drifting off to sleep when you heard him whisper softly, "Sweet dreams, little miss." And with that, you fell into a peaceful slumber, feeling safe and loved in his embrace.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Please, bare with me while I get back into writing.

I really, really hope you guys enjoyed it, it took me ages to get this finished. Being a perfectionist sucks.

Thanks for reading 💕

[cosmos-coma]

Prey of the Hunt- Chapter 10 (Final)

A/N: Happy final chapter!! Wasn’t sure I was gonna finish this for a hot minute since it’s been going on so long, but I thank you for taking this journey with me!

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Words: ~1.8k

Warnings: Injuries, Unedited, Just fluff!

Summary: Spring has finally come and with it much softness and light.

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“Ow, Ow, Ow…” you winced, grabbing Triss’s wrist as she reset your broken clavicle, a strained sigh leaving your lips as your arm finally rested somewhat normally again. 

“I know. Now hold still while I heal it up just enough to stay in place… then Ciri can wrap you up properly, okay?” Her hand gently pressed against your pained shoulder, radiating a soft orange light as healing magic seeped into your broken bones. She looked tired and you couldn’t blame her- everyone needed some form of healing and magic ended up having to be rationed out with the way it was beginning to take a toll.

The great hall had been completely transformed into a make-shit infirmary, with everyone either giving or receiving medical attention while a few others roamed around to check-in. Yennefer was laid up in bed, still recovering from the amount of energy the magical barrier used. Geralt and Lambert and Letho- despite the various cuts and bruises- were otherwise unharmed. The rest of the Lodge, though exhausted and worn remained physically unharmed. The rest of you sustained various broken bones, lacerations, and bruises but you knew you’d heal in time. 

“How are you two holding up?” Vesemir asked, already up and waking around on his shattered knee as he held his hand against the open wound on his arm. 

“Vesemir, sit the hell down. You’re injured!” Geralt shouted at him before you could respond, catching a vulgar gesture in turn. All of this let out a light laughter through the great hall, and you nodded to the older man.

“We’re okay, Ves. But you might need to force Triss to take a breather.” You said, breathing a little easier once Triss’s hands pulled away. “Thank you….” You added, squeezing her hand in thanks, “Go get some food, and sit down. No one is life or death anymore.” you assured. 

The fiery redhead only smiled tiredly and nodded, “Maybe you’re right… Gods, you sound just like Geralt.” she shook her head as she left, but you could see her still smiling. 

Ciri wrapped up your shoulder to support your healing collarbone and gave you a weak smile. Her shoulders slumped in exhaustion- like a majority of the group- but guilt and blame rattled her heart and forced her to stay up helping the people that fought for her. You knew you couldn’t talk her into slowing down any, only Vesemir and Geralt could do that, and even they saw the desperate need within her to do this. 

“Thank you” you quietly said and immediately padded your way through your newfound friends to Eskel. “My beloved witcher…” you said with a small smile as you approached, “can I join you…?”

Ease spread through his body as he finally saw you all taken care of, and with a warm smile and a wave he patted the spot next to him. It took a few minutes to figure out how to lay together without hurting each other, but quickly you were able to settle in comfortably, a protective arm resting over your good shoulder. “I’m so glad you came back to me…” you whispered, just for him as you pressed soft kisses into his roughened knuckles. “I… well, I was worried I was going to lose you…” 

“So you ran shoulder first into a suit of metal armor?” 

“Don’t ruin the moment, Esk.” 

A light chuckle emanated from his notched lips before he groaned, holding his strained ribs, “Sorry… sorry, my bad.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “You’re safe now and no one got too hurt, that’s what matters,” with great care you shifted about so you could look up at him, face lying just inches from bit own. “I love you so much, Eskel.”

His warm breath fanned out over your face as another soft laugh came from him, quickly followed by the sensation of his lips pressing tenderly against yours. The last of the residual tension ebbed away from your body as your lips joined, easily filling you with warmth and want instead. “I love you too, my dear… More than you know.”

-------

The birds sang the joyous song of spring as the months passed and the seasons changed. The keep had been pleasantly quiet after the battle, people leaving as soon as they got well enough. The sun had even started to shine brighter, turning the new grass plush and green beneath your feet. 

“Baaaa!” Lil Bleater yelled as she followed hot on your heels, hooves kicking wildly in the air as she went. Your laughter bubbled and leaped around the courtyard with you and easily filled the entire grounds. 

“I already gave you a treat! No more, Bleater!” You called back to her, hugging the basket of carrots close to your chest. “This is for Vesemir, not little hooved beasts!” 

She yelled in protest as she followed your twists and turns over the cobblestones, determined to win her delicious prize.

“Dear? Are you ready to go?” You heard Eskel call from the room's small window. You paused to grin up at him, a bright and lovely grin that betrayed nothing of the horrors you two had experienced just months before. 

“Not yet, I’ll- OH!” You yelped as Lil Bleater stood on her back legs, leaning on you to get closer to your basket of treasure. Shaking your head you gave her one last carrot to appease her insatiable appetite. “I’ll be up there in a minute, Esk!”

A low rumble of laughter lingered across the yard as he disappeared back inside the room. 

Once you were finally able to lose your trailing and finish your errand, you made your way up to your little shared room. Minimal bags were piled on the beds, ready to make their way on the path alongside you. Your helmet shimmered in the morning light in its place atop the fireplace, its scars pooling light. 

“Hey, I just have a few things I wanted to make sure I had. Then we can get going…” you smiled, rifling through your pack to take a quick inventory. Your already wide smile grew as you felt Eskel’s large hands wrap around you, followed by peppered kisses across your shoulders. “Yes, My beloved Witcher?” You laughed out softly, swaying back and forth playfully with him. 

You could feel his smile against your shoulder as you swayed, hiding his emotion away from the rest of the world. “I have something for you before we leave…” He mumbled into you before stepping back. 

You held your hands out as he dug around his pocket, closing your eyes so it can be a surprise. “You don’t have to close your eyes, Dear…” He said, shaking his head at your lovable antics.

“I know but it makes the surprise better..” you commented as you felt a dense weight settle in your hands, small, but not compact. As you opened your eyes a small metal viper head stared back at you, fangs bared and tongue out in a show of daring strength. It was held on a sturdy but ornate chain that you figure had to have been changed out by your witcher. 

“Is this… a Viper Medallion..?” You asked as you looked up at him, closing your hand around it in adoration. 

He only nodded. “I found it a few years ago on one of my contracts, the witcher before me didn’t get the chance to finish it and I figured his medallion should return to at least one of the schools…” He paused, smiling a bit. “I figured since you’ll be with me on the path you should have a medallion to keep you safe. You know how it works so I won’t over-explain it, but…” 

“But….?” you smiled up at him, knowing there was more to the present than he was trying to let on. Eskel always gave deep thought to his gifts, sometimes it was too deep for you to understand right away, but you always enjoy the sentiment. 

He fought the grin that pulled at his lips once more and continued, “ well… I thought the Viper school would be perfect for you. Their entire school is dedicated to destroying the wild hunt, they know everything they can about them. You fought so well that day, Y/n.. you deserved a token of your changed past.” 

Heartfelt tears threatened to rise, but you quickly blinked the sensation away as you looked back down at the heavy medallion in your hands. “Thank you so much, Eskel…. I don’t know if I could have gotten through this the same way without you.” you smiled as you slipped the necklace over your head, letting it rest comfortably on your chest.

“I love you too, Dear,” he said, watching the viper rise and fall with your breaths and jostle gently as you let out a small chuckle. 

“I’m glad you know,” you said, taking his hands into yours and giving them a solid squeeze. “Let’s get ready to go, yeah? We wanted to make it through most of the Blue Mountains today.” You said with nervousness hidden in the nooks and crannies of your voice. 

Your horses stood by the main gate, saddle bags packed and ready for the long journey ahead. Lil Bleater also stood there at the ready, not about to let her witcher leave without a genuine goodbye. 

“You guys have everything? Your bedrolls, potions, food?” Vesemir questioned, looking over your Horses. 

“And my swords, bombs, and medallion…” Eskel responded, scooping up Lil Bleater. “I already double-checked.” He gave Lil Bleater a gentle squeeze, smiling a bit at the way she happily nibbled on his hair.

“We’ll be okay, Vesemir. We’ll be back sooner than you know,” you assured. 

“Yeah, well… Just be safe out there. Don’t leave me with just Lambert and Geralt.” He grumbled, but you knew it was just him showing you that he cared.  You gave him a quick hug before climbing up onto your horse.

“We’d never be so cruel,” you said with a smile. 

He nodded, a tiny smile creeping into his expression as Eskel hopped up on Scorpion. 

“Are you ready, Dear?” 

Nervousness gripped your stomach again as you realized this was it- it was time to leave the comfort of the keep and make your way in the rough world. What would you face on the path? How would you overcome it? Will your decisions be right? You’ll never know. Small bits of courage rose in you as you remembered how hard it was to discover your new self. Surely nothing could be as hard as that.

You took a deep breath.

“Yeah, Esk… I’m ready.”

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Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight @dark-academia-slut @weaponizedvirtue @madamemelancholysstuff

[drewsaturday]

Best Interests

Old Mary/Xaphania fic from like 2021 I deleted at some point but like,,,, [redacted spoilers] have me poppin the biggest bottles

Summary: On their journey, Mary gets injured. Notes: For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt "Impaled Palm" but I promise it's not as bad as it sounds. -

Mary and her guardian had not been in this world very long, but it had been long enough for Mary to realize the skies were a golden hue most of the day. The trees were all angular and sparse in their brown leaves, but the tall grass seemed to make up for it. If only the rocks embedded in the soil were more visible so Mary could plan her steps easier. She had never been the athletic type, and she certainly wasn't as young as she used to be, so the weight of her pack was becoming heavier with each uncomfortable step.

"Any chance you can take some of the load?" Mary asked her companion, trying to stretch her shoulders beneath the weight of her backpack. It had been some time since they'd last spoken, and Mary was starting to worry she'd been left on her own.

"No." Xaphania's voice was low beside both of her ears, a humming that rolled within her mind like wind sifting through grassy hills. Mary was still getting used to the shivers it sent over her skin, but at least Xaph didn't make her get out the I Ching to decipher her unwillingness to cooperate this time.

"Because you physically aren't capable of it?" Mary asked curiously, squinting at the shifting air around her. Her eyes weren't as sharp as they probably would've been if she hadn't spent so many years staring at computer screens and books. Xaphania's form was like a haze slightly blurring the space in front of her, but making out her silhouette was like pinpointing the outline of a new moon; that is, if moons had… a currently undetermined number of wings. Mary wondered if there was any way to get a better look. "Or because you want me to do all the heavy lifting?"

No reply.

"Well, I'm going to take a rest, then, if you don't mind." She set down her pack with a thud and sunk herself down onto a flat-topped rock. Her back was feeling better already.

But Xaphania's reply made her muscles tense up again: "We must continue."

"I’m sorry to break it to you," said Mary, unzipping her pack to find something to eat. As easy it was to believe she'd been the wrong choice, she did have to admit she was one of the only people in her world who could do… whatever it is Xaphania wanted her to do. And that gave her some ground to stand on, even in the indecipherable face of an angel. "But maybe you should've chosen someone with a bit more stamina."

Before Xaphania could respond, if she had even intended to, something rustled in the bush behind the rock. Mary leapt off, eyes wide, until she noticed the small boar-like creature poking his head from the leaves.

She gasped once she caught her breath. "Aw, hello there! What a cute little thing."

"Mary," Xaphania said sternly.

"It's just a baby, look." She held her hand out to the creature. It made little grunts as it approached from its shelter, eyeing her with an innocent curiosity. Soon, its snout nuzzled against her palm, probably looking for whatever snack it had smelled.

At the shriek of a caw, something stabbed Mary's palm. "Ow!"

The creature fled from the shadow of… whatever had made that sound, leaving its tooth impaled in her hand. She clutched it, trying not to pay attention to the fairly intense pain radiating from the spot. Mary looked up because it was a bit less dizzying than looking at her bleeding hand and noticed a reptilian creature soaring away.

"I told you to leave it be!" Xaphania scolded.

"It didn't mean to hurt me!" Mary winced as she pried the tooth from her palm. It just made her bleed more, prompting a tight fist. "It was… it was just scared."

"Your hand bleeds and yet you keep your faith." Although there was a slight intrigue to Xaphania's tone, Mary was certain she was rolling her eyes. (She was less certain, however, of if Xaphania even had eyes.) Mary searched through her pack with her uninjured hand for a bandage. She was making a mess of things, snack wrappers and bandanas littering the ground...

After half the bag had been dumped out, Xaphania finally spoke up. "There is an easier solution."

"And what might that be?" Xaphania was hardly one to lend a helping hand, so Mary continued searching while she waited for Xaphania’s answer. Instead, Mary’s brow furrowed when a warm sensation washed over her nerves, most prominently those in her hand. She unclosed her fist and… her skin was healing before her very eyes. A faint glow sealed her wound shut and… the blood was as good as gone. "Xaph?"

"You know I detest that name."

"How did you…" Although she still couldn't see Xaphania very well, Mary looked up at her and smiled. Xaphania had no real need to heal her, but… she did, and skillfully, too. There wasn't even a scar. "Thank you.”

There was a silence, and then, in a pace that was a bit faster than Xaphania's usual droning, she spoke: "It is in our best interest that you remain unharmed."

"Ah, so that's what it is, is it?" Mary's grin refused to lose shape. Xaphania, a literal angel, cared. "And that is why, in your best interest, I'm going to continue my rest."

Xaphania sighed. "Mary--"

"Unless," she said, holding up a finger. "You tell me how you did that."

"No."

Mary pouted. Then, she remembered all the clothes scattered around her bag. She pointed with the thumb of her now uninjured hand. "Any chance you'll help me clean up, then?"

There was no reply.

[gingersnaaps]

too much of a good thing

he's so sweet, so kind, so dumb - is bokuto really capable of anything besides the best intentions?

wc: ~2.7k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, dubcon sex to noncon creampie, manipulation, lovebombing and then neglect, overstimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, penetration, a lil angst, timeskip!bokuto, fem!reader with inner genitals

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

Being subtle was never really Bokuto’s thing, not even in the beginning.

In some ways, you suppose that you’re lucky - that you’re better off than your friends who you would always hear complaining, muttering about boys who didn't like to commit, didn’t like labels, who didn’t like texting first or buying gifts or putting in any effort at all.

Barely a week into your relationship, you come home from work with your head dizzy and feet aching from exhaustion, and discover a dozen bouquets of roses on your doorstep. Crimson petals are littered everywhere, strewn against the grey concrete of the steps, and although you feel your neck and face heating up with embarrassment at the grand gesture, you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

He really was so sweet. Who cares if he wasn’t exactly shy about expressing it?

None of the other guys you’ve dated before had sent you good morning texts quite like his, filled with exclamation points and emojis, and none of them had tried nearly as hard as Bokuto does with his breathy, eager i love you’s, his frequent hugs whenever he gets the chance to see you, or even his phone calls that come twice, three times, even four times in the middle of the day.

But the more days that pass by, the more intense it gets.

He picks you up after work all the time, cupping your face in his hands, eyes gleaming almost unnaturally bright. “I love you,” he’ll whisper. “You’re so wonderful, baby. You’re perfect. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

You can’t help but think that these are the sort of words that come months into a relationship, if not years, but… there’s nothing really wrong with what he’s doing, is there? There’s no reason you should be uneasy, no indication of even the slightest hint of trouble on his part.

You’re probably just paranoid.

Bokuto doesn’t stop at words, though - he earns a good sum of money from his job playing professional volleyball, and he’s never hesitant to use it on you. A week after he leaves you the roses, he asks you out on a date to a restaurant you know is ridiculously expensive, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach grows as you scroll through pictures of the establishment on Google Images.

“I don’t think I can afford it, Bo,” you tell him, voice hesitant and crackly over the phone. “If we go, I won’t be able to pay my share.”

“So?”

It’s just a word, but the implication isn’t lost on you. And if he’s fine with paying for you, if he’s okay with the hundreds of dollars you’ll be owing him, well - there’s no good reason to turn him down, right?

During the date, you talk with him as you spoon bites of delicate food into your mouth. The restaurant is too lavish, the plush velvet carpeting and crystal chandeliers almost a parody of luxury. You’re pretty sure the utensils are half the price of your rent.

He leans over in the middle of the meal, expression suddenly serious. “You’re enjoying this, right?” he asks.

“I am. I’m kinda lucky, aren’t I? Being spoiled like this.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his grin so bright it could rival the sun. “You really are.”

And suddenly - just for a moment - you catch a glimpse of something slightly off about his whole expression, as if it was a mask waiting to be ripped off to reveal something much, much different underneath, but the fleeting moment is gone so quickly you convince yourself that it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Bokuto has been nothing if not perfect, after all. If you’re uneasy, it’s probably just because you aren’t used to being treated like this, aren’t used to someone that lavishes you with constant gifts and praise and displays of affection like he does. On the way back in the taxi, he whispers everything he loves about you softly in your ear, his arm snaking around your waist as his thumb rubs tender circles into your skin. His body is pressed so close to yours, his breath gently tickling your ear, warmth radiating out from his firm, muscled body.

He’s so good to you.

-

It doesn’t last forever.

Bokuto’s affection dries up slowly, but his presence has been such a constant in your life that it’s impossible for you not to notice.

Some mornings, you find yourself waking up to a hollow feeling in your chest as you check your message notifications and find nothing - no late night rants, no funny pictures, no enthusiastic, joyful good morning texts. During the day, the silence now stretches on for hours too long, uncomfortably empty and devoid of the persistent calls that you used to get every single hour.

When he does see you, he’s remarkably reserved - eyes always downcast, fingers fidgeting incessantly, clearly disinterested in what you’re doing, what you’re saying - in fact, disinterested in all of you.

Maybe he’s just busy with volleyball, you rationalize, but your stomach churns with anxiety and deep down, you know that something’s changed.

You try and ignore the dull ache inside of you that seems to follow you around wherever you go, a little voice inside your head constantly reminding you of what Bokuto used to do. Two months ago, he would’ve picked you up. He would’ve sent you flowers today. He would’ve taken you out to eat.

It builds up slowly and steadily, a crescendo of pain that grows in volume the longer he’s gone, like a tidal wave of confusion and hurt that swirls around inside you - until one day, you’re sitting by yourself in the car, sobbing quietly in the cramped darkness.

At least he doesn’t turn you away when you show up on his doorstep.

Your eyes are rimmed with red, streaks of eye makeup running down your face as a frown twists at his features. “Please, Bo,” you whisper. “Let me make it up to you.”

And you’re not exactly sure what you did, but you want to fix it, want him back in your life, want to wake up to his smiles and his laughter and his incessant, boundless energy, and you know you’re willing to do anything to get that back.

“Really?” he asks, eyes glimmering faintly with hope.

You nod almost imperceptibly, about to reply yes, yes, want you back so bad, when he grabs your waist with his hands and pulls you in for a kiss so passionate it borders on harsh. It’s a whirlwind of teeth and tongue, a mix of sucking and licking and biting that leaves you gasping for breath, your red lips swollen and slick with spit.

He pulls you inside, his hands roaming all over your body, groping and squeezing at your supple flesh, goosebumps running down your spine as he brings a hand up to brush against your nipple. For the first time in weeks, you see excitement on his face, and his voice trembles as he leans close in. “Let me take care of you,” he says. “Wanna make you feel good.”

And even though there’s apprehension crawling under your skin at his sudden mood swing, you’re so, so glad this version of Bokuto is back that you brush off that hesitation, the mixture of happiness and anticipation overwhelming every single thought in your mind.

As his fingertips graze the soft skin of your torso, his hands - so much larger than yours - maneuver your body around with such ease and grace that you barely notice when you end up on his couch, legs spread wide open as he looks up from between your thighs hungrily. “I - fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says, out of breath, eyes running over the swollen outline of your cunt.

You whimper softly as his nose brushes up against your clit, his piercing, golden eyes still gazing intently up at you.

He doesn’t waste any of his time teasing you, his flat of his tongue sliding up along your slit with the perfect amount of pressure to leave you squirming. It’s almost as if he knows exactly where to lick and suck, eagerly pressing his tongue up against your clit in insistent circles, lapping at your dripping pussy until your juices are running down his chin. He’s so eager in between your legs, and everytime he finds a spot that makes your legs tremble needily, he gives it so much attention that you already start to feel that wave of pleasure building in your core.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, your hands sliding into his hair as your hips thrust upwards. “Please.”

Bokuto doesn’t need you to tell him that. Shouldn’t have wasted your breath, he thinks idly, diving in and eating you out with renewed vigor.

When his tongue glides around your spasming cunt and dips in briefly, you can’t stop the moan that tumbles from your lips. His tongue is so stupidly long and flexible, sliding inside and licking at your sensitive walls, curling up and brushing against your g-spot until you start to shudder and tremble under him.

You cum embarrassingly quick, your hips jerking and stuttering wildly as he finishes you off. He fucks you through your orgasm, sucking gently at your clit until the border between pain and pleasure starts to blur and you’re moaning so loudly he thinks the neighbors will have complaints for him the next morning.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, voice sending vibrations through your pussy.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“How about another?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“I think you can handle it, right?” a huge grin splits his face as he spreads your pussy apart with two fingers, looking at your swollen, spent cunt. He barely gives your chance to respond before he trails his fingers against your lips, fingers teasing in and out of your slick entrance.

This time, Bokuto uses his hands to stretch you out, inserting his digits one by one until three of his thick, long fingers are nestled inside of your pussy. He thrusts them languidly in and out, his fingertips caressing your nerves until you’re tense and wound up for him again.

“Come on,” he encourages. “You can take it.”

Your brain is hazy from the stimulation, barely registering anything but pleasure as his fingers search and probe like they have some sort of job to do. You feel damp with heat and moisture, the pulsing, burning need in between your legs insistent and demanding.

“Almost there,” he breathes, voice raspy with arousal. A fourth finger brushes up against your lips, and the thought of more stretch, more stimulation, more pleasure, has you clenching desperately against the ones that your cunt is already spread out on.

You sob, your body strung out and wrecked, suspended on the tipping point of another orgasm.

