#*pointing to his sniffling bloody face and big wet eyes* LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO THE RACCOON he's SAD now?????

[ravensmadreads]

TAYLOR -

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

i breathe you in (and it changes me)

rating: teen pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader word count: 2K summary: you've been here with him before - rock bottom. But this time, he gives you reason to hope for something new. warnings: alcohol use, mentions of drug use, physical fighting, blood, wounds, bruises, mentions of past toxic behavior a/n: your original ask @bitchwitch1981 got swallowed up by tumblr, so i had to create a new post :( but I wanted to say thank you so much for requesting this - it was more therapeutic to write than i initially thought!

1K ask:

Sweet Taylor, Congratulations on the amazing milestone! 💜 I have decided to go for astrology for The Midnight Seance. I have chosen the prompt “Hold my hand please?” “When you ask so nicely.” and my own darling Dieter Bravo.

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Dieter Bravo Masterlist

The damp heat of the night is made worse by the thick knot of chittering spectators by the back alley of the club. You can hear the fleshy blows, hear the flesh rip and tear the veins, the delighted groan of the crowd after a particularly sickening crunch. White lights of camera flashes flicker, the smell of blood acidic on your tongue, the metallic taste getting stronger the closer you get to the front of the crowd. You see the blur of an arm just as you shove aside a man recording the whole scene with his phone; how much will TMZ pay for even seven seconds of that video?

Across from you, a thick shadow with bloody knuckles paces like a caged tiger, snorting with rage, the spectators jeering and howling their approval. The man, twice as thick as you are, waits at the edge of the fight, his vision locked forward, massive hands itching to rip apart something alive. 

Whatever is left alive of the heap of clothes in front of you.

It shudders, arms and legs curling beneath it, and rolls backwards. The crowd lets out a disgusted groan at the sight of the bloody face. Your heart sinks to the sticky concrete.

Oh, Dieter.

Asphalt digs into your knees as you kneel down next to him, the sounds of the crowd fading as panic swells within you. He doesn’t even register that you’re there until you touch his cheek. One eye completely swollen shut, blood running down from his nose over his upper lip, he meets your gaze and flinches. 

“Sorry,” he slurs – either from his split lip or being drunk out of his mind, you can’t tell, “you look like my ex.” 

“Dieter, it’s me.” 

His collar is torn, blood speckles cover the front of his shirt, and his jeans are filthy. Judging by his own shredded knuckles, he might have actually gotten a few good hits in. Gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning. You put a hand on his shoulder, looking for any other open wounds, for more blood – and he shoves you off.

“Go away. I’m kicking this guy’s ass.” 

Groaning, Dieter staggers to his feet, the blood freely flowing from his nose now. He gets upright and immediately stumbles, hands going to his knees, much to the deformed glee of the crowd. They whoop and laugh and hold their phones higher. 

Even in heels, you’re several inches shorter than him and you intentionally didn’t wear that much clothing – you were going to club with your friends to forget – but you try to shield him from the camera lenses anyway. 

From the back of his throat, Dieter spits out a wad of blood. “Fuck, my head hurts.” The drool that slips from his mouth is pink and frothy.

“Dieter, c’mon, we’re going.” 

You drag his arm over your shoulder, shifting as much of his weight onto you as you can. His entire back and underneath his arm is drenched in what you pray is sweat. Behind you, you know the other man is yelling, shouting, something about teaching that fat mouth a lesson, but you do what you’ve alway done when it comes to Dieter: you put yourself between him and an oncoming car crash. 

Hoping a grown man won’t take a full swing with a woman in kitten heels and a slinky dress nearby, you half-push, half-carry Dieter back towards the way you came in, but you make it two more steps before he pushes you away again, his fingertips drifting down your shoulder. His face is twisted up in agony.

“Fuckin’ stop. I don’t need your help.”

You grab him by the bicep, twisting him to you again, and he stumbles, muttering a gruff sorry. Blood from his nose drips down onto your bare chest. He watches it, transfixed, his emotions crackling from one high to the next low. 

You cup his bruised, swollen jaw and his wet eyes meet yours and for an instant, no one else exists. His bottom lip trembles. 

“Dieter” you murmur, low enough for just him to hear, just enough for him to lean forward, to let himself be captured by you – briefly – just as he always had been. “We’re going home, okay?”

He nods, eyes shut, swaying, and lets himself be dragged away. 

Beyond the black partition, you hear music. Too soft to be distinct, too faint. Yet it sits between your teeth all the same, hums in the back of your jaw. Static noise. 

In your lap, lays Dieter’s head. Your skirt feels damp from where the blood from his nose gathers. It stopped dripping minutes ago but the spot still feels cold, still thick with it. Your hand curls in his hair, loose but weighted. Grounding. He always said this was his favorite spot in the entire world. 

You didn’t tell the driver to go east, towards Sherman Oaks, but the opposite direction, towards the rental property you kept by the beach. Before that, home had always been Sherman Oaks, but . . . in the after, you couldn’t even bear to see the name on the sign. 

Partially it’s practical. Given the swarmed mob, there most likely was another one waiting for him at the gates to his mansion. He doesn’t have his phone, you know, which is most likely a curse and a blessing. When it comes to moments like these, you’ve learned to deal with the problem right in front of you, one at a time. Or rather, the one in your lap. 

You swore you’d never be here again, you swore that you’d learn to unremember what here even feels like, and yet you ran to him all the same. This is not the first time you wonder if leaving him bleeding and drooling into the concrete would have been the right thing to do. 

The car drives you both towards the rental because you want him there. You want him to fill up that empty space in your bed, smear the too messy sink in the bathroom with uncharged electric toothbrushes and toothpaste that tastes like cotton candy, and bring a sense of wonder back into your increasingly dark days. But with all that, comes this. The black partition ahead of you blurs, your eyes grow hot and tight, submissive to the beaks of birds, and the back of your fingers not caught in his hair press harshly to the back of your mouth. You fight a shudder because you know he can’t bear to see you cry. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

His apologies always start like this, a little broken, a little roundabout way of getting to the heart of things. You sniff, your hand slipping to his shoulder and grasping it tight. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay, baby?”

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

Your head bumps the back of the seat, as you swallow a sob and a laugh all at once. You squeeze him – no, no, of course not, you never mean it, you never mean any of it — 

“My therapist said they would help. And then they did. But I couldn’t get you back.”

He mutters something, rubbing his face slowly in your lap, like a blind kitten, his big hand over your knees, but you’re too stunned to parse out his babbling. 

“You went to therapy?” 

“Still in it.” He wheezes through a bruised rib. “She’s gonna be so pissed about this.” 

“You’re not high?” 

He shake-rubs his head again, the curls at his forehead catching against the sequins of your top. “Just drunk. I fucking hate being drunk.” 

He babbles some more, the words looped on tangled string, but you sit up, and gently turn his face towards you. The bleeding has stopped, but the swelling has set in. His right eye is black and blue, the skin puffy and tender. There’s a cut across his left cheek and his lip is split down the middle. Fuck, if these don’t heal right, that could be the end of his career. 

Goddamn it – and why would you care about that? It’s not your job to care anymore. 

You reverently trace a finger over his black eye, his cheek, his lips, to the blood on his temple. Tragedy always looked so good on him. 

His hand catches yours. You think his good eye might be filled with tears.

“I tried to get better . . . for you. For us. I took all the right pills, instead of the wrong ones this time, and I thought I was better.” Dieter shifts, so his back is against the seat and he’s looking straight up at you. He holds your hand to his chest, his other rising up to cup your cheek. That single touch cracks your resolve, your rule against letting him affect you, and you cry. He watches the silent tears roll down your cheeks, over his thumb. You think he looks remorseful. “I tried to get better and you moved on without me.”

It only just now occurs to you that he had most likely been inside the club when you had, had probably seen you and never said anything. He watched you dance and drink and try to forget him with other sweaty bodies and he never said a thing.

Bruised anger, the kind that melts off your ribs, flares bright within you and you jerk your face away from his touch.

“You don’t get to blame me for your shit anymore, Dieter.” 

His fingers curl and he swallows, the dried blood around his mouth cracking. “No, baby, I’m not. I’m not. I’m sorry I ever did. I didn’t mean it, I never mean it – never meant to hurt you. But I do, don’t I? I hurt you all the time.” 

Your anger throbs. “Then why? Why, Dieter, would you wait to get help until after I was gone? Didn’t you want to try . . . to salvage something, anything between us?”

His hand drops to his chest. 

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

You suddenly recognize the weight of his head on your lap, the density of his shoulders against your lap, and you, in a cycle of regret and love, want to scream at him. Want to shake him. Instead you brush his sticky curls off his forehead and a single tear escapes the corner of his eye, down his temple. 

“You silly, silly boy.” You sniff, tears freely flowing, and curl a strand of his beautiful hair in your fingers. “I would have been there for you. I’m glad you got help, and I hate that this was a relapse, but I would never have judged you for trying to get better, even if you failed. You were the one who didn't want me to see that side of you, Dieter. I never stopped loving you.”

For a moment, he goes still, the darkness of the night street obscuring his face, blurring him into one dark shadow that wheezed and sighed. You’re about to seek out his hand in the dark, if not his face, not his wounds, when he lets out the most broken noise you’d ever heard come from anyone. 

It’s a noise that will haunt you in nightmares for years to come.

“Oh,” he says. 

The car rolls to a stop, the faint music barely heard over the rush and crash of the waves on the other side of your rental. The radio goes silent and the partition rolls down. 

“We’re here, miss.” 

You wipe your eyes, mascara streaks turning your finger tips black, and cough to clear the knot in your throat that beats in time with your heart. Hands curling under his shoulders, you move to lift him up off your lap.

“C’mon, Dieter, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up–,”

“Wait.” He visibly swallows, nothing else on his face so clear in the dark. You feel a faint drop on your skirt. “I mean, I’ll go but . . . hold my hand – please?” 

Despite yourself, despite him, despite your tear-drenched lips, you lean down and kiss his forehead. Your shared shaky breaths are trapped between your chest and his.  “Only when you ask so nicely.”

+

[platypanthewriter]

Take On Me

Art by @fae-vorite​ for the Harringrove Big Bang!

When Steve pulled up in the drive, he had a mouthful of blue slushie, and he was watching the tiny old lady he’d been driving behind.  She’d barely been tall enough to see over the dash, and as he watched, grimacing, she barely swerved around a row of mailboxes, and then carreened through a four-way stop.

As he stared after her, there was a weird hissing noise by his elbow.  Steve yelled and threw his arm up in the air, spattering himself with slushie.  

“Bwah!” Max yelled, stumbling back, and smacking blue slushie ice off her arm.  “Steve!  What the hell.”

She hadn’t been in the driveway when he pulled in, Steve was fairly sure, and he stared around.  “Where are the rest of you?” he asked warily, rubbing flung slushie off his chin.  He glanced up, half-expecting Dustin to swing down on him with a vine from a tree.

Max squinted at him, her jaw working, and then glanced around.  “In the bushes,” she said.  “Get us inside, now, Steve.”

He rolled his eyes, stalked over and held the front door open—and then swore and dropped his slushie right on the ground and ran over to help, because it wasn’t Dustin and the Chipmunks hiding in the bushes.  There was a woman, shaking, her hands stained with what looked like blood, and Billy Hargrove, who apparently wasn’t dead, barely staggering between Max and the lady.  He was bandaged, and half-naked.  

Steve elbowed his way in past Max, and got an arm around Billy, hefting his sweaty, shivering ass towards the door.  

Once Steve had Billy, Max ran ahead and kicked the slushie cup aside, ushering the woman into his house.  “Mom, come on,” she groaned, and it occured to Steve that he’d never wondered about Max’s mom.  It seemed obvious, thinking about it, that most people had a mom.  One of his girlfriends freshman year had had two, and didn’t seem to have a dad, which Steve had never quite figured out.

Billy looked dead, mostly, pale until he was nearly grey, like instant oatmeal.  “I thought you were dead,” Steve hissed at him, and he snorted a laugh.  

“Guess not,” he breathed, his head against Steve’s as he stumbled along.

When they got inside, the phone was ringing, but Max ran and stood in front of it.  “Don’t answer,” she told Steve, staring at him with wet red eyes.  He nodded, still half-carrying her undead brother, and trying to figure out whether the blood on Max’s mom could have come from under Billy’s bandages.  

“We should call somebody,” Steve pointed out, as he lowered Billy onto the couch.  Billy’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t try and get himself more comfortable, or anything, he just laid there.  Steve threw a blanket over him, feeling like he was covering up a body.  

Max’s mom looked like she wasn’t up for much, staring at her hands and the floor, and Max took a deep, shaky breath, rubbing her face.  

Steve beckoned her into the kitchen.  “We should call somebody,” he whispered, again.  Max set her jaw, shaking her head, and Steve made a face.  “At least a doctor,” he hissed, and she deflated, staring out at the limp shape of Billy on the couch.  

“H-he should be fine,” she mumbled, digging her fingernails into her forearms until the skin whitened.  “He—he didn’t get shot,” she gritted out, and her mom flinched, shivering, and rubbed at her bloody hands.  

“Wait,” said Steve, staring between them.

“M-my husband,” said Max’s mom, and then covered her mouth, and a shaky sob.

“You have a dad?!” Steve yelped, looking around.  “He got shot?!” he added, grabbing his car keys, because it seemed like somebody should probably find the guy. 

“He’s dead,” Max’s mom whispered, staring at her bloodied hands.  “He died right—right in front—in front of—”

“He wasn’t my dad,” Max said flatly, “—and we don’t need to go anywhere.”

Steve nodded, and then shook his head, bewildered.  He hung the car keys up by the front door, and then braced himself, and sidled over to touch Max’s mom’s shoulder, waving at the kitchen sink.  “Um, d’you want to…?”  

She nodded, and took a couple weaving steps to lean against a chair, which she drug to the sink.  Steve leaned down to whisper to Max.  “...so...somebody’s dad got shot?  That’s—that’s where the blood—” he asked, feeling well out of his depth.  His fingers itched to call a functioning adult—Hopper, or Joyce Byers, even, because it looked like Max’s mom wasn’t up for much more than staring at the bloody water in the sink.  “Should I try and find some...tea,” Steve hazarded, and Max snorted a laugh, rubbing her eyes.  

“Billy’s dad,” she whispered, watching her mom.  “The, um—” she dropped her voice further.  It rasped in her throat.  “—Mom let them in because they told her they were the CIA.”

“The CIA shot Billy’s dad?!” Steve choked out, trying to keep it under his breath.  

“They weren’t actually the CIA,” Max said, rolling her eyes.  “Obviously.”

“O-obviously,” Steve echoed, because it sort of made sense.  It did seem weird that the CIA would come to Hawkins, Indiana to shoot anybody’s dad.

“Mom thought they were just...checking on us, you know,” Max said, sniffling, and Steve tried to imagine assuming that the C-fucking-IA had banged on his door just to roll out the welcome wagon.  “Just—just like the FBI does, all the damn time,” Max mumbled, biting her lip.

“Wait, what,” Steve interrupted with a hiss.  “The what now.”

“We’re, um, we’re not really from California,” she whispered, swallowing, and biting back a sharp laugh.  

“Okay,” Steve nodded, raising his eyebrows, and watching Max’s mom cry softly with her arms in the sink, and her head bowed.  “Okay, yeah, no, hang on,” he told Max, jogging the couple of steps over to her mom.  He poked the woman’s shoulder gingerly.  “You all cleaned up?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, and she turned big watery eyes on him, but she nodded.  

“Come out in the front room and sit down,” Steve told her, feeling like sitting wouldn’t really help much, but crying into the sink had to be worse.  He reached in and turned the water off, and guided her by the elbow into the front room.  “Gonna get everybody something hot to drink,” he told them, hoping he still had...something.  Ancient instant coffee from the last time his dad was home, maybe.  Something old and dusty, probably, but Steve didn’t think Max’s mom would know the difference, not after having her husband shot by somebody pretending to be the fucking CIA.  

After he pointed her at the big recliner, Max started fussing around with the color-coordinated throw blankets Steve’s mom had bought and never used, and Steve stepped over to the couch to squeamishly lift the blanket off Billy’s head.

“I-I’m fine, honey,” Max’s mom told her, behind them, as Steve surveyed Billy’s pale, sweaty face.  His eyes were closed, but the skin around them was as red and raw as Max’s mom’s.  His eyelashes were stuck together with the fresh tears leaving trails down his cheeks.  

Steve dropped the blanket again, grimacing, and stalked back into the kitchen to find the teakettle, fill it, and put it on the stove.  He found some packets of hot chocolate Dustin’s mom had given him at Christmas, and dumped them into two mugs.  After a minute, watching the glow of the burner shine off the bottom of the kettle, he grabbed another mug, shrugging.  

 Max shook her head when he walked out and tried to hand her the hot chocolate.  “I’m not a little kid,” she said, glaring at him, but her mom took it with a soft sigh.  

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.  “Max, sit down, I—I’m fine.”  She reached out and took the mug Steve had offered Max, and held it out to her, and Max sighed heavily, but took it.

Steve went back for the third mug, and then uncovered Billy’s head again.  “Hey,” he whispered, and Billy licked his chapped lips without opening his eyes.  He grimaced before he blinked and squinted up.  “Here, at least hold it,” Steve told him.  “It’s warm.”

“...you made me tea,” Billy growled, glaring at the mug, and then, warily, at Steve’s face.

“It’s chocolate,” Max put in.  “You like chocolate, asshole.”

“...made me chocolate?” Billy asked muzzily, frowning harder, and Steve sat it on the floor, in order to get his arm around Billy-suddenly-alive-Hargrove, and help him sit up.  

“Are you sure you’re not...dying?” Steve whispered to him, lifting the mug and pressing Billy’s hands around it.  “Like, right here?  I need to, uh...kidnap a doctor, or…?”

Billy snorted into his first sip of hot chocolate, biting his lips together as his chest shook with coughs.  After a few seconds, he took a shaky breath, and opened his eyes again.  “Don’t...kidnap anybody,” he rasped out, smirking.  “Didn’t know you had it in you, Harrington.”

“I know a guy,” Steve told him, letting go of the mug, and reaching out to tug at the bandages visible over the top of the blanket.  Billy went very still, holding his breath, which was creepy.  If he wasn’t sitting up, Steve would have checked his pulse.  “A doctor.  M’not gonna let you die,” Steve told him, eyeing the stretched pink scars under the gauze.  Some of the gauze looked wet, not red, but pale yellow, and Steve grimaced, brushing his fingers over it.

“It’s just the surgeries.  Fuck,” Billy creaked out, his hands shaking on the hot chocolate so it nearly spilled.  “They had to cut me open a few more times.  Stitch me back together.”  

Steve put his hands around Billy’s on the mug, to steady them.  “...I got some duct tape somewhere,” he offered, under his breath, and Billy’s breath huffed against his fingers in a laugh.  His mustache tickled, but Steve held steady, watching him drink the hot chocolate.  His cheeks were pinking up a little.  He stunk, kinda, sweaty, and sour from his bandages.  It was weird to be anywhere near Billy Hargrove and not smell his cologne.  “...I thought you were dead,” Steve said under his breath, and Billy shrugged a shoulder, wincing, and swallowing hard.

“Murphy’s law,” Billy hissed back, grinning, but his eyes welled up again, and he blinked rapidly.  “Whatever you least want to happen…”

 Steve helped him drink the hot chocolate, trying to think of something to say.  ‘Sorry your dad got shot,’ seemed wrong.  ‘At least your mom’s alive,’ didn’t seem right either, and then Steve realized he had no idea whether the woman was Billy’s mom.  Billy and Max’s family seemed complicated, and it was entirely possible both parents were Billy’s, and Max had been snatched from a stroller outside a grocery store.  

“So, um,” Steve started.  “You’re...not from California?  Why would you…”  

“Lie about that?” Max asked, flatly.  “The goddamn FBI told us to.”

“...the ones that…” Steve stared over at her, trying not to stare at whoever’s mom’s hands, where they’d been all over blood.  Max called her mom, he told himself.  Whatever she is, Max thinks of her as her mom.

Maybe they’re aliens, he thought, trying not to laugh, because why was the FBI checking in.  Maybe they’d all raised Max from an alien egg they’d taken turns sitting on.

She seemed okay, for an alien, he decided, as Max said, “We’re in Witness Protection.  Or we were, until the Starcourt Mall footage made the national news.”

“Ohhhhh,” Steve said, nodding.  “That makes more sense than aliens,” and Billy choked on his hot chocolate.  “Did you see a gang murder?” Steve asked politely, that being how it usually worked in Hawaii Five-O.

Billy coughed harder, and Steve patted his back, gently, grimacing as he tried not to break the guy any further.  

“Noooo,” said Max, and when Steve glanced over, she was staring at him.

“What?  Shit happens,” Steve said, shrugging.  “Sometimes monsters steal your brother.”

“They didn’t exactly steal him,” Max said weakly, and Steve blinked.  

“I was talking about Will Byers,” he said, and shrugged.  “No gang shootouts, then?”

“We lived near Portland,” Max said, like that fact made Steve’s question the stupidest question ever asked, and then she sighed.  “It’s, um, it’s actually...stupider.  Than that.  There, um, there was a...lab.  There.”

“Ohhh,” Steve said, nodding, and thinking of Hawkins Laboratory, and Eleven.  

“They wanted children to...experiment on,” she whispered, and trailed off.  Steve turned to see her glowering into her mug.

“Set up this machine to check the local kids,” Billy said, suddenly, near Steve’s ear.  He huffed a laugh as Steve jumped.  “At the arcade.  Looked like a normal arcade machine, but it was keeping track, high scores, you know.”  He took a shaky breath, then cleared his throat.  “Even had a fake name.  Polybius.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?!” Max shouted, suddenly, her voice wet and uneven, and her mom grabbed her close, squeezing her with white-knuckled hands.  “How the hell...we saw guys in suits parked around the place, we thought maybe the owner was like...running some kind of gambling with the machines and they were watching him, or something, how could I have—”

“Went to pick her up and they were shoving her in a van,” Billy’s voice rasped, and Steve jerked unintentionally, imagining it.  “I followed them to the lab and they tried to tell me it was some...class for special kids,” he hissed.  “Tried to tell us all to shut up.”

“They came and talked to N-Neil and I,” Max’s mom said.  “They were...we did what they asked, if they’d leave Max alone.  We couldn’t talk about it, not with anyone.”  

Steve nodded, familiar with the way laboratories worked, and filed away the fact that Max’s not-dad had been named Neil, before somebody’d shot him.  There was a long silence, then, as Billy bit his lips together, frowning into the nearly-empty mug of hot chocolate, and Max’s mom cried softly again.

“I called the fucking police,” Max said hoarsely into the silence.  “I—I called the goddamn police, they were—they were stealing kids, they—”

“Yeah,” Steve said, grimacing.  He’d found out more and more about what the lab had been doing, after he’d promised to keep quiet.  They’d even killed the nice burger man, he thought sadly.  His name had been Benny, Steve learned later, but at the time, he’d just been the nice burger man, the one who listened and advised as Steve told him about being terrible at college application essays, and his love for the smartest girl in school.  

Luckily, in Steve’s case, the sheriff had already been told.  “You had to,” he agreed.

“They shot the cop she told,” Billy said flatly, in Steve’s ear.

“They were kidnapping little kids—” Max yelled at Billy, her voice cracking with emotion and he raised his voice over hers, his voice wavery as he tried to catch his breath.  

“Shot him in the head.  They shot his partner, too—”

“The FBI helped us sneak out,” Max’s mom said softly, but they both shut up.  “We were shuffled around a lot…”

“Why bring you here,” Steve said doubtfully.  “Where our lab is?  I mean, it’s better, now.”

“Maybe our FBI guys weren’t as on our side as we thought,” Billy muttered, swallowing hard, again, and Steve realized he was trying not to cry.

Steve tried not to do anything, push Billy away, or anything weirder, like hug him.  He’d gotten too good at this babysitting thing, he thought with a grimace, if he was inclined to hug Billy Goddamn Hargrove.  The problem was, Billy’s inaudible, bitten-back sobs felt like when Nancy’s little sister was scared of the noises outside, while her parents were at the movies.  Steve was conditioned to pull that kind of thing against his shoulder, even when it was Billy Hargrove, with his broad, heavy, muscular shoulders, and heavier fists.

