#the laughter was instinctual and came easily to both of them

[stxrsfxte]

Lorelei & Senta being estranged best friends makes me ✨ unhinged ✨ when I think about them too long

[leventar]

❙⠀ ⠀ 𝒊.⠀ TACHIHARA, MICHIZOU.⠀⠀⠀.𖥔 ݁ ˖⠀⠀“⠀⠀don’t look at me like that.  you know i’m right.  you get it.⠀⠀” ⠀⠀[⠀. . .⠀]⠀⠀@starspurn .

nothing short of aggravating with how well he could read her. just a simple downturn of brows, slightly furrowed with the faintest of wrinkles in - between, obsidians glinted with a slight narrow. to the world, gin was unresponsive and unfeeling, impassive with the expressions, hardly made up for the loudness of her actions. even those were silent, skillfully navigated in the shadows with the ease and quickness of death's linger. perhaps it was just the metallic zing of her blade the only sound out out of her, the only tangible thing to grasp. but tachihara, much to her dismay, had taken root, rendered himself a force not easily removed from the confines that pesky, beating little organ that demanded to be felt. she was no ghost, no scepter, but a breathing, human entity in his hold, in his eyes. previously deemed a weakness, perhaps still, but she'd foregone the caution that'd come with it. something about their hands being interlaced with the grim reaper, the nature of their jobs, and she'd lost the point in pretending any distance would prolong their lives. you know i'm right. it echoed in her mind. and instinctually, her head shook. just once, out of defiance.

this was no game, no light - heartedness in the confines of the rec - room or their own spaces. there was no laughter to be heard from others, just the sound of cocked guns and knives bristling against fabrics, the wind hitting the building around them with violence. it was a storm brewing, they'd known it would happen prior to setting out. they were cornered, for once. gin could see no way out of it and it angered her so, scared her even more. they'd just been looking at each other, speaking with just their eyes, unreadable to the crowd that was closing in around the perimeter, getting away with the barest of communications right under their noses. her mask was bloodied from the lives she'd taken moments prior, hands wet from the crimson, and yet she still felt the selfishness to reach out to him. she wouldn't just yet. there was only one person getting out, if any. they both knew it. he knew it first, and yet he still came with. you are out of your mind, she shot back, just with a glare that he'd read all too well. eyes darted towards the wound on his neck, where a blade must've kissed it from before. it wasn't vital, but still concerning enough. so she finally reached out to press against it, knowing he'd fight her off, knowing he'd been pleading her to leave. but she would not. “ not going. ”

[the-bau-quinjet]

Nice to meet you, where you been?

Chapter 2 of In Breakable Heaven!

Summary: Reader becomes acquainted with some members of the BAU.

Warnings: none that I can think of!

Word Count: ~1900

Penny came back out to the foyer, handing you the oversized t-shirt and shorts you left here last time you slept over. You pulled them on quickly, following Penny to the living room where you instantly realized, it was more than just you, Penny, and the tall man in the apartment. You stopped moving as you took in the additional new faces. You had never met Penny’s team before, but she had talked about them a ton. You blushed again thinking of how you must look a mess right now.

“Everyone, this is Y/N! She is my very best friend and she is very sad so we are going to cheer her up.” Penny started the introductions. “Y/N, this is Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau aka JJ, and Emily Prentiss.” You took in the names as Penny went around the room. Eyes bouncing between a very muscular bald man and two of the most attractive women you’ve ever seen. “Oh, and for a more formal introduction, this is Dr. Spencer Reid, although you two met at the door.” Your eyes attempted to meet his again, but he was staring at the ground. You couldn’t help the whisper that escaped your lips “Doctor.”

 Either the profilers didn’t hear it, or chose to ignore it, along with the blush forming on your cheeks yet again. You looked around the room again and couldn’t stop yourself from speaking your thoughts. “God, is it a requirement to be hot as hell to work for the FBI?” Everyone laughed as you threw your hand over your mouth, eyes widening. “Oh God. That’s embarrassing. It’s true though, what a good looking team.” That earned more laughter form the group.

  It was clear they were all wondering why you had just sobbed into their coworkers adorable sweater vest. You waited a beat hoping someone would say something. But since they were all staring at you, and you hate awkward silences, you couldn’t help but blurt out “today was my 3 year anniversary with my boyfriend,” Not noticing the slight frown appear on Spencer’s face, you continued “but I went over to his place and found him in bed with another woman. So now I am very drunk.” Their faces all softened, offering slight words of encouragement as you sunk into the sofa and picked up the bottle of white wine from the table. Not even bothering with a glass, you started drinking again. You drank nearly half the bottle before taking a breath.

 “Woah” you heard someone say, but honestly you didn’t know who. “Why don’t we play a game or something? Maybe switch to water so you don’t completely hate yourself tomorrow?” You realized it was JJ talking. “I am always down – hiccup – for a game. I must warn you, I am extremely competitive though. Plus, I don’t get hungover so I’ll be fine.” You looked at their disbelieving faces. “Fine” you muttered, annoyed at having to explain this again, “I’ll switch to water for a bit. But only because I want to win.”

 Penny went to get the cards, confirming your statement “Y/N is right ya know. She has never been hungover. I’ve seen her drink countless tequila shots, chase them each with a wine cooler and clean her entire apartment before 8 AM the next day.”

 “Impressive.” Derek smirked as he looked at you.

 “What can I say? It really boosts my productivity.” The room chuckled as the hot doctor chimed in.

 “Your liver is responsible for breaking down all the alcohol you consume into an enzyme called acetaldehyde, the toxin responsible for hangovers. Recent studies have shown about 23% of people are able to break down the acetaldehyde much faster resulting in little to no hangover symptoms. Whether or not you experience hangovers is based 45% on genetics.” You looked over to him, wildly impressed with the first words you’ve heard him say.

 “What’s the other 55% based on?” You asked, intrigued to finally know why you don’t actually experience hangovers. He looked surprised as he met your eyes for the first time since you entered the room.

 “It’s actually a mixture of volume of alcohol, water, and food consumption.” You chuckled as he said this.

 “Well, it must be genetics for me because there are a few times I remember making very bad choices…” You felt the thought slip away as Dr. Spencer Reid smiled at you.

 “How can she even do simple math right now? Based on the story she’s had 10 drinks in the last 3 hours?” Emily whispered to JJ and Derek. They exchanged glances as Penny finally sat back down with the cards.

 “What should we play?” She asked the room, but mostly you. You could already feel your competitive edge creeping in as you tore your eyes from Spencer’s to suggest one of your favorite group games. “Egyptian Rat Screw!” It should be especially fun since you were all drinking. Nobody seemed to know the game though, so you quickly explained the rules as you took the cards to shuffle and deal.

 “Remember, whoever gets all the cards wins. Slap sandwiches and doubles. Royals have the special rules we just talked about. If you slap and there’s nothing there, you have to put a card in the bottom of the pile.” You said as everyone got situated around the table unsure what to expect. “Ready?” you asked, a mischievous grin on your face.

 --

 After winning the first two games you couldn’t help but tease everyone “I am definitely the drunkest one here. I thought a group of FBI agents would have better reaction times!” You giggled as everyone laughed along with you. You dealt the cards into five piles, one for each agent. “No cards for you?” Derek asked. “Nope.” You popped the “p” as you took in their confused faces. “I’m going to start with no cards and see if I still win.” There was a clear competitive glint in your eyes, with a matching smirk.  They seemed disbelieving that you would pull out another win, but continued along with the game.

 You hadn’t even tried slapping the table until there was only Spencer and Derek left with cards. Emily, JJ, and Penelope were chatting aimlessly, having lost interest a few minutes ago. You sat up and stared at the ever growing pile of cards. The whole game was basically memorizing the order of cards, or at least the general timeline. You knew as soon as Derek played his jack, Spencer would follow with an identical card. As you spotted the first jack hit the pile, Derek taunted Spencer “Haha pretty boy, one chance to get a royal or I’m pulling in the big pile.” The two of them seemed to have forgotten that you could get back in the game. Spencer smiled as he flipped over what you knew to be a jack. It was clear from the smirk on his face he knew it was a jack as well. What he didn’t count on was your cat-like reflexes slapping the pile before he could finish laughing at Derek’s sad face.

 The two of them looked shocked as you picked up the cards, readying them for the next set of flipping. “Damn girl, I thought you forgot how to play.” Derek laughed at the smug grin you were wearing. He only had two cards left. Easily knocking Derek from the game, he joined the side conversation being had in the kitchen as he resigned to another round lost. You turned to Spencer, almost whispering “Looks like it’s just you and me, Doctor.” Spencer looked up from his cards stating, “you sound pretty confident considering your opponent has an eidetic memory and knows the exact order of both our hands.” You stuck your tongue out as you placed your first card. “Not fair.”

 Minutes passed as the game drew on, neither player really making an advance. You yawned as you flipped another card onto the table, losing focus for just a second. Reid recognized the pattern emerging, getting ready to slap after your next card. You forgot to look at the potential for a sandwich, playing your next card. You noticed it a second to late as you slapped your hand down. Spencer beat you too it though, and when your hand landed it was on top of his. You didn’t move at first, shocked to have lost so many cards at once. Spencer was gloating as you picked up his hand and put it on top of yours.

 He finally looked down to see you pulling the cards toward you before jumping up to get them back. You held the cards close to your heart, faking the offense you felt at his suggestion that you would cheat, despite your very obvious cheating. When he reached for the cards, you backed up into the couch, holding them above your head. He knelt over you, leaning forward to reach your outstretched hand, forgetting for just a second that he really didn’t know you at all and being this close should make him uncomfortable.

 You shrieked as he tickled your sides to pull the cards in. He was gloating yet again as he pulled them from your grasp, not realizing how close the two of you had become. The two of you froze yet again as you felt that same magnetic force as earlier pulling you closer as you looked into his eyes. He cleared his through as he sat up, returning to his seat to finish the game. 

The two of you continued the game until you only had a few cards left. “It appears as though your winning streak is quickly coming to an end.” Spencer joked with you, playing a queen. He was clearly trying to ease whatever tension was lingering from your couch experience. You glanced at the cards in the middle of the table. It must have been 45 cards in the pile. You switched tactics to playing the cards as quick as possible to prevent another mistake.

A queen meant playing two cards in a row. You knew you had two sevens in a row in your hand, so you were ready to take him down. You glanced up stating “Rule 1: The Doctor lies.” You stated matter-of-factly as you flipped over your first seven. “Oh, and don’t blink.” You said, playing the second and slapping it before he finished comprehending your two Doctor Who references. You just had an instinctual feeling that Doctor Who would distract him.

 You finished the game with relative ease as the others made their way back into the room. You celebrated as you took the rest of his cards, completing the game and adding another tally to the mental scoreboard you had in your head. As everyone sat back down, you put the cards away. It was now 12:30 in the morning and suddenly you were exhausted. You rose from your seat, putting your coat back on your shoulders. “I should go home” you said, earning stares from everyone.

 “You are completely welcome to stay the night here!” Penelope said as you continued preparing to leave.

 “Thank you, Penelope, but I already feel so much better.” You chanced a glance at Spencer to see him staring right back. “I want to go home and lay in my bed and throw all his stuff out the window. Plus I could really use some fresh air right now.” Everyone started to verbally object now. Sometimes you forgot what Penelope does for a living and how much she’s seen. “No really, I’ll be fine.” You continued, “I live in The City Block, it’s only half a mile from here!” This did nothing to satisfy the worried looks on the five faces staring back at you.

 “That’s on the way to my building.” Spencer stated. “I’ll walk with you, okay?” You looked up, surprised. Slowly a small smile appeared on your face. “Okay.” Somehow that was all you could manage. Everyone said their goodbyes as you and Spencer made your way out of the apartment and started walking down the street.

 tag list:

@mac99martin​ @eevee0722​ @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @dinonuggets15

[hb-writes]

Tidy Sums

Summary: Sophie Mason (OC) was John Shelby’s first friend and his first kiss. They’d never been in love, not in the way he’d been in love with Martha. Their relationship wasn’t quite so tidy, but that had never stopped them from loving one another in their own way and finding their own happiness in the mayhem. 

Characters: John Shelby and Sophie (OC)

Warnings: canon-content, mention of a sexual relationship, kissing/ touching.

--

If Sophie was being honest, and honest was something she usually was, the problem was quite simple. 

The numbers no longer made sense. 

They hadn't for some time now, the figures blurring together with the lines meant to keep each transaction separate, the columns and neat symbols representing the company's wins and losses jumbled in her mind although the tidy sums were somehow still accumulating on the bottom of every page. 

Sophie had been working with the betting shop's books for years now, more familiar with the content of the ledgers than she was with any other book she’d come across—the bible or the latest popular novel she’d taken out from the central library. She supposed the only other pages she knew as well as the ledgers were those of the children’s book John’s kids begged after anytime she sat for them, refusing sleep until they heard a tale from the old, worn tome that was so well-loved it was missing the cover page. Sophie could probably recite the story from memory, but she had no ideas about its proper title, not with the kids referring to it exclusively as “daddy’s story.”

Sophie had worked for the Shelby family in a somewhat official capacity since leaving school almost a decade earlier, but she had had her nose in their books for longer than that, ever since Polly realized the girl had a penchant for numbers. And it was Sophie who encouraged John to get involved with this side of the business when they were only fourteen, convincing him easily enough that the pair of them could get up to the same amount of fun in the betting shop as they got up to out on the lane. It was Sophie who had known, despite what his school records had to say on the matter, that John Shelby was good with numbers. 

But numbers were cleaner, less bloody, less exciting, and certainly more mentally taxing than playing at peaky boy, or at least mentally taxing in a different way. They had to generate their own sources of amusement within the walls of the betting shop. She and John had always been good at sourcing their own amusement though.

Sophie sat back from the books, taking a moment to rub her eyes with the heels of her palms. It was late. Scudboat and the twins had already gone, and John had locked her in when he went home to check on his lot, saying he’d be back to let her out and lock up once he got his kids down for the night. 

That was their routine these days. She’d spend an extra couple of hours each night with the books while John stole an extra couple of hours with his kids before putting them down for bed and coming back to number six to wrap things up for the night.

She startled a bit when John’s hands found her arms, his rough palms pinching and rubbing against the delicate fabric of her shirt. She settled as the warmth of his hands came through her thin sleeves and sunk into her skin, finally leaning her head back to rest against his stomach, tilting her eyes up to him briefly as the left side of her mouth pulled up. 

“Devils went down early tonight,” she said. 

He’d been gone for less than an hour. It was usually twice that before he made his way back and his return was usually accompanied with some sort of complaint about the kids’ behavior, about their refusal to go to sleep or eat the dinner he made them, something Sophie was always quick to remind him was simple coded behavior for them wanting more time with their father and being uncertain of a better way to go about it.

“Finn’s on devil duty for the night.” John shrugged. “Says he’s saving up for something, so he’s eager for the pocket money.”

Sophie hummed, tilting her head back down to the books as she picked up her pen once more. “A little devil put on devil duty,” she mused. “I’m sure that will turn out well.”

“I think you’ll find most of us Shelbys are devils,” John said.

“I don’t...” she started, pausing both her hand and her mouth as John’s fingers traveled up her arm, fingertips slipping across the smooth skin of her exposed collarbone and then her neck as he pushed her hair aside. 

She tried again. “I don’t intend...”

Sophie gulped, stilling for a moment as John’s lips found her neck. A deep breath came from her in a nearly involuntary capacity and her shoulders relaxed back. She was overcome by his slow focus, overcome by the simple way John could tease her. Despite his leisurely wandering, they both knew he was venturing towards the one spot he knew could have her entirely undone, have her forgetting her words and how to properly breathe, obliterating from memory the notion of responsibility and the company books entirely. 

“Don’t intend to what?” John mumbled the words against her skin as she tilted her head, exposing her neck as his fingers wound in her hair. 

“Fuck,” she breathed as his lips found her earlobe, his warm breath melting any remaining resolve as her back arched away from the chair. 

“No, John, stop.” 

John released her from his lips, straightening his back, and turning her face to his with the hand still entwined in her hair, the guidance gentle yet resolute. 

“You really want me to stop?” 

Her skin burned hot and her breaths had started to come a bit quicker, more shallow and less gratifying in meeting her need for air, her need for calm and control and the mysterious power she knew a steady cadence of breaths could hold. Sophie forced herself to deepen her inhale and pause before the exhale, forced herself to calm her racing heart and quell the more instinctual desire stirring inside of her, willing her mind and body to focus...on anything other than John.

“I want,” she started after a barely sufficient cycle of inhales and exhales, reaching up to wrap her hand around John’s forearm, “for you to let me finish these ledgers so your aunt doesn’t issue me a death warrant.” 

John sighed and rolled his eyes at the protest but removed his hand from her hair at the gentle nudge. 

“Or a boot. Or a smack upside the head,” Sophie continued, pulling a hair comb from her desk drawer and initiating some attempt at getting the hair out of her face, “or whatever retribution it is she’s offering us these days.”

“Pol won’t come after you like that,” John said.

“She’s done it before.”

“That woman hit you once, almost fifteen years ago, and we both deserved it that day. Scared the shit out of her playing in the Cut like that.” John rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment, thinking on the whiskey and cigars tucked away in his office before deciding to forgo both vices for now. “Anyway, we’re not kids anymore.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure Aunt Polly smacked you upside the head just last week.”

“Well, that’s me, not you,” he said. “She’s got a soft spot for you.”

“All the more reason not to chance it, then. One go around with her was more than enough for me,” she answered, finally succeeding at securing the bulk of her hair up, the loose bits falling back into her face just a few seconds after she tucked them away. 

John laughed as he moved to sit against the desk, crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, what if—”

“No, John. No what-ifs…What-ifs and…” Sophie glanced up at him, regretting it even before she met his mischievous eyes, lamenting the decision as soon as she caught sight of his lips, swollen and reddened from his previous endeavors. “What-ifs and that fucking smirk are what made me fall behind to begin with.”  

John chuckled. “You’re behind because you like doing me more than you like doing the books.”

She sat back in her chair, arms folding across her chest as she looked at John, his body shaking slightly with the laughter he only half-heartedly tried to contain. “You think so?”

“Seems like it. You were very diligent back when you were stepping out with that dim bloke. The one with the sweaty hands?” 

Sophie leaned forward just an inch and John held up a hand. “Now, don’t you go smacking me, too. You can’t dispute it because you told me yourself.” 

“This has nothing to do with Phillip’s sweaty hands,” she said, smirking back at John. “Maybe I’m behind because my boss is a hard ass who has put too much on my plate and not enough on theirs?”

John nodded like he was considering her words. “You know, I wouldn’t let Aunt Pol hear you speaking ill of her like that if I was you.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “I'm talking about you and you know it. I’m here late every night and you leave early every day to go home to those kids.”

John shrugged. “If you don’t want to be here every night with the books, you’re more than welcome to go mother my lot and make us dinner.”

She frowned as he said it, sighing as his playful demeanor didn’t quite stick, the note of his words far too hopeful and desperate and longing. 

“I don’t want to be a mother, John,” she said. “And you know I’m a shit cook.”

Sophie had made that much clear to him over the last year, both the bit about the mothering and the bit about the cooking. She was good with the kids, and would gladly watch them for a few hours or so when he needed, but she had no desire to raise a hoard of children, or even one child. Not someone else’s, and not one of her own either. She had other aspirations and they didn’t involve being tied to a home and a child, or even to a man. 

“I’m perfectly content being an almost auntie. I’m good with children so long as they go back to their parents when all is said and done.” 

“And the cooking?”

“You really want me cooking for you?”

“No, you’re right. You’re rubbish in a kitchen,” he said before picking up the tube of lipstick set on her desk. “You’re their favorite auntie though,” John continued, fidgeting with the tube as he spoke. The thing went unused nearly every day now that she was working late, passing the bulk of her evenings at the shop with John instead of out at a pub or dance hall, but the thing still sat on her desk just in case, a gentle reminder of the types of nights she used to have. 

“They’re always fucking asking after you,” he said.

Sophie pulled her eyes away from his hands to observe his face. “Well, they take after their father then because you can’t seem to get enough of me either.”

Sophie pushed some strands of hair from her face, only causing more to come loose from the hair comb. She pulled the whole thing out and began twisting her tresses up again as she continued speaking. “Constantly bothering me… keeping me from my work… never ending nonsense and devilment.” 

John snorted and pushed himself off the desk, taking the hair from her hands. 

“What are you doing?” 

Sophie turned towards him and John planted his hands on her shoulders, twisting her so she faced away from him once again.

“Fixing your hair so you can focus on your work, so do us both a favor and sit still,” he said, combing his fingers through her hair to release the knots, the nails of his fingers grazing her scalp as he swept the hair back from her face. 

“That’s not going to help me focus on my work,” she muttered as he began weaving her hair, the ritual a calming one, nostalgic even, reminding her of her youth, reminding her of when she had someone to plait her hair. Sophie hadn’t worn a braid in years. She was skilled at braiding other people’s hair, but she had never learned how to manage her own.

“No?” John asked. “You’ve got two free hands and two working eyes while I’m doing this. No reason you can’t be adding and subtracting right now.” 

She shook her head and John tugged the strands between his fingers tight, eliciting a howl as she reached her hand back. 

“What the hell?”

“Sit still,” John said, smiling into the words as he continued with his work.

“Don’t pull my fucking hair.”

He pulled the strands tight once again, laughter spilling from his lips before she even had a chance to react.

“I told you to sit still. You’re worse than Katie. Never have to tug on her braid more than once to get her to settle.”

Sophie huffed but followed his directive, knowing there was less than a minute left of John’s undertaking, and knowing he would have no qualms about tugging her hair again.  

“Remember how we said we’d get married if we both weren’t married by the time one of us turned twenty-five?”

A part of Sophie wanted to look at him, wanted to turn her head and meet his eye, to see what kind of expression graced his face while he brought up the pact from almost fifteen years ago, a silly agreement made between two kids who knew absolutely nothing of life, but John had told her to sit still, so while she felt his hands still winding in her hair, she did just that. 

“You’re turning twenty-five next month,” he said, finally tying off the braid. John stepped to the side, resuming his seat on her desk.