As you cum again, the feeling of relief - white-hot and blinding - rips along your core. You’re not sure you’ve experienced anything quite so intense before, and as you look down at him, hands still manipulating your cunt so expertly, you don’t know if he has the intention of stopping anytime soon.

He stands up and your eyes drift to his cock, flushed purple and almost painfully hard, dripping with precum. His hand strokes along his shaft, soft curses muttered under his breath, but he opens them wide again and looks down at you sadly. “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice pleading. “I don’t have any condoms.”

Bokuto sounds so genuine, his tone kind and filled with regret, and guilt begins to sting at your conscience. He’s made you feel so fucking good, given you the best orgasms of your life - is it really fair if you leave him wanting and unsatisfied?

You’re fucked halfway out of your mind when you answer, eyes still fixated on his cock, head swimming with thoughts of how much you want to please him.

“It’s fine,” you say, your words slurred and hesitant. “You can.. you can use me. Use my pussy to get you off. Jus’ pull out at the end.”

Ecstasy flashes across his face, and he looks down eagerly. “Fuck, babe. You’re so perfect. I love you.”

You hadn’t heard those words for weeks.

His strong arms pick you up easily, maneuvering you around until he’s the one sitting on the couch and your cunt is positioned right over his dick. His hands grip tightly at your waist, fingertips pressing so insistently that you’re sure you’ll wake up the next morning with bruises dotting your skin. He lowers you down slowly, carefully, groaning as he fills you up and the warmth of your cunt envelopes him whole.

He already looked big, just from the cursory glance you’d taken earlier, but as you feel the tip of his cock shove against your cervix, your breath almost catches at how you feel your walls expanding to accommodate all of him.

The drag of his curved cock up against your sensitive walls leaves your legs trembling and squirming, but he holds you firmly down as he thrusts up inside over and over. “Stay still,” he coos. “Let me take care of you.”

Bokuto starts off gently, fucking you with shallow little thrusts that have you panting with desperation. He can tell by the way your cunt is fluttering that you're craving more, that the two orgasms he gave you earlier just wasn’t enough for a greedy girl like you, and he relishes the way your small hands grip desperately at his shirt.

He raises you up off his cock, running the tip up and down your slit until your pussy throbs, and slams you back down again. The rhythm he maintains is steady and even, bouncing you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll, whispering stuttered curses and phrases of endearment against your ear, making you shiver from the overload of stimuli.

“Feels so amazing,” he moans. “Gonna.. Gonna cum soon.”

The heat in your core grows intense at the thought of his orgasm, involuntarily whining, and you start to rock your hips back and forth in an attempt to search out more friction.

Bokuto knows he promised to pull out. He knows that it wouldn’t be right if he stayed buried inside your cunt. But how is he supposed to stop himself when you feel this good, wrapped so obediently around him like a perfect little fuck doll? And the heat of your cunt is gripping incredibly tight all around his length, your little squirms and shivers so adorable as he uses you to get himself off.

He can’t help himself.

With one last, desperate thrust, he lets go, thick spurts of cum filling you up until he’s sure your insides are dripping white, and he caresses your stomach where your womb would be in satisfaction. It feels so good to cum inside of a tight cunt, much better than it would’ve if he’d forced himself to pull out, he thinks. And you look so pretty all full and leaking with his seed.

It takes you a moment to fully register the warm, wet feeling pooling inside you, your brain too fucked out, too stupid from the constant stimulation to truly understand what exactly dripping from your slit is.

When you do realize - oh god, he came inside me - panic starts to grip at the edges of your frayed nerves, your vision tunneling as the magnitude of what had just happened hits you. Tears start to blur the world around you, the dim lighting of his living room merging the furniture and warping the walls, and you faintly register the feeling of arms wrapped tight around you, a hand reaching up to caress soothingly at your cheek.

“You know,” Bokuto whispers, face lit up in wonder. “I think we’re soulmates.”

[kashimos-hajime]

the shakes | p.d.

summary: “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.” Or, you’re experiencing the terrible side effects of being horny and Poe Dameron knows just how to fix it.

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), oral (fem!receiving) and just a whole lot of banter, bruh poe is just feastin TONIGHT, sprinkle of plot pairing: poe dameron x fem!reader word count: 5.1k

a/n: uhhh so,,, heh,,, enjoy. bc smut. 

“Ow, fuck.”

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

“My bad. It’s not like we’re stuck in a fucking closet.”

“Who’s fault is that?”

“Yours.”

You breathe out through your nose, struggling to contain your annoyance as you try to back up away from man but no dice. Instead, your back jams awkwardly against the busted control panel.

Said control panel is one of the reasons why you’re stuck in a closet with a man you met only twenty minutes before. Other reasons may or may not include you, the man mentioned, and a certain droid both of you are supposedly waiting on.

“You said that droid is coming?” you grunt as he lets out a heavy sigh against your collarbone. You’ve been squished in a four by four foot supply closet for the past twenty minutes at least and there’s barely enough room as he reaches around to jam the button again. “That’s not going to work,” you say pointedly and he scowls at you, pressing the button again.

“BB-8’s coming,” he growls. “He’ll know I’m missing.”

“Oh, thank the Maker for that!”

“Do you have a problem?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re breathing in my air, in my general vicinity.” A pause, and then: “Can you breathe in any other direction?”

In response, he sucks in a huge breath and lets it out in one big exhale towards the vent above them before glancing down again and arching a brow as if to say, Happy now?

You are most certainly not.

“At least this gives us a moment to breathe. It’s better than being arrested,” he says as if offering a ceasefire. The man leans away from you and you sigh, readjusting the strap of your short dress. His eyes are determinedly staying on yours but even you know they’ve dipped the few times your back was turned. “We can get to know each other.”

Not that you haven’t been thinking about his ass all day either. You spotted him earlier in the markets today, even if he hadn’t noticed you, with that orange and white droid rolling around behind him. Cute and memorable.

What can you say? A good looking guy tends to stick out in a crowd.

“I think I’d rather be arrested,” you say as you lean against your own wall and tug at your dress where you think it doesn’t fit too well. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“You mean, you don’t lock lips with any random handsome stranger?” he fires back. “I’m hurt.”

“Right. You know what I meant.” You nod to the chip in his pocket. “What do you wanna do with that?”

“Top secret, Snatch.”

“Snatch?” you repeat, frowning. “Never mind. I’m sure it’s a secret you can share with me.” At this, you push off the wall and, by the limitations of the closet, stand in his space. Dameron straightens up, an unimpressed smirk printed on his face. “So?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It could be.”

“It really couldn’t.” His nose brushes against yours and his soft breath tickling at your lips makes a hot spear shoot into your gut. You can taste the sunfruit on his breath, the sweet swipe of his tongue across his lips and your eyes narrow as his chest presses against yours. You don’t budge from your spot as a curl of his dark hair falls into his eyes. Almost automatically and before you can register what you’re doing, you reach up to brush it back and he catches your wrist before you can, grin growing. “I knew I recognized you.”

“I’m so happy for you,” you reply dryly. You shake his hand free from your wrist and back up against the wall, crossing your arms. “I’ve seen you in the markets a few times. The only eye-candy way out here,” you admit grudgingly, thinking of the weird fantasies you had about the guy you dubbed ‘The Man from the Market.’

Not your most graceful or catchy nickname, or your most dignified moment, waking up to soaked panties and a flustered sensation glossing over your skin, but you also didn’t expect to see him again. At this party, no less, of some merc bastard and his friends.

“Likewise,” he says, eyes dropping from yours to your lips and then darting up again. He chews on his lip, as if fighting back that cocky smile before he adds, “You’re the only thing that’s caught my eye in the past two days.”

“Charming.”

“Hm. Poe Dameron.”

You glance at the unopened door, sighing out a, “Good for you,” as you cross your legs at your ankles. Dameron only frowns, turning to the door and you observe the darkness around you. You can’t really make out anything but the solid shape of your fellow closet companion. You can’t even make out his features too well unless he’s extremely close to you, and even then, it’s a guesstimate.

You’re going to kill Yvonna. If she wants the intel, she’s going to have to pay you double the credits.

The darkness seems to crowd in on you and you take a deep breath, the heat of the room getting to you. You feel sweat gather underneath your arms, in the creases of your thighs, and maybe it’s the alcohol getting to you, but you swear your feet aren’t attached anymore. They’ve been strapped to some stupidly high heels to accentuate your legs and it's gathered in a trembling pain in your calves now that you’ve a moment to stop moving. You want to keep moving. It’s the dancing in your stomach, the strange flutter in your lungs, the involuntary clenching between your legs.

Normally, you’d be fine but right now…

God, it might’ve been something you ate. You don’t know, but right now, you feel like you’re a hollowed out piece of scrap.

“C’mon, BB-8,” Dameron murmurs as you let your head drop back against the wall. Your eyes slip shut and it’s not too different from the darkness surrounding.

Maybe it’s cause you haven’t seen Krieg in a moment which is part of the reason you’re here. Hasn’t given you a chance to take the edge off and you’re so full of this energy that needs to be spent or you’re going to die in this closet, in that ship…

You needed to do something.

Your eyes open and see the shape of Dameron’s head.

Or, someone.

Yes, you had kissed him first, pushed him into this closet, let his hands wander, but that was because a guard was coming and you weren’t about to get caught red-handed.

This fucking sucks.

“My friends call me Y/N,” you say glumly, your fingers gingerly tugging at the hem of your skirt. An uncomfortable slickening is occurring down there just thinking about that kiss that occurred in a time when you weren’t stuck in a closet, and you can’t help but think that Dameron was a good kisser.

Give credit where credit is due, all that bullshit.

“Y/N, huh?”

“I said my friends,” you reply pointedly. “Associates and otherwise know me by my callsign.”

“Which is?”

“Bandit.”

“How original,” he mutters almost under his breath and you roll your eyes. The burning in your gut spreads like a fan of fire, following where your knuckles press against your thighs as you try to adjust your dress to fit comfortably, but it’s too damn hot and you shift again, catching his attention. “You okay? Not afraid of the dark, are you?”

“No. It’s just… it’s just hot in here,” you mumble with a scowl directed at your own body betraying the way his arm bracketing you on one side of your head is radiating a heat you want to choke on. “When did it get so hot?”

“When they started serving spiced whiskey?” he tries and, this time, your scowl is directed at him with another poison to kill a small snake. “Maybe you’re having the Shakes.”

“The…” You blink, and you’re not sure if your eyes are adjusting to the blinding darkness or if you can actually see him clear as day when he bends his arm and leans against the wall by his elbow. You don’t move away and his breath, searing, tingles at your sweating neck. The drawling exhales only serve to send more thigh-clenching spasms into your stomach and you shoot him a weak glare. “The what now?”

“The Shakes,” he repeats as if he’s totally unaware of what he’s doing to your body. Maker, he must be able to smell it. There’s no way he can’t because you can feel just the effect of him being so close to you has done and— “You know.”

“I, uh, I really don’t.” If he knew a fraction of what his voice did to your panties, he would not be talking right now. Or he’d be talking more. You don’t know which one you want more.

“Oh, you know, when you haven’t had sex in a long time. I call it the Shakes. Every little thing sets you off, you get cranky and flustered, you’re all wired up and your gut feels like the first time you go into hyperspace.” He sighs, and you hear the quiet thump of his head resting against the wall. Y’know, darling?”

“Hm?” you hum, distracted by the index knuckle running over your cheek.

“It makes you distracted.” You can hear his smirk and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “It’s why I call ‘em the Shakes. Throws everything off, doesn’t it?”

“Stars, you love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

“You know, I see the it often enough that I can recognize any poor soul suffering from a mile away,” he says, ignoring you. “And you’re sick with it, Snatch.” Casually as if he isn’t lazily tracing the shell of your ear with his hand now, he chuckles. You close your eyes as if you’re not critically aware of every desire to pull him into another hard kiss, every little movement of his body from the way he leans to the way his fingers flutter around the curve of your jaw.

You’re a fucking fighter, though. You’re not about to hook up with some random motherfucker in a closet.

Even if the random motherfucker is the hottest thing you’ve seen in who knows how long.

Holy shit, you think your gut might explode with how hard you’re trying to keep it together so you say the first thing you can think of related.

“I didn’t get sick the first time I flew into hyperspace. I didn’t get sick the first time I did an aileron. I, uh, I really don’t get sick when I fly at all,” you say, eyebrows rising skeptically. “Do you?” Confused: “No. I’m a pilot.”

“Oh. And you get the Shakes often, then? Wedged in the seat for hours on end,” you ask conversationally, managing to keep your tone in check. Dameron chuckles at your question, but he pulls back. Your thighs press together and something lurches at his withdrawal, wanting him near again but you silently push those urges down. “If you’re so wise to depart your knowledge with me, that is.”

“You’re a funny girl. Nah, you just get used to it when you’re busy doing other things.”

“Other things?”

“Hm, well, let’s say I have a busy job, and that’s pretty much my whole twenty-four-seven schedule.” He comes close again, close enough that his lips brush against the delicate skin before your ear and shivers shoot down your spine like waves of electricity and you stiffen. You know he hears you suck in your breath, the tiny hitch of your chest and he chuckles again, almost amused.  

“I think… it’s…” Maker, please forgive me for my utterly hedonistic will that has the strength of melted bantha cheese. “Fuck, I think it’s physically impossible to ignore that you’re horny.”

“I didn’t say that,” he corrects, lips whispering over your skin. He tilts his head. “I said you get used to it.”

“Well… n-normally, I’m pretty fucking good at that.” You bite your lip and lift your head to the ceiling, thighs pressing together and straightening up but the sound of your dress dragging against the wall gives you away. “When... people aren’t around.”

“People?” he echoes. “You alright, Snatch?” Fuck him. He is definitely enjoying this.

Well, fuck. Might as well, right?

“The Shakes,” you say in a very steady tone that is betrayed by the absolute ocean swimming between your thighs, “may have found residence here.”

“Hm.”

“That funny to you?” you ask, feeling his smug fucking smirk against your cheek and turning to look at him. His dark eyes glint somehow in the non-existent light. You just know it’s there. A cocky spark.

“Explains why you kiss like I’d melt away between your fingers. It was a good kiss, by the way. You’re a good kisser,” he adds, “but more passionate than I thought you’d go for, considering all we were trying to do was evade the guards and that fact that up until that point, you were trying to pickpocket me.”

“I was trying to get the chip. And I think the pushing into the closet was a good touch,” you defend as he rotates around and cages you against the wall. You stare defiantly back. “He went away, didn’t he?”

“But that just implies something.” His elbows are on either side of your head and he leans in, low enough that you can feel the sound of his voice, his sweet breath against your aching mouth. It’s one thing to admit it but another thing to act on it. Maker, are you really about to—

You know what?

Fuck it. Your panties are ruined, you need this fucking annoying heat out of your system and he’s fucking right about one thing: you’re hornier than a Lucrusian fengrill in heat.

What do you have to lose?

“Why just imply something?” you ask innocently as his lips brush against the corner of your mouth. You sigh in relief when the heat seems to sink, spreads through your body instead, and his shadow brushes against your skin as he moves lower, lips finding your chin, the curve of your jawbone. “Oh, fuck…” you choke out, your hands finding his hair automatically, threading through the dry locks and his name slips out in a breathless moan. “Fuck, Dameron.”

His body jerks at the sound of his name coming from you and your eyes widen when his hips press flush against your thigh. His bulge is hot and hard, the fabric of his pants silky against your bare skin and you let out a soft sound when he nudges your head up. His hands run over the walls, find your shoulders, your waist, tugging at fabric that sticks to your skin before continuing elsewhere, and you’re not even breathing as he licks at the pulse point, the sweat, the alcohol glazing your skin.

“Shit,” he breathes against your neck, teeth running along the vein as his hand sneaks underneath the hem of your dress, skirts around the edge of your panties and it’s the brush across the absolutely soaked spot that does him in, does you in because you know he felt you clench around nothing. “Fuck, I can feel it—”

“Shut up,” you groan, wrenching his head up and smashing your lips against his. He sighs into your mouth, hips grinding against yours as you take a handful of his curls. You yank him back, your lungs seizing for air. Everything tastes like sugar and starfruit as you push him down to his knees, your calves burning. “My feet. Ow. Fuck these heels, honestly.”

“I got ‘em.” His hands immediately find your ankles, running smooth circles into your skin but before you can tell him the strap is on the outer side of your leg, he lifts your foot up. A protest stammers in your throat as he reaches up and presses you against the wall with a large hand flat against your tummy, but he merely smirks against your thigh, letting your knee hang off his broad shoulder. “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.”

“Dameron—”

“Relax,” he drawls as your back meets the wall flush and cold. You grab onto the handle of one of the mechanical drawers, wincing when his hand digs into the sore muscle on its way up to stabilize your thigh just as the other on your stomach travels down. “Got a nice view, don’t you?”

“Would be better,” you grit out, “if I could see.”

“Need me to pull out my glow-in-the-dark condoms for you?”

“Dameron.”

“Kidding. Well, only half. I do have some back on the ship.”

“Dameron.”

“Alright, alright. Next time.”

You can’t even see the silhouette of his face anymore, gone underneath the hem of your dress, but you shake your head anyway, lip caught between your teeth as you feel his hand slide up and down the one calf still planted firmly on the ground.

You take a breath and let your head fall back, your ravaged neck pulsing, your entire world spinning.

It happens all at once. When his grip on the thigh resting on his shoulder tightens, when he lifts your other leg over his shoulder, when he surges forward, his lips finding your soaked panties immediately, teeth nipping lightly at the fabric.

Your entire system shuts down.

He noses up higher and your thighs wrap around his head, ankles hooking. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clutches at your ass really, and your fingers in his hair tighten when the dress begins to ride up higher, revealing more of the gorgeous man between your legs.

Oh, how you wish there was some sort of light in here so you can just—

There’s one shaky breath, then another, and there’s no movement which you’re only painfully aware of and your eyes open—when did you even close them?—as you look down. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wish I could see you, darling,” he breathes, kissing the top of your slit and sending a warm shiver through your gut. “Fuck. The way you’d look when I finally chase the Shakes out of you—I’d ruin you. Ruin you and then some. Eat for days.” And then his teeth return, barely skimming the soft flesh of your navel as they hook on the waistband of your panties and tug, his breath following down your thigh as he works on pulling it down, slowly, luxuriously, his lips soft as they press teasing kisses in the crease of your thighs, land tiny nips to the juncture of your hips. You spasm at every turn, wiggle and squeeze until you’re sure you’re cutting off the circulation in his neck, but he doesn’t give any indication that he cares.

No, he just holds you against the wall, your legs tossed over his shoulders, and grins.

You don’t know how you know.

You just do so you don’t know why you stutter out, “You g-good?” anyway.

“Fucking perfect.”

Maybe it’s so you can hear that voice, low and deep in his chest, between your legs.

He leans forward and his nose bumps into your clit, and, as if on reflex, a warm, strong tongue darts out and licks a solid stripe through your heat. “Fuck, darlin’.”

Definitely so you can hear that voice between your legs.

“You’re heaven, y’know that?” he mumbles but you can’t quite focus, your hands gripping at anything you can—one in his hair, the other on that handle and your back arches when he just goes for it, mouth to clit contact, tongue probing and licking and stroking all at once. “Think ‘m gonna die if you don’t drown me first.”

“W-way to i-inflate a girl’s—fuck…” Your voice goes hoarse midway, as if he sucks it out of you, and you can feel the air in your lungs going with it as your back arches off the steel wall. You can feel his jaw, sharp and strong and warm, flexing against your thighs as he works, tongue velvet, lips teasing and he inhales deeply as your legs tighten around his head.

His fingers dig deeper into your ass and you choke back a pathetic moan when his teeth raze your swollen bud lightly, just enough to tease you and keep you on edge. Everything is cotton. The shadows, his hair, his rough hands that are full of calluses you don’t know the meanings of.

Your nails scratch his scalp, tug him impossibly closer and you’re biting through your lip right now, your moans bundling in your chest as he pushes deeper, pushes you closer against the wall as if he wants more of you but can’t quite reach and you want to just let him continue, let him have his fun because you’re sure he can go down on you for hours but—

You’re only human, and the tide comes so quickly you fucking know for sure two things: Dameron knows what he’s doing and Dameron knows what the fuck the Shakes are.

A slight brush of his tongue at your clit and you’re gone. You’re on that downhill slope that sends a spiral of chain events through your body. Your thighs lock around his head and your fingers tighten as lightning shivers and lances through your limbs, sending your heart up into your throat and pulsing between your legs. Your gut clenches, so desperate to hold on that you can’t even breathe, that the only thing you can stutter out is some bare semblance to his name followed by ramblings of “fuck” slewn with more “close… close… so, so close…”

Your eyes are screwed shut, your mind scrambling to concoct an image—an image that would be reality if the lights were on and you can almost see it. Poe Dameron, with his dark eyes, raven hair, plush lips and a beard that scratches against your skin, on his knees with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands, huge and veined and strong, grabbing at what flesh he can, head gone underneath the hem of your dress and you can only feel what he’s doing—

You don’t even recognize him chuckling until you can feel the vibration of it through your knees, against your leg.

“Darlin’,” he pants, drawing back just enough to breathe and he tilts his chin just enough to press a sloppy, slick kiss against the soft flesh of your inner thigh and he laughs again, entertained at the desperate little whine that comes outta your throat because the image would’ve been just enough if he kept going for a second more, “gotta let me fuckin’ breathe if you want me to stay down here.”

“That’s…” You struggle for words because you’re heaving so hard, so out of breath because you didn’t even know you weren’t breathing for several seconds. “That’s—it’s, oh, shit.” Your thought process is disturbed by another teasing lick at your swollen folds. “Dameron, if you don’t let me just fucking—”

He nips at the juncture between your thigh and your soaking, swollen cunt.

“Watch it.” You retaliate with a sharp tug of his hair and he only laughs again, soothing the bite mark with a few gentle kisses.

“Just keeping you on edge, darling,” he whispers, peeking up from underneath your dress for the first time in what feels like hours. You run your hand blindly down his face and feel the slickness on his chin, swiping it off but his teeth catch your thumb, and then it’s his tongue wrapping around your fingers, too, sending fluttering shivers through your stomach. He licks them dry before he lets go and your hand finds his hair again as he sighs, disappearing between your legs again, and you barely hear it, a nearly indecipherable mumble that sounds more like it’s coming from inside your head that his own mouth, ��Anyone ever told you… you taste like heaven?”