“Fuck,” Billy hissed under his breath, pulling his hand loose from Steve’s to rub his wrist across his eyes.  

“...d’you want...anything,” Steve whispered, as softly as he could, fairly sure Billy didn’t want him to sing Old MacDonald even if he was really good at all the animal noises.  

“How about my dad, alive,” Billy snarled, his unsteady breaths taking the sting out of it.  

“Thanks for letting us in,” Max said, hoarsely, and Steve turned to frown at her.

“Of course I let you in,” he snorted.  “I wasn’t gonna leave you hiding in my bushes.”

“We—we’ll figure out what to do,” Max said, as her mother squeezed her close again.  “Soon.  Before—before the lab people figure out where we are.”

“We need Hopper,” Steve told them, starting to stand, and then realizing he was holding Billy up, and he didn’t want to drop him on the floor.  He wasn’t sure how together Billy was under the bandages—he didn’t seem very...healed—and the thought of dropping him on the floor, and just accidentally jostling all Billy’s internal organs out through a big hole in his back made Steve shudder.  

“You can’t call him,” Max’s mom said bleakly.  “They were listening to our phones.  They said, as we...ran,” she choked out.

“...bet they aren’t listening to walkie-talkies,” Steve told her, absently spreading his fingers over the cool skin of Billy’s shoulder, to warm him up.

“Where’s yours?” Max asked breathlessly, and Steve gave her directions to his sock drawer.  

Billy was shivering harder, and Steve waited until his little sister and maybe-mom weren’t looking to pull the blanket away from more of his bandages.

There was red smeared on them.  “Billy,” Steve hissed, urgently, and Billy laughed wetly, wiping his nose.

“‘S not mine,” he laughed, a little hysterically.  “S’my dad’s.  He—he died right—”

“Shit,” Steve said, blankly, watching Billy try to wipe it away with shaking hands, tears rolling down his cheeks.  “That can’t…” he trailed off as Max brought the walkie-talkie down, and she and her mom started whispering about what to say.  “You need new bandages,” Steve told Billy, the one thing he was confident he could do.  “I need to clean you up.”

“I’m fine, fuck,” Billy panted, sniffling juicily, and Steve nodded once.  

“I’m taking Billy up to...clean him up,” Steve told the other two, and they nodded, watching him.  

“He’s still got stitches,” Max said, glaring.  “Don’t get him wet.”

‘Your dad’s blood got all over’ didn’t seem like the right thing to say ever, so Steve just nodded, and got Billy fairly upright.  

“How far we going,” he panted, swaying, and Steve made a face, then turned around.  

“Piggyback,” he announced, and Billy swore under his breath.

 “Fuuuck,” Billy whispered in Steve’s ear, as Steve made his way carefully up the stairs, steadying himself with one hand on the railing, and one hand awkwardly supporting Billy’s ass.  “Watch it there, Harrington,” Billy snorted, with a pained grunt.  

“Sorry,” Steve told him.  “Is this like how you can’t squeeze the donuts at the store unless you buy them?” he asked, because Billy was heavy, and his ass cheek was soft in Steve’s hand, and Steve’s tongue was on cruise control.

Billy coughed, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulder and chest as he gave a strangled-sounding laugh.  “...yeah, Harrington, it’s exactly like that,” he gasped out.  “I’m...your fucking donut...now, asshole.”

Steve laughed so hard he almost dropped him, all the adrenaline of them showing up covered in blood draining out of him.  “Shit,” he panted, staggering up onto the landing, and taking a minute to breathe.  “Don’t make me laugh on the stairs—”

“You started this shit, I just finished it,” Billy mumbled against his neck.  His breathing was uneven and shuddery.

Steve took a slow breath to steady himself, and carried Billy just that little bit further through his plaid bedroom, and into the bathroom.

Billy didn’t even comment on the extreme plaid, his teeth chattering, so Steve nearly dropped him on the toilet in his urgency to get a few inches of really hot water in the tub to plonk Billy in.  It’d be just like with Holly, he figured, put few inches of water in there to keep her warm, but not enough so she could slide in and drown.  It wouldn’t be enough to get up near Billy’s bandages, he told himself, then, while the water was running, he realized he didn’t know where all the bandages were, so he reached over and yanked at the drawstring of Billy’s sweatpants.

“WAH,” Billy said, grabbing Steve’s hand with his cold, sweaty, shaking one.  “...what,” he breathed, his eyes falling shut, and then blinking stubbornly open again.  

“Come on,” Steve said, grimacing at how pale he was.  “You got any bandages below the chest?”  Billy just shivered and breathed, staring into the middle distance, and Steve finally bit his lips together and grabbed Billy’s cold face, turning it to face him.  “Billy,” he said.  “Billy?”

“...Harrington,” Billy whispered, focusing on him, and then looking around, his eyes welling up again with tears.

“Come on, stay with me, I’m gonna get you warmed up,” Steve told him, ignoring his own heart pounding.  He was aware of shock as a concept—he’d seen Joyce Byers after—after.  But Billy had bandages, he could be bleeding out, or something, and the thought made Steve’s fingers clumsy as he tried to lift the guy enough to get his sweatpants off, and pull him into the bath.  

“Come on,” Steve whispered, pulling Billy up until he was sort of standing.  Steve had to reach down and lift Billy’s feet one by one into the tub, and he yelped, opening his eyes again at the heat.  “Just gonna clean you up,” he muttered, pretty sure Billy wasn’t hearing him, what with the way he was slumped against Steve’s side.  Steve lowered him into the water, and Billy shook his head, mumbling inaudibly.

Steve held his shoulders for a long moment, watching his face, and then yanked at the bandages.  Billy still had some stitches underneath, but to Steve’s profound relief, it didn’t seem like any of the blood was his—or that the blood had seeped in anywhere.  From what Steve remembered of reading Johnny Tremain in middle school, gangrene was a possibility if stuff got past Billy’s stitches, and so he was very careful to wipe around them.  

Billy relaxed slowly against the back of the tub, his head tilting to rest against the corner as his eyes closed.  His hands occasionally lifted to touch Steve’s, and then fell away as Steve washed him all over, until he was pink and warm, and didn’t smell like sour sweat anymore.  Billy snored softly under his fingers, and Steve bit back a laugh.  

The bath water started to cool, and Billy’s shoulders started to clench again, his legs goosepimpling, so Steve ran the hot water again.  He pulled the plug on the cooler water, then when the tub was empty, replugged it.  As the hot water rose, he ran out to grab an old plastic cup from his desk—he had to dump the pencils out—and pour warm water over Billy’s legs.  

Billy screamed, this awful broken noise, scrambling to get out of the tub, and Steve yelped and turned the water off, helping frantic, naked Billy Hargrove out of the tub and half into his lap.  He was slippery and warm, and Steve tried not to think about it, stretching to try and reach a towel, but Billy was laughing brokenly into his hands, muttering “I’m me, Harrington, I’m fucking sorry, I’m the best you’re gonna get, I’m still me, I’m Billy goddamn Hargrove—”

“Shit, I know,” Steve told him, as Billy’s wet shoulder soaked into his t-shirt.  “You’re Billy, you’re okay, shit.  You were just cold, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Maybe I’m better as the Mindflayer,” Billy laughed, gulping and sniffling.  “Could’ve taken out that lab guy before…” he took a shuddering breath, wiping his nose.  “Not just...let my dad get fucking shot,” he whispered.  “F’I wasn’t such a waste of space I’d have answered the door.”

With a sinking horror, Steve realized he had his arm around a naked guy in his bathroom, a naked guy who’d once beaten him unconscious.  A naked dude who wished he was dead.  “Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference,” he said, after some thought.  “You don’t know he’d have gotten away.  Max’d be crying over you again.”

“Like she would,” Billy snorted, reaching for the toilet paper and loudly blowing his nose.

“She did, though,” Steve told him, and Billy glared over.

“Yeah, right,” he said, and then opened his mouth again, shut it, and wiped his eyes.  “...what the fuck am I doing here,” he grunted.

“Uh, well,” Steve started, “—you were um, playing an evil videogame in Oregon—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy laughed, wheezing with pain.  “Why are you...why’d you—” he mumbled, as Steve set his jaw determinedly and wrested him up from the floor, dragging Heavy-Ass-Hargrove out to his bed, and tipping him into the sheets.  

The bandages were an adventure, with Billy falling asleep--and he finally fell asleep again right on Steve, as Steve tried to get him dried off.  

He didn’t wake up for hours, until Steve was sitting up in bed, on the phone with Hopper.  Billy blinked big blue disoriented eyes up at him, frowning grouchily, and Steve held his finger up to his lips, listening to Hopper explain the situation.

“It’s okay,” Steve hissed to Billy.  “You’re with me, you’re safe.”

Billy stilled, watching him, then snorted a laugh as his eyes drifted shut.  “...’kay, Harrington, he mumbled, sighing contentedly as he curled into the warm pillows.

Steve smiled, and rolled his eyes.

[holden-caulfield]

Let's Make A Deal

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: draco and reader get hurt during a quidditch match and they wake up in the hospital wing together.

Warnings: mentions of blood (nothing too graphic i think, but if you're not ok with it don't read this!)

Word Count: 2040

This idea came to me unexpectedly and i thought it was really cool. I hope you think so too :)

//

It was the day of the match: gryffindor vs slytherin. The stalls were filled with hundreds of people sporting the colors of the two teams, creating two giant moving blocks of red and green. The teams were already hovering on their brooms throughout the entire pitch and with them, you. You were one of the chasers for the gryffindor team, fast and agile, second only to Harry Potter who dashed through the air at the speed of lightning.

On the other team, the slytherins were getting ready, trying to intimidate your squad with all kinds of dirty looks. They did in fact intimidate you, but not because of their mean glares, because you knew they would have been ready to do anything to win. Much was at stake that day: the victory, the quidditch cup and honor.

When Madame Hooch blew the whistle, everyone sprinted for their respective balls: you went for the quaffle. The game was going smoothly, maybe even too smoothly as you and the other chasers kept on scoring for gryffindor. The reason, as you soon noticed, was because the bludgers weren't hindering you: one of them was currently being thrown around by Fred and George while the other one was ruthlessly pursuing the slytherin seeker, Draco Malfoy. A rogue bludger, you reckoned.

The seeker was trying desperately to get rid of it, but no matter how hard he tried, the bludger was always hot on his tail.

"What are you doing, y/l/n?!" shouted Oliver Wood from his post in front of the giant hoops as you stopped in mid-air to look at Harry and Draco being mercilessly chased by the big iron ball.

"That's a rogue bludger, we have to stop the game!"

"You can't stop quidditch! Plus, it's only helping us, keep scoring!" you scowled at Oliver knowing that nothing was more important than winning the cup for him and resumed the game, but as you took hold of the quaffle, the bludger snapped past you, almost making you lose control of your broom. The slytherin beaters had managed to free Draco from the rogue bludger, but it wasn't long until the ball chased him again.

Both Draco and Harry had now seen the golden snitch and were sprinting to grab it before the other.

"Malfoy!" you shouted at the top of your lungs, but it was of no use. The sudden distraction of the snitch made Draco forget about the bludger that hit him square in the head, causing him to fall down towards the ground at a frightening pace. You rushed towards the boy without a second thought: he might have been your opponent, but such a fall could have even killed him and you wouldn't have allowed it. You caught him inches from the ground and jumped down from your broom, laying him down.

"Malfoy! Hey, Malfoy!" he was unconscious, the bludger had hit him quite well.

Draco might have been done with the bludger, but the bludger wasn't done with Draco: you saw it dashing in the sky and descending at a dangerous speed towards the blond boy. You acted on impulse and covered him with your body, shielding him from the hard sphere that would have surely damaged him even more.

"Y/n! Get away from there!" you heard Fred shouting before the bludger struck you on your back. You let out a harrowing shriek, supporting yourself on your elbows not to crush the boy underneath you. You gritted your teeth as the bludger kept on beating you, only increasing its strength. You felt tears pool in your eyes as you felt your back breaking with every new hit, until it stopped.

Madame Hooch had managed to destroy the rogue bludger and you simply rolled beside Draco's unconscious body, eyes still tightly closed as you felt blood soaking your robes. A large crowd formed around you and the slytherin and you did your best to get up from the ground, but instead clutched your back with your hands, crossing your arms in front of you.

"Oh for Marlin's sake, how are you feeling, dear?" Madame Hooch questioned, looking distraught as she kneeled down in front of you and Draco.

"I'm not complaining. I'm not the one who has been hit in the face by that demonic thing." you managed to breathe out. Talking made the pain in your back even more excruciating and you bit your lip in order not to shriek again, almost drawing blood from your lips.

Dumbledore and other professors had joined the circle that was surrounding you, staving off all of your teammates and the other slytherins, eyes widening after seeing the state in which you and the other boy were in: you were writhing on the ground, trying to find a position in which you wouldn't feel like shards of glass were puncturing your skin, while the slytherin laid completely still on the grass, his platinum blond head now getting increasingly redder in the point the bludger had hit him.

The two of you were immediately brought in the hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey almost killed the professors after seeing two students in such conditions. She cursed quidditch and its 'barbaric ways', all the while examining your back and Draco's head. Madame Pomfrey gave you a glass of some liquid and focused her attention of the boy laying on the bed next to yours.

"Will he be alright?" you asked softly, peeking over her shoulder to see if the blond had awaken yet.

"Drink that and then get some sleep, miss y/l/n. Broken backs are serious stuff and I can't do much for the pain."

"But will he be ok?" you insisted. Madame Pomfrey sighed and turned to you.

"He will, but do yourself a favor and get some sleep. When you will wake up, you'll ask him yourself." that seemed to be enough for you and you drank the glittering liquid in the glass. The pain decreased only slightly, but enough to allow you to fall in a deep slumber. Deep but not peaceful since the only scenes that replayed in your head were the one that happened earlier that day. You found yourself questioning your choices: why did you blindly took his place? Why didn't you just let him on the ground by himself? Not even his teammates had rushed to help him, so why did you? But, as you kept falling more and more asleep, you couldn't find any answer.

The next morning you still felt a searing pain in your back, but it was far more bearable than the night before. You were still half asleep, eyes closed, when you heard someone whispering next to you. You kept your eyes sealed, focusing on the voice to hear it better.

"Come on, wake up. Please wake up." you weren't sure whose voice it was: it was deep and slightly hoarse, as if the person had just stopped crying.

"Come on, you have to wake up. You endured a bloody rogue bludger and you can't wake up?" you heard the voice assert, slightly chuckling and sniffling. The voice stopped talking for a moment. You felt a pair of hands grasping yours and holding it tenderly, drawing mindless pattern on its back.

"I'm pretty sure you can't hear me now, so i want to thank you. You didn't have to do it and yet you did." you recognized the voice to be Draco's, but you remained silent.

"I don't know why, no one would have done what you did, especially a gryffindor." he sniffled once more.

"You have been incredibly daft. You could have been seriously injured and for what? For me? You are an idiot if i ever saw one." he continued, giggling lightly. You could almost picture him in your mind, his bandaged head, his grey teary eyes and his cheeky grin.

"I never thought i would have had a chance with you but now that i almost got you killed i know for a fact." you desperately wanted to open your eyes and tell him that he still had a chance. Hell, he had even more than a chance, but you kept them closed. He remained silent for a few seconds again, still caressing your hand, and then you felt a light drop wet the back of it.

"Please wake up. I need to see you're alright."

"Why?" you asked, opening slightly your eyes with a smug grin on your face. He left your hand and immediately got up and distanced himself from you, thoroughly ashamed.

"How much did you hear?" he asked almost panicked.

"Oh, i don't know... i heard you insulting me though. That's not a very nice thing to do when talking to someone on an hospital bed." you replied cheekily and his cheeks heated up a little. You stretched your arm out and motioned for him to sit down again. When he did, you offered him you hand once more and, after eyeing it suspiciously for a moment, he gingerly took it in his own.

"Do you want to know something funny?" you asked playfully and he raised an eyebrow at you.

"You had a chance with me until you called me an idiot." you stated and he chuckled once more.

"So you heard that too, huh?"

"Seems so."

"Does it hurt?" he asked, suddenly conscious of the whole reason why you were there.

"Less than before. But don't change the topic." you said and you tried to sit up, but underestimated your pain and winced.

"Woah, woah. Stay down, i'll go call Madame Pomfrey." you grasped his hand firmly, preventing him from leaving you alone.

"Don't. I'm fine." he looked at you with concern written all over his face. "Please, stay."

His eyes softened and sat again in his chair, moving it slightly closer to the edge of your bed.

"How's your head?" you asked. As you had imagined, he had a white bandage across his head, with a red stain on the back.

"I'll survive." he shrugged his shoulders before continuing, "Thanks to you." you grinned widely at his words and shook your head in fake disapproval, causing a loose strand of hair to fall in front of your face. He instantly tucked it behind your ear, his hand lingering there before returning in his lap.

"Well, i don't think you would be doing too good if it hadn't been for Madame Pomfrey!" you corrected, still holding his hand in yours.

"Of course, but if it hadn't been for you, Madame Pomfrey couldn't have done much... They told me what you did."

"And...? It was heroic, wasn't it?" you said proudly, feigning superiority with a smug smirk.

"I stand by what i said. You are an idiot if i ever saw one." he replied matter-of-factly, but still in a playful manner.

"Oh, you hurt me, Malfoy!" he tried to stifle a laugh but couldn't and instead shook his head lightly. Your eyes suddenly widened and Draco's did too as soon as he noticed.

"Are you ok? What happened?"

"Who won the match?" Draco stared at you, mouth agape, a look of incredulity in his silvery eyes as he scoffed slightly.

"Well? Who won?" you asked again, expectantly.

"I don't know. Pomfrey hasn't let anyone inside het." you stayed silent, pondering for a few seconds.

"Let's make a deal."

"A deal?"

"A deal. If gryffindor won, i'll forget you ever called me an idiot and we can go on a date."

Draco's lips curled up slightly, "and what if slytherin won?"

You waited for a moment, staring at him in defy.

"Then we don't talk ever again." you said inching closer with your face towards the boy. Draco had a one-sided smile plastered on his face and his eyes narrowed at you. He extended his hand out and you shook it, sealing the deal. Right in that moment, Fred and George burst inside, with Madame Pomfrey in tow, trying to restrain the twins.

"Y/n! Still alive?" shouted Fred.

"Out of here now! They need to rest!"

"Madame Pomfrey, can i talk with them for a moment?" you tried asking, but she was not having any of it.

"You need to rest! You'll see them later!" and she started to usher Fred and George outside by force. You glanced at Draco who was looking at the scene very amused, then back at the twins.

"Who won the match?" you inquired, almost shouting, and the twins managed to respond before being shut outside by Madame Pomfrey.

"It's postponed."

//

Taglist <3

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[ktheist]

you can sit with us. | m

pairings. taehyung x reader x jungkook

genre. slice of life

words. 5.7k

warnings. explicit content, semi-public sex, threesome (obviously), everyone’s a switch at this point, but top!jungkook, big dick!tae, big dick!jungkook, discussions of sexuality

synopsis. the person frowns, confusion clearly painted on his face, “how can you be dating two people at once and those two people date each other while dating you?”

“it’s cause we’re a thruple - like a couple but with three people.”

x

the first time you met jeon jungkook and kim taehyung was at a bar downtown. you’d bumped into the tall, dark haired man at the bar who was in the middle of turning around after what seemed to be a reminder for the bartender to serve him and his companion at “table 6.”

“oh sorry,” you find yourself saying to a broad chest before letting your eyes travel up past the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple and finally his beautiful, mesmerizing eyes but it was the sweet, tender smile that gets you clenching your hands together in hopes to stop them from coming up to fan yourself, “oh there you are! wow, you’re tall!”

the sound of his chuckle was music to your ears, “i get that a lot - have a good one,” with a good natured nod and a parting farewell, he disappeared into the crowd.

you knocked on the counter, fixing the bartender a smile, “hi,” your half buzzed smile dragged out the word into something that might or might be interpreted the wrong way, especially considering where you were but when she smirked at you, you knew this one was going to be on the house, “oh, your teeth are so pretty!”

“thanks, baby, what can i get you?” as self-assured as she was, she still steered the conversation back to the reason you’re there, butt half sitting on the stool and arms propped over the counter, leaning a little too close than one should.

“oh!” you gasped as though you’d just remembered something, “can i have a bloody mary, please?”

“sure thing, sweets,” she winked and you giggled.

the whole time she was preparing your order, she’d kept her eyes on you and you were a giggling mess, eyes of stars staring at the way her nimble hands did their work up till the moment she slid it over to you with a, “it’s on the house.”

“oh my god, thank you!” a pause in the moment and a linger of gaze later, you were pushing the piece of paper with a sequence of numbers into your bra.

there was skip to your step as you made your way over to what was supposed to be a booth that you booked with your friends - who, in the short span of time managed to get their of companions for the night and consequently left no space for you to even sit.

so you stood there, not knowing how much time passed, with your jaws on the ground and the bloody mary held midair. completely frozen in place.

that was, until the handsome stranger beckoned you over from two seats away. he only had one other person with him. if his hair was dark, his companion’s was jet black, “hey, you can sit with us.”

with a dry sniffle, you’d marched way over. a stomp in your steps and a huff as you plopped down across from him and his companion. he’d introduced himself as taehyung and his companion, jungkook. and you had, forgetting everything about your untasteful encounter, brightly announced your name, “thanks so much for letting me sit with you guys,” you gushed, “me and my girlfriends made a promise that we’d never let any man or woman get in our way of girl’s night,” with an face full of dissatisfaction and an exhalation, you continued, “but guess that plan went out of the window.”

“is this your first time? don’t think we’ve seen you before,” jungkook’s voice, if there existed a word to sum up how to describe it, it would be melodic. a hymn of the heavens in the body of a man - a very beautiful man at that.

“no but this is my second time,” and halfway-drunk you had no filter or any sense of shutting the fuck up before you shared too much to strangers, you went on about how “a girl i was sorta a thing with brought me here,” you and her clearly didn’t work out because, otherwise why would you be here with, “so my girlfriends wanted to go to a gay bar and thought why not bring them here, right?” you scoffed, remembering the sisterhood promise made just a few hours ago, “wrong - they ditched me as soon as they saw the only few straight men here.”

that seemed to bring a rise of chuckle from taehyung and a mixture of a chuckle and a scoff from jungkook. for the rest of the night, you drank and did shots and danced on the floor - the two of them seemed a tad bit protective over you, especially when a man got too close. they weren’t looking for any because, “so how long have you guys been dating?”

“we’ve known each other for seven years and we’ve been dating for-” jungkook began before taehyung chirped in, “two years.”

“oh my god, you guys finish each other’s sentences,” you cooed, vision blurred but still somewhat able to process the information that went through your ears “goals.”

so they had no reason to let anyone else come into your little circle of three on top of the very obvious fact that you were too far gone to even consent to even a dance with any man or woman.

you remembered your friends, some time into the night, finding you and thanking the two men for looking out for you before they dragged you out with them. neither of them actually went home with anyone but it still didn’t stop you from holding a vendetta against them because, “girls, we made a sacred promise and you broke it!”

they’d bribed you with ice cream and sushi and you were a puddle of delighted jelly by the time you all walked out of the sushi place.

it was a month later that you’d returned to the bar, decked in your best curve-hugging skin-tight dress. this time, you were alone.

the plan to earn brownie points from the bartender fell through when you found out that she was quit a few days ago and the employer refused to give you any details about her - even her number to you because you’d regrettably got it wet beyond repair after dumping the clothes you’d worn that night into the washer before going to bed and setting the laundry to wash the next morning, forgetting the treasure that you’d gained the night before.

with shoulders sagged and a mournful pout, you’d walked over to one of those two-people tables, hoping to get a beer in a leave. but then they were there, sitting at the same table, beckoning you over like the good overnight friends that they were.