“You’re very good at that,” she commented.

“Good at what?”

She pulled the braid over her shoulder, admiring its neatness. “The braid. You’ve gotten good. You used to be quite abysmal with it.”

“You taught me well, I guess.” John rolled his eyes. “You had more patience with me than Martha did.”

“Well, could you really blame her? You were a horrible student, all fumbling hands and that fucking cheeky mouth running the whole time for no good reason.”

John smiled. “And you’ve gotten quite good at that,” he said.

“Good at what?” she asked.

“Changing the fucking subject.”

She sighed as she dropped the braid and looked at him. “We’re not getting married, John. Not because of some silly pact and not because your kids need a mother.” 

“What if it’s because we like each other?” he asked, tugging her up to stand between his legs. “What if it’s because we love each other, eh?” 

She chewed on her bottom lip and looked away, fighting only a bit when his hand caught her chin and tilted it towards his face. 

“You do love me, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” she said, “but not like you’re asking. And you don’t love me like that either.” 

“Love is love.”

She shook her head. “We love like friends.”

“Friends love like this?” John glanced down and Sophie’s eyes followed his gaze to see how their bodies were wrapped up together. Her hand had settled on his thigh, his on her hip, with both of their fingers idly caressing clothing seams while they were each thinking of caressing the skin beneath.

“Attraction and romantic love are different things, John.”

Sophie was always saying it, and he liked to argue with her even though he knew it was at least a bit true. John knew they were friends who happened to be physically attracted to one another, and maybe, if he’d never fallen in love with Martha, or maybe if he’d never had kids, or if Sophie had not gotten so close with Martha in the years he’d been away, things could be different, but as it was, Sophie was right and John knew it. Because he didn’t feel about her the same way he’d felt about Martha and she didn’t feel that way about him either.

Their relationship was a combination of friendly care and sexual attraction and the type of love that came from knowing someone for as long as it was possible to know another person who wasn’t truly family, but there wasn’t a true bit of romantic desire between them. 

“And I don’t want to be what you need your woman to be. You and the kids deserve someone who wants that life.”

“And what happens when I find someone who wants that life?”

“What always happens,” she said with a shrug, “we stop this and I catch up on the books.” 

“Is that what you want?”

Sophie was telling the truth, but she hesitated anyway. This was the longest stretch they’d done this, the longest stretch during which she’d not bothered with dates, and if nothing else, it was habit now, their ritual. It was a comfort. But if John found someone he wanted to settle down with, Sophie knew they’d put a stop to things, same as they’d done all those years ago when he fell in love with Martha and same as they’d done earlier this year when she’d decided to go on a few dates with Harvey Johnson or a few months later when she’d agreed to see Phillip Miller a few times.

It hadn’t bothered Sophie when he was with Martha, and though John had teased her about the men she’d chosen to step out with over the last year, he hadn’t seemed too bothered by it either, more concerned with expressing what he’d do to the men if she came out of it hurt. Sophie knew from experience they could simply stop. 

Stop the flirting. 

Stop the kissing and the sex and the nonsensical talk of being anything more than friends. 

They could stop with the rest of it and still be friends.

John wrapped his hand around Sophie’s braid, giving it a small tug to pull her attention back to him.

“Quit pulling my fucking hair.”

“It’s the only thing that ever makes you listen,” he said, tightening his hold a bit. “And I know you like it.” 

“And the only thing that ever makes you listen—” 

John caught her hand before she could reach high enough to smack him upside the head. “I’m listening. Answer the question.” 

“I already told you what I want,” she said, nodding towards the open ledger beside him. “To spare myself a lecture, hell, probably two lectures if Polly decides to let Tom know we’re behind, too. Your brother’s in a right fucking mood lately.” 

“Is that what you want? The end of this?” John asked, glazing over her chastising him about pulling her hair and her concerns about lectures and the hand she’d raised to smack him upside the head. 

Sophie shrugged, pulling her hand loose from his hold and absently rubbing at her wrist as she leaned against his leg. 

“C’mon Soph, I’m being serious.”

She pushed her finger into the corner of John’s frowning mouth, forcing a half smile. “John Shelby doesn’t do serious.” 

John moved her hand away from his face. “I’m doing serious right now.”

“Fine, John. I want to be happy. And I want you and the kids to be happy,” she said, turning towards him straight on and resting both hands on his thighs. “And someday that may mean you have someone to go home to, and those babies won’t be looked after by another baby, but for now, that means we do this whenever we can.

“I have to finish this work first though.” 

Sophie kissed him on the cheek then, squeezing his thighs once before she moved to sit back down, but John caught her at the elbow, holding her there in front of him. 

“What about you?”

She tried to pull out of his grasp, but John only gripped tighter and drew her closer. 

Sophie rolled her eyes. “What about me?”

“I didn’t hear anything about getting you your happiness.” 

“I’m plenty happy, John,” she said. 

He raised an eyebrow.

“You want the truth?”

John nodded, his hands slipping down her arms to hold her hands. She sighed, looking down at their hands entwined there together. 

The truth was Sophie was happy. The truth was she had always been happy with what they were and what they weren’t, content with the sum of things though it was by no means tidy like the lines of the ledger books they spent their days looking over.

“The truth is I think if you don’t let me finish these books I might not know happiness ever again,” she said, slipping her hands from his and stepping out from between his legs.

John pulled her back to him before she could slip into the chair though, reaching his arms around her body and wrapping his legs around hers, trapping her against him. “Well, if that’s the case, we’d better make sure you get your fill of happiness now then, eh?”

[happyandticklish]

Behave

Notes: For the anon request. The request was slightly vague, so I tried to improvise a little. I hope you like the result! ^^

Summary: Shizuo has a habit of picking Izaya up whenever he tries to stir up trouble, to mischievous results. 

Causing general mayhem and disaster was one of Izaya’s favorite activities, and Ikebukuro was one of his favorite cities to do so in. The chance of bumping into some kind of natural disaster was almost inevitable, and on the rare occasion of peace among the streets, Izaya was always willing to stir something up himself. Sometimes this something could be the beginnings of a gang war. And sometimes it was merely messing with small children.

Life was full of surprises that way.

“And just what do we have here?” Izaya inquired, folding his hands in front of himself as he stopped before a group of children gathered on the park asphalt. There were three of them, a young girl with a box of chalk clutched protectively to her chest, and two boys, who had previously been drawing out an outline for hop-scotch, who both looked to be about a year or so older than her.

The first boy glanced up at his comment, shooting him a suspicious glance. “Playing a game,” he answered stiffly, clearly waiting for the man to say anything in the negative about it.

“So I can see,” Izaya agreed, surveying the scene before them. “Hop-scotch… I remember playing that game as a kid. How do the rules work again?”

“Well—” the girl started hesitantly, but before she could say anything more, Izaya had begun hopping from one foot to the next over the squares provided. He wobbled a bit as he went, all with an assured smile. For his finale, he jumped forward with both feet, landing on the discarded pieces of chalk and cracking two of them easily.

“Hey!” the girl cried, eyes widening. “I just got those!”

“Oh!” Izaya clucked his tongue, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. “Well that will never do. I guess we’ll just have to break the other ones to match. Would you terribly mind handing over that box?”

The girl hid the box quickly behind her back, which wasn’t the smartest of defensive moves but it was all she had. The second boy appeared to be taking in the scene cautiously, clearly not wanting to get himself involved. The first one however, took an angry step forward, glaring up at him.

“Leave her alone!” he protested, portraying a level of bravado he didn’t feel. “Or I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll… what?” Izaya inquired, leaning down to face him with a devastating smirk. “No, continue, I’m truly curious—what exactly could you do?”

The boy stammered over his words, trying to think of any kind of witty reply but coming up blank.

“Leave the kid alone.”

Izaya sprang up, whirling around at the sound of the telltale voice. “Shizu-chan~! So nice of you to drop by. Decided to enjoy the spring day as well?”

One hand shoved carelessly in his pocket, Shizuo Heiwajima stood bathed in the gentle lamplight of the sun, surveying the scene casually. In place of his usual angry scowl, however, there was a bored, almost dismissive look on his face, as though dealing with Izaya’s shit simply wasn’t worth his time. Instead of answering, he stalked over to the other with quick, forceful steps, until they were inches away.

Izaya staggered back a little, taken by surprise by the direct approach. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Shizuo had leaned down, grabbing Izaya around the waist, and hauled him over his shoulder. Izaya squawked in an undignified manner, gripping onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt for support.

Shizuo kicked the broken pieces of chalk back over to the children with a grunted, “here”, before turning around and heading off in the opposite direction, Izaya in tow.

By this point a burning crimson had begun to overtake Izaya’s features, and he could see the faces of the children from his vantage point, all of whom seemed delighted to see him in the embarrassing position. “You know, you can’t simply pick me up whenever you feel like it,” he huffed, reaching back in an attempt to swat at the back of the other’s head.

“Oh?” Shizuo easily avoided him as Izaya struggled to maneuver his arm in the right position. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?” he asked, parroting Izaya’s earlier words.

Izaya narrowed his eyes. He kicked one of his legs out, aiming to get a direct hit at his stomach. Unfortunately, legs do not generally go in that direction and he primarily ending up flailing around a lot and sometimes hitting the other’s arm in the process. This was not troublesome all on its own (Shizuo had definitely endured far worse from the flea), but it did prompt an idea. The next time one of Izaya’s legs came too near his face, he grabbed it with his other hand, gripping his fingers into the denim protecting the backs of his thighs.

Izaya let out a strangled noise, managing to somehow disguise it as a cough at the last moment. Shizuo’s hand remained on his thigh, his fingers gently tapping where they curled around his leg. Izaya’s breath caught in his throat as he realized suddenly how very, very fucked he was.

“S-Shizuo,” he said, trying as desperately as he could to keep his growing panic out of his voice. “I really think you should let me down now.”

“What’s wrong?” Shizuo asked calmly, his fingers tapping out a rhythm of doom against his jeans, each and every one causing Izaya to twitch against his will. “You sound suddenly concerned. Is something bothering you?”

“Shizuo, not again,” Izaya gritted out. Memories were flooding back to him of a week ago, causing butterflies to excite uninvited in his stomach. “If you think you can simply pick me up like a common stray and t—” he broke off, pressing his lips together into a firm, irritated line.

“And what?” Shizuo questioned, tossing a teasing glance back at him. Amusement danced in his eyes, and never had Izaya wished to punch him more than in that moment. “What exactly is it that I can’t do?”

“I believe you know perfectly well what I mean,” Izaya replied with a sickeningly pleasant smile. “After all, seeing as it has for some reason become one of your favorite activities to do to me, I dearly hope you know what it is.”

“And I would hope you know what it is, considering you appear to love it so much,” Shizuo shot back, pinching the back of his thigh suddenly.

“I w—shit!” Izaya lurched forward, his body’s instinctual response to save himself from the sensation. His arms flailed wildly, searching for a handhold, and eventually clinging onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt. Shizuo stiffened, trying to ignore the strangely pleasant shudder that ran down his spine as Izaya’s fingers brushed his back. He shook it off, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Shizuo outlined a path of small pinches down the back of Izaya’s thigh, making the man jerk and squirm with each one, though he managed to stifle any noises this time. Once he had gotten Izaya properly ramped up, he removed his hand entirely, giving the other a momentary reprieve.

Izaya exhaled slowly, glad for the break. After a moment of nothing happening however, he threw a confused glance back at the other. “Are you done t—ahAHAHAHA, ohohoho shIHIHIHIHihihit!”

Izaya burst into wild, uncontrolled laughter as Shizuo suddenly dug his fingers into his thigh, pressing into just the right pressure points to make the other go positively mad. His hand came back instinctively to try to rip Shizuo’s hand away from the spot, but his current position prevented him from doing so. The sudden, intensive tickling caused a hysteria that weakened Izaya instantly, his eyes crinkling up into a series of wild giggles and shrieks, a euphoria he didn’t often allow himself to feel lighting up in his chest. His legs kicked out with reckless abandon, but nothing he attempted saved himself from the relentless attack.

Just as suddenly as he had initiated it, Shizuo stopped, allowing his hand to merely rest on the other’s leg. Izaya wheezed helplessly, burying his face in the back of the other’s shirt. His skin tingled with phantoms of the earlier attack.

“I’m sorry, you were going to say something?” Shizuo asked innocently.

Izaya weakly lifted his head, shooting back a venomous glare. “You utter ahahAHAHASSHOLE, nohohoho, nOHOHOT AHAHAhagain!”

Izaya fell back into hysterics as Shizuo once again started up with his thighs. It was a testament to Shizuo’s skill that he was able to keep a firm hold on Izaya whilst torturing him, all the while continuing to stroll through the streets as though nothing was happening. By this point, people had started to stare, dumbfounded by the sight of a grown man thrashing and howling with laughter, hoisted like a misbehaving child over another man’s shoulder.

“S-Shihihihizuo!” Izaya squawked, pounding his fist against the other’s back. “StahAHAHAP IHIHIHIT!”

“Sure,” Shizuo agreed, smirking as his fingers found a particularly unfortunate spot that had Izaya screeching. “Just say, ‘Shizuo is superior to me in every way’. You can do that, can’t you?”

“F-FuhuhUHUHUCK YOHOhohou!”

Shizuo clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I’m afraid that’s not it. Want to try again?”

Izaya tried. He really did. He used every ounce of self-control he had to try to either bear the sensations wracking his body or to somehow escape from Shizuo’s hold. But the embarrassing position combined with the results of a death spot being targeted in such an effective manner eventually did him in and he cracked.

“OhOHOHOKAY! OHOHohohohokay!” Izaya cried, frantic giggles interspersing his words. “S-Shihihizuo ihihis—ahAHAHAha, nohohoho wahahait—Shihihizuo—gahAHAHA! Gihihive mehehehe ahahahaha seHEHEHEHehecond!”

Shizuo reluctantly complied, momentarily stilling his hand. Izaya panted heavily, attempting to get any amount of air back. Once he’d finally regained enough breath to speak any semblance of coherent words, he raised his head and grinned back at the other. “Shizuo is… a fool for thinking I’d ever say anything inherently false as that. Sorry, try again next time.”

Shizuo’s confident smirk quickly transformed into an irritated scowl. “You little—” Instantly there were hands at his thighs again, only this time he attacked the other one which had thus far received no attention from their little game. Izaya let out an honest-to-god squeak, unprepared for the switch. He pulled at Shizuo’s shirt, needing a handhold as he faced the unbearable sensations. As he did so, however, he noticed the way his tugging had ridden Shizuo’s shirt up slightly, revealing the bare skin of his lower back and hips.

Izaya was struck with a sudden idea.

Shizuo flinched as he felt two hands grab onto his hips, fingers curling into the skin in a manner that was unmistakably ticklish. His hand faltered on Izaya’s thigh as his lips tugged into a reluctant grin, a couple growled giggles escaping him.

“I-Izaya,” he threatened, still holding onto Izaya but doing little else besides that. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“Why?” Izaya teased, scratching his hips once more and feeling the man shudder beneath him. “Feeling a bit nervous now that the situations have reversed?”

“I’ll drop you,” Shizuo threatened.

“I’m not worried,” Izaya dismissed, clearly having fun with the sudden power dynamic. “Haven’t you heard? Cats always land on their feet.”

“Mind if I test that theory?”

“Now, now, no need to be grumpy.” Izaya squeezed his hips again and Shizuo choked on a stifled giggle. “I get it. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. It’s fine, really. I’ll just be using it to my advantage now, is all.”

“L-Like hell you are!” Shizuo stammered, attempting to pull Izaya off his shoulders. Izaya yelped, grabbing onto Shizuo’s hips for support, causing the man to stumble forwards, releasing him in one go. With a startled cry, Izaya tumbled off his shoulders, and Shizuo jerked around, just managing to catch him by the arm as he hit the ground. It wasn’t a complete save (and Izaya would be complaining about being sore for days after), but it did prevent him from slamming into the concrete.

Izaya stared up at Shizuo, panting a little, his gaze focused on the place where Shizuo still gripped his arm. With a cough, Shizuo quickly released him, straightening up. “Are you…” he started slowly, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. “Okay?”

Izaya blinked, at a momentary loss for what to say, before his usual smirk returned to him. “Of course I’m okay, dear Shizu-chan. More than okay, at that.” He clambered to his feet, dusting off his jeans and trying not to focus on how his tailbone ached from slamming into the ground. “Because now I know your weakness, locked away in my brain for all eternity. But don’t worry—I’ll only use it against you as often as you’ve used mine against me. Now if you don’t mind, I really have some important business to be attending to, and must take my leave. Farewell, my dear brute.”

He saluted the other mockingly, whirling on his heel and quickly walking away. Shizuo’s frown of confusion as he watched him go quickly transformed into one of irritation. “You bastard, get back here!” he exclaimed, taking chase after him. “Who said you get to have the last word, huh?”

Izaya laughed merrily as he sprinted ahead, the two quickly disappearing into the chaos of the city. No matter what happened, nothing ever really changed between the two. One info broker, one bodyguard, locked together in continuous battle.

And as Izaya rounded the next corner sharply, his smirk turning into something almost giddy from the chase, he found he didn’t really mind if it meant he could hold the beast’s attention for even a moment longer.

[trashmouthkid]

Maggie Tozier would say it was instinctual, loving a child. It was absurd and all-consuming. Something sewn into her bones since the beginning—alight in the fabric of her becoming.

Its existence, in part, unraveled many of the years she’d lived before she knew her son, and wove them back in a way that better made sense. It was not always simple, in this way. She still had to find the right words on her own and sometimes, she came up short. But still it was there, inexplicably and yet indubitably, and she could look at any other mother and tell right away if it was something they shared.

Her husband was better at the words, she thought. It seemed to come so easily to him. Oftentimes where she’d lash out or clamp up, he’d smooth things right out. She’d touch his cheek later and wonder where on earth he’d come from.

“Wentworth Tozier,” she’d say in bed, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. “There is no one else like you.” And then she’d have to stop and let her throat close up, giddy with the thought that there was someone in the world that loved Richie just as much as she did.

And then Richie turned thirteen, and Wentworth started pulling him from Mass every other Sunday. Said he saw something in him—a way about him, a look in his eye. A fear. 

“Church is fine,” he told Maggie, with pause. “I want him to know that he’s not bound to it.”

So Maggie lost herself into the severed promise of every, every other Sunday—and quickly found herself whole again in these early afternoons, out from underneath the Cathedral Dome of their neighbors’ wandering eyes, their kids who were never invited back home, where Richie’s tiny limbs moved unrestrained, and he laughed with bigger breaths.

But his off-kilter, often long-winded jokes were almost always met with a second of pursed confusion, and all Maggie could think about in the moments afterward, in the hiccups of her overenthusiastic laughter, was that she loved him. She loved him so much and was afraid she would never be able to say it in his language. That he’d never hear it the way it sounded to her; like the loudest thing in the world.

Wentworth did not seem concerned about it. Told her she was doing just fine—to save the perfectionist nit-picking for Holiday dinners or else she’d never be happy with herself. Maggie just wanted more time.

“You might be running out,” Went said, when Richie was fifteen. “Eddie’s here nearly every night now.”

Maggie’s fidgeting hands paused over the book in her lap. “Eddie?”

She thought of Eddie Kaspbrak then, the boy who’d lived next door to the Toziers Richie’s entire life. He was quite a bit smaller than others their age, high-strung at times and quiet others, and Richie had immediately latched onto him their first day of grade school. They often seemed attached at the hip, sometimes more so than Richie and his other school friend, Bill Denbrough.

Maggie couldn’t unsee it. And then, she remembered something.

It was only a moment, years ago. The boys couldn’t have been older than ten, and she was dropping Eddie off after spending the day on the outskirts of town. His mother, Sonia, who Maggie would only see on two other occasions, opened the front door for Eddie and glanced in the direction of Maggie’s parked car without so much as a wave.

Maggie didn’t know exactly what it was she saw in her eyes, but it was not something they shared.

This moment, as small as it was, entangled itself into Maggie and Went’s bigger arguments in the following years, as Richie got older and the town of Derry only got smaller and smaller. There weren’t many things they fought about, but this sent them both into such a panic there was no room for their voices to go anywhere but up.

She wasn’t even sure who first had suggested moving. They were on different sides of it every day, through Richie’s sophomore year of high school. The harsh lines of we can’t just uproot his life dissolved into but he’s exhausted, every day, which cowered into what about Eddie?

Eddie was the thing, above all else, that stopped them in their tracks every time. Maggie knew, in her core, that she couldn’t leave him. Just as much as she couldn’t take Richie from him, just as much as she couldn’t take Eddie away from Richie.

“We could…” she tried to say once, on a Saturday evening, shrugging and unshrugging her shoulders helplessly. “He could…”

“He can’t,” Went said. And really, that was that.

It would turn out alright, in the end. Richie always had his friends, and his own way of getting on. And maybe that was another way to love him—to give others the chance to love him too.

Did he know it? In so many ways, Maggie would go on wondering for the rest of her life.

In others, she could see Richie making his way back home every evening, kissing her cheek on Sunday mornings, continuing to tell her jokes long after she’d stopped pretending to understand them. He never hid himself from her, not in the house she’d raised him in, not even in their worst moments.

There, she knew. He knew.

[bibliocratic]

set during 159-160, jon/martin Martin doesn’t sleep through the night these days

minor cws for nightmares, Martin’s relationship with the Lonely

The blanket that they pulled out of the upstairs airing cupboard is ragged, moth-claimed over many winters, and it’s slipped off again. Martin’s t-shirt has bunched up over his stomach and lower back during his restless quest to settle comfortably, meaning that now, with the blanket having failed its duty and abandoned its post, it’s like having an open fridge against his back, bared to the elements.

Martin thinks monosyllabic swearwords in his head, and they’re no less vehement for their curtness.

Jon, bricked in by the back cushions of the sofa and the front wall of Martin’s body that forms a line of defence against the occupying chill, does not notice. He’s stamped himself into Martin’s space, cheek squashed against breastbone, pulled up knees digging into Martin’s thigh, swaddled in all of the other blankets, steadily leaving Martin with the only one remaining. Martin listens to the bellows of his lungs, the open-fire furnace of his skin making him prickle with sweat.