“And how would you know?” you gasp, feeling a little giggly yourself as the crest begins to rise, your chin tilted up as his tongue flattens against your slit. He hums to himself, the curve of his jaw brushing against your tender thigh as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“‘Cause I just tasted it, darling. And I know I could just feast on you for days.” Your entire body tenses as he laughs into your cunt, the ripples of it against your sensitive skin shooting through your spine and you’re on that downward spiral again as his smiling mouth attaches to your bud and his tongue dips into you again.

You’re dripping. The sounds are obscene, filthy to the nth degree, and you’re so close that it aches. You want to thrust but you can’t risk toppling the man you’re resting on the shoulders of, but at the same time, you know he’s teasing the ever loving shit out of you with his shallow passes, his fluttering kisses.

Taking his sweet time, indulging in it. You’re pretty sure if he could make do on his promise to eat you out for however long you’d let him, he would, but you’re half-aware of where you are, that the droid is supposedly coming, and having half-a-brain is half-a-brain too much to lose all common sense.

“Dameron,” you whisper, and he pauses, looking up and you wish you could see his face, the face of a man who stopped at the mere utterance of his name that it sends a thrill through your overstimulated system. “Please.”

There are no further words needed.

He works you up to it slowly, until your fingers are clamped so hard and you’re seeing stars despite there being nothing but shadows around you. The only sound is the wet slop of his mouth working against your drenched pussy, your moans and his heavy breathing that fans out across your navel.

It’s when his tongue pushes so much deeper, and curls, that your thighs clamp down around his head and your fingers are gripping so hard you’re not sure you’re going to make it without a few nail cuts in your palms that you know the Shakes are gone.

Your entire world flips as your vision goes black. Your fingers curl tighter, your thighs begin to quiver, and everything snaps inside you. Your back arches off the wall and you feel like you scream but it’s because your voice is so utterly broken that it seems so as he continues to drink through the floods, drawing out the aftershocks for as long as possible and the euphoria that shoots through you like a blaster is both molten and cool as spring water.

Your vocabulary is nothing but his name, soft breathes of “fuck” and “shit”, and the unrelenting “thank you”.

Your heart rattles against your ribs, beating so quickly you think it might burst from your chest and you feel another quivering sigh escape your lips as Dameron gives you a few more gentle sucks to your messy centre before he’s slowly running his hands up your thighs, to your knees, and gently sliding your legs off back to the floor.

Your body is trembling so hard that your knees nearly give in immediately, but, luckily, Dameron’s hands find your waist and ease you to the ground just as you let go of the handle of the drawer.

“Fuck,” you croak ungracefully once your ass is on solid ground and you gulp down nothing but air as you try to open your eyes. It’s not that different from your closed vision and there are a few white stars blinding you in the dark, but you can still make out the shape of your partner, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before he’s leaning over your leg to check the control panel. It’s then that you can feel it, pressed against your shin. He’s hard as a fucking rock. “Y-you need—” But your voice is a garbled mess, exhausted from the alcohol and the Shakes, and he turns to you, fingers dancing up your calves before slowly pulling your ruined panties back up your thighs.

“Up,” he orders quietly, and you lift your hips up enough for him to slip them firmly back onto your hips. “And it’s fine. I told you. I’m good with the Shakes.”

“Yeah, but, y’know…” you mumble, “could be good.” You can feel him smiling as he leans over to kiss your neck blindly, still finding that tender juncture of your shoulder. You grin, your hands finding his shoulders and roaming his back, feeling the curved muscle of a military man. You know his type.

Continuing downward, down his sides…

“You do owe me,” he murmurs and you nod as he pulls back just as the sound of beeping on the other end of the door.

“Mhm, don’t wanna stay in debt,” you say just as the sound of whirring fills the heated silence and your grin grows as you expectedly raise one of your hands to shield the light about to fill their little closet. You pull your other hand away and you begin pulling the loops out on your heels, sliding your aching feet out of those torture shoes. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again in the future, huh? Pay you back then.”

The door slides open and you stand as he scrambles to his feet as well. At least, you can see his features clearly, and you grin because he’s just as handsome as the first time you saw him.

Absolute score.

With your fingers hooked on your shoes, you wipe the bit of slick he missed on the corner of his mouth. He grabs your hand before it drops, pressing a cheeky kiss to the center of your palm and you roll your eyes.

“That’s fine with me,” he replies, squinting against the light and you tap his cheek. “See you around, Flyboy.” You flash him one last smile before leaving the closet first and walking down the hall. Your knees are still trembling and you feel like you’re a complete mess as you stagger through the metal hallway. Exhaustion is telling you to just go the fuck to sleep right then and there, but you can’t. Not until you get back to your ship and get into hyperspace.

As soon as you’ve rounded a corner, you run with everything you have.

It’s only a matter of time before Poe Dameron realizes that the chip that was in his pocket is making its way to another buyer.

Yvonna totally owes you.

[team-gabriel]

♟brightglass?

so, uh… yeah. I might’ve gotten a little carried away. enjoy?

[also on my AO3]

♟- patching up a wound

Jack Bright was almost certain that he’s bled through the half-assed bandage job he’s done on his shoulder. He can feel the throbbing pain radiating down his arm with every exhausting step that he trudged up the stairs to his apartment.

He fumbled with his keys for a few moments before he finally managed to pull the door open, kicking his shoes haphazardly by the mat and hanging his (now somewhat bloody) lab coat on the hook beside the door… he’d wash that out in the morning; he was too tired to do anything about that tonight.

Judging by the blood on his coat, he knew that his shirt had to be soaked as well, and, looking down at the ugly, dark red stain that had spread across his once-white dress shirt, he found that his guess was correct. Jack groaned in frustration — yep, that shirt was ruined… he really liked that one, too…

Whatever.

Simon, who had been sitting at the kitchen counter, was currently pouring all of his focus into the psych reports scattered in front of him. The commotion Bright caused as he entered the apartment was enough to draw his attention, but he still hadn’t looked up from his work.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Bright muttered toward the psychiatrist before he even had a chance to speak.

“Rough day, I take i— Jack, what the hell happened to you?!”

Simon’s casual statement quickly turned into an exclamation of shock and panic the moment he glanced up to see his blood-covered boyfriend.

“Simon, I said I don’t wanna hear it,” Jack groaned in response. He was not in the mood for Simon’s fussing, and wanted nothing more than to just replace the bandages, put on a clean t-shirt, and go to bed…

“Jack—!”

“Don’t worry about it…” Bright dismissed as he tossed his keys and lanyard onto the table, undoing his tie and wincing as another sharp wave of pain hit him.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” Glass replied in disbelief, his tone somehow managing to convey both sarcasm and utter panic. “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about here!”

“Simon. Really…” Bright groaned, both out of frustration and pain. “It’s fine…”

“Oh, sure looks it, Jack,” Glass replied, hastily gathering his papers into a pile and standing from his spot at the table.

Simon vanished into the bathroom and Jack could hear him rifling around through the cabinet for the first-aid kit… a lot of good that will do him, Jack thought bitterly.

“I’m too tired for this,” Jack muttered loudly. “Just let me go to bed—”

“Oh, so you can bleed to death?” Glass piped up, still digging around in the disorganized mess that was his cabinets.

“I’m not going to bleed to death.”

Jack heard Simon’s rummaging abruptly stop for a moment, and despite being in a completely separate room, Bright could practically feel the incredulous glare Simon was giving him right now. Simon muttered something under his breath and continued his search.

“…and so what if I do!?” Jack shouted back. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bled out…! and sure as hell won’t be the last!”

Simon reentered the kitchen, having finally found the first-aid kit, and still refusing to give Bright’s previous comments any form of response. He grabbed the chair that he had been sitting in and loudly dragged it across the kitchen floor — Jack wincing at the harsh sound.

“You know, Si, those downstairs neighbors are probably loving you right now…” he remarked.

“Sit.”

“…You’re being absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”

“Sit.”

“Simon, just give me the bandages, I can do this mysel—”

“Jack Bright, sit your arse down in this chair, or so help me god—!”

“Damn, Si, look at you — taking charge like that,” Jack teased, his voice still having that sharp edge to it, once again refusing to acknowledge any of the severity of this situation. “…Keep talkin’ to me like that, and you’re gonna make me act up—”

Bright had enough sense to cut his statement short when he was met with that frustrated exhaustion in Simon’s eyes. He dropped his inappropriate comment and shook his head.

“Si, really… the only one working themself up about this is you,” Jack hissed, but nevertheless, he finally sat down.

Simon’s expression was still pressed in a tight frown as he muttered a tired “thank you…” turning and placing the plastic kit on the table, pulling out the supplies he needed.

Bright rolled his eyes as Glass returned, clearly trying his hardest to get a good look at the wound despite Jack being in no way helpful.

“Jack, would you just hold still—?”

“I am holding still—!”

“Well quit moving your shoulder th—!”

“Ow! Simon, that fucking hurts!”

“Jack, I can’t even see what I’m trying to work with—! Would you just—? Jack, just—!”

Glass exhaled a growl of frustration. Since Bright was clearly not about to make things any less difficult, he decided it was necessary to take matters in his own hands. He immediately began fumbling with the collar of Jack’s shirt, roughly undoing the buttons.

Bright’s grumbling quickly turned to a shout, and now it was his turn to raise his voice in concern.

“Hey — careful! Jesus, Simon, careful!” Jack snapped, throwing one hand over his amulet, the other snatching Simon’s wrist and roughly yanking it away before his hand could get any closer to the pendant than it already was. “Fuck, Si, would you just wait a fucking second?! I already feel like my shoulder’s been beaten to absolute hell, I don’t need you dying on top of everything else!” he screamed.

Simon flinched backwards, clearly startled both by Jack’s outburst and the realization of how close he’d come to accidentally touching the amulet. “I- I’m—!” Glass began unsteadily. “Jack, I’m sorry…!”

Jack stayed like that for a moment while he waited for his heart to stop pounding, Simon still staring down at him with that deer-in-headlights expression.

Finally, he sighed, letting go of Simon’s wrist and watching as the psychiatrist immediately drew his arm back, guarding it against his chest and unconsciously rubbing at the spot where Jack’s grip had been the tightest. There was another moment where their eyes met, and both of them decided to soften their demeanor…

“I’m sorry,” Simon mumbled again, backing off just a bit, but still unable to stop staring at Jack’s bloodied shoulder with concern.

He really wasn’t about to let this go, was he?

Bright weighed his options. The irritation of having Glass attempt to patch up his shoulder was decidedly not even close to being greater than the utter devastation that would come with Simon inadvertently killing himself — or worse — because Jack refused cooperate and Glass once again ends up getting a little too close to his amulet…

Another sigh as Jack undid the remainder of his buttons as best as he could with his one uninjured arm, allowing Simon to easily reach his shoulder. He sat back down and twisted the amulet behind his back, slipping it beneath the back of his half-unbuttoned shirt.

“There you go,” he said, still not overly enthused with this whole ordeal, but willing to bite the bullet if it meant just getting this over with so he can go to bed. “Have at it, doc.”

Simon’s expression was much softer than it had been just minutes prior. He stepped back up to Jack, first carefully taking in the scene, and then delicately beginning to remove the old bandages.

Bright cringed a little at the way they clung to the wound, and at the growing pile of blood-soaked gauze and tape that was accumulating beside him as Glass continued to peel them away.

“Christ, Jack… this looks bad…” Simon exhaled, gently dabbing some of the excess blood away with a damp rag.

Bright only hummed in agreement. To be completely honest, even he hadn’t really seen the full extent of his injury — he saw a lot of blood and he taped himself up with gauze until he couldn’t see it anymore — problem solved!

…But now he was beginning to see the jagged gashes where claws met skin. He didn’t exactly enjoy looking at it, but he continued to stare, as it was better than having to look at the worry in Simon’s eyes.

“This... might sting a tiny bit...”

A tiny bit proved to be an understatement. Jack sucked in a sharp hiss and dug his fingers into the arm of the kitchen chair the moment the antiseptic soaked cotton touched the wound.

“Sorry...” Glass whispered, still carefully dabbing the gauze around the gashes. “So sorry... Just a little more, Jack. It’s almost done, I promise.”

“Yeah…” Jack said through gritted teeth. “Whatever you say, Si…”

Simon worked with diligence, cleaning the wound with a delicate touch, methodically bandaging as he went. He managed to get most of the superficial cuts to stop bleeding using butterfly bandages, but it was becoming obvious to Jack that the worst of it needed sutures…

It was clearly obvious to Simon as well, who apprehensively bit his lip, looking from the wound to meet Jack’s eyes.

Jack sighed and shook his head. “Go for it, Si…”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Whatever.”

Jack didn’t watch as Simon threaded the needle, he didn’t watch as he carefully examined the gash… but he definitely took in another little hiss of pain as the first stitch was made.

“Sorry, Jack…” Simon whispered.

“To be honest,” Jack gritted out again. “That fucking antiseptic was worse.”

As Glass continued to stitch up his shoulder, Jack once again found himself unable to look away, but now for a different reason. It always sort of amazed him when Simon did stuff like this. Granted, he’s only ever really seen it once — Jack had accidentally gotten his palm with a kitchen knife when he was washing dishes — but still, it amazed him. Glass worked with such exactness that, if he hadn’t known any better, Jack might’ve believed that he did it on a daily basis. He could tell by the meticulousness of it that this was no doubt a skill Simon acquired in medical school and perfected in his years as a field agent.

But, what Bright perhaps found the most shocking was how gentle Simon always was with him. No matter how much of a fight Jack put up, Glass remained delicate when it came to actually working on him. He’d whisper apologies after every wince or hiss of pain. He’d put such a high level of precision and care into his actions — when most everyone else at the Foundation (Bright included) would deem it unnecessary in the long run.

If Jack couldn’t truly die, then why bother putting in so much effort to save him? Why waste the time, skills, and material on keeping him comfortable?

But Glass… he always did. He’d care for him when he was sick. He’d tend to minor injuries no differently than to major ones. He’d sit by Jack’s side for anything.

But that was just a part of Simon’s nature, he supposed — to comfort. It was why he advanced so easily in his field. It was why the word “soft” was so frequently hurled at him like an insult.

And that softness was clear with the precise way he finished the last of the stitches… the way he gently cleaned away the residual blood… the careful way he bandaged his shoulder…

“Simon…?” Jack asked, watching as Glass finished up with the final bandages.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you do this?”

“Why do I do what?”

“Care so damn much,” Jack replied with a snort, although the heavy sincerity of the question still lingered in the background.

“About?”

“Me.”

“Why do I care when the person I love is severely injured? Is that really what you’re asking me right now, Jack?”

“You know what I mean,” Bright replied, rolling his eyes, only deciding to elaborate on that further after several moments of Glass doing nothing but staring at him incredulously. “I can’t die — not really — so, like, why put in all the effort, y’know?”

“Except you can die, Jack,” Simon replied. “…As you so frequently do. The only difference is that you don’t stay dead—”

“But is that really that different?”

“Yes, Jack!” Glass replied, the disbelief audibly rising in his voice, as if Bright were missing some point that was glaringly obvious to him. “Some may argue that it’s worse!”

Jack only rolled his eyes, prompting Simon to elaborate further.

“You aren’t invulnerable, Jack,” he continued. “You aren’t immune to feeling pain — in fact, you have felt such an immense level of pain, on numerous occasions, that a person should only have the capability to feel once, if ever, in their lifetime… You’ve experienced your own death, Jack. Over and over… And perhaps you’ve just become numb to it — or you like to claim that you have — maybe everybody else in this damned Foundation has as well—”

“Because it still isn’t the same as actually dying, Simon—” Jack butted in before Glass could cut him off again.

“Alright,” he replied. “Maybe it isn’t. But why does that mean that you don’t deserve to be treated with the same level of compassion as anybody else?”

Jack bit down on his lip, refusing to meet Simon’s eyes… he hated when Glass had a point on topics like this.

“Alright,” Simon continued, keeping his voice gentle. “The other month, when I came home feeling sick — you stayed awake with me—”

“Simon, that isn’t the same thing!”

“But was I dying, Jack?” Simon asked without so much as missing a beat, his tone rising with pretend disbelief. “Was I so critically ill that someone needed to waste their time on me? It was just a stomach flu — nothing serious, there’s nothing anybody needs to do for that except wait it out… why waste the effort, taking care of someone who was just going to get better on their own in 24 hours? Hm?”

Bright had gone right back to avoiding Simon’s eyes, this time going as far as to avoid looking at him all together.

“Simon, it’s…”

Glass sighed, letting his expression soften once more, losing the sarcastic edge to his voice.

“It’s what, Jack?” he asked softly, attempting to finish the sentence that Bright had given up on. “It’s not the same thing?”

Jack’s mouth was pressed in a tight frown as he turned his eyes to the floor, still unwilling to admit his ‘defeat’.

And, with a gentle, sincere expression, Glass finished his (albeit, mostly one-sided) argument.

“I love you, Jack…” he said. “I love you… and I hate seeing you hurt…”

Bright finally opened his mouth to respond, only to shake his head and close it wordlessly when he couldn’t find the proper thing to say. There was nothing he could say to disprove that final statement, and he knew that. He could feel the beginnings of tears prickling at his eyes… and he knew he was going to have a tough time trying to pass it off as still being caused by the sting of that stupid antiseptic.

That shield he put up was cracking, and Jack hated putting the vulnerability that lied beneath it on display. So, instead, he only leaned forward, gently bunting his head against Simon’s chest, burying his face in the soft, warm fabric of his shirt.

“I know, Jack…” Simon whispered softly, running his fingers through the back of Bright’s hair.

Jack took in a bit of a stuttering breath, letting the tears finally slip from his eyes and pressing his face harder against Simon’s chest. He couldn’t explain it with words — he never properly could — why there was something about Simon Glass that just felt so… right…?

Jack had never been good with feelings. And right then, he was swept up in such a powerful wave of different emotions that, for a moment, he thought he may drown.

He had come to believe that kindness almost always came with some sort of strings attached… but not with Glass.

Never with Glass.

He felt loved — so genuinely loved — that, at times, it almost overwhelmed him because of how unused to it he was.

So Jack held onto that feeling, staying there a moment longer, breathing in Simon’s warmth and feeling that gentle rise and fall of his chest. Until finally, he managed to gather enough composure to speak.

And, naturally, in true Jack Bright fashion, he attempted to change the subject entirely — anything to deflect from the fact he’d just been crying.

“You’ve got the hands of a surgeon, you know that?” he remarked, looking back down to his shoulder, trying to pull back up his cool, detached facade… although his voice was still a little unsteady and his sentence ended with a bit of a wet sniffle. “…Or maybe a painter. Ever think you might’ve gone into the wrong profession?”

He knew Simon had to see right through this pathetic attempt at a diversion as well, but he went along with it anyway.

“Don’t think I could handle the pressure of being a surgeon,” Glass replied softly. “Stitching someone up is one thing… don’t quite think I have the stomach for cutting someone apart.”

“So you settled for just taking apart their minds, then?” Bright teased, exhaling in what was half a laugh and half a choked, hiccup-y sort of sound.

“What can I say,” he replied lightly, turning and cleaning up his supplies. “Much less blood.”

Jack exhaled another quiet laugh and Simon couldn’t help but smile, and somehow, just seeing that made Bright feel warm inside.

His mind pulling him back to that unexplainable way that Simon just made him feel right.

Because there was just something about Simon Glass.

Something about those warm grey eyes and gentle smile that made Jack feel so at home.

Something about that open, deliberate way he expressed his love that made Jack truly believe that he deserved this… That this wasn’t a mistake. That this was what it felt like to be loved on purpose.

And Jack, despite years and years of denying himself the right to feel this sort of feeling…

He loved Simon right back.

-

-

✨send me a prompt?✨

[americxn]

part two of "his darkness" please? i loved that imagine sm pls pls do a part 2 💖

His Darkness (part 2)

wordcount: 1.2k warnings: swearing, mentions of blood

a/n: I really hope this is okay, I wasn’t too sure which direction to take this so I went with some fluff. Thank you ! <3

“Kai!” You raised your voice, your chin lifted to the open door of Kai’s guest bedroom that you had been residing in for the past two days. Kai appeared in the doorway scowling slightly at how he had no other choice but to obey your requests. You grinned at him as he entered. “You’re enjoying this far too much.” He grumbled, coming over to where you lounged in a nest of pillows and quilts on the double bed. You hummed in agreement, carefully sitting yourself up and throwing the covers back from your torso. “I need a piss. Help me?” You asked, holding your arms out expectantly. With a sigh, he came over to the edge of the bed, supporting your waist as you scooted to the edge of the mattress. His hands remained gently braced on your torso as you stood slowly, hissing a bit at the pain that radiated dimly from your side. “You okay?” He murmured in your ear as you gained your balance on the floor. You nodded, starting to walk slowly to the bathroom door. “I’m fine. You can stop mother-henning.” He scoffed at your comment as you shuffled to the bathroom door, Kai’s hands never once leaving your body. “I saw you literal minutes from death not long ago, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop ‘mother-henning’.” He pushed open the door of the en-suite and led you to toilet. It was an effort to get you lowered onto the cold seat without disturbing your slowly healing bullet wound, Kai’s neck craned at an absurd angle in order to give you privacy as he helped to hold you upright. The room fell silent as Kai’s hands left your waist and he hurried out of the room so that you could do your business. You called for him once you had finished, enjoying every damn second as he helped you to your feet, reaching down with his eyes closed to help pull up your pants. “I have some bad news.” You said, standing at the sink and washing your hands, Kai stood directly behind you, ready to aid your walk back into the bedroom. “I started my period.” The fear in his eyes at you words made you laugh so hard that it was an effort not to crumple over the sink, your close to hysterical laughing interrupted only by the occasional “ow, ow, ow” as the force of your laughter shook your whole body. “I’m joking.” You admitted through laughter, his blanched face staring at you with wide eyes through the mirror at the possibility that he would have to deal with that too. Kai breathed a sigh of relief, uttering a “thank fuck” before helping you back to your nest of pillows and blankets on the bed.