“what’s with the long face, sweetie?” taehyung pouted, eyebrows knitting together as he shot you the prettiest puppy eye to which made you giggle in response.

so you’d told them about how you’d fucked up with one of the cutest girl you’d seen in ages. “ugh, i hate when that happens,” jungkook made an over exaggerated eyeroll, probably to cheer you up which partially worked.

until you three decided to dance again with taehyung holding your hand up as you twirled around like a princess in red. when it’s jungkook’s turn to twirl, he had to bend his knees and gradually make a full circle in an awkward way but still ended with a hair flip.

and so it went, a friendship of mutuality and overflowing gayness. you’d become eating buddies who travelled all over seoul for the best foodplace that’s ever been reviewed. had stay overs when you’d driven out of town and back to their place. went to the bar every so often which they’d taken up the task of being your wingmen.

they succeeded in their jobs a few times. but the girls you’d slept with never stayed and you never thought of proceeding to reach out beyond a one nightstand. because you were young and they were sweet but you didn’t think a relationship of trust and confidence could ever spawn from meetings at bars and spurred into a hot, passionate romance that simmered into ashes the next day.

“i don’t know you guys,” you sigh, “i think i’m done with girls.”

“oh no,” taehyung looks genuinely mortified while jungkook shakes his head “a loss for the gays and girls” and you giggle-  never a dull moment with these two.

“i’m not saying i’m done done but it’s been awhile since i’ve sucked a dick, you know?” and with friendship came honesty and the comfortableness of saying things for what it is without being judged for it.

“oh don’t we know,” jungkook snickers, while taehyung shoots him a look - he’d always been the shy one between the two. the younger man goes in for a kiss, to which the elder accepts, meeting him halfway.

and all of it only makes you a tad bit lonely as you scan the crowd. some gorgeous beings catches your eye and you’d like to think you caught theirs too but instead of the gentle and loving affection you’d seen between the two men, their eyes were sparked with lust and passion. like nymphs of the night who’d leave you high and dry once they got what they wanted.

so you left to get a drink at the bar, ordering a shot of jeager in hopes of drinking away the creeping hollowness that begins to fill the lonely parts of your heart. several shots in and you’re tumbling over to your two friends who seem to be have taken things up several notches after your leave. with taehyung on top of jungkook and the first not so shy anymore to let out unrestrained moans as his younger other half laps on his neck.

you’re halfway drowned into your own little world and probably will be going home with them and crashing in that spare bedroom you’ve started calling your part time bedroom.

until you lock eyes with jungkook. his lower face buried in taehyung’s shoulder while the latter pauses, glancing over to you as though just remembering that you were there. still having the sense to lift an inquisitive eyebrow, you do so with a, “oh don’t mind me, i’m just happy that you guys are getting some tonight.”

“you know,” jungkook pauses, letting the seconds trickle on like the droplets of on the wall of the glass before it hits the surface of the table, “you wanted to suck a dick, right? welll we’ve got dicks.”

it takes you a long winded, painful moment to digest his words. another to let out a mixture of a chuckle and a scoff as if to say, “you’re kidding...” but the “...right?” comes a second too late. a second too hopeful.

and that’s how you end up in the washroom - you’re not quite sure if it’s the men or women’s but you’re surprised that it could fit three adults in one tiny cubicle. but the matter of how to suck whose dick was an entirely different problem.

“shit ___, your elbow’s in my stomach,” jungkook hisses in a muted whisper, his hand on your hip, no doubt the culprit of your ridden up dress until your cotton panties are out in the open.

“fuck, jungkook, move over, i can’t reach tae’s dick,” you grumble out, the aforementioned man’s hardened dick in your hand but the space not allowing you to even crouch in front of him as he sat on the toilet whilst jungkook stood behind you.

“will someone just suck my dick?” the latter sighs just as he throbs in your hand.

“wait,” jungkook says, earning a dissatisfied groan from you and his boyfriend but before either of you can say anything, he’s turning you around, hands guiding your hips, “tae, push her panties down.”

almost as though controlled by an invisible force, the man’s hands are quick to get those baby pink panties down until they’re hanging around your ankles.

“hey wait wait wait!” you repeat like a mantra as you feel jungkook’s hands guiding you down onto taehyung’s lap which, if you remember correctly, was sporting a protruding hardness in between.

“oh fuck,” yes, you’d just confirmed that an extremely erected and extravagantly lively dick is excitingly welcoming you with the way it’s jolting against your lower lips.

“oh my god,” taehyung moans, hands on the curve of your hips as he gently lowers you onto him until he’s fully inside you.

“that’s nice that you two are enjoying yourselves but - remember i’m the one that made this work,” a voice says before a hand wraps around your wrist, guiding it to a similarly throbbing hardness but of a lesser length than taehyung’s to which you soon realize that he makes it up with his girth.

“someone’s jealous,” the person behind you snickers - you have half a mind to join in on the teasing if it isn’t for your hips and knees focusing on keeping up your weight whilst you hand strokes the length in front of you, mouth lapping on his tip.

“shut up and kiss me, pretty boy,” you can almost hear the eye roll from jungkook’s voice as the tip of your nose hits his pelvic, mouth stretching wider as his leans over you, possibly to lock lips with the man he vindictive but lovingly complimented.

and so it goes, your first dick - two actually - after a long while. needless to say, you come out flushed and walking silly but both men had their hands around the opposite hip from the side they’re standing beside. it helps you hold yourself up at least until you’re in their car, switching from sticking your tongue in taehyung’s throat to jungkook’s when he stops at a red light. body stretching over the leg space between the passenger seat and the back of the driver’s seat, his neck probably hurting from having to crane around until he reaches your lips whilst taehyung’s keeps himself busy with a hand under your panties. teasing, rubbing your pleasure nub just above your lips until you’re soaking by the time the car rolled to a stop in their parking lot.

“scoot over,” jungkook instructs, unbuckling his seatbelt, “we really need to normalize waiting for the third person to finish doing whatever they were doing before deciding to fuck in the back seat of the car while they’re driving.”

“can i have your mouth, sweetie?” taehyung announces, sending waves of excitement down your core as you feel yourself clench in anticipation.

there’s just something about how they manhandle you - your hips particularly as taehyung lifts you up and slides away to the right of the car and setting you down like a little doll, hand pushing down his pants and letting his erection shoot up like a roly poly.

“great cause i want her pussy,” jungkook’s displeased tone is replaced by a breathy agreement.

and just like his other half, he’s making you stand on your knees, body bent over taehyung until his dick is in your face, oozing with precum.

“tae baby, at this point, you don’t even have to ask,” you fix him a smirk, savoring the way his eyes darken with a sort of godless desire as you lap at his tip like you would a lollipop.

the second time around, you’re much better at focusing on what’s in front of you despite the other length filling you up balls deep.

you’re not sure when you’d stopped or what time you fell asleep. but all you knew, you were sore and full by the time you were drifting between the waking world and the dream world.

the morning when you woke up, it’s been because of the way the bed shook like an earthquake was wrecking up the room. an earthquake that moaned, “deeper, jungkook, oh fuck.”

the sight before you has you clenching your thighs together but at the same time, the giggle that left your lips is what causes heads to turn and eyes to focus on you.

“did we wake you up, sweetie? i’m so sorry,” taehyung is the first to worry, “oh yes-” but that worry subsides when jungkook starts moving again, skin slapping skin.

but the elder isn’t quite ready to give up just yet, “we wanted to wait for you to- ah - get up - fuck - oh,” he whimpers, burying his face into the mattress before peeking at you with eyebrows knitting together, “when we were talking about l-last night, we - we couldn’t help ourselves.”

“don’t worry about me, i had plenty of dick to go for at least a whole month,” you stare at taehyung’s pinked lips for the briefest moment before searching his eyes, feeling a sudden heat rise to your cheeks when you notice he’d caught the lingering stare - last night was fun but all three of you were buzzed and possibly horny as hell, you’re not so sure if a kiss would be welcomed by either of them now that you’re all sober and awake.

“i’m gonna go shower,” you announce, throwing your feet over the edge of the bed, the sound of your padding steps drowned by their pleasured moans.

the hot shower helps ease the knots in your muscles and calm your mind - or at least partially. the sight of the two boyfriends shamelessly fucking in front of your eyes still plays at the back of your mind like a graphic scene. and so you find yourself caressing your hardened nipples, your free hand snaking down between your legs as a whimper escapes your mouth. almost as though anything louder, and the whole world would know what you’re doing.

“what? you’re touching yourself?” a melodic but dangerous voice reverberates against the wall and cuts through the sound of running shower.

before you can even call out - ask who it is even though it’s obvious whose voice it belongs to, the curtain is torn open, revealing a sculpted god - you didn’t notice last night because it was dark but even then you’d known those strong arms that held you must be hiding something else underneath those layer of clothes.

“oh, hey, tae - the bathroom’s kinda oc-” you were about to ask what he was doing because the bathroom was obviously occupied - besides the fact that it’s the guest room’s bedroom and the main bedroom had their own bathroom - but before you can, a pair of arms are pulling you against another body. muscular and deliciously built but exceptionally predatory.

“you weren’t gonna come without us, are you?” taehyung’s crestfallen expression is all you see. his downturned lips and puckered lips being your weakness.

“y-you guys were busy, so i-” your words are cut short when you feel the coldness of a breath against you damp ear, “uh-uh, who said we were?” jungkook’s teasing denial is what makes you clench your legs together, only for them to be pried open by the dark haired man who’s fallen to his knees right in front of you.

“tae!” you shriek, caught by surprised at the sudden lost of balance as he hooks one leg over his shoulder whilst your hand claws onto jungkook’s arms that’s banded over your chest for a sort of leviation.

“shhh,” jungkook hums in your ears, as though to say ‘we’d never let you fall’.

but you didn’t fall and taehyung’s looking at you with the prettiest eyes, “what? you said i didn’t have to ask, right?”

“n-no,” the heat comes on full force - all of a sudden, the hot water trickling down your bodies aren’t even remotely sufficient to keep you warm, “you don’t have to.”

and so it goes, your many firsts within the short span of less than 24 hours, spurred by the two wonderful souls you never thought you’d come to know so closely within the duration of your friendship.

you waited with nothing but a towel around your body until jungkook knocked on the door, a folded set of clothes in hand.

“oh hey thanks - don’t know what i’d do if i had to walk in the streets in fishnets and flashy red dress,” you force out a chuckle, cheeks heating up as you swipe the clothes off his hands in a blink of an eye. to which he heaves out a sigh, but the smile on his lips tells you that he’s all but angry.

“hey, i know what went on in the last few hours was crazy,” he starts, sounding uncannily casual about it, “but we don’t want this to get in the way of what we’ve built - can we talk about this over breakfast? tae’s making it now but- i mean, if you want to, of course.”

and that’s when you finally let the walls come tumbling down. standing there bare - quite literally - with your chest washed off its initial worries, “honestly, i’d really like that.”

“perfect,” the brightest smile lights up on his face and for a moment, you thought everything went back to normal. back when all three of you are hanging out and joking about the littlest things one of you realized and pointed out to the other two.

“oh and,” jungkook tilts his head to the side, “sorry if i was rude or anything last night,” he quickly adds, “and just now - i tend to be like that during sex.”

“oh,” is all that follows your response, thoughts running around before you can actually reach out one by one to process it - so single celled brain goes, “i kind of like that side of you, actually.”

“really?” there it goes the smile that could quite literally blind you as his shoulders visibly sags, “tae hates it when i boss him around - thank god that’s not the majority opinion from now on.”

“from now on?” you echo his words but before you can interrogate him some more, he’s out of the door and yelling for you to come to the kitchen when you’re done putting on the clothes.

so you find yourself sitting in front of the two boyfriend whom you’ve spend quite a night knowing. they’re gazing at you with eyes that can’t stop squinting into crescents and smile that can’t stop smiling.

“okay should i tell or you?” taehyung turns to the darker haired male, their hands that are twined together moving towards the man he’s pointing.

“how about together?” jungkook suggests, a glint in his eyes that makes you stare, wide eyed and unblinking. pancake lying cold and uneaten as you wait with bated breath, “...tell me what?”

before you can even finish your words, the two bursts out in exclamation, “we like you.”

taehyung’s is a bit more excited while jungkook’s is a tad bit reserved.

“i like you guys too!” you declare, hands clapping together in excitement.

“oh my god, you do?” taehyung squeals, bringing his free hand and the one he has twined with jungkook to his heart.

“don’t i?” you make a ridiculous sound, hand waving away the ludicrosity of the possibility of you saying otherwise, “i’m glad we get to put last night behind us and still be friends.”

“i don’t think she gets it,” jungkook says a whole heartbeat later whilst taehyung’s upturned lips gradually but surely falls.

“what?” your eyes flit between the two, as if trying to spot the thing you seem to obviously miss.

“sweetie,” taehyung reaches his hand to you, to which you gladly accept before jungkook does the same with his other hand and you similarly meet halfway over the table “we like like you,” the taller man emphasizes.

it takes you a moment to digest his words. another to squint your eyes at them with a ‘okay where’s the punchline?’ kind of smile. and one last moment for it to sink in, “i thought you guys were gay and last night and this morning was a mistake?”

“i thought so too,” taehyung is the first to break the bond, his free hand coming to his chest, bent in a 90 degrees angle, “but i’ve had girl crushes and they went away after i met jungkook so i thought they were just me being in denial of my sexuality but i like spending time with you and jungkook,” he slips his large hand into yours that stays frozen on the table where he’d left it, his thumb caressing your knuckles, “i like the way you smile, the way you’d team up with me to tease jungkook,” that receives a snort from the man in question, “the way you’re always so supportive and optimistic- i just - i like you.”

“well, what he said except i like everything he’s not about you,” jungkook simply says, “and unlike him, i know i’m bi.”

“and we want you to be a part of this wonderful, beautiful, delightful relationship,” taehyung adds, fixing you the most tender smile as he gazes at you as though he’s never seen such a magnificent creature before.

“i mean...” you breathe out, a sea of emotions crashing against your chest before you finally say, “this is a lot to take in guys. i don’t know what to say - i think i need some time for myself.”

“oh,” it’s the way taehyung seems like he has more to say, the way his smile is completely replaced with a hesitant flat line and the way jungkook lets go of their twined hands to rub the elder man’s back.

“it’s okay, take your time,” he says, and you shoot him a grateful but awkward smile before taking your things and leaving through the door. unsure of whether you’ll ever return. whether you’ll ever laugh about the stupidity of bravely idiotic characters in horror movies again. whether you’ll ever huddle in the kitchen trying to cook dinner for three again. whether those peaceful days will ever be yours again depending on your own choices.

days go by and then one week and then two and you’ve confided in at least two people whose reactions are similarly perturbed by what you’ve told them until you’ve concluded that nobody will truly understand the confusion and frustration and jitters that courses through your veins when you think about the two charming but glaringly different ends of the spectrum men.

one is like the blue sky, bright yet vast and a trove of never ending possibilities while the other is like the midnight sky, decked with fleeting moments of vulnerability and endless mystery. but both, you’ve come to realize, are the reasons your view of the world has changed for the better. made your days a little more worth looking forward to. and it’s exiting and daunting all at once because the people you’ve confided in have expressed their concerns and dissertation of what they think hides behind the veils of normality. a box they’re not so used to stepping out of and deems those beyond the cardboards uncommon. foreign. unknown.

and truthfully, you’ve already decided what you want - know what you want to do on your way back that day after you’d made a beeline for the door. and as you stand in front of the same door, sniffling from the remnants of your fight with your parents after your sister - one of the people you’d confided in - deliberately told them about what she thinks - and she thought right - you’re about to do.

two rings later, you’re staring at a face of an angel. doe eyes hiding behind jet black locks widening as the sight of you hits him like a brick.

“____, hey, it’s okay,” jungkook says in the softest voice as he gathers you in his arms like an old cardigan.

“baby, who’s at the door?” comes the loud but smooth baritone a minute later.

he must have seen himself - who their uninvited guest is as silence settles in between all three of you before taehyung’s coos, “oh, sweetie.”

it’s only after an hour of ice cream and watching friends and the two boyfriends wrapping you up in a burrito blanket that you blanket do you spill the beans on why you showed up at their door at 11 in the evening, looking like a mess they never ordered.

your parents are livid. they think this isn’t real - that you’re being delusional and that both taehyung and jungkook were messing with you. it was the slander on the two soul’s names that has you unleashing the words you’d never thought you’d say to your own parents.

“i can take liking girls. that’s fine - but a relationship of three?” your father had stood in front of you, fingers pointing at his head as he spat out, “are you crazy?”

the family dinner had turned into a family quarrel. and your sister had been caught up in between - she’d wanted you too see the ludicrosity of it all and if not her, then maybe you’d listened to your parents.

and listened you did.

like a time bomb surrounded with dynamites, you’d eventually exploded. anything you say would never get through the and anything they said, you’d taken negatively.

so you took the cab straight to taehyung and jungkook’s.

“i just - it hurts because they won’t accept you guys and that means they’re rejecting me,” you sniffle, “i’m sorry i took so long.”

“hey, it’s okay, you’re with us now,” jungkook gathers you in lap whilst taehyung wraps his arms around the both of you from your other side, “yeah, cry all you want sweetie, we’re here for you.”

you wake up the next morning huddled up in a king sized bed with the two men on either side of you, almost like a knights protecting their princess as she slept like a baby after crying her eyes out for another half hour. your legs are tangled together, a pair of mismatched hands on your stomach while a snore resounds from your left where taehyung is sleeping like a beauty and jungkook on your right like an angel.

and for the first time in a long time, that hollowness in your chest cowers away in the light of the day that seeps through the blinds, painting paralleled shadows over your skin.

“i love you,” you whisper, looking between their two peacefully sleeping faces.

x

“hey, beautiful, you come here often?” a gruff voice reverberates in your ears just as you’ve placed the order for you and-

“yeah, with my boyfriends,” you shoot him a polite smile before attempting to slip past him and the stools you’re trapped in between but before you can even manage to move, he inches closer.

it’s been a year since you’ve been dating taehyung and jungkook. eight months since you’ve decided to move in with them for good. your parents reached out to you two months ago after declaring your banishment from ever stepping in their property let alone attend family dinners and gatherings. your relatives have all heard about your unusual but not unreal relationship and so have taehyung’s and jungkook’s families.

opposition still rises from both sides of the families’ distant relatives. it’s not too far off from yours.

“oh, you mean how girls call their lady friends girlfriends,” a lecherous grin forms on his face, “i get it.”

“no,” you hiss, needles of annoyance getting to you earlier tonight than most nights, “i mean my boyfriends who i’m dating.”

the person frowns, confusion clearly painted in his face, “how can you be dating two people at once and those two people date each other while dating you?” he doesn’t even wait for your response as he takes a step back, “a simple ‘no’ could’ve done the trick, you think you’re better than me?”

“it’s cause we’re a thruple - like a couple but with three people,” you tilt your head to the side just the slightest bit, seeing him in a different but not any more attractive angle, “and honey, i know i’m better than you.”

and with that, you raise a challenging brow, daring him to say otherwise just as a smooth but deadly voice calls for you, “____, you were taking so long so we decided to check on you, is everything okay, sweetie?”

“hey man, what business do you have with our girlfriend?” jungkook lifts an eyebrow in a similar fashion as you as he glares down at the man who’s at least a few inches short.

“you-” the man steals a petrified glance at you as the realization sinks in his eyes but before he can say anything, you strut in between the two men, smirking when one of their arms snake around your waist in a possessive nature.

“nope,” you say simply, “shorty here was just leaving, weren’t you?”

he mumbles out something incoherent, between a ‘liar’ and ‘rude’ before scurrying away and out into another part of the bar until you can no longer see him.

“thanks for having my back, babes,” you stand on your tip toe only to have taehyung chuckle, bending over until your lips press his before doing the same to jungkook, “baby,” and the two sharing a kiss together a heartbeat later.

“let’s dance!” you grab their hands and begin to drag them to the dance floor which does nothing if they hadn’t move themselves and they know it too as they laugh, the taller men patting your hair gently because he knows how long you worked on it.

“our girlfriend is so cute, isn’t she?”

jungkook pushes taehyung’s hands away only to ruffle the top of your hair despite your protest, “sure is.”

“my hair!” you lament, “babes, baby messed up my hair!”

you tug on your boyfriend’s sleeve, the man looking between you and his boyfriend, unsure of whether to be the pacifier or the scolder. in the end, he goes in for a kiss on your pouted lips, “you look beautiful either way, sweetie.”

“oh my god, it’s ruined, isn’t it?” you question, eyes filling with dread.

the culprit has the gal to laugh at your predicament until you announce your choice of dance partner being your taller boyfriend for the rest of the night and him not exactly opposing it whilst jungkook is left to trail behind you until he catches up between you, arms around your waist and taehyung’s, “okay, okay, sorry - i’ll make it up to both of you later tonight!”

at that bold yet careless exclamation, you look at taehyung, only to see the corners of his lips lifting into a devious smirk similar to yours.

“it’s been awhile since we took out the whip, hasn’t it?”

[lilhwahwa]

White Hemlock, 2 - ���.𝙎𝙃

WARNING: mafia au! Strong language! BLOOD! liddol angst? Liddol fluffy. Not proof read o.o

MASTERLIST 

Previous part

Summary from last part: Y/N’s family gets threatened by an anonymous number. Y/N has to poison Seonghwa and knock him out temporarily in order to keep everyone safe, but gets caught slipping the poisonous herb into his tea which lead to a rather heated confrontation in his home office at dawn. 

-

That night, when you had returned from the bathroom in your and Seonghwa's shared room, you found him gone. A part of you was relieved, knowing that meant his confrontation wouldn't continue longer than it already had. But another part of you, your heart specifically, kept aching for the man you loved to come back soon and hold you in his warm embrace. Where was he anyway? Was he going to go after the people who sent you the messages? If that was the case, you knew it would be impossible to stop him once he started, aware of his need to finish tasks thoroughly.  

You had heard shuffling in your shared bedroom after Seonghwa instructed you to go clean up in the bathroom. And after the confrontation in his office, you had no intentions to argue further and did as instructed. You splashed cold water onto your face with shaky hands, mind replaying the moment your lover had connected the metal tip of his gun to your temple, his loaded gun. The wooden door of your bedroom shutting close brought you back to reality. He had left for the night.

You sighed, twisting and turning in your bed as scenarios of Seonghwa getting beaten by big, scary guys played out before your closed eyes. Harshly cold shivers ran down your legs and spine every time you imagined his stoic face twist in pain and instead kept your eyes opened, not wanting to see such a sight again. 'How ironic, you were going to poison him anyway...' you thought to yourself, chest still heavy with guilt as you realized how close you were to hurting your loved one. Your hand desperately rubbed at the ache in your stomach in small circular motions, the action being ineffective as the tightness spread to your chest, pressing you down further into the soft mattress as if a heavy weight had been placed on top of you.

If it weren't for the long and dark drapes hanging over the windows in your room, you'd think it was still night time, mere minutes having passed since you went to bed. Yet no sleep had made it even close to you even after hours, only melancholic thoughts of Seonghwa getting hurt, there to entertain your exhausted brain. At this point it was torture. Should you call him? Would he even answer? No, he would probably be angry still.

As you sighed, ready to turn to your other side again, you heard faint footsteps slowly growing louder as they approached your bedroom. The marble floor outside helped you make a perfect calculation of how far away this person was, and just as the door flew open, your eyes shut tightly, every muscle in your body squeezing tightly as you tensed up.

"Fucking hell-" a low curse sounded in the otherwise silent room. Seonghwa's shallow breaths filled the rest of the silence as you heard him shuffle to what seemed the bathroom. 'Correct', you thought as the bathroom door shut closed.  

Did Seonghwa fall for that? Did he think you had fallen asleep? You felt almost proud of having fooled him for once, mind racing back to the few times you pretended to be asleep. Those times always ended up with Seonghwa's lips turning up into a cocky smirk as he attacked your sensitive sides with tickles, refusing to let go of your shaking form until tears were streaming down your face from the laughter. No matter how unpleasant it felt, you always looked forward to the soft kiss he sealed his actions with.