Jon snores, not loudly but persistently, rattling in his throat like a juddering engine, and Martin cannot bear to wake him.

Martin has never tried acrobatics, but there’s some caricature of it in the level of contortion he goes to, trying to rescue the puddled blanket. A half backwards, spine-creaking lean over the edge of the sofa, paired with blind feeling around with the only arm he could free from Jon’s grasp. His fingertips crackle under-skin with pins and needles.

His temper amps up to huffing and frustrated and freezing, but finally retrieval is achieved. He mutters a murmur-quiet ‘jesus christ finally’. Jon snorts and mutters into Martin’s t-shirt. He’s wedged in so smugly against the back of the sofa that Martin can’t tuck it in to stop it slipping off without waking him up, so he resigns himself to this particular cross to bear, draping it over them both haphazardly, at an odd angle that misses Jon’s double-socked feet.

It’ll have to do.

--

Martin is going to fall off the sofa. He urges himself further in, making a wormish rocking motion with his body. He knew this was going to happen, and it’s one of the reasons that he suggested that Jon take the inside, being the smaller and slighter of the two of them, far more likely to fall off in the night if Martin fidgets too much.

Only now, his chivalry means that he feels like he’s trying to get some sleep while his body is half-way acquainted with threatened gravity, like snoozing on a gangplank. He worries he’s going to whack his head off the coffee table.

Jon makes no sound of complaint when Martin’s worming shuffles him closer, instinctually tugging him in tighter with his slung over arm.

For a moment, he is anchored.

Jon hums, stretches out, and his legs push Martin back to the edge.

That coffee table is really becoming a worry.

--

The room is not smothered by fog. His body is present, and here, sweaty with the crush of bodies sandwiched together, but Martin has always had trouble living in the moment, beyond the overthinking and second-guessing of his own thoughts.

Something in the particular tenor of this quiet has him feeling untethered, smudged. Like someone’s taken a rubber to his limbs and started clearing away the lines.

Jon mumbles and frowns, pulling them closer.  Martin breathes stuttering into the scratchy upshot of Jon’s hair, and keeps his head above water until he drifts off, his arm gone dead and Jon kicking him every ten minutes or so as he fusses in sleep.

--

Jon is dreaming. He straightens out from his jack-in-a-box coil, jolting Martin out of sleep.

His eyes open. Peeled back to stare at nothing, his pupils wide and devouring all light. His mouth moves in a steady and unrelenting stream of silent speech as the Eye sends its Archivist trawling through nightmares.

Martin has learned by now that waking Jon up doesn’t help. He keeps his touch light around Jon’s rigid form, and stays awake throughout, making sure it doesn’t worsen.

Eventually, Jon’s body relaxes. His eyes folding closed. He shivers even though he can only be boiling, and he burrows closer into Martin’s space, gasping and twitching through the aftereffects of whatever horror he has been forced to witness.

Martin grips him closer, and wishes they could both have better dreams.  

--

Martins’ watch, the strap rubbed down to frayed and colourless, stopped working after the Unknowing. It’ll just be the batteries, nothing to changing them and getting the stalwart lines of the second and minute hands back ticking round. But then, Martin’s not exactly been in the right place to be worrying about anything like that.

It’s early, he knows that. The hastily tugged over curtains untouched by dawn. It’s so early, so clearly hours yet from any hint of morning that he’s irrationally worried over making any noise in case he wakes Jon. Rather than simply filling the kettle through the spout, and clicking on the switch like a normal person, he’s caught up in the looping knowledge that it’ll just be too noisy. The bubble and roil of the water, the rushing noise of the filaments rapidly heating.

Martin does not want Jon to wake up. The prospect of conversation, of interaction of any kind to break up the ice sheet of the pre-dawn hour, makes his chest go knotted, his breathing wobbly.

So, making do, he’s turned on the left hob of the electric oven, filled a saucepan with tap water as quietly as he can manage, and he’s now waiting for it to boil silently. Leant back against the plasticky kitchen counter-top, his head too full and too numb with night-time.

He is thinking about how he nearly died, and is second-hand upset that he isn’t more upset about it. He is thinking about how his body had felt as it dissipated like sugar in water, how little was left of him to disperse. How Jon came to get him (had to, needed to, shouldn’t have had to) and gather back the scraps of him into a man, and that boils up a harsher firebrand of shame in him.

He pours the water from the saucepan into his waiting cup, over the teabag that fattens and floats. Only some water spills from the awkward-shaped lip of the pan, and he sorts it out with a tea-towel that bears a hand-stitched thistle in the corner of the fabric. He leaves the tea steep before he takes out the bag with a spoon, and in those two minutes, he thinks about the wizened, crumbling body of Jonah Magnus, sat imperious and blind on a ruined throne. How heavy the knife was in his hand, how easily the will to violence might have come to him.

He thinks, blade-sharp angry and despairing, that he should have stabbed Elias in his smug face instead.

His feet are cold and numb on the kitchen tiles. Martin stands, sips at his tea that burns against his lips. Feelings sweep through him like weather fronts, and he lets them advance for the first time in a long time.

When tears come, he doesn’t wipe them away.

When he’s done, he washes his mug as quietly as possible, and leaves it to drip-dry by the sink before returning to the living room.

The blanket has slipped again.

--

Dozing in this fuggy, clamping heat of the space, a garrison of clotted, layering warmth compared to the night’s temperature, skirting zero for hours now.

“Huh?”

Martin’s roused from this disorientating state of not-sleep by Jon saying something. Both his lips and throat scraping dry.

A measured pause. Around him, and Jon, well and truly bundled in place, coiled up in blankets like a badly wrapped Christmas present, there are house-sounds, creakings, snappings and gruntings, the outside low-timbred threat of the wind.

Jon’s breathing. Low and slow.

“Jon?” Martin whispers.

Nothing.

The house continues its evening orchestra, and Jon sleeps on.

Martin’s convinced himself that whatever it was, he imagined it, when, on an exhale, Jon sighs out a muttering babble of sincerely put noises that still, in no way resemble words.

“Jon?”

“I….  busuhvenerismuh. Uh. Cravs.”

It’s so – just so random and mundane and meaningless. Nothing else, nothing malign. Only Jon, clearly sleep-talking gibberish at him.

Martin finds himself trying to stifle his disbelieving laughter.

“Going er. Ships. It’s market wild.”

“Good point, Jon.”

“Muzzuhin raids,” Jon seems to agree.

--

Jon’s lack of snoring lets Martin know he’s awake.

“You sleep ok?”

“Not bad, considering,” Jon says. He stretches his arms up and rolls his shoulders, his neck, and things go pop like kindling inside him. “What about you?”

“Alright,” Martin says. Better than some nights, worse than others. Jon glances at him with an assessing, hawkish gaze but says nothing other than adjusting the pillow under his head that’s gotten all squashed and misshapen during the night. “What time is it?”

“Too early to be even thinking about getting up.”

Jon burrows back down, his arm a band over Martin’s chest, his eyes already closing.

Martin lets himself be lulled back into sleep.  

[pips-fics]

ask: hello :] could i request a fic where maybe yechan's messing around with the rest of the group (maybe during a game, like their minigame heaven?) and ends up with a concussion, and the boys take care of him afterwards? thank you!! (also! trying to choose a favorite lucy fic on your survey was difficult bc i love all of them lmaooo, but especially the ending of your recent wonsang fic, yeop's little comforting bit with the tentative song was super soft and cute :(

tw: blood (from a bloody nose), a head injury/concussion, mentions of alcohol/drinking, fears about death and brain damage from injury, lots of medical inaccuracies (probably), hospital setting

thank you again, anon, you're so sweet <3 i hope you enjoy the fic!!

caution: ghost stories may cause injury –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

the clatter of raindrops against the roof was a soothing backdrop to the absolutely bone-chilling stories that gwangil seemed to never run out of. it had been yechan’s idea - telling ghost stories while they were drinking. gwangil was always teasing him for being too scared to hear them, and yechan had hoped the alcohol would help. wishful thinking, it turned out, but the realization came too late, because there was no way yechan was backing out after egging gwangil on.

it didn’t stop him from curling up in the safety of sangyeop’s lap and covering his ears for the scariest parts of each tale. it didn’t stop him from whining about how sangyeop was the only nice member of their band, either, because that earned him a placating head pat from the vocalist, which felt quite nice.

at the other end of the couch, wonsang was doubled over, cackling at yechan’s terror and at the stories gwangil was telling. he was laughing so hard his stomach evidently hurt, which, in yechan’s opinion, served him right.

still, nights like this were quite fun. sangyeop, who was authentic and kind even on his worst days, became warmer and softer at times like this, and absentmindedly carded his fingers through yechan’s hair. yechan felt safe, even with the fear, which really did him very little harm in this environment. gwangil was a fantastic storyteller, all the more dramatic with the buzz of a few beers, and looked adorable with his cheeks flushed pink. the rain continued on, a steady and calming rhythm to support the melody of wonsang’s laughter.

yechan wished nights like this would never end, but drowsiness began to weigh on him. he sunk into it, breaths deepening and evening out, and thought that he hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time.

moments later, a clash of thunder jolted him awake and into motion. there was a moment where reality and his dreamscape blurred, and so in an attempt to scramble away from a hazy looking darkness that was probably a ghost, yechan smashed the back of his head against whatever was behind him.

almost immediately, yechan’s ear was assaulted with a too-close cry of pain. he jumped up and away from the noise, still half-asleep, and tripped over the coffee table. yechan realized with a touch of humor and a hefty sense of guilt what must have happened just before losing consciousness.

——

the room felt far too bright as it came back into focus.

“woah, hyung, are you okay?” gwangil’s voice roared loud in his ears, enough to send spikes of pain through his head and stabbing at the back of his eyes. yechan thought the younger man must have been right next to him, but as he took in his surroundings, he realized that gwangil hadn’t even been speaking to yechan, but to sangyeop, a few feet away.

he must not have been out for long, then.

his relief was short-lived. sangyeop’s face was a bloody mess, expression scrunched up in pain. as his eyes met yechan’s, he tried to mask it, but the damage was done. yechan felt sick at sangyeop’s forced smile.

“i’m alright,” sangyeop said, taking a tissue from the box gwangil was offering. “looks worse than it is, i’m sure. yechan-hyung, are you okay?”

“yes,” yechan croaked, finding his throat painfully raw. sangyeop really was the kindest out of all of them, he thought, feeling triply miserable. yechan wasn’t at all sure that he should be standing, but he figured checking on sangyeop was the least he could do, so he made his wobbly way back to the couch.

well, yechan thought, he’d managed to ruin their peaceful night. wonsang, who rarely drank but always mellowed out when he did, was now standing with his shoulders hunched and tense. everyone else looked just as alert. they were all very much awake and feeling as sober as they’d ever been. it was unlikely that anyone was going to want to hear any more scary stories.

yechan felt his eyes burn with tears of anger and embarrassment, and tilted his head back so that they wouldn’t fall. he regretted the action almost immediately. black spots ballooned in his vision and pain bloomed from the back of his head. it was enough to make him woozy. fortunately, wonsang caught yechan before he toppled over, his brows furrowing in concern. yechan quickly waved him off.

“sorry,” he said, wiping away the wetness he’d failed to keep from his cheeks, “i’m no good with blood, and the alcohol, you know, it doesn’t help.”

wonsang nodded, even though he didn’t look convinced. he looked viscerally worried, actually, which made yechan worried, so he turned away. what he couldn’t see would hurt less.

“we should all get some rest, probably,” yechan said, trying to move on from wonsang’s silent interrogation and also genuinely wanting to sleep. he snuck a quick glance at sangyeop (the sight of blood really wasn’t doing him any favors) and was relieved to see that gwangil was helping him clean up what looked to be the tail end of the bleeding.

the others readily agreed with yechan’s suggestion. it was nice to be listened to, for a minute, until yechan found himself alone and in pain and still sick to his stomach, only now he didn’t have the excuse of being grossed out by blood which meant that something might actually be wrong.

maybe he was just tired. yechan tried to convince himself that was it, but something told him it wasn’t. then again, it might have been the voice of his paranoia saying that, telling him that he might have a concussion and that something awful could happen if he let himself fall asleep.

even when he tried, though, sleeping eluded him. the pain had not lessened and had spread to his neck, and even the soft pillow hurt his head. yechan bit his lip, tried to make himself think clearly, and concluded that the solution was informing himself on head injuries via the infinite wisdom of the internet.

the internet told him that he might be dying, that he might have lose his memory or his ability to speak, that maybe his brain has become more akin to a scrambled egg than a functional part of his body, and all sorts of other things that yechan tried desperately to be okay with, or to not think about at all. he tried to focus on the rain, but the rain - the soft, soothing rain, even without its thunder - seemed to have turned on him. he no longer heard a rhythm, but the echo of what felt like each individual drop, amplified, booming, and painful.

——

about three hours later, gwangil found yechan curled up in a corner of the couch, crying softly. his computer was balanced precariously on his knees, light glaring off of the wetness on his cheeks, and gwangil could see that his eyes were bloodshot.

“hyung!”

yechan responded as though he’d been struck, flinching away with a muffled whimper.

“gwangil,” yechan whispered, sniffling. “stop shouting.”

gwangil, who could not remember the last time he’d heard yechan whisper - if he ever had at all - was thoroughly shaken. one thing he was certain of was that he had never seen any of his hyungs cry - not from anything other than being overwhelmed by emotion during a performance.

he didn’t know what to do.

for a few moments, his hands fluttered about uselessly, looking for something to touch, something to fix - but even just speaking had caused yechan pain, so he didn’t dare make contact with the older man. instead, his fingers settled on the the computer and pulled it from it’s owner’s easily relenting grasp.

as soon as he saw what was on the screen, gwangil felt ice cold fear shoot through him. it must have shown on his face, because yechan’s hand, unsteady as it was, ran up and down his arm.

“it’s okay, gwangil,” yechan said, breath shaky. “it’s– i’m just–”

yechan broke off, the absence of words speaking for itself. gwangil inhaled slowly. the instinctual fear had begun to melt away. as soon as yechan started comforting him, gwangil began to understand that the older man was scared, too, and that the words on the computer screen said more about yechan’s fears than about his actual condition. gwangil knew how internet searches went when it came to investigating one’s health.

he nodded, and took another deep breath.

it was probably not as bad as they’d both feared. yechan would most likely be okay. that didn’t mean that gwangil would take this lightly. something was wrong, even if it probably wasn’t life threatening.

another breath.

he thought about how long yechan had sat here alone, hurting and scared and putting himself at further risk, deliberately keeping it all to himself. gwangil thought about how little that mattered, and felt his momentary frustration dissipate. it had been hours already, and yechan was still worried about this - he wasn’t a hypochondriac. something was wrong.

“hyung, you know, right?” gwangil said at last, trying to speak gently. “we have to go to the hospital.”

in the silence that followed, gwangil feared that yechan had stopped breathing.

“okay,” yechan said quietly, finally, exhausted and resigned. and then, in the same voice: “i think i’m going to throw up.”

“…fuck.”

gwangil didn’t know that much about concussions, but he was fairly certain that it was bad practice to move someone with a head injury. if yechan’s uncharacteristic stillness was anything to go by, he would guess that the internet agreed. he didn’t want to leave yechan alone, either, but after careful consideration, gwangil decided being quick was his best bet. he darted off, first to the bedroom. he shook sangyeop awake - quite roughly, probably, but he didn’t have time to be gentle.

“‘gil? wad’s wrong?” sangyeop slurred, half asleep, still.

“yechan-hyung’s hurt his head–”

sangyeop stood up so fast, he almost passed out before he could do anything to help. gwangil steadied him.

“we’ll need you to drive and - can you keep an eye on him? i’ll be right there.” there was a snag in gwangil’s voice, suddenly, the kind that meant a seam was about to come undone and ruin an entire garment. they didn’t have time for that, but sangyeop took a moment to lay a reassuring hand on the back of gwangil’s neck before they parted ways. it was a taste of “you did well, thank you” without the exact articulation - but the words would have to come later.

sangyeop found yechan sitting in the dark with his head in his hands as if it weighed a hundred pounds. he approached slowly, and spoke softly. “yechannie-hyung?”

yechan didn’t even look at him. “sangyeop?”

he hummed lightly in confirmation, and blinked quickly, willing his eyes to work better than they were meant to in the dark. yechan had a hand over his mouth, and sangyeop winced. he suddenly understood where gwangil had run off to, and hoped he wasn’t having too much trouble finding what he was looking for.

“hyung, can i rub your back?”

there was a moment of hesitation, and then a very quiet “please.”

sure to move slowly in order to avoid jostling the couch, sangyeop sat next to yechan. the older man slumped against him, and sangyeop could feel him trembling - from pain or nausea or both, sangyeop wasn’t sure.

“i don’t want to go to the hospital,” yechan mumbled. his voice was muffled against his hand, and unsteady. something like a broken laugh seized him before he continued, “we haven’t left yet, and i already want to come back home.”

sangyeop ached. it was something he excelled at, aching for the people he loved. sometimes it was a strength, and sometimes it just hurt. “i know,” he gently massaged yechan’s shoulders. “it will be okay,” he said.

gwangil returned with a mixing bowl soon after that, so sangyeop never found out if yechan believed him. as soon as the bowl was in yechan’s arms, he was retching. it came on violent and painful - with every retch came a gasp of pain at the movement, and the pressure, and it wasn’t long before yechan started crying.

sangyeop offered a hand, and yechan squeezed it readily. with his other hand, sangyeop did his best to hold yechan’s head steady as his body expelled the day’s meals and the night’s alcohol as well as it could.

in the end, once it started, it was over quickly. after about five minutes of unproductive retching, yechan’s body rebelled suddenly and forcefully, ejecting all of its contents one wave after the next. sangyeop worried that yechan didn’t have enough air, and found gwangil’s muttered reassurances to be a comfort, even though they weren’t meant for him.

fortunately, yechan retained consciousness, sputtering coughs earning him oxygen as his body let up. even so, it was alarmingly clear that the ordeal had sapped every ounce of energy he’d had left. tears streamed down his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

gwangil took the bowl without a word, and sangyeop stayed with yechan, hoping the silence was a comfort.

“it hurts,” yechan said, brokenly.

“i know,” sangyeop whispered. the older man looked miserable. “hyung, we’re going to have to get you to the car. gwangil can catch up.”

any other day, sangyeop was sure yechan would have wanted to wait. he hadn’t meant the suggestion to be a test of how poor yechan was feeling, but it confirmed it anyway, had there been any doubt.

“okay.”

gwangil caught up to them well before they made it to the car. they’d taken the stairs, weary of the damage an elevator might do, and it was slow going. by the time they made it to the car, yechan seemed to have run out of tears, or perhaps stopped them by sheer force of will.

fortunately, the hospital wasn’t far. that didn’t make the drive easy, but at least it wasn’t long. yechan was so out of it by the time they arrived that he put up very little resistance about entering, even though it was one of his least favorite places. he was just too tired.

after filling out some paperwork and answering some basic questions, sangyeop and gwangil were forced to wait in the lobby while yechan was taken - more reluctantly, this time - for examination on his own. sangyeop took the opportunity to text wonsang and fill him in on the details, hoping it would soften the sting of being left out of the loop for a short while. gwangil went to the restroom, and returned with red-ringed eyes.

“gwangil…” the younger man turned away, embarrassed, but sangyeop just laughed and hugged him to his side. “you did really well,” he said. “yechan-hyung will be okay now.”

gwangil nodded, but didn’t seem fully convinced until the doctors told him the same thing. it was a weight off of everyone’s shoulders. they were told that yechan needed dark, and quiet, and rest, which would be best achieved at home - but that he should stay the night for supervision. sangyeop and gwangil both decided to stay. it was an easy decision, no conversation needed - there were only a few more hours until morning, anyway.

——

wonsang woke up to a series of text messages that felt like a horror story.

he knew it wasn’t sangyeop’s intention. it was just the way he explained things: chronologically, rather than in order of importance. like, say, maybe mentioning that yechan was going to be fine right off the bat, instead of burying it in the middle of expository explanation and loads of medical jargon.

he knew they’d had other priorities, but he still intended to complain about it when they returned.

it didn’t happen. shocking, really, because wonsang was fond of harmless complaining. it generated good discussions, and he liked the attention, sometimes. he liked the reassurance that he would be heard, if he needed something.

this time, though, wonsang took one look at yechan and wanted nothing more than to make him feel okay.

he was sure the previous night had been worse, but that wasn’t comforting. the yechan wonsang was seeing looked fragile and brittle and pinched - it made him look old, the pain. wonsang wasn’t used to believing the age on yechan’s ID was accurate.

“hyung…” wonsang’s voice was watery when he spoke, much to his own surprise. even having sifted through sangyeop’s messages to find the reassuring truth that yechan would be fine, the worry had been overwhelming. it was still there, but seeing yechan home, in person, had a bigger impact than wonsang had prepared himself for.

“aw, wonsangie, don’t cry,” yechan said, teasing, but his eyes were warm and understanding. gwangil snorted, softly.

“says you.”

sangyeop elbowed the youngest of the group gently, and wonsang wasn’t sure that he wanted all of the details behind that exchange, if tears were indeed involved. if he did, the figured he could get them later.

at the moment, he just wanted to know that yechan was alright.

the group had breakfast together, just a light meal. they agreed that wonsang would keep watch on yechan while gwangil and sangyeop caught up on their sleep, so the group parted ways after that - half of them to the bedroom, the other half to yechan’s bed in the living room.

it wasn’t exactly reassuring, seeing yechan so compliant. wonsang tried to stay quiet, reminding himself that’s what yechan needed, but once he’d ensured that yechan was comfortable and properly resting, the words slipped out anyway.

“hyung, are you really okay?”

yechan blinked slowly, drowsiness clearly weighing him down, and he smiled. “wonsangie, come here.” wonsang obeyed, and yechan brought wonsang’s hand to his own chest. “i’m okay. you can feel it, right?”

under his palm, yechan’s heart beat. it was a steady rhythm, comforting. at times, wonsang had sought out his own pulse for similar reasons. rainy days had never been good to wonsang, and he liked to blame the inconsistency of the rain’s pounding for that, but the steady beat of a heart felt nice.