Kai only came back to tend to you later that night, claiming that he had been busy with cult meetings and planning senate speeches. You only shrugged, having been thoroughly enjoying your afternoon of binge watching netflix, Beverly or another cult member occasionally bringing you snacks and drinks of water. Now you lay on the bed, a towel having been laid out beneath your torso as Kai knelt next to you, an array of cloths and bandages sitting beside him. You hissed softly as Kai peeled off the bandages from your wound, the slight crusting of blood pulling on the sensitive flesh as he removed the dirty gauze. “Sorry.” He muttered, pulling away the last bits of material and surveying your injury. “It looks better than yesterday.” He assured, diverting his attention to the supplies at his side. “Hmm, maybe I’ll purposely tear the stitches just to have you at my every command for just that bit longer.” Kai’s lips curled upwards ever so slightly; you knew that you were the only person who he allowed to talk to him in this way. The thought made your cheeks heat slightly. “Your least favourite part.” This was Kai’s only warning before he lowered the hydrogen-peroxide soaked cloth to you side. You yelped quietly as it began to sting immediately, but Kai’s touch was gentle as he cleaned your wound, careful not to press too hard. “Actually,” you bit out, you hand coming to grasp onto Kai’s other wrist as he worked, “forget what I just said. I swear it gets more painful every time you do it - OW.” You cried, the sound trailing into a shaky laugh as a wave of pain rammed into your side. “Or,” you continued, just talking as a distraction, “you do it on purpose as revenge for having to help me piss and shit every day.” Kai gave the cloth one last careful sweep over your side before abandoning it for a clean sheet of gauze. “I hate that it hurts you.” He said sincerely, his brow furrowed in concentration as he gently placed the square of white bandage over the now clean injury. “But, having to help you ‘piss and shit’, as you put it, hurts a lot more.” You giggled, reaching up to pat the top of his head in thanks as he placed the large adhesive bandage on your side. You watched as he stood, taking the used bandages and quickly discarding them in the en-suite bathroom’s bin. “Seriously though,” you began as he re-emerged from the bathroom, hurrying over to help you as you pushed yourself onto your elbows with a grunt. “I really do appreciate it. I would quite literally be dead if you hadn’t had been there. So thanks, I guess.” Kai snorted as he helped you make your way up the bed to the headboard, pulling back the covers for you so that you could once again nestle into the bed’s warmth before placing them back over you. “You’re welcome. I guess.” He replied, his eyes fixed on you as you snuggled deeper into the bed with a content sigh. His eyes were soft when he pulled back, standing by the bed. You met his gaze, causing him to jerk into motion, reaching for the remote control on the bedside table and chucking it onto the duvet next to you. “You’re being very... un-cultleadery tonight.” He raised an eyebrow. “You mean I’m not being an asshole tonight?” You nodded in agreement, taking the small black remote and beginning to scroll through the home screen of netflix. “I’m just tired.” He said quietly. There was an odd tone hidden somewhere in his voice and his eyes didn’t leave yours when you looked at up at him once more. With a sigh, you lifted up the covers, cringing at the cold air that attacked your bare legs. Kai’s eyes softened when you patted the spot on the mattress beside you. The material of his pants was cold and rough against you skin as he slid into place next you somewhat awkwardly, you struggling to shift over to give him more space. “You’re so quiet today, should I be worried?” You commented lightly as you reached over his body to tuck the covers around him, slightly concerned at his odd demeanour. “Just tired.” He responded simply, laying his head back slightly and closing his eyes. You surveyed him for a moment, his stress evident in the small crinkles at the corner of his eyes. “Well,” you began, snuggling into the bed, your head coming to rest gently on his shoulder. “I could honestly do with some company.” You said, flicking through netflix as you spoke. “And lucky for you, I’ve got some of The Vampire Dairies to catch up on, so get comfy.”

[tallyovie-writes]

Pictures of Us | f. w. Part 2

part 1

Summary: all the paintings choose a student to patron, the Lady chooses you and watches as you and Fred Weasley grow in the same direction

Warning:none, might contain little angst, nothing serious

2k words

@sirenswhispers @discoverablefeelings @capture-the-moment-on-camera @sophieswizardswheezes

Sixth year, December

The corridors buzzed with excitement. With only less than two weeks to the Yule Ball boys were running around in desperate need of finding partners while girls were frantic about not being asked. Of course the already paired ones watched the madness spread with a smug smile on their lips.

The Paintings also had the time of their lives, the new puppets on their chessboard gave back a little life to their fading colours. Now they could play matchmaker from an even bigger selection.

The Lady wanted to be proud to say she did not take part in such childish acts, but she had a mission with those two before the second task. It's not like she could do much, but occasionally if she heard a french boy talking about inviting her patron to the dance she faked sadness as she gave the poor boy the news that you were indeed taken.

You weren't indeed taken.

Madness has yet to engulf you, but you weren't calm either. Collita was asked by a bulgarian boy, but you had doubts whether there weren't threats made by her that overpowered the poor boy's common sense.

You would have been fine with the two of you going together, but now that she had a partner, you weren't planning on being the third wheel.

You forced these thoughts out of your mind for now. You had more important things going on.

The Lady's corridor was full of students as usual, so you weren't surprised when you entered the DADA classroom someone almost knocked you off your feet.

"Watch where you are goi.....oh..." you started telling off your attacker, but as you looked up Fred Weasley held eye contact.

Ever since that encounter in the potions storage room things have changed. You haven't really met after that, the two of you gave a wide berth to one another. No funny business, no prank. When you did run into each other, a sudden awareness filled your body. He made no snarky comments, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. You didn't bring up the secret of the castle, and he didn't bring up the date. Like an unspoken deal has been made without either of your knowledge. It was awkward at best. You didn't think anyone noticed, there was only bad blood between you before.

He didn't reply, he didn't apologize for running you over. He took a long look at your face, lingering on details only he could see. Without his usual grin, he left the scene as fast as he came, robes flying around him.

"What was that? Has something happened between you two?" seems like someone noticed after all.

"Nothing besides me agreeing to a date, him agreeing to let me in on a secret, and our mutual ghosting. How is your french boy by the way?" you feigned innocence.

Collita's jaw hit the floor.

"I'm joking. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"You know I wouldn't even be surprised. With all the sexual tension you two radiate, I wouldn't put it past you that I could find you in a broom closet with him."

Now it was your turn to let your jaw hit the floor.

"Well then, good to know nothing is going on..."

Boy, if you'd known...

Sixth year, yule ball

It wasn't that bad of an evening. You could say it could have been quite magical. The house elves outdid themselves, even the usual house rivalry crawled back to its gloomy hole.

The icicles lost their naturally given cold arua just like the stone walls' usual grim facade. White dominated, but was quickly swept by the wide range of colourful dress robes, Dumbledore's glittery lilac fabric showing how it's done properly.

It really wasn't your date's fault either that you didn't really enjoy yourself. The poor boy tried everything, but besides polite conversation you weren't capable of anything else.

You were standing alone by the food table, the ravenclaw boy left a while ago to try his luck somewhere else, probably with bigger chances.

You saw Collita bent over from laughter silent tears running down her face, her date was watching her with parted lips in amazement. Eyes big, positive surprise written on his face. Collita did that to people. She was naturally gifted with a charming personality, she drew you in, spoke to you like you were on a pedestal.

She made you feel seen. A secret talent that you were rather jealous of on several occasions.

Suddenly you felt sick of the swirling mesmerized faces, the colours were too vibrant, the music too loud, too many bodies pressed together.

Before the walls started closing around you, you left your previous position and made your way to the exit that led to the gardens. The only sound that was registrateable to your ears were only your own footsteps.

Fresh air cut your rapid breathing shorter. You slowed down, the Great Hall's chokingly sweet smells started to fade away into the night.

"Wouldn't say rushing to the night with only a light silk material covering you was a smart choice, wasn't it? I took you to be a lot smarter than that, love. You're gonna get sick." a soft voice interrupted you.

Fred Weasley stood next to the bushes.

"Well, being sick would mean I wouldn't have to see your ugly face in class, so..." you replied but your voice lacked its usual fierceness. You were too tired.

He chuckled at your reply.

"I don't wanna go back there.." you started in a low voice, barely understandable, but gathered your poise and frowned as you said the last sentence. "They are too happy in there anyway."

"Is that jealousy in your voice?" he found so goodly which strings of you he should pull.

"And what if it is?" you snapped at him.

A ghost of his usual smug grin appeared on his face.

"Get your big nose out of my business by the way!"

"Well love, you know what they say about big nosed guys..." he lazily shrugged, hands in the pockets of his robe.

"Get lost, Weasley, I'm not in the mood today."

Maybe it was the hint of desperation in your voice, or the pathetic look you might have presented, but he stopped picking your brains.

"Come in, Y/S/N, you might even find the bloke of your dreams tonight." Fred tilted his head to the side.

"I'm not interested in 'finding a guy' to be my only goal." you scoffed at his remark.

"Well then, as the only guy you talk to right now, I feel obligated to spare you from the clutches of the cold and sickness, so pretty please get your ass in here."

"I'll stay until I decide it's enough. But thank you for your concern. Bye Fred Weasley, 'find the girl of your dreams' tonight." you rolled your eyes at him.

Little did you know, he already did.

Despite the cold, the Lady felt your frozen heart start melting, even if you haven't realized yet.

Sixth year, few days after the Yule Ball

"I don't understand why you thought it was a good idea to freeze your pretty little ass out there in a low cut silk dress in winter."

You groaned out in frustration.

Collita didn't spare you despite the fact that you were bloody sick, and fuckin hurting everywhere.

"Madam Pomfrey said you won highest fever of the year." she mentioned between stealing a few of your get-well sweets. "At least you finally won something." she winked at you.

"Get out, and let me suffer alone you bimbo!" you hissed at her, but the sharp pains shooting down your neck really destroyed to effect you were trying to achieve.

"Alrighty, my little pathetic friend, I suppose I can leave you to your demise. Be a good and obedient patient." she sent you a kiss and strolled out the Hospital Wing.

**

In the Hospital Wing, after curfew

After Collita left you to suffer on your own Madam Pomfrey gave you a light sleeping tonic. You welcomed the sweet oblivion in the place of pain.

A light noise disturbed the calming darkness. Opening your eyes was a too heavy task, so you relied on your hearing. A soft fumbling could be heard, but the person near your bed executed the deed quite clumsily as the most colourful swearing left their mouth.

Fighting against the tonic's luring effect, you tried opening your eyes. When you did, you almost jerked back in surprise.

Fred Weasley stood there with an innocent smile on his face, like a child caught in a naughty act, his hands were midair frozen on the spot hovering above your stack of sweets.

"What the fuck are you doing in the middle of the night standing near my bed?" you demanded and pulled your blanket further to your neck. "Are you setting up a prank?"

"Have a little faith in me, Y/N...if it were a prank you would only know it before it happened and that's already too late. Can't a bloke visit his sick classmate? The classmate he warned against the cold?" you scoffed at his pointed stare.

"In the middle of the night?"

He started scratching the back of his neck.

"Good point. A point I should probably elaborate on." he didn't seem like someone who wanted to elaborate.

"Don't let me stop you from doing that..." you rolled your eyes at him.

He seemed a little awkward and you could barely hide your amusement. It is not every day a Weasley gets a little intimidated and loses his usual cockiness.

"You see..." he started but his gaze was still fixated on his hands. "...I felt a tad responsible for you catching a cold.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise.

"If it weren't for me dancing on your nerves in the garden making you irritated enough to stay outside longer than intended, you wouldn't be here right now." he sounded a little guilty and you couldn't help the warmth that started spreading in your stomach.

You started to chuckle.

"Weasley. It's alright." you felt a sudden bravery envelop you as you said the next words nonchalantly. "You owe me another secret and we are even."

You waited for his reaction.

He didn't disappoint. He lifted his head, brown eyes locking into your own. Now you weren't sure if it was a wise idea to make him remember your deal back in the potion storage room.

"And here I thought I could bribe you with chocolate that I nicked from the kitchen...you are not a woman easily pleased." he didn't seem that sad about this fact.

"Where would be the fun in that?"

"Right."

Silence fell upon the two of you. Eyes still interlocked, you weren't sure if minutes or hours passed by. The Hospital Wing's darkness faded, and the freckles splattered across his face became more contrasted than before. He tilted his head to the side, his gaze burned your skin.

Suddenly becoming aware of the weirdness of the situation you cleared your throat and looked away.

"Since the tonic made me hungry like a wolf, I'll accept that nicked chocolate." you said, trying to break the silence.

Fred smiled and threw you the bar he fumbled around with before. Your catch was nothing sort of graceful and you felt embarrassment tint your cheeks.

Looking down at the bar in your hand you felt your eyes grow big.

"How did you know this is my favourite?" you asked astonishment, creeping into your voice.

"Lucky guess." he shrugged. You didn't need to know that every time the Grand Hall's tables were filled with this, he couldn't look away from the joy radiating on your face. Just like now.

"Your taste is impeccable, I gotta say."

Oh yes, his taste was indeed impeccable, but not just in chocolate.

[tiny-ghost-boi]

Kinktober Day Three; Mutual Masterbation/ Toys, Bakugou

Warnings: Smut, lots of cursing, dirty talk, minor injury before everything

Reader’s Body Type: up to your imagination, no implied gender or sex (yes it’s possible to write smut without specifying sex, you can learn a lot from Yagami Yato)

Reader’s Quirk: can turn light particles into solid matter

NSFW Under the Cut

=============================================================

It’s common knowledge that you and Bakugou are dating. So everyone thought that if Bakugou was in a relationship, you’d be the only person he was sweet to, implying that he’d likely let you win when you sparred. This was half true.

Bakugou was really sweet to you in private, but he did not hold back when you trained. He wanted you both to reach your full potential and it wouldn’t happen if he held back.

You dodged every attack Bakugou sent your way, using your quirk to create small shields and walls to protect yourself from his explosions. The ground shook beneath you and the wall behind you shattered. You ducked and ran, keeping close to the ground as he tracked your movements.

You turned suddenly, ducking behind him and running up to grab him, hoping to trap him under a platform made by your quirk. He turned in an instant, his red eyes locking onto you. He quickly hit you hard in the face, setting off an explosion at the same time and blasting you hard to the ground.

When the smoke cleared, his eyes widened. You had quick reactions, so you should have been able to put up a shield to protect yourself, and even if you hadn’t you could get up from all his attacks.

But you lay still on the ground, unmoving. His eyes widened and he crouched down, grabbing you and picking you up. His heart sped up and his fingers tightened around your shoulders.

“Babe?” you didn’t answer. “BABE?!” you turned towards him, slowly opening your eyes and looking up at him, fear swirling in your e/c orbs. Then, a malicious grin grew on your face and his eyebrows cocked up in confusion.

You quickly made a long pole behind your back quickly swinging it around and slamming it against his back. His back gave in his surprise and he fell down on top on you. You grabbed his wrist and lifted him up over him and kicking him over you, he landed hard on his back, his legs out of bounds. You choked out a cocky laugh, ignoring the pain in your body. 

“I win.”

“You cheated.” he grumbled back, reaching up and tangling his fingers in yours. You squeezed his hand, forcing yourself to sit up as he stood, helping you to your feet.

The two of you were laughing as you leaned against him, pressing a soft kiss against his skin.

“There were no rules about pretending to be hurt. Besides, you really did hurt me, meanie~” you stuck your tongue out, teasing him. He just laughed, putting you in a gentle headlock and practically dragging you to the sidelines.

“Whaddaya expect?” he chuckled. “That’s how sparring is going to end everytime with me. We’re both gonna end up with a couple bruises.” He let go of you and you leaned against the wall, rolling your eyes.

“A couple? Serisouly? You bitch slapped me with the extra force of a fucking explosion. That causes more than ‘a couple bruises.’ That could’ve killed me.” you meant it in a teasing way, but the way Katsuki tensed up in guilt made you feel bad. 

“I- It couldn’t’ve killed you, r-right?” he glanced at you with nervous eyes. “Right?”

“Well it didn’t, so it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

“Why the hell are you apologizing? You’re right? I could’ve killed you!” he shouted, your chest constricted, Bakugou never wanted to hurt you, ever, he actively went out of his way to protect you, even if it was annoying at times. 

“Katsuki, calm down. It’s okay.” you walked towards him, resting your hand on his shoulder. He tried to shrug it off but you only tightened your grip. “I was only teasing, I would’ve been fine no matter what! It’s going to be alright.” His shoulders untensed uner your fingers, and he pulled you into a hug.

“Yeah, I know, dumbass. I was teasing too.” you chuckled. 

“We’re finished with training, so technically we can head back to the dorms now. Whaddaya think, scary movies I hate? Comedy movies you hate? Reenacting your fav romantic manga? Maybe something more... spicy?” you suggested, your tone starting out sweet and innocent and ending anything but. You felt heat radiating off his body as his fingers gripped you a little tighter.

“All of those sound good, but I’m particularly attracted to that last option.” his voice was a low growl in your ear, and you felt heat pool in your crotch. “Let’s have the old lady fix us ‘fore we head back, kay?”

“It’s a date~” you purred, giving him a kiss on the cheek before walking over to Recovery Girl.

You were on each other the second you entered Katsuki’s dorm, he was on top of you on the bed, making out with you as if his life depended on it. His hands trailed up your body, hastily removing your clothes.

“Ow!” you exclaimed when he brushed against a large bruise on your stomach. Both of you frowned as he sat up, still very horny.

“How the fuck am I supposed to fuck you senseless if you’re hurt.” 

“You’re hurt too.” you scoffed, sitting up and kissing him. “I can fuck myself senseless anyways.”

“What so you’re kicking me out?” he pouted, disapointed. “When I’m so turned on?”

“No no, I want to try something new. Let’s touch ourselves and watch each other. Like double-youeryism or something. What do you think?” you winked at him and stuck out your tongue. his face reddened, but he smirked.

“That actually doesn’t sound half-bad, Teddy Bear~ you’re going to wish my dick was deep inside you instead of just your fingers~” you leaned forward, tugging his lip between your teeth.

“Who said I was using my fingers?” you purred. He growled against your lips, placing his hand on your hip. 

“Just so long as you know my dick’s better than anything you’ll ever touch.”

You reach over to your dresser and dig through the drawers and pull out a small box. You opened it to reveal several sex toys. You pulled out a couple. One was a long purple remote-controlled dildo and the other was a string of small cylinder-shaped vibrators in a circle. Also remote-controlled. You handed him the circle of vibes and the remote to the dildo, while you kept the dildo and the remote to his toy.

“I’ll control your toy and you’ll control mine, got it? That way we can help each other cum.” he nodded, putting on his toy as you prepped yourself for yours. His eyes were trained on you as you pressed your finger-pads against that special spot inside you. 

“Ah~ I bet you wish you were fingering me instead, huh? Wish you could feel how exited I am?” Katsuki bit his lip and nodded.

“I bet you wish you could be sucking my cock, wish you were choking on it, huh?” His hand teased the tip of his cock as you touched yourself. You grabbed the remote to Bakugou’s toy and turned it on to it’s lowest setting. He bit back a moan.

“Fuck, not fair, baby~ I can’t tease you like that~” he reached forward to touch you but you smacked his hand away. 

“Hands on the merchandise~” you teased, licking your lips and eyeing him. “Trust me I wish I could touch your beautiful body but I’m obeying the rules of our cute little masterbation cult~” he chuckled, disapointed. 

“Damn, too bad~” you pressed the tip of the dildo against your sex, eyes teasingly asking him to turn it on. He shook his head.

“If you want it, you’re not getting it. It’s your punishment for not letting me touch you.”

“Damn, I guess I’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way.” you chuckled, sliding down on top of it with a pleasured sigh. You let out a gasp when it suddenly started vibrating inside you.

“Ah~ I thought you weren’t going to- fuck~ turn it on~” you panted slightly, cheeks red. Bakugou just smirked at you, jerking himself off to the sight of you riding the dildo. You turned up the power of his toy and he threw his head back with a moan.

“Fuck~ Teddy Bear, damn I wish I was fucking you right now~” you thrusted the toy faster inside you, moaning.

“I- I wish that too~” you lay on your back, fucking the toy up into yourself as Katsuki turns up the power, you can feel yourself tighten around the toy as you moan out.

“Ah~ Katsuki I think- I think I’m gonna- fuuuuuck~” you came hard, Katsuki moaned out.

“Fuck that was so hot, cumming from that toy instead of my cock, such a bad little Teddy Bear, so naughty, (fuck) I can’t wait to cum all over that gorgeous body of yours~” he dirty talked “You liked it, didn’t you? cumming from something other than my cock?”

“Y- yes~” you murmured, looking up at him and turning the power up all the way, Katsuki let out a choked out moan twitching and cumming hard over his hand.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fucking fuck fuck fuck!” he moaned. “Teddy Bear~” you tossed your head back onto the pillows looking up at the ceiling. Your view was soon blocked by the smirking blonde.

“That was fun, more fun than I thought it would be, we should totally do that again~” you nodded, pulling him closer and kissing him deeply. 

“I love you, Katsu~”

“I love you too... dumbass~”

[tk-writer]

Annoying. [Haikyuu!! - IwaOi]

Oikawa is being extra annoying during practice one night, and Iwaizumi finally realizes why.

Word count: 1702

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

“...Ow!”

Iwaizumi rubbed his forehead where the volleyball had just smacked him, hoping the stinging would pass soon. His skin felt raw and hot under his palm, increasing his frustration to a colossal level. He glared across the court at his practice mate, Oikawa, whose cheeky grin only aggravated him further. 

“Sorry, Iwa-chan! I guess my aim is a little off today!”

It was a typical shitty excuse for typical Shittykawa. One that he might’ve accepted... if this hadn’t been the twenty-seventh fucking time that day that he had served the ball directly into Iwaizumi’s face. It was beyond human error at this point; for someone like Oikawa, who prided himself on his precision, multiple mistakes in a row just didn’t happen. He was instigating him on purpose.

What he didn’t understand was why. 

Was he trying to provoke him so that he’d get more amped up about practice? Oikawa was known for petty tricks like that. Their other teammates had left long ago, leaving the two of them alone to practice together in preparation for their upcoming game. Maybe he thought Iwaizumi wasn’t taking it seriously enough without other people around to watch.

Most likely, he was probably just annoying him for shits and giggles. 

Iwaizumi wasn’t known for his patience or tact, although he prided himself on his ability to tolerate Oikawa for long periods of time. From the nauseating pet names to the childish teasing, Aoba Johsai’s setter wasn’t exactly easy for him to work with. Yet somehow he had found a way to cope all these years.