You were brought out of your thoughts when a pained groan weakly made its way through the bathroom door.  Your brows knitted together in concern as you sat up immediately. Had you heard it correctly or was it your mind playing games on your exhausted state?

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed as another groan made its way to you. Eyebrows furrowed and nerves eating away at your stomach, you carefully stepped over to the bathroom. With a shaky hand, you push down on the door handle, revealing a sickening sight. Seonghwa sat on the closed toilet lid. Crimson red blood trickled down his lips and chin before joining messily at his neck, running down and under his white dress shirt that was soaked in dried blood already.

"S-Seonghwa?" your bottom lip quivered as you stood frozen at the door frame. At that moment he seemed to stop his cleaning up process, hand pausing in the air as he acknowledged your presence. Fuck, he had forgotten to lock the door.

"Leave," he grumbled before pressing a cotton pad to his nose, tilting his head back slightly as the white material quickly absorbed the flow of blood from his nose. You didn't even acknowledge the tears threatening to spill from you as your chest forgot to rise, forgot to take a breath. A harsh sounding and tight-throated sob leaves your lips as it all comes crashing down. It was not your initial discomfort for blood, but rather his blood that made your hands tremble as you took another step closer to him.

"I said leave," he spits, knowing he wouldn't be able to handle cleaning up and seeing you cry at the same times. Knowing he'd rather bleed out comforting you, than tending to his wounds.

"N-no," you sniffle and come even closer, collecting yourself with a shaky breath as your eyes searched for more cotton pads and the hydrogen peroxide liquid, having heard from Hongjoong once or twice that it was used to stop blood quicker. With shaky hands, you reach out to his face and cringe as your hands touch the warm and soaked cotton pad, removing it from his bloody nose and throwing it away into the sink. You swallowed back a pained sob that threatened to leave your lips when you saw the blossoming purple bruise around his left eyes. Your bottom lip quivered, but you said nothing as you grabbed a new cotton pad, twisting it into a small string and pouring the liquid onto it before gently pushing it into his nose.

You looked down at your bloodied hands and then back at his face. Seonghwa had closed his eyes again, trying his best to stop any emotions from being able to enter and leave him. He knew he had to think logically from now on, and seeing your heartbroken form would do the exact opposite, he'd snap in mere seconds.

You reach out gently, placing your hand on his sharp jaw, gently as if he was made out of porcelain. You still found him breathtaking, and despite the circumstances, you couldn't help but look down at his plump, slightly chapped, lips.

"Hwa," you whispered more to yourself, voice breaking. You shook your head when you were met with silence, knowing you had to do something to help him. It's the least you could do. With that, you reached for a small towel, turning away from Seonghwa to wet the rough material with warm water. Without questioning your actions, Seonghwa opened his cold eyes to observe, letting you do whatever it is you planned to. You avoided his cold gaze, not wanting to be reminded of your earlier confrontation.

With a shaky hand, you gently cleaned the drying blood away from his face with the towel, careful not to overstep his boundaries. For every second that Seonghwa watched your face twisted in concentration, he felt the ice around his heart melt off piece by piece until...

"Baby-" he whispered, eyes back to his warm and softly round ones. The same eyes as when you had worn his hoodie at home for the first time or when you told him you loved him. You almost thought that you had imagined it out of desperation, not stopping your process for even a second. Seonghwa couldn’t deny himself anymore and sighed, reaching out to place his hands on your hips, squeezing the soft flesh with a satisfied hum.

Your eyes quickly jumped to his, brows furrowed as you wondered what it is that he wanted. "D-did it hurt? I'm so sorry, I just-" you rambled, only stopping when Seonghwa sat up and reached forward to finally place his lips on yours. The initial contact was sloppy and you could feel your nose press against his cheek uncomfortably. Yet that didn't stop a big wave of warmth from spreading through your body as if a firework had exploded inside of you. You gasped and before you could comprehend what was happening, Seonghwa had you straddling his thighs, pulling away for a second to reposition the both of you before reconnecting your lips in a much deeper kiss. Despite the confusion and fear to hurt him, you also couldn't deny that this is what you wanted right now. You dropped the dirty towel on the floor and reached forward to wrap your arms around his neck, careful in case he had more injuries.  

Soft mewls left your lips as his digits dug into your flesh, holding onto you as if you'd run away.

"I took care of them, all of them" he whispered against your lips, moving down to press his lips to the base of your neck. "What do y-you me-" you tried asking but instead let out a low moan as he bit down on your skin. Seonghwa smirked at your reactions proudly, tongue sticking out to lick a long stripe of skin right up to your jaw, humming to himself as he felt you melt in his arms.

"You don't wanna know what I did to them...," he mutters, pulling away to finally get a look at your dishevelled form. Lips slightly swollen and cheeks flushed from the intensity of his kiss. Somehow the information only shot another wave of warmth through your body and this time it was you that launched forward to press your lips to his, for a second taking Seonghwa by surprise. Yet he had no problem taking the control right back from you as he squeezed down on your thigh. His tongue snaked into your mouth as you gasped, a low groan left his throat as everything around you seemed to turn black, only you and him existed in this close and intimate moment.

Seonghwa pulled away with a heavy breath, eyes lustful. You sat back with your hands on his shoulders, breathing heavily as well. Both of you felt alive, awake and alive despite not having gotten any sleep. Your eyes didn't leave Seonghwa's and you swore you saw the second his rounded eyes changed back to the colder and stoic eyes from earlier.

"...And you, still have a lesson to learn,"

[charlieswanwhore]

Realization (George Weasley x reader)

hi! this is my first imagine here on tumblr! i am gonna try to write more but here is this one for fun, sorry if its not great!

masterlist

It was fourth year when George realized he liked you. He found you in an empty corridor during dinner, everyone had been in the Great Hall except for you. He had gone to go search for you since you had not arrived at your usual spot right next to him. Hearing your faint cries is what brought him to you. He saw you sitting in the window sill with your head in your knees as you were curled up in a ball.

“Y/N?” your head popped up hearing the voice. “Are you alright?”

Before you turned around you made sure to wipe your eyes, take a deep breath, and put on a fake smile. When you turned around to meet George’s eyes though, you could tell you hadn’t fooled him. “Go eat, George. You don’t need to worry,” you tried to reassure him, not wanting your best friend to see you cry.

“No, no, no. I’ll stay. Obviously you’re upset, I don’t want you to be upset,” he said as he took a seat next to you. “So, tell me. What’s got you down?”

You stared at the floor for a bit before confiding in George. With a soft but raspy voice you speak up, “Adrian broke up with me, actually.” Embarrassment caused your cheeks to have a rosy tint and to keep your eye contact with a single tile on the floor.

“You’re kidding! Pucey is a git, always has been, you know that?” He nudged you in the ribs as he said that, trying to get a laugh out of your sad demanour.

You did giggle though, a weak smile found its way to your face. “I do now. Perhaps I should have listened to you and Fred complain about him more,” you broke into another giggle before apologizing, “sorry, Georgie.” It was your turn to nudge him in the ribs. He looked up and straight into your eyes. Seeing your Y/E/C eyes red, puffy, and wet made his heart sink.

“Honestly Y/N, you need to start listening to me, after all I am the smart twin,” His big headed comment cause you two to laugh for a few seconds, it eventually faded into a comfortable silence. Your head falling onto his shoulder startled him before he could relax. He’s never really been this close with a girl before, even you. It was new, but it was nice. He hesitated for a bit before he leaned his head onto yours.

The comfortable silence continued on, your sniffles breaking it as your mind wandered back into the break with your first boyfriend once again. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t cry,” he awkwardly put his arm around your shoulder and patted your back to comfort you.

“Merlin, I’m sorry. He was my first boyfriend and even though it didn’t last for too long, this really stinks.” George nodded as he listened to your rant, just wanting you to feel better.

He felt your breathing begin to calm down, as that happened George’s mind began to wander. He was thinking of what he would do better. He wouldn’t ditch you for his friends as much as Pucey did, he wouldn’t flaunt himself to his qudditch teams fan girls like Pucey did, he wouldn’t let his friends mock you like Pucey did, and most importantly, he would never hurt you, ever. He would never break up with you, if you were his. George’s eyes widened as he made the realization. Butterflies erupted in his stomach as he remembered he’s holding his best friend in his arms, he was thinking about her in a different way before. He had feelings for you.

His concern was interrupted when you stood up and offered your hand, “let’s go eat, I am sure Fred and Lee are wondering where we are.” He took your soft hand nervously. Walking down the corridors with you by his side made him realize that Fred is going to know because, honestly, Fred always knows.

It was during the Qudditch World Cup when you realized you had fancied George. Going to the Qudditch World Cup seemed like the best way to celebrate the end of the O.W.L. exams for you George, and Fred, even if some didn’t do as well as others. You hadn’t been too big on qudditch, you knew a bit only because your best friends were beaters for the Gryffindor team, but nothing outside of Hogwarts really sparked your interest. The entire Weasley family were appalled when they found out you weren’t very aware of any of the Qudditch teams that weren’t the four at school, especially when you had only heard of the Irish teamplaying, but only because the twins had wrapped you up head to toe in white and green to cheer on the team. So when it came down to the actual Ireland vs Bulgaria game, you had gotten a very extensive run down from George and Fred both. You cheered when they did, loving how intense they were getting. You saw just how passionate they became as the game was getting tough, it was a mixture of yelling out of anger, jumping from excitement, and a few tears of frustration.

Ron leaned in next to you and whispered, “you should cheer for Bulgaria next time they score, see how they react,” you smirked at the younger Weasley boy and nodded, his face complete with a devilish grin before turning his attention back to Victor Krum, who he so adored, apparently. After waiting for Ron’s cue, you and Ron went wild with cheering for the Bulgarian team, making Fred and George’s heads turn rapidly, fire in their eyes.

“Y/N! You traitor!” Fred yelled as you began to laugh hard with Ron. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the game. You weren’t off the hook with George, though.

George furrowed his eyebrows and made himself look shocked as well as disappointed, joking of course. He grabbed your shoulders and shook you a bit, “How could you?! Y/N, I don’t even know if I can even look at you anymore,” he said before turning away. This made you want to beg for his forgiveness, even if he wasn’t truly angry. You teased him in many different ways to get his attention, the only thing really grabbing his attention being when you jumped on his back and tried to hug him while begging for forgiveness. He played along in a flirting manner, making you blush more than ever. Eventually he put you down. After he put you down, he turned to look at you and said as if he was an upset parent, “Trying to get my forgiveness, eh? Not so easy, is it?” he tilts his head and stifles a laugh when you nod. “Well, I suppose I could make an exception for you, since you’re so cute,” he smiled at you in a way that was sweet and adoring, he then poked your nose before turning his attention back to the game as Ireland had gotten another point.

You stood there, red faced and shocked. Cute? Did George Weasley just call you cute? No, he didn’t mean it that way, right? George Weasley doesn’t call anyone cute. You stared back at the field trying to get your mind off of the words the boy next to you had just spoken, but the grass was all you could stare at as all things George Weasley ruffled through your brain. Why did him spinning you around on his back give you butterflies? Why did your cheeks burn that hot when he looked down at you trying to look angry? Why did him calling you cute make you swoon?

“Alright there, love? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” George leaned into your prepheral vision. Love. Is he trying to mess with you? Can he read minds?

“Never better! Just thinking, I guess,” you smiled back at him.

“What about? There’s a bloody brilliant game going on! What’s more exciting?” he nudged your ribs as he does all the time.

You, you wanted to say. All you did was shrug and tell him, “Thinking about how I would beat your ass in a game of Qudditch,” you smirked up at him, trying to avoid the truth.

“Oh, really? Someone with no broom experience past basic lessons versus a star beater? I’d love to see it,” he shakes his head then wraps his arm around your shoulders pulling you closer before pointing out things happening on the field.

As much as you’d love to listen to your best friend ramble about something he’s so excited about, something else flooded your mind and wouldn’t leave. The arm around your shoulders that made you feel warm solidified your thoughts, you liked George Weasley.

It wasn’t until later that year that these feelings would connect like a puzzle piece. Since the summer, yearning gazes and blushed cheeks were a common thing between you and George. Even though you both felt the same way, nothing had progressed since the night you realized your feelings for the red headed boy. You wanted more than anything to tell him how you feel but there was a dark cloud overshadowing that idea, the cloud being the possibility of rejection. You felt that if he liked you, you would have known by now, especially with his blabber mouth of a twin constantly spilling his secrets. Swallowing these feelings was hard, especially as the Yule Ball was coming up. You wanted desperately for him to ask you. You were sure he would moments after Fred asked Angelina, but he never did.

“Are you excited for the Yule Ball, Y/N?” George asked, trying to pry out of her that she is in need of a date, maybe asking him. Unfortunately for George, that wasn’t what happened.

“Actually I am! I was actually asked just this morning just after Potions!” you beamed, but also wanting to see how he reacted.

George was shocked, not because he didn’t think you were capable of getting a date, but he kind of assumed you were going in a group with him, Lee, Angelina, and Fred. “Who on Earth asked you?” his tone was quite rude to your ear. His tone truly offended you, despite that you wanted him to be angry.

“Timothy,” you bit, “he’s on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, he’s very sweet and actually seems very interested in me. Why are you so surprised anyway? Do you really think I wouldn’t be able to get a date?”

“No… it’s not tha-“ George started but the first word was enough to set you off.

“I know, what a weird thing for someone to take interest in me, right?” you said before turning into the other direction. George didn’t know what to say, he just watched you stomp in the opposite direction of your next class.

He knew he had messed up. He knew he broke his own promise to never hurt you from two years ago.

—

He watched you walk down the stairs arm in arm with the Timothy you had mentioned. George made a note to be a little less kind on the pitch next time Gryffindor played Ravenclaw. You looked beautiful, you were draped in a long lavender dress with many layers to it, it is something that he never thought you would have picked out, but he loved it anyway, you looked gorgeous.

Throughout the night, he would see you dancing and laughing, his heart felt a pinch as he became more and more jealous of this Timothy boy. His gaze rarely left you while he sat with Lee. His gaze became more intense as you left the circle of dancing people with Timothy, who seemed to have pulled you aside to talk. George watched your smile fade, the light leave your eyes, and your posture go down as Timothy kept speaking. Timothy had returned to the crowd and left you on the side looking upset. It wasn’t until you jogged past the door near to George that George got up to see what was wrong.

George had a feeling of deja vu as he tried to find you in the corridors, only to hear a light whimper coming from an abandoned area. “Y/N?” again, you sniffled, wiped your tears and turned to him, just as you had done when Adrian Pucey broke your heart.

“What do you want, George?” you were angry at both boys right now, but honestly, your anger with George faded.

“I saw that you were upset, I wanted to see what was going on,” he sat down next to you, leaving a little space, being aware that you weren’t exactly on amazing terms right now.

“Do you actually care or are you here to gloat because my date didn’t turn out the way I wanted?” you snapped.

“Y/N, I truly care, I hate seeing you upset. As for the other thing, I didn’t mean it in that way, please believe me, I just didn’t expect you to get a date, I thought we… erm… as a group were going!” George stuttered.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were being a git about someone being actually interested in me, I wasn’t fair to you,” you put your head on his shoulder, the situation feeling familiar.

“It’s alright. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?” George wrapped his arm around you, only this time it landed on your hips. This caused you to blush, it was different, but nice.

“Timothy only asked me to the ball to make his ex-girlfriend jealous, I guess it worked, he totally blew me off,” you laughed at the dumb situation.

“What an absolute git, you do not deserve to have your Yule Ball ruined by some boy,” he sounded sincere.

“Maybe I should swear off Quidditch players, this is the fourth one to dump me in a bad way,” you joked not even think about how the boy you like it a literal Quidditch player.

“Well, as a Quidditch player, I know I wouldn’t dump you or break you heart, ever,” his eyes widened after saying that. The cat was out of the bag with that one. He was scared for your reaction.

“Thank you, George,” you looked up at him and smiled, wiping your eyes again, careful not to mess up your makeup. You were sure he was just being friendly, he was being George.

“No, I mean it. I wanted to give you the best time at Yule Ball, I would never break you heart either,” his hands were now on your cheek. “I know I haven’t been the best at showing it recently, but I really care for you Y/N, a lot.”

“I care about you too, George. A lot,” you smiled back at him.

George broke away from you before standing up ajd offering you a hand, “may I have this dance, Y/N?” he asked in a dramatic gesture, making you giggle. You took his hand. You could faintly hearing a slower song playing from the ball. He took your right hand and put his other hand on your waist before you put your other hand on his shoulder. The combination of the faint music and starry night showing through the corridor windows made for a dream setting as they slowly danced, your head laying on George’s chest.

This went on for a few slower songs, during the third song, you removed your head from George’s chest before looking up at him, you softly smiled, looking straight into his eyes that had shifted from being closed to your eyes. The minute that you stared into his eyes felt like hours, you could honestly stare into his eyes for hours. After a bit, your eyes slowly dropped down to his lips, moving back and forth between them and his eyes before you slowly moved up to kiss his lips.

His chapped lips were warm against yours. They moved together in a slow, sweet motion, moving with the song playing in the background. It was at the end of the song when you two pulled apart and blushed. Your head went back to his chest, your grip on his hand tightened, cueing him to pull you closer to him.

It was a silent moment before an upbeat song began playing and a loud cheer from the young wizards boomed. Breaking apart from the dancing position, you both chuckled, not quite sure what to say to each other after the kiss. George cleared his throat before speaking again, “since I couldn’t take you to the full Yule Ball as a date, would you fancy going on one with me tomorrow?” He licked his lips as he nervously awaited your

“Only if you and I go dance for the rest of the night, help make up for missed time,” you looked at him with a flirty smile and eyes to match.

“That can be arranged,” he grinned before taking your hand and running towards the crowd once again. Suddenly you stopped in your tracks, almost stumbling over your dress and George his dress robes. George looked at you confused before you pulled on his hand to bring him close so you can kiss him again. It was quicker than the first kiss but was more cheeky. After you pulled apart, you noticed his dumbstruck facial expression that made your heart flutter. You then began running again with his hand still in yours, George being shocked at the sudden pull to the dance floor.

[spxllcxstxr]

The Seven Potters Plan Part 2 • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Request: Nope, just wanted to torture myself with this idea :)

Summary: Read Part 1 here!

Warnings: canon character death, canon Deathly Hallows, cursing, death, grieving, mention of injury and blood, death eaters, Voldemort, just a lot of hurt/angst

Word Count: 1.4k

A.N: Implied that you’re Remus’ age, the two of you are married, why do I think of these things? I’m like 99% sure I made this gender neutral? But if I didn’t like let me know. I know this is angsty, but I hope you all enjoy. Love you all ❤️

EDIT: Like I said in the last part (ugh I hate saying that) this fic had to be broken up into two parts. The starts exactly where it leaves off in the last part.

****

When your feet finally touch the ground, you notice that Hermione looks like herself again.

“Did you see the one that went down?” Hermione pants. “You think it’s—“

“Dead?” Kingsley asks, eyeing you carefully. “What’d you hit it with?”

“I don’t know...” You answer truthfully. “It just...dropped.”

“Harry!” Hermione cries, her body being brought into a hug.

Instinctively you bring your wand up, pointing at the others.

It’s Remus, and you almost falter.

“First thing you said to me on our first date?” You demand, wand trained on his chest.

“Merlin, what are you wearing?” He replies calmly. “But in my defense you looked like you just rolled out of bed.”

“It’s him.” You sigh out in relief, putting your wand back into your pocket. “And to be fair, you asked me out on our first date at twelve in the morning. I did just roll out of bed.”

Remus steps closer to you, arms wrapping around you. Your face buries deep into the crook of his neck, the smell of sweat and a subtle hint of chocolate overwhelming your senses. You almost sob in relief.

“Somebody betrayed us!” Kingsley shouts. “They knew, they knew it was tonight!”

“So it seems.” Remus replies, you pull away from him, but continue to cling onto his hand like before. “But apparently they did not realize there would be seven Harrys.”

“A small comfort!” Kingsley snaps. “Who else is back?”

“Only Harry, Hagrid, George, and me.”

“Not Mad-Eye?” You question nervously. Dread starts to coil down your spine.

Remus shakes his head. “What happened to you?”

The night continues to drag on, everyone recounting their own tales of what happened. The absence of your father continues to wear on you so you pace, occasionally biting at your grimy nails.

But your father was the best Auror the Wizarding world has ever seen. He’s taken out crowds of Death Eaters with his eyes closed, you’ve seen it. One simple ride across the country wasn’t a big deal. You try your best to ignore the cold feeling deep within.

“I’m going to have to get back to Downing Street, I should have been there an hour ago.” Kingsley rises from his seat. “Let me know when they’re back.”

He makes his way towards you, a hand resting on your shoulder. “You did good today, kid.” He smiles.

“Don’t call me kid.” You mutter weakly, trying and failing to reciprocate his smile.

“Hey,” He lightly reassures. “it’s Alastor. He’s fine.”

After a silent nod he walks off into the darkness, Disapparating to his destination.

You continue to pace, feet dragging through the grass as Arthur, Molly, and Ginny come rushing out the house.

“Thank you,” Molly hugs Ron close to her. “for our sons.”

“Don’t be silly, Molly.” Tonks replies.

“How’s George?” Remus asks.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ron pipes up, pulling away from his mother.

“He’s lost—“

A thestral swoops down close to the ground, wings beating rapidly as it lands. Bill and Fleur drop down, looking unscathed.

“Bill! Thank Merlin, thank Merlin—“

Molly cries and goes in for a hug but Bill’s grim face makes her falter.

“Mad-Eye’s dead.”

And everything stops. You go rigid, the chill of your body becoming unbearable and your throat tightens.

Your fears had come true, losing another parent to this stupid war. Your mother had been killed by the Dark Lord himself, her lifeless eyes haunting you ever since.

And now they were both gone.

Tears prick the backs of your eyes, you stare at the redhead in disbelief.

“No.” You mutter, eyes wide and fearful. “No!”

Your knees feel weak and you feel yourself start to collapse. Arms circle underneath your armpits, desperate to keep you up.

“(Y/n), let’s—“

“You’re lying!” You shout, jabbing an accusatory finger at Bill. He winces. “Stop lying to me, where’s my father?” You struggle within your husband’s tight grasp.

“Fuck, Remus, let me go!” You try your best to rip yourself away from in, limbs thrashing in an attempt to hit him away. “I need to find him!”

Remus hushes you, forehead resting on the top of your head.

“He’s my dad, I can’t just—“ Your struggle relents, fists curling around the sleeves of Remus’ coat. “I can’t just leave him.”

“I’m sorry.” Remus whispers above you, his own voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

“How?” You ask, looking up at Bill, roughly swallowing back tears.

“(Y/n)—“

“How!” You spit, anger once again coursing through your veins.

“We saw it.” Bill croaks, his eyes wet with tears. “It happened just after we broke out of the circle. Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading North too. Voldemort—he can fly—went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off his broom and—there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail—“ His voice breaks terribly.

“But you didn’t see him die!” You cry. “He just fell, he might be alive—!”

But Bill just shakes his head.

“He’s gone, (Y/n). Fleur and I saw it, how Dung left and the curse hit him—“

“I’ll kill him.” You mutter, thrashing again in Remus’ arms. “You hear that, Mundungus? I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” You scream up at the night sky. “I’ll fucking kill you, you coward!”

Trying your best to rip away from your husband, you resort to stomping on his feet and clawing at his hands.

It doesn’t work, sadly, Remus’ hold on you never wavers.

“C’mon, let’s go inside, love.” He pleads softly.

In a snap, the fight flees from your body and tears start to fall as you practically go limp in his arms. All you can manage is a weak nod.

You feel the burning stares and hear the faint cries of your friends, but you don’t dare lift your head up from its position buried in Remus’ shirt. He slowly leads you inside, carefully, in case your knees really do give out.

The Burrow is quiet. Clocks tick, George lets out faint whimpers from his sprawled out position on the sofa, and the floorboards creak under your weight, but other than that, it’s quiet.

There’s a dimly lit sitting room on the other side of the bottom floor, and Remus carefully drops the two of you onto the fraying cushions.

You curl up into him, fists tightly clenching his lapels, face buried into his chest. Finally, you open the floodgates, tears staining his shirt in rapid succession, broken wails ripping from your throat.

Fists lightly pound against his chest in frustration.

Remus keeps a hand on the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles over your jacket.

“It’s not fair!” You cry. “It’s not fair! He deserved to live!”

You don’t know how long you sob into Remus, but Bill eventually edges his way into the room.

“His body’s gone.” He states softly, afraid of your reaction.

You head snaps up to him. “Gone? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Death Eaters, probably.” Bill sighs, stuffing his hands into pockets. “Got to him before we could—“

“Well get him back!” You shout, jumping up from the sofa. Remus follows, holding you back in case you decide to make a break for Bill.

“Who knows where his body may be now, (Y/n)—“

“Well it should be in Plockton with my mum overlooking the Loch!” You seethe. “Find him, alright? You couldn’t save him then, so save him now!”

Bill’s blue eyes flash with hurt, and he takes a step back.

“Right then.” Bill mutters, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll leave you be, then. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not Bill’s fault, love.” Remus pulls you to his chest, and though you struggle at first, you eventually succumb to the hold. “It’s more than alright to grieve, but this isn’t Bill’s fault. You want someone to blame, blame Voldemort, yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” You mutter. “I’m sorry, I just want him back. It hurts so much, Rem.”

“I wish I could help you, love.” He murmurs into your hairline. “Wish I could just take the pain away.”

“Just holding me helps.” You sniffle.

You listen to his heartbeat and he squeezes you a little tighter.

“I can do that, love. I can do that.”

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco @mullthingsoverinthehotwater

[vintagedolan]

Please write something with the "I'm sorry I made you cry baby" line in it please IM BEGGING

could you write something about being on your period and leaking on grayson’s bed? everything in his room is white and I would be so nervous if I was on my period there haha love you and your writing xx

When you were on your period there were three things that made coming home from work blissful: undoing your pants, undoing your bra, and seeing Grayson.

In that order.

Usually if you came into his room having already started undressing, he’d be more than excited. But he knew you were on your period, and more importantly he knew it was your second day, your worst and heaviest day. So when you came trudging into his room, pants undone and unzipped, bra in hand, he pouted at you, hating to see you hurting.

“Hey angel,” he cooed, moving towards you.

You sidestepped, and elegantly flopped down onto the bed, groaning into the comforter.

“I hate having a uterus,” you grumbled, so muffled that even Grayson, who had plenty of experience listening to you, could barely understand.

“What do you need, hmmm? Ibuprofen? Ice cream? Hot pack? Cuddles?” His hand moved under your shirt to your back, warm and firm as he rubbed.

You grumbled in interest at the last one, making him chuckle to himself. He bit his tongue, not saying what you reminded him of when you got like this - turns out, you didn’t take well to being called gremlin, even if it was in the most loving of tones. He’d learned that lesson a few months back.

“I’m down for cuddles,” he offered, moving to lay next to you. He paused when you groaned again, worried that he’d done something that had hurt you.

“What’s wrong?”

“I gotta change my fucking tampon but I don’t wanna get up.”

He sighed, rubbing over your lower back, down over your ass a few times - it was more soothing than it was sexual.

“The one thing I can’t really help you with love. Go do it quick, and then we can cuddle.” 

Begrudgingly, you peeled yourself up off the bed and headed to the bathroom, grabbing the little box that Grayson always kept stocked for you under the counter. It was quick work, but Grayson was quicker. When he heard the sink turn on he coaxed the door open, peeking in.

“Gray or white?” You turned to see, relieved to find two pairs of sweatpants in his hands.

“Gray,” you said, moving to dry your hands. 

“Yes?” He gave you his cheekiest smile, proud of his joke. You didn’t have the energy to laugh, only give him a smile and a head shake, but he didn’t take it personally, passing you the sweatpants and one of his tshirts. You stripped down quickly, pulling on the clothes that smelled like a mixture of his wakeheart scent and his laundry detergent, just the fabric alone already relaxing you. 

Grayson was waiting on the bed, already having your comfort show pulled up on his laptop, arm out ready to wrap around you. You crawled up the bed, nestling up as close as you could to him.

While you loved being in Grayson’s arms anytime, there was a specific way he held you while you were on your period that made you love it even more. He noticed once that when your cramps got bad, you’d hunch over and press against your abdomen. So, he’d mastered the ‘ovary hold’ as he called it, which involved him pulling you up against his chest and wrapping his arm around you tight enough for his torso to press against your tummy, just enough pressure for it to be relieving. 

As soon as he had you wrapped up your whole body relaxed against him and you hummed, more than comfortable.

“You tired bubs?” 

“Mhmmm,” you sighed, almost groaning as he rubbed his hand over your back and hips slow and deep, doing his best to get the knots out. 

“Sleep then, maybe it’ll ease up the cramps.” 

“Okay.” It didn’t take any convincing, your eyelids already heavy. “I love you.”

“Love you more.” His lips against your forehead were the last thing you felt before you drifted off.

The first thing you felt when you woke up almost two hours later? 

100 times less pleasant. 

It was the much too wet and warm feeling between your legs that you knew too well.

You’d bled through. And though you couldn’t see it, you could tell it was bad.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you whispered to yourself, trying to move off of Grayson. His face scrunched up, arm only tightening against you.

“Mmmmm, I’ve got you baby, shhh,” he mumbled, eyes still closed and voice raspy with sleep. 

“Grayson. Gray, wake up,” you pushed on his chest, making him open his eyes quickly in concern, though he had to blink a few times before he could see you clearly. 

“You okay?” 

“Uh... not really.”

Your words woke him up the rest of the way and he sat up, rubbing at his eyes and relaxing his arm. Just the shift of your weight was enough for you to feel that you’d definitely soaked through your panties and most likely the sweatpants. 

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Grayson’s voice was deep with concern, one hand still resting on you protectively. 

“I uh... um... I. I bled through my tampon.” You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks as you looked down at his chest.

“Oh, are there not more in the bathroom? I thought that box was new,” he frowned, obviously a bit confused.

“No, like bled through to my underwear. And your pants. And probably your comforter. I’m sorry.” You were scared to move, scared to make it worse - and the thought of waddling to the bathroom in front of your boyfriend was humiliating. 

“You don’t have to apologize baby, it’s not a big deal.”

You looked up at him then, searching his face for the disgust he was hiding. You didn’t find a trace of it anywhere. 

“It’s embarrassing. And I probably ruined your pants.”

“Baby you can’t control it, it’s not your fault. And I have plenty of pants. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It’s okay, I promise. You wanna go get cleaned up?”

“Yeah, I think it’s a shower or nothing at this point.”

“Need me to do anything?”

You bit your lip, knowing he wasn’t going to like your answer. “Could you close your eyes? Just while I walk into the bathroom.”

He hesitated, looking directly at you. 

“You have nothing to be ashamed about. But if it’ll make you feel better, then yeah, I’ll close my eyes.” 

“Thank you,” you sighed, watching his eyelashes flutter down as he closed his eyes. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, another thank you, before you crawled off the bed. Of course, with your luck, you’d bled through onto his white comforter too, just like you’d feared. You were determined to make it a quick shower so you could get to all the stains before anything got too dry or set in. 

Grayson opened his eyes once he heard the bathroom door close with a sigh. He wasn’t the least bit worried about it - not even the red splotch on the comforter that he found. He pulled out his phone, opening safari, typing quickly.

best way to get period blood out of fabric

He read what google had to offer quickly, pleased to see that hydrogen peroxide was listed - he had plenty of that, considering it’s what he used to clean out his longboarding scrapes when he got them. 

As quietly as he could, he pulled the comforter off the bed, waiting for the familiar sound of the shower to come on before he snuck into the bathroom. He sat the comforter down next to your pile of soiled clothes, heading back out to grab a pair of old black DT sweats, a new shirt and a pair of panties that you’d left once. He folded them neatly on the counter, reaching for your bloody clothes and moving them to the bathtub. 

He followed the google instructions of flushing out as much of the blood as he could with cold water, starting with the comforter. It wasn’t much, so he just wet it and treated it with the peroxide before he moved on to the sweatpants, a larger, angry red stain spread across the crotch. They weren’t terrible either, and he did as the instructions said, washing them out and treating them. Finally, he got to your panties. His eyebrows shot up at the sheer amount of blood, water running red below his hands as he worked the fabric under the stream. He knew women bled a lot, but jesus he didn’t realize it could be that much, especially in such a short time. When the water ran clear he treated them as well, gathering up everything and heading for the washer, glad that your shower was still going.

Afterwards, as quickly as he could he snagged the coziest blankets from the living room, tossing them over his bed in case you wanted to sleep again. As a final touch he headed back into the bathroom and grabbed a tampon for you, placing it on top of your folded clothes before leaving the bathroom and closing the door. 

He heard the water turn off a few minutes later, the familiar shuffle of you putting clothes on audible through the door.

But what he didn’t expect was for you to have tears running down your face when you opened that door, eyes searching for him. When they landed on the makeshift bedding arrangement, you broke down even more, realizing why your clothes were missing, what he’d done while you were showering.

“Hey, why are you crying, what’s wrong?” He was in front of you in an instant, 

“You cleaned everything,” you blubbered into his chest, overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness and your hormones. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to angel, it’s okay, you don’t have to cry. C’mon, we’ll lay down and watch an episode.” 

You only nodded, sniffling a bit as he wiped your tears, leading you over to the bed and assuming the same position you had been in, the ovary hold and all. 

“I’m sorry I made you cry, baby,” he said after your sniffles finally subsided, pouting a bit when you looked up at him. You kissed it away, trying to reassure him that he didn’t do anything wrong. 

“You’re an absolute dream Grayson Dolan, and I don’t tell you that enough,” you murmured into his neck once you got comfortable and settled. He just squeezed you tighter and left a kiss on your forehead before he hit play, content to hold you and do whatever he could for you. 

[theseventhreincarnation]

This is 🚩🚩🚩EXREMELY GORY🚩🚩🚩 at the beginning so please be careful and skip this oneshot if your not into that.

There is hurt/comfort at the end between brother, Wilbur and Tommy.

This also contains spoilers for the recent streams.

_____________________________________

Tommy watches Dream continue beating his body after his death and Wilbur comes to bring Tommy to the afterlife.

_____________________________________

Tommy was dead. He'd been dead probably for a few minutes now, but it felt like hours. A figment of Tommy, something not him but a resemblance, stood at the edge of the obsidian cell. One must assume that this current thing is Tommy considering that it looked and sounded like Tommy. But it was not. For the sake of names, it'll be called Tommy. This thing, a vessel to this figment, watched.

Dream continued to beat and barate the mangled corpse of what Tommy used to be. He clawed away at broken flesh and pulled at the hair on the body's arms and head. Blood splattered along the walls, pooling on the floor, and staining Dream's prison clothes. It stunk horribly. The crumpled piece of lifeless meat on the ground stayed motionless as Dream strangled it into some kind of submission. The older man screamed threats and sharp words.

He got up only once in this process to smash the solo item frame, on the adjacent wall, to the ground by Tommy's bloodied head. Reaching for the largest piece of glass, Dream began carving into the skin that his fingers could not reach. It sounded wet and like something being ripped apart. He began stabbing mercilessly into the body's chest.

Had Tommy really pushed Dream too far?

Had he deserved this?

Tommy couldn't seem to rember if he had. In that moment, he hoped so because whatever punishment this was, by whatever God there was, he hoped he had deserved it enough for this. He knew the thing being beaten to a pulp was what part of him used to be, and so was in that moment, him.

Dream stopped, finally realizing that Tommy was absolutly dead, and steped away to examine his work. Seemingly satisfied with the bloody mess on the floor, he went to wash the remains off his hands in the tub of water. The bason turned a light pink as Dream scraped under his nails meticulously. Hair and chunks of the top layers of skin swirled around. Tommy leaned over and watched as Dream took care to wipe all the blood off his hands. It was a careful process, conspiring more gentleness than what was ever given to Tommy in his life.

Dream cupped the pink water, splashing it into his face and wiping-more like smearing-the blood away. Tommy watched it collect on the prison sleeves and spread to the edges of Dream's face that had not been tainted by his brutality. Bringing his sleeve up to his eyes, Dream rubbed away any remaining water to stare into the water. Tommy met Dream's eyes in the reflection.

Dream yelped loudly, stumbling back, and tripping over the busted item frame. He slipped into the bloody pool that had widened during his self cleaning process. It was splashing up and sticking to his clothes and his hands as he struggled away from the bason. Dream shook violently, unfazed by the amount of blood.

"I'm sorry, Tommy! I'm so sorry, Tommy. I hadn't meant to kill you! It was just a game! You like games, don't you, Toms? You lost and I won so go away!" Dream frantically looked around, using one arm to keep himself steady and the other to swipe at the open air.

Why was he scarred? Surely this guy couldn't see him?

A firm hand grasped Tommy's shoulder,"It wasn't your time. You were another unfinished symphony."

Tommy turned. Wilbur, his big brother, smiled sorrowfuly down at him. Their arms wrapped around each other and it felt so warm. Tommy grasped at his brother's shirt and cried. His shoulders wracked with sobs and he mumbled about incoherent memories that made no sense to him in that moment, but were coming back as more fragments seemed to find themselves to this point in the universe. The fragment traveled across stars and worlds, returning from their innital burst as Tommy lost his last life. Dream's empty apologies and the bubbling lava all seemed to fade into the empty static. Nothing mattered in that moment besides that undying warmth.

"Toms, we missed you very much here in the afterlife."

"We?" Tommy wiped at his eyes, sniffling.

The world was different now, grassy with lots of flowers. A forest was growing not too far away and Tommy could hear a river near by. It wasn't so dark and red.

Wilbur nudged him,"Yep! I have to meet with Schlatt later to talk about the current situation and Mexican Dream-"

"Mexican Dream is here? Oh all hell is gonna break loose now! You have no idea what you're in for, dickhead."

Wilbur laughed and pulled Tommy into his arms again, breathing a heavy sigh,"I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you like I promised."

"You did just fine, Wilby," Tommy's grib tightened,"Let's go see that son of a bitch, J-mother-fucking-schlatt!"

Neither released for a few more minutes until their arms cramped and Tommy had insisted that this would ruin his "Big Man" image if Mexican Dream saw. They walked away smiling and warm.

[flying-nightwing]

The Wish to Make on a Dying Breath

Heyyyy people. It’s been a while! So this isn’t what I had promised but I wanted to experiment with words a little bit and this is what i came up with. Apparently I do love death as a central theme because this is about death again. Sorry!

Masterlist pinned/in bio

Pairing: Jason Todd x Death!Reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 2422

Warnings: Jason Todd dying a few times but don’t worry it’s not a tragic story, fatal injuries, talk about the afterlife

Summary: You are the powerful entity of Death, keeping watch on the Earth and making sure souls are properly transitioned into the afterlife. One night, you are called in person to a specific death, where you meet the one and only Jason Todd

You have seen a lot of things.

People being born and dying, the rise and fall of empires, the best and the worst of humanity, sometimes co-existing side to side closer than they would even know. There was not a lot that could impress you anymore, but sometimes there were circumstances, lone stars of events that still drew your curiosity. After all, human kind has always been an unpredictable species that managed to take you by surprise from time to time. Your work had changed since you had first been needed. There were too many people on the Earth now for you to handle personally, and you didn’t quite know what factor made you select some people over others. 

The night grew silent as you appeared outside an abandoned building on the outskirts of the big city casting a bright light in the distance. You went in, navigating the filthy hallways slowly. It wasn’t long until you reached a bigger room filled with dynamite crates and gasoline puddles on the uneven concrete. In the middle laid someone bloodied and battered and a countdown frozen on the precise moment the last second flipped to zero. 

You walked to them and crouched, noticing how it was just a boy. Young, yet wearing a haunted expression that added years to his traits. There was a single tear that had been rolling down his cheek, a tear of defeat and heartbreak, a tear that was too emotionally charged for a teenager. With a heavy sigh, you reached to him and gently cupped his jaw. 

In less than a second, you felt his entire body tense like an electrical shock went through it and he leaped back, away from you. His eyes were wide as he frantically looked around, aggressively wiping the tear from his cheek. You stood up slowly, observing him. He sniffled, sending you a wary glare, until his eyes found the countdown. Incomprehension was written all over him in verses and his breathing was ragged. 

“Am I dead?”

You have seen a lot of things. Good people pleading to live another day, children not understanding what was happening to them, painful unwilling resignation to cross to the other side. But as he spoke, his voice cracked and scared, you couldn’t help but feel a slow sadness creep inside of you. He was one of these cases that just didn’t feel right, but that had to happen. 

“Not yet” You replied softly. 

“But I will be”

It wasn’t a question. You smiled sadly.

“Yes” You sighed, glancing at the countdown. “Once this reaches 0, I can only suppose this place will blow up with you in it”

He wiped another tear, smearing blood on his cheek. “Why can’t I feel pain?” He asked. “I can’t move, how am I moving?”

You gave him another smile. “I froze time, and by doing so, created a temporary plane of existence on which you are right now” You explained. “I can bend the rules a little more freely here”

His eyes turned critical. He understood what you were saying, easier than most people you remarked. He was just not sure whether to take your word for it, and his confusion turned into suspicion. “Who are you?”

You didn’t flinch at the harshness of his voice. “Have you not figured it out yet?”

“I dealt with enough meta, I don’t keep track of who can do what” He scoffed weakly, but you could see the fight in him. You admired the courage mask he had hurried to put on, because not a lot of people had the guts to stand up to Death itself like that. 

“I see what you mean” You said. “But I am not a meta. I am Death”

His eyes narrowed before he looked up to the ceiling. “Yeah sure” He drawled out, setting his glance back on you. “And I am the crown prince of Denmark”

You chuckled. “You have quite the temper” You pointed out as you began walking around, stopping in front of a crate. A clown face had been spray painted on it, on every one of them. Then, you turned to the boy again, looking him in the eyes. “But I think deep down you know I am telling the truth”

He shifted on his feet. “You don’t look like Death”

“You mean the gravely old man, or the skeleton in the black robes with a scyther?” 

He scoffed again.

“My form does change a lot, but those are myths” You answered. “I will appear to you depending on who you are and what you’ve done. Only terrible people are faced with terrible reapers”

“You look like an angel” 

He seemed surprised by the words he blurted out as a blush crept onto his face. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, that was clear. You looked down, trying to rein back the smile that wanted to break out on your lips. He was truly a unique case, and you began to understand why you had been called to him. 

“It means you deserved an angel” You nodded your head slowly. “You should be proud of your time on Earth. You were a good person, and you did good things”

“Will it hurt?” He asked.

You shook your head. “It’s going to be quick, once I restart the time” 

“What will come next?”

“I’m sorry” You apologized. “This is something I can’t tell you”

“What if I don’t want to come?”

“I’m afraid that is not up to you” You sighed. 

He seemed disappointed, but nodded nevertheless. “Do your thing”

“Everything’s gonna be okay” You reassured with one last smile, gesturing for him to return to his initial position. He kneeled down, then let himself fall into the ground as he regained the plane of existence he belonged to. And just like that, he was once again frozen along with everything else. You took a moment longer to look at him before you resumed time.

The explosion took everything in its wake, everything but you.

--- 

The alley was dirty and wet, and even with time stopped, you could just hear pipes leaking and rat rummaging through the garbage. 

Gotham hasn’t really gotten better since your last visit. 

You walked deeper into the alley until you saw not one, but two figures frozen with the rest of the world. As you approached you noticed a leather jacket covering a red bat, even redder with a torrent of blood drowning it. Then your eyes trailed up to a defined face, scarred but beautiful, dark hair with a white streak hanging on his forehead. His eyelids were half closed as he stared up at the red haired man kneeling beside him, who seemed to be searching his pockets for anything to stop the bleeding. 

Even without seeing his eyes completely, you knew who it was.

You approached him, and just like you did the first time, you reached for his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, finding yours quickly. You watched as they widened, letting you see the bright blue that had marked your mind forever. This time, he didn’t jump back. 

“It’s you” His voice was no louder than a breath caught in the wind. 

“It’s me” You smiled, watching as he sat up straight from the pile of old cardboard boxes he was leaning on.

You had heard of his comeback to life, of course you did. It wasn’t the first time it happened in history, and most times you had to find a way to tip the dominos so the balance could return to the normal. But you couldn’t hide to yourself you sometimes played favourites and let him be for the time being.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon”

“The feeling is mutual” There was a small scoff in his voice, but nothing mean or sarcastic. He was looking at you with wonder and curiosity, being way calmer this time around. “Multiple bullets to the chest is not how I envisioned my second death, to be honest”

“Rarely anyone expects that” You hummed. 

“Touché” He sighed, looking you up and down. He then frowned. “ I don’t get it”

You waited for him to express his thoughts. You doubted he meant death, or the bullets for that matter. 

“You still look like an angel,” He said, blinking. “How do you still look like an angel?”

“Nothing has changed, Jason” You replied. “You are still a good person, who has done good things”

His expression changed. There was a calculating look in his eyes, and emotion brewing under. “You know my name”

“I know most things in the universe” You chuckled. “That includes the names of the souls I reap, and you are hardly forgettable”

A familiar blush creeped on his cheeks as he cleared his throat. “And you think what I’m doing is good?”

“I don’t think so, I know so”

He looked down, letting yet another sigh. He took a moment to collect himself, then nodded slightly. His eyes met yours, a newfound determination in them. “I won’t hold you back anymore, I’m ready. Do your thing”

You smiled again. “I’ll see you again, Jason Todd” You reached for his chest, placing your palm flat on the bullet holes. “Just, not so soon, okay?”

“Wait, what does that mean?” He called as you backed up from him. His body moved itself to retake its position on the right plane of existence, staring at you expectantly. Your lips reached just a little higher, but you didn’t talk. Instead, you unfroze time and let yourself become invisible to the living again. 

A second later, you watched as Jason gasped, his eyelids no longer heavy but instead wide open his blue eyes looking around for something that wasn’t there. You didn’t stick around for too long however, going back to work. 

You have seen a lot of things. Reapers that ignored the natural balance, granting favors left and right to humans. Reality being bended at will, the balance being upset to the point of an almost reset. However, you knew the balance would be just fine this time. You were Death and Life, you had seen the world change and grow, and you believed it would be better off with Jason in it. 

--- 

It was a sunny day when you found yourself on the porch of a small house in a small town, and you would have been sure you had somehow made a mistake if it hadn’t been for the sense of familiarity that echoed through the call that bekonned you there. 

The wind was paused, but you could almost feel the breeze gently blowing through the trees, or the sun rays hitting your face. You looked at the house, then at the door and the knob. You went in. 

You navigated slowly through the hallways, observing the lively wallpaper and the pictures hanging on the walls. Smiles and love stared out the frames, giving it back to the world. It was peaceful there, which was a nice change of pace for once. You ended up at the end of the hallway, where you could see through the open door multiple people gathered around the bed, their eyes teary and sad, but not in pain. You found an open space on the bed and sat down, looking at the man laying down.

His face was wrinkled, the traces of old age fusioning with the faded scars in a portrait of his experiences and adventures. His greying hair was mostly hiding the silver streak on his forehead, but you could still see its contrast. His eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful. You gently put your hand on his cheek, waking him up for what you knew would truly be the last time. 

His blue eyes opened, and he smiled. 

“Hello, Jason” You could see the spark in his eyes, one that was the witness of a happier life. In that moment, you knew he had made the best of it. 

“My angel” His voice was a little bit frailer than last time, another sign of time making its mark on him. A warmth spread inside of you as you gently took his hand in yours. “I hope you don’t plan on sending me back out there”

You let out an airy laugh at his playful expression, shaking your head. “No, I can assure you this is the end of the road, for real this time”

“Good” He let out a content sigh. He wasn’t tense, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in his body. All you could feel radiating out of him was peace. “I’m tired. What a life it has been”

“A great one” You nodded. “I hope you’re proud of it”

“So you don’t regret sending me back into the world that night forty-five year ago?”

“Not for a moment” Your smile widened. “I believe it’s the best decision I’ve ever made”

He looked down, like he didn’t think himself worthy of this praise. You gave his hand a squeeze. 

“I’ve never thanked you” He began after a moment, and you tilted your head. “For helping me out the first time. And for letting me live the second time. You’re the reason I didn’t fear Death as much as I used to”

“I’m glad I could change your mind about me”  You chuckled quietly. The sun was hitting him in a perfect angle though the window, painting a golden halo around him. He said you looked like an angel, now he was one too. “And I’m glad this death seems better than the last one”

He let out a shaky breath, looking into every face around him for the last time. “It’s less traumatizing, that’s for sure”

“Are you ready?”

He nodded slowly before smiling at you. “I am”

“Close your eyes” You whispered, and he made himself comfortable in his bed before shutting his eyelids for the last time. He truly looked at peace.

Without moving, you restarted time to feel him let out his last breath. As his family noticed the new stillness of his body, you slipped away from the house without looking back. 

You have seen a lot of things.

People being born and dying, the rise and fall of empires, the best and the worst of humanity, sometimes co-existing side to side closer than they would even know.  You were Death and Life, you had seen the world change and grow.

Still, Jason Todd had been your favourite part of it.

[ohsnapcracklepopfriends]

Back at it again with another Carraville disaster fic. Very out of my comfort zone to write and I did like no research but here it is. 

Jamie had always been a person who felt. He felt everything so much more intensely than the rest of his teammates: every emotion, every win, and, perhaps most importantly, every loss. 

He just felt so empty when Ricardo saved that penalty. He felt the life, the hope, the fire leave his body all at once. He was on autopilot as he trudged back to the line of players on half field. Everything had gone to shit. Stevie had missed a penalty. Stevie. If that wasn’t a sign that they were cursed nothing was. 

Fucking Ronaldo stepped up like he hadn’t crushed enough of Jamie’s dreams. He kissed the ball and set it on the pitch. Jamie didn’t even think about punching him, his heart just sank. It sank even further as he stuck it in the right corner. 

As they screamed and tackled Ronaldo in jubilation, Stevie sunk to the ground. Jamie heard a sob from his left. He looked over and saw Rio was also on the ground. The sound could have also come from Lamps and John who were crying into each other’s shirts. The Portugal players swinging their shirts was a gut punch. The English fans seemed to be shell shocked. 

Jamie looked around at the English bodies collapsed on the pitch. He looked over to Stevie. Neville sat on his heels on Stevie’s left. He grabbed Stevie’s arm and seemed to whisper something in his ear. He pulled Stevie up and pushed him into Jamie’s arms. Jamie held Stevie’s head against his shoulder and dragged them towards the tunnel. 

Before they could disappear to the depressing safety of the dressing room, they heard a sudden uptake and noise behind them. It was Neville. Gary Bloody Neville shaking hands with the Portugal players. Unlike the Portuguese, not even trying to mask their giant, smug grins, Neville was the picture of neutrality, a steeled neutrality. His eyebrows were furrowed like they usually were. His lips were slightly protruding but nothing close to a pout. Jamie only looked away when he felt Stevie’s knee start to give out under them. He slung Stevie’s arm around his shoulder to support his weight and carefully brought them to their lockers. 

There were already a few players in the dressing room when he and Stevie hobbled in. Heads were buried in hands. Jamie pretended not to hear the sniffling and sharp breaths of his teammates. Hell, if he were alone he’d be sniffling too. 

A few minutes later Beckham herded the stragglers in. John was still a wreck--Rio too--though the rest of them had calmed down a bit. Lamps was no longer sobbing but Jamie could see the big wet stain on his shirt and his red-rimmed eyes. Neville led Walcott in, a hand around his shoulder. He brought him over to his locker and sat them down on the bench in front of it. Neville was shirtless, his muddied, white England kit draped across his left shoulder, the one not occupied by Walcott. 

Sven came in a few minutes later. He was alone, not with Grip as he almost always was. He said a few words before leaving them alone. It was probably a good choice. None of them were best pleased with him. Jamie certainly blamed him, though not exclusively. He blamed Ronaldo. He blamed the ref. Most overwhelmingly, he blamed himself. If he had fucking scored that penalty they would’ve had a chance. If he just hadn’t hit the bar. He should’ve practised more, taking penalties. Not that there was even a thought in his mind before the game that he’d have to step up and take one. Jamie just wanted to punch something. A wall. Himself. Anything would do. 

Jamie looked up from his feet when he heard some small giggles coming from the left side of the dressing room. The sound was coming from Walcott. Soft, little, reluctant giggles escaped from him as Neville quietly told him jokes with a slight upturn to his lips. Jamie decided he was a good target--not Walcott, Neville--and got up. 

He approached Walcott. “Can I borrow him for a minute?” Jamie didn’t dare look at Neville in all this, just took Walcott’s nod as a sign to grab Neville by his arm and drag him into the hallway. Beckham stuck his head out after them, a look of concern on his face. Jamie sighed. 

“I’m not gonna hurt him, Becks. Promise. Go back inside.” Beckham stuck out his pinkie finger for Jamie to curl his own around. This act seemingly satisfied him enough to close the door leaving them alone. Jamie took this opportunity to slam and pin Neville against the wall. The shirt balanced on his shoulder fell to the floor in a grass-stained heap. 

“Thought you said you weren’t going to hurt me,” Neville joked once again. 

“You don’t fucking care, do you?” Jamie snarled. Neville’s eyes widened under him. “You don’t care about this team. You don’t care about this country. You don’t care about those fans.” Jamie removed his hand from Neville’s bare chest and was using it gesture wildly as he talked. God, it felt good to feel something. Murderous rage wasn’t his first choice emotion but it would certainly do. 

“I knew you were stupid,” Neville said, “but I didn’t know you were this bloody thick.” Jamie ignored the way his eyes narrowed, the way he sucked in his cheeks. Jamie grabbed at the badge on his shirt. 

“To me, this means something. It means that I have a little more respect when we’ve just broken the hearts of every fucking person in this fucking country. It’s not a fucking joke to the rest of us in there.” Neville snaps. After a shocking display of strength, Jamie finds himself pressed against the wall. 

“It’s not a fucking joke to me. I care about this country and I’ve played for this country a hell of a lot more than you ever have or ever will. Just because I can step my arse up and be mature about the whole fucking situation doesn’t mean I don’t have fucking feelings!” Jamie was stunned for a second. He wasn’t sure why Neville pushing him against the wall knocked him out of it so much, but he tried quickly to regain his composure and, most of all, his anger. 

“Didn’t seem mature to be having a laugh with Walcott ten seconds after we get knocked out of the World fucking Cup!” He huffed, “I mean JT’s sobbing on the floor in there, mate, and you and Walcott are having a fucking giggle? Bollocks.” 

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Neville asked, clearly not looking for a response, “I’m the fucking captain, Carragher. My job is to pull that group of lads together and made sure they don’t get so drunk tonight they get run over by a bus.”

“Last I checked, Beckham was the captain and you were just his little puppy dog sidekick.” There was a flash in Neville’s eyes. Almost like he’d gone too far. Almost like he’d struck a nerve. Good, he thought. Neville recovered quickly though. 

“Wore the bloody armband tonight, didn’t I?” He was so smug about it. If he hadn’t promised Beckham he wouldn’t damage him, Jamie would’ve punched him square in his ugly nose. He told Neville as much and Neville, the bastard, laughed at him. Jamie was seriously reconsidering his promise. “It’s not my fucking fault that you missed a penalty. Seriously couldn’t wait for the ref to blow the whistle? You scousers always ruin everything.” He could tell at this point that Neville was trying to wind him up. What he hated the most was that it was working. 

“It’s like you want me to punch you. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You that touch-starved? Not getting any from you precious Becks?” There it was. He struck that nerve again. He could see it in Neville’s eyes. In a moment, Neville was moving. Jamie expected him to storm off or to punch him. He can safely say that the exact last thing he expected was for the Manc to kiss him. 

It wasn’t biting or rough like Jamie would’ve expected--again, not that he was expecting this in the slightest. It really was a kiss, all soft, romantic like. Gary’s shockingly smooth lips just pressed to his as his left hand held the back of Jamie’s head, right hand gripping the badge of his shirt. Gary’s eyes were squeezed shut in determination. After about thirty seconds, Jamie’s closed too despite his best efforts. Then, as quickly as it started, Gary pulled back. He stayed put though. He swayed on the balls of his feet in front of Jamie, waiting for him to respond. Jamie swore his brain was short-circuiting. 

“Know why Beckham keeps you around, now. Bet those lips are good at other things as well.” He blurts it out without thinking. He immediately wishes he’d shut up when he sees the slight smirk to Gary’s lips disappear. 

“You fucking bastard,” Gary mutters as he shoves Jamie back against the wall, hard, and walks away. Jamie slides down the wall to sit on his heels. His fingers brush against his lips reminding him of the smooth, firm pressure. Fuck. 

[thirdtimesthecharmsworld]

Umbrella Academy Fanfic

Preface: I’m a big fan of Dead Like Me, the 2003 tv show created by Bryan Fuller. This fanfiction I’ve written is pretty much a crossover between the two universes, but with my own original character instead. It’s a bit convoluted, story-wise, so I apologize in advance if you read this and it doesn’t make any sense. Also, I wrote this in the span of a month, and there are multiple parts. I’ve decided I can’t keep it locked it up in my Google Docs anymore so here you go.

PS: This is the first time I’m posting anything I’ve written on here, so I’d actually appreciate any constructive criticism anyone may have!

As many times as I’ve done this, the young ones never sit right with me. Their big doe eyes always seem to pierce my soul. If I even still have one. 

There were surprised gasps at first. Then silence. The room we are gazing on is covered in blood. And after the scene I just witnessed, I wasn’t even sure how much of it was his. He looks so despaired. He was really just left in parts, chunks of a child strewn everywhere. I felt sick. After all these years, the bloody ones still got to me. And this one, a kid. I turn away, reaching out reflexively to grip at his shoulder. He looks up at me, I can see, in my peripheral vision. I close my eyes, feeling my stomach turn. And then they started wailing. Deep, shuddering breaths and sobbing cries. I don’t think they even knew they were doing it, the six kids standing there in the carnage. I don’t have to turn and look to know they were clutching at each other, wracked with emotions. And I can’t take it anymore.

The metal door swings on its hinges as I rush out. There is a bang behind me as it hits the wall, but the only thing I’m focused on is trying to control my breathing. The last time I’d seen anything so bloody was Mom. An image: her blonde hair soaked red, against the rocks, my tears soaking Sofer’s jacket as he held me. My stomach turns again, and I lean over, my hands on my bent knees. Everything swims in front of me, my eyes now brimming with tears. Panic set it. I couldn’t do anything back then either. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save anyone, I couldn’t do anythi-

“Hello?” a timid voice behind me.

Oh, the kid. I’d forgotten about the kid. The images, the thoughts, the guilt I felt, leave my mind and I focus on the post-it note I feel burning a hole in my pocketbook. Of course I couldn’t save them, that wasn’t my job. My job is just to help them move on, go forward. 

I draw a deep breath, almost losing it at the stench of the alleyway. I swipe my hand across my eyes as I turn around. Short black hair frames a delicate face. His school-boy attire seems unfitting for the ordeal I know he just went through. And he’s so small. Granted, I’m only a couple feet taller than him, but I can just see how small he is from the way he stands, so defeated, so confused, so innocent. I feel my eyes brimming with tears again, but offer a wavering smile I hope will comfort him.

“Hey, kid.” I utter. He just stares at me. I suck in a breath, the smile fading. Looking down at my shoes, I draw the courage to continue, “I know you have a shit-load of questions. But if it’s okay with you,” I look up, “I’d like to get out of here.” His brows furrow, and he turns to look through the door into the museum. I can faintly still hear the wails of his siblings, and I recognize that’s what he’s thinking of. But the bloody image flashes in my mind again, and I know that he understands, deep down, why he can’t go back there. Why he didn’t feel anything at the moment all that carnage took place. Why he’s numb now.

He turned, looked me in the eyes. He’s still hesitant, I can tell, but the understanding I knew he feels is there, just at the surface of his demeanor. He nods, and I walk forward. I gesture toward the opening of the alley, and we keep walking. 

It doesn’t feel right to try and comfort him then, to try and explain that I understand what he feels. That, though I look 15, I know what it feels like to die.

We keep walking, police cars and ambulances passing us, until we reach the bookstore. Luckily, it wasn’t very far. He still hasn’t said anything by the time we reach the door, but I was expecting as much. I glance up at Cindy behind the cash register as I walk in. She nods, and comes to flip the sign at the front to CLOSED as we walk to the back. I grab the clothes and wet wipes I’d stored in the closet on my way to the table. Ben follows silently behind me. 

I clear my throat, “So,” I started, “I guess I’ll ask you first. Do you have any pressing questions, or if you want me to jump right into it?” 

He doesn’t look at me, just stares at the cup of tea in front of him. He looks even smaller with the big blanket covering him. I sigh, “Look, I-”. God, it’s a kid, I don’t know what to say to kids. And I haven’t even gotten a kid in a long time. I don’t even remember what I said to the last one. I look at him again. He is all bundled up in that blanket, blood still covering him. I’d offered the wipes but he didn’t reach out for them. I think he’s still in shock. Memories of my own death trickle in.

“It didn’t really hurt when I died.” I state.

He blinks. Finally, a response.

I continue, “I mean, mine wasn’t all that brutal, so of course it didn’t really hurt.” I look down at the sleeve of my sweater. “It was my birthday, actually. I’d just turned 16, which was the youngest age you had to be to get a job back then. Of course, Mom said she didn’t want me to do that. The people I was living with then were really nice, you know? It was the Great Depression, as you guys call it; so there wasn’t really much of a chance for food, much less money to buy food. But I-I remember wanting to help, to try and find a job or some food or something- anything really.  I don’t know why I thought I could help. Like I said, I hadn’t eaten in a long time,” I chuckle. “Anyway, I went out in the night, so nobody’d ask questions. I figured I’d try to go into the city. I don’t even remember how I got there, to the city. I was just so tired. We lived a bit further out than everybody else, which was also why it was hard to find stuff. It took longer than I thought it would. I was so weak by the time I got there; so tired. It was so bright up close; all the lights and stuff. The smell was horrible, and the people I saw all looked sick. But I was determined to find something, some way to help my family. And then I smelled it. Food; it made my stomach growl like crazy. I looked up and I saw a line of people in front of a soup kitchen, and I saw people holding soup, and it looked so good. I stepped out into the street, to cross the road, and...and that was it. It was over...like that. And I wasn’t hungry anymore. I wasn’t tired, I wasn’t anything” I sniffle. “It was a car. It came barreling down the road, totally reckless. When I came to, Sofer was there. He told me what’d happened right away. He said that it was some guy with a pregnant wife in the backseat. Told me I was dead, and he was a reaper.” 

oops, I guess that’s the end of the story. I look up at the kid across from me-saying his name felt too personal right now. He’s staring at me, and with dread I notice tears in his eyes. He is clutching the cup of tea in front of him. He looks a little scared, actually, and I feel bad all of a sudden. I didn’t mean to make him sad, I thought I was doing the right thing. God, I don’t know what to say to kids. 

“Sorry,” I mutter, concern filling me as I lean closer to him, “I didn’t mean to scare you, kid, I just- I- God, I don’t know, I guess I thought it would help.” Speaking, obviously, wasn’t the right move, as all of a sudden the tears are rolling down his cheeks. “Shit,” I exclaim, reaching across the table to grab his hand, “I’m sorry. It’s okay, it- it’s okay, I mean, yeah, you died, but you’re okay now, right?” That also wasn’t the right thing to say, because he has started crying even harder. “Oh, no,” I scoop him up, holding him to my chest as I gently just sit down on the floor. “Oh, god, I’m sorry! Oh, I’m so sorry.” I can’t stop apologizing, I can’t stop hushing him, rocking back and forth with him in my arms. I am horrible at this. I am so, so bad at this. Why did Sofer have to leave me here alone? Now tears are pricking at my eyes, and I can’t stop thinking of all the people I’ve failed, all the people who took so long to get beyond the veil because of me. Me and my stupid emotions. I am full blown crying now. I still can’t stop apologizing, and tears silently stream down my face and soak the blanket Ben is wrapped in. Ben. Dammit, I made it personal.

It was a good 10 minutes at least until Cindy came to the back and saw us still on the floor. He’d stopped crying by then, worn himself out. We were just sitting there, staring off into the distance. I’d started brushing his hair subconsciously, and he didn’t stop me. He was definitely worn out. She helped me lead him to the cot in the guest room, and he laid down and closed his eyes. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t really sleep; he was dead. I leave the door open a crack, figuring he’d realize soon enough and come back out. Cindy is staring at me when I turn from closing the door. I glare at her, “Not a word,” I mutter as I move to clean away the mugs on the table. In my peripheral, I can see her raise her hands in defense, “I didn’t say anything!” she exclaims. I roll my eyes, “Yeah, but you were thinking something, and that’s just as distracting.” I hear her sigh, “Look, it’s just that this is the second one this week, and it isn’t like you to do this more than once every couple of years, maybe.” Dammit, she has a point. 

“Cindy, I just...I just don’t know what to do when it’s a kid,” I whisper, turning to face her. She looks sad, like she pities me. God, I hate it when she pities me. 

“I know that, but the one earlier this week was, like 100.” I glare at her again, walking over to the sink with my mug bounty, “She was 95, okay? And anyway, I was only sad because I knew you wouldn’t let me keep her dog.” Cindy rolls her eyes, scoffing, “Yeah, no, that’s such a blatant lie, I’m even more concerned now. I fucking love dogs, okay, and you know that!” My head shoots up, eyes wide, “Cut it out with the cussing,” I hiss. She looks even more concerned, appalled even. 

“The cussing?!” she exclaims. I lift my finger up to my lips, worried her volume will wake Ben. She doesn’t stop talking, but does lower her voice, glancing at the door to the bedroom, “The cussing? You’re worried about me fucking cussing now?”. 

“Yeah, Cin,” I continue, taunting her with her most hated nickname, “I’m worried about you cussing now. It’s not my fault you’re always cursing like a-” I stop myself quickly and grimace at my mistake. There’s silence for a beat as I turn my head slowly to look at her, overly smiling apologetically. She’s pretty much livid now. There’s not usually much I can do when she’d livid. I open my mouth, “I’m sor-”. The sting of her slap on my back is something I’m used to, but I gasp in shock and let out a laugh. I continue apologizing, “I’m sorry De, I’m sorry!”. I laugh as she hits me two more times, not hard- never hard- but enough to get her point across. 

“Low blow, man,” she mutters, coming closer to help me with the dishes. I chuckle a bit, “Well, it’s not like I finished the sentence,” I try to defend myself. She just glares at me, and we wash dishes for a couple more minutes. Cindy’s death was more brutal than mine. And being raped and killed by a sailor in the 40s left a bad taste in her mouth when it comes to certain phrases. In the quiet aftermath of our fight, I pucker my lips at something she said, “It was a chihuahua.” Cindy looks up at me. “The lady’s dog, it was a chihuahua, that’s why I knew you wouldn’t want to keep it,” I explain. She smiles, then furrows her brow, “You hate chihuahuas too, though. Why would you want to keep it?” Dammit, she’s got another point. Why would I want to keep some angry old dog that belonged to some old lady I don’t even know? I think of her face, all wrinkled, but full of comfort and love. Warmth. It reminds me of Mom, holding me tight. She was always so warm. It didn’t hurt when I died, but it sure as hell hurt when she did. 

“Pen?” Cindy says softly. I’m pulled out of my stupor. I shake myself, look at her. That was a mistake. She looks so concerned, so sad for me. I feel warmth on my arm, and look down at her hand on my bicep. I sigh, turning to put the dishes I was holding in the sink, and then grabbing a dish towel to dry my hands. While Cindy dries hers too, I pull out my pocketbook and flip through to get to the right page. I peel the post-it off the page and hand it to Cindy. She grabs it daintily. Her face changes as she reads it, “Oh, Pen,” she whispers with remorse. I lower my head, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah,” I sigh. 

Written on the post-it is a name, a time, and a place. The name, though, is why Cindy’s now looking at me like I’m going to start breaking down any second. Which I definitely would, if it weren’t for the fact that I just did that with Ben 5 minutes ago. The name reads, Margaret Selorde, and it’s been breaking my heart since Thursday.

“How is this even possible,” Cindy whispers. I chuckled sadly, “Margaret is a pretty popular name, D, I don’t know what you mean.” She looks up, tilting her head and furrowing her brow as if to say, “Yeah, dipshit, I know Margaret is a popular name.” I sigh at that look, “It’s actually her.” Cindy’s mouth drops in surprise, “Seriously?” she whispers, and I nod, thankful she didn’t point out that I just said “is”, and not “was”. 

“Penny told me. Then she looked into it when she got the ledger,” I explain, “found some old records on it at the library. And texted me right away,” I smile. Cindy’s face says it all. Her eyebrows are pulled together and her eyes are watering. She doesn’t pity me, she’s heartbroken for me. Penny had to take the soul of my adopted sister, the only part of my family left. 

I look back down at my shoes, tears pricking my eyes, “She recognized me, actually,” I sniffle, “Penny showed her a picture of me,” I chuckle, watery. I clear my throat and pick my head up, still not looking at Cindy, but rather a spot on the doorway across the room, “Penny said she-she said she always knew I ended up okay. She said she always had a feeling.” I pause, then look at 

The door to the guest room creaks, and I whip my head around. Ben’s standing there, skin still covered in dried blood. He looks so small, so innocent, so- “Hey, kid,” Cindy says. I turn to look at her, trying to communicate with my eyes that talking to him might not be the best idea, because I still don’t know what’s going on in his mind. She ignores me, “Do you want something?” she asks. I look back at him, and remark again at the blood all over his clothes. He doesn’t say anything, but looks at me. It hurts, strikes me to the core-my soul, if I still have one. I feel the urge to explain Cindy’s presence, “She’s like me, and she’s my roommate,” I awkwardly explain. He looks back at Cindy, who smiles. The silence is deafening. I can’t stop looking at him, at the blood. 

“Hey, if you want, you can use the bathroom over there,” I point to the door next to the guest room, “to, um, well, wash off.” God dammit, why am I so bad with kids? Ben looks, though, at the bathroom door, and then down at his hands. I feel bad again as his eyes begin to fill with tears all over again. He rushes to the bathroom in a flash, shutting the door tight behind him. I grimace at it all, and turn to face Cindy again. She looks appalled as she hands me back the post-it note, “What did you even say to him?” she whispers. I throw my hands up, making sure to keep the post-it secure in one of my hands, “I don’t know,” I whisper back fiercely, “I told you, I’m bad with kids!” Cindy chuckles, still looking concerned about him, “He was so small,” she insists quietly, “and bloody,” she wrinkles her nose. I sigh, remembering the carnage, “Yeah, it was brutal.” Cindy looks at me, all of a sudden very serious, “Did someone…” she trails off, making a throat-slitting gesture. I shake my head fervently, “No, no, no, no,” I reassure her, and she sighs, “He did it himself,” I explain. Her eyes are big as saucers, and she’s absolutely heartbroken, “He did it himself?!” I chuckle at her expression, surprised she got to that conclusion, “Oh my god, sit down, I’ll just explain it to you.”

[hopelikethemoon]

Teeth (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Teeth Rating: PG-13 Length: 1300 Warnings: Mentions of blood.  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set September 1998. Shoutout to @buckstaposition​ for this <3  Another short chapter. I’ve been working my ass off the last few days.  Summary: Josie wakes them up in the middle of the night. 

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen@arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato​ @coredrive​ @pascalesque@theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar​ @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou​@yespolkadotkitty​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​ @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​ @jaime1110​

“Mommy?” A very quiet voice whispered.

You opened your eyes slowly, only halfway awake. “Hmm?” 

“Mommmmmy.”

“What is it, babydoll?” You questioned, blinking a few times as you tried to force yourself awake. The bedroom was still pitch black, which told you that you hadn’t overslept your alarm.

Javier grumbled behind you, his arm still firmly curled around your waist and his forehead pressed awkwardly against your shoulder blade. 

You shifted forward as best as you could, grabbing the chain on the light and turning it on. You clenched your eyes closed as the light momentarily blinded you. 

“What the fuc—“ Javier started, but he caught himself. “Focaccia.” 

“Nice save.” You quipped as you opened your eyes and took in the sight of your daughter. “Shit. Josie, what happened?”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Javier said as he sat up behind you, inhaling sharply as he saw exactly what you saw. 

Josie’s mouth was covered in fresh blood and she had her little hand clenched tightly around something. 

“My mouth hurts,” Josie said quietly, offering you a grimace of a grin. 

“Do we need to call 911?” Javier panicked. 

“It’s her tooth.” You assured him as you swung your legs over the side of the bed and held out your hand. “Do you have it?”

She nodded, “I was sleeping and it just went ‘pop’!”

You gave her a skeptical look, “And not because we talked about the tooth fairy last week?” 

Javier scooted over to your side of the bed, settling on the edge beside you. “Princesa, did you pull your tooth out?”

Josie looked rather sheepish then as she dropped the tooth into your palm. “In Mrs. Bryant’s class, Sean told me he pulled his toof out by tying a string around it and slamming a door.”

“Josie!” You grimaced, “That blood isn’t just from your tooth is it?”

She shook her head as tears welled up in her eyes, “I’m sorry mommy.”

“It’s okay sweetheart,” You brought her in for a hug, petting the back of her head. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?” You said as you pulled back and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done,” Javier told you, before he turned his attention to Josie. “Your first tooth! I’ll have to have a word with the tooth fairy about early extractions.” He teased, winking at her before he got up. 

You guided Josie by the hand into the en suite, sitting her down on the toilet seat as you grabbed a washcloth to clean her up. “What made you think this was a good idea?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Sean made it sound cool, but it hurted.”

“I bet.” You knelt down in front of her, wiping the wet cloth over her bloody chin and lips. She’d done a number to her bottom lip with whatever she’d used to yank the tooth out. “We’re just going to put a little ointment on it, okay? You can’t lick at it.”

“I’m sorry mommy,” She said, grabbing at your hand. “I wanted to be a big girl with big girl toofs.”

“Let’s not do it again, okay?” You warned her as you grabbed the ointment and applied it to her bottom lip. “Your teeth come in when they’re supposed to. What if you’re snaggle-toothed for years?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh no!”

“You wouldn’t want to make the tooth fairy unhappy, would you?” You pouted your lips and shook your head. 

Josie shook her head quickly. “Will the tooth fairy be mad?”

“Daddy will smooth it over, don’t you worry.”

“Does daddy know the tooth fairy?”

You crossed your fingers, “They're like this.”

“Like uncle Steve?”

“Exactly like uncle Steve.” You laughed, kissing your fingers and pressing them to her nose. “Come on, babydoll, let’s see what daddy’s doing in the kitchen.”

Josie took your hand and you guided her back through your bedroom, into the kitchen where Javier stood squirting whipped cream into a bowl. 

“I really shouldn’t be rewarding you for yanking your tooth out, princesa, but I think it was already traumatizing, huh?”

She nodded, pointing at her lip that was split. 

“Someone’s lucky she didn’t need stitches.” Javier gave her a look, before holding out the bowl and a spoon. “This is a positive reinforcement treat. Talk to us before you try something like this in the future.”

“Thank you daddy.” Josie said with a small sniffle as she plopped down on the floor with the bowl and started spooning up whipped cream. 

“A positive reinforcement treat?” You arched a brow. “Worked wonders when I pulled crap as a kid.”

“Did it?” You gave him a skeptical look. 

He snorted, raking his teeth over his bottom lip as he arched a brow. “For the record, I could be a lot worse.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I found her contraption.”

“Oh?”

“Fishing line wrapped around her doorknob.”

You glanced down at Josie, “Swell. Where’d you put the tooth?”

“Plastic bag, your drawer.”

You nodded, hands on your hips. “Well, I wasn’t planning on getting up at two in the morning.” You laughed bitterly. 

“All that blood—“

“Gave me a heart attack.” 

Javier reached over and rubbed your hip, “I can get her back to bed and brushed, if you want to go back to bed, baby.”

“Yeah?” You smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“We’re gonna have a talk anyways,” He gestured to Josie. “A little heart-to-heart about pinching the fishing wire from daddy’s things.”

“Uh oh.” You gave Josie a look as she peered up Javier. 

“I’m sorry daddy! I was just trying to be a big girl.”

“Just was your whipped cream, princesa. We’ll talk.”

“Don’t stay up too late,” You told him, cupping his cheek and kissing him once. 

He gave your ass a playful tap as you walked away. 

By the time Javier returned to bed, it was just after three and you were still wide awake. 

“I thought you were sleeping.”

You made a face as you rolled onto your back, “Seeing your kid covered in blood kinda forces you awake.” You admitted, rubbing at your eyes. “Is she out?”

“Like a light.”

“Good talk?”

Javier shrugged as he slid under the covers beside you, “We talked about growing up too fast, doing things we shouldn’t, and then most importantly — setting an example for Sofía.”

“Good call.” You snapped your fingers. “I think I’m going to talk to Mrs. Bryant about Sean. She should be trying to mitigate any trouble like that.”

“Watch out, she might accidentally call you Mrs. Peña.” He teased as you shut off the light. 

“Every. Single. Time.” 

“She’s had it out for you since that parent-teacher conference.” Javier snorted as he scooted closer to you, curling his arm around your waist as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “It’s pretty fucking funny.”

“If I said the sky was blue, she’d argue me on it.” You rested your hand over his, playing your fingers over the back of his hand. “The whipped cream was a nice touch.”

“I figured she’d scared the shit out of herself already.”

“There was so much blood.”

“She bled a bit more after brushing her teeth.” Javier admitted. “Head wounds… fucking suck.”

You turned your head and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before seeking out his lips in the darkness. “Fortunately, I don’t think Josie’s going to pull this shit again.” You murmured against his lips. 

Javier chuckled, his breath dancing over your lips. “Me neither.”

You kissed him once more before you rolled over, fitting yourself into the curve of his body. You sighed contentedly as he curled his arm around.  “Sleep.”

“See you in three hours.” Javier murmured, nuzzling at your shoulder. 

[maxineswritingcenter]

Bray Road part 5 - Mulder x nonbinary!reader

Uhhh classes started today for my final semester so let’s do some stuff between classes shall we?

- 

(Y/N) made there way through the ground floor of the hospital and to the information desk. They showed the desk assistant their badge and ask for directions to Jason Mulligan’s room. They made their way to the elevators after. Jason was in the ICU, which was strange since Mulder said he seemed to be fine when he saw him last. But things change, like this kid’s blood type apparently. The next theory that came to their head disturbed them more than anything. If Winterfield was really a werewolf and Jason had DEA in his blood, did that mean Winterfield was trying to make more? And worse...No... (Y/N) had had their blood work done since all those years ago and they had never found DEA. They made a mental note to speak with Jason’s mother, maybe he had the same experiences that they had: sleepwalking, trouble sleeping. Now they they really thought about it... they were only sleeping walking on the full moon. 

The elevator’s bell chimed as it stopped on the fourth floor. They stepped off the elevator and saw a typical floor for a hospital, nurses at the nurses station, even a few going from room to room. Or, they were really more like spaces that were closed off with a sheet. Jason was down the hall, second room on the left. As (Y/N) walked that had an odd feeling in their chest. Maybe it was just because they just learned their pediatrician is a werewolf. But the feeling only grew deeper as they walked closer. Once there, everything seemed oddly quiet. 

They knocked on the wall next to the entrance, “Mrs. Mulligan?” They pulled back the sheet, “My name is-”

Blood. Lots of blood. Mrs. Mulligan’s corpse was laying across the bed... her head was else where. There was no sign of Jason. (Y/N)’s breathing became shaky as they backed out and slowly closed the sheet. They hadn’t seen anything strange when they walked through the floor, meaning... this murder was calculated. They made their way back to the nurses station and stood there while the nurse finished her phone call. She was a petite woman, probably no older than they were. The nametag on her shirt said April 

“Yes, how can I help you?” She smiled. 

“I want you to put call security to put the hospital on lockdown, Jason Mulligan’s mother is dead and Jason is missing. He is to be considered extremely dangerous and treated with caution. We need to evacuate this floor. Now.” As they spoke, the nurse’s face grew paler and paler. With shaking hands, she grabbed at the telephone and called security. While the line was ringing, she told a nurse walking by to put evacuation procedures in place to which that aid also scurried off. From the right, (Y/N) heard a click. They looked down and saw a small boy with a disposable camera. 

(Y/N) smiled as not to alarm him, “Hello. That’s a nice camera.” They bent down to meet the child eye to eye. 

“Thanks.” He smiled, “My mommy got it for me. I like taking pictures.” He smiled. From the scaring on his face and the bandages, it was clear he had been severely burned and was starting to heal. 

“That’s nice. Where is your mommy?” 

“She went to the bathroom after the big dog.” They froze. 

“What big dog?” He pointed his little bandaged finger over (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

“That one.” He smiled, bringing the camera up to his face and taking a picture. (Y/N) slowly stood up, looking slightly over their shoulder and saw it. It was massive, standing at five feet tall on all fours. Its fur was a dark color and it looked wet, soaked in... the blood that was still dripping from its fangs and claws. It’s eyes were jet black. There was steam coming from its body. Before the eyes of the agent, the child, and the speechless nurse at the station, it began to stand on its hind legs. Its shoulders rose and fell with the creatures deep breathing. 

“Did you call security?” They whispered to the nurse. She nodded slowly, still holding to phone to their ear. 

“Good. Don’t move. Don’t scream.” The nurse nodded again, her lips trembling. (Y/N) reached down, stilling keeping an eye on the creature and took the little boy into their arms, he snapped another picture of the creature in the process. 

“Remain calm.” They whispered. And that seemed to work until a scream from behind the creature  that came in the form of a patient. The creature turned and roared, swiping at the patient with its massive claws, knocking the patient into a wall and killing him. 

“RUN!” (Y/N) called holding onto the boy and sprinting away, the creature hot on their trail. The little boy held on tightly, wrapping his arms around their neck. 

“It’s coming closer!” He cried. (Y/N) could hear from the increasing volume of the footsteps that it was true. Holding the boy with one arm, (Y/N) pulled down a large filing shelf as they ran by, hoping it would slow it down. The creature only roared in response. Ahead of the two was the elevator that was thankfully opening. (Y/N) ran inside, pressing the door close button frantically. 

“It’s coming! It’s coming!” The screamed, tugging on their shirt. 

“Come on, come on!” They said through their teeth, pushing frantically. The door finally closed, the creature slamming itself into them, denting the doors slightly. They took a deep breath of relief, leaning against the back wall of the elevator. 

“Okay.” They sighed, looking down at little boy in their arms. His face was red and wet from tears, “It’s okay, he didn’t get in.” Then, continuing their unfortunate bad luck, there were screeching noises coming from above them followed by a thud that shook the elevator. Spoke too soon. They were stopped on the second floor. So close to the first. 

(Y/N) they set the boy down, taking him gently by the shoulders, “When the doors open, I need you to run. Run faster than you ever have before.” 

“Okay.” He sniffled, gripping tightly onto his camera, “What about you?” There was another thump on the car ceiling. 

“I’ll be okay.” (Y/N) smiled, but the smile didn’t reach their eyes. They reached out and hit the open doors button, the doors opened and the little boy took off. As soon as the doors closed again, the creature’s hand broke through the ceiling. They shouted, crouching down to the floor to avoid the swinging claws. They grabbed their pistol from its holster on their hip, aiming and shooting up. The creature wailed it was hit but it didn’t relent. They shot again but this time, they heard a snap from the cable holding the car. As (Y/N) fell, the ceiling of the car caved in and they fell into darkness. 

- 

Mulder and the sheriff rushed into the main building as the elevator collapsed. The nurses and doctors were rushing patients outside from the main floor and the stairwells. 

“What’s going on?” Mulder called to a nurse evacuating a patient. 

“We’re evacuating, there’s a monster!” The mousy nurse called back, rushing a patient and their oxygen tank outside. The sheriff held a large weapon, a rifle by the looks of it. They both walked with caution towards the smoke coming from the elevator area. When the smoke cleared, they saw it. Both men stopped to stare. It was massive, at least seven feet tall. It was drenched in blood and covered in drywall rubble. It was dragging something behind it as it walked, and that something turned out to be Mulder’s partner. They seemed to be passed out, being dragged by their ankle.

“HEY!” Mulder called, aiming his pistol. The creature turned to look at them and roared. It had the features of a wolf: long snout, pointed ears, and large fangs. 

The sheriff took aim and fired, the shot to the chest did practically nothing. Mulder and the sheriff continued shooting but the creature only came closer, having dropped (Y/N). As it came closer, their bullets ran out and they were backed against a wall. The creature roared and went to descend on the two. Mulder squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the swipe of claws. But instead, he opened his eyes and saw a bloody silver pole sticking from the creatures chest. The creature fell to the side, revealing the same mousy looking nurse from before. There was blood splattered across her face and her breathing was hard. In her hand she held the wheels that had come from the tray she had used to stab the beast. 

“Damn April.” The Sheriff said as he regained his breath. She only waved lazily in response. 

Mulder got up and quickly went to his partner who was slowly coming to. 

“Ow.” (Y/L/N) groaned. Mulder helped them into a sitting position. 

“Where’s the thing?” They grunted. Mulder looked back, then at (Y/N). 

“I think you mean Jason.” He said solemnly. Before btoh the agent’s very eyes, the large creature had slowly morphed and shifted back into a bloody and naked Jason Mulligan. 

-------

Read Part 6 here!

I’m getting back into the grove! I’m very excited to finish up this series and I’m glad it’s getting some love. 

Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated! 

Here is the taglist, comment below or send me an ask to be added: 

@bi-andready-tocry 

@nyotamalfoy

[frostsinth]

Li’un Ma Shkio - Pt. 5

Part One, Two, Three, & Four

Unvar has just rescued Karianna again. Now they are safe back at his camp, what will he have to say about her reckless behavior? And how does she feel, knowing he saved her life?

Likes and comments to let me know you still want updates! I have a little more to burn you with before this closes out. Small graphic warning on this one! Check the rest of my blog for artwork of the two!

I didn’t notice our return to camp. Didn’t notice us pass the sentinels at the gate or plod up to his tent once more. Only when he dropped the reins and uncurled his arm from around me did I stir again. He dismounted, then turned and gently tugged me off. I staggered as soon as my feet hit the ground again, but he kept me from fully falling over, and guided me back into his tent.

.....

In silence, he planted me on my stump by the fire. He unstrapped his cloak, swinging it off his shoulders and dropping it over mine. It was so heavy I buckled under it, and it was thick with his scent. My fingers curled into it, and I pulled it around me, all the way up to my nose. Unvar practically threw his ax from his hip, and the sound of it clattering against the pots where it landed made me jump. He gave a soft, angry grunt, stomping back to the door. There, he grabbed some logs and stoked the fire until it was a warm, blazing glow again. He stomped around for a moment more, kicking one boot off so it clattered into another set of pots. Then the other, so it made a deadened thud against the wall. I winced at both sounds, cowering into his cloak.

After that, he paused quietly for a moment. Then slowly, he walked over to a bowl and jug set on another stump. He poured out some water into the bowl and wiped down his hands. The soft crackle of the fire and the dripping of the water were the only sounds. Once his hands were clean, he stood with his back to me and placed them on his hips. He tilted his head all the way back, looking up towards the ceiling, and I thought I heard him let out his breath in a huff.

I watched him, sniffling occasionally, staring at his broad shoulders and bare back, his long braids from his ponytail dangling. I felt horribly guilty in that moment, and more stupid and embarrassed than I had ever felt before. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak. And so waited with dread for him to.

I’m not sure how much time passed before he turned back, gathering up the bowl and jug. I flinched at his sudden movement, but quickly tried to calm my racing heart. The water sloshed softly as he brought it over to the fire and placed it by my stump. Glancing down at it, I noticed my feet; they looked almost blue, at least wherever there was skin between the dirt and blood stains. Based on them, I must have looked a state, covered in dirt and blood and blue with cold. ... But he didn’t look at me.

Unvar dropped a cloth into the water, swirling it around for a moment as he plopped down onto the stump opposite me. With the water between his own feet, he placed his knees on either side of mine, and leaned over.

Gently, he pushed the cloak off my injured shoulder, then slowly wiped it with the wet cloth. It stung, but I didn’t bother to flinch, staring instead at my cold feet, still shivering a little. The water felt icy even against my numb skin, and dripped slowly down my arm to the ground.

He re-soaked and wiped the wound several more times in silence, before he heaved his heaviest sigh yet.

“...When I woke, and found you gone,” He started, his voice so soft I almost couldn’t hear it, “I was mad. Most mad in life. I felt like my body was fire-” His hand slowed, letting the water drip heavily down my arm and onto my skirt- “But when I see you, in forest…” He shook his head, “It was gone. And I was mad at ma’iitso instead, that they would hurt you…”

When he dropped off, I squeezed my eyes shut and felt a single tear roll down my cheek.

“...I’m sorry…”

I felt his big, meaty hand cupping my cheek. His thumb wiped away the tear, then it dropped away. I heard the slosh of the cloth back in the water.

“Why?” His voice sounded pained, and I opened my eyes slowly to look at him, “Why you go? I say I will keep safe. I say you can have anything…” He was staring into the fire, and the expression in his eyes made my heart ache. “Is Unvar so bad you would choose death in forest?”

“N-no!” I almost gasped, and found my hand instinctively reaching out. I touched his fur covered knee, which was closest to me, and shook my head. “No, of course not…”

His copper eyes turned and met mine. “Then why?”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, and my lips trembled. I withdrew my hand back into the folds of his cloak, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. I tried to bury myself deeper into the thick fur, fighting tears.

“I was scared…” I said finally.

“More scared of Unvar than ma’iitso?”

I shook my head, and felt tears stinging my eyes again. “Not of you. Not specifically…I.. I just…” I sniffled, raising the back of my hand to wipe at my eye again, “I felt… trapped… I thought I had to escape…”

He didn’t answer, and I dropped my eyes from him in shame. I felt him considering me, but couldn’t bear to look at him again. Finally he sighed, and reached for the cloth in the water again.

“I … I need you here..buk’nik shrin, I do not know words…” He said, wiping at my face with the cloth. I flinched a little at his touch at first, but then endeavored to stay still for him. “I cannot leave, and cannot be without you-”  I felt the water drip down my chin and neck “-I am sorry... this makes you feel trapped…” He squeezed out the water and began wiping my hands, “But I promise. If you do not feel as me in Autumn, I will let go-” He dropped the cloth suddenly, and took up my hand in his- “I promise, you are safe with me. I want not from you, only time. Time to show words I do not know.” He squeezed my hand gently, “... Do not feel trapped…”

I looked back at him, still shaking. I wasn’t sure from exhaustion or cold. His copper eyes held the same sad, pleading expression from the last time he had asked me to stay with him. And I couldn’t help but feel a little lost in those big eyes.

“I...I’m sorry,” I said again, my voice breaking a little, “I won’t try to run again… I’ll stay.” I took my hand from his and rubbed my face once more. “Gods, I feel so foolish,” I muttered with a soft, sad little laugh.

“You brave,” Unvar replied, reaching out to look more closely at the bite on my shoulder. He nodded approvingly. “This make good scar.”

I shook my head as he stood, making his way over to a basket and pulling out some thin strips of cloth.

“No, I’m an idiot,” I argued as he came and stood behind me, gently lifting up my arm. “I don’t know where I thought I could go. I didn’t even bring my pack!”

He gave a soft snort. “Yes… It was little stupid,” He pointed to my bare feet, “No boots.”

I laughed again, a little less sad than the last time. He slowly wrapped my arm, gently tucking in the fabric at the end and testing his handiwork before coming back around.

“Come. You sleep now.”

I didn’t argue, taking his offered hand and letting him guide me to the bed. He took the cloak and hung it on a nearby hook as I slowly stripped off my bloody blouse, corset, and skirt. I left them in a heap on the floor, too tired to do anything else. Weakly, I crawled back into the furs, not caring in that moment if he could see through my thin slip.

Turning back, I noticed he wasn’t even facing me. Instead, he was gathering up some of the extra furs and blankets. Then he moved as if to leave.

I sat bolt upright. “Where are you going?” I asked, panic filling my voice.

He looked surprised at this, eyes a little wide, then looked down at his gathered supplies. “I make bed by fire. You keep big bed.”

My head was shaking before I even knew what I was doing. “No.”

He raised one bushy eyebrow at this.

I cleared my throat, dropping my eyes. “... I’d… I’d rather you stay in bed … with me,” I told him softly. I tried to keep the fear from my voice, but wasn’t sure if I succeeded.

“...You are sure?” He asked quietly, studying me with those large copper eyes.

“I… I am s-still on edge,” I explained to him, trying to sound logical. But as I lifted one shaking hand to rub my face, I knew how weak it sounded, “... You … you help with that…”

My voice dropped off. I lifted my gaze back up after a few quiet moments when he didn’t answer. He was still watching me, as if waiting for something more. So I nodded. Yes. Yes, I was sure. And he slowly came back over, dropping the furs and blankets by the edge of the bed. They made a soft thump, and he kept my gaze as he slowly undid the furs at his waist. As if waiting for me to change my mind.

I was careful not to look down as his covering fell away, then as he slowly crawled into the bed and tucked his legs and hips under the blankets. We held each other’s eyes for the entirety of that time, and I scooched back to make space for him as he settled himself. Then I felt his warmth spreading through the furs, and was powerless to resist the urge to slide closer to him. He seemed surprised as I reached him, and he opened his arms hesitantly.

“...You confuse me…” He whispered quietly, but his gaze softened.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, reaching for him.

He gave a small smile when I accepted his open arms, sliding into his waiting hands. His eyes widened a moment later, as my skin touched his. 

“You are frozen!” He exclaimed in shock.

Quick as a flash, he pulled me into his burly chest and enveloped me in his arms. One hand reached out, grabbing all of the furs within reach and quickly piling them on top of us. After an initial gasp of surprise, I reveled in his warmth and the weight of the blankets as he tucked them in around me. It didn’t even bother me that much knowing he was naked beneath the furs, nor that the slip I wore was so thin, I might as well have been. It felt nice, tucked against his huge body that was easily twice my size, and I already felt his warmth seeping into me. I quivered a little in his arms, though from fear, exhaustion, or cold, I couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry.” I murmured into his chest, breathing in his soft scent. Much stronger off his body than his cloak.

He placed one hand on the back of my head. I felt like his fingers would reach all the way to my face and he would be able to enclose my skull in his fist. But his touch was light and gentle. I felt his breath on the top of my head between his fingers.

“You say this often,” He breathed into my hair, “I do not know why.”

“...Sorry,” I said again, then couldn’t help but smile.

I felt his soft chuckle rumble in his chest. “...Why sorry?”

I closed my eyes, leaning as far into his warmth as I could manage. “I’m sorry for making you worry. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry you had to come after me and I’m sorry you had to save me. I should have just stayed put. So I’m sorry I’m an idiot.”

It all came in a rush, and he listened quietly. Part of me wondered how much he understood. I still wasn’t sure how strong his grasp of my language was. But I was just so glad for the warmth of his body against mine at that moment. And so grateful that he had woken much sooner than I had originally hoped and come to my rescue. I shuddered to think what would have happened if he had only just woken now.

He stroked my hair gently. “I do not care about any of this,” He replied, “... I care only that you are safe.”

His words made a different heat rise in my chest, and I didn’t answer for a moment. My quivering stilled, and I relaxed a little more into his arms.

“I’m sorry you want to marry me then,” I teased softly, smoothing the flat of my palm over his chest.

Again, he chuckled, and feeling it beneath my hand made me smile. “I am most not sorry for this.”

I hesitated, then leaned back to look up at him. He curled his neck so he could meet my gaze. For a moment, we lay like that, our eyes locked, pillowed in the deep furs. He unwrapped one of his arms from around me, then traced his fingers along my jaw. His thumb lingered at my lips.

“...Li’un ma shkio... “ He breathed, and his copper eyes darted down briefly, “bel kadan…”

I felt my own attention skip down to his lips, before darting back up to his eyes. I felt a little breathy, but couldn’t hide the tiny smile at the corners of my mouth. I nodded slightly as he traced his thumb over my bottom lip.

I closed my eyes as his lips touched mine, the tenderness of it swelling a warmth in my chest. His fingers lingered under my chin, lightly lifting my face to meet his. It was longer this time, and he seemed to press into me so persistently that I couldn’t help but respond. Our lips moved together, tracing along in synchronicity. I felt his breath hot against my cheeks, and his arm squeezed me tighter to his body. I traced my own hand up his bare chest, skimming along the grooves between his muscles. My other hand went to his face, cupping his jaw, fingers brushing his cheek.

Finally, he drew back, though reluctantly. I found myself following after him for a few moments before I caught myself, and my eyes fluttered open. His own eyes were half lidded, and he looked down at me through dark lashes. The corners of his mouth were upturned, and I saw the tip of his tongue lightly trace his bottom lip around his tusks. His other hand had found the small of my back, and traced small circles there.

“ Hi’ick nhish ba dolun de…” He murmured, and the tip of his thumb lingered at the point of my chin.

I ran my hand down the edge of his jaw, then back up. I couldn’t help but glance down at his lips again.

“...What does that mean?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders, and a small smirk played across his lips. “I do not know how say.”

I almost laughed, and he leaned into my touch, closing his eyes. His hand at my chin reached up and overlaid mine, swallowing it whole. He turned, cupping it within his, and kissed the inside of my wrist. He pulled my arm gently, kissing further up my forearm. Then leaned down and kissed the inside of my elbow.

“Bhak’shnik pul dol dun de…” He breathed with his lips against my arm.

“And that?”

Another shrug of his shoulders, and I could feel his smirk against my skin. “I do not know how say…”

He traced his lips slowly up my arm, kissing the bandage very lightly. Then he pulled me closer with his other hand, and curled into me so he could kiss the bottom of my neck. He skimmed his tusks over my throat, and I could feel them there as I swallowed. I found I liked the sensation. I tilted my head back slightly to expose more of the soft flesh to his teeth.

“Nhil’ma shod uk’iin…”

I closed my eyes, feeling his chest rumble beneath my hand as his lips formed the words at my throat. I didn’t bother asking what it meant, and felt him kiss the underside of my jaw. Then he traced the tip of his tongue along its edge to my ear.

“Mah’un de… bal th’ez uk man’dwe…” He whispered into my ear.

His deep voice sent shivers down my spine, and I found my mouth slightly ajar as he slowly pulled back to look down at me once more. Every inch of my skin tingled, and it seemed impossible any cold could touch me now. He lingered with the tip of his nose brushing ever so slightly against mine, and looked at me with hooded eyes.

I smiled shyly at him, feeling my eyes inexplicably drawn back to his lips. I felt his heart in his chest beneath my fingertips, and was suddenly very aware of how much of his body was pressed against mine. Including a very noticeable bulge growing in the area of his hips. I tried to ignore its firmness brushing against my thigh; and I mostly managed to.

He tilted his head as if to kiss me again, but then he stopped and danced away instead. Evading my hesitant pursuit. His fingers came back to trace the delicate edge of my jaw, then push into the hair at the base of my skull.

“Li’un-...li’un ma shkio….” I breathed, the air catching in my throat as I formed the foreign words, my mouth quivering, “... Bel kadan-”

He caught my mouth in his, now crushing our lips together. Cutting off the end of my words with a surge of eagerness at them. His lips demanded my response, and I found myself suddenly eager to please. I found his tongue tracing into my mouth, and opened it willingly. Welcoming his sweet taste, feeling the large, flat muscle pressing and teasing against mine. I couldn’t suppress a soft moan that I fed to him, and I felt his hand at the base of my skull tighten. Drawing me even closer.

His hand at the small of my back drifted down, gathering up a handful of my ass. Kneading it between his massive fingers and strong palms. Bunching up my slip. I withered against him, pressing my stomach against his, lifting one leg to curl around him. He nearly bent me in half with his passion, but I could not help but be swept up in his wake. I forgot how to breathe for a moment, and my breath came in a rush when it did finally return.

I bit his tongue gently to slow him down as his hands began to become more demanding, tracing up and down the length of my body. He paused, one hand lingering with just his fingertips skimming along my breast. His thumb teased my nipple through the thin slip until it perked to his bidding.

But he stopped obediently, lingering his final kiss lightly against my lips before slowly pulling back. I felt his sigh from deep in his chest, and saw the slight dreamy look that passed over his eyes as he blinked down at me.

Inspired, I stretched up, kissing his chin quickly. He tried to pursue my lips again, but I turned my head away bashfully. So he kissed my cheek instead, then my jaw, then traced his lips up to my ear. Once there, he nibbled gently on my earlobe, his tusks scraping my skin lightly. The sensation had me giggling, and pushing my hand against him as if to push him off but without any intent or power behind the motion.

“Bal th’ez uk man’dwe,” He murmured against my ear again, licking me with just the tip of his tongue.

I didn’t say anything for a moment, slowly curling away from his touch with a sudden bout of timidness. But I didn’t roll far, instead tucking myself under his chin and resting my ear against his chest. He in turn wrapped his arms back around me and curled his legs. Enveloping me in my own personal cocoon. I tucked my knees against his bent thighs.

“You have not fear?” He asked the top of my head softly.

I traced a small circle on his chest next to my nose. “...When I saw you, back in the forest… I was so relieved, … so happy…” I buried my face into his chest, heat rising to my cheeks, “...And then you were going to leave me here alone-”

“Never,” He cut me off, squeezing me gently in his arms.

“-a-and I realized I didn’t want to be alone…”

I felt the heat of his lips against the top of my head, then his hand stroked my hair. “You feel as me.”

I shook my head, then stopped, hesitating. My finger tracing circles paused too, and I smoothed it across his chest.

“... I don’t know what I feel.”

“You will,” I felt him nod, “I wait. You see.”

I hid my smile, and stifled a yawn. “We will see.” I told him as my eyes fluttered closed.

....

UPDATE: Part Six HERE

[ask-them-bois]

Ancient Sounds 3/5

AS.pt.1 AS.pt.2

TW: Major Character Death

“Bluegill? You a’ight?” Rufuss called softly, knocking on the door gently.

Bluegill coughed again and cleared his throat, then wiped his bloody hands on a tissue. He dropped it down the side of the bed, out of sight, as Rufuss opened the door.

“Yessir, I’m alright.” He rumbled, forcing a smile. Rufuss blinked at him, the younger indigo’s earfins drooping.

“You ain’t lookin’ too good, partner.” Rufuss murmured, walking over to Bluegill’s bed and sitting on the edge beside him. Lil’ Lady, who lay at Bluegill’s feet, grumbled at the bed dipping.

“Prolly not, but I never intended ta win beauty contests wit’ this mug.” Bluegill chuckled, before he sighed. “I’m an ol’ troll, Rufuss. I think my body’s just ‘bout had enough.”

“You’re not that old!” Rufuss protested.

Bluegill gave him a pointed look. “I’m nearin’ forty-six sweeps, kiddo. That’s ‘bout average fer our blood, even with the seadweller part.” His fins twitched as he lay back against the mountain of pillows behind him.

Rufuss blinked at him, before he nodded, reaching up and pulling his hat off. “I ain’t wantin’ you to go.” He said quietly, running a hand through his own hair. Bluegill smiled softly, a wrinkled hand patting Rufuss’ broad shoulder.

“I know, partner, but you’ll do fine without me. You were doin’ great b’fore. You did somethin’ real special here, ya know? Thanks fer takin’ care o’ the old ranch fer me.”

Rufuss blinked at him and sniffled, nodding. “Thank ya kindly, sir. Do ya- do ya want me to… get someone? One o’ them purples, for… for last rites or somethin’?”

Bluegill laughed. “No, Mister Rufuss, I think I’ll be just fine. There’s only one purple I give a damn ‘bout.” He dug in the pocket of his long johns and pulled out an old, tattered photograph. He smiled at softly, the wrinkles on his face doubling, before he held it out to Rufuss. “Looksee.”

Rufuss took the photo and turned it over. The picture was old, faded, and yellow on the edges. It was a photo of a young Hounding, somewhere around six sweeps, his teeth bared and his eyes scrunched up as he tried to smile. His face and overalls were covered in dirt, his hair cut very short. He was leaning on the pasture fence, his head turned towards the camera.

“… Do ya want me ta get Mr. Hounding?” Rufuss asked, passing the photo back.

“No, sir. I don’t think it’d do much good. He ain’t wantin’ nothing ta do with me anyhow.” Bluegill tucked the photo back into his pocket and pat his chest gently. He looked down at Lil’ Lady. “All I wantcha ta do is take care o’ my ol’ gal when I’m gone. Her an’ Sweetpea.”

Rufuss looked down at the ancient basset hound, who raised her head and gazed at her master with big, sorrowful eyes, before she heaved herself to her feet. She waddled over to Bluegill’s side and flopped against him. “I don’ think she wants ya to go, either.” Rufuss frowned.

“Ah… prolly not, but she’ll join me ‘gain eventually.” Bluegill smiled softly, patting the fat bark-beast’s belly. His smile faltered after a moment. “There is, actually, one more thing I’d like you ta do fer me.” He said quietly. Rufuss looked up.

“What is it?”

“Bury me in the pasture, will ya? On the hill. ‘S where I was buried last time, an’ I quite liked it. Had a nice view o’ the sea and the sunset.”

Rufuss felt a lump rise in his throat. “Don’ be talkin’ like that.” He croaked.

“Mm. It’s all I got ta talk about now. Promise me, Ru. On th’ hill near the stables.”

Rufuss shook his head, reaching up to rub his eyes. “I- I promise, sir.” He rasped between his fingers.

Bluegill regarded his descendant fondly. “Don’ cry fer me, cowboy. Not yet. This is how I wanted ta go the first time ‘round. I ain’t got no regrets, an’ I know my ranch is in good hands.”

“I… I won’t-” Rufuss paused, wiping his eyes again, “I won’t letcha down, sir.”

“I know, kiddo.” Bluegill murmured, snuggling deeper into his blankets “You ain’t ever done it before. A man couldn’ ask fer a better descendant, ya know that? I’m plum-dumb proud o’ ya.”

Rufuss choked back a sob, forcing a smile. “Thank ya, sir.”

Bluegill turned his head to look at him, a tired smile on his face. “There it is. That ol’ Rufuss Wacoba smile. Don’t you ever stop smilin’, Ru, you hear me? This planet is pretty shit sometimes; all ya can do is keep on smiling, an’ look forward ta the next sunset.”

“Yes, sir.” Rufuss nodded, swallowing thickly. Bluegill huffed, pleased, and turned to look up at the ceiling before he closed his eyes. There was a moment’s silence before he spoke again.

“Could I ask one more thing of ya?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Go get my guitar, will ya? I wanna hear one more song. Ain’t right fer a man ta go in silence.”

Rufuss choked on a hiccup as he got up and left the room. Bluegill opened his eyes and looked over when he heard his footsteps retreat. He saw the younger indigo’s hat, left on the side, and picked it up. He slid it over his own brow, to cover his face.

“Mm. Don’t be tellin’ on me now, Lil’ Lady, but wasn’t all that truthful wit’ that boy. I got one regret left, after all. I ain’t gonna get ta see where this all ends. But I think I’m okay wit’ that. I’m tired.” He sighed. “I know Ru’s gonna be just fine. … Arrach, too. Make that another regret. Wish I coulda seen my kid one more time.” Lil’ Lady whined softly, pressing her snout into his arm. He pet her head again, before knitting his fingers over his chest.

The door opened again and Rufuss entered once more, a black and blue guitar in hand. His face was blue, eyes puffy from holding everything in. “What song do ya want ta hear?” He asked quietly.

“Hm… “Devil Child, Come Home.” That was always my favorite.” Bluegill replied, his voice very quiet now. His hand trembled as he tugged on the hat in salute. “See ya at the next sunset, Rufuss. Don’t you ever change fer no troll.”

Rufuss sat on the edge of the bed, eyes watering, and plucked a few chords. “It was an honor ta meet you, sir.”

Taking a deep breath, he pulled a pick out of his breast pocket and began to strum. After a few seconds, he began to sing.

His voice, by some miracle, didn’t crack or waver, and he sang. He sang his blood-pumper out, sang one of the most soulful songs Bluegill had ever composed. He sang about the moons, about the ranch, about the night an old rancher’s life changed. He sang of a demon with pitchforks for horns and bloody knuckles, and how that demon saved the rancher’s life. He sang of how that demon grew up, how that demon exchanged his fists for an ax, and how he left, leaving the old rancher alone. He sang of the rancher’s plea, for the demon to come home.

He sang of the rancher’s final words, of the rancher knowing the demon would take his soul when they saw each other again. Still, the rancher prayed for the demon to come back. Finally, he sang of the smile the rancher wore as he saw the demon appear on the horizon, and he sang of the rancher walking into the night to meet him, to welcome the demon home.

Rufuss strummed the last few cords, and let them fade into silence. He peeled open his eyes, his freckled cheeks wet and sticky, and turned to look.

He didn’t need to see it to know Bluegill’s chest no longer rose and fell. Lil’ Lady had her head on the old troll’s shoulder, eyes closed as she rested with her master for the last time. Rufuss set the guitar aside and smiled weakly.

“See ya at the next sunset, Mr. Bluegill.” He croaked.

Rising to his feet, he stumbled out of the respiteblock, and down the hall to his own. He sat heavily on his own bed, and finally let himself have a good, long, cowboy cry. His grief pooled in his hands and dripped through his fingers, splattering his already mud-splattered jeans.

Hours later, when his throat was raw and eyes were dry, he wiped his face and got back up. He wandered downstairs, to the mealblock, and got a glass of sweet tea. Sweetpea, Bluegill’s bark-beast grub, was on the couch, methodically gnawing a chew bone.

Rufuss pat her head, then wandered out onto the porch and sat in the rocking chair, staring out over the pasture. Part of him wanted to slink back inside, into his coon, to hide. But the other part of him knew there was still work to be done.

“Bluegill said cowfolk don’t leave jobs half finished.” He said to himself, bouncing his toes slowly to rock back and forth. Sniffling, he looked out over the ranch that was, once more, all his.

He could see the hill Bluegill had requested; it stood a few yards from the break, where the ground sloped down onto the beach. It’d do just fine, he thought.

Lost in his lapse of grief, the beeping of his palmhusk made him jump. He fumbled and pulled it out, to see a message from Gehero.

-GardeningWarrior began trolling OceanicBuckaroo!-

GW: 8. Hi, Rufuss. Is h3…? .8

OB: YeAh. A few hOurS AgO.

GW: 8. I’m so sorry. At l3ast you kn3w it was coming. .8

OB: ThAt dOn’t mAke it hurt LeSS.

GW: 8. I know. I’m sorry. Do you want m3 to com3 ov3r? .8

OB: NAh, it’S ALright, G. I’LL be OkAy. I’m juSt… thinkin’ mAybe I ShOuLd teLL Mr. UrfAth. BLuegiLL didn’ wAnt me tA teLL him he wAS gOin’, but I StiLL think he ShOuLd knOw he’S gOne.

GW: 8. I could go with you, if you want. .8

OB: I thOught he hAted yOu, thOugh?

GW: 8. Y3s, but you’r3 my fri3nd, Rufuss. I’m willing to fac3 him for you. .8

OB: YOu’re tOO kind, G. I’d AppreciAte it highLy if yOu’d AccOmpAny me.

GW: 8. Th3n it’s s3ttl3d. I can m33t you th3r3 now, if you’r3… r3ady. .8

Rufuss took a deep breath and drained his glass of tea, before he set it aside and stood up.

OB: Lemme fetch my hAt An’ bOOtS, An’ I’ll heAd yer wAy.

-OceanicBuckaroo ceased trolling GardeningWarrior!-

An hour later, Rufuss spotted Gehero standing by the gates to Hounding’s hive, twisting his claws through his hair anxiously. Rufuss sped up his pace, reaching up to tip his hat.

“Howdy, partner.” He called. Gehero looked up and smiled softly.

“Howdy, my friend.” He said, bowing slightly. The boys stepped forward and embraced one another, before pulling back. “How… how are you?” Gehero asked softly.

Rufuss smiled softly. “I’m hurtin’, G, but I’ll be alright.” He said honestly. Gehero nodded in understanding.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“At the moment, nah, but thank ya kindly fer askin’.” He said, before turning to the gate. “Let’s…” he took a deep breath, “Let’s go see Mr. Urfath.” He said, ready to get it over with. He tried the gate, and it pushed open easily for him.

“They’re not locked.” Gehero noted, sounding puzzled.

“Maybe he forgot. I left th’ paddock gates open a few weeks ago, plum forgot ‘bout it until one o’ the kelpies was standin’ on the porch.” Rufuss shrugged with a weak chuckle.

“Hounding doesn’t forget these kinds of things.” Gehero frowned. Shaking his head, though, he followed Rufuss up the marble steps of the large, dark hive. Lights shone through the windows, spilling onto the lawnring.

Rufuss swallowed thickly and walked up to the door, rapping his knuckles loudly against the black wood. There was a moment’s pause, before the giant door opened.

To both boys’ surprise, it was Ashhur who answered, the mutant red seadweller looking just as surprised as them.

“Why you here?” He asked, tipping his head.

“We need to see Houndin’.” Rufuss explained, tipping his hat in greeting.

“Master Urfath is business.” Ashhur informed him, before he frowned. He made several clicks and hums to himself. “Busy.” He corrected himself.

“This is important, though. Please, Ashhur.” Gehero stepped up. Ashhur glanced at him, all four eyes searching the purpleblood’s face, before he relented.

“Okay.” He stepped aside and motioned them in.

Thanking the redblood, Rufuss stepped inside and looked around; the mansion hive was decked in black and purple hues, with the barest splashes of red to give the place a gothic feel. The foyer alone was unnerving, the walls covered in mounted troll horns, skulls, and weapons.

Ashhur motioned for them to follow as he shut the door and headed towards the living block, his golden tattoos glimmering in the chandelier light; he was dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts, his multitude of fins on display.

“Master!” The seadweller called, “More visitors!”

The three of them entered the humongous living block, and both Rufuss and Gehero came to a stop.

Sat across from one another were Hounding and Oliver. Hounding sat in a throne-sized lounge chair, a faygo in hand and an amused expression on his face. Oliver sat snuggly on the lounge plank, his legs ankles crossed and cane laying across his lap, a soda of his own clasped in his claws.

Hounding looked up as they entered, his expression immediately darkening. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He snarled, setting his soda down.

Oliver turned her head in their direction, sniffing the air. “Purple and indigo… Oh! You two must be Gehero and Rufuss. Hello, darlings.” She purred, wiggling her fingers at them.

“Uh… Howdy.” Rufuss greeted her, tipping his hat. He swallowed nervously and stepped forward, looking up at Hounding. “Mr. Urfath, sir, I… I know you ain’t too fond o’ me, or- or Gehero fer that matter, but I got somethin’ ta tell ya.”

“Spit it out, then.” Hounding rumbled, scowling.

Rufuss took a shaky breath and hung his head. “Bluegill is dead.”

The silence that dropped was nearly deafening. Rufuss dared himself to raise his eyes, and saw Hounding staring at him, the purpleblood’s face suddenly blank, betraying his surprise.

“… How.”

“Just… age, sir.”

“When.”

“A few hours ago, sir.”

Hounding was silent for a long moment, before he took a deep breath and sat up. “Fine. Get out.” He said shortly.

“I- sir-?”

“I said,” Hounding spoke over him loudly, lips peeling back to bare his tusks, “get. Out.”

Rufuss opened his mouth to speak again, but thought better of it. He nodded and tipped his hat.

“Yes, sir. Have- have a good evenin’. Sorry fer your loss.” He turned away, taking Gehero’s hand and leading him out of the hive in silence. Rufuss only looked back when they were at the gate, and was surprised to see Ashhur and Oliver had followed them.

“Well, that was… anti-climactic.” Oliver hummed, looking both bored and disappointed.

“What were you doing with Hounding?” Gehero asked the olive, running his claws through his hair again.

“Oh, I just popped in for a hive visit, is all. He’s a friend of a friend of my morail. I just had a few questions for him.” Oliver shrugged, waving a hand dismissively.

Gehero frowned at that, working his jaw back and forth, before he turned to Rufuss. “What do we do now?”

Rufuss looked around, then up at the hive, then adjusted his pants and sighed. “I’m goin’ home. I got a body ta bury and critters who need dinner.” He said.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Gehero offered. Rufuss shook his head.

“No, it’s okay. You got critters o’ your own who probably want dinner. I… wanna be alone fer a while anyway.” He said, forcing a smile.

“… Alright. Troll me if you need anything.” Gehero told him. Rufuss nodded, tipping his hat to the three of them.

“Will do. See ya at the next sunset, folks.” He smiled, turned on his heel, and moseyed away.

Gehero watched him go, before he turned to Ashhur and Oliver. “… What about you, Ashhur?” He asked.

The mutant shrugged, the fins on his shoulders rippling. “I go back eventually. Master Urfath kicks me out… lots of times. I can go back later.”

“Well… it’s not safe for you to be out here uncovered.” Gehero reached down and undid his robe, slipping it off and holding it out. “Here. You can come stay at my hive for a while, if you’d like.”

Ashhur’s eyes all blinked at different intervals, and he nodded. He took the robe and slipped it on. “Okay.”

Beside them, Oliver hummed. “I suppose I should head home, too… Although, Gehero, darling, I was hoping to talk to you.”

Gehero turned to the oliveblood. “About what?”

“Well, word is that you… recently left your dear church.”

“I… I did, yes.”

“You must be feeling a little lost right now, right?”

“Um.”

“In need of a support system? Looking for a community to support you?” Oliver pressed, stepping forward.

Gehero stepped back, unnerved. “I- I have my meow-beasts-” He began.

“Yes, yes, your precious meow-beasts, I know. I’m more of a feather-beast person myself. Anyways, I know a community that can help you.”

Gehero perked up slightly. “You- you do?”

“I do, darling! A fun little club I host; a lovely group of trolls from all sides of the spectrum, many of which are going through their own hard times. We even have a silly name and we all get matching tattoos, and oh, it’s just a lovely, fun time.” Oliver purred.

Gehero’s face fell. “Oh. You mean the Black Hand.”

“Oh! You’ve heard of us, then?” Oliver beamed.

“Yes, Musrio warned me about you. I’m sorry, but I’m not looking into joining cults at the moment.” He said flatly. Oliver’s lips twitched in the faintest frown, before she was once again smiling.

“Ah, well, the offer still stands, my love.” She turned away, waving over her shoulder. “Good evening, my dears!”

Over her shoulder, she heard Gehero say, “Come with me, Ashhur.” She waited until the sounds of their footsteps faded away, before she let her smile drop. Digging in his purse, Oliver pulled out his palmhusk and earbuds, pulling up Trollian.

-SightlessFirebird began Trolling HeavymetalMeowbeast!-

SF: BB~. I have news~.

HM: OH??? ABOUT HIEROPHANT????

SF: Yes, my love~. I was just at the Hounding’s hive, when none other than Ru7uss and Gehero came in, and announced Bluegill had died~! Tragic thing, that~. Ah well, I suppose that’s just another number down on Musrio’s side, though~. Old troll passed in his own bed~.

HM: OH DAMN. WHAT ABOUT HOUNDING, THOUGH??? DID HE GIVE YOU ANYTHING USEFUL???

SF: He did~! An old trinket of Hierophant’s I think will come in handy~. I think it’s about time we had another meeting, BB~.

SF: It’s time 7or you to come home~.

HM: !!!!!!!

-SightlessFirebird ceased Trolling HeavymetalMeowbeast!-