“it was scary,” yechan said suddenly, honestly. “and it hurt. it still does, but it will heal.”

wonsang’s breath shuddered, and then smoothed. “i’ll stay with you, hyung,” he said. he could hear a smile as yechan spoke again.

“i know.”

——

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[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 4

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 1,910

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: <3rd person> graphic description of a panic attack, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: <none>

...

Where would he have gone? In the backyard? No, there's too much space out there, and it's too bright. Maybe- of course! Patton raced down the hall to the bathroom door, which was shut. He nearly started knocking, but remembering how easily startled Virgil could get when he was having an attack, he decided to just calmly say into the closed door;

"Virgil, it's Patton. Can I come in?" His voice came out very buttery and smooth, calm as he could get it to be. he heard a muffled sob from inside, and his heart went to his throat. But he knew he had to stay calm, for Virgil's sake.

As slowly, gently, and quietly as possible, he opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark, the only light coming from a small hazy window near the ceiling above the shower. He could barely make out Virgil's figure; he was curled into a ball on his side, crying into his knees, lying in the bathtub. From what Patton could see, the way his hair was sticking to his forehead implied he had been sweating, and the sleeves of his sweater were wet and crumpled, like he'd been chewing on them.

Patton slowly walked over, trying not to upset Virgil more. He slowly and gently clambered into the Bathtub, and sat cross-legged with Virgil in front of him. Remember everything you read about. Pressure is good, it gives a sense of security on an instinctual level. Don't take his hoodie off of him. He slowly reached down and lightly touched Virgil on the shoulder. When he didn't react, Patton gently scooped him up and held him in his lap, securing his arms around Virgil's shaking form as he cradled him. Although Virgil was taller than Patton, Patton had a sturdier build compared to Virgil's thinness. He started rocking Virgil very slowly, and did the first thing that came to mind.

"Virgil, it will be okay. I'm here. I'm going to breathe, okay? Try and feel me breathing, and when you can, try and copy it." Once again, his voice was soft and caring, nearly a whisper. Patton began breathing slowly and steadily, in, and out. in, and out. After what seemed like a long while, Virgil had stopped shaking, and Patton could tell he was trying to copy his breathing. It took him a few tries - his diaphragm kept spasming and making him sob more - but the tears had mostly stopped.

Soon, Virgil was breathing along with Patton - still a bit shakily, but they were definitely getting somewhere. Once Virgil's attack passed, he felt exhausted. He relaxed more into Patton, almost falling asleep.

"Virgil, I know you're tired, but we can't sleep here. Want me to call your parents so they can come pick you up?" Patton said, leaning down to try and come eye to eye with Virgil, who seemed content laying there, his head on Patton's left collar bone.

"Mmmm," Virgil started, rubbing his eyes. "No, that's alright. I'm supposed to take the bus today anyway."

"But-"

"Shhh, it's okay. I'll stay here for a while longer, and then get going, so I'll have time to get my bearings." Virgil stood, getting out of the bathtub, and then helping Patton up and out. As soon as he was out, Virgil pulled Patton into a hug - not a hard one, but a heartfelt gentle one. The best kind. "Thank you so much. I don't know how I would've made it through that one without you. Are you alright?" Virgil pulled away at the last part, holding Patton's shoulders and looking into his eyes. Patton had never seen this side of Virgil, so excessively caring. "I know you've never had to deal with me, or anyone, having an attack, but for the record, I think you handled it amazingly." Virgil continued, pulling Patton back into the hug.

Patton hugged back then, burying his face in Virgil's shoulder. "I'm just glad you're okay."

They stayed like that for a while, just happy in their moment.

...

When Patton and Virgil returned to Roman's room, Logan was just leaving.

"Hey, Lo! Are you out of here?" Patton said, still cheery as ever.

"Hello, Patton. Yes, my parents have arrived. I must be going now. I will see you tomorrow in class. Goodbye, Roman, Virgil," Logan nodded to them all, and then stepped past the newcomers to exit. Just then, Patton's phone buzzed, and a text came through that Virgil and Roman remained oblivious to; Patton scarcely read it, but knew that if it was from his brother, he'd best be getting home.

"Uh, w-wait up Lo! I'm headed out too!" Patton said, hurriedly grabbing his pastel blue backpack and rushing out, quietly saying goodbye to Virgil.

Patton caught up with Logan at the end of the hallway, a few feet before the door.

"Hello Patton. Are your parents here too?" Logan said, opening the door and holding it open for his curly-haired companion.

"Uh, no, but I'd best be getting home. I take the bus. My parents... don't have a car. They, uh, they care for environmental safety and stuff." Patton said, trying not to make his lie too obvious.

"Oh, I see." Logan's hand went to his chin, as if he was considering something. "Well, if you wish, I can ask my parents if they'll give you a ride home. I know the bus can be uncomfortable."

"Oh! umm..." Patton really wanted to say yes, but he knew that if his brother saw him come in from someone else's car, he'd be furious. "I'd love to, really, but I can't. Thank you so much anyways though! I'll see you tomorrow." Patton said, a toothy smile appearing as he waved to Logan. Then, before Logan could press further, Patton skipped quickly down Roman's driveway, down the sidewalk, and out of sight.

Logan just shrugged it off, and got in his parent's car.

...

Virgil and Roman were fixed in an awkward silence. Virgil was slouching against the wall near Roman's door, and Roman was laying back on his bed.

"Where were you?" Roman asked eventually.

"In the bathroom. I'd been holding it for a while, if you must know." Virgil lied, trying to keep Roman from asking again.

"Yuck! TMI, Surly Temple!" Roman said, throwing one of his pillows in Virgil's general direction, unsuccessful in hitting him; the pillow landed at Virgil's feet.

"Man, for a jock, your aim is shit," Virgil said, chucking the pillow back and hitting Roman square in the face.

"Ugh!" Roman exclaimed, shoving the pillow off him. Virgil walked over and plopped onto the bed, being sure to avoid eye contact. "Well hello there, my Chemically Imbalanced Romance," Roman teased, leaning closer to Virgil.

He just scoffed at him for the hundredth time that day, and threw the pillow at his face again. "Yeah, in your dreams, Prince Underarms-Stink."

Roman didn't react that time; he simply put the pillow back and watched as Virgil yawned and stretched out his arms. He turned away before the pink glaze on his cheeks could be spotted by Virgil. He pulled out his phone and plugged in his earbuds, putting one in his ear and offering the other to Virgil.

Virgil thought about protesting, but he was too tired to really care that much. he just sighed. "Oh, why the hell not." He took the earbud and put it in his ear, laying back and snuggling into Roman's pillows.

Roman clicked shuffle on his Taylor Swift playlist, and immediately regretted sharing an earbud. of all the songs to play!

There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles

Same old tired, lonely place

Walls of insincerity

Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face

All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you

Virgil felt a blush rise to his cheeks as the song continued, shifting his gaze even further from Roman.

Your eyes whispered "Have we met?"

Across the room, your silhouette starts to make it's way to me

The playful conversation starts

Counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy

And it was enchanting to meet you

All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you

Roman watched Virgil, both of their cheeks darkening. Eventually, Roman looked away, not wanting to be creepy.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

The lingering question kept me up

Two a.m., who do you love?

I wonder till I'm wide awake

Virgil risked a glance at Roman, who seemed to be tracing his ceiling fan with his eyes. He probably isn't even effected by this, Virgil thought. Wait a minute, why am I even effected? Virgil looked away again, trying to stifle his feelings.

Now I'm pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door

I'd open up and you would say,

Hey i t was, enchanting to meet you

All I know is I was, enchanted to meet you...

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew...

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you.

When Virgil looked back at Roman again, Roman was looking at him. Roman immediately looked away, praying Virgil didn't see. But he knew he did, that for that split second that their eyes met. Virgil could see the blush on Roman's cheeks now. When Virgil didn't look away, Roman looked back.

This is me praying that this was the very first page

Not where the story line ends

My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again

These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon

I was enchanted to meet you

Roman looked away first. I can't be doing this, I literally just asked someone else out. This is stupid.

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Virgil had looked down as well, but glanced back, seeing Roman mouthing the words slightly. Virgil only blushed harder and covered his face with his hands, wondering how it could possibly be healthy for his heart to be beating this fast.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

As the song ended, Virgil picked up his phone and pretended to read a text from his mom. "Uh, my mom says I best be getting home," He said shortly, taking the earbud out and standing, grabbing his bag. Roman sat up, wanting... well, he didn't really know what he wanted. He said the first thing that came to mind.

"Um, do you want a ride? I can drive you if-"

"No, that's alright." Virgil considered elaborating, but couldn't think of a good reason for his denial. He just had to get out of there, away from Roman, or he didn't know what would happen. "Uh, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Ye-yeah, sure thing," Roman said, scratching the back of his neck. Virgil left with scarcely a sound, and walked hastily toward the bus stop.

On his walk, he found the song they'd been listening to, and added it to his library.

[vcsecretgifts]