It was days like this, though, that made him question why he put himself through so much for the sake of playing volleyball.

The spiker advanced towards his childhood friend, radiating as much ominous energy as he could in hopes of frightening the plucky third year. 

“Oikawa...”

“Waaaaah! I’m sooorryyyyyy! Don’t hurt me Iwa-chan!!”

Not a chance, Iwaizumi thought to himself. Smacking him wouldn’t do much. There was only one way to shut him up, a method Iwaizumi had discovered years ago. As unorthodox as it was, it was usually pretty effective.

Funny enough, although he must have known what was coming, Oikawa didn’t run away or try to escape. (That was strange, Iwaizumi thought, but he didn’t dwell on it for long.) Instead, he backed up until he was against the gym wall and babbled out pleas for mercy as Iwaizumi got closer and closer. 

When the spiker was within arms reach, he stretched out his hands…

...and poked two stiff fingers into the sides of Oikawa’s waist.

“Ahahaha-AHAHAAHAHA! IWA NOOOOO!”

His over the top reaction was just as amusing as ever. Even though he was still pissed about getting hit, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but crack a small smile as his fingers jumped up and down his teammate’s sides. Seeing him squeeze his eyes shut, scrunch up his nose, and throw back his head as he giggled uncontrollably almost made getting hit in the face worth it. Almost.

Oikawa batted his hands weakly against his chest, but otherwise didn’t put up much of a fight. It wasn’t long before he crumpled up and began slowly sliding down to the floor. 

Good. That made things much easier.

He added the rest of his fingers and started kneading Oikawa’s lower ribs, making sure to get that sweet spot in the back that always made him scream. The guy sounded like he was being skewered with hot irons, the way he was wailing through sputtered laughter. Iwaizumi had barely even begun to touch him yet he was already losing his mind.

It was just a warning, though. After a few short seconds he pulled away, donning his usual stony expression. Oikawa opened his eyes and looked strangely disappointed, but only for a split second. He started whining as soon as his giggles died down.

“You’re so mean!”

“And you’re a pain in the ass.”

“I said I was sorry!! Jeez...”

“If you’re really sorry, then stop sending me shitty serves. Or else I’ll get you even worse.”

He saw Oikawa visibly gulp at the threat, which gave him a great sense of satisfaction. He rushed over to the other side of the net once again, waiting to receive the serve. Oikawa waved at him cheerfully, which made him roll his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, eyes glossing over as his focus turned to serving completely.

He saw him throw it in the air, get a running jump…

… and soon got another faceful of volleyball. Extra sweaty.

This one actually hurt more than the others. It came at him like a missle seeking out a target. Iwaizumi rubbed his cheek where it made impact, hoping it wouldn’t leave a bruise the next day. His piercing eyes fixated on Oikawa, who actually looked scared for once.

He practically sprinted to the other side, grabbing Oikawa right as he turned on his heel. He held him firmly in an unbreakable grasp, arms wrapped around his torso from the back to pin him to his chest. The guy was giggling before he even touched him. 

“Wahahahait… Iwa-chan!! Ehehee, that really was a mistake! I didn’t mean to-”

“So you’re saying the other thirty times weren’t mistakes?” he hissed in his ear, causing him to scrunch his shoulders and giggle nervously in response.

“I… you… I didn’t… I mean-eheehehehe! Please, not thehehe-EHEHERE!!”

The panicked plea came right after Iwaizumi started clawing under his arms, having wormed their way there after grabbing the setter. Oikawa slammed his arms down a second too late, trapping them there as they mercilessly dug into one of his worst spots. Again, he wasn’t really fighting much, just wiggling in place and howling like a wild animal. His high pitched shrieks bounced off the gym walls, filling the room with joyful laughter.

“You’re being extra annoying today and it’s pissing me off,” Iwaizumi grumbled as he tickled even harder. 

“Aheeheehee, bahahaha, Iwa-AHAAHAHAHA!”

Oikawa was really having trouble speaking, so Iwaizumi slowed down a bit, going back to the random pinches and squeezes around his ribcage. It still had an effect; Oikawa’s bubbly giggles were quite loud, although a bit more contained.

“Iwa, I’m sorrehehehe, have mercy pleeheheheehease!!”

“Nope,” said Iwaizumi, shifting his hands downwards to scribble all over his sides. That earned him another round of tittered giggles.

While Oikawa was busy squirming around, the spiker snuck his hands under his shirt, and started tracing little circles on his back at a slow and maddening pace. Oikawa let out a long squeal and arched forward, only to spring back when Iwaizumi abruptly switched to spidering his stomach. His skin quivered under his hands like jello. It felt soft and warm; Iwaizumi felt himself getting a little flustered for some reason.

“Iwahahaha!! It tihihihihickles!”

“Good.”

“Come ahahahaan!”

Iwa paused again, resting his palms against Oikawa’s waist. He drummed his fingers on his sides, his grin growing bigger every time his friend flinched in return. Once again, he felt very little resistance from the Aoba setter. Even though he had the opportunity to break away in this moment, he just stood there passively  as Iwa held him. 

Iwa spun him around so he could get a better look at his face. This seemed to take him aback; Oikawa had no time to hide his expression or fake any emotions. He saw a flush of pink creeping up his neck all the way to his ears, matching perfectly with the twisted grimace he donned on his round and youthful face.

Suddenly, something dawned on him, and he wanted to smack himself for not realizing it sooner.

Oikawa wanted him to do this.

How could he have been so oblivious? He knew Oikawa better than anyone, and although he didn’t have his talent for reading people, he was pretty good at putting two and two together. Like his shy, nervous blush whenever Iwaizumi approached him in a menacing manner. Or the way he never really tried to get away while it was happening. And the fact that he never once said stop, even when things got intense.

Oikawa liked being tickled.

And what made it even better was knowing he wanted Iwaizumi to tickle him.

A devious smirk crept across his face once he put all the pieces together. His expression left Oikawa unsettled, although there was more than a glint of excitement in his eyes.

“Iwa…? I don’t like that look you’re giving me…”

“If you wanted my attention or something, you could’ve just said so,” he stated, poking into his waist again.

“Ehehee…! I told you, it was an -ahaHAHA! - an accident!!”

“You’re a lousy liar.”

He drilled into one spot between his stomach and his hips, knowing it was a death spot for the setter, and relished the maniacal shrieks that grew in pitch the longer it went on.

“Iwaaahahahahaahahaha! EEEK - dohohon’t!! It’s really bad!”

“You think you’re real slick, don’t you?”

“Huh?! Whahahat?!”

Iwaizumi wanted to laugh out loud as his friend feigned ignorance. He finally let him go, releasing him from his iron grip so that he could catch his breath. Oikawa took more than a couple minutes to return to normal, collapsing on the floor with all his energy depleted, leaving Iwa to clean up the gym mostly on his own. When he was done, he walked over and extended a peaceful hand to help his friend back to his feet.

“That’s enough for tonight. Let’s go home.”

“Huh… but…” Oikawa blinked, looking a bit dumbfounded while Iwa struggled to keep a straight face.

God, he hated to admit it, but it was pretty damn cute seeing Oikawa so desperate for more. His thoughts were written all over his face, longing for that head-spinning sensation Iwaizumi had just given him. He knew he’d never fess up about his little quirk, at least not without some interrogation, since he was a prideful person and had a reputation to uphold after all. But it meant a lot that he trusted Iwa with such an intimate secret.

Perhaps in the future he’d tease him about it more. But for now, he was happy to indulge his friend… and also get some revenge.

[scullyy]

Afterglow

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Once the party has finished, the children sulk off to their rooms, worrying about the fight ahead. For Clementine and Louis, the night is still young.

A/N: welp….I was gone for longer than I thought. It was a nice break, I hadn’t realised how much I actually needed it. Despite that, I missed everyone, I missed being here. So I figured what way to come back than by posting a one-shot I’m high-key proud of?

Enjoy xx

-

Does the darkness have a name?

As AJ blew out the last candle, that’s all there was. Darkness. The odd ray of moonlight poured into the room, shining through the wooden beams covering the window. It was on all of their faces, shadows making them appear older. They all felt it, together. A sombre harmony.

Clementine watched her friends slink out of the room, whispering their goodnights. She noticed the gentle shake on Ruby’s shoulders, her hands held tightly together, trying to comfort her own mind. Tenn and Willy walked away together, thankful that their friendship wasn’t long gone, thankful for the pleasant distraction.

She wondered when it first appeared, this darkness. Had it crept into their lives as children? Already apart of the world long before they were ever born, or was it new? Festering on the decay and newfound rot. She pulled her jacket around herself, trying to conceal the darkness that was definitely within her.

She was so wound up in her brooding thoughts, she didn’t even notice the small presence beside her until he tugged at her pant leg. “Clem?” Her goofball looked up at her with tired, sunken eyes. “Can we go to bed?”

Clementine would have taken his little hand and gladly dream of lighter things if there still wasn’t someone in the room. Hiding away from the moonlight, wrapped up in more darkness than anyone, Louis. His hands now lay empty beside him, the keys on his dear piano lonely. A few minutes ago he was lighting up the room with his tune, capturing the attention of everyone. Now he hid away into himself, a form Clementine hadn’t seen from him before.

“You run off kiddo, I’ll be there soon,” Knowing he would want to stay by her side, she gave AJ a little push out the room, quickly waving goodbye until the door was shut completely. He was still so new, he didn’t understand what the darkness even was and why it won’t ever go away. She turned back to Louis, finding him now tracing the edge of the keys. The silence was haunting, he didn’t fit into it at all. “I can tell that something is on your mind.”

He inhaled deeply before answering. “I’m wondering what Violet is doing right now.”

Clementine froze on the spot, her feet attached to the muddy carpet only because he was brave enough to say what everyone was thinking. “I don’t know. If Lilly wants soldiers I’m sure she won’t hurt any of them.”

“Yeah, you might be right,” Rather he hoped she was. All of them; Aasim, Omar and Violet. This woman, Lilly, was so ruthless. Yet it exposed just how blind Louis was, how unsafe and vulnerable they had been this entire time. “How many more of us have to die before the dust finally settles?” Hearing Willy and Tenn list off the names of their old school mates unlocked memories Louis filed away, hoping to never tread across again. The kid they found chomped to bits by the river, the debate club president they found hanging from the basketball hoop, the girl Louis used to sit next to in art class was barely recognizable when the walkers left her by the river. Her neon purple socks being the only telling feature.

Clementine felt it again; that strange thump in her heart, out of tune with the rest of her body. If the darkness did have a name, she assumed it would be her own. Bringing death and war wherever she went; the motor inn, Marsh House, the cabin group, Howe’s Warehouse, hell even the Garcia’s. People ran or they died and Clem couldn’t decide which was worse. “We’re going to be okay-”

“You can’t promise that!” Louis whipped his head right at her, revealing the red veins popping in his glazed eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, pressing at the tight knots that never seemed to go away. “Sorry. I’m just scared. I’ll, uh..I’ll sleep it off, that should help.” This was everything.  His parent’s divorce. Marlons’ death. Violet’s, Omar and Aasims’ capture. Every shrapnel of pain, guilt and grief throwing him into the shallow end.

She knew it all too well. “Louis, you’re not going to bed,” Clementine recognised the look on his face, she had seen it on AJ countless times before and it always lead to nightmares and restlessness. She glanced inside the case for the classical record, finding another one inside, secretly hidden away. Lady luck was on her side for once. After setting it all up in the gramophone, she twirled over to him extending her hand. “Dance with me.”

He looked at her hand then back at her, trying to decipher what she was doing. “What?”

“C'mon, or can you not dance?”

She could see it, the darkness rolling off his shoulders like a wave lurching off a steady rock. A cheeky smile appeared on his face slowly, her Louis was shining through once again. The silly boy she had fallen for. “Oh, I can dance. I’m just not sure you’ll be able to keep up with me.” He hopped up, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. When did it get so hot in here?

Clem took a final step closer, their shoes now touching. “Then show me.” She breathed into his ear, enjoying her little sense of pride as the roaring moonlight exposed his flustered expression. No longer were his eyes hollow and empty, now returning to their glowing form.

The gramophone sprang to life as the song began to fill up the room, an entity all of its own as it seemed to brush away the dark clouds nesting around them. Or perhaps it was love, crawling under their skin as they slyly glanced at each other. Either way, what bliss.

I’ll be seeing you In all the old familiar places

Louis shook his head, trying to string together a sentence. “Let’s…uh, how do we start?” They readied their hands into the right position, even if it was entirely based on what they saw on tv as children; his hands crossed around her waist, hers snaked around his neck. “You want to stand on my feet?”

Clementine’s eyebrows pursed together, her nose crinkling. “Is that a short joke?”

He hummed it over, purposefully ignoring her stubborn gaze with a slight glint in his eye. “It is now.”

That this heart of mine embraces All-day and through

Louis twirled her around beneath their natural spotlight, letting the sparks from the moon push against the claws of the darkness. It fell away from their minds just as quickly as it took ahold of them. “Never took you for the dancing type.”

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me, Lou.”

In that small cafe The park across the way The children’s carousel

He pulled her in rather closely, placing his lips against the tip of her ear. “I look forward to finding out more then.”

The chestnut trees The wishing well

A fleet of giggles broke free from both of them as he twirled her for the umpteenth time. Clementine found the room still spinning once she was back in his arms but she didn’t mind, he was there to keep her close. He was the only thing she was certain of these days. “Told you we would have plenty of time for dates.”

Louis madly grinned from ear to ear. “This is another date? Damn, two in one day. I think that might be a new record.” His normally chipper voice had somehow reached a new level of glee, making her already frantically beating heart soak in the sound.

I’ll be seeing you In every lovely summer’s day In everything that’s light and gay I’ll always think of you that way

Clem bit at her lip, considering what exactly he had proposed. “I don’t think it is…”

“It is now, I decree it!” He sang out loud in his typical fashion.

She rolled her eyes, a common reaction to his quips. But unlike the other kids, Clem was still smiling. “You can’t just make up new records, there’s a system, it takes time.”

“Of course I can!” He twirled her with a tad more ferocity this time, letting her get distracted from the silly debate as she couldn’t help but squeal, her feet at frantic work to keep her level.

I’ll find you in the morning sun And when the night is new

Louis pulled her in closer than they originally were before, gazing down at her. His eyes softer, radiating warmth. A warmth she hadn’t seen in another human for quite a while.

“Time doesn’t exist anymore.”

Clementine gently patted his shoulder, returning to her original stance. “Let’s just get through tomorrow, then we can discuss our future.”

Their future.

I’ll be looking at the moon But I’ll be seeing you

Their future could be anything; her wish was his law. Anything she wanted or desired for the chance to show her he could be it all. He could be hers and she could be his and they could be together and it would work.

As if he wasn’t already hers the moment she graced his lowly life with her presence.

I’ll be seeing you In every lovely summer’s day

“Ow!”

“Sorry!”

“Maybe I should stand on your feet.” Clementine huffed as she attempted to shake the pain out of her foot. The heel of his boot was a lot harder than she had considered, then again she never gave his shoes much thought. Not when there were other more charming factors about him to focus on.

In everything that’s light and gay

His eyes shot down to his feet, watching carefully with every step he took. “Maybe I’m not that good at dancing.” There was no beat or melody to their odd little dance, their feet just stepping wherever and however.

I’ll always think of you that way

Gently placing her finger beneath his chin, she raised his head back up, forcing their eyes to meet. “You’re not too bad, we’ll just have to practice.”

“Oh ho ho! Practice? More dates? I like the sound of that!”

I’ll find you in the morning sun

She considered her next words carefully, not wanting to burst this enchanted bubble they had made. “It means you can’t die on me tomorrow.”

Louis almost didn’t hear her over the music, until the words settled and the weight of it clicked. It was there; death and the darkness that came with it. Not just for the war they were about to embark on, but every day after that too. “You can’t die on me either. This is a two way street.”

And when the night is new

She knew the weight of these two simple words, yet declared them anyway. “I promise.”

His much larger arms clung to her much smaller waist and gently dipped her to the floor, her hat tumbling down, though neither of them cared. She clung onto his shoulders tightly, her nails digging into his warm coat, wondering if he was trembling the same way she was. “Me too.” He promised, with nothing but love on the mind.

Their eyes remained linked; copper melting with bronze. The darkness had sulked away, letting the moment remain in a light bliss shared by the two. A new, hopeful harmony.

I’ll be looking at the moon But I’ll be seeing you

[gallowswhump]

The End of Waiting For the Bad Times to Start

Cygnus has never found what he is looking for. He's only ever found trouble. This time the trouble is too much.

CW: Slavery, Fire, Burns, Abuse/Torture, Kidnapping, Hunting, Forced Captivity, Serious Injury, Swearing

Seven years eleven months twenty five days.

You have to do something about this. Cygnus swallows as he looks at the camp of slavers from his perching spot. They were preparing for a big auction during the day and Cygnus had been here for hours trying to figure out what to do. None of the slaves that he had observed were who he had come all the way out here for the simple rumor that they had a plethora of Tieflings. While that was true none of them were his brother. Ama had been whispering that he had to do something to get the people out. He agreed with it but he was trying to think of a way to do that. His skill set was very limited. He knew enough about stealth and pick pocketing to make his way out and get the cages at least unlocked. Every time that thought crossed his mind though Ama’s voice was heard in his head. You can’t steal.

You don’t want me to leave these people here but you also don’t want me hurting anyone or stealing. I swear to mom that you have to be the most unhelpful guide in existence. Can’t do anything wrong even if it’s for the right reason. What do you suggest that I walk down there and try and convince the slavers that what they’re doing is wrong? Silence rings in his head and he huffs, That’s what I thought. You don’t believe in your morality enough to think that it will convince these people. So we have a choice, we leave because it’s clear that Sneaky isn’t here or I have to do some sneaky things to help these people.

We didn’t have to be here in the first place.

Great, I'll take that as leaving. He gets up from his perch stretching.

No. He sighs because he knows where this lecture is going. You are the one who is obsessed with finding your brother.

Oh yes such a bad thing trying to find the only family that has ever cared about me,

Your brother is a bad person.

He’s not.

He’s a thief and clearly a bad influence on you.

You’ve been saying that since I was a kid. Dad is a bad person, Sneaky is a bad person. Come on Ama you already know where I stand on this.

Fine then we’re here. You should do something. Cygnus groans, afraid that she was going to say that.

Fine, fine. He takes a step down from his perch gracefully landing in one motion not making a sound as he touches the ground. He already has the plan mapped out in his head but it’s far from perfect. He knows he needs to run first time something goes wrong. He carefully circles the camp to where the cages and main cart was. The camp was quiet, most asleep and the few guards still up closer to the campfire to ward off the cold night air. Most of the slaves were also asleep, a couple of Elves and those who looked a little fresher as the exception. He moves to the set of keys hanging off the main cart keeping his back pressed up to keep out of sight of the campfire guards. Taking the keys he hugs them to his chest to stop them from moving and clanking together. He takes in a deep breath as he moves to the back row having already observed most of them were at least a race with natural magic and guessed that most here would be a caster of some sort. He makes his start with a drow woman who is laying down on the small amount of straw they had to act like a mat. He starts working through the keys to get the cage open. He doesn’t stop cycling through them as the drow rolls over and blinks at him in surprise.

“What are you doing?” She hisses.

“Getting you out of here.” Cygnus whispers looking back over his shoulder to make sure that no one has become aware of him yet.

The drow girl gets up quickly, “It’s the black key.” Cygnus quickly turns to that key and then puts it in and finally is able to turn the lock. He moves back away and starts on the next cage, losing sight of the Drow almost as soon as she walks out. The next person in line is a sun elf who was eyeing him suspiciously but Cygnus doesn’t have time to deal with that once his cage is open it moves onto the next one.

He is about ten in when a commotion is finally at large though those who were already released were doing a good job of being the problem and keeping them at bay from Cygnus. A fire had spread around the camp keeping the guards away from the cages so he kept moving through. His heart threatens to beat out of his chest but he keeps focused on getting those out.

He’s nearly done. Many have run to help open cages with magic or force and so things were limited but the fire at this point had spread around and as he is trying to open the cage to a young frightened half elf he feels flames llick at his back. He hisses knowing it was from a spell guards were finally getting to him. The cloak on his back has caught and he’s quick to pull it off and finally the cage in front of him is open. Another mote of fire is thrown at him and he cries out falling to his knees. Fire spreads over his white shirt and seeps into his back and wings under it. Flames lick and consume everything in their path and smoke chokes Cygnus’ lungs. He coughs trying to cover his mouth, rolling over desperately trying to get the flames out. He cries out when his wings and back hit the dirt and grass under him aggravating the fresh burn. He looks up when he sees motion and an angry man that he can identify as the second in command of the camp is next to him. The half angel desperately tries to scramble up but the sharp pain in his back grounds him again and he groans out. “Please.” The last thing his conscious mind is aware of is a black boot coming directly for his head.

Everything hurts, his head is pounding, his back feels like it’s still on fire, and that pain radiates everywhere like his body knows that danger is looming. Cygnus doesn’t want to be awake, he just wants to roll over and sleep off the pain but he can hear yelling. He groans slowly, opening his eyes hissing as sunlight hits his eyes. He keeps his eyes closed and tries to listen in on the yelling. “This conversation isn’t over!” The voice sounded like the proprietor of this whole thing.

“What did you want me to do? How was I supposed to know?”

“How about being a little careful with that magic of yours or you’re going to find yourself in the cage next!” Cygnus opens his eyes again letting them adjust to the light. “This could have ended in my favor but instead of a profitable venture you gave me a burnt chicken!” Panic sets in at that he quickly turns trying to move his wings to take a look at them but the smallest movement causes searing pain to shoot through him. He knows that something is wrong, he can’t feel most of his wings and what he can feel is nothing but burning pain. He feels Ama tighten around his arm. Thankful that she’s still with him.

It’s going to be okay. He pulls his arm close to him and nods. It doesn’t take long for him to drift back asleep.

Everything still hurts when he’s able to open his eyes again but the cooling air of night made it bearable at least. Maybe he had been out longer than one day though. His body healed fast but not usually this fast. He slowly lifts his head trying to get his eyes to adjust to the world around him. He groans, lowering his head again when he sees the second in command. Certainly the one who was being yelled at earlier. “Well, well looks like the oversized bird is finally waking up.” Cygnus turns trying to get a look at his wings now that the pain had slightly subsided and it was just like he feared. Previously pristine white wings had been burned into nothing. Charred into ash. While most of the burning had healed he wasn’t sure if his healing would be able to do anything about the state of his feathers. He sets his head down on his hands trying to come to terms with the loss of his wings. “Hey boss, he's finally awake!” The half angel watches as out from the main cart comes the leader of this whole thing. A large human man dressed in elaborate nice clothing clearly one size too small.

“Oh finally he decides to join us in the world of the waking.” Cygnus watches carefully as keys are pulled out. “Do you know how much trouble you cause for us little angel?” Cygnus feels his stomach fall out. He knew what he was worth in these parts. The keys make a click as the lock turns and the door is opened. In that second Cygnus tries to dart for the door. He manages to slip past the legs of the proprietor but the scarred face second in command was not so easy. Him getting caught easily around the waist. Cygnus cries out in pain as his body jerks. His hair is grabbed and he’s dragged back to the cage being thrown against the back of it. “Now, now, you owe us a debt.”

“I don’t owe you shit!”

“Tsk, what kind of language is that to come out of one of your kind. Wouldn’t want to ruin that holiness?” Cygnus' eyes dart to the exit again but he knew once was pushing it. The man grabs his neck and pushes him into the back bars. “Now you lost me a lot of money and you are going to make up for it big time. Every single part of you could be more valuable than what you lost me. Too bad the real money maker is gone.” The blonde shivers and whimpers. He struggles to get away as a hand just gently brushes over his wings. It felt like they were being burnt all over again. The man leans in smirking and Cygnus turns up his nose at the stench of cheap mead and sweet. “You better hope that they grow back soon or the most valuable part about you is your bones.” Fear settles in and the angle moves his hands up to the hand around his neck trying to pull it off.

“Please let me go!” He does manage to get a grip but he isn’t able to get the hand off of his neck but causes a decent scratch to come to the man’s hand.

The man swears out in some language that is harsh on the ears and causes Ama who is still around his wrist to bristle. He’s thrown to the side, the back of his head colliding with the bars. Cygnus groans as he collapses to the ground. His vision goes dark but he can feel blood welling on the back of his head. He’s not sure of what’s going on around him. He knows someone is speaking but can’t understand them. Then he hears the sound of the door closing and of the lock turning. He groans, curling his knees to his chest. Tears start flowing and a sob rakes through him. He didn’t want to be here. He just wanted to see his brother again. He just wanted to go back to traveling and singing with him. He wanted his father to be alive. He wanted off this continent and wanted to find a nice place to settle in where he wouldn’t be hunted.

[little-ligi]

Whumptober - No. 29

No. 29 - Reluctant Bedrest Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1524

Light falling across Merlin’s face woke him. He blinked woozily, peering around his bedroom, squinting as the light hit his eyes. From the position of the sun in his window he could tell it was halfway through the afternoon. Why was he still in bed? How come Arthur hadn’t come in yelling yet?

He tried to sit up, crying out and falling back onto the pillow when pain cut across his stomach. He lifted his blanket and saw a mass of bandages wrapping his middle, blood spotting through in some places.

“Merlin!” Gaius came hurrying into the room.

“Ow,” Merlin complained, frowning up at Gaius.

“Lie still, my boy.”

“Ow. What happened?”

Gaius put a hand on Merlin’s forehead, it was cool against skin Merlin suddenly realised was hot and sweaty.

“You were stabbed with a cursed blade.”

Merlin groaned. Of course, he remembered. They’d been on a quest to find… oh something or other that was very important. Only they’d met a Druid thief also trying to find said thing. He’d tried to stab Arthur and Merlin had leapt in front of him, only to get the blade in his own stomach.

He didn’t really remember much after that, other than the fire of evil magic coursing through his veins.

“Cursed?” Merlin asked warily, poking at his stomach through the blankets. It felt tender and stung sharply when he pressed the wound, but he couldn’t feel any badness with his magic.

“Your magic burned through the curse,” Gaius explained. “You’re very lucky. But you still have the wound.”

Merlin sagged back down. His whole body felt achy, it wouldn’t hurt to stay in bed a little longer.

“Is Arthur alright with me having the day off work?” He said it mostly as a joke, it wasn’t like Arthur really had a choice if Merlin was injured. And Merlin knew Arthur was a lot more reasonable than he liked to pretend he was.

“He’s still on the quest.”

“He’s what?”

Merlin sat bolt upright, swearing and groaning at the pain. He tried to swing his legs out of the bed but Gaius pushed his legs back and then put both hands on his shoulders, stopping him from moving any more.

“What exactly do you think you doing?” he asked, irritation clear in his voice.

“I should be with Arthur!” He wriggled against Gaius’s hold on him, ignoring the searing pain that radiated up from his stomach as he moved.

“Merlin, for goodness sake!” One of Gaius’s hands fluttered down to the bandages, Merlin batted him away.

“He is useless,” he stressed. “He needs me to stop him getting himself killed.”

Merlin tried to get up again, one arm wrapped tightly around his middle. He managed to get one foot down, before his head swam and he nearly pitched forward onto the floor. He caught himself on his bedside table, knocking a few little bottles and vials off the surface.

“I’m sure he can manage. He’s been doing quests like this for years before you got here.”

Gaius took his hand off Merlin’s shoulder in order to bend down and pick up the dropped bottles. Luckily none of them had broken. Merlin used the moment his back was turned to pull his other leg out from under the blanket and stumble up from the bed.

“Do you know how many times I have had to save his life?” he asked, waving his free hand dramatically.

“Countless, no doubt,” Gaius said. He slammed the bottles back on the bedside table and made a grab for Merlin. Merlin evaded his hand, scowling.

“Don’t patronise me.”

“The knights are all with him.” Gaius said this like it was supposed to solve the problem. That just caused a bigger problem as far as Merlin was concerned. He let out a tsk sound from the back of his throat, picking up a clean shirt from his cupboard.

“Do you know how many times I’ve saved their lives?”

“Merlin.” Gaius stomped towards him, his hands on his hips. “Get back in bed this instant.”

“Gaius, I have to go.” Merlin tried to pull the shirt over his head. Agony shot up his torso, so badly he doubled over and staggered heavily against the cupboard. He was stuck, one arm in the shirt, with it over his head.

“No you don’t.” Gaius helped him ease the shirt down, gently guiding his other arm in without causing too much more pain. He gave him a pointed look as if this proved his point. “You have to recover from your injury.”

“I’ll magic it better,” Merlin said with a shrug. He put his hands on his stomach, ignored the flaring pain and said the first healing spell that came to his mind. It did nothing.

“Breaking the curse took most of your power, Merlin.” Now Gaius had his hands on Merlin, he was trying to edge him back towards the bed. “You need to rest to rebuild its strength.”

“Then you can heal it,” Merlin said brightly. He pulled Gaius’s hand over the wound and said the healing spell again, prompting Gaius with a grin.

“I shall do no such thing.” Gaius snatched his hand away. He pointed at the bed. “Bed rest will heal it!”

“But I have to go on the quest.”

“You have to go to bed,” Gaius said crossly, as if he was talking to a small child.

Merlin groaned. “Arthur needs help!”

“So do you.”

Merlin was wavering slightly, sweat dripping down his temple. Gaius took a step towards him, hands out like he was calming a wild beast. Merlin gave a quick glance to the bed, then to Gaius, then the door behind him. He took a deep breath.

He managed to duck past Gaius and hurried – almost fell – down the steps from his room. He limped as fast as he could across the main room of Gaius’s chambers. It clearly wasn’t very fast though because Gaius overtook him and blocked the door.

They stood staring at each other, Gaius with his one eyebrow lifted, Merlin with his jaw stuck out stubbornly.

A knock at the door made them both jump. Gaius glared at Merlin then turned and opened it.

Arthur was standing the other side. He was dirt streaked and had a shallow cut down one side of his face. But he was grinning.

“Ah, Merlin! You’re up!” He strode into the room.

“Arthur!” Merlin sagged with relief. Mostly because Arthur was back safely, of course – but partly because it meant he didn’t have to go and find him and rescue him.

“We just got back, came to see how you were.” Arthur eyed him up and down, eyebrow lifting at the way Merlin still had his arm hugged around his waist.

“I’m fine!” Merlin threw his arms out wide, filling his voice with as much bravado as he could to try and detract from the fact that the movement made him wince and sway. More sweat trickled down his face.

“He’s not,” Gaius cut in. “He needs to be in bed.”

“Are you not listening to Gaius?” Arthur asked him, voice serious but eyes laughing.

“I’m not a child,” Merlin whined.

“Of course not.” Arthur smirked, looking like he was enjoying this conversation thoroughly. “Here, Gaius, I’ll help.”

He took a step forward and bundled Merlin into his arms. Merlin froze. Was Arthur actually giving him a hug? Finally? But then Arthur began dragging him across the room, manhandling him – gently so as not to hurt him – up the steps of his bedroom, and into bed.

“There we are. Lie down.”

“Arthur!”

Arthur pulled Merlin’s shirt up. The bandage was looking rather more red than it had been before. Gaius sighed heavily, grumbling under his breath.

“Look what you’ve done. Don’t move.”

He bustled back into the main room. There was an awkward silence, Merlin picked at a loose thread on his blanket.

“So, you finished the quest?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Arthur.

“Yep.” Arthur dropped down to sit on the edge of Merlin’s bed. He pulled a small intricately carved wooden totem from a pouch on his belt, tossing it and catching it one handed.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.” He turned it this way and that, a small crystal at the centre glinting in the sunlight. “Father wants it kept safe in the vaults. Apparently it can be used for magic by the druids, so we have to lock it up.” He slid it back into the pouch.

Gaius returned with a wad of fresh bandages and a foul smelling poultice.

“Ugh, I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Arthur said, jumping up from the bed and eyeing the bowl of poultice with a disgusted look. He clapped Merlin on the shoulder and walked out.

“I can come with you!” Merlin called after his retreating form, trying to get up again.

“No,” said Gaius, pushing Merlin down onto his back. “You can’t.”

“You get some bed rest, Merlin,” Arthur shouted. “I’ll even give you a day off!”

The door to Gaius’s chambers slammed shut and Merlin groaned, throwing his head back on the pillow.

[alirhi]

chapter 4

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 4/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky, reference to BuckyNat Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

WARNINGS: m/m, this chapter m/f, some light kink, a little drama, references to murder that I probably should have been putting in the warnings sooner lol Notes: I have no idea when the Winter Soldier killed RJ Nakajima, so I once again decided to just go with what suited my purposes. Also, I love that Loki is a shapeshifter XD

Before he went back to Asgard, there was one thing Loki knew he had to do. He couldn't come all the way here without seeing his beloved, no matter how much it hurt to see what HYDRA had turned him into. Deep down, he was still Bucky, and Loki owed it to him to face his present, not live forever in his past. Bad enough he hadn't been back to see him in twenty years.

It took a bit of doing, but he found him, and, thankfully, he was out of the freezer. Unfortunately, he was standing over a couple of corpses again.

"How is it I always seem to find you knee-deep in blood and death?" An exaggeration, to be sure, but it didn't feel like much of one as he stepped delicately past an old man with a broken neck and did his best to ignore the young man with a bullet in his head slumped against the door. "Do they never thaw you out for a run to Starbucks?"

Bucky turned to look at him, and he was momentarily thrown by the muzzle-like mask covering most of his love's handsome face. Those eyes were the same, though; vacant, vaguely confused, but still beautiful and familiar. And then a spark of recognition that made Loki's heart soar.

"You remember me, don't you?" He stepped just a little closer, fighting to ignore the reek of human blood and just focus on those big, pretty blue eyes.

Once again, he found himself with a metal hand wrapped round his throat, this time with a wall at his back. Loki rolled his eyes. "You can't harm me, Sergeant. Didn't we establish this last time?"

"Last time...?"

Confusion clouded the recognition and Loki sighed, reaching up. Apparently, the soldier recalled just enough of their last encounter to know what he was about to do, because he immediately released his throat to pin both arms at his sides. Exasperated, but mildly encouraged, Loki struggled. He managed to wrench one arm free and reached for Bucky's head again, and again was thwarted. "Damn it, you stubborn fool! Let me remind you who you are!"

This went on for a few minutes, Loki attempting to free himself so he could dig through Bucky's mind, and the drone HYDRA had turned Bucky into constantly fighting to keep him pinned. He eventually spun Loki around to face the wall and pinned him again, both hands clutched behind his back in that damned metal vice grip.

The Trickster laughed, turning his head to glance at him over his shoulder. "Well, this is familiar, isn't it? It's been some time since we played this game."

The soldier didn't respond, but he did let up. Free at last, Loki turned, adjusted his clothing, and stepped back.

"Alright, Sergeant. We'll play this another way." For so many reasons, he wanted to get them both the hell away from the bodies. This was, after all, a crime scene, and while Loki could disappear with little issue, he couldn't leave his lover, nor the helpless shell of him, to be caught and incarcerated. And the smell of the young man's blood really was quite nauseating. With a playful smirk he hoped Bucky couldn't see was fake, he taunted, "Catch me if you can!"

Then he was gone. As he reappeared at the end of the hall, he reveled in the way his prey glanced around in confusion, and then radiated frustration when he spotted him. With a cheeky grin and a wave, Loki turned and fled, on foot this time. He could hear Bucky's heavy boots clumping along behind him.

Every time he heard Bucky begin to gain on him, Loki hopped a few yards ahead, but he was careful to always stay in the other man's line of sight. He didn't want to actually lose him, after all; the point was to make him chase. Finally they made it to a room at the opposite end of the hotel a few floors up from where they'd been, that Loki sensed was unoccupied. Not trusting the soldier to get the hint after his brazen double homicide in the corridor, he waited until he was sure Bucky could see him at the door, and then disappeared behind it.

Sure enough, the brute kicked the door open and followed him inside. With a laugh much more genuine than anything he'd managed in over sixty years, Loki simply waited. The exhilaration of the chase was still making his blood sing, and the frustrated determination in Bucky's eyes set his nerves on fire. In all his grief for the loss of the man he loved and his desperation to get him back, it had never occurred to Loki until this moment that there might be something in the obedient soldier to explore. Not obedient to him, but that was fine; that had never been their dynamic.

"It's alright, Sergeant," he assured him, hands out to his sides to show he wouldn't make a move. "I won't drag James out again. Not this time. It causes you both pain, and that isn't what I want."

"I don't care what you want." That voice, still monotonous and without emotion, made Loki smile even as the soldier closed the distance between them and shoved him roughly to the floor. He'd been prepared for that this time, and he went down easily on purpose, dragging not-Bucky down with him.

"Luckily, all I want is this." He tried to tug Bucky closer for a kiss despite the stupid muzzle, and pouted when he turned his head to evade him. Had they stripped him of his sexuality, as well as his free will?

No. He shifted position a bit and his thigh brushed over evidence that, even when Bucky vacated the premises, his body still felt.

But could he consent? That thought stopped him cold as he searched the soldier's eyes and saw only confusion and hesitation. Did not-Bucky even understand what was happening? Just how much of him had HYDRA stripped away and crushed down to the deepest corners of his subconscious in order to control him?

"What do you want, Sergeant?" No answer, naturally. He likely had never been asked that before. Heart hammering in his chest, Loki reached up and, moving slowly so as not to startle him, tugged Bucky's mask off. He was beautiful; unchanged since 1943, save for that unruly mop of hair. Rather than drop his hand back to his side, he stroked that long dark hair. "May I?"

Bucky flinched, eyes wild and still clouded with such confusion and uncertainty that it nearly broke his heart. He didn't move away, though, and Loki chose to see that as a hopeful sign.

"It's alright, my love," he murmured as, ever so painfully slowly, he let his hand come to rest on Bucky's head. "I won't dig, won't bring anything forward. Not this time. I'm just going to skim the surface, alright? Just organize things for you, just a little. Is that alright?"

The soldier closed his eyes and pressed his head against Loki's hand like a cat seeking affection. Heart swelling with gratitude for this small sign of trust, Loki closed his eyes as well, and searched as gently as he could. How much of you still lingers when you're like this? Of how much are you aware?

Though he tried to suppress it, ignore it, the errant thought still skittered through his mind: Do you even still love me?

There was no recognition; absolutely nothing remained of their time together in 1943, not up on the surface, at least. Loki's name fluttered vaguely through the soldier's surface thoughts, but only in the vaguest of recollections from their encounter in 1991. He didn't love him; he didn't even feel love.

But he did feel lust. Loki almost laughed as he found what he was looking for. The soldier had had sex before, with a lovely redheaded woman who'd gotten in his way during a mission. So, he understood the concept, at least well enough to know if he actually wanted to do it. There was some will remaining, then; they'd only stripped from him his ability to refuse an order. They would still burn for that.

Something else filtered through the static that did make him laugh, even as not-Bucky pinned him to the floor, holding both of his wrists down. He wanted him, but he had no idea what to do with him. He didn't have access to his memories of their relationship, so it really shouldn't have been a surprise, but Loki still couldn't help laughing.

1943 Bucky hadn't known what to do, either. Frankly, neither had 1943 Loki; the two young lovers had had to learn together, through frantic, awkward fumbling. He wouldn't mind teaching the soldier what he and Bucky had taught each other, but there was that small matter of a murder scene downstairs, and the fact that they were technically trespassing in a vacant hotel room. Then there was the mess he was contending with on Asgard.

"Alas," he told the man on top of him with a smile, "We haven't the time for much fun, especially not with your mind in such a scramble."

Reveling in the stunned look on Bucky's face, Loki shifted into a female form and made her clothing vanish, neatly folded and piled on a nearby chair. "Is this more familiar, love?"

"How did you...?"

She grinned, took advantage of his momentary distraction, and slipped out of his grasp. "I imagine this form will be a bit easier for you to navigate, yes? You certainly seemed to have little issue finding the right hole with her." Ooh, jealousy was not a comfortable feeling! Whoever this redhead, this Natasha was, Loki wanted to turn her world upside down and set it on fire for good measure.

But first... First she wanted to play. The soldier was on his feet, chasing her across the room and she laughed, nimbly evading him. He was stronger and faster than any other human, but still too bulky to be as agile as she was. She skirted his clumsy grabs for her every time, taunting him and occasionally blowing him kisses as she flitted around the room. Neither of them had time for this, but she didn't give a damn, at least for the moment. Loki hadn't felt Bucky's touch, his weight on him, in nearly seventy years; somehow in their time together, this female side had never been brought out to play. She wanted to feel him, but she wanted to make him earn it, first.

Too late, she realized she wasn't the only one playing a game when suddenly the soldier's arms were around her, quick as a striking snake. So, he was as agile as she was, after all. She found herself slammed back against the wall and that icy metal hand at her throat again, and with a grin, she leaned into it.

"One day, you'll have to tell me what happened there." With a fist in his long hair, she yanked him closer and finally got the kiss she'd been aching for. "But for now, Sergeant, I just want you to use it."

"Be careful what you wish for." Oh, lovely! Where had this playful streak come from, then? There was a gleam in his eyes that Loki hadn't seen since before the brainwashing. It wasn't quite a spark of the old Bucky, but it was something... Something passionate and deliciously feral. It seemed the pretty soldier had a dark streak that extended beyond cold-blooded murder.

"Do what you will, darling," she urged, bringing one long leg up to hook around his waist. "You can't hurt me."

"We'll see about that."

She smiled, purring when he yanked her tight against him and bit her neck. "Yes, I suppose we will, won't we?"

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[lightsupinthenorth]

Read on AO3 

TW: mentions of child abuse and medical procedure

*

Billy really wants to skip school today. Well, he kind of always does, but usually the idea of seeing Steve Harrington gives him enough incentive to get out of bed even if the prospect of sitting trough a whole day of classes is less than satisfactory. That day, though, even Steve Harrington is not enough.

Billy pissed off his father last night, and he took a mean kick to the ribs for it. As a result, his left side hurts like a bitch, he didn’t sleep well, and he’s so exhausted that when he finally gets up, he sees black spots dancing in front of his eyes and he nearly falls to the floor, his legs as consistent as jelly.  

He’ll never survive the morning periods, let alone basketball practice this afternoon. Billy sighs. This day is going to suck. There’s no doubt about that. He’s got to make his peace with the fact and power through, because he cannot skip, no matter how hard he wants to. His father is particularly intransigent these days, and Billy doesn’t need to give him any more reason to be angry.

So, he takes a quick shower, he skips breakfast, and before he realizes it, he’s sitting at his usual back row desk in his English lit class, feeling miserable as hell and trying to hide it.

“Who pissed in your cereals this morning, Hargrove?”

Okay, so the “hiding” part of it isn’t a success, apparently.

“Fuck off, Harrington, I’m a real ray of sunshine.” Billy says.

Steve and he have been friendly since Billy apologized for bashing his face in. Now is not the time to needle Billy, though, and Harrington would better be aware of that, lest it get messy again.

“Oh sure! Just a very grumpy looking one. You shouldn’t scowl that hard, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

It only makes Billy scowl harder. Steve smiles his brightest smile at him, for whatever strange reason, and it makes Billy relax slightly.

Thankfully, the teacher arrives before Steve has time to ask anything else.

Billy avoids the cafeteria at lunch. He’s got no food, nor does he have money to buy some. He knows Steve would get him something without him even needing to ask for it, but he’s not hungry anyway, so it would be rather pointless.

When Billy enters the changing room, Steve is already there, and of course he mentions it. He’s a mother hen like that.

“I didn’t see you at lunch. Did you manage to eat something? I have granola bars if you want.”

“I did eat.” Billy lies, “but thanks for the offer, Pretty boy.”

“No problem.” Steve smiles brightly again.

Billy is lightheaded already from exhaustion and lack of food, Steve doesn’t need to add to it. How rude.

“Are you sure you’re okay, though? You look a little pale.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Yes, mom, I’m fine.”

Look, another lie! Way to go, Billy.

“Fuck off. You’re a disaster, someone has to look after your ass.”  

Billy flips him the bird half-heartedly before putting his shorts on.

During practice, he insists on playing shirts, for once, so the bruise on the left side of his abdomen doesn’t raise any question. He shouldn’t have bothered, though. Barely three minutes later, he’s entirely out of fuel already and must take a break. He then makes the mistake of getting back into the match, only to be hit in the stomach with the ball and nearly faint.