Snap shot in time

From: @auburnandamberangel

Merry Christmas @plopofcolour Qotd era Khayman and Armand interaction on the Night Island. Hope you like ^u^

~~~

Armand watched Khayman looking at his upper terrace garden, the plants benefiting not only from the sunshine but also the seaspray. The cacti, the large Saguaros with their armed tall appearance especially had captured the ancients fascination. The silhouettes classic to many a western. They weren’t indigenous to Egypt, effectively a new world plant, and certainly capturing this until recently slumbering vampire. Perhaps as they too were long lived, slow in maturing. He had his cameras slung over his neck and shoulder wanting to capture the bloom on one of them, a first. He recorded all of them on this island. Mementos.

Khayman was a very good guest, polite, and surprisingly unaloof compared to other vampires of a similar age. ‘Mr manners leaves their bodies after the first few thousand years!’ Daniel had observed dryly not to long ago as they say in said same garden, watching the waves. Sitting on the stone steps, snuggly between Daniels stretched out legs. Barely dead himself, so manys ways appeared rude by his modern standards. “Not all are…impolite.” Daniel had nodded, smiling almost as if he’d read his mind and knew he was thinking of the Egyptian. Which was impossible, he just people watched very well. And surely he was an expert in Armand observations by now.

“Ahh but Khayman was nice as a human, not many airs on him plus he’s sweet on you. So you’re the last person he’d be short with.” Interestingly not too much jealousy in that statement. A small possessive kiss to the top of his head, caressing of his arms about his waist. Their guests came and went, things were more peaceful minus some of their vampire brethren. Peaceful between them even. Born in a time of crisis, his home even invaded it wasn’t ideal for them even with a notorious nosey parker like his fledgling. He’d borne so much strain at his hands before being turned, it worried Armand. Sometimes they fought as he instinctually pulled back.

“The fact he’s easy on the eye doesn’t hurt much either does it.” Daniel added laughter in his voice. Teasing. Armand smiled despite himself turning his head. “But I’m famous for a penchant for blondes darling aren’t I.”

“Except Louis.” His beloved kissing his dimples. And others he’d best not mention. Not eager to quote that book at him right now.

“Hmmmm. Nice to not always be predictable then.” Kissing Daniels matching smile. It had ended up being a very good evening that night. Allowing himself to bask in the glow of the memory of it.

Khayman found the sea soothing, the air fresh and the garden a magical oasis. A small movement betrayed his hosts presence, rare to not have an exuberant Daniel or hesitant brooding Marius in orbiting attendance around Armand. Moths to this ’cherubs’ - seraphin now surely more apts flame- A ethereal beauty no matter the flowery language. In his time one destined to be blessed by the gods. A soul just as full of substance as his appearance. To think without her, the mother waking he’d probably not have crossed paths with this one. So artful at cloaking his presence. Deep in thought he was looking at him, but not really seeing him. Caught in a recollection. Unguarded he looked so young, in the eyes the depth and knowledge in them gave his age away. This was the way with their kind. Trapped in their making, the soul grew seen through the orbs alone. Somehow still warmth there, if the mood was right. A miracle considering the heartache had been through in so far centuries. He would do much to make sure he didn’t make those eyes cold. Watching this former coven master navigate so many vampires in his sanctuary, first love mingling with last. Struck by the poise. The former parents guardian, the Roman made said face light up and close down in equal measure. Not his place to intervene ofcourse, though tempting. Best to announce his presence, so Armand didn’t feel too exposed.

“Armand, good evening. Was there something I can aid you with?” Smooth heavily accented voice totally interrupting his reverie. “Did you want private time in your garden?” Previously observed vampire catching him unawares, hoping he hadn’t left himself open to scrutiny thoughts wise. His mind usually locked up tight, some of the first brood lacked finesse with the mind gift, it coming to them later. But what they lacked in finesse, could be made up by brute force alone. Being Marius’ blood line vicariously provided some civility that otherwise may not exist, for a not even five hundred year old former cult coven leader. Ageism was alive and well in their surviving group from Akashas cull. As if age always came with wisdom… Khayman had been gentle and respectful in his manner towards him. Armand appreciated this from his most recent friend. He saw him as he was, no judgement.

“No not at all. I take pleasure in seeing enjoyment from my garden. The cacti have you in their thrall I see.” Genuine smile to the ancient. Moving closer. The garden lit by coloured uplights here and there to make it appealing.

“They are exotic to my old eyes, yes. Beautiful yet dangerous. So like us I feel.” Small smile back. “Your a gracious host, I know it’s not in most of your nature’s to live on mass for long. You’ve been patient where you could have been firm. Silent when you could have spoken.” Khaymans turn to watch and enjoy the view that had nothing to do with the garden, but more it’s creator.

“Ah well, tact or diplomacy is something I’ve always had to have. Never to speak unless it improves the silence or my position in it.” Being quite open now in this admission. Unusually candid for himself truly. He didn’t think he’d regret it in this situation.

“The lone jackel is a hard role to break, though it’s served you well.” The ancient replied. Looking back at the cacti. “How old is this one then?”

“This one is around seventy years. It’s the first year it’s flowered, you’re lucky to have witnessed it.” Itching to take a picture of the flower, and perhaps Khayman too if he was truthful with himself. Just incase his stay was brief and centuries passed until another meeting of minds. “But they can live to around one hundred and seventy five perhaps even two hundred years. Not bad for a desert dweller.”

Khayman eyed the camera, that was the term wasn’t it. One of the magical picture capturers. “You’ll record it with this?” He hadn’t tried anything new in a while. Armand was patient, the best person to ask to try. “How?” He uttered before he had time to edit.

Inquisitive and open to instruction, not your average elder. Refreshing like the sea breeze. “I need a tripod, unless you can hold it steady as a rock. I’ll do both.” Zipping inside and then back out to get it. “I’ll need a long exposure to make the most of the moon light, and a flash for my close ups. The window inside opens for the picked time, the light hits the film and makes an imprint like an eye I suppose but in reverse, or inverse a negative. We can use the darkroom next.” Twinkle in his eye as he saw the ancients eyes widen. “The Polaroid develops as you shake it.” It must sound odd to the others ears.

“Witchcraft then. I’m an apprentice to a modern sorcerer.” Pleased by the laugh this comment brought from Armand.

“Usually I’m called bewitching. But I’ve been accused of worse.” Daniels words echoing in his head, pleased he didn’t blush as easily as said youngblood.

Gingerly taking the camera and going still, statue like as he could. A trick you learnt which came easily with age. Though it usually unnerved younger immortals. *Direct me as if I’m a tripod.* He said is the mind voice. Armands softer hands aiming the slr camera for a closeup. Physical contact was a luxury being a nomad rarely afforded.

Hearing the snap of the inner workings, turning of the spool. With each shot, the flash singing. Armand liked this process, methodical, practised yet still room for error and surprise. *Move back a little so I can get a portrait of it. Perhaps one of and for you to take with you?* Because people leave - eventually. This was always a possibility. Sentiment came with a cost, this he always knew.

A photo to keep. An anchor would be good for times Khayman felt unsteady. Stronger by the year, but wispy in his soul sometimes. A welcome light in the Night Island Villa, to concentrate on. *Yes. A portrait of plant, myself and it’s guardian even better.*

Warm glance, nodding his answer. “This also has a cable to take a photograph at a distance. A bellow balloon, a tube and a metal press.” Screwing it into the button. Then retrieving it from the taller elder. Fixing this on the tripod via it’s own foot. Let’s set ourselves up. Standing and leaning into the framing arms of the cactus, as if the plant was behind them, reaching to hold them close.

Khayman followed the younger ones lead. Moving in closer and realising he could smell Armands hair. Wondering if this was his shampoo or just his natural scent. Vampires sometimes exuded a odour that was unique to them, a spice in the blood perhaps. Marius had made him, imbued with donations by Akasha during his guardianship. Perhaps he had smelt like this in Venice as a mortal. Not something he could easily ask the child of two millennia. Nor share a want to share his blood to strengthen those below a thousand in their coven, truthfully only this one piqued his interest.

Armand had the cord behind his back to depress at just the right moment. Khaymans strong heartrate was hard to ignore so close. “Ready. One two three.” Not using cheese, referring to a dairy product as slang for smiling usually put older vampires in a spin. So a countdown better. Not flinching at the flash or the next long exposure. “Always take more than one for practicality.” Moving to replace the lens cap and concentrate on the Polaroid camera in front of him now. “Arguably this one is like magic.” He stated with a smile. “As Daniel can attest I took so many in our early years here.” Boxes and boxes of them, indulgent expression on his face. He was rich, but some things were priceless that had little monetary value in his collection. “Strike your next pose. Make yourself comfortable.”

Khayman liked Daniel. He was full of life, and hoped that energy didn’t turn downwards into madness. Knowing Armand was concerned with this too, any elder making a first fledgling would be - especially one as fond of forward planning as his host. Smiling nervous about doing something wrong. Hoping irrationally it wasn’t magic, as magic never bode well. Flash and snap. Painless. Wondering what the twins back in Sonomo thought of this new family, Mekare learning after her travelling the wilderness. Focus on Jesse, their link to Miriam.

Armand handed the Polaroid by its framed white bottom edge to the elder. “Now shake it, and you’ll slowly appear.” Charmed by Khaymans expression, bouyed one so old could still feel the wonder of the new. Despite intermittent sleeps. Hope for all of them surely. Watching Khayman watching the photograph as it developed. “What do you think?”

Bit by bit the image appeared - the dark background shading in firstly, the bright green cacti appearing next with its vibrant blooms. Then the paled by time figure, a smile all for the taker. Now one such photo of Armand with or without himself would be wondrous. “A fine picture.” So excited he placed kisses on Armands cheeks stopping before he daren’t put any on those rosy lips. Moving faster than he usually did, enveloping the younger vampire in a hug would perhaps be too much of a liberty. They had time. “One of us next, yes?”

Armand didn’t have time to start at the sudden movement of the ancient. Stealing himself to be squeezed, fortunate it didn’t come to pass. Khayman smelt inviting though, heady blood from their fount. Marius would be jealous no doubt. But he wasn’t here was he. Attending to Pandora, a promise of a return soon. As ever time would tell. Trying not to stare at Khaymans lips. “Yes. An instant portrait next.” Glad of someone who gave as much as he took.

[vex-bittys]

Imagine the Possum-bilities: An Underfell Story (part 3)

The Possum Posse

The world of Underfell has gone to the possums!

Warning: child death mention

----------

Gloomfanger’s brood of tiny opossums easily integrated themselves into the daily lives of the skeleton brothers. Their instinctual desire to climb and cling to other living creatures proved endearing to everyone in the household, and there was no shortage of willing baby possum perches. The baby possums began their supreme reign over the home by electing the local regent, Doomfanger, as their second mother.

From the moment that they’d first emerged from Gloomfanger’s pouch, eyes barely opened and legs still wobbly, Doomfanger fascinated them with her silky white fur, rumbling purr, and insistent grooming. Eight small passengers could barely cram themselves comfortably atop Gloomfanger’s coarsely-furred back, but split equally between the cat and the possum, the baby Gloomies (as Red called them) enjoyed a roomy and luxurious mode of transportation.

It wasn’t until the baby possums were quite a bit bigger and significantly less fragile that they were allowed to clamber onto the other members of the household, but as soon as the first miniature pink possum hands wrapped around the skeleton brothers’ pant legs, the little possums secured their positions in Red and Edge’s hearts. The gruff brothers, unused to expressing positive emotions, both denied the tears of joy in their sockets, blaming allergies and invisible onions as the baby Gloomies played on their new skeleton jungle gyms.

“hey, Boss, check it out,” said Red one day, opening his jacket like a flasher to show seven little possums hanging upside down by their tails from various ribs. Gloomfanger herself peered over the waistband of Red’s shorts, where she was nestled in the bowl of his pelvis. Edge sighed.

“THAT’S VULGAR,” he scolded, arms folded across his chest. A very small baby possum head popped up from the folds of his tattered scarf and chattered a scolding of her own. The only female in the brood happened to prefer Edge’s scarf over any other perch, and Edge allowed her unprecedented access to it, and to his well-guarded affections.

The rambunctious baby Gloomies grew quickly. In order to tell them apart more easily, Edge made each small possum a differently colored bandana. The female of the group received a bandana in the same color as Doomfanger’s jeweled collar- a delicate rose pink just a few shades lighter than Edge’s magic. The other possums, a rowdy bunch of boys who loved greasy Grillby’s food as much as Red and Gloomfanger did, wore vibrant shades of yellow, orange, green, violet, midnight blue, pale blue, and dark red.

Admiring his handiwork, Edge scowled when Red announced that he had also chosen names for the entire brood. The tall skeleton had a feeling that Red’s choices would not meet his very high standards, and Red proved him right, holding up a possum in a green bandana and declaring with authority: “Dumpster.”

One by one, Red lifted the baby possums, Lion King style, and proclaimed their terrible names to an appalled audience of one.

The possum wearing the yellow bandana: “Rubbish.”

The possum in the violet bandana: “Trashy.”

The possum sporting the orange bandana: “Debris.”

The possums who had midnight blue and pale blue bandanas: “Filth” and “Scraps.”

Finally, Red lifted the baby possum wearing his namesake, the red bandana. “this little guy’s called Slop, or Junior for short.”

Edge swatted Red’s hand away from his beloved scarf-dwelling baby possum. “YOU CAN’T NAME THEM ALL AFTER GARBAGE,” he shouted, not wanting to hear the horrible name that his brother had chosen for his favorite possum of the litter.

“of course not, Boss,” said Red with a mischievous grin. “the little girl is called-”

Edge clenched his sharp teeth and braced himself for the mental onslaught of whatever Red would say next. “IF YOU CALL HER SCUMBELINA, I WILL END YOU.”

“- Anastasia.”

Edge blinked, and Red howled with laughter.

----------

Edge volunteered to take the young possums with him to the Capitol to give his brother and Gloomfanger a day to themselves to relax and stuff their faces with greasy junk food. The Captain of Snowdin’s Royal Guard would be meeting Undyne and the King for their annual status report. Edge tucked the eight little furballs into his armor, thinking that they would spend the entire time dozing off to his boring reports about inventory, training, and guard rotations. Of course nothing ever went that smoothly when Gloomfanger’s little ones were involved.

Anastasia, ever the dignified young lady, climbed up and nestled herself in Edge’s scarf underneath his chin and stayed quiet and out-of-sight during the visit. Her brothers, however, decided that they wanted to see what was happening around them, not snooze through the experience in Edge’s stuffy armor.

The first sign of trouble came when Edge felt stiff little whiskers tickling his ribs. He managed to turn a very unbecoming giggle into a much less embarrassing clearing of his nonexistent throat. Undyne was familiar enough with her skeleton counterpart to know something was amiss, but she chose to observe the situation instead of interrupting the report. Her instinct for hilarious chaos turned out to be right.

It didn’t take long for a triangular little face to appear through the armhole of Edge’s armor. Hairless ears brushed the underside of Edge’s humerus, making him yelp, a sound that could not be disguised as anything else. Undyne barely held back a laugh. The King regarded the skeleton with a frown. Edge’s mind raced, desperately reaching for any plausible explanation.

“I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I LEFT A LASAGNA IN THE OVEN,” he offered lamely. The King’s eyes narrowed skeptically, and Undyne sputtered.

“He really cares about his lasagna,” Undyne added unhelpfully.

More possum faces pushed their way to the potential exits at the neck and arms of Edge’s armor, and their movements made him twitch and spasm in a strange parody of dancing. Undyne doubled over, filling the halls with her raucous laughter. In response to the unfamiliar noise, the baby possums wrapped their tails around Edge’s arms, hissing in fear.

“What is the meaning of this behavior?” bellowed King Asgore, a monster to be feared and respected.

Edge spread his arms, and seven baby possums dropped into upside down hanging positions. Edge looked like he wore a fringed cape made of scruffy two-toned fur. Undyne rolled on the palace floor. Asgore leaned close to the possums to inspect them. Anastasia climbed out of Edge’s scarf to stand boldly in front of the massive ruler of the Underground. She chattered aggressively at Asgore, and there could be no mistaking her protective stance or ferocious noises. The feisty female possum would not allow Edge to come to harm under her watchful button eyes.

A slow smile spread across Asgore’s severe features. He chuckled and stepped back. Satisfied at having driven off the threat, Anastasia returned to her hiding place in Edge’s scarf folds. He gave her tiny head a gentle scritch with one sharp phalange.

“I see Snowdin’s Junior Guard is coming along nicely,” the King commented. “Of course, as Royal Guard members, these creatures are under my protection, and I trust you, Captain, to make sure all of the monsters of Snowdin know it.”

“YES, SIR,” replied Edge, silently thinking that this was the exact opposite of the way a royal guard actually worked but refusing to argue with his monarch, especially after such a gracious declaration.

“Do make sure you bring them along when you make your next report, Captain. You are dismissed.”

“YES, SIR.” 

As Asgore turned and walked away, Edge spotted a very brave young possum, Scraps if he remembered correctly (and he always did), clinging to one of King Asgore’s impressive horns. Though the fearsome ruler pretended not to notice his illicit passenger, he proceeded to walk with exceptional care so as not to jostle the tiny creature. He also murmured to Scraps once he believed himself to be out of earshot of the two Captains.

Undyne laid on the floor, gasping for air. When she finally composed herself, she grinned an unsettling toothy grin at Edge. “The big softy,” she commented, and she would know since Asgore had adopted her when she was still very young. “He hasn’t looked at another creature like that since I graduated from stripes!”

----------

From the moment Red stepped across the threshold into Grillby’s restaurant, he could feel the purple fire elemental’s seething ire. His hunger overpowered what dismal common sense he possessed, so he sauntered up to the bar anyway and plopped his bony behind on an empty stool.

Grillby glowered at Red so hard that Red might’ve expected him to burst into flames… if he wasn’t already consumed by them on a daily basis. “Unless you’re here to pay your tab, Red,” growled Grillby, leaving the threat open ended.

Red blinked at the fire elemental with exaggerated innocence. “my bro’s going to pay it when he gets back from guard duty,” he explained. 

The glower and purple flames intensified. “That’s what you said last time,” growled Grillby.

“yeah, but i was lying that time.”

“And are you lying this time?” 

“probably. anyway, can i get a burger and an extra large order of fries?”

The pure audacity of the skeleton in front of him struck Grillby speechless. Before he could recover enough coherent communication skills to tell Red exactly where he could go and what he could do with himself once he got there in extreme graphic detail, eight small possums emerged from Red’s jacket and scurried across the counter to an abandoned plate of fries. The little ones picked up the now-cold fries in their little pink possum hands and nibbled them delicately, eyes half-closed as they savored the flavor.

Any monster who wasn’t as familiar with the expressions of Grillby’s not-quite-face as Red wouldn’t have noticed the agitation giving way and the sharp-edged flames softening. Grillby whirled and entered the kitchen, returning a moment later with a plate of stir-fried vegetables and a small order of fries. He cleared the plate of leftovers from the counter and set the freshly-made dish in front of the hungry baby possums. The possums descended on the food with gusto, making adorable small noises of pleasure as they tasted the gourmet cuisine.

Gloomfanger’s head popped up from the collar of Red’s sweater, and a smile rippled to life in the purple fire of Grillby’s mouth. “This must be the mother. A moment please, m’lady.” Grillby disappeared into the kitchen again and again he returned with a plate of hot fries and a burger with extra vegetables and no bun. He placed this offering in front of Gloomfanger who gave it an investigative sniff before picking it up and eating it like a hairy miniature Red.

Red reached for one of the fries on Gloomfanger’s plate, and Grillby slapped his hand away. “That food is for the mother of this adorable brood, not a degenerate lazybones who doesn’t pay his tab,” snapped Grillby.

“but what about my order?” pouted Red, watching the possum family chirp happily as they enjoyed their meals.

“Your order? Red, you’re lucky I don’t toss your free-loading ass out into the nearest snow poff.” Grillby folded his arms across his chest, but once again hunger outweighed sense when it came to a certain skeleton.

“i brought the possums to visit you though,” Red wheedled. Grillby’s eyes narrowed behind his ever-present (even indoors) sunglasses, or at least, Red assumed that what passed for Grillby’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses based on the low and dangerous tone of his voice. Red couldn’t actually see through the reflective material at all, but he knew Grillby fairly well after so many years of unpaid and antagonistic patronage.

“I suppose.” Grillby drew out the word suppose, letting Red know that he agreed but with extreme reluctance and utmost disdain.

“I might even be willing to forgive your tab provided that you bring these tiny guests to try out a few new recipes that I have in mind for them.” As Grillby spoke, little Trashy, the possum with the violet bandana, waddled up to him and gave his forearm a nuzzle. The tips of Grillby’s flames flushed blue, and he made a quick escape to the kitchen to hide the fire elemental equivalent of a blush.

Thinking that Grillby couldn’t see him from the other room, Red snuck a fry off of Gloomfanger’s plate only to see flames belch from the double doors leading to the cooking area and hear Grillby’s warning growl:

“RED!”

Busted.

----------

Usually, Red left Gloomfanger and her brood at home during his sentry duties, duties that his brother had signed him up for under the pretense of forcing him to “contribute to monster society” though Edge actually feared that without a task or a purpose, Red might fall down as so many other monsters did. Red was actually grateful for his brother’s strong-armed recruitment; it was during one of his sentry patrols that he’d found a massive ornate door hidden away in Snowdin Forest.

Red had knocked upon the door, not expecting an answer. He’d gotten one, though- a reedy female voice calling out the response “Who’s there?” Unable to resist, Red tried out one of his favorite knock-knock jokes.

“wooden shoe.”

A pause.

Then “Wooden shoe who?” spoken by the same female voice.

“wooden shoe like to know.” 

Red knew the monster on the other side of the door couldn’t see him, but he grinned in eager anticipation, waiting for them to get the joke. The voice laughed a moment later, musical laughter that left Red wondering if he should perhaps try another joke.

He knocked again. 

Sometimes he told jokes to the voice behind the door to the Ruins. Sometimes he just talked, passing the time by sharing his life experiences. The voice rarely spoke about itself, though it occasionally described happenings in the Ruins that he might find amusing. Red had a sneaking suspicion that the voice might belong to a certain missing Queen, but he didn’t bring it up, not wanting to upset her and lose his audience for the terrible jokes he thought up in his ample free time. His brother sure didn’t appreciate them!

Red even told the voice behind the door about Gloomfanger and her babies. The voice became demure, asking to meet the little ones and sighing wistfully. Red waited until the baby possums were old enough to make the journey through the frigid forest before bringing them to meet his partner in crimes against comedy. Anastasia had opted to do her civic duty alongside Edge, but the male possums wiggled with excitement at the sight of new surroundings. For the first time since he’d discovered it, the door to the Ruins opened, just a crack, just enough for Red to see a yellow eye peering out, watching the little possums wrestle in the snow.

Rubbish, bright yellow bandana flying like a flag behind him, broke away from his brothers and darted through the open doorway. The Ruins door slammed shut behind him, and Red leapt to his feet in a panic. He pounded on the door, causing echoes to boom through the caverns of the Ruins like subterranean thunder. A sickly sweet singsong voice called out a familiar response.

“Who’s there?” The words left a sinister silence after they were spoken.

“gimme my possum back, lady!” Red was in no mood for knock-knock jokes.

The chiming laughter from behind the door was tinged with madness now. “Give me my possum back who?”

“you,” snarled Red. “you gimme my possum back.”

Nobody answered. Red stood dumbfounded in the snow, Gloomfanger and her six unstolen little ones standing in a half-circle behind him. Unsure what to do next, Red pulled out his phone and called his brother for help.

Beyond the door, Toriel, the missing Queen, scooped Rubbish up and cradled him in her arms. The drowsy baby possum snuggled against her chest, letting her heartbeat lull him to sleep after the exertion or romping with his siblings in the snow. His prehensile tail, bright pink and hairless, curled around her wrist like a living bracelet.

“Let’s go to my house, my child,” the unhinged monster crooned. “I’ll bake you a pie, and you’ll be so happy that you’ll never leave me.”

Neither Gloomfanger nor her children had ever been known to turn down a free meal, so when Toriel deposited the little possum onto her kitchen table and began assembling ingredients, Rubbish tucked his feet underneath him and took a quick nap in the loaf position that he had learned from Doomfanger. Toriel hummed as she baked, and the kitchen became pleasantly warm, though the fragrance of baked goods was nowhere to be found.

When the timer on the oven chimed, Rubbish opened his shiny black eyes, watching Toriel don oven mitts and retrieve the pie. She placed it on the table in front of him. The crust appeared to be made of mud like substance, most likely mud by the smell of it. Snails, stunned by the heat of the oven, recovered themselves and attempted to crawl away from their pie pan prison.

Fortunately, possums regard snails as a delicacy, and Rubbish unfolded himself from his loaf position and trotted across the table to hunt the sluggish creatures. Toriel beamed at him like any proud mother would at a precocious child crunching up all of his snails at dinnertime. After Rubbish had finished his snail snack and groomed his long whiskers, Toriel picked him up and carried him into the den. Sitting in front of the fireplace, she opened a photo album, showing the pictures to Rubbish and describing them one by one.

“This is my first child, Asriel, and my adopted child, a human called Chara. They’re dead now, of course.” Toriel spoke in a cheerful voice despite her macabre words. “This child came along later. I found her in the Ruins, but she’s dead now too. My husband killed her, you know. I decided to move to the Ruins to make sure no other young ones would meet the same fate, but they all do, my child. They all do. All my children leave me no matter what I do to stop them.” Toriel stroked the pages of the photo album wistfully, lost in memory. Rubbish put his small pink paw over her hand as if consoling her.

“I even tried training my children so that they would be strong enough to defeat my husband and escape,” Toriel whispered conspiratorially. “Alas, that child also died.” Toriel remembered the scorch marks, all that remained of that particular child, and how long it had taken to scrub them from the cobblestones of the Ruins. No need to worry her newly adopted possum with that detail. Rubbish would not ever leave. She would see to that. Doors weren’t only for keeping unwanted visitors out…

Outside, in Snowdin Forest, the skeleton brothers sent flurries of futile bone attacks smashing into the door to the Ruins. They even summoned their Gast Blasters with equally nonexistent results. These doors were meant to stay closed, and stay closed they did. Gloomfanger was equal parts unimpressed by Red and Edge’s magic and dauntless when it came to recovering her lost little one.

Assembling her seven tiny troops, Gloomfanger walked right up to the heavy doors, gave them a precursory sniff, and began to dig. The possum excavated the frozen ground like a piece of heavy construction equipment being expertly operated by a seasoned professional, and her babies pushed the freshly turned soil out of the way to make room for more. In a matter of minutes, Gloomfanger and her brood had disappeared into the tunnel under the door on their rescue mission, leaving the skeleton brothers standing slack-jawed with amazement in the forest behind them.

When she emerged in the Ruins, Gloomfanger shook the loose dirt from her coarse salt-and-pepper fur. She helped each of her seven babies out of the tunnel, giving them a quick grooming as well. Once all eight possums were suitably presentable, they stormed the proverbial castle, seeking out the Queen who had possum-napped Rubbish.

Toriel faced down the mother possum who had entered her home, seven small soldiers trailing behind her; the former Queen was not a monster to be trifled with. Gloomfanger’s tail shot straight up in the air, she opened her jaws- a pink cavern lined with needle teeth like white stalactites- and emitted an unearthly screech. Rubbish waddled over to her, and she calmed down, chattering at him and checking him for injuries or poor grooming. Toriel’s face softened. She recognized a distraught mother when she saw one.

Toriel backed away, resigning herself to losing this latest adopted child as well. Gloomfanger darted in front of her, meeting dejected yellow eyes with her own glittering black gaze. She clicked her teeth at Toriel, then led her entire brood of baby possums over to climb on the goat monster’s robes. Toriel shuffled to her armchair, and the parade of possums followed.

When Toriel brought out her photo album, every single possum found a perch on her lap or shoulders (with Rubbish in the seat of honor atop her head) and basked in the dancing light and comforting warmth of the fire. Toriel poured her heartache out to the animals, and they listened with quiet compassion. Finally, the Queen closed her book and sighed.

“So you see, my children, you must stay with me,” she explained gently. Gloomfanger lifted her head and chuffed. As Gloomfanger rose from her seat, her brood of baby possums followed. Gloomfanger led them single file to the tunnel under the door, the tunnel that led out of the Ruins, out of Toriel’s life, and into the forest which had claimed so many of her charges.

“No,” begged Toriel. “If you leave me, I’ll be alone.”

Gloomfanger tilted her head in the universal animal sign of confusion, then vanished into the tunnel, followed by her little ones.

Toriel returned to her empty house, numb. She had not stopped Gloomfanger because Rubbish and his siblings were her rightful children, yet their loss left Toriel cold and empty, just like her house. Toriel extinguished the fire, preferring to sit in the encompassing darkness, the shadows wrapping her like a shroud while she wept. Everyone always left her in the end, and boss monsters did not fall down. She would exist in this misery and loneliness until time forgot her as the rest of monsterkind had.

The next day, despite Red’s disapproval, Gloomfanger and the Gloomy brigade tagged along with him to his sentry station. Red sat on the bench with a meaningful look at the possum, but she kept waddling along, babies in tow, towards the door to the Ruins. Red hurried after them just in time to see them entering the tunnel. Red shouted after them, but the last tiny pink tail tip had already disappeared from sight.

Toriel snapped out of her cataonic depression when she felt tiny paws patting at her legs. Nine angular faces stared up at her. She leapt from her chair and headed to the kitchen to prepare her children one of her famous pies. She referred to it as Butterscotch Pie, but Gloomfanger and her babies knew snails when they smelled them… not that they minded. After wolfing down as many snails as nine eternally hungry possums could eat, the visitors followed Toriel into her den to enjoy the fire and listen to the tragic stories that accompanied the appearance of the photo album.

Once more, Gloomfanger and her babies returned home to the skeleton brothers’ house in Snowdin, and once more, Toriel despaired. The pattern continued for weeks. Toriel’s nerves frayed. Each time the possum and her brood left the Ruins, the missing Queen believed that they would never return, yet they did. As time passed, Toriel began to expect the visits. At first her mind anticipated the visits with the bleak notion that surely they would stop at some point. Eventually, she was able to look forward to seeing her small, furry children without the nagging doubts.

One day, during the photos-and-bereavement session, Gloomfanger pointedly knocked the photo album to the floor. She waited, with her babies behind her until Toriel stooped to pick it up then waddled very slowly toward the tunnel that the possums used to travel between the Ruins and the forest. Curious, Toriel followed them, and this time, the baby possums trailed behind her instead of their mother.

When Gloomfanger reached the tunnel, she stopped. Toriel stopped too and stared at the possum. Gloomfanger turned to the giant door with its elaborate embellishments, puffed out her fur and hissed at it. Toriel and the young possums stood in contemplative silence for a moment. “What are you trying to tell me, my child?” Toriel finally asked, though she already suspected what the possum’s intentions might be.

Gloomfanger headbutted the door.

“You believe that I should leave the Ruins and return to a life amongst other monsters,” Toriel stated uneasily. It wasn’t a question, but Gloomfanger answered with an encouraging chirp anyway.

Toriel turned her attention to the photo album clutched in her hands. She had fled to the Ruins to escape from grief and loss, but heartache pursued her, even here. Isolation had done her no favors.

“I can’t face them,” she explained, voicing her fears aloud for perhaps the first time ever. “I can’t bear their pity or their heartless violence.” After spending so long convincing herself that constant abandonment and endless longing were her punishments for her failures as a mother, she did not know how to think differently. Gloomfanger, ever the wise and perceptive possum, trotted over and nuzzled Toriel’s leg.

Toriel’s troubled mind spun. She could choose. She could choose to hold on to her losses, to martyr herself by suffering alone until that torment consumed everything she ever was or dreamed to be, or she could choose to let go. She could choose to move forward. She could reintegrate herself into monster society. She could risk heartbreak, but she could also regain companionship to balance it.

Gloomfanger waited. Slowly, hesitantly, Toriel laid her photo album down on the smooth, familiar stones, giving the faded cover one last caress, then the goat monster faced the door, pushed it open with conviction, and stepped out into the cold Snowdin Forest sunlight.

Hope can be found in the unlikeliest places and in the most unusual forms. Some hold hope deep inside of them where it can never be lost or broken, and some look for it all of their lives without realizing that it's right there in front of them. The monsters of the Underfell Underground lacked all hope, inward and outward, until it arrived in the form of an unkempt, garbage-eating possum named Gloomfanger.

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[dark-wicked-marvel-fics]

A Warriors Defeat

Warnings! Heavy Non-con and Dub-con (it kind of switches back and forth), magical roofies, loss of control, very dark Loki. If rape offends or triggers you please don’t read this. 

Blurb! You mistakenly decide you are strong enough to capture Loki alone, aware he has set a trap for you. He doesn’t want to just beat you, he knows exactly how to break you. 

 It was most likely a trap, in fact it clearly was. An anonymous tip-off from a ‘civilian’ who had spotted the God of Mischief, an address in Manhattan. Loki had been known to frequent Earth, causing havoc where he could, destroying lives wherever possible. The Avengers had fought him many times now, sometimes winning but never quite defeating him. You had faced of against him with the team and had infuriatingly never managed to defeat him.  Well that ended today, because trap or not, you were going to that address and you were going to annihilate the bastard. You should have waited for back-up but there was a scar along your hip that the god had gifted you in your last fight against him and you wanted to repay him for it.

 Call it hubris, call it stupidity, it didn’t matter. You went alone, racing to the address for the penthouse he was supposedly holed up in, breaking down the door with one swift kick.

 “You came.”

 Loki’s voice slithered through the darkness, stating the obvious. Clutching a dagger in both hands you narrowed your eyes and searched the decedent apartment for him, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the lavish and gaudy décor. The large ornate fireplace burned with green flames, casting an eerie glow about the place. The sharp scent of rich incense wafted through the air, tickling at your sinuses. Black marble floors that echoed every step you took, golden gauzy curtains that fluttered along the open balcony doors, your shadow painted on emerald green walls… It was all as over the top and dramatic as he was.

 “Of course I came, how could I resist your invitation?” You hissed.

“You couldn’t. We both know that you can not resist me, that you would rush here alone, determined to be the one to finally take me down. It’s been there since the beginning, this pull between us, has it not? This desire to do bodily harm.”

 “Do you have a crush on me Loki?” You mocked, turning slowly as you tried to figure out where his voice was coming from.

 His laughter echoed around you, sending a shiver down your spine.

 “A crush. Such paltry things are beneath me, as you will soon be.”

 “You’re even more insane than I thought if you really believe that’s possible.” You snarled, your stomach churning at the very notion.

 “Insane, yes, but I am not foolish. You however… I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming here, so hellbent on destroying me that you still haven’t even realised that you are the one who is going to be destroyed.”

 The shadows behind you moved, the hair on the back of your neck prickling and on instinct you moved. You spun around with superhuman speed, the tail of your coat fanning out behind you. Even as he appeared you were poised to strike, your dagger at his throat before your eyes had even adjusted to his presence.

 And then you just… stopped. Held in stasis, your blade against his neck.

 “But it will not be your body that is destroyed, not yet, not until you beg for it. It is your mind that will break and bend to my will, it has already begun.”

 He wasn’t afraid, he barely glanced at the dagger. His eyes brimmed over with malicious amusement and his lips twisted up into a vicious smirk. He was a like a dark angel, terrifying and beautiful in equal measure.

 Wait, beautiful? You had never though of him as beautiful before. Of course he wasn’t ugly, objectively speaking, but you had never been objective when it came to Loki. His looks were insignificant because he was dangerous and evil. So why now were you realising just how stunning he was? And why had you never admitted it sooner?

 He calmly placed the tip of his finger against your wrist and guided it away, removing the dagger from his throat. You let him.

 “I haven’t been a gracious host, allow me to take your coat.” He said pleasantly, neatly stepping behind you.

 You felt his hands on your shoulders as he slid the coat down your arms, tugging it off and tossing it aside. It landed in a heap, the bright Avengers symbol that was sewn in above the right breast pocket drawing your eye. It seemed to be mocking you.

 “Breath deeply my pet, let the magic run through you and strip away that pesky free will.” He whispered, running his hands across your waist.

 “No.” You gasped.

 The incense. It was some kind of spell, something that was infecting your mind. You grit your teeth and held your breath, fighting desperately against his influence. You just needed to break through for a second, long enough to plunge your dagger into his chest and… and…

 His hand slithered across your stomach, fingers trailing along your waistband. Icy tendrils of fear wrapped themselves around your heart, squeezing it. You knew now what Loki had planned for you, what would happen if you didn’t find a way to fight back.

 “Breathe.” He ordered, lips ghosting across your neck in tandem with the rapid descent of his hand.

 He cupped your groin, your mound resting easily in the palm of his hand and you instinctually gasped, little tremors of pleasure running through your body.

 “Loki.” You whimpered softly, what had meant to be a hateful warning coming out a needy beg.

 “Yes, that’s it little pet.”

 He tugged the dagger from your limp fingers, inspecting it thoughtfully before he looked you in the eyes, grinning at the last vestiges of defiance in them. You wanted to scream as he traced the tip of your own dagger across your cleavage, the cool metal almost a balm to your burning skin.

 “Before you are completely lost to this spell I want you to know what is going to happen to you my pet.” He taunted, slicing through your shirt with the dagger and tearing the material from your shoulder, discarding it on the ground.

 “I am going to ravage you and you are going to let me. You will beg for me, beg for my touch like the pathetic little whore you are.” He hissed, trailing the dagger back up your stomach and between your breasts, cutting through the front of your bra.

 The already stiff peaks of your nipples hardened even more in the cool air as you were bared to him and his ravenous gaze, his eyes hungrily drinking in the sight.

 “I am going to crawl between those luscious thighs of yours when you spread them open for me and I will fuck you, like only a god can. I, Loki, who you despise so much will claim your body and fill you with my seed.” He snarled, teasing your nipples with your dagger.

 You had faced off against all manner of threats, fighting against monsters and aliens, and you had never been afraid. You had left all your weakness and humanity behind years ago when you were injected with a knock-off super soldier serum that had against all odds worked. You were a trained warrior, a super-hero. But as you stood helpless in front of him, hearing his wicked promise of what would happen to you, you felt like a scared little girl.

 You wanted to tell him to fuck off, to scream and rage and kill him but what you did was whimper softly and arch your back, presenting yourself to him. He made a low hum of appreciation in the back of his throat and you hear the dagger clatter to the ground.

 “You’re slipping pet, you’re almost there.”

 You knew he was telling the truth, you knew it by the growing heat in your blood, the distant ache in your pussy. Your mind was utterly repulsed by what was happening, by the knowledge that Loki’s cock would soon be inside you but that same thought was what was making you wet, you slick starting to seep through your panties. He wasn’t mortal, he would fuck you like you had never been fucked before.

 You weren’t worthy of being fucked by a god, but you were so so lucky that he had chosen you.

 “No!” You managed to spit out, trying to remind your infected brain that you hated him, you weren’t lucky to be raped.

 “What was that?” He asked, amused by your pathetic attempts at fighting.

 “N…nn…o.” You stammered.

 He didn’t answer with words, only with a salacious smirk. His eyes slowly trailed down your body and he circled you like a vulture, coming to stand behind you, his cold lips brushing against your ear, his breath tickling your hair when he spoke.  

 “Tell me how much you don’t want this.”

 His hands slithered over your skin, pulling the remains of your tattered bra from you, tearing into the material of your trousers. You didn’t fight, in fact you helped, moving robotically to wiggle your hips and rid yourself of the pesky material that was covering you, kicking your shoes off. His fingers lightly traced the scar on your hip and he chuckled as he remembered the day he had given it to you.

 “I don’t hear you.” He hissed lowly in your ear, taunting you for losing control over your voice.

 Your entire body was held captive by him, submitting to his will. Only your mind knew this was wrong, only your mind argued against it as he slid his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, teasing the soft curls that lay beneath.

 His finger slid between your lips, delving between your fold and discovering the ample wetness there. Shame, fear, embarrassment and loathing burned through you but they were all shoved aside when he inserted two fingers inside you, without care or tenderness. You were dripping, gushing, wetter than you had ever been as the torture truly began in earnest and your worst enemy laughed at the deep throated moans of pleasure spilling from your throat as he fingered your cunt.

 “Yes! Oh god yes!” You whimpered, spreading your legs and leaning back on him.

 His withdrew from you and snatched at your waist, his fingers digging into your hips as he used his hold on you to spin you around, your bare chest slamming into his. Even through his clothes you could feel his body, and it felt good. Your eyelashes fluttered as your eyes rolled back in your head, the sensation too much for you to take. When you opened your eyes again, it was to see him smiling down at you and the green embers of the fire flicker dangerously before they abruptly died out and reverted orange and yellow flames, the magic complete.

 You smiled back.

 “There we are.” He cooed, his voice like velvet.

 “Loki” You whispered breathlessly, his name like a prayer on your lips.  

 Caught in the devils heated gaze and victim to his razor sharp smile, if you believed you had a soul then you would tear your body apart to retrieve it and gift it to him. The god before you had made a believer and a sinner of you in one fell swoop, he could not have more thoroughly owned your heart if he had carved it from your chest and held it in his hands. All you had ever been, all you were was lashed away and in the bleeding wounds left behind, all that remained was what you would be.

 His.

 A whisper in the back of your mind tried to fight through the walls he had put up, tried to remind you to whom you really belonged, but it was washed away by another crashing wave of false lust.

 “Tell me who you belong to,” He ordered confidentially, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

 “You, My God, you,” Your own voice answered, filled with surety.

 “Then kiss me, my faithful acolyte, come and kiss your god.” He demanded.

 You gladly obeyed, surging up with towards his gorgeous mouth. Your lips crashed into his with frenzied hunger, and grateful devotion. His lips were cold but his kiss was not, his kiss was like fire. You lost yourself in it, in him. Your entire world narrowed down to the feel of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, the taste of blood in your mouth, his tongue claiming your mouth. You hands tugged helplessly at his clothes, fuelled by the overwhelming desire to feel his bare skin against yours. You needed him, if you didn’t have him then you would just die.

 “Please, please my god, please.” You whimpered into his mouth, your needy little please being eagerly drunk down by him.

 You felt lightheaded from lack of oxygen, high from his presence. Reality swam out of reach and you found yourself in a wonderful fuzzy kind of world instead, one where flashes of green blinded you, his clothes disappearing under your fingers and his cold marble like skin pressed against your overly warm flesh. It was all divine, too divine for words. You were utterly bespelled by him, completely lost in at all. It was like you were drunk, or high. You didn’t know when you had lost your panties, or how, you didn’t notice they were gone until his thigh found its way between your legs and you shamelessly ground yourself against him, riding his thigh as he laughed at your eagerness. You didn’t want foreplay, you didn’t need it. What you needed was to be consumed, obliterated, taken over and fucked by him and only him.

 When you felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees you happily let him push you down onto the mattress, scrabbling backwards until you were laid out in front of him in the hope he would take the invitation.

 He stood at the foot of the bed, his pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight. His eyes glittered with satisfaction, his grin so feral his teeth were bared. Dark hair fanned out over his shoulders, like tendrils of ink caressing his skin. You whimpered as your eyes drifted down, across his toned chest and stomach, your gaze following the dark trail that started under his bellybutton and led down to his groin. He was even more blessed than you had expected from a god. You didn’t even think as your legs fell open whoreishly, spread for him.

 “And there it is, the beginning and end of your fall from grace.” He growled, climbing onto the bed and crawling along your body.

 Your hands automatically reached for him, drawing him into you arms like he was a cherished lover as he settled between your quivering thighs. His words didn’t make sense, and it didn’t matter, you were so close to what you needed.

 The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, a promise of the pain and pleasure that was about to follow. His fingers dug harshly into your skin, surely leaving patterns of bruises along your thigh as he held your legs wide open for him. The tip of him slid easily inside you, aided by your wetness. He was barely an inch sheathed inside you, moans spilling from your lips and bleeding into the night air when he pulled back out, a dark chuckle rumbling from his lips when you whimpered.

 “Fuck me, please, my prince, my god, my Loki, take me.” You sobbed, desperate for the aching emptiness in your cunt to be filled by him and only him.

 You repeated the plea over and over again shamelessly, until he slammed his hips forward and speared you with one swift and painful thrust. You screamed in agony, sure he had ripped you apart, and you absolutely relished in it. He was buried so deep inside you that there was no room left for anything else, no room for air in your lungs. You were stretched wide, his girth almost too much for your fragile body to bear.

 “So responsive, I wonder…” He mused, reaching between your bodies to lightly brush his fingers across your swollen clit.

 The primal shriek of pleasure that his action drew from you was inhuman.

 “Only true pleasure can wash away the effects of the potion. Once you have what it makes you want, the spell fades.” He whispered wickedly, pressing his fingers down and using them to push you over the edge.

 Your cunt pulsated around his cock as the searing orgasm burned through your blood. It felt like it lasted for eternity, the pleasure fed by the burn between your thighs and the almost unbearable fullness inside you. Your orgasm raged, forcing wave after wave of spine bending ecstasy through you, and with every wave the magic that made you compliant was washed away. When the pleasure died from a raging inferno to a smouldering blaze you were once again in your own mind, while Loki was buried deep inside you.

 “Welcome back.” He whispered in your ear, teeth nipping at your earlobe.

 “No.” You gasped breathlessly.

 His cruelty knew no limits. He had tortured you with the knowledge of how you would be used, and then he had woken you up to bear witness to your desecration when it was too late to stop it. You were already trapped beneath him, spread wide open and impaled on his cock.

 “Oh yes.” He chuckled, grabbing your wrists as you tried to push him away, tried to save yourself.

 He pinned your hands above your head and rested his forehead against yours, forcing you to look into his eyes.

 “Such sweet screams of pleasure, how sweet will your cries of horror be? I have had your compliance, now give me your defiance.” He ordered, releasing his hold on your wrists.

 An unwilling gasp was ripped from your lungs as he pulled out of you almost all the way, caressing every sensitive and tender spot inside you as he withdrew. Against your better instinct you looked between your legs and froze at the sight of his cock glistening with your juices sliding from you. The spell was still lingering in your blood because it still felt good, it still felt divine.

 “Fight me.” He growled.

 “Fight me, or I will fuck you until your body breaks.” He warned when you didn’t move.

 You met his eye, terror coursing through your veins. He had already laid you bare, forced his way inside you and even made you beg for it, made you scream his name in pleasure. You had already been violated, how much more could you take? You tried to sit up, tried to scramble backward and free yourself from him but he only laughed at your pathetic attempts. The palm of your hand connected with his cheek, your nails raking across his face and drawing blood. He hissed, but not in pain. His eyes fluttered closed, dark eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and for a very brief second you thought how beautiful he looked. Like a work of art carved from marble, a depiction of the devil himself given life by Michelangelo.

 And then his fingers closed around your throat and you were pushed back onto the bed as he slammed his hips forward, thrusting back inside you, your breasts bouncing with the force of it. The only thing that stopped you screaming was his fingers on your throat. He squeezed tightly, nearly crushing your windpipe before he abruptly loosened his grip and let you breath. You gasped and coughed, trying to force some oxygen into your lungs but he didn’t seem to care. A drop of blood dribbled down his face, splashing onto your chest and it unlocked something feral in him. His pupils dilated as he watched it fall, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he growled, the sound animalistic and horrifying. His fingers tightened again and  choked the life out of you as he fucked the hope from you. Every thrust of his hips shredded another little piece of your soul, every inch of his cock inside you chipping away at your sanity.

 You were still wet from the forced orgasm so he met no resistance as he slammed into you but god, it still hurt. Every time his body met yours the slapping of skin made you wince, followed shorty by a sob of pain as his head brushed into your cervix. There was no rest, no respite from his brutal and unflinching pace. You tried to struggle, tried to push him away, your nails carving lines into his arms as you fought, but it only spurred him on. For every miniscule drop of blood you drew he grew more frenzied. His fingers alternated between squeezing and loosening just enough to let you draw in a single breath, keeping you on the precipice of unconscious. He didn’t even have enough mercy to let you pass out.

 “Is this not what you craved all along? The freedom to give in to your deepest desires without having to bear the burden of the guilt?” He hissed, releasing his hold on your throat in favour of wrapping his fingers around your hair and forcing your head up so you were forced to watch the way his cock slammed into you over and over again.

 It wasn’t what you wanted, you wanted no part of this, and if your pussy was still gushing it was because of the magic. Your legs wrapped themselves around his waist because you were under his influence, not because you loved the way he moved inside of you. Your hands slid up his arms because you weren’t in control, not because you were a willing slave to his cock. Your nails dug into his shoulders because you were spelled, not because he was working your body like a finely tuned instrument. You moaned his name because he had forced you, not because you fucking loved the way he slammed into you.

 “I hate you, you monster.” You sobbed, holding on for dear life as he pistoned in and out of you.

 “Oh I am a monster, and you may hate me but you don’t hate this.” He mocked, his point illustrated by the obscene squelching coming from where your bodies joined.

 Your head thumped back onto the pillow as the will to fight completely drained out of you. He was right, your body didn’t hate this and fighting against both him and yourself was too much. You gave in, squeezing your eyes closed and trying to pretend this wasn’t happening. You tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t him between your legs, wasn’t him buried deep inside you, wasn’t his mouth on your throat, wasn’t his teeth grazing and nipping at your flesh, wasn’t his hand squeezing your breasts, wasn’t his fingers pinching your nipples. Your body jolted, your hips being driven down into the mattress with every thrust and you knew if you were anything less than a super-soldier then he would have broken you by now, mangled your body.

 Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes, sliding down your face and into your sweat soaked hair when you felt that pressure in your groin begin to build again. He was going to force another orgasm from your abused body, and this time there would be no magic to lay the blame on.

 “Please, please don’t do this.” You whispered, broken from a strong warrior to a pathetic whimpering mess.        

 But even as you begged him to stop, your hips rose up to meet him, chasing the mind bending pleasure only he could provide. You had never felt like this, never had your body held so carefully between pain and pleasure. It was killing you inside, but it felt so good, it felt so right. You were torn apart, scattered in all directions, coming apart at the seams and though it was his fault, you clung onto him in the hope he could somehow put you back together.

 “Have I finally broken you, pet?” He chuckled as your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers entwining themselves in his hair.

 You opened your eyes, your desperately sad gaze meeting his victorious one and you nodded, finally admitting defeat. He grinned savagely, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you close as he sat up, settling back on his heels so you were straddling him.

 “Then prove it, and perhaps I will show you mercy.”

 You couldn’t have hesitated if you wanted to, your hips were already moving, sliding up and down on his cock of your own free will, chasing the delightful friction of having him inside you. The last vestiges of shame were wiped away as you fucked him, your thighs working overtime as you lifted your body up and back down, impaling yourself on him with reckless abandon. He kept his arm around your wrist, supporting you as he helped you move, drove your pace form fast and hard to superhuman.

 Every tender and sensitive spot inside you was massaged with every thrust, your clit dragging over his groin every time you sunk down on him and it all quickly overwhelmed you, propelling you to the point of orgasm.

 “Don’t forget to scream for me.” Loki warned, just as you approached the edge of oblivion.

 Just before you toppled over there was an almighty crashing sound and you looked over Loki’s shoulder, your eyes immediately meeting the shocked ones of Steve Rogers as he stood in the doorway, shield raised high.

 And then your vision went white as you came, unable to fight it off, your body convulsing in Loki’s arms as you screamed his name over and over again. Your second orgasm blew your first out of the water, your cunt convulsing almost violently around him and your spine almost breaking from how far back you arched it. His teeth sank into your shoulder, drawing blood as his cock twitched inside you, his seed filling you. It lasted an eternity, a glorious eternity, and when your soul returned to your body you collapsed back onto the pillows, completely spent.

 It wasn’t until Loki spoke you even remembered you weren’t alone.

 “My apologies Captain, I know she belonged to you but I don’t think she does anymore.” Loki drawled wickedly, his eyes glittering with mirth as he stretched his body alongside yours, draping his arm over you possessively.

 “Babydoll?” Steve whispered, finally finding his voice, calling out for you desperately, hoping what his eyes were showing him was some kind of trick.

 “Tell him who you belong to now, pet.” Loki hissed in your ear, loud enough for Steve to hear.

 You blinked back tears, too ashamed to even look at the man you supposedly loved, choosing instead to look at Loki. He wasn’t giving you a choice, not really. And you were thankful for it.

 “Loki, I belong with Loki.” 

Note - If you feel up to it, please like or reblog, or leave a comment (anon messages are switched on if needed). I'm still very nervous about posting these kinds of works and am trying very hard to resist the urge to flee into the night, never to be seen again. 

[ozai-the-bonsai]

Ghost In The Dark (Valtor x OC)

Link to Chapter 2:

Time Line: Chapter 3 is set a few days before Tecna closes the portal connecting Androd and the Omega Dimension

Rating: M

Warnings for Chapter 3: Sexual content. Strong sexual content. The whole chapter itself is nothing but sexual content. 

*3* Inflaming Past Feelings

(Word Count: 2585)

The moment Valtor’s lips met her skin, Hel instinctually threw her head back to expose her neck as she closed her eyes. Her lips were pressed against each other to avoid any sound from escaping. Valtor pulled Hel more to himself and chuckled against her neck as he felt Hel spreading her legs open so that there would be little to no distance left between their bodies.

“So eager already, hmm?”

As Valtor was moving his lips down with each, long kiss, Hel wrapped her right hand around his neck and placed the left one on the desk, holding from its edge. For a few moments, the only sounds inside the headmistress’ office were Hel’s deep breaths and the sound Valtor’s lips were making after each kiss, until Valtor playfully bit Hel’s neck. As a soft moan escaped Hel’s lips, a smirk formed on Valtor’s lips; however, he was very well aware that Hel’s moans weren’t helping him in the slightest. On the contrary, the moment he heard that soft sound coming out of her lips, his control over his body completely vanished.

Slowly, Valtor’s lips moved onto her collarbone and then left a trail of kisses right above her breasts, which caused Hel’s breaths to get heavier and heavier. After reaching her left collarbone, Valtor broke the contact between his lips and Hel’s skin and pulled his head back to look at her. Hel’s eyes immediately opened “Enough heat to warm you up?” he asked with a deep voice while withdrawing his both hands, which were holding her waist under her silver-coloured tank top “Your skin doesn’t feel much cold anymore.”

Hel watched Valtor’s movements with wide eyes as he walked in front of the window. I haven’t even got the chance to touch him and he is already walking away? She thought while she shook herself and fixed her hair. She was sure that the spot on her neck, which Valtor had bitten, was going to take an ugly shade of purple soon. I hate it that he knows exactly how to make me beg for him.

I know I shouldn’t give him that satisfaction but I cannot help myself… I want him so fucking much.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Valtor asked with a playful tone and turned back to face the dark haired woman upon feeling her eyes on himself “Is there something you want?”

Without replying, Hel walked towards him with strong steps; however, before she could throw her arms around his shoulders and pull him into a kiss, Valtor stopped her in her tracks and shook his head “No, Hel.” he said and leaned into her, his voice became a seductive whisper “Say it. Ask for it.”

Hel licked her lower lip with an annoyed look in her eyes “I cannot believe I’ve fallen for this trick, again.”

The edge of Valtor’s lip curled upwards as he stepped to the side and leaned the wall behind him “Well, some things never change, do they?” he said “You were never able to resist me back in the old days, and still, you cannot.” That time, Hel was probably planning to hit his arm when she reached for him; however, Valtor was determined not to let her touch him unless she asked for it, hence he simply pushed her hands away. The sorcerer clicked his tongue “What have I told you just now, love?”

The dark haired woman rolled her eyes “Whatever,” she muttered under her breath and took two large steps towards Valtor and then stood on her fingertips to minimise the obvious height difference “I want you, Valtor.” she whispered against his lips in an extremely seductive manner, which was what Valtor had been waiting for all along. As soon as his eyes moved down to Hel’s lips, he held her from the hips, pulled against himself and crashed his lips into hers.

The moment their lips met, both of them shivered as if they had been shocked. Hel wrapped her arms around Valtor’s neck while their lips moved in a synchronised way, hungrily kissing each other.

Since Hel wasn’t wearing her high-heeled shoes, the height difference between the two was becoming rather a problem, hence Valtor lifted her into the air while Hel wrapped her legs around his waist. The next moment she felt the cold wall against her skin.

As Valtor’s tongue slid into Hel’s mouth, he pressed his body harder against hers, which caused her to feel his bulge against her very inner thigh, eventually leading her to moan into his mouth. Valtor broke the kiss for a moment “Don’t do that,” he spoke with a husky voice, he was meaning her moaning into the kiss “You know how much it affects me.”

“You are making me do that,” Hel said as she raised an eyebrow at him and in the blink of an eye, she got rid of his purple vest, throwing it onto the floor “All those layers of clothes… I don’t want them.”

Valtor carried her to the desk while he whispered in her ear “What do you want, then?” he asked and put her onto the desk, he was standing in front of her.

Hel spread her legs so that Valtor could stand as close to her as possible. Then, she began to unbutton his shirt “I want to feel your skin against mine,” she responded. After pushing the unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, Hel moved her hands on his muscular chest.

“Come here,” Valtor almost groaned the words against Hel’s skin as he pressed his lips against hers once again. While the two were kissing each other passionately, Valtor’s right hand slid under Hel’s tank top and grabbed her breast, slowly moving his thumb over her already hardened nipple. As a response, Hel took his lower lip between her teeth and sucked on it. Her hands left Valtor’s chest; the left one was wrapped around his neck whereas the right hand was resting on his back. Slowly, Hel began to move her palm on the muscles at his back.

The more she touched his body, the more she realised how much she had missed him. At that moment, Hel didn’t even feel angry with Valtor for leaving her behind in the Omega Dimension –on the contrary, she felt the resurfacing of the love which had been buried in her dark and frozen heart.

The relationship between Hel and Valtor had always been a complicated one for beneath the lust and the passion lied a dark and twisted love. It was hard to observe and even harder to feel; however, Valtor had his own way of showing his love. He loved Hel in his own, wicked and twisted way, which had always made Hel feel kind of special –after all, it wasn’t easy melting the heart of a creature as evil as Valtor.

Compared to him, Hel had always been softer and more fragile when it came to the matters of the heart. The reason was her childhood: she had lost her parents at a very young age and had grown up in an orphanage until she began to attend the Cloud Tower. Growing up in the absence of love, Hel had created walls of ice around her heart to hide the broken and sensitive girl from the world.

So when she had put down her icy walls for Valtor, what he encountered there had been no one other than a little girl who needed nothing but his love.

Hel’s lips slowly moved to Valtor’s neck and as she left sweet kisses here and there, she stood up from the desk and made them turn so that Valtor was leaning the desk now. Not letting him speak, Hel stood on her fingertips to capture his mouth while her hands wandered down and down until reaching his belt.

Her skin doesn’t feel that cold anymore, Valtor thought as his hands wandered on Hel’s curves. It’s just like the way I remember.

After unbuckling his belt, Hel pulled down both his trousers and his underwear, freeing his erection from the layers of fabric. While she kneeled in front of him, Valtor’s hands left her body, only to hold the desk behind him. As Hel began to move her right hand back and forth on his member, Valtor’s breaths became deeper and deeper.

Hel knew very well from her previous experiences that Valtor wouldn’t let her take the lead for long, hence she intended to use that time being to remind Valtor how much of an effect she had him when she wanted.

Still holding his erection with her right hand, Hel began to lick his length, leaving wet traces. However, she was keeping her movements intentionally slow so that she’d drive Valtor crazy. Upon understanding that, Valtor spoke with a deep voice, which caused Hel to look into his eyes while her tongue was still moving “Hel, stop teasing me.”

The dark haired woman chuckled as she pulled her head a little bit back and once again began to pump her hand, she was still keeping the pace painfully slow “But that’s where the fun lies, darling.” she said and wrapped her mouth around the tip of his cock. While her tongue circled its tip inside her mouth, Valtor tried to push his full length in, which caused Hel’s lips to leave his member. She clicked her tongue “Patience, darling.”

Seeing the lust and the eagerness inside his grey eyes was enough to make Hel forget about the fact that she, once again, had been the one to admit defeat “Fuck patience,” Valtor muttered. Letting out a soft laughter, Hel took his member into her mouth and even though her movements were still slow, she had taken his most of length, which had caused a groan to emerge from Valtor’s throat.

As Hel began to pick up the pace, Valtor’s left hand found its way into her hair, his deep breaths were gradually turning into silent groans. When she was sure she could control her gagging reflex, she took all of him in her mouth and a considerably loud groan escaped Valtor’s lips.

Of course, hearing him groan had only increased the throbbing between Hel’s legs –she could easily feel that she saw literally soaking wet.

Since she didn’t want to bring him so close to the edge so soon, after a while Hel pulled herself back and slowly stood up. She raised an eyebrow upon hearing Valtor chuckle “Your hair got messy,” he told her and with a swift movement, he took off her silver-coloured tank top “As always.”

Hel wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body against his so that he could feel her breasts against his chest “Because your hand gets unnecessarily tangled in there,” she muttered as her shorts also ended up on the floor, too. Valtor turned the dark haired girl inside her arms and lifted her up so that she was on the desk once again.

While his lips closed on top of hers, Valtor’s right hand began to move down. First it cupped Hel’s breast, then it moved lower until reaching her underwear. With faint touches, his thumb moved up and down on the fabric, causing Hel to take a deep breath. Valtor broke the kiss for a moment to speak “You’re fucking wet, Hel.” he whispered and captured her lips again without giving her time to speak, as his fingers slowly slid under her underwear.

The moment his thumb began to circle around her clit, Hel instinctually moaned into the kiss, which made Valtor move his lips to her ear while leaving a trail of sweet kisses on her jaw “What have I told you about doing that?” he whispered with a husky voice.

Everywhere on Hel’s skin which was licked by Valtor’s warm breath felt as if it was burning but in fact it was simply the thirst within Hel –all she wanted, all she needed at that moment was to feel him inside her.

“I cannot…” Hel began to speak but her words were interrupted with a moan escaping her lips as Valtor’s thumb began to move faster “Mm, help it.”

She could still feel Valtor’s warm breath on her skin “Every time you do it, you’re creating a bigger problem for you to fix.” he whispered and then bit her earlobe. Meanwhile, Hel’s right hand slid down from its place on his shoulders and wrapped around Valtor’s erection, slowly pumping it.

Valtor’s lips on Hel’s earlobe moved down onto her nipple and he sucked on it, his thumb still continuing its movement under the last piece of fabric left on her “Then bury the problem in me.” Hel suggested, causing Valtor to chuckle while his mouth moved to the other nipple.

I have always found it amusing that almost every time, she ends up more desperate than I do, Valtor thought as he raised his head on a level with Hel’s once again, his lips leaving her nipple. No matter how hard she plays, the moment I take the lead, she simply melts under my touch.

Hel sent him a questioning look upon feeling that he had stopped rubbing her “If you want the problem in you, you know what you need to do, love.” Valtor spoke as a smirk formed on his lips.

“Are you fucking serious ri…” Hel was speaking when Valtor put two of his fingers inside her and began to move them with enough speed to cause the dark haired woman to throw her head back and moan loudly instead of finishing her words. The movement of her hand around his member had also stopped as well, she withdrew her hand and held onto the desk “Valtor,” Hel let out his name as if it was a moan, causing him to lick his lower lip.

I’m about to reach the ends of my self-control.

The smirk on his lips grew “I’m listening.”

“Just fuck me already.”

As soon as he heard the words leaving her lips, Valtor stopped fingering Hel and quickly took off her underwear. Hel lifted her hips up from the desk in an eager way to help Valtor take off the last piece of fabric on her. Then he adjusted his position between her legs while Hel wrapped her arms around his shoulders. The dark haired woman bit her lower lip upon feeling his tip touching her entrance and nodded quickly when she saw the look inside Valtor’s grey eyes –as always, he was asking whether she was ready. And with that, he slowly thrusted into her.

Both of them inhaled deeply the moment their bodies became a whole. As Valtor picked up the speed, he once again captured Hel’s mouth, eventually leading her to continuously moan into the kiss. However, this time he didn’t complain at all –Hel’s soft cries were bringing him closer to the edge.

“Hel, you still feel so fucking good.” Valtor whispered as he broke the kiss and let out a silent groan.

Hel closed her eyes as she threw her head back “I’ve missed you so damn much, Valtor.” she murmured between moans, which caused an arrogant smirk to form on his lips.

“I know, love.”

And just like that, Hel and Valtor spent the rest of the night together; inflaming past feelings, old passions, and their long-lost love until their bodies were tired to the core but their souls would yet want more.

 And that is the reason why the story is M rated ^-^ I hope you enjoyed it!!

[tumblinglringlring]

Whumptober: Waking Up Restrained

Fandom: The Witcher

Relationship: Eskel/Reader

As you opened your bleary eyes you saw that once again your were hanging from shackles. Below you was the cave floor and if you stretched your legs you could just reach it with your toes. How many days had it been? Three? Four? Rolling your shoulder you heard the clinking of the chains above you and someone-several someone’s- walking in your direction.

No matter how many times you told the witch hunters they wouldn’t believe you that you were, indeed, a female Witcher. No, instead they were convinced you were some sort of demonic sorceress. While you’re Witcher signs were more powerful then your male counter parts, it hardly made you a sorceress. Heck you even had the Cat medallion to prove who you were, but they were certain you were lying and so here you were, being tortured for days on end.

No more, you thought as you heard them get closer. No more will these fuckers hurt anyone. Gathering your remaining energy, you waited until they were close. You were ready for them this time.

————-

As Eskel walking through the forest he glanced up at the night sky and saw the many stars twinkle back at him. Again he was reminded of you, his last love as paused a moment to admire them. It had been so many years ago that the two of you had traveled together, camping under the night sky. After making love to you, you would cuddle up next to him and the two of you would star gaze until one of you fell asleep.

Shaking his head from the memories he continued one to target. The locals had hired him to take care of a wraith problem in the woods and he needed to get there and take care of it before sun up. You had always felt so bad for the wraiths that came into your path. He remembered you never charged a cent for releasing them from this hell on this world. These women who’s souls were trapped and tormented here couldn’t pass on unless some passing Witcher happened to slay their specter.

In fact it was night such as this when you had cuddled up to him, staring at the stars when you asked him that question.

“Do you think we Witcher’s have souls?”

Eskel had never thought about it too long. But he could tell the wraith contract from earlier had been eating at you. He told you did, but secretly he did not. There wasn’t enough human in him to keep a soul and whatever soul he had before the trials was gone - like the Eskel he had been before.

Again he shook his head trying to rid himself of the memories. He had loved you and you both had an agreement that you winter each year at Kaer Morhen, but one winter you didn’t show up. Afterwards he had looked for you but had only heard of brief sightings. It seemed you didn’t want to be found and respected that wish. What the two of you had was over, he just needed to accept that.

A rotten smell on the breeze drew his attention and it led him to body of man. It was mutilated and most definitely from a wraith. Looking for clues he found foot prints and blood and eventually he stumbled upon a trail of bodies that led to cave. After he rifled through the dead men’s pockets he found evidence that they were bandits.

No remorse there.

As he entered the cave, he noted that there were no other animals or creatures here. While that was typical of an area inhabited by wraiths, what was unusual was the old and rotting equipment and furniture inside. Crates, rotten bedrolls and all types of tools were strewn about the area. What’s more was it looked like the walls had been scorched. Following the sooty tendrils towards their center he paused when he saw a chain hanging from the ceiling. Below it was a pile of bones and around it was various torture devices strewn about.

His blood went cold as he approached the center of the room. Clearly the blast had originated in its center right where the bones laid. Suddenly a green glow appeared over them and he instinctually placed Yrden on the ground as he drew his silver sword. The wait in front of him must be powerful, because unlike the others that either wield no weapons or a sword and lantern, this one wielded two swords. Big swords.

Their battle was fierce and Eskel had a few close calls. The wraith was angry and its screeches seemed to echo in the cave as she swung her swords at him. However, he got the upper hand when he had back it into a corner and timed his blows such to ensure she wouldn’t disappear. Eventually she let out on last painful howl before evaporating into thin air and leaving a pile of dust behind.

Panting, Eskel took a moment to catch his breath while he kept his sense open for more in the area but felt none. Scooping up the pile of specter dust into a bag to give the alderman, he took a look around the room. In the corner was a singular cage and he went over to investigate near it. It was an iron cage with a wooden floorboard that had been undamaged in whatever blast wrecked this area. As he stepped inside, one of the boards creaked and he bent down to inspect it. It easily came out and revealed a hand dug hole beneath it. Inside, something glimmered.

Reaching in, he pulled out something hard wrapped in paper with a chain peaking out. Unfurling the paper he paused. It was a Cat medallion. Hurriedly he straightens out the paper and saw familiar handwriting in what was probably soot and blood.

To Whoever Fonds This Note,

I am a Witcher from the School of the Cat and I fear my time here is about to end. I have been captured by witch hunters, thinking I was some sort of evil demon or sorceress. But I am not. I am but a Witcher. One who is sure they will die here.

I have but one wish, please ensure the enclosed medallion is given to the man I love. He is from the School of the Wolf and has the biggest heart. I won’t write his name for fear these hunters find this note, but you will know him for his kind smile and beautiful, deep laughter. Please tell him I love him and that I am sorry I won’t be able to meet his brothers this winter.

E, where ever you are know that I have, and will always, love you.

Forever Yours,

Y/N

By the time he finished the letter Eskel could feel th tears falling down his face. Clutching the medallion to his chest, he turned to look at the pile of bones and walked towards it. Falling to his knees he hesitated a moment before reaching forward. Reverently, he picked up the skull but could not tell if it was hers. However, the pelvis told him it was indeed female. Cradling the skull to his chest, he began to rock back and forth.

“Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he rasped, his voice breaking, “I love you.”

[floatingpetals]

Boys in Blue || Pt. 12

Pairings: cop!Stucky x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff

Word Count: 3900+

Summary: (Cop AU) There was just one crappy thing after enough that happened to her. It possibly couldn’t get any worse, or so she thought until she saw the dreaded flashes of red and blue behind her. Could things get any worse?

A/N: Ayyo! Another part! I think this story is going to be coming to a close here soon, I’m running out of things to write about and want to end on a positive note that isn’t lackluster. I don’t know how many more chapters are left, but it’s not gonna be a whole bunch. That being said, let me know what you think of this chapter! Enjoyy (also I’m on a lot of cold meds so I’m sorry if some of the sentences don’t make sense because it’s hard to think straight right now lol)

The gifs are not mine, credit to the owner.

Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Series Masterlist

“Hey baby girl, do you think is this okay?”

Y/N pause mid swipe of her mascara and glanced back at Bucky. He stood in front of his closet, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down. It was the pretty blue one with little pineapple patterns she bought him a few months back, the top three buttons were undone giving a peak of his chest hair. Tearing her eyes away from the delicious view, her gaze fell on his dark wash jean and his brown suede boots. Y/N’s lips curled up in a smile, finding what was reflected in the mirror was absolutely delicious. She finished her eyelashes before she turned to him.

His face was pulled in a nervous grimace, once again tugging at his sleeve nervously. Crossing the small distance, Y/N reached up and smoothed his collar. Instinctually, his hands settled on her hips to keep her in place.

“Of course it’s okay.” Y/N hummed, pressing a kiss to his chin. “You look good enough to eat if I’m honest.”

Bucky’s cheeks flared to life, a pretty shade of pink spreading across his face. He chuckled low and ducked his chin against his chest. She giggled with and wrapped her arms around his neck, closing the short distance with a searing kiss. She couldn’t stop herself from holding back.

Bucky inhaled sharply and tightened his grip on her waist before he deepened the kiss. A groan bubbled up his chest, warmth spreading up his spine. He nipped at her lower lip, begging for her to open and let him in. When she didn’t, he let out a puff of air through his nose and yanked her hips against his. It made Y/N gasp surprised gasp leaving Bucky to quickly delve in for his prize.

“Hey, Maddie wasn’t to know if it- What are you doing?”

Bucky and Y/N both froze at the disproving tone, their eyes fluttering open as they reluctantly pulled back. They turned their heads slowly to the doorway where Steve was standing. He held his phone in one hand, the other on his hip and a single eyebrow raised.

“Uh.” Y/N mumbled uncertainly.

“Nothing?” Bucky tried.

Steve groaned loudly and let his head fall back.

“We’re not gonna be late to Maddie’s party because you two can’t keep it in your pants for a few hours.” Steve groaned. “I’m not saving you either of you from her wrath when you have to tell her the reason why either.”

“But Stevie!” Bucky whined and reached for Steve, but he was quick to bat his boyfriend's hand away.

“Nope. Break it up. You should have gotten it out last night.” Steve tutted. “And if you didn’t, you’re gonna have to wait for tonight.”

“Oh, so we get a repeat?” Bucky smirked, wagging his eyebrows at the insinuation. Y/N giggled and shook her head while she smacked his chest with the back of her hand. Steve was less than amused and threw his hands up.

“I give up with you.” He grunted and spun around to leave the room. “You two have five minutes and then I’m leaving you here.”

Y/N and Bucky exchanged looks before they burst out into laughter. Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead before he stepped back.

“Come on. We don’t want to keep Grandpa waiting.” He snorted. There was noise from the living room that sounded like a mix of a scoff and an indignant shout.

“I heard that!”

They could hear the kids when they stepped out of the car and Y/N was already mentally preparing herself for the next few hours. Y/N couldn’t see it, but she knew the group of four and five-year-olds were most likely in the backyard with the bounce house. She glanced over her shoulder to Steve and Bucky. Neither looked slightly fazed by the high-pitched screaming coming from Maddie’s backyard. In fact, she’d say they both looked a little excited.

“You two ready for this?” She asked at the door, her hand on the door handle. Bucky beamed and nodded while Steve laughed at his eagerness.

“You make it sound like we’re walking to our deaths.” He snorted. Y/N raised a brow, smirking at their naivety.

“Oh, just wait.”

Bucky and Steve paused, shooting each other a nervous look while Y/N swung the door open. The sound of the music hit them full force, and the barrier keeping the squeals of excitement and energy now gone. Y/N led them through the house to the kitchen where Maddie was at with some of the other parents.

“We’re here!” Y/N called out over the music. Maddie’s head snapped in the direction of the doorway, a wide relieved smile spreading on her face. No one bat an eye when she abandoned their conversation and went to wrap her arms around Y/N.

“Oh thank god! I thought I scared you off!” She laughed. Y/N giggled and squeezed Maddie in a tight hug.

“What and let you eat all the cake I labored over getting? Hell no!”

Maddie scoffed and rolled her eyes. She stepped out of Y/N’s hug and turned to Steve and Bucky.

“Hey, you two!” She greeted, giving them each their own tight hug. “While I’m so happy to see you, there’s one little man who won’t shut up about you three.”

Steve blinked in surprised and cocked his head to the side. He’s met little Robert before, he and Bucky both had a few months back, right before Bucky’s accident. He was a little shocked the boy remembered them, especially considering the situation.

“R-really?”

“Well yeah,” Maddie giggled. “How could he forget the two big men that saved his dad when the tire blew out on the highway? You were the hero to him that day.”

Bucky and Steve were on patrol when the call came in a few months back with a spin out on the highway during a rainstorm. The tire blew and the car lost control on the wet roads onto the shoulder. Since they were close, Bucky and Steve both arrived on the scene first, and both were surprised to see a panicked Jason and distraught Robert in the back seat. While Bucky helped Jason change the tire, Steve took it on himself to help calm Robert. He took the little boy to his cruiser and let him mess with the sirens and lights in hopes it would help.

A tiny smile grew on Steve’s face, warmth growing in his chest. It wasn’t that big of a deal with how he handled the situation. He had no idea he left that big of a mark on Robert.

“Anyways, he’s in the yard with the rest of the hooligans.” Maddie patted Steve’s shoulder. “There’s plenty of food here, beers in the fridge for the grownups. And I have Tylenol on standby for anyone who will need it. I’ll put his gift up if you want to settle in.”

Bucky beamed and handed her the big Spiderman gift bag with the matching tissue paper. Maddie shooed the three off and went into the den to put the gift up.

“Come on,” Y/N took Steve’s hand and tugged his through to the open French doors and outside.

She stopped to say hello to some of the familiar faces, a few neighbors and the handle of relatives from Jason’s and Maddie’s family. No one seemed to bat an eyelash when she introduced both Steve and Bucky as her boyfriend. Everyone was warm and welcoming at the strange trio. Y/N had a nagging feeling that Maddie must have gotten to the group before they arrived and was silently thankful for her forethought.

There was a delighted scream from the bounce house that made her smile grow. She’d know that sound anywhere. She turned to the voice and spotted the birthday boy himself sprinting full force towards her.

“Auntie Y/N!”

“Bobbert!” Y/N crouched low and caught him as he threw himself through the air and into her open arms. He let out a peal of laughter when she stood and spun him around. “Happy birthday my handsome man!”

Steve and Bucky stood back, grinning madly at the way Y/N interacted with him. She was so at ease with him, sliding easily in the role of his favorite aunt. While he chatted on in her ear, telling her all about his great party, Y/N shifted him to her hip. A pang of something shot through Bucky’s chest when she turned to face them. It made him stop short and sucked in a sharp breath. What was that?

“I brought you another gift too!” Y/N exclaimed. Robert gasped and a beamed at the sight of Bucky and Steve.

“Officer Steve! Officer Bucky!��

Steve stepped up, a smile matching the one Robert had on his face.

“Hey big man, happy birthday!”

“Thank you!” The little boy glowed with joy. Steve looked over to Bucky, who had a strange look over his face. He paused and tilted his head as he regarded his boyfriend.

“Buck?” He reached out and gently tugged at Bucky’s hand. Bucky blinked rapidly and seemed to shake off whatever the thought was. He cleared his throat and smiled shakily at Robert. Of course, the four-year-old didn’t know any different, but both Y/N and Steve saw the strange change in his demeanor.

“Hey bud, you havin’ a good birthday so far?”

It was more than enough for Robert. With excitement that only a four-year-old hopped on sugar could have, he went on and on about all the fun he’s had so far with his party. Once he deemed everyone was up to date with the happenings of his party, Robert was ready to be put down and off like a light towards the rest of his friends in the backyard.

“Well. Let’s hope he burns off all that energy before bedtime tonight.” Y/N giggled and rested her hands on her hips. Slowly, she turned to Bucky, who was looking anywhere but at her. “You okay though?

Bucky cleared his throat and nodded quickly.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. Sorry. Don’t know why my brain stopped like that.” He chuckled. Steve gentle squeezed Bucky’s arm, a soft smile turning up the corner of his lip. Bucky let out a breath and clapped his hands. “Let’s get somethin’ to eat. I think I smell some of Jason’s famous burgers?”

Maddie appeared swiftly at his side with a wide grin. Bucky jumped, his head whipping around to gape at her with wide eyes.

“As a matter of fact yes!” She replied. “I think Jason’s getting a few more burgers ready on the grill. You can probably run over there and ask him to add cheese to a few if you want. We have some hot dogs, black bean patties and grilled chicken if you want that instead. Grab a plate and relax!”  

Maddie patted Steve’s back and wandered off to mingle the rest of the party.

“Well. I dunno about you. But I’m gonna grab a plate.” Bucky shrugged and walked towards the house, dodging a few of the children that were running around the yard. Y/N and Steve both exchanged a look, laughing softly to each other before they too headed over to get some food.

“Have I ever told you how much I love and appreciate the fuck outta you?”

Y/N laughed at the over the top adoring expression Maddie was sending her way and went back to cleaning up the island.

The cake sat on the counter, less than a third left. The party was almost over, the birthday boy still in the back with the few party-goers who were hanging around until the last minute. Jason was out in the back with, Bucky, Steve, and the few parents and family members while Maddie and Y/N started their clean up. From what Y/N saw, today was a success and Robert was a happy four-year-old. Everyone was winding down from the sugar rush and here soon the kids would be ready for a much-needed nap. Honestly, Y/N was considering a nap herself after all was said and done

“You’ve said that about a thousand times today.”

“Well, I mean it,” Maddie stated simply. “This would have never been a success without you.”

“I’m sure it would have been just as perfect.” Y/N giggled. Maddie let out an unattractive snort and rolled her eyes.

“Doubt it. I’ve been a hot mess all week.”

Y/N tossed a stack of the dirty paper plates in the trash and turned to Maddie.

“You’ve had a rough week, yes, but both your children are alive, happy and in one piece. I’d say it’s a pretty good week all things considered.”

Maddie shot her a side glare and finished putting the left-over burgers in a container.

“I was seconds away from having a complete and utter mental break down when you showed up Thursday. This party was definitely going to flop if you hadn’t shown up like the fairy godmother you are. Jason’s job sure picked a hell of a week to send him on a business trip.”

“I still think it would have been great,” Y/N waved her off. “What do you want to do with the cake?”

Maddie sighed, but took Y/N’s change in topic and went to wipe down the counter.

“We might keep a few slices, but I don’t want all this sugar around. Why don’t you grab some for you Bucky and Steve.”

Y/N nodded with a hum. She took a paper plate and started cutting up a few slices for her and her men. A tiny bit of warmth spread in her chest at that thought and she couldn’t stop her grin from spreading on her face. Her men. Lost in her pleasant thoughts, Y/N was wrapping the plate up with saran wrap when Maddie sided up next to her with a determined look on her face. Y/N blinked, startled at Maddie's sudden appearance.

“Can I help you?”

“No, yes. Maybe.” Maddie muttered. Y/N huffed and set the plate aside. Resting her hip on the island, Y/N crossed her arms and turned her full attention to Maddie.

“What’s up? You have something you wanna say so spit it out.”

Maddie’s mouth fell open and snapped shut several times, for the first time in a long-time Y/N was astounded to see her friend so unsure of herself. It wasn’t like Maddie to not be able to speak her mind. Certainly, this was something difficult for her to talk about.

“Maddie?” Y/N pressed in concern. Maddie sighed and tossed aside the rag she was ringing in her hands.

“Okay. I’m only asking you this because I love you, you’re my best friend and I really want to know.” Maddie began. “How are things going with Bucky and Steve?”

“Oh. We’re doing great I think.” Y/N thought it would be a worse question than she thought. “I mean, we’re goin’ on 7 months in two weeks and neither of them had decided to leave me yet, so I’m gonna assume it’s going great.”

“You did go through a lot with them within three months of dating them. You know… Once you cleared up the misunderstanding and all that.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Y/N laughed with a snort. “Honestly, if we survived all that I think we’ll get through anything at this point.”

Y/N turned to Maddie with a wide smile and stopped short at the serious expression on her face.

“Where do you see this going?”

“What… What do you mean?” Y/N asked shakily.

“You know what I mean. You’re spending a lot of time on with them and it’s getting’ pretty serious, real damn fast.” Maddie explained. Y/N didn’t respond right away, a bit blindsided by the question. Softer, Maddie kept talking. “You know I caught them both staring at you the was Jason stares at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention to him. They had this stupid ooey-gooey smitten look on their faces every time you were around the kids or hell just when they looked at you in general. It was disgusting to be completely honest, I had to look away or else my teeth would rot out of my skull.”

Y/N giggled, her cheeks burning and she ducked her chin. Maddie groaned and threw her hands up.

“Don’t get me started on the looks you kept giving them. God! If I didn’t already know you have, I’d have yelled at you three to get a freaking room already.” Maddie faked a gag. “I thought the sweetest thing was gonna be the cake, but you three-beat that by a long shot.”

“We’re not that bad.” Y/N tried to defend herself, giggling despite herself.

“Oh yeah, you are. Mee-maw wants to know when’s the wedding so she can, as she put it so eloquently, ‘get turnt’ with all the kids.” Maddie snorted and rolled her eyes. Mee-maw was Maddie’s grandmother who was also a 23-year-old woman in a 93-year-old body. When Y/N would wonder where Maddie got her attitude, all she had to do was look up the matriline on Maddie’s side and it made perfect sense.  

“Get turnt?” Y/N repeats slowly, dumbfounded but equally amused.

“She’s been spending too much time with the twins. Apparently, they’re teaching her the teen lingo or some crap. I dunno. Mee-maw’s stopped terrorizing the nurses in the home with their visits, so we’ve decided to pick our battles. Now, quit changing the subject.” Maddie pointed a finger at Y/N, narrowing her gaze at her best friend. “Where do you see this going? Do you see a future with them?”

“I-I don’t know?” Y/N stammered lamely. Maddie was less than impressed and kept pushing.

“I get it, you’re in a less than conventional relationship with them and some aspects are going to be a little difficult. It still doesn’t mean you can’t be in it for the long haul. So my question to you; can you see yourself having a future with them?”  Maddie cocked her hip to the side. “Better yet, do they want there to be a future?”

Y/N paused and shot a glance to the backyard where the two of the men who had stolen her heart stood. She didn’t have to think about it. Y/N knew the answer right away. But the worry about what they wanted always nagged in the back of her mind. It was stupid, she knew it. They had never once shown her they were only in this for a short-term fling, in fact, just two weeks ago Bucky rather enthusiastically made space in their double dressers for her to store some clothes. She knew they adored her, and she adored them.

Today alone made it clear that Y/N wanted a future with them. They were a bit awkward with the kids at first, but once they got over the little bit of doubt, the two were naturals. All the kids loved them and demanded attention from them any chance they got. Y/N had even caught a few of the parents commenting on how easy they made it look. She didn’t know where they stood with having kids, hell she wasn’t even sure where she was when it came to that topic either, but seeing them breeze through the whole situation without batting an eyelash made her heart do funny skips in her chest. Not to mention they looked drop-dead gorgeous while they did it.

“Of course I do,” Y/N sighed with her back to the French doors. “I mean, I love them for fuck’s sake. I really can’t see myself without either of them. When Bucky got shot, it was awful. I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt so helpless. And that was only, what three and a half or four months in? God, I can’t even begin to imagine what it would have been like if that happened now.” Y/N let out a heavy sigh and rested her elbows on the island to bury her face in her hands. “I’m gonna have to have a conversation about this with them, aren’t I?”

“What and tell them how much you’re stupidly in love them and want a future with them? I think that be a pretty easy conversation considering they both feel exactly the same way.” Maddie replied smoothly.

“Really?” Y/N asked with a hint of disbelief.

“Honey, those two would do anything for you, no questions asked. They didn’t have to come to Robert's party and be around all the people who might judge them for their life choices, but they did. Because they knew it was important to you.” Maddie explained as a matter of fact.

“Yeah, speaking of did you tell everyone before we got here?”

“Yup, fortunately, all my friends and family don’t give a shit but that’s not important. What’s important is you are all stupidly in love and even though you can’t technically get married without getting arrested, we can still throw a big ass part and get ‘turnt’! Mee-maw’s not getting any younger!”

“I swear to god Maddie,” Y/N snorted and rubbed her temple. Maddie laughed and patted her shoulder before she turned back to clean up the rest of the food. She caught sight of someone frozen at the door in the corner of her eye. A slow smile spread on her face when she realized who it was. Pretending they weren’t there, Maddie continued on.

“You know what I mean. I just want you to be happy and they make you happy. I’ve also seen you nearly mess this up because you three don’t talk, so I just want to give you a push in the right direction. You three deserve each other.” Maddie threw a wink over her shoulder towards the french doors.

Y/N groaned. “You're ridiculous. But I know. We need to talk about it. I’m just scared is all.”

“Nothin’ to be scared about.” Maddie waved off Y/N’s concern. She smirked at something over her shoulder before she went back to the cabinet to grab some containers. Y/N simply grumbled and went back to pick up the stray cups around the room, completely oblivious to what was behind her. “Oh shush.”

As the two bickered with each other in the kitchen, the shadow silently stepped away before Y/N could spot him and headed back to his other third. A giddy smile spread on his face at what he overheard in the kitchen. 

Bucky turned to Steve when he came back from the house, frowning when he noticed the other was missing the beers he said he was going to grab.

“Did you forget something?” Bucky asked.

“Nope,” Steve beamed and pressed a kiss against Bucky’s temple. Bucky was bewildered, but also at the point he was too exhausted to care. He simply melted against Steve’s side and let out a content sigh.

Steve would explain to Bucky what he overheard later. Right now, he was happy just enjoying the rest of a rather great day. He’d wait a few more minutes before he would head off to the kitchen to get some beer, pretending he didn’t just hear what he had been wanting to hear for weeks come out of Y/N’s mouth. 

They would definitely discuss everything later, maybe after they’ve each had a long shower and some wine to help unwind. Maddie was right though. There was nothing to be scared about.

[lavendertwilight89]

Making Amends

Got an ask like forever ago whooooops for a Sess, Inu, and Kag relationship building one from @inuyashaloverforever

I think it will be two parts but here was a good place to end it for now to give something for her to enjoy and keep her wanting more bahahahaahaha 

Posted to Ao3

I’m sorry but not

Rated Teen

tags:

@superpixie42  @cstormsinukagblog @willowandfog @inuyashaloverforever @xfangheartx @clearwillow  @umacaking @bluejay785 @smmahamazing @murdergiraffe @faulkner-blog @sapphirestarxx @swaggingtomboy @sarah-writes-stories @hnnwnchstr @wolverine1092

Inuyasha and Kagome had been mated for about six moons when Kagome noticed some distinct changes in herself. She felt like her hearing had heightened—she could hear people approaching far above what she had used to. It wasn’t as strong as Inuyasha’s, but even he thought it had grown stronger.

Her sense of smell almost grew better. Or worse. Honestly, she felt like the latter. Especially when she found out she was pregnant. That particular change was her least favorite. More often than she liked, she wound up sick and confined in the house making Inuyasha cook dinner at Sango’s or Kaede’s.

At night, she even noticed a difference with her eyesight. It came in handy when a certain half-demon wanted to make love by the Sacred Tree; not that she was ever opposed to that. It was comforting that even after all those years, they found such comfort in the place where they first met. 

Since her first missed bleeding, Sesshomaru had started coming around more and more. Kagome knew from Inuyasha that he had been more present in the village since Rin was left with Kaede. Something that had surprised Kagome since she knew how protective he was of the little girl. But now, it had become like the village was his second home.

While Inuyasha had reservations about Sesshomaru, he had become accepting of his brother and the added protection he offered. Only a few times had the village been attacked in the past three years the jewel had been destroyed, but when they did show up, they meant business. Sesshomaru had stayed near Kagome, keeping her and the demon away from each other. Inuyasha finished it off quickly knowing Kagome was safe.

One afternoon while Inuyasha was working in the forest with some villagers who needed more trees for wood, she felt Sesshomaru’s presence nearby.

She hesitated to call out to him as she stepped out of the hut but decided to test the new waters of the relationship he seemed like he was starting to want, “Brother?”

She heard a quiet scoff but he emerged from the tree line, not annoyed oddly enough, but still fairly unemotional.

“Would you like to join me for tea?” she offered hopeful he would accept the invitation.

“...As you wish,” he said as he made his way towards her.

She stepped back into her hut and poured them both a fresh cup. They sat in silence. To say it was awkward was an understatement. What does one say to a daiyoukai? Small talk was likely out--but with her nerves that was all she could currently think of--Stupid! Think of something!!

“Calm your nerves, miko.”

“Sorry,” she exhaled. “I just, uh, don’t want to bore you or annoy you with small talk but I’m told I babble when I’m nervous. Just something I’ve always done. You should ask Inuyasha about our journey to find the jewel shards. I mean--”

“No need to hide who you are. You are mated to my idiot brother. You are now family.”

“You consider Inuyasha family?” she exclaimed softly.

“He is the second son of the Inu-no-Taisho. He aided in the destruction of Naraku. He unlocked the full power and form of Tessaiga. One cannot overlook such accomplishments.”

Leave it to Sesshomaru to look at this as a logical thing rather than an emotional thing. Well… that actually made her question things. Inuyasha only knew the basics about his heritage and what Myouga had taught him. His instincts were what guided him in other areas, though he couldn’t quite tell her why they demanded certain things than others.

“Sesshomaru… forgive me if this is a rude question but uhm… do demons… have feelings?”

He stared at her impassively. Whoops. Wrong questions?

“I-I-I mean obviously you feel things! God that was a stuid question--what I meant was--uh--how do I put this??”

“Priestess,” he said as if he was exasperated. 

“Right, right, we’re family. I can be myself, hahahaa,” she laughed nervously. When she returned to the feudal era to be with Inuyasha, never once in a million years would she have thought she would be sitting having tea with Sesshomaru. 

“Demons feel things differently than humans,” he offered. She was surprised he answered. 

“What… uhm… what do you mean by differently?”

“Are these questions revolving around your mate? Or demons in general?” 

“No; Inuyasha and I are able to communicate our feelings perfectly fine. This is more of a… question for you and other demons. Uhm, I guess I,uh, also am wondering about his instincts. He doesn't’ always know why they tell him things. Myouga only knows so much about inuyoukai.”

“Do you not house the kit? His scent fills the house. He could have likely explained this to you.”

“Uh, yes, but Shippo is so young. And honestly I’d feel odd asking those kinds of questions to my son.”

“So you’d prefer to ask your ‘brother’?” It was more of a statement than a question but she responded with a nod. “Very well… yes. Demons feel. The emotions are a bit different than in comparison to mortals but overall, similar. Demons become devoted to their partners. It is what human’s refer to as love. When demons decide to mate, it is not a passing or fleeting feeling like some humans often choose to do. Our instincts can sense who would be the most compatible mate and slowly our devotion grows into adoration, or love. It can often be more intense than what humans feel. While a mortal man may defend his family, he could not summon a baser instinct to save the family. Demons will sacrifice themselves by summoning their baser self. Hence why our father died for Inuyasha’s human mother. He was gravely injured but refused to allow her to come to harm.”

“Does… Inuyasha know that?”

“Instinctually, his demon state would take control if you or your pup were in danger.”

“I meant about your father and his mother.”

“No. At least, I have not told him as much.”

“Why… uh, why tell me then? Why not share with him?”

“Our relationship is strained.”

“Why not uhm… un-strain it then?” she prompted.

“The wounds I have once inflicted are not so easily overturned, miko.”

“Kagome. Or sister. But no title references; as you said, we are family.”

“Indeed… little sister.”

“Inuyasha, while he’s still gruff on the surface, has learned to forgive. Trust. I think if you talked to him things would change.”

“Perhaps you are correct.”

“Then you’ll consider trying to mend your relationship?”

“In time… Kagome.”

She smiled at the use of her name. “I will also speak with my mate. I’m sure he’ll want our pup to have as much family that he can,” she added stroking her swollen abdomen. She was already showing at four months in and slightly suspected the possibility of multiple pups but until Inuyasha confirmed it or Sesshomaru corrected her, she would refer to the fetus as a singular entity.

“Pups, you mean.” Whelp. That confirmed that theory.

“I had a sneaking suspicion there were two in there. Inuyasha always got weird when we talked about the pup--well pups,” she corrected.

“Likely fearing you’d subdue him after only being mated for ten moons and already whelped you with multiple pups.”

Oh. My. Gods. Sesshomaru was joking. He was joking with her!!! Yes it was an accurate statement but she could tell her had added just a flare of humor! She giggled in response.

“Is there another reason you’d want to stay? Not that I don’t want you to--I love Rin. She’s become an important part of our pack we made and I know she’s very important to you as well. I’d love for you to join us--not saying you’re not family--or not pack--I mean--”

“Sister…” he looked at her out of the corner of her eye that held a slight glint of laughter.

“Right-right sorry. Pregnancy has made my nerves worse,” she laughed.

“The pups deserve their heritage… as does my brother. He deserves to be trained further. As you do you, sister. After mating, I know you experienced changes.”

“Yes,” she bit her lip. “Myouga was only able to tell us so much since your lord father passed before he could fully mate Inuyasha’s mother.”

“Indeed. The bond you share is allowing your auras to merge. It happens between mortals and demons. It was unexpected to occur between Inuyasha and yourself, miko. But he only continues to grow stronger… something he must credit to you.”

“Thank you for that Sesshomaru. I’m sure you can say the same about Rin.”

“Hn.”

She smiled knowing that was as much as she was going to get from the daiyoukai on the subject. Rin was fourteen and a handful. Suitors were coming and going like mad and she refused them all. Kagome held her suspicions as to why and obviously Sesshomaru was going to neither deny nor confirm her thoughts. But the fact he had grown more caring to Inuyasha, saved him from his demon state, spared Kohaku, hunted down Naraku, and gave up the fight to claim Tessaiga for himself all for the little girl was a dead give away.

“May I ask something else?”

“If you must,” Sesshomaru said impassively. 

“Does scent have anything to do with a demon finding the mate?”

“Yes. It is what lures a demon to begin to try and court their mate forming the connection. It is where devotion begins.”

“I see…” She pondered if that was why Sesshomaru kept Rin with him to even begin with.

About to add more to the conversion, she sensed her mate returning. Sesshomaru obviously did as well as he made to stand but Kagome waved her hand down to keep him seated. 

“Now would be a perfect time as any to start mending those bridges, Sesshomaru. Please, stay?” she asked kindly.

For the first time in… EVER she swore she saw the great dog demon look uncomfortable. SESSHOMARU. UNCOMFORTABLE. WHAT WAS HAPPENING?!!?

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Inuyasha said without much gruff as he pushed back the mat as he entered the hut.

Sesshomaru stared at his brother with a hint of annoyance. Kagome sighed and realized it would be harder than she anticipated for them to work out their issues. Sesshomaru was willing to try… he also may have made it clear to her that Inuyasha would do anything for her--or at least his demon side would.

“Inuyasha, why don’t you come sit down and join us?” she asked, trying to add a twinkle to her eye to entice her mate.

He glared at her but huffed as he complied with her request. He took up position behind her and pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her and brushed her abdomen lovingly while he rumbled out a low growl. She looked back and him rolling her eyes. Dominance. Obviously a dog-demon thing. Though it was odd, Sesshomaru did not growl in return, he merely looked on. He just observed them as they sat in front of him.  Did he want a mate? Did he want family?

“Inuyasha, Sesshomaru and I were just talking about demonic traits and how they relate to human things. He also said he could explain the changes going on because of our mate bond,” she said, nuzzling his neck. Her plot to butter him up seemed to be working as he seemed to relax little by little.

“Why?”

“It was just conversation. You know how I babble,” she laughed cheerily pressing a kiss to his chin.

“I know what you’re doing,” he rumbled softly into her ear.

“It’s working so I’m going to keep doing it,” she purred in return.

“Fine… what do you want?”

“I think you two should talk about your relationship.”

“WHAT?!?!” he bellowed.

“I can leave the room if you’d prefer to talk in private,” she offered cheekily. His arms tightened around her and he growled making her giggle.

“If you’re done,” Sesshomaru prompted annoyed at the displays of affection. Inuyasha and her were a little more touchy-feely than they had ever been previously. Well ever. But since she returned through the well, it was almost like they had to--it was the only way to feel whole and safe.

“While demons are more expressive in their mate bonds, I do not need to see a full grown dog drool over his mate like a juvenile.”

Kagome blushed madly while Inuyasha scoffed, “Alright ya bastard… Why are you here?”

“Kagome offered tea.”

Inuyasha’s eyebrow raised in skepticism, “And you thought, ‘What the hell? Why not! Not like I’ve said more than ten words to my brother in the past five years that didn’t involve dying or trying to run him through with a sword’!”

“Inuyasha,” Kagome warned.

“What?! That’s a fair question!”

“It is, little sister. After much thought, I thought we should try to mend our bridges. Rebuild the family. Our Pack… Especially because you are expanding your own.”

“Why care now? You had your chance hundreds of years ago--why now?”

“Because you have proven yourself, idiot. You have proven to be far more powerful than our father. I… was wrong. I was angry our father chose you over me. Is that what you’d like to hear?”

Kagome gasped while Inuyasha was able to keep his composure aside from his eyes expanding. The bastard actually admitted in an offhanded way he was wrong? That he had hated him because he was upset over their old man saving him? His mother always told him the story of his father’s death. He never took Sesshomaru’s feelings into account.

“I, uh…” Inuyasha trailed off uncomfortably.

Sesshomaru began to rise and head for the door but stopped before he left the reed mat to turn back and lock eyes with them, “I would like to correct my mistakes with your pups. They should not grow up without the knowledge of our inuyoukai heritage.” He swiftly left without another word.

“Well…?” Kagome asked pensively to her mate.

“...Thank you,” he said as he kissed her forehead.

“I’m so glad that you’re willing to give this a shot,” Kagome nuzzled her face into his neck. “I’m happy our children will be able to be close to one of their uncles.”

He tensed, “Fuck, he told you.”

“Before you start, I’m not mad. I’m actually excited! We’re going to have twins! Twin brothers that will grow up together and love each other.”

“I’m still saying ‘sisters’ wench,” he said, smirking as he tilted her to lay down upon the floor before kissing down her neck, making her giggle in response. He apparently was very pleased with the arrangement and owed her many ‘thank-yous’.