“Hargrove, you’re out of it, what’s wrong with you?”

Billy assures he’s fine, but he’s slurring his words, so obviously the coach doesn’t believe him.

“Go sit down, go to the nurse, whatever, just stop playing. I don’t want you fainting on the court.”

Billy grumbles, but he obeys nonetheless. He doesn’t have enough energy to put up a fight right now.  

He goes to the showers, and it’s all peachy until he slips on the wet tile and bumps his head on the wall. He regains consciousness to Steve leaning over him, looking freaked.

“What are you doing here?” Billy mumbles.

“I wanted to check if you were okay. Seems like it was good instinct on my part.” Steve says.

“Come on, let’s get you off the floor.”

It’s a strenuous process, and Billy can’t hold a groan in as pain flares up his side, but Steve does manage to get him back to his feet. He only then notices he’s naked, which is very embarrassing.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, pointing the nasty bruise on Billy’s torso.

“Nothing.”

“Uh, don’t bullshit me, Hargrove.”

“Calm your tits, princess, I am fine.”

Steve scoffs.

“Oh yeah, sure, you just fainted in the showers and you’ve looked half-dead all day. You’re the perfect picture of ‘fine’.”

Billy goes back to scowling, because the truth is not pleasant to hear, and Steve is serving it to him and forcing him to stop ignoring it. Again, rude.

“I’m just tired.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think that’s it.”

“Oh, you’re an expert on health matters now, Harrington?”

Steve huffs.

“No, you smart ass, but we have a perfectly competent school nurse, you could go to her, you know. Just to make sure.”

“Pass.”

“No.”

Billy glares at him.

“What do you mean, no?”

“No, I won’t let you decide. Your decision making is shit. I’m deciding right now, and I say you’re going to the nurse.”

The nerves of that guy.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Billy’s going for angry, but his voice is so weak he just sounds petulant.

“Okay then! I’m telling you what I am going to do. I am going to take you to the nurse to get checked out even if I have to drag you there!”

Steve, unlike Billy, has no trouble sounding furious. His eyes are glaring daggers at Billy, his hands are clenched into fists, and his chest is heaving with how worked up he is. Billy would probably get a hard-on if he weren’t so tired. It’s a good thing he doesn’t, because he’s still very much naked.

“Stop treating me like one of your kids! I can take care of myself.” Billy says through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t want to admit defeat, even if he recognizes he’s in the wrong. His pride can’t take it.

“You obviously can’t!” Steve yells.

There are a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, and then Steve’s anger seems to deflate. He sighs.

“Look, I’m really worried. Would you please, please, just go to the nurse with me? I’ll owe you one.”

And isn’t it just like Steve, to make it seem like Billy’s doing him a favor by taking care of himself? Great, now Billy feels bad. He could deal with angry Steve, but he’s no match against pleading Steve with his puppy eyes.

“Okay, fine… Just let me get dressed and we’ll go.”

It takes Billy forever to put on his jeans and T-shirt. He slips on his sneakers and is planning on leaving the laces undone, but Steve won’t have it and bends down to tie them for him. Steve is on his knees in front of Billy… and here he thought Steve was trying to help him, not kill him.

It turns out Steve was right to pester Billy about consulting a health professional, because he ends up in the hospital to get surgery for a ruptured spleen. It’s going to cost a small fortune, and Neil’s not going to be happy, but it’s his fault so he’s not allowed to bitch about it.

Steve is there for him until he gets taken to the operating room. And, God knows how long after the surgery, Billy wakes up to Steve holding his hand.

When he realizes Billy is awake, Steve tries to take his hand away, but Billy holds it in place. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, after clearing his throat.

“Sure.” Billy croaks. “I’m sure it’s a pretty standard operation, Pretty boy. It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“Shut up. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry…” he mutters.

“Don’t apologize… even if you were being particularly stubborn, it’s not like it’s your fault you ruptured your spleen.” Steve says, running his thumb on the back to Billy’s hand.

“About that…” he goes on, “I overheard the nurses talking… and uh… they mentioned domestic violence.”

“What about it?” Billy asks defensively, tensing up.

“Well… feel free to tell me to fuck off, but…”

Billy scoffs. As if he needed Steve’s permission to tell him to fuck off.  

“Is it true?” Steve finishes, his whole expression radiating concern.

“What do you think? That I got into a fight in some bar on a Monday night?”

And really, Billy doesn’t mean to be that prickly. It’s just a subconscious and desperate attempt at preventing the walls he built around himself from crumbling down.

However, the sad look Steve gives him is enough to make his attempt fail tremendously and annihilate the said walls until Billy is laid bare, defenseless.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just… stay with me, please?” Billy hasn’t sounded that vulnerable since he last was on the phone with his mother, begging her to come back for him.

“Of course.” Steve squeezes his hand. “I meant, what more can I do?”

“Nothing. You being there is enough.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced, but he thankfully doesn’t argue.

“Oh wait, there might be something.”

“What?” Steve looks ready to burn Hawkins to ashes and throw down the entire government if Billy asks him to.  

Billy won’t ask that of him, though. He’d never do anything to taint Steve.

“Could you get me some water.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Sure. I was thinking of something a bit more substantial, though.”

“Oh, look at you, using big words!” Billy mocks.

“You just woke up from surgery, how are you already so annoying?”

“That’s one of my many talents.”

“I hate you sometimes.” Steve says in a deadpan voice.

“No, you don’t.”

Steve answers Billy’s teasing grin with a pout.

“No, I don’t.”

Billy cackles in triumph.

“What about that water, Pretty boy?” he then adds.

It’s not even to be a pain in the ass. He really is thirsty.

“Shit, sorry!” Steve replies, letting go of Billy’s hand to go fetch him something to drink.

Billy watches him with a fond smile as he exits the room. His life still sucks, but it sucks a bit less now that Steve is in it.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Communication Issues (AT:TTSIMBCMEOAYSFIL)- Chapter Four and Epilogue

Ao3,   MasterPost

Ah, the finale!!! Finally it is here!! My brain hurts from editing all this fuckery in one day :/

Relationships: Romantic Analogince, implied romantic Moceit

Warnings: Arguing, yelling, swearing, miscommunication (obviously,,,), crying, an overindulgence of fluff, naps.

Word Count: 8,136

The door to the main house might have snapped off its hinges- but it doesn’t matter, and you don’t care. You throw it open with excessive force, essentially falling outside as you trail behind Virgil. He’s quicker than you by far; he’s practically a blur, in fact. 

You think Janus is calling after the both of you. After notifying Virgil of the situation, he’d been trying to calm you down, but evidently that hadn’t worked. You don’t even glance back at him, sprinting as you come upon the Clubhouse. 

As soon as you reach it, you fall against its wall, dizzy and panting. Virgil is already there, waiting for you to be ready. Or, perhaps he himself is just nervous, because he hasn’t attempted to push the door the rest of the way open. As it stands, it’s open just a crack, casting a sliver of golden light outwards. 

Virgil speaks up, and you can easily confirm that it was his nerves stopping him. 

“What… what do we do now?”

You glance at him, just from the corner of your eye. A small, anxious smile contorts your face.

“Well, we have him cornered, don’t we?”

Hesitantly- and perhaps confusedly, as he has no way of understanding just what you’re referencing- he nods.

“Well, it seems the time has come to profess our love for him,” you say it simply, as though that’ll make it somehow easier for any of you. You want to believe it’ll be as simple, if only for your own sanity. 

Virgil opens his mouth, clearly aiming to spit out some contradiction, but at this point the blood rushing in both your ears has cleared enough for you to actually hear the world around you. And what you hear, from inside this quant shack, is desperate and feverish arguing. 

Virgil steels his expression, inhaling sharply. He stretches his arm out and shoves the door open, crossing the threshold on long, unsturdy legs. You follow his lead without a moment of hesitation. 

As soon as you enter, you see him, right across the room from you, and you aren’t in the least prepared for it. 

He (blessedly) hasn’t noticed you or Virgil, yet. He’s much too busy ranting incoherently at Patton, who is… also here, for some reason.

You can’t make out a word he’s saying, and there’s no way to tell if Patton can either. He’s shaking, pale and clearly panicking. But it’s him. He looks a wreck, the poor thing, but he’s really here.

You glance at Virgil, seeing his reaction matching closely to yours; lips parted in shock, face slack, his hands fisted at his sides. You’d take the time to admire him, too, if not for your current circumstances. Instead, you inch a bit closer for his support, tapping his wrist to draw his attention. He takes your hand without question, holding it so tight it’s nearly painful. 

Luckily or unluckily- you can’t be sure- the burden of speaking up doesn’t fall on either of you. Patton spots you but a second after you enter, catching sight of you over Logan’s shoulder. His eyes widen, his expression caught between relief and terror. Whichever it is, it’s very toothy. 

You try to flash him a smile back, but he’s already turned his attention back to Logan. 

“Logan-! Logan, listen, please?” He cuts the rambling off, tentatively reaching to grab the logical trait’s trembling wrists. 

“What?” He snaps back, harshly.

Patton takes a deep breath, staring intensely at the floor. When he looks up, he makes direct eye-contact with you first, and then Virgil, his shoulders hiking up anxiously. You steel yourself as Logan follows the gaze, turning around and finally seeing you. 

His eyes are big and round, his arms are shaking. His gaze sweeps over you both, stopping quite obviously on your connected hands. 

You worry, briefly, that he’ll slam a mask down over his face, as he so often has before to contain such strong displays of dismay as this. But Logan does quite the opposite. In less than a second, that shocked and vulnerable expression is swallowed up by a furious ire, one that you can’t help but shrink back at. Virgil squeezes your hand, as much for your comfort as it is for his own. 

Logan’s mouth opens, and you almost believe he’ll yell at you- scream his lungs out and hurl insult after insult- but, yet again, he challenges your expectations. 

“Patton, let go!” His eyes constantly flit between Virgil and you, but he refuses to address either directly, “Let me go, I’m leaving!”

Virgil’s frozen in place. You draw breath to speak, but Patton makes a very aggressive and un-Patton-like gesture that pretty clearly communicates one thing: Shut it, Princey. You take the order, folding your unoccupied hand just under your sternum.

“Logan, just hear them out, please? Please trust me?” Patton pleads, one of his hands closing over Logan’s shoulder in a sturdy grip. The facet’s struggling lessens; he breaks his death-glare at you long enough to turn on Patton, his look softer but not by much. 

As if to give more incentive for Logan to trust him, Patton releases his arms, stepping back and giving him space. He holds his hands up, palms out, in a show of peace.

“I- I don’t think this is a good idea,” Logan hisses it out in a rush, like you and Virgil aren’t meant to hear.

It’s at this point that Virgil tries to interject, but yet again Patton waves his hands around angrily. It’s a strange form of some made-up sign language that probably means something like: For the love of God let me handle this for two seconds before you jump in. Virgil, too, takes the order.

“If it doesn’t go well, then you come right back to me, ‘kay? I’ll take care of you, and you can tell me you told me so all you want, and I’ll never ever make you do anything like this again,” Patton gently assures, resting his hand on Logan’s shoulder, “But I really think you should let them explain themselves. It might help more than you think it will.”

“I- How do you know-?”

“Because they-” he looks pointedly at you, and you try not to shrink any further into yourself at the intensity he carries, “-have been so worried about you. Oh, don’t give me that look, they have- you know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I thought it would hurt you, kiddo.”

That mollifies Logan a good deal, he’s leaning into Patton’s touch. His gaze flickers to the both of you once more, eyes narrowing, before he’s huffing out a sigh.

“Okay. I- okay.” 

Patton grins briefly, much too wide and much too cheery for the circumstances, and he draws back. He walks, slowly, from the couch to the door- to you. He pauses, sending you and Virgil A Look. He leans in, not for very long, and whispers so only the both of you can hear. 

“I know what’s going on here, and I do believe you. I want to believe that you have this handled. But if you two ever- and I mean ever- hurt that boy again, even if it’s an accident, then don’t you expect me to vouch for you again.” 

His expression is deadly serious. 

You nod, as hard and as fast as you can.

“Thank you so much, Pat, I owe you one- I owe you so many,” Virgil whispers back, leaning towards Patton as he steps away from you. That firm, scolding expression melts into fondness at the words, and Patton shakes his head. He turns his back, and with that, he leaves. The door clicks politely shut behind him. 

And it’s silent.

Logan won’t look at either of you, determined to glare at the rug instead. 

But he’s not going anywhere. 

But neither is this interaction. 

But he’s here.

Where can you begin?

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Virgil blurts, and yeah, that might be a start. Not an eloquent one, but asking for that would probably be a bit over-expectant anyway. 

Logan doesn’t respond to the apology. His shoulders hunch up further, his arms hugging around his middle. The anger is practically radiating off him in waves, such a fierce passion that it’s kind of screwing with your senses in that area.

But, you realize with a start- he isn’t just angry. No, it’s more complicated.

You look at Virgil, for confirmation. You find it in his mismatched eyes, swirling with someone else’s emotions as well as his own.

Logan’s scared. 

“Spe- Logan,” you stammer, “I know that this seems, uh, not good, but we really didn’t mean to upset you. The timing, it was just-”

He snorts, humorlessly, standing up much straighter and crossing the room in just a few long strides. He glowers down at you, then up at Virgil, face flushed. 

“Well, I’m sure you regret it now. It’s not quite as funny anymore, is it?”

“It wasn’t funny at all!” You shout. 

“Oh, I’m inclined to agree with you, Roman.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it!”

Logan makes a very, very awful and frustrated sound, tugging a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I’ve come to see that many things I thought that I knew about you are wrong!”

Virgil shoots a concerned glance between the two of you, but you talk over him all in a rush.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, if you’d just let us-”

“Let you what? Mock me again? Make a fool out of me?”

You growl, sharp and animalistic, tugging your hand out of Virgil’s and gesturing wildly. And then you make a bad decision. 

“How are you such a horrible fucking listener!?”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth, sucking in a breath as though you could take them back in. Virgil gasps, short and shocked, and his eyeshadow darkens down his cheeks like a waterfall. 

It’s quiet only long enough for Logan to really process, to really work himself up, like he’s about to berate you with even more fervor. It’s almost frightening.

“I’m a bad listener?! Because I seem to recall that the both of you, last time I tried to talk to you, laughed in my face! How’s that for ‘listening’, hm? Did you even think about what I was-! When I was trying- I was trying to say-”

Virgil’s panic abates enough to make room for confusion. He leans forward, cautiously reaching for Logan.

“What were you trying to say?”

Logan winces at the distortion, hitting his hands away before they get anywhere near him, snarling.

“That I cared about you, so much, and I- I wanted to do well by you, even though I knew it would only hurt me in the end. Because I wanted you to be happy together, and that was more important than- than my own feelings. I had to leave you be, I knew it, but you just wouldn’t- you-!”

He’s not making any sense, dammit. He loses steam, drawing in gasping breaths. Exhaustion bogs him down, making him look weak and frail; he’s growing resigned to the situation, and his own words, as though he thinks they’re already out of his control. 

It breaks your heart.

“I wanted it,” he gasps, “I wanted a part of what you had, badly. But I knew how ridiculous that was, and I was trying to tell you as much. I was giving you the out, so to speak, from me and my company, but you...” 

It’s as though all his anger from mere moments ago has evaporated like steam. He’s curling in on himself, his face tilted down. His voice shrinks to barely more than a whisper, nearly inaudible.

“You didn’t have to laugh at me.” 

Virgil jumps, like he’s broken from a trance, and wordlessly jolts forwards and scoops Logan up in his arms. The side struggles, but Virgil’s grip is unrelenting, nearly lifting him off the floor.

“Okay, that was your time to talk, now it’s ours,” he gives you a very serious Look, “Right, Roman?”

“Oh- yes, right,” you step forward, much less confidently than Virgil, and wrap your arms around the both of them. It is the Pinnacle of an Awkward Hug (mostly because Logan has not stopped trying to escape), but Virgil seems to think that it’s the right course of action, and you don’t have any other leads to follow. 

“Okay, point one: we weren’t laughing at you because you- uh, cuz you had a thing for us, I guess.”

“We were laughing because you were being stupid!” You tack on, somewhat-unhelpfully, “You thought we liked each other more than we like you, that was the stupid part.”

“Yeah,” Virgil nods,“Cause you were right about one thing, L. We- uh, we like each other. A lot-” you snort at the phrasing. He gives you a sharp glare before continuing. “-But we like you, too.”

Logan stands frightfully still, his arms pulled up uncomfortably in some weak attempt to keep distance between his body and both of yours. 

“What- what are you talking about?”

You meet Virgil’s eyes in question. He nods, shifting so he can wrap an arm around your waist as well. 

“We love you, Teach,” his breath hitches, but you choose to take it as a good sign, “I love you, so much. You both- both of you have done so much for me- oh, how couldn’t I love you?”

“You get me,” Virgil adds, smiling sweet and warm at you as he speaks to Logan, “You’ve always been there for me. You know how to, uhm, deal with me, better than anyone, I guess. So, yeah. I love you. And Ro.”

Logan pushes back against the both of you again, but this time it’s not an escape; it isn’t a fight. You let go of him, and Virgil in the process, and allow him to step back. He doesn’t go very far.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, fragile, his head tilted to one side.

“Which part are ya stuck on, L?”

He glances at you, a positive whirlwind of emotion fighting behind his eyes. 

“You�� I understand the both of you being romantically involved,” he starts, slowly, holding fingers up like he’s keeping track of points of data. “And I believe I understand my- my misinterpretation of your previous outburst, which is certainly a relief- though it does make me feel a bit silly for how strongly I reacted.”

“Oh, we’re all overemotional divas, sometimes,” you wave a dismissive hand, smirking at him. In return, he offers a small and unsure smile, and nods. 

“Yes. I just don’t quite get. Um. You- you and me?” His eyes widen after he says it, and you see a spark of something upsetting in them. It takes him a good deal of effort to say the next part: “You aren’t doing this just to console me, are you?”

“No!” You and Virgil shout in unison, horrified. 

“But you two are already perfect for each other!” He protests, “Your casual affection, your shared interests, your banter-”

“You say all that like we don’t have that with you, too!” Virgil interrupts. 

“That’s different.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Is it? Or do you see it that way because you can watch us, but you can’t exactly watch yourself?” 

Logan quickly becomes concentrated on the question, opening and closing his mouth in lieu of a response.

“We can watch you, though! Like  the way you and Virgil always seem to talk without ever talking, and just, like, shrugging at each other. It’s kind of creepy,” you point out. Virgil hums in agreement, a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah. You and Ro’s whole poetry thing is literally- like, there’s no platonic explanation for that. It’s gross.” 

“I-” Logan cuts himself off, his eyes widening, “Perhaps you have a point.”

“We do. Look, it took you yelling at us about how obvious we were being for me to get off my ass, to actually do something about my crush on Princey here, which probably says something about perspective.”

Logan hums, thoughtfully, a surprisingly subdued reaction. You feel a striking amount of pride well up in your chest. You bump your shoulder against Virgil’s as a sort of high-five, a gesture that he returns with a smirk. This is honestly going better than you thought it would! (...Though you were under the impression that this conversation would end in tears or violence, so that’s not a very high bar).

“You love me,” Logan says at last, his expression blank. 

“Yup!” You confirm, popping the ‘p’. 

“Ah. Alright, then.”

He pauses. And continues to be paused. For time enough that you grow unsure of yourself. Is he… processing it? You really don’t know what’s going on in that brain of his when he gets quiet like this.

“Yes,” he confirms nothing in particular to no one in particular, “I feel very foolish now, in retrospect.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil chuckles.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Logan’s face breaks into a smile, wide and brilliant, “I just- wow, this could have been so easily avoided,” he places his hand on his temple, staring into space. He trembles a little, and you fear you’ve somehow managed to get him crying again. But then he doubles over, his arm around his stomach as he giggles uncontrollably. His laughing turns wheezy very quickly, as his breathing is interrupted constantly by little shouts of amusement. “Oh, this was all so absurd!”

You watch him, and very suddenly you remember a scene much like this, weeks and weeks ago. You understand exactly how he felt, then, when he saw you laugh for the first time in a long time. 

At this moment, his happiness is the only sight to you, and it is a beautiful one. 

Virgil lets out a soft laugh alongside him, hiding it behind his hand and biting his lip. Soon, though, he’s losing himself, and that sets you off too- and within seconds all three of you are cracking up laughing. Tears in the corners of your eyes, hands clutching stomachs, the works. 

You aren’t even sure what’s so funny! And that’s exactly what’s so funny!

It takes a while to settle down and sober up. You wind up on the floor, actually, before you calm down. You think Logan might be on the ground, too, but you aren’t very spatially aware. 

Virgil gains control of himself first, predictably. 

He rights himself, coughing into his fist, and fixing his hair. 

“So you’re okay?” He says to Logan, out of breath. 

“I have no idea,” Logan wheezes in response, “But I love you both very, very much.” 

And that seems to be about the jist of it, for all of you.

Epilogue:

The second you’re back inside, you fall backwards onto the couch without a second thought, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyelids hard enough for it to hurt. A groan- part exhausted, part relieved- rumbles up from your throat, and you sink your fangs into the side of your cheek to stifle it. You’re tired, sure, but you aren’t as much of a fucking drama queen as your- your boyfriends, actually. Cuz that’s a thing that just happened.

Fuck if you know how, by the way.

You feel the cushion by your head dip, the smallest bit, at about the same time that the cushion by your feet contracts abruptly. You huff, because you’re still a little bit of a drama queen, okay, and you’ve earned that right.

Long, spidery fingers tangle in your hair, brushing back your fringe and undoing your spiked up ponytail. At the same time, again, your legs are lifted just slightly before being dropped into a lap, and a large, calloused hand rests on your ankle. 

“I think I’m gonna sleep for, like, five months,” you mumble, letting your arms fall to the side and shoving your face into the couch cushion.

“While I’m fairly sure you were being hyperbolic,” Logan says, his hand catching on a tangle in your hair and slowly working it out, “I wouldn’t be opposed to some rest”

You snort. An obnoxious noise, but they seem to be like it anyway, so you try not to hate yourself too much for it. 

Roman makes some sounds that vaguely indicate he wants to talk. You wait. He’s quiet for a good, long while, his nails scraping along the loose threads of your ripped jeans. You crane your neck up to squint impatiently at him; him and Logan have this bad habit of disappearing into introspections mid-conversation, and it’s very annoying.

“I-” he starts, stops. Makes more sounds. “Hmm.”

You wait. After about ten seconds, you kick him (very lightly!) in the ribcage. 

“I was just wondering,” he finally says, glaring at you, “If you two are really feeling alright. What’s on your minds, or- how are you?”

Ah, there it is; the deceptively simple check-in question. Logan’s hand tenses in your hair, almost imperceptibly. You reach one of your own up to meet his, tracing your claws around his knuckles soothingly. 

“Um, better than earlier,” he says, “Much better, actually. Though I’m still a bit on edge, I suppose.”

Roman nods, a very soft look on his face, before glancing at you. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, too, and it almost makes you squirm. You let go of his hand in favor of fussing with your sleeves.

“’M good. Comfy,” you mutter, attempting a shrug despite your horizontal position. 

“Are you sure?” Logan prods, leaning over you concernedly. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, grinding your teeth. 

“I don’t know. It’s fine.”

Yeah, that’s not gonna work.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Getting further away, Virgil.

“I’m really fucking tired, okay?” Alright, a little harsher than strictly necessary, but that’ll do. It gets a laugh, at least. “Like, I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to say or do anymore, and I don’t have the energy to think about it. I am happy, though. Or, like, relieved. I guess I wish I were happy under- I dunno, different circumstances?”

The hand in your hair moves, slipping from your swoopy bangs and cradling the side of your face upside down. You let Logan tilt your head up. It’s a very odd sight, seen from such an angle, when he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he pulls back, you feel at least a little less like a living corpse.

“Gross,” you sigh. 

“You know what I think?” Roman muses, tapping rhythmically against your leg. 

“I never do in the slightest,” Logan replies.

“You can do that?” You ask.

He whacks your knee. You hiss. He ignores this.

“I think,” he carries on, “That we would be less tired if we took a nap,” he stretches his arms up with a yawn, as if to emphasize his point.

“That would be nice,” Logan agrees, “If it weren’t for the fact that I’d… prefer not to return to my room at the moment.”

You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, again, before speaking up.

“I’d also prefer that you not do that. And we all know my room isn’t a good place to sleep.”

“Nor Roman’s, really. It’s very energetic.”

“Right, so-”

Whatever you’re trying to say is cut off as Roman once again lifts your legs up, shifting them to the side. He kicks off his boots, shifts around a bit, and proceeds to drape himself all over you inelegantly. You make a few vague noises of complaint and discomfort before he finally slots himself into a somewhat acceptable position on top of you. It’s not too difficult; he’s burly, but he’s still so very very short and bendy. You wrap an arm around his waist, holding him to yourself.

“So we’re staying here, cuz I already got settled,” he says with finality, his face pressed just under your collarbone. You arch your head back, toeing off your own sneakers and letting them fall to the floor as you look up at Logan. 

“Can’t argue with that, can we, L?” 

He looks distinctly exasperated with you, but you know him well enough to see that it’s really thinly veiled adoration.

“I could argue, should I be inclined.”

“That’s for sure,” Roman mutters, “We could get you worked up about anything if we’re annoying enough, specs.”

He’s very huffy about that comment (Roman has a point, though), standing up and stopping short when Roman whines at him.

“Where are you going?” He drags the last word out. You poke him in the ribs to make him shush. 

“I’m getting you a blanket, and a more suitable pillow for Virgil. You can hardly sleep comfortably like that.”

Roman groans- which is also an annoying noise- and snaps his fingers. A light, large, and fluffy blanket falls over the both of you instantly, in conjunction with something puffy and soft expanding beneath your head. You hum, sinking further into the conjured objects happily.

“Ah, right,” Logan mutters to himself.

“Good? Good, now come here,” Roman disentangles one of his arms from around you to make grabby hands at Logan.

“Oh, it looks cramped as it is. You know, I’m not that tired, anyway.”

You’re the one to get annoyed with him this time, making a sloppy gesture with your free hand. The couch stutters in place, almost like a glitch, before eventually succumbing to your will. The cushions extend way out past your cramped up little spot, making the large piece of furniture look more like an oddly shaped bed than anything else. 

“Good enough for you?”

Logan blushes brightly, refusing to make eye-contact with you. He mutters out something that might be an ‘it’ll do, I suppose’, or some other slightly stubborn assent, and shuffles over to you. You lift the edge of the blanket up when he reaches you, letting him fit himself comfortably against your side. He does so reluctantly, prompting you to drop the covers in favor of grabbing him by the hip and pulling him against you, pressing your face into his slightly ruffled hair. His breath hitches. You fight the urge to laugh.

Roman hums contentedly, uncurling from you just enough to clumsily get a limb around Logan’s shoulders. You’re decently certain that he’ll wake up whining about how sore his arm is from the position, but you leave that worry for later, letting yourself finally, finally relax.

Logan lays with his arms pressed awkwardly between his chest and your torso, but the tension steadily eases from him. Within minutes, he’s wrapped around you and Roman, nestled into your shoulder. You do laugh, just a little, when he does something akin to nuzzling you. You rub small circles into his hip with the tips of your fingers, slipping further and further from consciousness as you do so. 

You hear Roman muttering something, but you aren’t sure if it’s directed at you. All you are sure of is that his voice is rumbling and groggy, soothing you even further into sleep. The last thing you feel, before finally slipping away, is a messy kiss delivered to the side of your neck. 

<<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>>

You aren’t really unconscious, but you wouldn’t consider yourself ‘awake’ either. You lie comfortably in a middle zone between the two, surrounded by an amazing, burning warmth that starts with your skin and sinks deeper into your core the longer you feel it. You turn your face into it, shifting your body to press that much closer to the heat.

But then, a very small little part of that heat decides to jab you sharply in the shoulder. You groan, batting it away. It persists, prodding you a few more times. You huff, prying your eyes open with a good deal of spite towards the source of disruption.

It is- predictably- Roman. Grinning, loopy Roman, whose face is just inches from yours. You might move back, but Virgil’s chest only accommodates for so much space, so you have to accept the compromising position. 

“What?” You hiss, trying to surreptitiously rub the sleep from your eyes. 

“You look so cute when you’re sleeping,” he answers, dreamily. 

“You’re creepier than Remus, has anyone ever told you that?”

You feel a small bit of pride at just how affronted Roman looks. 

“It’s not creepy,” he argues, “It’s romantic.”

“Close enough,” you respond, smirking at him. He glares balefully at you, but it’s very difficult to take him seriously when he looks just as tired as you feel. Speaking of: “Why did you wake me up, then, if I’m so aesthetically pleasing while asleep?” 

He actually looks a bit sheepish at that, giving an awkward one-armed shrug. 

“I don’t know, I just… I woke up and got this urge that I should maybe. Talk to you,” his voice breaks out of whisper repeatedly; he’s atrocious at volume control. Virgil stirs, grumbling something unintelligible and tightening his grip around the both of you, but he doesn’t seem to be waking. 

Roman gives a long pause, just to make sure he’s in the clear, before continuing. “It seemed important. Maybe it’s not, though.”

You give a breathy little laugh, rubbing against his ribs with the pad of your thumb. It’s a strangely intimate gesture, and one that- until recently- you never thought you’d get the privilege to offer. 

“You’re very impatient, Roman.”

“And you aren’t?” He inquires, quirking a brow. You ignore the comment. 

“What did you want to talk about?” You whisper, much softer, more serious. He meets your eyes for just a second, hesitating. There’s a pause of a good few minutes- in which his fingers play on the knolls of your spine and his eyes become increasingly unfocused- of absolute noiselessness. You wait patiently, not quite minding the peace of it.

You might be falling asleep again when he does find the words to answer, bringing you to attention suddenly. 

“I missed you this week.”

The words, short and simple they may be, drop a heavy weight onto you. You can’t identify the specific feelings- maybe guilt? Or remorse? Perhaps frustration? Well, regardless, something twists in your gut. The feelings are almost relieving, because even if they’re horrible, at least they’re there, which is quite refreshing from this past week. 

You exhale, shaky. 

“I missed you, too. Although, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure if it was a week or not.”

Roman’s face flits from bittersweet to confused in a matter of seconds.

“What do you mean?”

Your face heats in embarrassment. You bury it in Virgil’s hoodie- which is admittedly a childish reaction, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that.

“Don’t tell him,” you gesture to the being you’re currently clinging to, “I don’t want him to concern himself too much.”

Roman purses his lips, making a small and concerned noise in the back of his throat. 

“Well, how bad is it?”

You sigh, a defeated and borderline pathetic sound.

“I just… I seem to have lost track of time, this past week. Truthfully, you could tell me it had been just a few hours, or that it had been a month, and I’d believe you.”

He gasps softly, which you think might be a little bit over the top, but alright. 

“Logan, are you saying-”

“I had no idea how long I’d been in there, yes.”

Roman’s quiet- deadly quiet- for a horrible stretch. You look up at him, knowing that you’re probably more of an emotional wreck than you’d like to be. To your surprise, the first thing he does is make a whining-crying sound, adjusting so that he’s holding the side of your face in his hand. He presses your foreheads together, breathing in a hitched and shallow way. Have you made him cry? Goodness, maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, if it has this kind of effect on him. 

You’ve always hated seeing him so distraught. He looks so much better when he’s grinning, when he’s happy and proud. But something about the rawness of his look now- it’s almost painful. 

“I can’t believe I-” his voice cracks, “I should’ve done something sooner. Oh, mi amor, if I’d known, I-”

“No, that’s not fair,” you interrupt, in nearly as broken a tone as his. “I’m the one that kept myself in there. I- I made you leave me alone in the first place!”

Virgil shifts in his sleep; you bite down on your lip, harshly. 

“Oh, please,” Roman snaps, but he’s also taking care to stay quiet now, “When you first found me in such a sorry state, the both of you were at my side in an instant. I should’ve known to do the same. I really should have broken your door down, no matter what Patton said.”

“Wait-” you nearly laugh in surprise, “You and Patton had a conversation about sieging my door?”

He gives you a teeny little smile, a shadow of pride lingering in it.

“It wasn’t a conversation so much as it was him physically restraining me, but you get the idea. You know, I probably could have pulled it off if I tried at night instead.”

“I’m sure you could have, Roman,” you say, looking oh-so fondly at this reckless, ridiculous creature that you’ve somehow fallen in love with. The tension this exchange started with is quickly disappearing, much to your relief. “Although I don’t know if you would have gotten through to me, unfortunately. As it is, Patton is a very good mediator.”

Roman chuckles softly, his face screwing up in embarrassment. 

“Yeah, we could use one of those, couldn’t we?”

You hum in vague agreement, angling your head enough to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He gasps again, this time very obviously trying to be Extra, and he pulls back sharply. You roll your eyes at the shocked face he puts on, but you can’t hold up your frustrated façade when he leans in again and peppers your face with kisses. You fail quite spectacularly, in fact- your face flushes bright, and your smile grows uncomfortably wide. It feels wonderful, to finally have this, after the wanting and wanting and wanting. 

Roman pulls back properly after that, his eyes twinkling and crinkled at the corners. You notice now the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his forehead, so often covered by makeup. You’d ask why- they’re beautiful- but that might be rude. You resolve to admire them quietly, while he gives you the opportunity. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight now, of course,” he purrs, massaging just under your eyes with his thumbs. You get a glimpse of bubblegum-pink nail polish before they fall closed, your sleepiness returning to you.

In your half-asleep, warm, adoring state, you find yourself muttering a sickeningly sappy sentiment- obviously, if you were in your right mind, you’d never say it- just before drifting off. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

<<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>>

Your back hurts, your arms ache, and you really need to pee. You’re also acutely aware of a heavy, uncomfortable weight pressing down against your sternum. You force your eyes open, only to find them stinging and also sore, somehow. Like, they’re eyes, how are they even allowed to do that?

A groan escapes you. You’d very much like to rub your face, but unfortunately your arms are trapped by that pressing weight on you. 

The memories of what happened and where you are flood back to you then, bringing a small smile to your face despite your discomfort. Logan and Roman are pressed into either side of you, their hands intertwined and resting on your stomach. It’s obnoxiously sweet- seriously, you might gag. But, like, in a good way. 

The cuteness of the situation is enough to distract you for approximately thirty seconds, because then a sharp pain shoots up from your lower back. Yeah, this is ridiculous, you need to get up. 

You try- very carefully- to shoulder your arms free. You manage it after way too much awkward maneuvering, and then you really don’t know where to go. You’re squished between them, and all three of you have gotten your legs very tangled together. The position is odd, but maybe if you could just find your center of gravity, you could teleport? But that would risk dragging one or both of them with you, and that probably wouldn’t be a good way to wake up, would it-?

Logan stirs next to you, lifting his head up with a small, sleepy sound.

“V?” He mutters, his typically slicked-back hair springing up in messy curls, falling into his face. 

“Oh, hey,” you give him an apologetic look, watching as he gropes groggily for his glasses, “Good, uhm- morning?” You glance up at the clock, confused by the timeline this author has fucked up so completely. You slept through the night, and it’s about five-forty in the morning, apparently. Much earlier than you’d ever wake up, but to be fair the three of you fell asleep at a 3rd graders bed-time. 

Logan grumbles something unintelligible, locating his glasses on the floor by the couch-bed and shoving them onto his face. 

You take the opportunity to free yourself from the little nest you’ve made, struggling up onto wobbly legs and leaning on the arm of the couch for support. Jesus Christ that was horrible for your back. 

“What…?” Logan trails off, looking at you with squinted eyes behind his thick frames. The sight makes your lips quirk up in something like a smile.

“Nothing, L, I just had to use the bathroom,” you explain, keeping your voice hushed so as not to disturb a noticeably snoring Roman.

He nods, once, before shuffling back to his spot on the couch. He flops down, kicking his legs under the covers and curling up against Creativity. If you were more prone to cuteness- which you aren’t, for the record- it would probably be a little (a lot) bit adorable. 

“’M not goin’ back to sleep,” he grouses, unconvincingly, “Just… laying down… to wait.”

Wait for what? You don't ask, choosing instead to settle your eyes on the sight of your two partners huddled close together. Okay, so it’s cute, so what? Lots of things are cute, no one has to make a big deal out of it!

You exhale through your nose, breaking your gaze from them long enough to actually move on to what you got up for. It doesn’t take long, and when you return you hover by the couch for a moment. 

A sort of restlessness- a very familiar one- has made its home in your chest. You rub at your eyes almost harshly, itching at the gunk caught in the corners. In all your soreness, you find it pertinent to stretch; arms above your head, then down to your toes, and in a few motions you're in a somewhat impromptu yoga routine.

By the end of it, some ten or fifteen minutes later, you feel a little bit less like a sloppily patched-together ragdoll of ligaments and muscle. You seat yourself gingerly in the corner of the sectional, just close enough to the pair of snuggling sides that you can run your spindled fingers through Roman’s hair. 

You pull your legs up beneath you, sitting criss-cross and summoning your headphones and laptop. They’re a bit far across the mindscape, but they come easily enough with a sharp pull. 

You settle in with a good horror flick, pulling your headphones over your ears and letting yourself zone out. You stay that way for an indeterminate amount of time, idly watching the suspense that plays out on screen while carding your hands through Roman’s hair (no matter how tempting it would be to ruffle Logan’s curls, you resist the urge, knowing that he can’t stand touches to his head). It should be boring- maybe even aggravating, sitting still for so long when you are the embodiment of jitters and jumps- but it isn’t. It’s something… peaceful, maybe, would be the right word. Or content, as you are with them, waiting patiently for Roman and Logan to awake.

And they do. Well, Logan does, about half-way through the film you’re watching. He props himself up on his elbows, straightening his glasses and looking up at you. 

You hit the spacebar to pause, sliding your computer off your lap and onto the cushion beside you. 

“Good morning. Again,” you send him a teasing smirk, watching him move up into a sitting position very slowly. 

“Good morning,” he replies, his smile awkward, “I must have been more tired than I first assumed.”

You hold back a small laugh, giving him a feigned look of importance.

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.”

“As… Sue, ’n me…” Comes the mutter from below your hand. You look down, somewhat surprised, to see Roman turning over in a semi-conscious state. You have no idea how awake he actually is, or if he’s just a weirdly perceptive sleep-talker- but either way you burst into a bout of startled chuckling. 

That seems to wake him properly, his head jolting up with a cut off snore. You pull your hand from his tangled hair, watching as he struggles to orient himself.

“Good morning, Roman,” Logan greets.

“Mornin’, Babe,” he responds gruffly, making Logan’s face flush red. He coughs, awkwardly. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, Babe,” you mock, the statement serving to darken his blush considerably. To be fair, your statement isn’t entirely untrue; your boyfriend is very fond of pet-names, so you’ve become very accustomed to them. And possibly a bit appreciative of them. 

Roman’s managed to sit up enough to slump back against the couch cushions, taking the blankets with him and wrapping them around his head. His eyes are narrowed enough that they look closed, and you are reminded of just how much he hates waking up early.

“Why are we awake?” He growls. 

You shrug noncommittally, gesturing to the still-elongated couch on which you all sat. 

“My back hurt.”

“We did fall asleep at about eight, last evening,” Logan points out. His eyes widen just after he does, pressing his index and middle fingers against his temple in sudden frustration. “Oh this will be horrible for my sleep schedule!”

You snort, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

“Ah, yes, the worst of our worries.”

He glares at you, and your smile widens. Partially because messing with him is funny, and partially because you know your fangs make it hard for him to focus (which is also very funny). 

“I- Well, it’s crucial to keep a consistent sleep schedule, because you need to-”

“‘Maintain your circadian rhythm, to ensure a higher quality of living’,” you and Roman parrot, in near unison. You hardly blink at the coordination, but Logan seems very startled.

“Ex-actly,” he mutters, bemusedly.

“You can spare us the lecture this early, Teach,” Roman tells him, “Cuz we already seem to have it memorized.”

“Ah,” a beat. “Good.”

There’s a short, companionable silence; Roman is still waking himself up, Logan seems deep in thought, and you briefly turn your attention back to the movie. A few minutes pass, and Logan stands. You look up at him in question as he shifts the couch back into its normal form, making his way across the room.

“Someone ought to get started on breakfast by now,” he says plainly, disappearing into the kitchen. You shrug, shifting your headphone back over your ear and settling in. 

Roman sinks out some ten minutes later, clattering around upstairs as he gets ready for the day. The morning sun is now clearly visible, the light filtering through the blinds. It probably won’t be long before Patton’s up and about, bringing with him the energy that the day really needs to get started.

When Roman returns, dressed up in some fresh clothes, he drops down beside you and leans his head on you. He presses his ear against the outside of your headphones, watching the movie over your shoulder. 

It’s nearing the end, so of course he has to ask you question after question after question about the plot. You pretend to be annoyed, but you answer them anyway, letting him gradually piece together what’s happening. His commentary is, as always, never-ending and loud, but again you tolerate it. It’s more fun like this, anyway.

The whole time, you can distantly hear crackling, and very clearly smell something delicious from the kitchen. Logan’s always been the best chef out of any of you, even if he doesn’t use the ability as often as he could- something about the technicality of it, or the precision needed, or whatever it was. 

You and Roman are bickering over the credits by the time he’s finally done, coming back into the room smelling of bacon and batter. You look up from your (pretty pointless) argument, smiling at him. 

“Hey, L.”

Roman glances up briefly, flashing a smile before going back to his impassioned diatribe that you were only half-listening to in the first place.

Logan hesitates by the doorway. You can feel his eyes boring into you from those few feet away, drawing a very exasperated sigh from you. You back out of the credits with a couple aggressive taps, giving a pointed look to the still-rambling Roman. 

“What?” He snaps, scrunching up his nose. You narrow your eyes before not-so-subtly directing the glance to your third, still hovering just inside the living room. Roman follows your gaze, his argumentative look turning quickly to exasperated understanding. 

“Hey, specs!”

Logan jumps, obviously having been locked away far into his own head. 

“Are you comin’ over, or what?”

He doesn’t move, but he does look a hell of a lot more embarrassed.

“Breakfast is ready. I- um, I didn’t want to… interrupt…” his voice goes quiet, he glances down at the carpet. 

“Alright,” Roman announces, a bit loud considering how close he is to your ears but okay, “What have we told you, Teach?”

“Yeah,” you agree, shutting your computer with a click and setting it onto the coffee table. “C’mere, stupid, and pay attention to us before everyone else wakes up. We’ll eat with them, later.”

He gives a small laugh, but does as he’s told. As soon as he’s within range, Roman pulls him down and wraps a leg around the taller being, essentially placing himself in his lap. You aren’t quite as clingy, this early in the day, but you do press your shoulder to his. 

Logan’s stiff at first, but just as he did last night, he slowly settles into the touch. You figure it’ll probably be this way for the next week or so- because the same happened with Roman, however long ago when this all started. 

That hits you with a wave of nostalgia and deja vu- smothering most of your other thoughts with its familiarity. You and Logan, personally taking it upon yourselves to help Roman all the same, just a lot more platonically back then. You like to think that’s what started it all, even though you probably had a thing for Logan way before then (wayyyy before then). 

You watch, absentmindedly, as Roman and Logan argue over the TV remote, apparently trying to settle on something to watch. It’s as sweet as it is annoying, a common theme that the two of them share in many aspects.

And God, it hits you what emotional wrecks they are. In a rare burst of confidence, you feel proud that you could be there to help these two get their shit together, relationship wise. Despite both of their intelligence, you’ve somehow become the competent partner. 

Partner. Boyfriend. Whatever you’ll call it. It feels nice to say, about Creativity and Logic. 

You sigh, resting your head on top of Logan’s. He looks at you, questioningly, because he can always tell when you get thoughtful. You smile at him, giving a half-shrug, because you know he knows what that means. It’s good, not a big deal.

Roman wins the fight, eventually, if only because Logan’s off his game from being the primary center of attention. Which is even more like your first night together; Roman setting up some queer cartoon to watch while the three of you cuddle on the couch, content. 

You exhale, long and slow. You really have gone soft for them, haven’t you?

But, you really can’t say that you mind. Because...

They’re worth it. 

Tags: @enbyfriend16 @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob