#and i can barely force myself to stay awake

[sk3l3t0n444]

can i just not be depressed, cmon brain lets get up and do something, you havent turned on your pc in like a week. cmon up get your ass up stupid piece of junk lets go you cant just sleep all the time. lets go up and at em, lets go you piece of shit cmon lets get up and off the bed, cmon you can do it

[snaileer]

Call to My Bedside - Part 2

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/733019972168761344/call-to-my-bedside

Danyal wakes the next time with a weight to his limbs. From the moment he opens his eyes, he realizes he is not where he is supposed to be.

This is a medical bay, but it is not in the league, the constant twittering of League doctors monitoring his health is suspiciously gone. No shadows on guard outside the door.

The most glaring thing though, there was no Lazarus Water in his veins.

Perhaps Ra’s had decided he was no longer worth the expense, had decided-

No.

It was something else. That wasn’t an option he would consider.

Danyal tested the feeling of thin metal on his right wrist. Handcuffs, not shackles. It was odd.

But again, this wasn’t the league.

But he’d need to go back before Ra’s became angry. Danyal couldn’t fail.

He glances to the door as it opens, an old man-the one from before- and a younger, slender man standing just behind him.

Danyal stays still, his breathing even, forcing his heart to stay at a constant, stable rate. He watches them, analyzing.

The old man blinks, “It’s good to see you’re awake, young sir-,” He steps into the room, left foot a second slower, old weakness?- English accent, in Europe? the man behind him follows- stiff posture, rib injury, core focused strength, gymnast, combat trained and familiar- Richard Dick Grayson, Nightwing, he’s in America, Batman- “You gave us quite the shock earlier, myself especially.”

Nightwing watched Danyal warily, he saw him as a threat, and by the angle of his feet, a threat to the older man. He remembers now, he’d attacked him before, Nightwing was here to prevent it again.

They are heroes.

He was a part of the League of the Assassins.

He doesn’t fit here, could never.

Danyal considers the merits of speaking English, he wants to, deeply, and perhaps it would even benefit the situation; but his chest clogs with fear before he can even compose a sentence. It’s been too long anyways, the League dialect is easier.

“How long have I been here?” Danyal says, still not moving enough to even jostle the cuff at his wrist.

Nightwing sighs deeply, “We rescued you and Damian from a League of Assassins boat yesterday.” The words of the language are stilted, either by unfamiliarity or awkwardness, and who’s Damian? There’s a pause, “Do you know who I am?” Nightwing asks, caution in the words.

Danyal takes a deep breath, finally sitting up, despite the rattling of the chain on the cuff, “You are Nightwing, Dick Grayson, correct?”

Nightwing nods, his eyes briefly flitting to the elder man, “And you?”

Danyal’s eyes narrow, trying to find the trap, “I am Danyal Al Ghul, Heir of the Demon’s head, Blood of the Batman.”

Danyal watches the eyebrow of the old man tick up in his peripheral.

Nightwing pinches the bridge of his nose, “God I can’t believe Talia did it again,” He murmurs under his breath. In English. And Danyal would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to hear the language again, even just a little.

“Perhaps it would be best to bring Master Bruce back from his meeting,” the old man says pointedly. Danyal ignores as he changes and resets the IV attached to him, familiar with the autonomous care. With or without his consent.

“I’ve already notified him, he should be here soon.”

“Very good. In the meantime,” he turns to Danyal, “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler. It seems I did not get the chance to introduce myself the last time you were awake.”

Danyal can’t help but blink at the almost joking tone Alfred says it with, knowing that Danyal had been the one to knock him out. It makes his lip twitch, and he silently huffs, surprising himself with the action.

The amusement vanishes as the door opens once more, footsteps barely audible in the second before.

The man standing there is large, tall and broad shouldered, strong- dangerous, calloused hands from training- his eyes stay glued to Danyal, blue and steady amidst the square jaw and sharp features, black hair tussled like he’d been rushing, just like Dad always-

Danyal feels his jaw wire shut, back straightening.

The thin chain of the handcuff jingles in the sudden silence.

This he remembers. This is Batman. The Dark Night of Gotham. The Detective.

The source of every expectation Ra’s Al Ghul has ever placed on Danyal.

He feels his face try to screw into a sneer, because he hates him and everything he’s done that has ever affected Danyal, but his face remains still. Controlled. Because there’s nothing he can do about it anyways.

Batman had introduced himself before.

As another name. A civilian. His training forces him to remember it.

Bruce Wayne.

It means next to nothing to him. But the man doesn’t stop looking.

It’s Nightwing that speaks next, “Danyal, this is Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father.” The smile is at odds with the weary tone of the words, “He was there when we saved you and Damian a few.. yesterday. God that feels like longer.”

Saved? The sentiment makes him want to scoff. He doesn’t, because Batman’s eyes already narrow with Nightwing’s words, and Danyal doesn’t need to make it worse.

A thousand more questions rush through his head. Each one bitten back with practiced force.

Instead he dips his head briefly, aiming for a show of respect, whatever that might mean here. However little he means it. Danyal can adjust regardless.

“Hn.”

Danyal lifts his head. That was the only response?

They uproot him entirely, chain him, throw him into unfamiliar waters where everything-everyone- is in new danger and all he does is grunt?

Danyal bites his tongue hard, letting his head lift, carefully non-defiant. He’s not quite sure his eyes get the message because he can feel the glare from them.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred pipes in, tone sharp.

Batman sighs, but the set of his shoulders changes, no longer so heavily lined with suspicion.

“What do you know about why Damian was-" There’s an even sharper cough from Alfred. Another sigh, “Fine. What has Talia already told you about me?”

Danyal glances between them, purposefully keeping his eyes from jumping down to the metal around his wrists.

No one else speaks.

“I know that you are Batman, the Dark Night of Gotham. You are also the detective, great enough to impress the Demon’s Head, Ra’s Al Ghul. The Demon’s daughter informed me you were dead.”

There’s a slight twitch on Batman’s face. “I survived Darkseid’s attack, although it led to me being lost in time and assumed dead for nearly a year,” Batman’s eyes flick across the room, almost considering, “Red Robin was responsible for my return just over a year ago.”

Red Robin. Timothy Drake. The one Ra’s favored. The second source of expectations placed on Danyal.

And he was lost in time? What did that consist of, what did it mean for Batman? Did it matter if it didn’t affect Danyal?

“I see.” He says. Silence lingers. They still expect him to speak. He hedges his bets, asking something he actually cares about, “Why am I here, Batman?”

The question seems to be expected and yet still strike with surprise.

“I… regrettably, did not know you were… present at the league. I do not believe in their methods and would not have left you there had I known.”

And that makes it all okay. Danyal wants to scream. But he narrows his eyes instead, only more suspicious, “And why were you there then?”

“We followed the shadows that had taken Damian. He told us who you were.”

Danyal pauses, leaning back slightly. They were willing to answer his questions, to actually talk with him. Of course they were, they were meant to be heroes.

But it had been so long since he’d actually talked with anyone other than Ra’s, and their conversations were a battleground of expectations and tests.

He fights with his conscious knowledge of this and the habits that have been beaten into him so thoroughly.

“Who is… Damian?” He asks, watching their reactions for the answer.

All three seem surprised by the question. But not angry. Of course not, he reminds himself.

“You’ve mentioned him several times like I am supposed to know who he is.” He had barely been told anything since his forceful return, and any knowledge he had from before stopped at Dick Grayson. And then Timothy Drake.

Danyal had purposefully ignored the hero world he had lived in-

He forces his eyes up to meet Batman’s, noting the hesitance in the set of his shoulders.

“Damian is… your brother. He was.. Talia’s son, before he came to me just a few years ago. He was raised in the league.”

Danyal blinks, anger disbelieving in his chest. Is that what she did?

“When.”

There’s no response, save a twitch of Batman’s eyebrow.

“When,” Danyal says again, his breathing controlled, “Did he come to you? How old was he? How long ago?”

They seem to pick up on the way Danyal’s tone has changed. Good for them.

“Nearly three years ago. He was ten.” Batman answers, voice rough. Tinged with curiosity and unfulfilled questions.

Danyal breathes deeply, his heart rate picking up against his wishes. Icy rage flares.

The beeping of the machine at his side matches the pounding in his chest, uneven, unbalanced, uncontrolled.

Keep it under control. Keep it. Under. Control.

Control is power. Control is strength. Control is the only thing that will ever be enough.

He breathes deeper. Holding his breath. Once. Twice.

The beeping is steadier with each tone.

“Danyal?” An old voice asks beside him. It’s Alfred. The butler.

Danyal shifts his jaw from its clench, “I am fine.” His eyes slide back into focus, still on Batman, “Damian is your son then.”

Batman nods solemnly, a heavier sigh through his chest, “Talia and I have had an… interesting relationship. But I loved her. Once. She has never failed to make me regret it.”

That was why she had visited him. Her words. What she had almost said. Talia had wished he was Damian, wished he was Bruce. Just not Danyal of course. The weapon she discarded for a better version. One she could love.

One who would be heir.

Batman continues, “Talia is Damian’s mother, told him he would be my heir, as I’m sure you were but-” Batman stops, looking at Danyal as confusion flicks across his face, “You weren’t.”

“I was never told I would be heir of the Batman, only of the Demon’s head.” This, at least, Danyal is familiar with, “That’s the only reason they needed me: to be their weapon made from the Demon Head’s enemy.” Danyal breathes, “A weapon does not have parents, and I have never been more than a weapon to them, crafted for the league’s purpose. For Ra’s.” 

Ra’s is the reason Danyal is alive at all. Is the only reason he has survived the league, but he is also the reason Danyal had to, no- has to survive.

Danyal drops his eyes, tired, so so tired, like he always is. Unerringly, his eyes find the shine of the metal around his wrist. Arm held carefully still to keep from jostling it, even as his other hand has found its way to his lap.

“You can’t really believe that,” Dick says, disbelief in his own voice, unsurety in the frame of an unfamiliar language.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

And it doesn’t. It only matters what he can do. That’s he’s strong. He just has to be strong enough. Ra’s is the reason Danyal suffers, has always been, and Danyal will never let him escape that.

Silence lasts. Danyal quickly grows tired of it.

Luckily, Batman breaks it, “Why were you exposed to the Lazarus waters?” He asks, voice rigid and flat once more. 

Perhaps the casualness is getting to him because Danyal manages to lift one lip in a slight sneer, “The only reason anybody uses the Lazarus Pits.”

The Batman stays silent, clearly talking about the unorthodox method of exposure they had resorted to.

Danyal sighs this time, serious, “My heart is damaged. Electricity. The pits are a short term solution for it. Grandfather had said he found a long term one.” Danyal doubts it matters now. Whatever care his grandfather’d had was fragile, dependent on Danyal’s performance. 

The palm of his left hand tingles sharply.

Would this be enough to tip the scale against him? What would he lose for being here? Who would he-

Danyal looks into Batman’s eyes, “Am I to be a prisoner here?”

The man glances over him at the two on the other side, Danyal doesn’t follow it, nor the silent conversation he’s sure is happening.

Instead, Danyal focuses his ears, senses sharpened by training, by the pits, by his accident… and turns his attention to the person hiding in an alcove above them.

Low breathing, higher pitched, the scent of sword polish and hair gel. The person was small and armed.

“You’re not a prisoner… but if you leave.. you’ll be in danger,” Batman says, voice deep, “We can’t let that happen.”

So either be followed or don’t leave. What great options.

Danyal tries not to scowl, not to show any inflection at it, “And do I have to stay here? In your…. Cave?”

“It might be difficult to move- uh.. the medical things-” Nightwing starts, but Danyal cuts him off by swiftly removing the IV tucked in the crook of his elbow.

He presses his thumb against the small well of blood as he looks forward.

Alfred shouts, jolting towards him, “Master Danyal! That is hardly sterile-“

Danyal’s eyes snap to him the moment the title leaves his mouth, heart stilling for a second, commands in his eyes. Alfred falls still.

Danyal lets it fall away the next second, barely two beats missed. The beeping starts again.

“I see.” Alfred straightens, stepping forward slowly to turn off the IV and coil it, removing other monitors, “Another one for the dramatics then.”

Nightwing steps up, hands out placatingly, “There’s..mm really no need, Danyal, uh-” He glances back to Batman, “Of course you can leave the cave-,” the next words are in bright clear English, “I’m sure there’s already a room picked out for you.”

“Right you are Master Dick,” Alfred says, “Young sir, do you need any help moving?” He directs to Danyal.

He wants to rip his hand from the metal cuff. Snap the thin chain to pieces.

Instead he looks to Nightwing, then Batman, “The restraints?” He says, voice as empty of want as he can make it.

The click of the key in the lock echoes in his ear and it’s only through practiced calm that Danyal does not immediately jerk his arm away from it. Instead, he calmly retracts his hand, bracing slightly against the bed as he turns and plants his feet on the floor.

The others have already moved out of his way, watching intently, waiting for him to fall- to fail.

Danyal straightens his legs. He stands. He breathes. He controls his heart. He walks forward.

He does not fall. He doesn’t have the option to fall.

“I can go now.” He says, looking at them. His knuckles are white on the edge of the bed.

Nightwing looks at Batman once more. The man grunts, then turns from the room in a way that he can only imagine would perfectly flare a cape.

Danyal’s feet feel like they’re filling with cement. Nightwing stares at him expectantly. Danyal understands expectations- but these ones, it leaves him helpless and-

“Follow me then, dear boys,” Alfred says, stepping in front smoothly, already moving towards the door, “We can go upstairs, I’ll start on a meal and Master Dick can show you the rooms.”

Nightwing goes next, leaving Danyal to follow not quite behind him, the angle purposeful to keep him in sight.

Nightwing casts a wary glance to him every few minutes, continuing a light chatter with Alfred. Danyal stares forward, taking in the cave from his peripheral - computer, showers, training mats, an unfamiliar shadow watching him, armory, swords, knifes, suits, cars and vehicles lined up on platforms, a t-Rex, giant penny, a glass case- Danyal lets his eyes linger on the shadow, never faltering his steps.

His neck itches at the attention.

He looks forward. Nightwing is looking at him again, snapping forward the moment Danyal’s eyes narrow. Good.

The steps are slightly narrow, dark, but they come out to a warmly lit study. Dark wood, papers, books on shelves, a portrait on the wall, pictures on the desk, three black hair boys, another of only a single with stiff posture, a ballet dancer- they keep walking. The door-clock- closes behind them like the clamping of an artery.

Nightwing and Alfred’s conversation continues in smooth, low-toned English. Danyal blinks, slowly, slower than he needs to, for a breath of a second relishing in the almost familiarity of it all, the dissonance from the last three years alone enough to well emotion in his chest.

His eyes open. He continues after them.

“This is where I’ll leave you, I’ll be up with some food young sir,” Alfred says abruptly, turning towards a swinging door that reveals a glimpse of a stainless kitchen.

“So…” Nightwing says, swinging his arms a bit at his sides, “uh… I can show you the room you can sleep in, yes?”

Danyal’s shoulders tighten, rising from a subconscious millimeter slouch. He nods stiffly.

His heart remains under control. Always under control.

“So this is the Wayne Mansion, you can go for food any time, uh…” There’s an unsure pause as they start up the stairs, “You can meet the rest of us soon maybe, a correct introduction to Damian…depends on Bruce really… he can be … over …over.”

Nightwing looks at Danyal properly, “I’m usually better at this, most of the bat kids know the League dialect but… I haven’t exactly practiced it.”

Danyal stares at him. He doesn’t want to hear the sound of the League’s twisting words, he wants to leave. He wants to find his family, protect them, get them as far away from Ra’s al Ghul and the league as possible. He wants to go back to Ra’s convince him to let his family go if Danyal stays willingly. Wants a blade strong enough to run the man through and-

“I know you are probably stressed and this is all unfamiliar but … we want you to stay… you won’t be hurt here. This is different than the league, you’re safe.”

Danyal scoffs, not bothering to stop it, he hasn’t been safe since the day he tripped over a wire and died.

Nightwing doesn’t seem surprised by the response.

“This can be your room,” He says, opening a door in the hallway and gesturing a wide arm to Danyal. “The rest of us are just down the hall.”

Danyal steps in, looking around, counting exits, tactical advantages, possible listening devices- He turns around, giving Nightwing a stiff nod, “Thank you for the room.”

Nightwing still stands at his door, “Anything else I can help with for you?” He says.

Danyal considers staying silent, obedient, but he hates hearing the language at every turn, he never wants to hear it again, the words they forced in his mouth, ripping away what was in their place-

“Can you just speak English?” He says, realizing too late how weak it sounds, “You don’t have to use the league tongue, I can-English is.. fine.” Fine. Better. Familiar. A remnant of a family he’s almost certain he’s lost now.

Nightwing barely quirks a brow, eyes flicking over him.

“Can do,” He nods, “Well then… Welcome to Wayne Manor, Danyal.”

And he closes the door behind him.

'It’s just Danny, please.' He wants to whisper to the silence. But he’s grown too used to shadows and it catches in his throat.

He goes and sits on the bed. Staring out of the window. A window he can’t leave from. Where would he go? He doesn’t have anyone, they’re all in danger because of him. He can’t leave.

He’s trapped.

Always trapped.

Bound. Stuck to one place. One thing.

Emotions well in his chest, in the back of his throat, thick and dark and painful. He wants to cry. He can’t. Emotions constrict around his lungs.

And Danyal sits, staring at the wall, wishing he could cry. But the emotions just twist themselves until they’re tight enough, heavy enough to fall down, settle back like a layer of heavy chainmail over his insides.

Danyal turns on the bed, facing the wall.

It’s empty tan-beige. Neutral colors. No personality. Temporary.

This is familiar to him. This he can do.

Danyal stands again, he strips down his tunic, his shin-guards and pants- notes the lack of his typical weapons- methodically placing it on the dresser. Not his dresser, he already has one, painted blue with yellow stars back in-

Danyal gets in the shower, glad to find soap there, contemplating not using it, not wasting the energy. He watches condensation develop on the glass walls, water droplets collecting until they finally rush down the glass.

His finger lifts, already wanting to trace the letters he knows. Three lines, an H. One. i. Or e, he could write hello. Or ghost. Mom. Dad. Jazz, Sam, Tucker. Write it in English so he wouldn’t forget the way they were meant to be spelled, let the water wash it away.

His fingers ache where they’d been broken for it. For tracing letters in dirt or on mirrors, in the foggy glass at night. A break for every word.

Danyal can see his hand shake, inches from the glass. Pain and fear a leech on his bones.

He drops the hand. Turns to wash away the soap and get out, towels left on the counter.

He doesn’t even glance at the mirror as he goes out.

His tunic is where he’d left it, neatly set on the dresser top… but…

Danyal opens the drawers, changing into the boxers, the next one is dress pants and collared shirts, but in the third-

Rough denim scuffs against his fingertips.

They’re dark wash jeans, fancy and nothing like the ones his mom would buy on sale from the thrift store but…

He doesn’t let himself debate it further, he has to wear clothes and no one is here to tell him which. They put them here so they should expect him to wear it- it could be a test but he doesn’t care, let them do what they want if only to pretend the jeans are stiff from ectoplasm stains instead of fresh starch.

He chooses a white t-shirt, ignoring the collared shirts and polos that are probably meant to go over it.

He breathes, letting his shoulders drop, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, pretending for only a second that he’s getting dressed for school. Jazz is across the hall getting her books together, Sam and Tuck are on their way to walk together, his parents are already downstairs working.

'See?' He wants to say, 'I’m still the same person, nothings changed!'

The metal of the door knob clicks and Danyal’s head snaps towards the sound.

There’s nothing. Danyal doesn’t trust it, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the tall double doors.

“I know you’re there!” he calls out, fists ready, “Open the door and show yourself or I will!”

There’s a harsh tutt behind the door before it swings open, revealing a kid standing there. Short, black hair- hair gel-, dress slacks and shirt hiding multiple bladed weapons-

“Clearly I meant for you to know I was here, I am not incompetent,” The kid scoffs. So Nightwing wasn’t lying about them all knowing the league dialect…. Yet somehow, it sounds different coming from the kid, familiar in a way that makes Danyal's skin burn. He looks irritated, arms crossed in front of him even while his eyes wander over the room and Danyal with curiosity. And judgement.

Danyal rolls his eyes at it, “Did you need something from me, or did you just want to stand there looking like a hair gel commercial?”

The boy’s face goes red impressively fast, “How dare you-” he moves- and a knife is flying at his face, Danyal dodges, catching it in a second, shifting to throw it back but stops, half way extended. He looks at the hilt, there’s a League marking engraved on the bottom no larger than a droplet.

Danyal's eyes flick up to the boy still standing in front of him, glaring him down.

That’s all it takes before the boy jumps forward, another knife in his hand.

Danyal blocks it, twisting the arm as he drops his own acquired knife to his other hand and lunges forward.

The boy flips over his arm, and Danyal doesn’t let his surprise show as he reaches to grab the second knife he’d forced the kid to drop.

The boy tutts at him again, “So this was who Mother replaced me with? Street rabble?”

Danyal blinks, Mother? Then it clicks.

So this was Damian. The child the demon’s daughter wanted, beloved by all. Treasured. Preserved.

Danyal grits his teeth against the bitter taste in his mouth. He lunges forward, already expecting the larger dagger Damian uses to block him as he’s forced to retreat.

Danyal doesn’t stop, continuing to press him, “The Demon’s Daughter is no mother of mine,” he spits as he slams a kick against Damian’s elbow, blade dropping once more. Danyal cuts a shallow slash across Damian’s left cheek before dropping his own stolen knives.

He doesn’t stop though, continuing to push Damian back- Damian swerves to the side, grabbing his arm, flipping him, Danyal retaliates, grabbing the others shirt and taking him with him.

He catches his feet a second before the other, using it to pin him face to face with Danyal’s arm at his throat, “Maybe if you were good enough, you wouldn’t have had to be replaced at all and I never would have been forced to be here, this is your fault. I was free,” He grits out, teeth bared, “You got to live these last three years because I paid for it, and you’re angry because they don’t want you!?”

There’s something startling in Damian’s wide eyes, “What are you talking about?” He snaps, “I am Damian Al Ghul, Heir to the League, Ibn al X-“

Danyal slams him harder against the floor, cutting him off. Green simmers, almost boiling, under his skin. He grits his teeth harder against the sharp pain through his chest.

He leans closer to Damian, snarling, his grip bruising, “You don’t even know what you escaped, what Ra’s really wanted with you, do you? What being heir means. You’re nothing more than a -”

Damian jerks his head upwards, colliding with Danyal’s forehead and knocking him back with a grunt. Danyal’s grip loosens momentarily and Damian pulls free.

He slams a palm strike into Danyal’s front, pain lancing through his chest as he gasps, heart convulsing.

He moves through it by force, both rolling off each other with violent hands.

They stand opposite each other once more. Blood drips from the cut on Damian’s cheek. Danyal’s ragged breaths join Damian’s in the silence. He can hear footsteps on the stairs. His heart clenches in his chest painfully. There’s barely enough Lazarus water in his veins to keep it pumping for a week, less if he keeps this up.

The door flings open with a slam, both of them turning to look.

Batman stands there, battle calm in his eyes.

Damian turns fully at the sight of his father, but Danyal doesn’t shift from his stance.

“Father, I-“ Damian starts, but Batman just lifts a hand, silencing him.

“What. Happened.” Batman says, looking straight at Danyal, not even a question. A demand. Green tinted steel shoots up Danyal’s spine and he does nothing but glare back at the man.

Batman doesn’t break eye contact, “Damian.”

“I was determining if he was a threat. He is from the League, Father,” Damian says  shortly, standing tall despite the blood on his face.

Batman looks between them briefly, and oh what a picture they must make.

Two kids, both born in the same cage, one trying to claw his way out of the chains and the other trying to fight his way in.

Exhaustion washes over Danyal, and he drops his fists, letting them hang by his sides.

Batman hums, barely a sound, but a muscle twitches in Damian’s jaw.

“Father-“

“Go Damian. Now.”

Damian looks back at him, not-quite-hate in his eyes, before dropping to a crouch to grab the knife closest to his feet with one hand and turning to leave.

Faced with Batman’s sole attention, Danyal lifts his chin defiantly, daring him to take action, to punish him, to do something that he can predict, can defend, can justify the anger he feels when he sees him.

“I know it was different in the league, but here, this is not acceptable.”

Danyal half-scoffs. He finally steps out of his stance, “I could leave.”

“That’s not-” Batman pinches the bridge of his nose, voice like gravel, “I am trying to protect you, the manor is not the league. I understand what it must have been like to be raised like that, but you can’t hurt others, no matter what teachings you’ve had. I can guarantee you won’t be hurt here, I won’t let-”

Danny huffs a dry laugh, “You won’t let?” He steps forward, rage bubbling back up, “Hurt me? I’m not worried about me, Batman. You can’t stop him. Ra’s is going to get what he wants, and as long as that is me, everyone around me is in danger, I’m dangerous. I'm a weapon, a weapon of your enemy. You can’t fix that, can you?”

“We can protect ourselves-”

Danyal scoffs again, “Because you’ve done such a good job of that already? Don’t forget, all of this is because of you, they wanted you, and now they want me because of you, Batman. You.”

Something stricken shoots through the man’s face before it flattens. Batman nods and steps back, a hand on the doorhandle, “Don’t leave.” Is all he says, before the door clicks shut.

Danyal feels the walls closing in on him like a cell.

He looks to his left.

The bathroom door is open. He can see his reflection in the mirror, any condensation gone.

Danyal stares.

When he had been younger, back in- before. Danyal would stand in front of a mirror and pick out parts he thought looked like his parents. Like a Fenton. His shoulders were from Jack obviously. His eyes and hair too. His jawline was from Maddie, his hands from Jack, and the love of engineering and planning from Maddie. He had the same legs as his mom. Same voice as his dad, always loud. If he didn’t look too hard, he could almost convince himself he was really their kid, their son.

But he could never quite place his tanned skin, or the texture of his hair. The shape of his eyes and nose. Always just a little bit wrong.

What had pretending done but put them in danger?

Danyal turns on his heel, flicking the lights off and putting a glass soap bottle on the door handle.

He knew he’d wake up regardless… but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Danyal rubs his chest with the heel of his palm as he lays down on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, staring out at the city beyond the window glass.

How close would he come to freedom before he’d have to give it up again?

And he knew he would.

For his family, he would give the Demon’s Head anything.

Everything.

If that’s what it took.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he would fall asleep.

———

Bruce runs over Danyal’s words again and again during the flight.

'This is because of you, Batman,'

He flicks a switch.

'You.'

The landing gear lowers.

'You can’t fix this.'

He can see the way the shadows of the forest twist around the clearing.

'Dangerous.'

Wheels touch grass. Batman lands at the coordinates, just on the side of the field in front of the woman waiting for him.

'Because of you.'

He breathes.

“My Beloved, how are you?” She greets him as he descends the ramp.

Bruce says nothing. He cannot even begin to fathom what he would say if he did.

Instead, he stares at her. A woman who had once meant so much to him, whom he had nearly thrown away everything for. And who had nearly done the same for him.

But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t. And it had hurt him, but he had recovered.

And then she hurt him again.

She had stolen and lied to him in his vulnerability.

And still, he had found himself loving her.

Had allowed her to continue hurting him. Again and again. Out of a vain hope that she would change. Because he thought that he could change her. That she would change for him.

It was foolish. It was senseless.

Yet he found it just as impossible to stop.

And so she had hurt him again.

“Talia.” Her name grated against his heart, “Why did you not tell me I had another son?”

“The boy is no more yours than he is mine, Beloved,” She says with a roll of her eyes, as if explaining a basic fact, “He belongs to my father. And to the league.”

Bruce is silent. He notices a slight bruise forming on her left cheek.

Talia’s face is tight, “Do you not care about the son I have given you? Has Damian not satisfied you?”

Bruce feels the leather of his gauntlets stretch over his clenched fists.

“I deserved to know,” He near growls, “Just as I did Damian, just as I did with Jason. You cannot continue to keep my children from me-“

“If it was not for that boy, you would not have met Damian at all,” Talia snaps.

Bruce blinks. Hard.

“His return brought Damian into your arms, you should be grateful.” She spits at him like an accusation, “Damian is ours, Bruce. From our love. That boy was made before we truly knew each other, before we understood each other as we do now. He was borne of nothing more than my father’s obsession. Damian is our son, not him.”

“His name is Danyal, Talia!” Bruce bellows, “He is a child, and he is a person! Just like you, and me, and Damian, and he deserves more than to be written off as one of Ra’s al Ghul’s projects! He deserves better than this!” Than us, he doesn’t say. Deserves better than him.

Talia straightens from already perfect posture, “I made a choice Bruce, for Damian. To protect Damian. I knew our son was never meant to bear my father’s hands, he was never meant to be what Danyal is.” Talia pauses, eyes sharp on him, and he can see when she chooses her next words. Already knows they are meant to cut him, to hurt him. He steels himself and listens anyways.

“Perhaps you should ask him where he’s been all these years I’ve supposedly kept him from you, Beloved.” She says coyly, stepping forward.

“What are you talking about.”

She takes another step, “The truth of the matter is that Danyal could have gone to you any time he wanted. He chose not to. Chose to stay away.”

He stays silent.

“Oh- Did the boy not tell you?“ Talia says, barely hiding the falseness, “Danyal was living in America before he returned to his rightful duty. Almost didn’t work, but…” Talia hummed, “His gifts were fortuitous in the end. A risk well calculated, my father’s doing I suspect.”

Talia almost seems blaisé as she talks about it, but he can see the way it irks her. Her father had tricked her. Somehow. Or had manipulated her into some choice she hadn’t known about.

Batman says nothing, analyzing, taking in clues.

“Beloved,” Talia sighs, “Surely you must know, the boy must return.”

“And surely you know: I can’t let that happen.”

Talia glowers at him.

“It’s him or Damian, Bruce, you must choose, just as I did.”

“No.” Bruce growls.

“You cannot have both,” She snaps at him.

Batman stands firm, staring her down, resolute.

“You invite his anger on them both,” She snarls, “You save no one.”

Batman ignores the words. He has made it his job to make sure that’s not true. He’ll die before it is.

“Fine.” She snaps again. But she lingers for a few seconds more. The lines of her face softening.

“I remember I once loved that same unbending drive.”

It feels odd to hear her confirm something he’s not sure ever really existed.

Then Talia turns away and walks into the forest. Shadows contort and reform around her at the edges of the clearing. Slowly emptying until there’s nothing left but the trees and the grass and him, standing alone at the center of it all.

He turns to leave.

He won’t choose between his children.

He climbs the ramp.

He will protect them.

He sits down in the pilots chair, flicking switches and gears.

All of them.

Engines roar to life below him.

He will not fail.

And yet… he cannot forget her words. Twisted they may be, and just as easily lies.. but, her irritation at her father’s plans… he had always been good at telling when it was real.

'Living in America… chose to stay away,'

Living in America?

Had he been secluded at one of their bases here? Had it even been close?

Had Danyal been just miles away, suffering, and Bruce hadn’t known?

But it felt wrong. What Talia had said sat like a jagged puzzle piece, poking and prodding at him, not quite fitting the theories he threw at it.

‘Returned.’

Did she only mean returned to the League’s home base? Closer to their original strongholds in Asia?

It didn’t make sense. She would have crafted the words differently, to drive her point home.

She’d said ‘supposedly kept him from you’ like she hadn’t. Like she hadn’t kept Danyal hidden, the way she had Damian. It didn’t add up.

She could have just been lying. Bruce didn’t think she was. It couldn’t be that simple. No, there was something specific about the way she’d phrased it all, like she was telling him a secret. Like it was something Ra’s had hidden. Like something Danyal was hiding.

Batman narrowed his eyes, staring out at the landscape in front of him as it rushed past.

Whatever it was, whatever she wasn’t telling him, Batman needed to figure it out before it came back to hurt him or his family. Danyal included.

Then there was the rest of it.

The ‘gifts’ that Talia had mentioned.

He knew Danyal had been forced to interact with the Lazarus waters, but he didn’t know to what extent. What it had done to him.

It’d had an effect on him, that much was clear by the acid green of his eyes when he stood off against them in the Batcave. And earlier when Bruce had first interrupted the fight with Damian.

He didn’t even think Danyal had noticed they were glowing then. Too defensive to think about it. Or perhaps he was used to it.

How many times had he been submerged? Had been so injured that Ra’s saw fit to put him in?

How many times had Bruce not been there to protect him from it?

Even if he was only acting out of defensiveness… was that not Bruce’s fault too?

That he still felt unsafe in the Manor. That he didn’t know if Bruce would act the same as Ra’s, as the League.

And Danyal was right, he was responsible for the pain the league caused him, for them hunting him. If he had never let himself be pulled into Talia’s web- or if she was to be believed… even before that.

When exactly? When had Batman become enough of a threat that Ra’s had decided to use him? Was it because he had refused to be his heir? Or before that? Before or after Dick? Jason?

He doesn’t even know how old Danyal is. How long Batman had let him suffer because of h-

“I do hope you aren’t planning to brood like this with your children around, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, cutting through his thoughts, “I don’t believe your pride would survive the repercussions.”

Bruce glances at the monitor Alfred has decided to call from.

“Hn.” Bruce grumbles.

Alfred is right, his children would tease him mercilessly for ‘brooding’ as they called it. If only Dick at least, who hasn’t missed a chance to do so since he’d been a freshly christened Robin.

How would Danyal fit into that? Would he grow to tease like the others? Or remain stoic like Damian?

“I’ll be approaching in 30 minutes, A.” He says. ‘Will Danyal be there?’ He doesn’t say.

Alfred says nothing in response. The engines fill the silence.

He grits his teeth, he just wants to know the situation, to stay updated, he wants to know if something’s happened or anything’s changed.

He sighs, forcefully loosening his jaw, “Who’s going out tonight?”

“Mm, I believe Miss Brown and Master Tim were discussing going together. Master Thomas is in bed, as is usual, though he did mention he’d be out early.. and I believe Madame Cassandra is staying in. She seems to have found a new project.”

Batman hums in confirmation. He wants to know what Cass had found interesting. More than that, he wants to know if Danyal was okay, Damian too.

“It seems it circles around our newest resident, though she hasn’t shown herself to him yet. Master Dick also seems to think the young sir is his duty as much as Master Damian had been.”

Batman feels his lips tug downwards as he grunts in response. Damian’s first year with them was… a regret. His own absence was devastating. He’d have to find some way to assure Dick that Danyal wasn’t his responsibility this time, that he could still be his own person. Perhaps he should encourage Dick to return to Blüdhaven. Affirm the family would be alright without him.

Batman sees Gotham’s cloud of smog come into view. The bay follows soon after, and the buildings next.

“I’m coming in now.”

���Very good sir.” Alfred answers, nodding in his peripheral before the call clicks off.

When the Batplane arrives to the cave, Alfred is nowhere to be seen. The other’s suits are missing as well, meaning they are already out for the night.

Batman doesn’t pause more than to look around, already heading to the Batcomputer with determined steps.

He enters his access codes, running through his security checks unconsciously, mind spinning on theories and clues.

He picks apart his and Talia’s interaction again and again, trying to pull everything he can from it and put it into his report file. Maybe if he can just read over it again, remember something else, maybe it will be enough to protect Danyal, maybe it will be enough to stop Ra’s, maybe it will be enough understand why Talia did this to h-

A gentle hand slides over his just as his finger goes to slam the enter button of the keyboard.

He looks over his shoulder, already recognizing the feeling of stitching against his suit.

Cass looks at him meaningfully. Her gentle hand shifts into a lean against his arm, the pressure a comfort. She stares up at the Batcomputer and reads through his writing piece by piece.

Bruce waits for her. He knows she struggles with so many words. Knows that she gained more from watching him type it than she will from reading an exact account but the details will be helpful anyways.

She nods to him, fingers tapping lightly against his arm as she thinks it over, scanning and rescanning the document.

Cass has been developing fidgets recently, small twitches of movement that don’t serve a purpose than to let her move.

Bruce wants to smile every time. He’s pretty sure they’re on purpose, but still.. it’s freedom for her.

She nudges him, reaching for a button across the keys. It flicks to a camera screen a second later.

The one in Danyal’s room.

Bruce feels a twinge of guilt at the disappointment Cass aims at him before they both refocus on the image.

The empty image.

Danyal is not in the room, and Bruce feels his eyebrows scrunch as he goes to pull up the other camera feeds to locate him, make sure he hasn’t been taken-

“Downstairs.” Cass says.

Batman gets a half turn around, checking the cave for a foreign presence, before Cass stops him again.

She points to the screen, drawing his attention to a bottom square.

Danyal stands in the hallway of the manor, staring at the portraits on the walls.

He feels a light tap on his shoulder in parting before Cass’s presence at his side disappears silently.

He stares up at the figure of his son standing in the hallway, mind still whirring about possibilities and clues and lies and secrets.

Danyal continues to stand in front of the portrait for another minute, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.

He rips his eyes away from the portrait, turning down the hallway and ducking into the kitchen.

It’s empty when he gets there. Then again, the whole mansion had seemed empty. Aside from the ever constant, ever familiar feeling of eyes weighing down on him.

Danyal considers making himself food.

He considers jumping out of the window and seeing how far he could get.

He wonders if their cabinets have something he’d know and could do himself or if he’d be hopelessly lost.

He wonders how long it will take for the Demon’s Head to find him. Wonders what he’ll do when he does. Wonders if his-

He stops himself short.

“May I offer you some tea and snacks, young sir?”

Danyal turns slightly to face the old butler-Alfred- who’d entered behind him and nods.

Can he even say no?

Alfred gestures to a chair set up by the built in breakfast nook.

He sits. Even as the domesticity of it all throttles his heart in his chest. The way they must eat together every morning, appear together in every photo, smiling. A family portrait. Batman’s family. Batman got to keep his. But Danny’s is tra-

Danyal breathes purposefully, staring down at his hands, clenching them tighter.

Suddenly a hand reaches across his vision, pressing a button on an ancient looking miniature TV sitting just tucked into the kitchen corner.

It flickers to life on some random news channel, low mindless chatter softening the air.

Danyal feels his shoulders lower slightly, just barely, as the silences retreats. He glances up, expecting to find Alfred there staring at him, questioning him, why he’s acting like this, why he-

Alfred’s back is to him. The man busy at the stove with the tea kettle.

“I hope you like lemon ginger tea,” the man says, getting a small jar from a cupboard, “It’s been quite a bit since I’ve had the opportunity to make some.”

Danyal doesn’t quite trust it, still watching the man warily. He doesn’t understand why they would welcome him into their house, Batman or no, he was a threat to them. He was nothing but a threat.

“How about something to eat?”

Danyal watches the man move over to the fridge.

Something moves in his peripheral and his eyes jump to the side.

Narrowed eyes comb over the fancy china case against the wall. But he can’t see anything odd. The glass is clear, refracted reflection shining back him over the china. A dark phone sitting on the ledge. Dark wood pressed against the wall. He doesn’t know what he saw.

Alfred sets a small plate down in front of him with a light clatter, immediately turning back as the tea kettle begins to screech.

The movement makes a small carrot tumble off, rolling across the counter to Danyal.

He stares at it.

He breathes in, out, in out, in out in out too fast. Too fast-

A finger rolls to a stop in front of him and he can only stare at it as strong arms grip and pull him back, keeping him restrained.

Granite counters blend until they are stone floors.

He can’t look away from it. Confusion bleeds in with denial and regret and bloodthirsty stubbornness.

“Look at me, boy.”

Danny’s head is jerked back by his hair, forcing his eyes up to his instructor.

The man glares down at him.

“I have taught warriors better than you by a thousand, and you dare to try to escape under my hand?”

Danny tries to grin, barely managing a crude sneer, coppery blood in his teeth, “You should have kept a better eye on me, you fucking nutcase.”

His eyelid flicks closed automatically as cold gunmetal rests against it.

“Say that again.”

Danny swallows his regret, in for a penny in for a pound. He juts his chin up, forcing the man to follow the movement with his gun.

“What, were you dropped as a bab-” His open eye strains to see his instructor’s thumb press down the hammer of the gun. A warning.

He can feel his hands shake under the assassins hold. His throat burns.

“You scared of a chil-?” He barely has time to register the hand moving before the butt of the gun slams into his nose with a sickening crack.

Pain floods his face. He gets half a shout out before his chin is grabbed by unforgiving hands.

He stares into the man’s cold eyes.

Danny says nothing. Too focused on trying to breathe when his nose is filling with blood and his mouth is clamped nearly shut.

“Better.”

He resists the urge to spit in the man’s face as he steps back, straightening and waving a hand to the assassins. Even without their hands on him he can feel their presence looming behind him.

Danny drops his head, curling in on himself as much as he can, trying to ignore the feeling of blood as it slides down his face.

His eyes are left to stagnate on the finger thrown to the ground in front of him.

Pale skin stands stark against dark floors, contrasted by blood and dirt marring it. He can see the calluses and small scars.

He doesn’t understand.

He might.

He doesn’t want to.

“You are not the only one I can punish to get my point across, boy.”

He looks closer at the finger. At the nicks of careless knives and tools, of a hand that had cradled- no- please no-

“The oaf was very insistent it be him.”

Danny snaps his head up, fear striking through his chest, “No! Please-“ he catches himself, “Please don’t hurt them! They don’t- Hurt me, just me! They don’t deserve it, they didn’t do anything-!”

Sharp eyes stab into him. Fury behind them.

“Hurt me, Master Shrike, just me. Please.”

There’s a pause as the man continues to stare down at him before he lifts one lip in a sneer, “Do you think you command me, child?”

Danny freezes, “I don’t- I- No, Master. I don’t.”

“Then why,” Shrike near growls, “Do you beg me? Why do you plead like you have a right to ask for anything?”

“I don’t-” 'I don’t understand,' he starts to say but he’s cut off by Shrike’s boot hitting his face. He’s learned by now when not to dodge. He can’t give them another reason to hurt his family.

A second kick lands.

“You will be quiet!”

Danny waits for a beat, then slowly pulls himself up from the floor, not lifting his eyes.

He can still see his father’s finger on the floor.

“You do not command me. You are a tool! A weapon in the Demon’s hand! I choose to act, to punish or break you! You do not act, do not speak until you are to be used!”

Danyal stays silent.

He wants to scream, to fight back, they train him and they train him but he can’t fight back because if he does- his eyes flick to the bloodied finger.

He can let them. For his family, he can let them call him a weapon, can let them say he has no will. He can do this one thing.

He’s not giving up, he tells himself. But for his family’s safety, he can let them think he is. Just this once.

Danny stops, eyes shutting for just a second as he bends into a kneel, holding his hands up in front of him.

There’s a pause, cruel satisfaction radiating off the man in front of him.

Danyal licks his lips, steeling himself, “I am ready for my lesson,” Danny forces the words out, “Master Shrike.”

He doesn’t bother to look up and see the man’s sneer.

“Good.”

He sees the kick coming.

He still doesn’t move.

He stays still.

The world moves around him. Voices. Muttering. The sound of dishes, water being poured.

There’s a carrot.. orange and bright in front of him.

His heart is beating too fast. His eyes sting.

Calm down. Control it. Control it. Stop, stop-

A tea cup clatters in front of him.

“Sir Danyal, are you quite alright?” He hears someone ask. Alfred. It’s Alfred. Batman’s butler. He’s not-

He tries to speak, ‘I’m fine’ he tries to say. But his throat constricts. He simply nods, staring down at the carrot.

A freaking carrot.

It’s ridiculous.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s. Fine.

Danyal takes a deep breath. He breathes out. Silently.

He does it again.

He holds it until his heart slows down, stops stuttering from beat to beat.

He breathes out.

He reaches for the tea, ignoring the eyes on him-always watching him- ignoring the way his hands shake.

He drinks the tea. Let’s it burn his throat and distract him.

He breathes.

Alfred does not turn to look at him. Staying busy at the sink with dishes that already look clean.

He is thankful.

He breathes.

Low murmurs fill impenetrable silence. Danyal drags his eyes over to the small TV.

His breath stops.

A banner of words crawls across the bottom of the screen.

‘DalvCo factories shutting down after mass destruction.’

He tries to tear his eyes away.

‘Four buildings exploded just after midnight on Saturday in downtown Chicago, Elmerton, and Red Lake. 12 workers dead. Police have not caught the perpetrators.’

And they won’t.

Danyal can recognize a message.

He knows what it means. Who is sending it.

He tries not to let it show how his mind begins spinning. Churning out plans and strategies- If an attempt had cost his father a finger, what would they do to them now, because of Danyal?- he had to fix this.

He looks down to his shaking hands. He stops them. And the tea in his cup stills.

He stops. Pauses. He eyes Alfred still at the sink without looking up.

He places it just on the edge of the counter. Then turns away and lets go.

The cup falls.

It shatters against the floor. Danyal jumps up from his seat at the same time Alfred turns around.

“What’s happened?” He says, already hustling over with a towel. “Are you hurt?”

Danyal steps away and around him, towards the door.

He almost bumps into the display case until the reflection of light off the phone catches his eye. A small ballet sticker sits on the back of the case.

His hand moves before he can think and slips it into his pocket. He looks at Alfred.

“It’s no trouble, Young Danyal,” Alfred says as he crouches over where Danyal had been sitting, “I’ll clean this up and get you more. You can help me prepare for breakfast-“

Danyal considers knocking him out, so he can’t stop him, or alert anyone, but a body is more suspicious. Instead he paints his face with fear and steps out of the room as quick as he can.

He turns down the hallway, trying to remember where he’d walked from the cave.

Mere hours ago.

He goes the opposite direction, following a halls as far to the outer edges of the mansion as he can, typing in Vlad’s number with nervous hands as he goes.

He makes a final turn before he opens a window, glances backwards, and jumps out.

He lands in a roll, already running. His finger presses call and he listens to the phone ringing as he runs.

Once. Twice. He swipes branches out of his way. Three times. Four. Five. Six.

‘We’re sorry the number-‘

Danyal hangs up and presses again.

He doesn’t stop running.

He just has to protect them. He has to warn Vlad. Warn whoever he can. Tell someone.

It rings again. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six- ‘We’re sorr-‘

Danyal presses it again and runs faster.

If he can get caught by the League maybe Ra’s will overlook it. Maybe he can still protect them. He can fix this. Please just let him fix this.

‘We’re s-‘

He tries again.

And Danyal continues rushing through the woods, wishing his feet would carry him faster, further, higher-

The sound of his steps pounds in his ears. The phantom feeling of eyes on his back.

He slams his finger down on Vlad’s number again, letting the dial tone drown his heartbeat out.

Once. Twice. Three times, Frick! Vlad pick up! Four- the speakerphone clicks.

“Vlad!”

There’s barely a pause, “DANNY!?”

Danny nearly trips, his heart stuttering dangerously, hopefully.

“Dani?…” He says, then jolts to his senses and continues running, a glance thrown behind him, “Dani, how do you have Vlad’s phone, are you okay? Have you been to Amity?”

“Danny, where the hell are you!? I’ve been looking all over for-“

“Dani, you have to listen okay, there’s dangerous people after me- after us-“ Danyal jumps another log, scaling a small stone wall, “You can’t fight them, you have to run, they’ve got my family, Tuck, Sam-“

“Danny wait no listen to me-!”

“You can’t fight them! You can’t, okay!?” Danny scans his eyes back and forth frantically as he runs, mind spinning, calculating how he’s going to get out, away, controlling his heart rate as much as he can, “You have to promise me! Just find Vlad, get out of Amity. Warn him- I couldn’t - my parents- you have to-“

“Danny, listen to me!” Dani yells, stopping him in his tracks.

“Your parents are out, Danny,” She says, voice rushed, but his ears barely hear it. “They escaped, they called us weeks ago to start looking for you- Danny, they’re out.”

She goes quiet. Waiting for Danny.

His parents were-

Danny draws in a deep breath, standing stock still in the middle of the trees, stolen phone still pressed to his ear.

He couldn’t believe it.. they were-

Something clangs against a tree behind him and Danyal whips around ready to-

His head blossoms with pain.

Everything goes dark.

This is included in my one-shot collection(for now) on Ao3, under same name. The collection is Things that Could Exist by Snaileer.

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/760212137159294976/call-to-my-bedside-3?source=share

Tags:

@thecrystallabyrinth @isnt-that-grape @riverdancingwerewolves @mimblizzy @chaos-deimos-et-eris @miraculousandmore2 @mys-tia @jitteryjuttury @moonlight-opal @nerdypaintbrush @thedragonqueen1998 @luminanightfall @cowarddragon @cyrwrites @kamireadsmcu

[gay-dorito-dust]

hi hiii its my first time ever asking anyone idk how this works ( ;｀Д´)

i rlly love your writing, i often find myself staying up late reading through your blogs!! funny bcs u were the one who got me into jason todd (ФωФ)

anyways!!! i was hoping you could pls pls pls pls plssssss write smth about Jason Todd who has a lover thats a sleep-deprived uni student having a hell week and jason is like "bitch put google docs down and get some sleep, ur ass has been awake for 48 hours" all worried and wanting them to rest and reader is like "correction, 50 hours."

i hope it makes sense (´ 3｀)

tyyyyy!!! woopee woopee

Sorry this took so long to get to anon, I hope you liked it either way. And don’t stay up too late reading fics but I truly appreciate you reading my stuff, I’m glad you like them 🦦🐿️

A week.

An entire week Jason had noticed you have been forcing yourself to stay up at the dead of night, glued to your laptop all the while chugging energy drinks and cups of coffee as though they were going out of style, and for what? An assignment that determined your future at uni should you not get straight marks.

Jason thought it ridiculous that you made yourself sleep deprived over this but he knew that if he didn’t do anything about it, then you’ll continue this habit until you were well out of university, struggling to come to terms that you had well and truly burnt yourself out before you could properly start living.

So when Jason couldn’t fell you next to him in bed one night, like you promised him you would, and groaned as he got himself out of bed before making his way towards the kitchen where he’d knew you’d be.

‘What time do you call this?’ Jason asked when he saw you in your usual spot at the kitchen counter, hunched over your laptop with a thin blanket frapped over your shoulders and a can of energy drink on one side of the laptop and a cup of coffee on the other side. He hated what this stupid university has made you do just in order to get good grades, it was harmful, damaging and it would inevitably lead to health complications later on in life; If he could Jason would more then gladly march down there and threaten the professors to stop shoving a boatload of work onto their students, but firstly he has to get you away from that damn laptop and learn how to take a fucking break.

‘Mid-afternoon?’ You asked, not looking up from the bright screen of your laptop, where the words scrawled across it in an incoherent mess for your overworked brain to comprehend.

‘It’s actually 3:30 in the morning.’ Jason replied unamused as he crossed his arms over his chest and you winced when you saw that he was indeed right about it being three thirty in the morning. ‘Don’t you think it’s time that you shut the laptop off and get some sleep?’

‘But I-‘

‘Actually sleep.’ Jason cuts you off as you slumped back into your chair, unable to come up with a decent enough response to defend yourself with because deep down you knew Jason was right, you’ve hadn’t had a decent sleep in a long while and it was definitely taking it’s toll with how lightheaded you’ve become as of late.

You sighed and ran your hands down your face. ‘Jason I can’t, I’ve got-‘

‘An assignment to complete for tomorrow I know.’ Jason cuts you off again as he crossed the room to put his hand over the top of your coffee cup upon noticing that you were intending to take another drink from it. ‘But I look at you and can tell you can barely keep your eyes open for more than five minutes.’ He adds and upon your silence, he puts the cup aside as far as he could before doing the same with the half empty energy drink, and then finally shutting the laptop close despite your weak protests for him not to.

‘No, Jason my assignment, I need to finish it.’ You told him with slow, sluggish movements as you tried to pry his hand off of your laptop, all the while biting back a yawn. ‘Just give me five more minutes please and I’ll come to bed, promise.’

Jason had enough of this habit of sleepless nights, it ends now, the professors will have to understand and extend the due date for your sake as he remembered how often you had harped on about how important this assignment was for your overall grade; However Jason didn’t take neglecting your bodily needs lightly and would prioritise that over anything else,you could hate him all you wanted but he was only looking out for you and your wellbeing.

‘Sorry chipmunk but I can’t watch you do this to yourself for any longer than I already have.’ Was all Jason said as he then lifted you out of your chair suddenly causing you to yelp in surprise and cling onto him for dear life, now being more awake then you ever have been five minutes ago, as he then proceeded to carry you back towards the bedroom before unceremoniously dropping you onto the bed.

‘Jason, I seriously needed to get that assignment-‘

‘We are going to sleep, end of discussion.’ Jason said with finality as he crawled under the covers and quickly held you against his chest as tightly as he could, rubbing his hands up and down your back soothingly. ‘I know how important this assignment was for you sweetheart but I’d much rather have you well rested, clear minded and healthy than to ever to have you pass out in my arms from exhaustion. I want my baby happy and healthy and you are neither of those things right now.’ Jason whispers into your ear, kissing the side of your head a couple of times before resting his forehead against yours so that he was looking into your weary half lidded eyes.

‘Look at you, you can barely keep your eyes open.’ He spoke with worry laced in his words.

‘You’re really warm and comfy jay birdie.’ You murmured, feeling the need for sleep grow ever stronger the longer you stayed in his arms as it fogged your mind.

‘I know, so please we can talk to the professor in the morning and sort something out, but until then no more late nights understand?’ Jason said firmly as he held you a little tighter, he just wanted you to get a decent nights sleep and be looked after properly but all these late nights weren’t cutting it and were making your situation worse, how were you meant to get anything done when you were half out of it due to overworking and lack of a sleep schedule? Were the professors at your university thinking they were teaching robots instead of humans with breaking limits?

‘Okay I understand, I love you.’ You replied sleepily as you burrowed your head into his neck, falling asleep in record time as Jason stayed awake a little longer as to make sure you were properly asleep before following suit, watching over you in the dream realm as he did the waking one.

[lxvsiick]

THE STARS ARE ALL ASLEEP | HAN TAESAN X READER

PAIRING: idol! han taesan x non!idol! fem! reader

SUMMARY: The loss and regret Taesan feels, trying to hold on to the memories of Y/n despite the pain

GENRE: angst, breakup, taesan is kinda an ass, imagine, short story

WORDCOUNT: 5.9k

A/N: ngl, did i procrastinate during my lecture to write this? yes . . . i wrote this after listening to 星星都睡了 by PPlin x Zhen Li -- I'm basically giving you guys song reccs to listen to -- the song is really good!... enjoy the story!

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

I can take care of myself, you don’t need to keep worrying about me.

I don’t smile anymore.

The clock on the wall ticked away the late hours of the evening as Y/n sat curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, staring blankly at the TV. She wasn’t really watching, her mind too preoccupied with the events of the day. Work had been a disaster. Her boss had been harsher than usual, throwing out unreasonable demands and critiques that left her feeling drained and upset.

She sighed, glancing at her phone. No messages from Taesan. It wasn’t unusual—he was busy, always on the go with rehearsals, interviews, and performances. Being a famous idol meant long hours and even longer nights. Still, they shared this apartment, and she always tried to stay awake to talk to him when he came home.

Her heart lifted slightly when she heard the soft jingle of keys at the door. The lock clicked, and Taesan stepped inside, his hood pulled low over his face, slumping with exhaustion as he kicked off his shoes. He barely glanced in her direction as he made his way into the living room.

She straightened up on the couch, hoping for just a moment of his attention. “Hey, you’re home,” she greeted softly, forcing a small smile. “How was your day?”

“Long,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes as he walked past, heading straight for the kitchen to grab a drink. His tone was flat, his movements sluggish.

Y/n watched him, her heart sinking. “I had the worst day today,” she said, trying again to start a conversation. “My boss was being such a—”

“Not now,” he interrupted, his voice edged with weariness as he leaned against the counter, rubbing his temples. “I’m tired. I don’t want to talk.”

She froze, the words hanging in the air between them, heavier than she expected. She had been waiting all day to tell him about what happened, hoping he would listen, hoping she could find some comfort in his presence. But his dismissal felt like a slap to the face.

Her throat tightened as she swallowed her emotions. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Okay.”

The silence stretched out uncomfortably as Taesan took a sip of his drink, still not looking at her. She tried to keep her disappointment from showing, but it was too late. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak, and the weight of the day, combined with his coldness, felt suffocating.

She stood up quietly, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield against the sudden chill between them. “I’ll... leave you alone, then,” she murmured, backing away toward the bedroom. She didn’t wait for his response. He didn’t offer one.

As she turned, her steps slow and deliberate, her heart ached. This wasn’t how she imagined the night going. She had wanted to vent, to share her frustrations with the one person who mattered most to her. But now, she felt more alone than she had all day.

When she closed the bedroom door behind her, the click sounded louder than usual in the quiet apartment. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands, wondering if he even noticed how much she needed him right now.

Back in the living room, Taesan let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes as the weight of the day pressed down on him. He hadn’t meant to be so cold, but he was just too tired. Too tired to think, to listen, to be anything but worn out.

But in the silence that followed, something gnawed at him—a faint sense of guilt that he couldn’t quite shake, knowing she had wanted to talk, knowing she had needed him.

And he hadn’t been there.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I don’t want to think about you all the time.

We tried our hardest to hurt everything between us, and now it’s impossible to repair.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, orange glow over the city streets. Y/n sat on the bench at the bus stop, nervously checking her phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Her heart was filled with a mixture of excitement and impatience—today was supposed to be special. Their anniversary.

Taesan had promised to take her on a date after his interview, a rare moment in their hectic lives where they could celebrate together. She’d dressed up, her heart racing with anticipation, hoping for some time alone with him. But now, as the minutes dragged on, she couldn’t help but feel the growing sense of unease.

She scrolled through her phone again, the unanswered messages staring back at her: "Hey, interview over yet?" "Are you still coming?" "Let me know if you're running late."

No response. No calls. Nothing.

She sighed, biting her lip and glancing down the empty street. The buses came and went, passengers getting on and off, but there was still no sign of him. Her excitement slowly deflated into something more like dread.

A cold breeze picked up, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being stood up, but that couldn’t be true, right? He wouldn’t just forget their anniversary. He wouldn’t break his promise to her.

In an attempt to distract herself, she opened her social media, scrolling absentmindedly through the feed. That’s when she saw it—a post from a fan page featuring Taesan and his group at some event. There he was, smiling and laughing with his bandmates, dressed in an outfit far too formal for just an interview.

Her heart sank. The caption beneath the photo read, "Surprise appearance at the event! BOYNEXTDOOR looking dashing as always."

She stared at the screen, the image of him so happy, so carefree. She felt a knot twist in her chest, anger and sadness mixing together. He wasn’t just late—he had gone somewhere else entirely, without even telling her. He had time for an event but not for their anniversary.

Her fingers hovered over the phone, wanting to call him again, but she knew it wouldn’t change anything. He wasn’t coming.

With a heavy sigh, she stood up, her heart feeling heavier than her feet as she trudged back toward their apartment. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it, knowing it wasn’t from him.

The walk back felt longer than usual, her mind replaying the excitement she’d felt that morning—how she’d looked forward to tonight, how she’d thought this anniversary would be a rare moment where they could be like any other couple. But instead, she was left alone, walking home in the dim light, her hands stuffed in her pockets to keep warm.

Finally, she reached the front door of their apartment building. Pausing for a moment, she glanced back at the empty street, a small part of her still hoping to see him running toward her, apologizing for being late. But the street remained empty, quiet, just like the unanswered messages on her phone.

With a deep breath, she entered the building and climbed the stairs to their apartment. As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the stillness of the apartment felt colder than the air outside. No flowers, no candles, no sign that today was any different from any other day.

She sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the wall, the weight of disappointment settling in her chest like a stone. All she wanted was to be with him, to feel like she mattered, like they mattered. But tonight, she felt more alone than ever.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You never cared about trying to get my forgiveness.

Don’t let us be covered in scars.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. Y/n sat on the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, hugging a small black cat stuffed animal that Taesan had won for her on one of their early dates. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears brimming but not falling. She stared blankly at her phone, an article open on the screen, the words blurring in front of her.

The jingle of keys at the door signaled his arrival. The door creaked open, and Taesan stepped in, exhaustion heavy in his posture. He looked worn from the day, his hair disheveled, still in his stage clothes. He let out a deep sigh as he kicked off his shoes, glancing toward her, not immediately noticing the tension in the air.

"Hey," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I'm home."

Y/n didn’t respond, her gaze locked on him, her lips pressed into a thin line as she clutched the stuffed animal tighter. Her chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid.

He finally noticed her silence, his eyes narrowing in concern. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice more annoyed than gentle. He was too tired for this—whatever this was.

She didn’t speak at first, just held out her phone toward him, the screen illuminating her tear-filled eyes. He frowned, walking over to take it from her hand. When he looked at the screen, his expression immediately shifted.

It was a news article—another baseless rumor. His name splashed across the headline alongside another female idol, the two of them speculated to be in a relationship. There were photos from a backstage event, carefully cropped and captioned to imply intimacy where none existed.

He groaned, already dreading the conversation. "You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath, tossing the phone onto the coffee table.

"Is this why you’re never around anymore?" Y/n finally spoke, her voice small but laced with hurt. Her eyes, shining with unshed tears, held a mixture of frustration, sadness, and fear. "Because of her?"

His jaw clenched, frustration quickly overtaking his fatigue. "What? No. It’s just a rumor," he snapped, throwing his hands up. "You really believe that crap? I told you not to pay attention to those things."

"But you’re never here anymore!" Her voice cracked as she stood up, still hugging the stuffed cat to her chest. "You’re always too busy, too tired, or too... distant. And then I see this and—" She broke off, shaking her head, tears spilling over now. "How am I supposed to feel? Am I supposed to just ignore it when you’re gone all the time?"

"I’m working!" he fired back, the anger rising in his chest. "I’m busting my ass for this career, for us—but you’re here, worried about some stupid tabloid story? Where’s the trust?"

"Trust?" she repeated, incredulous. "How can I trust you when you don’t even talk to me anymore? When you don’t make time for me at all? Do you even care about this relationship?"

Her words cut deep, but his frustration was too overwhelming to process the hurt beneath them. "Of course I care! But you’re suffocating me with all these doubts. Every time I come home, it’s something like this. You worry too much."

"I worry because I care!" Her voice broke, raw with emotion. "Because I love you, and I feel like I’m losing you—like you’re slipping away and I can’t do anything about it."

The silence that followed was deafening. They stood there, staring at each other, both breathing heavily from the intensity of the argument.

Taesan rubbed his temples, his voice lowering but still tense. "This is ridiculous. It’s just a rumor. I’m tired, and I don’t want to do this right now."

"You never want to do this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her chest heaving as she tried to control the sobs threatening to spill over. "Fine."

With a quiet, bitter laugh, she turned and walked toward their bedroom. "I’m done with this conversation. Go sleep at your dorm or wherever it is you’d rather be."

His eyes followed her as she disappeared down the hallway, her door closing softly behind her, though the emotional slam still reverberated through him.

He stood there for a long moment, his anger simmering down into guilt, exhaustion pulling at him from all sides. He didn’t want to fight, but it always seemed to end up this way. They always ended up like this—torn apart by his career, by misunderstandings, by everything he didn’t have time to fix.

With a heavy sigh, Taesan grabbed his jacket and keys, heading back toward the door. The silence of the apartment felt unbearable now.

As he stepped out into the cold night air, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward his group’s dorm, his mind filled with everything left unsaid, wondering how they had come to this.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

When the stars in the sky all sleep, I feel so dark, my body feels inexplicably cold

The night air was heavy, thick with a silence that seemed to press down on everything. The small park near their apartment was a place once filled with memories—their late-night walks, quiet conversations, stolen moments—but now it felt distant, like something from another lifetime.

Taesan stood at the edge of the path, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his breath visible in the cool air. He hadn’t been back here in weeks, not since he’d started staying at his group’s dorm. It felt strange now, almost foreign.

His eyes shifted as he saw Y/n approaching slowly from the other side of the park. His heart clenched at the sight of her, though he couldn’t quite place why. She looked…different. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, the dark bags beneath them evident even in the dim light. The spark, the warmth he always loved in her eyes, was gone. She looked like someone who had been carrying the weight of the world for too long.

She stopped a few steps away from him, the space between them feeling like a chasm.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, his voice quiet but carrying an edge of tension. He already had a sinking feeling in his chest, but he wasn’t ready to confront it.

Y/n looked at him for a long moment, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out at first. She shifted her weight, wrapping her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together.

"I’m tired," she finally said, her voice flat, void of emotion. "I’m tired of waiting for you. Of waiting for us to feel like it used to." Her eyes met his, and the emptiness in them hit him like a punch to the gut. "I can’t keep doing this."

His heart stuttered in his chest, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, trying to process her words, hoping this wasn’t what he thought it was.

“I’m done,” she continued, her voice firmer this time, as if she had rehearsed these words over and over in her head before finally saying them. “I don’t want to have to keep waiting on you, waiting for something to change. I feel like I’m always waiting.”

The silence between them was unbearable now, but he couldn’t find the right words to say. His throat felt tight, like any response he tried to form would only come out broken.

She wasn’t crying—there were no tears. She wasn’t angry. Just…done. It made it worse somehow. He would’ve preferred her to scream at him, to be angry, to throw something, but this quiet resignation was shattering him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“You’re not the same,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but sharp enough to cut through the air between them. "I don’t recognize you anymore. And I know you’re tired too. Tired of me, of this... You don’t need to say it. I can see it every time you walk out the door and don’t come back until late or not at all."

He wanted to protest, to tell her she was wrong, that things could be different, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because a part of him knew she was right. He hadn’t been present—not really. His career had consumed him, and in the process, he had let her slip away. He let them slip away.

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes momentarily glancing down at the ground before meeting his gaze again. "I loved you," she said softly. "I still do, but I can’t keep holding onto something that’s already gone."

His chest tightened painfully, and he took a small step forward, as if to reach for her, but stopped himself. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t even know if he could.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though it was unclear if she was apologizing to him or to herself.

And then, she turned around, her figure illuminated only by the faint glow of the park’s streetlights. She didn’t run. She didn’t storm off. She just walked away, her back to him, her shoulders slightly hunched as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

He stood there, frozen in place, his heart breaking with every step she took. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He could only watch as she walked further and further away, her silhouette fading into the distance until she was nothing more than a distant memory in the night.

The cold settled into his bones, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He felt numb, like everything inside him had shattered and there was nothing left but the aching emptiness where she used to be. The night stretched on, and the only sound that filled the silence was the faint rustling of leaves in the wind, as the world around him continued on, unaware that his had just fallen apart.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I don’t need the hottest and best car.

I don’t need to be the best pop star.

I want to express myself, but I messed up.

What’s there to lose! My heart’s already half empty.

The studio’s lights were harsh, reflecting off the mirrors that lined the walls. The steady beat of the music thumped through the room, filling the space with energy, but Taesan’s movements felt sluggish, disconnected from the rhythm. He was usually so precise, so in sync with the choreography, but today he couldn’t seem to get it right.

"Again," the instructor called out, clapping their hands sharply, frustration seeping into their voice. "You’re off, Taesan. Focus."

He nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow, though it felt like the sweat wasn’t the problem—it was the weight pressing on his chest. They started the routine again, but halfway through, his steps faltered. His foot missed the mark, his body off-beat. He felt his group members glance at him in concern, but he kept his head down, trying to push through.

"Stop!" the instructor barked, cutting the music abruptly. "Take five. Taesan, get it together."

He didn’t respond, just stood there, panting, his hands on his knees. The others slowly moved to the sides of the room to grab water or stretch. Taesan didn’t move. His mind was spinning, but not about the dance. His thoughts kept drifting to her—Y/n. The look on her face when she walked away, the sound of her voice when she said she was done, the quiet resignation in her eyes. It haunted him.

It was all he could think about.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to clear his head, but it was no use. The more he tried to shake it off, the more the memories flooded back. The last argument, the tension that had been building for months, how he had shrugged her off when she needed him most.

“Hey, man. You good?” Jaehyun asked, cautiously approaching him with a bottle of water in hand.

Taesan shook his head slightly, forcing a deep breath. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tightness in his voice said otherwise.

“You’re not,” Leehan said bluntly, walking over with the rest of the group. "You’ve been off all day. What’s going on?"

He opened his mouth to respond with something dismissive, something to brush them off like he always did when things got too personal, but this time, he couldn’t. His chest ached too much. The guilt, the regret—it was all bubbling up inside him, and he couldn’t keep it down any longer.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he quickly looked away, swallowing hard. He hated this. Hated feeling this vulnerable, especially in front of them.

His group members exchanged glances, clearly worried.

“I miss her,” he finally whispered, barely audible.

“What?” Riwoo leaned in closer, frowning.

“I miss her,” he repeated, louder this time, though his voice wavered. “I miss Y/n… so much.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the usual energy drained as his words settled in.

“I screwed up,” he said, his hands trembling slightly as he raked them through his hair. “I didn’t realize what I had until she was gone. And now—” He paused, his throat tightening, the memories of their breakup flashing in his mind. “Now it’s too late. I hurt her, I wasn’t there when she needed me, and she left. I don’t blame her.”

His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

“I regret everything,” he admitted, his voice strained, raw. “Everything that led to us falling apart. I pushed her away, I was so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t see how much I was losing her.” His hand clenched into a fist. "I thought I could balance everything, but… I couldn’t. I failed her.”

His group members stood in stunned silence. Taesan was always the one who kept things together, the one who didn’t let his emotions get the better of him. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable, so broken, was a shock.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I don’t think I can. She’s done with me, and I can’t blame her. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend… and a terrible person.”

Sungho stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man, don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he said bitterly, looking down at the floor. “I still love her. I never stopped. But she’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”

“You’re human, Taesan hyung,” Woonhak said, his tone gentle. “People make mistakes.”

“Not like this,” Taesan muttered, shaking his head. “She waited for me. She was patient, and I took her for granted. I should’ve been there for her.”

His group members shared worried glances, unsure of what to say. They had never seen him like this—so lost, so regretful.

“It’s not too late,” Jaehyun offered hesitantly. “You can still reach out to her, talk to her—”

“She’s done with me,” Taesan interrupted, his voice flat. “She said she’s tired of waiting, and I can’t blame her. I would’ve left me too.”

He slumped down onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall, his head in his hands. The silence stretched on for what felt like forever, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioning in the studio.

His group members sat down around him, unsure of how to help, but unwilling to leave him alone. They could see how much pain he was in, and it hurt to see their usually composed, confident friend in pieces like this.

“I’m sorry,” Taesan whispered again, more to himself than anyone else. "I’m so sorry, Y/n."

And for the first time in a long time, he let the tears fall.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Through the whole night, you’re no longer in my sight.

Maybe everyone feels the same, but time goes by too fast.

The air backstage was charged with excitement, a low hum of activity as the staff rushed around making final preparations. Taesan sat quietly in a corner, his hands resting on his lap, staring at the floor as the muffled cheers of the crowd reached his ears. The energy of the arena was palpable, but inside, he felt a familiar weight pressing down on his chest.

It had been a few months since the breakup. Since the day she’d said she was done. He hadn’t realized how hard it would hit him—how much he’d miss her. Even now, the thought of her still tugged at his heart, the hurt still raw even though time had passed.

"Taesan, you good?" Sungho asked, breaking through his thoughts as they finished a huddle nearby.

He glanced up, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I’m fine."

They’d asked him that a lot lately, and every time he said the same thing. He had to be fine. He had no other choice. Being an idol meant putting on a perfect face, no matter what was going on behind the scenes. It was all part of the job, and he owed it to his fans to give them everything he had. But the truth was, no matter how much time passed, she never really left his mind.

A staff member approached, headset in place, clipboard in hand. "Five minutes until showtime."

His group gave a collective nod, standing up to stretch and prepare. Taesan rose to his feet, brushing off his outfit, and took a deep breath. He could feel the adrenaline starting to build, the anticipation of the stage waiting for him. This was his world now—his stage, his music, his fans. He had to focus on that.

But as his mind drifted back to her—her smile, the sound of her laugh, the way she used to wait up for him—his chest tightened again. The ache that hadn’t fully healed throbbed beneath the surface, a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

"Focus," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t let this affect him now. Not here. Not when the world was watching.

The fans were already screaming, chanting their names, and he knew the second he stepped onto that stage, he had to be the idol they all adored—the one who smiled for them, who gave them his all, no matter what was happening in his personal life.

A deep breath. He opened his eyes as the staff gave the signal.

“It’s time,” one of his group members said, nudging him gently. "Let’s go."

He nodded, shaking off the last traces of his wandering thoughts. Putting on his best smile—the smile that had charmed millions—he stepped in line with his group as they prepared to walk onto the stage.

The music swelled through the speakers, and the moment the curtains parted, a wave of sound crashed over them. The roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, the sea of fans waving lightsticks—it was everything he’d worked for, everything he loved.

He couldn’t let them down.

As they walked out, the fans’ cheers grew louder, the energy electric. He felt it surge through him, pushing the heaviness of his emotions to the back of his mind. The stage was where he belonged, and for now, that had to be enough.

But even as he smiled, danced, and sang, giving his all to the performance, a part of him still carried her with him—her memory, her absence. He knew he had to move on, but it wasn’t that simple. She had been a part of him for so long, and the love he had for her didn’t just disappear. He was still learning how to live with that ache.

As the music thumped in his ears and the fans sang along to every word, he forced himself to be present, to let the performance carry him. But every now and then, between the beats, he could feel her shadow lingering in the back of his mind.

And when the concert was over, and the adrenaline faded, he knew she’d be there waiting in the back of his mind—just as she always had been.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Finally, the wounds have scabbed over, but am I still thinking about it?

The room was dimly lit by the slivers of moonlight that slipped through the half-drawn blinds. The quiet hum of the air conditioner was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. Taesan lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a contemplative expression. The shadows cast by the moonlight danced across the walls, but his focus remained on the blank expanse above him.

He was in his shared dorm room with Woonhak, who was already fast asleep, snoring softly. Taesan had been lying awake for hours, his mind racing through thoughts he couldn’t seem to quiet.

It had been five months since the breakup. He had made significant progress—he wasn’t as heartbroken as he once was, and his days were filled with the busyness of his idol life. But despite all that, thoughts of Y/n still occupied a corner of his mind.

He wondered about her often. What was she doing now? Was she happier without him? Was she moving on with her life, creating new memories, and finding joy in things that didn’t include him? The questions lingered, and even though he tried to push them away, they always seemed to return.

He remembered their last conversation, the look in her eyes when she had ended things. It wasn’t anger or resentment but a calm, resolute sadness. He had always wished he could go back and fix things, do better, be the person she deserved.

Turning his head slightly, he glanced over at the small bedside clock—it was well past midnight. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he shifted uncomfortably. The ache of missing her wasn’t as sharp as it once was, but it was still there, a gentle, persistent throb that reminded him of the love they had shared.

He recalled the little moments they had—walking in the park, sharing secrets, the way she used to laugh at his jokes, the sparkle in her eyes when she listened to his songs. Those memories were bittersweet now, tinged with the sadness of knowing that those times were in the past.

He wondered if she ever thought about him. Did she ever look back and remember the good times? Did she ever miss him, even just a little? The curiosity gnawed at him, but he didn’t have any answers. He had made the decision to give her space, to let her heal and move on, but it didn’t make the longing any easier.

He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to see her again, to talk to her, to hear her voice. He hoped that wherever she was, she was happy. He hoped she had found the peace and joy that they both deserved.

As he lay there, the weight of his thoughts became a little heavier. He had learned to live with the separation, to accept it as part of his journey, but that didn’t mean it was easy. The nights like these were the hardest—when the world was quiet, and the only thing he had was the memory of what once was.

Eventually, he forced himself to turn away from the ceiling, pulling the covers closer as he tried to settle into a more comfortable position. It was a futile attempt to silence his racing mind, but he knew that some things would take time to fully resolve.

For now, he would focus on his work, on the present, and try to hold onto the hope that things would get better. And maybe, just maybe, someday he would get the closure he needed. Until then, he would carry on, living his life while cherishing the memories of what they once had.

He finally drifted off to sleep, the thoughts of her slowly fading into the background, though never completely out of reach.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I realize I can live without you, but I once decided to grow old with you.

How much loneliness and struggle remain pierced in my heart.

The crisp autumn air was cool against his skin as Taesan and his group members strolled down the street. Their faces were concealed behind masks and sunglasses, a necessary precaution to avoid being recognized. Despite their disguises, the atmosphere was relaxed, and they enjoyed the rare chance to go out incognito.

They chatted casually, their conversation punctuated by laughter as they approached a quaint café they had heard good things about. The cozy little place had a warm glow that contrasted with the chilly evening air.

As they reached the entrance, Taesan was the last to go inside. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, the door swung open and someone bumped into him.

Startled, he looked down, his heart skipping a beat when he saw who it was.

It was her. Y/n.

She looked different—brighter, happier. Her hair was shorter, framing her face in a way that seemed to enhance her natural beauty. And her eyes—those eyes that used to be so full of sadness—were now sparkling with a joy he hadn’t seen in a long time.

They locked eyes for a split second, and he felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite place—hope, regret, longing. He stood frozen, caught between the urge to speak and the overwhelming surge of emotions.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, her voice warm and apologetic as she quickly stepped back. She didn’t seem to recognize him, her focus more on the minor collision than on the person she bumped into.

“No problem,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

She flashed him a quick, polite smile before turning and walking away, her figure gradually diminishing as she moved down the street.

Taesan stood there, watching her retreat, his heart pounding. The moment felt surreal—seeing her like this, so changed, so content. It was as if the universe had given him one more chance to make things right, and he wasn’t sure if he should let it slip away.

“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” Riwoo called out from inside the café. “Let’s go!”

Still reeling from the encounter, Taesan snapped back to reality. He turned towards the café, where his friends waited, but something inside him urged him to follow her—to find out if this new version of her was truly as happy as she seemed.

Without a word, he pulled his mask and glasses off and turned on his heel, rushing out of the café. His group members called after him, confusion evident in their voices, but he ignored them, his focus entirely on the woman who had just walked away.

He sprinted down the street, glancing around, his heart racing as he searched for any sign of her. The sight of her figure, walking away with a spring in her step, seemed to guide him forward, pushing him to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

Every step felt heavy with anticipation, each breath a mix of excitement and anxiety. He didn’t know what he’d say or what he hoped to find, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a chance he couldn’t let slip by.

Finally, he spotted her again, standing on the corner, waiting for a bus. With a deep breath, he approached, trying to steady his racing heart.

“Y/n!” he called out, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

She turned, a look of surprise crossing her face as she recognized the urgency in his voice. Her eyes widened as they met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Everything around them seemed to disappear and it was only them there. Y/n’s look of surprise turns into a smile, her sparkling eyes meeting him.

“Hi.”

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

PART TWO VER.1 -- VER.2 | MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[evvyyypeters-fics]

A Speedy Recovery

Peter Maximoff/ Quicksilver x mutant!f!reader

Warnings! Angst, slight depiction of gore, vague descriptions of x men stuff, fluff and stuff

Reupload of a request by the coolest @alittleobsessedbitch

I could feel the thick burn of blood in my eye, squinting it closed tightly to keep the red liquid from stinging my cornea, forcefully blinding me and causing me to stumble as I walked back to what I assumed was the direction of Peter’s house.

I just needed my boyfriend at this moment as the pain of my headwound continued to pound at a rhythmic dull throb, that was luckily more numb than it should be due to the adrenaline coursing through my veins, feeling my heartbeat in my ears. My legs felt like I was moving through deep, thick mud. It was a slow and treacherous feeling as I made my way down the street. The fight I had been in hadn’t been too far from the speedster’s home, he had been tasked with a different mission that forced him to stay at his house as the base of the operation. If I could just make it back and get some help then maybe the ringing in my ears would stop and the dull throb coursing through my entire body would stop. I could feel the blood from the gash on my head dripping down the side of my face and off my chin, catching onto my suit.

I really had no idea where I was going at this point, just letting my feet drag me as I hung onto the little bit of consciousness I had left in the moment. I felt like I was getting more tired and weaker the farther I walked, the dull throb slowly becoming an intense ache as my limbs became heavy and the sores on my body began to pound. That’s when I heard it.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice called out in a panic and I heard the rushed slam of a front door. A soft air brushes past me before I feel the warm, large hands of the speedster on my shoulders as he holds me in place. When I realized that I had made it to some sort of safety, my consciousness drained as my limbs began to fall and become limp, slumping into his arms where he kept me upright. I couldn’t even see the panic on his face, but I knew it was there.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you inside..” Is the last thing I hear before everything goes dark for a while, the words sounding gargled and distant in my head.

A small sliver of light enters my eyes as they flutter open, a slight stained glass look hazes over everything before I finally blink them open fully and become aware of my regained consciousness. For a moment I don’t realize the sharp slap on my cheek, my mind too busy realizing the sharp and throbbing pain covering practically my entire body as all feeling rushes back to me. That’s when I’m snapped out of my daze and see the flash of the silver hair above me and I catch a glimpse of Peter’s face hovered over me, his face contorted in a disturbingly worried furrow. I see his lips moving, but I can barely make out what he’s saying until another sharp slap hits my face and with a quick gasping inhale I can hear the quick worried words slipping past his lips.

“Y/N! Y/N! Come on! Wake up! Please!” He whimpers, his lip quivering. I can see the worried tears stinging his eyes and my heart squeezes. He always pulls on my heartstrings in every way. When he realizes I’m awake he stops smacking at my cheek to bring me back and flashes a quick smile, replacing the stinging feeling of his palm against my cheek and instead caressing it warmly, as if trying to apologize for having to hurt me to get me awake. Even if I was hurting more than anything he could do to me.

“Oh thank god..” He sighs as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest that had been constricting his breathing. “Almost lost you for a second.” He chuckles weakly like it was a joke, but we both knew he wasn’t.

I open my mouth to say something, but he quickly silences me, the words get stuck in my throat regardless. My mouth felt dry, my lips chapped and my tongue felt too big to even fit it. I quickly close it and relax myself back into the laid position I was in.

“Now, let’s take care of those wounds of yours.” He says with a subtle smile, seeming less anxious than before now that my eyes were fully open and tracking him. My breathing was steady, occasionally faltering by the feeling of a sharp pain everytime I took too deep of a breath and shifted a bruised limb or side. He comes over with what seems to be a warm, wet cloth and he tenderly cleans up the dried blood that covered my face.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner..” He mumbles as he continues patting the blood from my skin and my eyes try to find his gaze as I give him a sympathetic look, wanting to tell him that it wasn’t his fault and he’s doing his best regardless.

“I would say I can’t imagine your pain…but I kind of can.” He gives a soft chuckle that shrugs his shoulders and I giggle myself, causing a sharp pain again that causes me to wince and he freaks out for a moment, quickly trying to steady me.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He yelps, chewing on his lip like he was guilty. It was cute how pathetic he was, but I just wanted to slap him myself and hit some sense into him to keep it together. If not for his sake, then for mine. We spent the next few minutes in silence as he cleaned away the blood on my skin. He was clearly trying to avoid my gaze as I kept my eyes on what he was doing, trying to keep his focus on the wet cloth. When I did catch his eyes for a moment he seemed to blush for a second, his face turning a quick soft pink.

“Peter Maximoff…am I making you nervous when I’m all bloodied up?” I ask in a weak, dry and gravelly voice as I flash a smirk in the corner of my mouth. The words struggling to come out for a second.

“N-No.” He says bluntly, but I can tell the falter in his answer and the hesitance.

“Do I look really hot right now?” I ask, amused and wanting to tease him, squeezing whatever embarrassingly cute reaction I could out of him.

He bit his lip and refused to answer, pretending I was just acting out because I was loopy from my injuries. But I knew what I meant, I was very aware.

“Save your energy, you’re really hurt.” He says, trying to scold me. Peter was really bad at trying to be authoritative towards me, but it always made me somewhat proud and fond of him when he tried, even if he was really bad at it.

I wince when he begins to clean the wound on my head, lightly dabbing some disinfectant on it that causes it to burn momentarily. He apologies everytime I wince a little or whine from the pain, straining against the couch he had apparently rested me upon as soon as he got me inside.

He finally finished dressing all of my wounds, especially the one on my head, and I stayed silent just like he had asked–not wanting to distress him anymore than I had, causing him to worry about me in ways that pained me more than the wounds on my body. I tried to sit up a little onto the couch, becoming uncomfortable from laying down in the same stiff and still position, instantly groaning and wincing at the sharp pain that followed through my body when even twitching a limb. He quickly forced me to lay back down, easing me against the couch.

“Let me get you something.” He says in a frenzy, trying to keep his voice stable. But I could tell he was still anxious.

He rushed back to my side with a tall glass of water and two pain pills in his hands, giving me the pills to throw down my throat and holding the back of my head gently as he helped me drink down a few sips of water to swallow down the pills. Resting my head back against the couch cushion I sighed and waited for the pills to take effect, my head turning to look at Peter who was now sitting comfortably on the floor beside me.

“Don’t even think about joining me on every mission now to protect me,” I begin, scanning his twitching expression, practically able to read his thoughts. “Not that I don’t want to work with you, but I’m perfectly capable. This was just a scuff, and I don’t need a guard dog.”

“I didn’t–” He cuts himself off, sighing and knowing there was really no argument to make. “Alright.” He nods, a soft smile growing on his face.

“C’mere” The painkillers starting to kick in, I carefully pushed my back flush against the back of the couch, making just enough room beside me. I out-stretched my arms to welcome him.

He hesitated for a second, but climbed up on the couch beside me. We laid flush in each other’s arms, his chin resting upon my head as we wrapped our arms around each other. I could now hear his breathing begin to soften and steady, even able to hear the settle of his heartbeat as I rested against his chest. The warmth and rhythmic sounds of his body soothed me and melted away some of the pain still stinging at my body.

“Feel better?” I ask, my voice muffled against his body.

He chuckles at the sound and nods his head. “Yeah.”

Taglist (you can be added or removed at anytime):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Bad moon rising III

Summary: After a nasty divorce, you and your family are forced to live with your Grandpa in the lovely notorious Santa Carla, California. Filled with punks, geeks, surfer nazis and apparently all kinds of creatures of the night.

Word count: 3.7k

Poly!Lost boys x Emerson!reader

[1] [2] [3] [4]

A/n: This chapter will have a brief mention of SA, so this is your warning! But, don’t worry because we kick ass, literally. I also love this chapter, because it does go a bit more into the boys protectiveness and yours and theirs feelings for one another. So please in joy:)

You awoke groggily the next morning. 

Staying up late the night before at the boardwalk did not mix in well with your normal sleeping routine. Sun filtered through the blinds, the light casting a glow throughout your bedroom. You lightly stirred awake, tugging on the itchy sheets to keep last of your sleep from wandering away. 

“Y/n?” A voice called out from behind the closed door. “Sam and I’ve made breakfast, if your hungry.”

A muffled ‘ok’ surpassed your lips, the sound of your mother’s footsteps fading from your door. You reluctantly got out of bed, your pajama shirt that you may or may not have taken from Micheal’s closet rested loosely around your hips, the waist of your shirts twisted around your body from last nights sleep. 

Glancing around your room, you took in the multitude of box’s that littered the ground. Each having different labels from t-shirt and underwear all the way to cd’s and band posters. You knew that you’d have to empty the boxes at one point, and not fish through everything just to find a clean pair of socks.

You slowly walked out of your room, careful not to roll an ankle stepping over a box of shoes. The floor was cold against your bare feet, causing a soft chill to run through your body as you made your way down the stairs. 

Soft clinking of silverware and scraping plates met your ears as you rounded the stairs railing. Sam, Micheal and mom came into view, each of them sitting around the dining table, their breakfast either already eaten or halfway gone. 

Your gave them each a morning greeting, mom receiving a politer one than either of your brothers. Upon entering the kitchen, you made a quick plate, filled with plenty of eggs and bacon to keep your hunger subsided for a couple of hours. 

You returned back to the dining room, sitting next to Micheal. Mom and Sam sat on the opposite side, a single plate pulled with just bacon and a glass of orange juice sat at the head of the table. Definitely Grandpas. 

Though, where the old man currently was, is beyond you. 

As you start to eat your breakfast with your family, the gentle noise from outside passing as conversation for now. Mom let out an appealed hum, mouth stuffed with her own cooking, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she began to speak. 

“I forgot to tell you guys,” Voice slightly muffled by her hand. “I already found a job for myself.”

You slowed your eating, glancing between your brothers and mother. “Already?” You asked, lightly stabbing the yellow bit of egg. “We’ve been here less than a day, how have you got a job?”

Mom lowered her hand, smile still evident on her face. “Yes, well, last night at the boardwalk, I met a fine man who offered me a job at his store.”

“Fine man?” Micheal echoed, leaning back in his chair. “We don’t have to expect him around the house, will we?”

“No, no.” She waved off. “He is just a sweet man, who happened to notice someone in need of work.”

You shared a quick glance at Micheal, not entirely certain if the guy was just looking out for a stranger or more. Sam, on the other hand, was estatic for mom. Talking with a mouthful of his breakfast. “That’s great, mom. And, just think, when you get your first check, we can buy a TV.”

Micheal rolled his eyes at his brothers sudden accusation, you held back a smile. Remembering the conversation from yesterday about having no MTV to watch here at grandpas. 

“We can’t spend our money on entertainment, Sam. We have help pay for food and bills, we can’t just live off of grandpa forever.” She told him, taking a quick sip of her orange juice. “Besides, a video store will not pay that much on the first check.”

“Your working at a video store?” You asked, even though she had just told you the answer to your question. 

She gave a soft nod, standing up from the table with her plate and drink in hand. “Yes, unfortunately. It was the only thing that I could find in such short notice.” She then walked out of the dining room, leaving you with your brothers. 

Sam looked between you and Micheal, a sad look on his face. “My god,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair with defeat. “We’re going to be living in the streets by the end of the summer.”

You kicked him beneath the table, earning a pained noise to pass his lips. 

After breakfast, you returned back upstairs, gently closing your bedroom door behind you. Kicking an empty box out of your way as you sat down on your bed. Out of the corner of your eye, the sun bounced off of a square object, the light shining in your face. 

Turning in the direction, you eyed the cd from last night. The same one that the bleach blonde slipped into your back pocket. Reaching over, you picked up the object, twisting it around in your hand as you read the song listings for the cd. 

You pondered with the disk in hand, gently tapping it against your palm as you eyed your cd player. A pair of headphones hung on top of the device, eagerly waiting to be played. 

A tired sigh passing your lips as you opened the plastic case. You weren’t one to judge people’s music, often giving each genre a try before making a conclusion on it. But, stolen music was something that’d you’d happily judge. 

Placing the disk into the appropriate slot, you pressed play on the cd player. The music played through the headphones, the padded material fitting snug against your ears. You laid out on your bed, letting the music calm you, despite the punk metal flowing through your head.

You hadn’t seen the four boys over the past week at the boardwalk. Well, you did see them, anyone could see them. But, they were always driving away on their bikes or terrifying some tourists that got to close to them. 

You also didn’t know what to say to them, it wasn’t like you were friends with any of them. So, you just stuck to the side when they would get too close or change directions entirely, not wanting to be noticed by the leatherback motorcyclists.

But, you were noticed.

They knew when you were near, and they knew when you would hide away in a random shop when they’d passed by. To them it was hilarious, this girl that they’d barley known was doing everything in her power to keep herself hidden from them.

It wasn’t like it was something new to them, plenty of people dodged their presence when around them. Often, giving them a clear path to walk along the boardwalk. 

Though, whenever they would catch the sweet odor of your perfume, or the soft beating of your heart. Their feet would follow after you, trailing a good distance behind to not alarm you of their presence. 

And it was like they couldn’t stop when they would catch your smell in a crowd. 

It was something deep down that made them follow after you, something deep within their cold body’s that tethered them with you. They all felt it, that odd pull when one of them would spot you. But, none of them would speak out loud about it, not knowing how to ask what it was or why it was you. 

They just knew that the pull they’d fell would softly strengthen itself they closer they were to you. And a small part of them was curious of what it could mean. 

You watched as the sun lowered itself behind the crashing waves of the ocean, soft pinks and purples mixing in with the night sky before it turns black. It was always mesmerizing how the sun would move so quickly, yet slowly throughout the day. Beginning and ending just as it had started, beautifuly.

The railing from the boardwalk dug into your forearms as you leaned against it, a peaceful feeling scorching through your body at the sight before you. You knew you’d have to leave soon, you promised mom that you’d be back before dinner. 

Pulling yourself from the deck, you made your way over to the stairs leading down to the beach. Straps of your bag digging into your shoulders, as the weight of your items shifted. The only reason that you had brought the thing was because you’d wished to open your wallet a bit more tonight. 

A couple of happy’s for your family and yourself. As well as your house keys, wallet and Walkman. (For when you get bored.)

The sand inched itself into the crevices of your soles, no doubt something that mom would get on to you about if you track any kind of grime into the house. 

You could have just walked along the boardwalk, but you were growing a bit tired of the over packed people crowding around you. Too many sweaty bodies, and far too many noises. So, a nice walk along the beach would be the perfect way to end the night. 

A small fire came into view, the light casting a soft glow around a group of kids that surrounded it. You didn’t recognize them. Not that you’d recognize a whole lot of people with only being in town for a total of two weeks, but still. Loud music came from the group, shouts and laughter erupting the quiet atmosphere of the beach. 

You kept your focus away from the group, not wanting to disturb their own fun. Keeping a far away distance to not draw any attention towards yourself. Though that seems to be the opposite of tonight’s plans. 

A sharp whistle came from the group, dragging you out of your peace. 

You glanced over at the bonfire, stopping momentarily in the sand. They were a lot closer to you than the fire itself, maybe a few feet away than the couple of yards they were previously at. 

“Where you running off to on such a nice night, babe?” One of them asked, his voice slur like. The nickname didn’t roll off his tongue like Paul’s did the other night, no, instead it came off forced and disoriented. Almost like the name was just a way to try and sweet talk you. 

“Home.” You told him bluntly, taking slow but deliberant steps away from them. 

An airy chuckle came from a different guy, “What a coincidence, so are we.”

“Please don’t follow me.” You said over your shoulder, picking up your pace when you realized that they were starting to follow you. 

“Why not, you look like you could use the company.”

You didn’t give a response, instead kept your head forward, ignoring the calls that they continued to ring out. “C’mon, beautiful, this a way to treat a gentleman?”

An hand gripped your arm, yanking you back into the imbrace of a body. Two strong arms wrapped around your waist keeping you tightly in his hold. “I was fuckin’ talking to ya.” He told you, the smell of his intoxicated breath making you gag. 

He pulled you closer to the fire, dragging your body as you kicked and refused to allow him to take you to their spot. The other guys had brutish smiles on their faces, finding the situation as a pleasant form of entertainment for them.

One of the men snatched your bag off your shoulders, tossing it near the bonfire as a couple dug through your possessions. “Let me fucking go!” You shouted, arms and legs kicking out at anyone who got close. Your sudden movements caused the guys grip on you to slip, your feet finally planting firmly on the ground.

You twisted out of the guys hold, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist. And, out of a flurry of emotions, you raised your dominant arm, reeling it back before your fist connected with his nose. Hard. 

A sharp crunch came from the man’s nose, and something warm and wet coated your knuckles as you pulled your fist back. The man let out a pained groan, his hands cupping his nose as blood dripped from between his fingers. 

“God! Fuckin’! Dammit!” He shouted, words coming out choppy and rushed as he struggled to breath properly through his nostrils. “Look what you fucking did, you bitch!”

You bit your toungue, fighting off a smug smile. Now is really not the time to play around with these guys, but, you knew it felt good to punch him. The tiny bag of dicks deserved it. “I can see.” You told him taking a small step back from the supposed leader of the group. “And it looks like a shitty nose job, if you ask me.”

“You broke my fucking nose!” He was beyond pissed, anyone with an eye could see that. He pointed a finger at you, blood dripping from the tip. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

God, this guy has a nasty mouth on him. He gets punched one time and it’s all fucking this and fucking that. His mama needs to teach himself some manners. 

You opened you mouth to tell him, ready to snatch your bag back and take off towards grandpas, when a reflective object caught your eye. Glancing over at the man’s hand you saw a knife clutched tightly in his right hand, his fist slightly shaking for how hard his grip was. 

Holy shit. 

He really is gonna kill you. 

Turning swiftly on your foot, you tried to manuver out of the outstretched hands grabbing at you. Sprinting on the sand, you felt as the tiny rocks slowed you down. Everytime you pushed off, your foot slowly sank down into the beach’s bay. 

Holy shit. 

A hand gripped your hair, tight. Your scalp burning as you get yanked back and thrown down on the ground. A yelp slipped past your lips when your upper body hits the floor, the air vacating your lungs. 

You tried to lift your body up, tried to run, tried to scream for help. But, there were suddenly hands everywhere, holding you down on your back, arms and legs pinned down as the man you’d punched leaned over you. 

“You know,” he started, twisting his knife in his palm. “It’d be a real shame for me to fuck up your face, because, well, you sure do got a pretty one.” He trailed his hand over your face, blood trailing behind as he did so. 

“Burn in fucking hell!” You shouted, putting as much strength as you could muster to try  and shove off the ones holding you down. 

A nasty sneer rested on his lips, “But such a shitty attitude, maybe I’ll cut off your tongue, you know, keep you quiet for once.”

The guy pinning down your left arm looked up at the man, slight concern bubbling across his features. “Hughie, yer not actually gonna cut ‘er, right-“

“Shut the hell up!” Hughie shouted at the man, knife pointed dangerously close to his face. “Just shut up.”

He turned back towards you, the knife dropping down to his side as glared down at you. “I ain’t gonna cut the bitch.”

You felt air enter your body, feeling slightly better about the situation now knowing he isn’t actually gonna use the knife. But, you still didn’t know what he was gonna do with you. 

“No, well just take her shitty bag, and I want just a little pay back for the nose.” Hughie brought his index and thumb close together. 

You watched with wide eyes as he walked around you, stopping at the top of your head, kicking just a little bit of sand in your face as he did so. “Fucking slut.” He muttered, before he raised his leg and the heel of his boot came down hard on your face. 

David sat on top of his motorcycle, the kickstand holding him steady as he puffed on his cigarette. The sun had set about an hour ago, the night fresh and just starting. They had plenty of time to scope out the crowd and find their next meal. 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Paul and Marko sweet talking a group of ladies. They’d be nice for a snack, David thought. The sent of their blood flooding his senses, but, they’d need just a little more to actually fill them up. 

Dwayne leaned against the wooden railing, keeping a steady eye on those who wander too close to him and his brothers. Anyone that catches his eye would immediately steer themselves in a different direction. 

The smell of your blood drifted around the group, drawing Paul and Marko away from the group of girls and back over to their brothers. Your blood was a lot stronger than usual tonight, they noticed. It was more out in the open than what they’d usually smell around you. 

Paul was the first to notice you, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey, babe.” He drawled, watching as you came into view of the group. “Where you been lately?”

Though you didn’t stop to acknowledge them, in fact you seemed to walk faster to try and past them. It was slightly uncharacteristic of you, no snarky comment or a roll of your eyes. To say they missed it was an understatement. 

One by one, they each stepped away from their bikes, sauntering over to your fleeting form. The smell of your blood grew stronger and stronger the closer they got to you, the reminder that they need to eat picking at the back of their minds. 

Marko reached you first, gently pulling at your arm to catch your attention. “Hey, beautiful, where you been all week?” Though, you shrugged off his hand, barley giving him a glance as you tried to push through the crowd. 

He furrowed his brows, slightly confused at your demeanor. The first time you’ve met you’d snapped at him for trying to take a silly vinyl, and now you wouldn’t even spare him a second of your attention. 

Even when they’d see you out on the boardwalk, you’d always glance up at them, meeting at least one of their eyes before scurrying in a different direction. 

He quickly glanced at the others, silently asking them what to do. 

David brushed by his brother, understanding him without either having to open their mouths. He took long purposeful strides, the sounds of the others following right behind floated up to his ears. In no time, David was at your side. Gloved fingers wrapping around your forearm, as he spun you around to face them. 

A witty comment danced on the edge of his tongue, the sudden impulse to hear a snarky remark fall from your lips egged him on. Though, what he sa made his thoughts stand still. 

Bruises were found all around your face. A few rested along your jawline and cheekbones, but, the biggest of them all was the one on your right eye. The skin slightly puffed around the eyeball, making it hard to see clearly from that side. 

A dark red was slowly but steadily seeping from your bottom lip, the sticky liquid had had found its way to the collar of your shirt. The fabric had caused the blood to spread across the top. 

That explains the smell of blood. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. Your breaths became labored, short intakes and outtakes, eyes darting past the four men to your surroundings. 

David placed both hands on your face, the feeling of his gloved fingers against your skin oddly calmed you. You placed your own hands against his wrist gently trying to tug them away, though, his grip didn’t seem to loosen. 

“Let me go.” You said in a hoarse voice, the sound of it made an odd feeling stir in the pit of the boys stomachs. 

You hadn’t even realized that the rest of the boys had surrounded the two of you. Each eyeing the small marks that littered across your face with hidden emotion. 

Paul had reached forward grasping your hand in his, eyes trailing across the hills of your knuckles. A faint coat of blood was slowly drying itself up, blood that wasn’t your own. The blonde gently showed your hand to the others, discreetly eyeing each of them, a silent conversation threading itself through the air. 

A weak sniffle sounded from you, mindlessly dragging their thoughts back to the fact that you were here right infront of them. “Can I please just go home?” You asked, voice wavering with emotion. 

One by one they each gave a chorus of, ‘of course’ or just a simple nod. Paul released your hand, not before wiping a small trail of blood onto the pad of his finger. Keeping the scent with them as you left. 

David pulled his hands away from your face, the cold touch lingering on your warm skin. They watched as you pushed through the crowd, hand gently pressing against someone’s lower back as you pass by them. An eerie tick crawled its way to the back of David’s mind, something unsettling and terrifying. 

And it didn’t seem to mix well with the need to feed. 

David glanced over at Dwayne, giving him a quick nod. The brunette mirrored his brother, neither having to open they’re mouth before he distantly trailed after you. Getting lost in the crowd just as you had. 

Now just the three blondes were left in the boardwalk. Paul was softly bouncing on his feet unpatiently awaiting for David’s orders. Marko stood beside his brothers, fingers twitching at the sudden need to sink his fists and fangs into someone. 

The faint smell of the assholes blood filtered through their noses, a soft trail leading through the crowds. Without glancing back at the terror twins, David signaled towards the bikes. The three of them straddles their own Motorcycles, Dwayne’s would just have to stay at the boardwalk until they get back. 

They revved their engines, the loud noise drawing attention of nearby locals. Though, tonight, the people’s attention was the last thing that they were trying to capture. 

“Boys,” David spoke over the rumble of the bikes. “Let’s eat.”

A/a/n: Ok, so, if anyone of confused by the ending, the boys went out to basically kill the surfer nazis. And, Dwayne went to make sure you got home safe before joining his brothers. Also, I felt like the ending was a bit rushed, because I haven’t posted in like a week or something. But, let me tell you that this chapter has been 90% done the whole time. I was just lazy to finish the other 10%. But, let me know what you guys think ;)

@mrstargayen09

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 3

Part 1 2 3 4

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, The Hound being abrasive, jealousy, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, typos, etc.

A/N: i made a bunch of shit up in this this chapter so just roll with it (: originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds

I blink harshly and pinch myself, willing my body awake. I force my eyes wide open, doing my best to make sense of the surroundings that were cloaked in black.

We were heading to my family's abandoned estate in the Brown Wood by the Sterling Rivers; finally, the people there would have a present preceding lord to govern them.

I had not been to the estate since my family was murdered when I was 10 and 3. There was a dread and an excitement that tingled in my body at the idea of return.

Right now, however, my head was starting to hurt from sleepiness.

It seemed we could cease for nothing. We, or rather, the horse and Sandor, have been walking for what felt like ages towards naught.

"Perhaps we should stop for the night," I turn to the Hound from atop my horse, whose face was barely visible in the darkness.

"And do what, little girl?" he groans, "you wanna sleep in the mud?"

I feel Lucy lean further into my shoulder from behind. She nuzzles into my neck and sighs; her arms, which were wrapped around me, loosened as she deeper fell into slumber. Daisy, too, was asleep. Much like Lucy, she nuzzled into Sandor's neck, who's been carrying her since King's Landing.

"Our options are currently limited," I tell him.

He scoffs, "a prissy lady like you thinks she can catch a wink of sleep with her head on a rock?" The Hound adjusts his hold on the reins of the horse, "if you find it hard to sleep on horseback, gods, do I have news for you."

I knit my brows at his words, "I don't find it hard to sleep. I'm choosing to stay up with y-"

"And which of us asked you to do that?" he scoffs and eyes me, "shut your mouth and sleep."

"You've been walking for leagues," I whine, "yours and the horse's backs must hurt from carrying-"

"Then shall I throw you away?" he snaps and stops in his tracks. The horse neighs at the sudden halt. I tighten Lucy's arms around me as I look down at him.

He was truly so large; even now as I was perched upon a steed, he barely had to crane his neck up to look at me.

"It'll be fucking easier for me to get by without 3 bitches weighing me down."

I turn away and huff.

Regardless of this, unlike most times, I feel no threat with his words. If he really wanted to get rid of us, he wouldn't have taken us in the first place. This much I knew. Still, I keep my silence on the matter and mutter instead, "I hope we find lodging soon."

Sandor scoffs and continues walking. He adjusts his grip on Daisy as he looks forward, "your hope is just as helpful as your dollies, little girl."

It's nothing short of a miracle that wandered to a town and found an inn. The moment I thanked the gods tough, they laughed at my face.

We flock outside the inn and Sandor immediately calls the worker girl carrying a bucket of potatoes, telling her to prepare us a room. She turns to him, swallowing the immediate terror she felt over his appearance, and choked out there were no rooms left for many claimed rooms tonight. She says we should try the inn another town away.

You could guess how much The Hound liked that.

The girl and I both gasped when the massive man blocked her passage and imposed upon her, "I suggest you fucking make room for us."

"Sandor!" I cry out, feeling Lucy wake behind me.

The girl drops her bucket; it breaks with a crash and out spills the potatoes. She scrams to pick it all up.

Daisy whines in shock of the noise, wakes, and lifts her head. I pull Lucy's arms off me when Sandor kicks the girl's bucket away. She squeals and falls on her bum just as I jump down from the horse gracelessly.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I stand in his way before he can do anything further to the girl. This causes us to collide and I shuffle back in contact. My feet hit the girl's legs and I lose my balance.

I yelp the same time the Hound grabs me by the arm and snarls, "you stupid fucking girl!"

He rips me into his chest. His iron grip on my arm stings so bad I feel my eyes water. I hiss, "let go of me!"

Daisy begins to stir in his arms. She barks and he wrangles out of his grip. The Hound releases the both of us; the dog jumps out of his arms and comes to my side.

At this point, Lucy is wide awake and jumps off the horse. She fixes her satchel around her and comes to my side. She asks me if I'm hurt and rubs my arm as I did. I tell her to help the girl up as I glare at Sandor.

Daisy is losing her mind barking. It makes the Hound more furious than he was already. He tries to kick her, but Daisy was thankfully quick and managed to run off before he could hit her. She continues barking behind me.

I walk towards him when he makes an attempt to hurt Daisy again. I block his path and grabbing his thick arms, "STOP IT!"

The Hound's eye twitches. He reaches out and yanks my head back by the hair, "you really think you can stop me?"

I whine. I grab the hand on my hair, "she's just a child! It's not her fault there are no more rooms!"

The Hound growls. He releases me roughly.

I shuffle back.

Lucy glares at him as she collects the potatoes and gives it to the weeping girl; she gathers them in her skirts.

"I'm doing this for you, hen-peck," The Hound quips, "and you'd prefer to make me suffer all the way to the next rat infested village!"

"That's not what I'm asking you to do!" I rebut, blood pumping hot with anger, "I'm asking you to leave the girl alone because she's done nothing but be honest to us!"

A chill runs down my spine when I hear him laugh; it's the first time I've ever heard him make such a sound.

"You know what happens to you lot of honest people?" he steps forward and leans down to meet me eye level. I step back but hold his gaze. He he snorts then spits by his side before straightening up, "we lot kill you."

I am equal parts frustrated and scared when he turns around and walks off. Gods know what he will do now.

I call out to him, "I'll find us lodging! I swear it!"

"You go do that, little girl," he growls back as he disappears into the thicket.

I release a breath as I turn around and walk up to Lucy and the girl. Daisy finally stops barking.

"Forgive me, sweet girl," I mutter as I help the weeping thing up. I give Lucy a look and she immediately nods and goes through her satchel. I frown at the girl and brush away the hair sticking to her dampened face, "my husband has rough hands and a sharp tongue."

Her face falls upon hearing this.

Lucy pulls out a coin and shows it to her before slipping it between her belt.

"For your trouble, my dear," I pull away from her, "I hope no one will bother you again tonight."

With that, the girl curtsies and walks off.

"Would you like some wine, my lady?"

I turn to the man, sat diagonal to me. He gives me a beaming smile from ear to ear, hazel eyes twinkling with the morning sunshine. His his rosy cheeks are framed by his mousy blonde hair. He motions to his servant, but then changes his mind a second later. He stands from his seat on the table and grabs the ewer, ready to pour me a glass.

I cover the chalice before me and smile, "water is enough for me, my lord. Thank you."

"Oh," he raises the object, "please. This is special wine from my uncle's vineyard. I tell you there is none like it."

Lucy, sat to my right, lifts her eyes as she chews the duck we had been served.

I shake my head, "I do not doubt it. I do not think it appropriate for me to drink wine, however."

"Nonsense," he shakes his head and smiles, "a cup of wine in the morning will get your blood pumping."

"No, Lord, I do not make issue of drinking during this time of day," I purse my lips, "I mean I am..." I trail off trying to think of the simplest way to explain it, "expecting."

The man tilts his head in confusion.

"Of course, I am uncertain, but..." I turn to my lap then turn back to him.

Lucy chews slowly as she straightens up beside me.

"... I could be with child."

The man freezes upon hearing that. His lips part and his arm slowly lowers.

I offer him a soft smile. He makes a cautious sound, "my apologies, Lady Clegane."

"No. All is well, I assure you, Lo-"

"No," he clears his throat, "it was quite impertinent of me to press upon such a thing with a lady," he nods, "you have taught me a valuable lesson."

I let out a polite chuckle, "glad to be of service, Lord Alistair."

"Please, the Lord of house Alistair is my father," he smiles, "I bid you call me Cedric."

Lucy pretends to clear her throat and then grabs her cup. Our host sees this then stands up to offer, "perhaps you would like to try the wine instead?"

Lucy blinks and looks between him and I. I give her a look then she says, "don't mind if I do, milord."

I chuckle under my breath.

He pours her a cup and she immediately drinks it.

She lets out a breath, "wow. Cedric's right about the wine!"

Both of us perk in shock of Lucy's words.

"Lucy!" I quip.

"What, milady?" she makes an innocent face, "it really is god wine!'

"You cannot call our Lord by his name!"

"But he said not to call him Lord Alistair!"

My jaw drops, "Lucy!"

Cedric laughs, "no. She is right. I did say that." He looks between us, "I pray both of you call me by my name."

I turn to Cedric but do not get to respond as Lucy does it for me, "I am your obedient servant."

Cedric laughs and we make small talk as we continue to finish our morning meal.

Cedric Alistair was a most courteous host. Last night, as our options went dry, I asked the townsfolk where their lord resided, and we walked all the way to the Alistair stronghold in hopes of amity. We were met with much more than that

Not only did he feed me, Lucy, Daisy, and the horse, but he had his servants draw us baths and give us a change of clothes. He refused any of the coin I had to give him, and said it was only right to host a lady this way. He even said he would also have his men look for my missing husband.

Sandor wandered off after our squabble, thus we looked for a place to stay ourselves. I knew partially, he probably needed this time to cool his temper, but I obviously didn't want to be separated from him. And yet, the idea of having Lord Alistair's men look for the Hound made me anxious, as I knew the chances of a fight breaking out between them was high. In the end, told him he did not need to deploy his men because my husband would find his way to us eventually.

Cedric chuckled in surprise when I told him this, remarking I must have quite the capable husband.

Neither of us expected him to walk into the room in the middle of our conversation.

I stand from my seat when I spot him, "Sandor!"

Lord Cedric stands with me.

The Hound is expressionless, save for the way his brows were furrowed. His skin and armor is still covered in blood from the battle of the Blackwater; it's now dried up and brown. His hair and beard is matted.

Daisy, who had been graciously kept indoors and was being fed at the end of the room, runs as fast as her three legs can take her, towards the Hound.

Lucy finds herself standing because of this. She runs up to Daisy, who was now near Sandor. She scolds the dog who is excited to see him. Sandor ignores them both and heads towards me. I meet him halfway, looking his body once over.

Sandor halts when I place my hands on his arms. In truth, the action was instinctive. Seeing him like this in daylight was making my stomach churn. I look up at him, "this is not your blood, right?"

His eyes look heavy as he looks down at me. He huffs, "no."

I nod in relief, "here," I pull away and motion to my seat, "you can have my food-"

"Nonsense," Cedric interjects, turning from us to the entrance of the dining room, "could someone prepare a plate for Lord-"

Sandor reaches past me and grabs the duck on my plate, stuffing it into his mouth.

Cedric turns to him as he does this.

I ask, "could I request a damp cloth?"

Lucy finally calms Daisy down and convinces her to go back to her bowl and finish eating.

Cedric eyes me, then Sandor, then the entrance, "and a damp cloth!"

I watch as Sandor devours the meat, "where did you sleep last night?"

He huffs as he chews. "On a rock in the fucking forest," the Hound grumbles before swallows the duck in his mouth.

I frown at him, "we tried looking for you for a while after you stormed off, but I did not want to lead us any deeper into the forest beyond what torchlight touched."

Sandor gives me a nod, "smart girl."

The compliment fades in an instant when he pushes me aside and sits on my spot, finishing whatever was left on my plate. Cedric and I watch him eat. At the same time, two servants come in with a plate and cutlery, and a small basin bowl and a cloth.

"Good morn, milord," Lucy curtsies at Sandor, who spares her a glance but nothing more.

I circle around to grab a chair from across Sandor and bring it to his side. Cedric holds back whatever he is meant to say as he watches me thank his servant for the bowl and cloth, and prop it on the chair I took.

"Stop!" I hiss at Sandor,  just as he reaches to a leg of chicken with his bare hand.

The Hound pulls back and turns to me with slightly wide eyes. In contrast, Lucy's eyes are as big as the moon.

I wring out the towel before taking Sandor's left hand, wiping it. I mumble, "I know you're starving, but you should eat with clean hands, my Lord."

Cedric finally sits down on his chair. Lucy turns to her own hands and wonders if she should wash after touching Daisy.

Sandor gives me his other hand to clean, silently watching me do this.

"Would you like milk of the poppy for your wounds, Lord Clegane?" Cedric asks, unable to tear his eyes from the man's face, "for your burn?"

I turn to him when he says this while. I motion to Sandor, wordlessly allowing him to continue eating now. I wash the towel in the basin, "he's not inju-"

"I would like some milk," Sandor says as he tears himself some chicken.

I furrow my brows at this, turning to him, "but you said-"

Cedric is about to call the order but then my husband's voice cuts him off. The Hound blurts just as I begin to wipe his face, "but only if it's from my wife's teat."

Lucy begins to choke on the wine she was drinking.

My freeze in my spot. I feel my face burn like a thousand suns.

There is a thick tension in the air, only thinned by the sound of Lucy's coughing.

I don't know what to say and so I decide not to say anything. I simply wipe the man's face with bit more force than necessary. He didn't even seem to notice.

The Hound eyes Lord Alistair the whole time he eats. It makes both the Lord, himself, and I severely uncomfortable.

"Sandor," I scold warily.

He does not turn to me as he picks up a cup, "wife."

I watch him chug down water then turn to me. The Hound asks, "you want some duck?"

I do my best not to roll my eyes.

The horses grazed as we took a break near a river. I watch Sandor kneel down by the water and wash his face. I scoff at him, sitting down on a rock.

We were on our way to my family's estate again. Cedric had been kind enough to offer us each a horse. The Hound, however, was too proud to accept a horse for himself, arguing he would not be able to carry the stupid bitch if he got on horseback.

He also rejected a bath, as 'we ought to not waste daylight.'

I look around the surroundings, finding solace in the fact that at least the weather was clear and kind. I watch Daisy run around and dig a hole with her paws; her broken leg did not really help, and yet that did not stop her from using it. I smile at the animal.

I watch Lucy lean into her horse and stroke it's mane. I can barely make out what she was whispering to the steed Cedric gave her. Still, the sight intensified my smile.

I so badly want to give them a good life.

I turn to the tree by my side. I remember how we used to have a tree in Brown Wood, how my father made my brothers and I a swing himself. I want that. I want to do the same for my children. I wonder if that tree was still there. I gasp when I spot a squirrel on the branch.

The Hound is immediately alerted by this and grabs his hilt, "what is it?"

"A squirrel," I point and stand. I walk over to the tree, "look, it's so little!"

Sandor makes a noise and makes a face, "Little?" he releases his grip, "what like you? Shall I get it for you as a pet?"

I turn to him, shocked by his offer. He would get a pet for me?

He walks towards me, "I won't be the one to kill it. Your dog will."

My expression morphs into a scowl.

He clicks his tongue twice then whistles. Daisy barks in response and follows after him. I am somehow angered by her obedience to him. I scoff under my breath, "I suppose dogs recognize each other."

The moment I see Daisy's excitement towards him, I regret speaking such harsh words. I'm glad Sandor did not hear it.

Lucy watches me as I walk up to my horse. Sandor takes me by the waist and lifts me with no fuss. I easily mount the horse and look down at him. I finally find it in me to bring it up after a painfully quiet travel, "you did not have to be so icy to Lord Alistair. He was a temperate host."

Sandor chuckles dryly and grabs the reins of my horse. He begins to walk. Daisy walks beside him as he says, "I'm sure he'd love to warm your bed. And I'm sure you'd want him to."

My face falls at his accusation.

"I'm sure you'd let him."

"Do not speak so low and surely of me, Hound!" I hiss, "these words you sputter weigh heavily on the both of us."

He chuckles again, "is that supposed to be a threat?" He turns to me, "you think I give a shit about words?"

"Well, I do!" I snap, eyes watering in anger and frustration, "and your words hurt me!" I turn away from him, "I have done nothing but try to please you, and you do nothing but try to hurt me!"

"Please me," he grumbles and looks away, "you've done nothing but nag and slow me down!"

I ignore him as I ruefully wipe away my tears, cursing myself for crying over him again.

The Hound is about to bark another string of complaints but stops himself as he whips back at me. He looks for a second, adjusting his hold onto he reins, then turns away, "you should have married the likes of fucking Lord Alistair, little squirrel."

I scoff and shake my head at his new nickname, "well, I didn't choose you, didn't I, Hound?"

Lucy's looks at me, lips parting at sound of the remark.

Sandor turns to Daisy, watching her keep up with him with her three paws, "no, you did not."

We were finally... home.

It was the dead of night when we arrived, and my family estate was as abandoned as ever. The place was called Brown Wood, as it was near a forest which was home to many brown bears. The forest extended to the Sterling Rivers, which got its name for it's clear waters where you could fish for gold. It used to be a haven for both men and beasts alike, now, it was a ruin of darkness.

The people that remained there stayed as far from the forest as they could, fearing what lurked in the shadows.

Sandor had to open the gates himself, as there would be no one to do it for us. The moment we were inside, a chill ran down my spine.

"This was your home, milady?" Lucy asks, looking around the place as our horses tread inside.

I sniffle and offer a smile, mostly to mask the fear building in my stomach, "it wasn't always like this."

"How old were you when you left again?" she asks as she readies to dismount her horse.

Sandor shoos Daisy away before reaching out to help me down. I reply before I do, "10 & 3."

I huff as Sandor sets me down. I look up at him. He looks down on me, pulling his hands that lingered too long away from my waist. Daisy begins to run around and bark. The Hound walks off and shushes her.

Lucy takes my arm and we go inside together.

I thought if we lit candles and the fireplace, I'd feel less scared, but I think I was terrified now. I thought that if I ignored that feeling as I showed everyone around my old home, I'd feel better, but I didn't.

Lucy had decided to take the room near the kitchen, so she wouldn't have to walk so far in the mornings to cook for us. I wasn't exactly sure where Daisy was. It was now only Sandor and I walking down the halls. I was leading us to the master bedroom with a single candle in my hand.

I open the door and step in, "here it is."

I turn to Sandor, stood by the door. I place the candle down my the bedside table. He surveys the room, taking in the cob webs and the dusty furniture, "it's big room."

I lick my lips, "it was bigger in my head, but... it must have just been because I was a child when I was last here."

Sandor looks at me and nods, "I will sleep in the room beside you."

"Wha- wait!" I step forward.

Sandor's boots skid on the floor as he stops himself.

"Y-you're-- y-you're not going to sleep with me?"

Sandor grips the knob, "have I ever slept with you before?"

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

A moment of silence passes.

"You could start sleeping with me now," I offer weakly as I motion around, "there's more than enough space for the two of us."

Sandor shifts before speaking, "I'm going to take a bath before going to bed." And with that, he closes the door behind him.

I gasp when he does. I feeling a heavy dread sliver up my spine.

I roll my shoulders back and roughly brush my arms. I light the other candles in the room and busy myself with changing the sheets. There was a bittersweetness in doing so. This used to be my parents room. I knew where they kept their things and all their things were still in place. One would wonder why every item was still intact and untouched, but then one clearly does not know the horrid tales that befell Brown Wood.

I rip the sheets off the bed, coughing as dust flew around. I do my best attempt at changing the sheets and chuck the musty ones by the edge of the bed.

Once I gave up in fitting the sheets the way Lucy did, I huffed and undid my dress, remaining in nothing but my shift. I then hid under the covers.

My exhaustion should have made it easier to sleep, but the setting was triggering my memories. It wasn't long until I was recounting the one I hated the most. Fear was clawing at me, and soon enough, my mind was playing tricks.

The next thing I knew I was frozen in bed, too petrified to move, but wanting nothing more than to get up and flee, to where, I did not know. I begin to feel tears stream from my eyes, but I'm too scared to make a noise, too scared that it will bring forth the darkness lurking in the shadows.

Somehow, I eventually manage to convince myself to call a name, I do this against a pillow though. Slowly, I call the name louder and louder until I was screaming into the bed, "SANDOR!"

I burst into a shriek when I feel something touch my shoulders.

"IT'S ME! It's me!" he groans, ripping my blanket down, turning me to face him. I sit up and grab hold of his arms. I look at his face, I look at Sandor's alarmed expression. He was in nothing but his breeches but that didn't stop me from grabbing his bare shoulders as I sobbed.

"What's wrong, squirrel?" he pushes my hair away from my face, "why are you calling out to me like this?"

I feel him wipe my cheeks. I miss the gentleness of his touch because I'm too wrapped up in my terror.

I shake my head, "I can't do it."

"Do what?"

"Sleep on my own," I choke out, grabbing his wrists, "please."

Sandor remains still as I move closer to him.

"I swear to you I will stay on my side," I shake my head rapidly, "I will not move. I will not make a sound. I will make myself as small as possible, but I beg that you sleep with me, that you stay with me."

Sandor considers my desperation in silence.

I whine when he pulls away. I repel his actions and throw myself onto him, "please-"

"I'm just going to get my shirt."

"There are shirts here!" I say as I grab his arm and stand from bed. I drag him towards the closet and hand him my one of my father's old shirt. I get on my tiptoes and begin to put it on him. He grunts as I do this, but lets me do it anyway.

"I got it," he quips when I try helping him put the sleeve on.

I watch him put on the shirt. It looked a bit tight on him but I couldn't care less, he would have to make due. I grab his bicep, "so, you'll stay with me?"

Sandor eyes me, pushing his hair back, "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

I release a breath, "I swear," I shake my head again, "I will not make a fuss! I am a light sleeper! If I do something, simply wake me so that I do not both-"

"I get it," Sandor says, pulling his arm away. I follow him closely as he steps into bed. I quickly follow after him, taking the smallest portion of the bed possible.

"I'm not that fucking massive, girl," he grumbles once he's on his side.

I turn to him, "I don't want to-"

"I'm bothered with you sleeping so on edge that you're going to roll off any second."

I scoot a tad closer to him.

Sandor makes himself comfortable. I slowly let myself do the same.

I anticipate an interrogation from him. I'm sure he wanted to ask why I was crying, why I wanted him here, why I'm so scared, but they never come. He just lays there with me in the quiet. I instead find myself focusing on the sound of his breathing as a distraction to my racing mind. I eventually tire myself out and slowly doze off.

I wake up with a groan. I bite my lip and reach out to the other side of the bed. Empty again.

I sigh and roll under the covers. I freeze when I feel a dampness between my thighs.

I push myself up and pull the sheets down as I sit up. A pool of red was seeping through my shift. A panic shoots through me. I clutch my belly, mortified as I rip up my skirt and see how much blood I've lost. Was this...

I lie back down and try to count the days that I last bled and the day Sandor and I laid together.

I release a breath. The counting is both calming and frustrating.

I sit back up and call, "Lucy!"

I stand from the bed and pull the sheets off, "Margaret!"

I walk to the closet and fish for a change of clothes, "Annetta!"

A voice from afar calls out, "coming, milady!"

Lucy was the one that responded. She gasps when she walks in, eyes immediately on the red of my otherwise white attire, "you're-"

"Not with child," I finish for her, looking over my shoulder, "is a bath prepared for me?"

Lucy takes a moment before nodding, "yes. It's why it took me a while to get here," she walks over to the sheets, "the girls didn't prepare the bath the way you like it."

"I do not mind not having lavender," I pull out a dress from the closet.

"Well, I mind," Lucy turns to me, "you have been aching for a two days now."

I hum, "and now we know why," I motion to the bed she was fixing.

Lucy takes my arm before I can walk off to the bathroom. She speaks my name; she says it in a soft and wary manner. I purse my lips and turn to her. I raise my brows expectantly.

She clenches her jaw, "do you think it is monthly blood or..." Lucy's face hardens.

"My love," I shake my head and offer a smile, "it is simply my that."

My handmaiden is unconvinced, "it's been three moons since you've bled."

"And has that not happened to me before when I was a maiden?" I tilt my head and brush her hair behind her shoulders.

The both of us turn to the door when someone knocks. I tell whoever it is to enter and in comes Annetta. The young farmer's girl was one of the now many servants in Brown Wood. Her eyes widen when she sees the red on my clothes. She scrambles to get something to cover me. I chuckle and assure her it is alright because I will be bathing anyway.

This haunted place lost its ghosts once we took in people to employ. The estate now resembled something like that of my childhood; plenty of rooms were now being used, people were bustling in and out, only except now, all the responsibility was glaringly obvious to me for it was my responsibility... and Sandor's.

It was tedious work, managing a house, managing an estate, managing the whole expanse of what was within the Brown Wood and the Sterling River. The Hound was keen on being obvious to how tedious it was.

I am partially grateful that he was doing his duties-- no, I am grateful that he was. But-

"My Lord," I rise from my seat on the dining table when I see Sandor march down the halls towards me. I smile softy and nod, "good morrow."

"Nothing's good about morrows," he grumbles. Sandor draws the chair at the head of the table back with a screech. He looks down at the table. He turns to me and asks, "where's the grub?"

I decide not to respond and only look over to where the kitchen was, calling for the servants. I sit down and smile when I turn to him, "I was hoping you would join me today."

Three servants walk in carrying our plates of food and an ewer. The Hound watches them place it down and leave.

I stand up again when he takes his plate, "please."

"You know I've got no time for this," he hisses in annoyance, "I have a bunch of sorry fucks' complaints to listen to-"

"I can do that!" I place my hand on my chest, "I can fill in those duties for you."

Sandor freezes.

I turn to the table, "I wanted to speak to you about these things as we ate."

My belly swirls at his silence.

I turn back to him and catch the way he rolls his jaw and wrists. I manage to repress the way I jolt at how he roughly sits himself down. I take a deep breath before sitting down.

The Hound immediately feasts. He makes soft sounds as he chews. The cutlery clanks against the china.

I begin to eat as well, "did you wake before sunrise again?"

He responds by stuffing more food in his mouth.

I look at him as I chew. I look at his burn scar, where his hair started and ended on that side of his face. I notice at how, though he is quick to eat, he is mindful not to get anything on his beard. I notice how he not once looks back at me.

"You needn't wake so early," I offer softly, "you can have someone else-"

"None of the sorry fucks in this town know how to use a sword, not properly. Once I train a few of them, they can train themselves," he takes the ewer and pours himself a cup of wine. He mutters as he brings the cup to his lips, "they keep complaining about the woodland monsters stealing their sheep, but I reckon it's them thieving on each other."

I put my silverware down, "you might not believe it, but the woodland monsters are real."

The Hound sets his cup before him and continues to eat.

I feel a frustrated ire build in me, "I've told you, those creatures are what killed my family. You saw my scar. You know why I cannot sleep without you."

"I didn't say I didn't believe your story," he finally turns to me, "I said they're stealing each other's sheep."

I turn back to my plate and cut up my food, "will you investigate the theft then?"

"What for?" he continues to eat, "I scared those pricks shitless. If anyone is stealing, now they won't."

My face twitches at the thought.

Sandor notices.

He chews for a moment before asking, "what?"

I tense as I turn to him.

He looks expectantly.

I purse my lips tightly before curving it into a smile, "you have been working tirelessly and have... very surely established lordship to Brown Wood, a role that is immensely different to the one you used to have. I know that this is not the life you want or ever thought of having, but I am grateful for your a-"

"You don't have to shield my heart and kiss my ass, squirrel," he leans back on his chair and waves impatiently, "get to the point."

I lick my lips and huff, "your time in service has hardened you, as it would any other man. It has helped you become the valiant warrior you are, but--" I cut myself off to gently mutter, "I feel your way is a bit too coarse."

The Hound says nothing.

I straighten up, "that is why I would like to take upon your load of relating with the people," I reach for the ewer and pour myself some wine, "in this way, you will not have to rise so early to fit all your errands in a day."

He places his hand atop my cup when I try to pick it up.

I pull my head back as he straightens up, "you know I used to wake at the ass crack of dawn for the stupid boy-king, doncha?"

My stomach drops when he leans in.

"So, what?" he narrows his eyes, "you'd do all the talking by yourself?"

I gulp, "ideally-"

"Ideally," he chuckles and pulls away.

"-so that you may use that time for your other responsibilities, your patrols. That is something you're much more accustomed to."

My skin pricks as when laughs harder. It felt like his amusement was laced with poison.

He shakes his head and sighs deeply. He looks at me for a good long moment then tilts his head, "you think I can't do it."

I furrow my brows.

"You think I'm an imbecile who can't solve petty arguments between illiterate boneheads," he begins to flare, "and you don't want the pretty memory of your dead fucking family to be tainted by my monstrosity."

I am appalled by his words, "that's not what I said!"

"You didn't need to," he nods, "shackled to a Hound, you ought to use him like one, right? Never mind giving him a chance."

I feel like a stake pierced through my ribs. His low chuckle squeezes my heart. I rebut, "that is not what I meant."

"And what did you mean?!"

"I want to help you!" I fight back the way my eyes wanted to water, "I want to share your burden! I grew up watching my uncle speak to his people in his house, while you grew up learning the ways of the blade. What I offer is a more logical setup."

"Just like it was logical of you to keep a three legged dog," he quips back.

I scoff in disbelief.

"I suppose you want me to hunt the creatures that butchered your family next, huh?" he scratches his beard.

My face drops at the thought. I rapidly shake my head I disagreement.

He clenches his fist and grits his teeth, "why not? Maybe then you can have your kid with that pretty boy-lord across the meadow."

His words make belly contract. I clutch my belly, painfully aware that I was bleeding between my thighs this moment.

"I'm not with child," I blurt out, unable to contain my tears any longer.

Sandor is freezes, at the sight of the tears and the statement.

"I woke up bleeding," I say between cries, "I've never been regular bleeder. It's not unusual for me to skip through multiple moons."

The next words he says butchers me.

"Maybe it's the gods' will for you not to be a mother."

I stare at him in horror after hearing this. His blank expression is chilling to the bone.

He suddenly stands, "there's always something awry when we speak, and you always end up weeping."

Is this why he thinks I shouldn't be a mother?

"In any case, we ought to not speak to each other at all."

My jaw drops. I nearly choke on my heart, "now you don't even want to speak to me."

"Look at yourself," he raises a hand, "you don't want to speak to me."

"Because you are treating me so cruelly!" I spring up from my seat.

The Hound shakes his head, "I'm treating you just fine. I'm doing you a favor."

Sandor tenses as he watches me shove my chair back and walk away.

[takamimami]

Heya!! First of all, congratulations on 100 followers!! 🎉🎉🎉 Been reading your stories since day one!! Id love to request some fluff for Kid, “Sweet of you to think of me.” “I always think of you.” with f reader please

Hiya, anon!! Ty for the kind words, for the continued support, and tysm for submitting a prompt <3! I hope you enjoy this Kidd fluff I've prepared for you :3

Kidd x F!Reader - SFW - “Sweet of you to think of me.” “I always think of you.” - STORY UNDER THE CUT CW: FLUFF; reader is pms-ing, period woes, kidd is a sweetie pie and gladly acts as your punching bag for your mood swings, gentle kidd will be the death of me ---word count 1.3k

You were sitting at the bow of the Victoria Punk, leaning against the railing underneath the open mouth of the ship’s figurehead as you flipped through the pages of the book you’d been meaning to finish for far too long. The crew had docked late last night, and almost everyone had headed into the port village when they woke this morning. You, however, offered to stay and watch the ship - not wanting to trek through unfamiliar territory with period cramps. 

You groaned and rubbed at your stomach, the stabbing pains only intensifying as the day went on. At one point you hobbled your way to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, and you were surprised to see your captain, and lover, rummaging through the cabinets in search of something to snack on.

He greets you with a grunt, barely sparing you a glance as you walk past him and turn on the stove to heat up some water. The two of you stand in comfortable silence until a particularly aggressive cramp has you gripping the edge of the counter and groaning slightly. 

Kidd flicks an eyebrow up at you, noting the movement and sound, but not saying anything. You thought maybe he didn’t notice you, so you grab the tea from the cupboard and turn to walk away, holding your arm over your abdomen as you go to walk past him and back out the door. 

Kidd’s arm extends in front of you, stopping you and nearly spilling the hot water in your tea cup, to which you glare up at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, face stoic as he takes in your clammy skin and wrinkled forehead. 

“You mean besides the fact that you just almost made me burn myself?” you sneer at him, pushing past his arm and continuing back out onto the deck. You thought for a second he might follow you and demand you answer him, but he remains in the kitchen - and you’re not sure if you’re relieved or irritated by his lack of pursuit. 

You return to your previous spot and curl back up under the figurehead, flipping back into the pages of your books and trying to push Kidd from your mind. The sun peaks and begins to set in the distance by the time you stand again, the rest of your crew starting to filter back onto the ship just as darkness settles in. 

Their rowdiness usually doesn’t bother you, but with your heightened irritability, you rise from your spot and slip below deck before anyone can notice your absence. You saunter down the hall and enter your and Kidd’s shared quarters, setting the book down on the end table before curling up under the thick blanket and tucking your knees to your chest, groaning as you struggle to fall asleep.

The next morning you awake to an empty bed, irritation immediately settling in as you realize that there was no sign of Kidd even coming to bed last night.

Had he been upset at you for snapping at him? You knew your tongue could be extra sharp during your period, so maybe you had upset him more than you realized. Your previous irritation from the day before had dissolved, replaced by a feeling of vulnerability as you tugged the blanket tighter to you, missing the warmth of your lover as you lay in the bed and tried not to get emotional. 

You finally forced yourself out of bed when your stomach growled loud enough to echo through the room, realizing you hadn’t eaten much the prior day and it was already mid-day as you stepped out onto the bright deck. A few of your crewmates offered you sympathetic smiles and you ran your fingers through your hair, realizing you probably looked worse for wear as you pushed open the kitchen doors.

The smell of the food Killer was cooking wafted towards you, filling your nostrils and making your stomach grumble in response. Killer hears the sound and turns to glance at you, giving you a look over before chuckling lightly to himself.

“You look like shit,” he teases, to which you flip him your middle finger and pull up a stool to the counter space near him, leaning your elbow on the counter as you watch him sprinkle some cheese over the pasta he had prepared.

“Have you seen our captain?” You inquire, your mouth nearly salivating as Killer plates a bit of the food for you and slides the plate in your direction. He plates two more dishes and turns to you, and you swear you can see him crack a knowing smile behind his mask.

“Last I heard from him he had been in his workshop all night,” he says, keeping his response short as he gathers the plate and heads towards the door. “He asked me to make you and him some food, and said he’d be done with whatever he was working on by the time you woke up.”

“He asked you to make me food?” you counter, confusion laced in your tone. Killer just nods and walks back out onto the deck, and you turn back to the plate of food as you grab for the fork next to it and take a bite. You finish the food embarrassingly fast, your confusion still gnawing at your mind as you wash the dishes and head toward Kidd’s workshop.

As you reach for the handle of the door it swings open, Kidd’s wrist held in the air as he sits on his workbench, eyeing you from across the room with a smirk on his face.

“Good morning, grumpy,” he croons as you enter the room, flicking his wrist again to shut the door behind you. You stick your tongue out at him and cross the room, eyeing him wearily as you inspect him and the room around him.

“You’re chipper,” you muse, his arm reaching out to pull you into his lap as he nuzzles his face into your neck, peppering it a few with light kisses before pulling away and looking at you.

“Did you eat?” he questions, his finger tracing gentle circles in your back as you nod. He gives you an approving hum before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, and your brows must have still been furrowed from the surprise at his pleasant mood because he lets out a laugh as his eyes meet yours again.

“Just because you were pissy yesterday doesn’t mean I have to be,” he says teasingly, reaching around to grab the thick belt that lay on the workbench behind him. “I made you something that might help with that, though.”

Your brow remains furrowed as you stare at the contraption in his hands, raising your arms as he leans you back so he can wrap it around your waist. He fastens it and adjusts it so it's sitting across the very bottom of your abdomen, the protrusions pressing into your skin as he tightens the band. Then with a press of a button, the protrusions begin to rotate, massaging the skin under them gently as the band begins to heat up, and you let out a satisfied hum at the relieving feeling it begins to offer.

“How does that feel?” he says softly, eyes softening as he sees the relief washing over your features.

“So nice,” you purr, and he smiles triumphantly as he tightens his arm back around your waist. Your heart swells at the way he gazes back at you, that familiar glint in his amber orbs peaking out at you as your smile widens.

“I know sometimes your back hurts too, so you can wear it the other way and it will massage your back too. The temperature is adjustable,” he murmurs, taking your hand and placing it over the buttons on the sides to show you how to operate it. 

“Thank you, Kidd,” you croon, pulling his goggles off his head and running your fingers through his tousled hair. “It was very sweet of you to think of me, ya big softy.” 

He chuckles as he nuzzles his face back into your neck, holding you tightly as your fingers continue to play with his hair.  “I’m always thinking of you, angel.”

100 Follower Event Masterlist ✨come say hai :3✨

[riordanness]

— say don’t go - [tmr!newt]

wordcount: 0.9K

warnings: uh- you have the flare

requested: no

We’d been running for… how long? It felt like forever. Days and days of scorching heat, oppressive sunlight, harsh winds. My throat feels dry all the time, my eyes ache, and my legs are rubber.

At least I have Newt. No one could ask for a better friend. He’s always there for me, right beside me no matter what. He gives me the water even though I know he must be just as thirsty as I am.

He makes sure he’s the one carrying the pack we’re supposed to be sharing; he’s always taking my turns.

How can I tell him I know I’m not immune? That the cranks scratched me back in that old warehouse a few days ago? The weight of knowing my days are dissolving in front of my eyes is so heavy I can barely breathe. What should I do? What does anyone do, knowing you’re about to die?

I know I have to tell him soon. I can’t keep putting it off — it’s killing me in more ways than one.

Minho calls for a stop hours after nightfall. I have lost complete track of time; too lazy to keep track with my wristwatch. My head is fuzzy enough as it is.

Newt glances at me, and gives me a weak smile. I try to return it, but I can’t. I collapse to the ground, my knees giving way after one too many hours of walking.

Newt is at my side in an instant. “Are you alright?”

I try to nod my head. “Just… tired. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He holds out our shared water bottle. There’s barely a gulp left in the bottom.

I shake my head. “You take it. I had it last.”

“No.” Newt is serious. “You need it more than I do. Besides…” He hesitates, but doesn’t continue. I’m too scared to ask what he means.

I eventually give it and take the water, the few semi-cold drops helping immensely. I feel my body shutting down, my eyes trying to close.

Newt shifts over to sit beside me. “Go to sleep, love.”

I don’t even try to stay awake. I lean against him and am instantly in darkness.

The next thing I know, I’m startled awake. I don’t know why, as it’s still pretty dark, the air is still cool, and none of the boys have stirred. I wonder briefly if a sound in the night woke me, but I see and hear nothing.

It’s probably just the growing anxiety and disease taking over my brain. I inch away from Newt, desperate not to wake him. He’s been doing so much for me, for everyone. I owe him my life ten times over, and I don’t want to disturb maybe the last peaceful sleep he may get.

I get to my feet, and my eyes stray to Newt’s sleeping face. I have a ridiculous urge to touch his cheek. He looks so soft and pretty and perfect, just laying there.

I force myself to turn around. I walk a minute, until I stumble across a little boulder and sit down, my chin in my hands. This illness inside of me is eating me up. I can feel myself fading away, everything that makes me me slowly dissolve into nothing.

I don’t know how long I sit there, despairing.

Eventually, someone approaches. I can tell by the slightly uneven footsteps who it is even before they speak.

“Hey, Newt.” I have no emotion in my voice, struggling to keep it even.

“Y/n,” he replies, gently sitting beside me. “What’s up, love?”

I shrug. “Nothin’.”

Even though it’s too dark to tell properly, I know he’s got his you-are-such-a-bad-liar face on. “Y/n.”

I sigh. “Okay. Fine. I—“ But the words die in my throat. I can’t seem to find the right way to tell the boy I love more than anything that I’m about to, well, die.

“You have the bloody Flare.” The anger in Newt’s voice takes me by surprise more than the fact that he knows.

“What—“

He slams his hand into the rock we’re sitting on, cutting me off. “It’s not fair!” He hisses. “We have to fix this, we have to—I cant, lose you—“

His voice cracks, and I hear him inhale sharply, like he’s trying not to cry.

That makes me break down. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I sob. “I just—I didn’t want… I don’t know. I just don’t want this.”

“Nobody shuckin’ wants the Flare, Y/n.” Newt’s voice is gruff, but almost teasing, a little reminder of what we used to be together. Joking, teasing best friends.

That makes me break down completely, and I cry heartbrokenly into my hands. I feel Newt wrap his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I cry into him, clinging to his shirt like it’s my life.

“Newt,” I manage. “I’m going to die.”

“No you’re not.” His tone is firm. “I’m not gonna lose you. I—I love you, ya dumb shank.”

“What…?” My tears come to a hiccuping stop, and I lift my head to look at him. “You…”

He lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah. Sorry. Bad timing?”

I shake my head, a smile on my face despite it all. “I love you too, idiot.”

“Oh,” Newt laughs. “Oh, okay. Good.”

I lean towards him, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Just hold me, please? Help me forget for a while.”

And Newt does exactly that.

[echoe-back-from-the-void]

SCREAM - 1996

Part two is in the works!!

Looking down at the offending bloodied blade I grinned sharply.

“Oh, if you wanted to kill me you shouldn’t have missed.” I turn my puppy dog eyes to the man in the ghost face. I grip the blade and pull it out with a soft whine. Lifting my shirt to see the entry wound, “next time don’t miss, baby boy.” I say teasingly, my words obviously have an effect as he stands still with heavy breathing. Clearly startled.

I reach across the counter nearest to me and grab a rag before packing the entry. The killer flinches back at how brutally I’m treating my own body.

“If you came here to kill me because I’m part of her friend group then you clearly have me mistaken.” I look up at him again. “I’m just a punching bag, mr killer.”

When he still gives no reaction I turn away from him and half limp to the living room where I try the phone. “Damn.” I Mutter when I hear the dead line. In response a blade is placed under my throat making me hiss. “Put that thing down I was just trying to order a damn pizza.” Then quieter I mumble, “I get munchies when I patch myself up. And if I don’t eat I’ll just pass out and bleed to death.”

With a sigh I let myself fall to the dusty couch and bend over the side to grab the ever present med kit that I had stashed there. “Are you just gonna stand there and watch or are you going to get me a warm bowl of water?” I order the male, I can tell he’s male from whatever deodorant he’s using. That and his shoes are too big to be female, same with his hands. He’s shocked enough to actually do as I said and returns with a bowl of water. I dip my finger in it and sigh at the warmth.

I shake my head, gotta stay awake. Reaching over I turn on the tv and switch it to the channel playing horror movies. The killer beside me instantly becomes entranced making me bark a laugh. “Horror fan too, my good sir?” I joke and he shakes his head yes. This whole time he hasn’t spoken and maybe it’s the adrenaline or the blood loss but I teasingly say, “cat got your tongue, baby boy?”

“No.” A distorted voice responds.

“Voice modulators in the suit, nice.” I say as I turn my attention back to the open med kit. I struggle to thread the needle but eventually get it. All while the ghost faced killer sits on an opposite arm chair with divided attention between the movie and me. By the credits I have stitched the wound closed. I’m wrapping it in gauze when he finally stands up.

He’s almost nervous like he doesn’t know what to do. He’s holding that bloody knife again and pointing at me. “Don’t tell anyone.”

I throw my head back in a laugh, “who would I tell, baby boy.” At this point I’ve called him that couple times and while most of the jocks at our school would feel threatened. This man seems to almost preen at the words like they’re a compliment.

It’s a week later and I’m visited again. I don’t ask how he got in I just lean against the wall with a soft smile. “Back again, Baby boy?” I realize my mistake when I see his gait. “Not baby boy. So there’s two of you, smart.” I say with a shrug turning to walk back into my living room.

I hear the floorboard behind me creak under pressure and I lean hard left barely avoiding a knife stab. I grab the males arm and lift it up while turning. Pulling his arm to his back and pushing him against the wall with force. I hiss at the pull in my abdomen and press him into the wall harder. “Don’t get pissy or your going to rip my stitches.”

I Take the blade out of his hand and while I’ve taken a visible weapon away I don’t doubt he has more hidden on his person. “I don’t trust you so I’m going to pat you down.” I move one hand around and over his shoulders and then down his back and around his waist. I find another knife and a concealed cellphone that I stuff back in his pocket. The hard part was checking his legs because I couldn’t reach down and still hold his arm up.

So I do something mildly stupid and let his arm go to crouch by his legs. I give another hiss at the stretch but check him thoroughly. When the pat down is done I use the wall to try and get back up but I feel something tear and curse under my breath.

When I’m standing again I let my head rest against the wall with a sigh as sweat is already coating my brow. The second killer had backed away to watch me. I put my hand on the wall and continue to limp my way to the living room. Halfway there I take my bloody shirt off and throw it in the opening of the laundry room.

Being shirtless exposes my thin but muscular frame covered in patchy white scars. I’m really thankful I was wearing my sports bra too or I’d be more concerned taking my shirt off around the serial killer. “Getting undressed for me already sweetheart.” He flirts through the Modulator.

“In your dreams, brat.” I lower myself into the couch with a Hmpf. I reach my hand underneath and blindly search for the medkit like last time. This time I’m thankful I also stashed a bottle of scotch. I take a Long sip of the amber liquor before I even bother to look at the damage.

Two stitches had ripped and began to needlessly bleed. The second ghost face killer comes closer to the couch with interest. Kneeling beside me his dips an ungloved hand in the blood puddling my chest and slips his fingers under his mask. A little bit of the blood catches on the white face and I can just barely make out his chin.

I roll my eyes at his behavior and grab the alcohol to pour over the wound. When the skin is well and numb I smile and take the broken stitches out before restitching them. When I’m done I let my head fall back into the cushions with a sigh.

“You didn’t go to the hospital?”

I quirk a lazy grin. “No, they wouldn’t have helped me anyway. Because I don’t have money to pay them.” I say the words slowly to make my point. “Can I please order a Pizza this time?” My response is silence that I then try to fill. “I already told your partner, I get the munchies when I’m hurt. If I don’t eat I will fall asleep.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” The man asks through distortion.

“My bloody valentine, next?”

“Why.”

“Um duh, because it was good. I liked the idea of people dying on Valentine’s Day it was a little ironic ya know with the whole death do us part vow.”

The ghost face killer gives a breathy chuckle and begins to run his fingers through my hair. It’s not that bad and I kinda sink into his hand. “Your really not scared, are you?”

“I’m really hungry if that helps?” I tease through a yawn.

Soon I’m falling asleep with a killer stroking my hair. I wake up ten or twenty minutes later to the smell of warm pizza and when I open my eyes there’s a pizza box on my living room table.

I slowly position myself to kneel next to the low table and I open the still warm box of pizza. Cheese pizza <3

Hungrily I dig in to fill my appetite and sway side to side happy.

“Look at that.” A Voice says to my left. I turn and see the same killer as before. His new defining marker being the tinge of red at the bottom of the mask from where he tasted my blood.

“Don’t tease me, brat, I was hungry, I haven’t eaten since…well shoot.” I blink rapidly at the realization. Was it really that long.

“Shoot, What?” Another modulated voice asks. I turn my head with a perky smile. “Baby boy!” Excitedly I wave him over. “Pizza!” I hold up a slice for him and I can tell he rolled his eyes at me. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.” I snuff turning back to my pizza. The second man chuckles.

“She really isn’t scared at all?”

“What? Do you seriously want me whining and crying like some dumb girl in a horror movie?” I lift my lip in a snarl. “Hate when they do that, it does nothing for the movie.” I mumble around a mouthful of pizza.

A silent conversation goes on behind me and then both killers move to opposite ends of the couch and sit down putting their feet on the table in synch. “Cute.” I tease again. “You should really get a slice, boys, before I eat the whole damn thing.”

The one on the left moves to get a slice and I notice it’s the same one with red on the mask. That lets me assume the other is the first one I met.

I reach across the table and there are two electronics barely in arms length. The phone and the remote. I feel brave for some reason and pick up the phone, two bodies tensing behind me. Visibly, so both can see me, I take the batteries out. I then reach for the remote with a giggle. “You boys are way too tense, cops couldn’t catch ya even if I pointed you out, dumb hicks they are. And like hell I’d do that,” I lean back against the couch to see them both. “That lady you guys killed a couple years back had it coming, so did those kids.”

“And what did they deserve, sweetheart.” The one on my left that I had been calling brat said.

“Well you gutted them but I would’ve cut out their tongues and broke their fingers. Casey was a cheater, cheated on my tests and on her boyfriend. Dunno how he’s doing but she was sleeping with the dumb jock while datin Macher.” I dip my lips into a frown. “He didn’t deserve a bad girlfriend, I think he’s dating Tatum, I don’t like her either. She was involved in a hit and run that was never investigated. Suspicious!” I say the last part in a high pitched voice.

The one on the right speaks up this time. “What did miss Prescott deserve?”

My grin dips before realigning. “Bitch had more kids than she had marriages, I know that. But if that’s true then why does little ol Sydney have no siblings in the house.” I pause and the one on the left is the first to catch on.

“You don’t mean?”

“What—that she killed them? No, Miss Prescott had a set of twin girls. I’m Sydney Prescott’s twin, I don’t look it do I?” I reveal to them and both seem startled at the information. “I got put up for adoption and was adopted by my lovely parents.” I stretch the word lovely and rub a scar over my shoulder. They pick up on the message and leave it at that.

“Not that my twins a Saint either. She has a porn blog about herself. All that talk about virginity and not giving it up but she’s got a blog selling her body. Her boyfriend, Loomis, the shit I could tell you about him. Okay so like her mom, my mom. Totally slept with his dad and fucked up the entire marriage. I mean, what a Home-wrecker. If I were Loomis…”

A hand is placed under my chin and my head is turned toward a smiling face. Billy-fucking-Loomis. “You’d do what, Sweetheart?”

“Mother-fucker!” I curse sharply in shock. “No fucking way, I mean it only makes sense. She would’ve been your first kill, then…” I can’t stop the sharp open mouthed smile. “Sydney’s so fucked!” I give a disbelieving laugh. I turn to the other killer with a smile. “If he’s Billy,” I get up and put my knee on the couch to steady myself and take off the other killers mask. “Stu Macher, you son of a gun.” I put my hands on both sides of his face and give him a quick kiss. I turn to Loomis to do the same. Before pulling away I bite his lip drawing blood making him pull back with a hiss.

“What was that for sweetheart?” Billy asks.

“Payback, you had my blood,” I then lick his blood off my lip.

“No hard feelings about the stab?” Stu asks.

“None,” I turn to him with a teasing smile, “you were so cute when you were confused.” I let my eyes drift back to Billy. “He couldn’t kill me so you were sent to finish the job but I’m clearly not dead.” There’s a question somewhere in there and Billy nods running a finger through my hair.

“You’re interesting.”

A month passed and both boys had continued to visit, my stab wound was still aching and I couldn’t move much. I was really thankful I had graduated early because I could not imagine how I would’ve gotten around school with a stab wound. Billy or Stu would drop off after school to see me. Eventually becoming affectionate, I was a little confused at first and asked about their girlfriends. When I did, both boys looked at each other over my head before saying in synch that they dumped them.

I guessed as much when stu couldn’t keep his arms from around me during a scary movie marathon. Billy would give short kisses to my hair while keeping an arm over my shoulders. It was strange at first but I shrugged it off and soaked in the affection with a bleeding heart.

We have been dating for three months and It was hot. My ac had broke again, so I was lounging in my sports bra and free flowing pajama shorts. We were watching a horror movie, Stu had his face buried in my lap facing the movie while I leaned against Billy. Stu moved and rolled to face my stomach and began to bury his nose in my bandages with a sigh.

“Your blood smells so good.” He whined clenching my hips. He began to leave love bites and hickeys along the available skin.

Billy began to take control of my lips and make out. He pressed a hand lightly to my throat when he let up and he too began to mark me up.

I rolled my head back with a sigh, “couldn’t we have finished the movie first?”

“You already know how it ends,” Billy murmured against my skin. Stu chuckled as well, sending vibrations of his voice against my stomach.

“You both suck,” I whined after missing my favorite part.

“And bite,” Stu added with a sharp bite to the skin over my ribs. I held his hair tightly in my fist at the pain he caused. I could feel a drop of blood then running down my stomach which he hungrily licked up. Billy did the same with my collarbone and I hissed.

“Like vampires.” I said sarcastically.

Billy pulled away to smile, my blood staining his teeth. “We were watching Dracula.” He says smartly.

“Then allow me to return the favor?”

Stu nods quickly and sits up in front of me to expose his throat with excitement. I side eye Billy for reference and as much as I can tell, he didn’t hate the idea.

I start by leaving kisses up Stu’s neck until I find where I want to bite and I suck on the spot first giving it a purplish bruise. I lick the spot again and bite down, metallic liquid drips into my mouth. I leave his neck with a few soft kisses to the reddened area. When I pull away his eyes are misty and drunken.

I let my hands softly trace his face and speak softly. “Are you okay, Baby boy?”

“So good.” He whispered back. He leans forward and begins to make out with me, he holds a thumb over my throat and cuts off my air slightly to make me pant. To get back at him I let my cold hands explore under his jumper, nails scratching his skin as I hold his waist.

“Sharing is caring, sweetheart.” Billy says as he tries to get our attention.

“Never watched Care Bears.” Stu jokes under his breath and continues to kiss me. He straddles me and rolls his hips against me for friction. I let one of my hands move from his waist to grip his thigh making him groan through a hiss.

Billy decided to watch while he waits his turn as patiently as a psychotic boyfriend could. It was not very long. Not long at all. He shoves stu away and pushes me down to cover me with his body. “It’s my turn.” He says but both me and Stu can hear the whine he tried to hide.

I reach up to let my hand run though his hair before pulling his neck back. Leaning up I begin to mark his skin like I had done with Stu only more aggressively. Nipping at his Adam apple as I went. “Are you happy, brat?” I question against his throat and he puts pressure on my wound in response.

“Don’t Call me that.” He demands.

I bite again at his throat with an open mouth while one hand moves down from his hair to dig my nails sharply into his shoulder. “Don’t be a brat then.” I say back with a smirk.

“Guys!” Stu whines wanting our attention.

Billy sighs and gets off of me letting Stu again shower my face in kisses. His stubble makes me giggle “Your so pretty.” Stu says in amazement as he hears me.

“No, your pretty, baby boy.” I nip at his ear and his face gains a reddish drunken hue. A combination of the compliments, teasing and calling him Baby boy make him go misty eyed.

More months pass and the end of their school year is fast approaching. “We should finish what we started.” Billy says out of the blue over breakfast. After another bad beating from my parents, Billy and Stu helped move all my belongings to Billy’s cabin. From there we all kinda started living together.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I want to finish what I started. It’s not over yet.”

I hold my spoon pointing it at him, “let me guess, the principal, Tatum. Your not really gonna leave Sydney alive, are you?”

“We could frame her dad. Not that hard.” Stu adds.

“That would be a hit, local father now suspected for the murder of his wife four years prior and the killing of 5 teenagers and the Highschool principle. More tonight at 6.” I add sarcastically making us all share matching grins. With a nod we all disperse from the half eaten breakfast. “I’ll gather the dirt,” I say over my shoulder on the way to our room to change. Before I leave I kiss Stu’s shoulder in passing as he sharpens the blades. I also give a quick Kiss to Billy’s jaw as he holds my coat out to me, it’s actually his, but semantics.

“Be safe.” Stu yells.

“Come home before dark.” Billy adds.

I stand over the principle with a sneer. “Sick bastard, Little Kids, really?” I pull back my leg and kick his nose, hearing it snap brings but little satisfaction.

The boys take care of the body by literally hanging him up by the flag pole. School is canceled and we plot how to get Tatum away from Sidney.

While both boys had finally agreed that Sidney must die, they still wanted her to be the last possible victim.

Tatum is easily killed at a party and it is covered up by police to look like drugs. The reason it was so easy is because it was a ghost face party, literally everyone dressed in the dime store costumes to mock or commemorate the killer.

Slowly I had been releasing dirt on those that were killed, enough dirty secrets and bad decisions that people began to praise the killers.

“We’re like Batman!” Stu said throwing his fist into the air.

“That means your Robin,” Billy teases Stu with a light shove.

“What does that make bunny,” Stu says calling my nickname for me.

“Cat woman?” I ask aloud. Stu agrees and buried his head in my neck, shaking with excitement as he left pecks on my throat.

“Our girl is so smart, and pretty.” Stu gushes before chuckling. Sometimes he got into moods where he couldn’t sit still and would be twitchy when he did move. Usually it was from being over excited. I did like always and began to run my hands through his hair while humming soothingly. He sank into me while pushing me to lay down on the couch. Soon I was laid down with his head barely below where my bust ended while he tried to calm down. “You always treat me so well.” He said full of affection as he rubbed his face into my stomach.

“Where’s my kisses and cuddles?” Billy jokes with little heat to it. I lift my upper body as much as I can and he slides under me. My head resting on his thigh as he leaned against the arm rest. I teasingly bite his thigh through the jeans.

“Is my brat satisfied?” I say and he gives a groan.

“The buttons you push…” he exhales.

Soon it’s time for the final kill. Because I’m the smart one of the three of us; I decided that taunting her was not the best option. It would’ve only felt good for a moment and the more we taunt the more likely she could learn who was the killer. Bad idea.

So while Billy called her, Stu chased her through the house much like what was done with the other murders. But this time I was also there for backup in case my twin got too brave. I had already switched the bullets on the gun in the house so it would be useless. All the knives were thrown into the dryer where she couldn’t find them.

Unfortunately there was a complication as gale was also there at the time. I heard Gales scream and ran to the scene where she was. Quickly I dispatched her by stabbing her through the back of her neck.

Stu was wrestling Sydney on the ground and when he saw my display he gave an audible groan, “that was soo hot Bunny.” He said breathily.

“Focus!” I said back and Sydney looked between us back and forth with confusion.

“Right!” Stu said through the modulator and banged her head against the floor making her black out. Jumping into action we posed the bodies to make a more clear murder. I had stabbed gale a few more times before he fully passed to really sell it.

Sydney was posed in her room, scantily dressed and tied to the headboard with her blood on the walls spelling slut. Her computer was also pulled open to show off her porn site. “Like mother like daughter,” was written on a note I left behind.

The three of us planted the evidence and left before the cops ever arrived. And when they did they found Mr Prescott passed out drunk with a bottle of scotch close to him and covered in blood.

“Billy you should’ve seen it! She fucking stabbed that bitch like it was nothing! I almost came just from seeing it! So so hot!” Stu gushed as he held me in his lap. In between sentences he’d give me feverish kisses and touch me lovingly like something divine.

“Oh I saw, saw everything our sweetheart did. Damn hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Billy said tightening his grip on the steering wheel while speaking huskily. He leaned over to squeeze a hand on my thigh and stroke the inside of it.

“Cmon, it’s not over until it’s on the news. Don’t celebrate yet.” I admonish them both. Then taking the conversation a complete 180 I say, “So what college are we going to?”

A sequel following the Scooby doo movies here

[brotherwtf]

Prompt: receivers muse is touch starved and sender gives them affection they aren’t used to. 

Pairing: Clegan

TOUCH STARVED GALE FUCK YEAH GIVE THAT BOY SOME SNUGGLES

more touch starved clegan this is my personal heaven

YES OMFG I wrote about touch starved John in my last ask, but honestly touch starved Gale is SO FUCKING GOOD

his dumbass wouldn't even realize that he's touch starved, would just be like "huh I crave John's touch and feel myself falling apart at the seams when he's not here with me, how strange", maybe doesn't even realize it until John physically forces himself into Gale's life.

----

He doesn't even realize he's awake until he hears John's panicked voice calling his name, feels a concerned hand on his shoulder shaking him gently.

It's still dark in his room, must be midnight or something, and he can barely make out the silhouette of John standing above his bed, eyes glowing in the dark.

"You alright, Buck?" John whispers.

Gale doesn't even realize something was wrong. There were a lot of sounds he couldn't pick up on, the sounds of screams, plane engines, and barking dogs melding into one horrible symphony that almost always droned at night. When he was with Marge, she told him he sometimes shot up from the bed after one of his nightmares, couldn't even remember it the next day.

He must have done something violent for John to come running from his bedroom to where Gale was staying in the guest room.

"'M fine, Bucky, go back to sleep," Gale says, and John gives him such a stern look it almost causes Gale to retreat into himself.

"I know you're lying, you don't gotta lie to me," John whispers.

He knows, by God he knows. He could never lie to John.

"Just a nightmare, it's normal," Gale mutters.

John gives him that same expression and urges Gale to move over in the bed. He hesitates but allows John to crawl in next to him. The bed is in no way big enough for both of them to fit comfortably, but John still shoves himself into Gale's space.

"I get them, too. God, that fucking war sure did a number on us, huh?" John mutters.

He has his arms poised as if he's going to wrap his arms around Gale, and Gale doesn't quite understand if he even wants that or not. He slowly accepts the embrace, positioning his chin awkwardly on John's shoulder, a loose hand on his bicep.

John's arms wrap around Gale's middle, bringing him in closer until their bodies are flush.

It feels like the first rays of sunlight on a cool morning, the welcome spray of rain after a stifling summer day. John's arms wrapped around Gale centers him somehow, bringing him back to John's guest room in Manitowoc. When John sighs something deep into his shoulder, he can feel the tension start to leave him.

Gale doesn't know how he hasn't craved this sooner. John's firm body against his is like an anchor, helping him stay tethered here instead of travelling to the barren wastes of Germany. It's warm and whole and solid, something that Gale has longed for ever since he came back.

He doesn't realize when the tears start flowing until John takes his face from Gale's shoulder, looking him in the eyes with that same concerned expression on his face.

"Oh, Gale..." John whispers, but Gale doesn't let him finish.

He leans forward and presses their lips together, something chaste and brief, but something that Gale didn't realize he was holding in for so long. He moves to keep up, to escape because he knows John will hate him for doing it, but John's grip tightens on his shoulders.

His expression is unreadable, and Gale is ready for him to spit in his face and call him something cruel, but he just leans in and kisses Gale again. It's filled with so many things that words couldn't express, and it makes Gale's head fuzzy. One of John's hands comes up to tip Gale's chin towards him, moving his lips gently with Gale's.

"I need you to stay with me, John, I don't think I'd survive without you," Gale whispers, voice loud in the quiet night.

John rests their foreheads together, smiling something sweet.

"I'm never leaving you again, Gale"

[stayandot8]

Insomnia

Genre: Smut, 18+. Minors, do not interact

Relationship type: established boyfriend/girlfriend

Important Contents: smut, so 18+. MDNI. Oral (fem rec., p in v, unprotected (wrap it before you tap it kids), cockwarming) that's all I can think of, if I missed any let me know. Other than that, I'm...just gonna leave this here okayBYE

WC: 2.3k

masterlist

We went to bed two hours ago. Or at least, it felt like two hours had gone by since we laid down. I was snuggling my Wolfchan when I felt his human counterpart lay down behind me and wrap his arms around my waist. His breathing hadn’t changed since he laid down and he kept shifting around much like I had. My guess was that he had too much on his mind, like always. End of the year awards and performances and such. So it was no surprise that I hadn’t heard him start to snore yet. 

It seemed I just couldn’t turn my mind off, even though I didn’t have any performances to worry about. Everytime I would feel myself grow closer to falling asleep, something would pop into my mind and drag me back out. It happened a couple times, I would be so close and I would literally feel myself being dragged back into my conscious mind with something else. And when it happened, I would just move ever so slowly until I got comfortable again so as to try not to disturb my boyfriend behind me. It was no use though. His snores never came, so the only logical explanation was that he was just as awake as I was.

“Chris.” I whispered into the darkness. A groan answered me, not exactly happy about it but willing to answer nonetheless. “Did you know that lemons are actually man-made?” 

Silence. 

Then a very groggy

“What?”

“Yeah, something about sour oranges and citrons.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw it on a tikok earlier today.” 

“Baby, I love you. But I need to sleep.”

“We’ve both been trying for the past hour. It’s not working.”

A huff, knowing I was right but not willing to give up just yet. I turned around to face him, still with his arms locked around me. I couldn’t see his face that well in the dark, but I knew his eyes were still closed with resignation. I felt his breath as he sighed, knowing he wasn’t getting any sleep no matter how hard he tried. 

“I think my mind is just going too fast and I can’t turn it off.”

“I know. Me too. But yours makes more sense because of how much you have coming up. You guys have so much to do during the end of the year, I don’t understand why they sign you up for so much.”

“Well, some of it is us. We want to do it.”

“I know. You’re all workaholics.”

“Can’t help it. We love what we do.” A pause. And a sudden… change in the air. He shifted closer to me. “You know what else I love?”

“Hm?” 

“You.” He kissed my forehead. Then my cheek. Then the other.

“Well I would hope so. I am laying in a bed with you in the middle of the night with no intention of going back to the apartment I pay to live in even though I barely live there anymore. Although you sleeping shirtless is such a nice plus.” He ignored me and continued kissing those lips along my neck. He loved being around me, voicing this often enough until I started to believe him around our third month of dating. We couldn’t stay apart for very long, both of us equally needing the other like water to a fish. No matter how hard we tried, we just couldn’t stand to be apart unless forced to because of tour. 

“Do you know what else I love?” His voice was thick with sleep, giving him a lower register that made my toes curl. He was still kissing me, leaving little chills wherever his lips planted. They were traveling lower and lower, from my neck to my throat to my collarbone over my heart. He noticed my breathing getting heavier and faster, goosebumps popping up everywhere he went and shifted so he was leaving over me. The moonlight shone just enough through the curtained window that I could watch his eyes go from sleepily distant to focused and alert. He watched my lashes flutter and my eyes darted to him, waiting for him to make his next move. Now I knew where this was going. And I knew it would work. 

“What?” I asked, breathless. My nipples ached with how hard they had become in such a short amount of time. They poked through his t-shirt that I usually wore to bed. He caught sight of them and smiled to himself. He ever so lightly grasped the bottom of the worn cloth and lifted it slowly, to tease me further and let the anticipation grow. The sudden chill of the air was too apparent to me now, trying to appease the flush of blood now running hot through my veins. 

“These.” He leaned down to blow his hot air straight on my nipple, the contradicting air making them ache impossibly more. I bit my lip to keep from groaning, but it didn’t suffice. It came out anyway, more strangled than if I had just let it out. “These beautiful tits are just perfect for me. I love how they look when you just get out of the shower-” He stuck out his tongue to press it against them, the muscle swirling circles around and around and he kissed it lightly. “And you’ve got your towel wrapped around you-” He kissed it again. “You hold it close to your chest and it makes them bigger somehow.” He latched on to it and tugged it enough so that when he let go, it bounced back gently. “Ugh. and that. That-” He sucked harder this time, making sure to swirl his tongue as he tugged it back further and let go. “-is my favorite fucking thing.” 

He did the same to the other nipple, my hands flying to his hair as he worked his magic. My moans were useless to fight against now, growing louder and louder. I was sure that someone would knock and yell at us to cut it out. Shame I didn’t care. 

He was too good.

His warm and wet lips licked and kissed and sucked and bounced their fill until my underwear was soaked, the scent of it now inescapable. 

“Chris, please. Please, I need something.”

“What, baby? What does my pretty girl want?” He asked as he was sucking a hickey right above my heart, his favorite place to leave them. So you’ll always have me close to your heart, he once said. He had already left them scattered around my chest, knowing they were my favorite place to have them. He always kissed them after leaving them, especially the ones he knew would leave deeper marks. After the last one, he gently removed my entangled hands from his hair and started moving southward, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses in his path. 

“There. I need you there.” I managed to whisper into the darkness. He let out a huff of laughter. 

“You mean right where I’m headed? I know baby, I know you. I know you better than you know yourself.” He whispered into my thigh before he kissed it softly. “Don’t I.” He dragged my panties down just as slowly as he had lifted my shirt and threw them somewhere.

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. He did. He really did. He knew what I liked before I had even told him. I didn’t have to. It was the way he knew me, like we were the same person.

He kissed his way up my thigh, skipped over my core to do the same thing to my left leg. I was writhing now, dying with the anticipation. He was good at making me wait, knowing just when it was too much. Like now.

He dove in with no warning, earning a gasp and yelp wrapped into one. He went straight for my clit, sucking as hard as he had with my breasts. He wanted to suck me dry just to make me wet again, just to prove to me that he could. He anchored himself by wrapping his arms around my thighs, something we learned the hard way that he needed to do or else they would squeeze his head. Not that he minded, but he made me lose all control of every limb that it made me feel safer. When he hooked his arms, he pulled me forward, bringing me straight to his waiting mouth. My fingers found his hair once again for something to hold onto, the feeling of the rapid increase of pressure in my core almost too much. The sounds of him sucking and moaning into my folds added to the fuzzy feeling that was clouding my brain, making it impossible to do anything but feel the pleasure this beautiful man loved to give. My mouth was stuck in an ‘O’ with the cries of pleasure coming from an exceptional suck here or a plunge of his tongue in my pussy. 

He unhooked an arm as he slowed down to ease the intensity of the pressure. The feeling of clenching on nothing was so frustrating that I felt myself pulling at his hair harder than normal. But the harder I seemed to pull, the louder his own moans became. When he slowed enough for me to realize how hard I had gripped him, I released his hair. He pulled away, a string of our mixed juices following his insanely shiny lips. 

“No, don’t you let go. You pull as hard as you need to.” His sultry tone was the reassurance I needed to do just that. I threaded them back through and he put a finger in his mouth then resumed, licking slowly circles on my clit once more. He pushed the wetted finger in my entrance, but it wasn’t enough. 

“More.” I whispered, and he obliged. He thrust another finger in, the two stretching me as they drew apart. He was going slow, too slow, torturously slow. “Channie, you’re going too slow.”

“Baby, that’s not my name.”

“Daddy, faster, please.” I whined, ready to beg as much as I needed to to just get him to move faster…

“That’s my girl.” He picked up the pace, thrusting his digits faster until I was clenching again. “Is my pretty girl gonna cum?” I nodded frantically, the bubble so close to popping. 

And then he stopped. I waited, trying to catch my breath. And then I heard, very loudly, him sucking on something. He was sucking my wetness from his fingers and staring, hard, at my pussy. 

“Wha-”

“I want to cum with you.” It wasn’t a command, more like a declaration. One made from desperation as deep as mine. His boxers were off and he was stroking himself already. “You’re still on the pill?”

“You ask me this every time and yet the answer is always the same.���

“Good. because I don’t think I could pull out tonight if I tried.”

He lined himself up, prodding at my entrance and held himself there. He leaned over me once again, gently kissing me until I wrapped my arms around his neck and forced him closer. He slid the rest of the way and I gasped into our kiss. His size still surprised me even now. He always felt big no matter how many times we slept together. 

We moaned together when he was fully inside and when he started thrusting, it was slower, more intimate. He was taking his time, contrasting his actions moments earlier. Every thrust up, my hips went with him, our breaths mingling as our foreheads stayed touching. With this slow pace, he was able to directly hit my g-spot with every thrust. I could feel him, all of him, in every move of his hips. He was taking his time feeling me, the warmth and the pleasure would crumble him if he went too quickly. 

“I have to,” he said, reading my mind. Like he often did. “If I don’t I won’t last.”

“But I don’t want you to last. I want you to crumble like only I can make you.”

“Shit.” He buried his face in my neck. “You can’t just say shit like that, baby.” 

I felt my bubble coming back, rising with the continued stimulation and essence of him. I might be the only one who could make him crumble, but my destruction button was well within his reach at all times. He knew I could fall apart with the right thrust, he just wasn’t hitting it. On purpose, I had just learned. Every nerve was on edge, every brush of his lips on my neck sending me higher. His hands roaming every which direction I could think of, cupping my chest and rolling my nipples with his fingertips, lighting them on fire. The bubble was closer and closer to popping with every lick, every thrust, every roll.

“Baby… baby, I’m close.”

“Me too. Let go, I’m right there with you.”

And like a match getting struck, the release sent waves and waves of pleasure through me. Chan’s orgasm hit him at the same time, filling my core with his warm seed. My hips moved of their own accord, meeting his thrusts in sync to ride it out together. His pants were mixing with my moans to fill the once dead air and drain any remaining energy I had left. He kissed my neck a few more times as we came down together, smiling as he did. 

“I need to clean you up,” he started, cock still at attention inside me. “But I don’t want to move.”

“Stay. I don’t think I could get up if I tried.” They were the last words I could remember saying before the comforting darkness swept me away in its arms.

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 32

Part 31

Steve was lounging in his sheets, still dressed in his bed clothes as he reread one of Eddie’s letters. The way he described it, Steve was some sort of hammer-wielding hero of legend. Last he’d heard of Jason, he had slinked back home. Steve was through with worrying about him though. The people had seen his strength and honor and any who had doubts about his and the king’s courtship were now swayed in his favor. But at the end of the day, it was just about him and Eddie.

The next day, Steve was gifted a beautiful sketch drawing of himself, hammer held in a protective stance. Steve traced the lines of his face, his nose, and his mouth. Did he really look that handsome to Eddie? Eddie was completely open with his adoration now. Not that he had cared to keep quiet about it before. But now Eddie held nothing back. Hence the amount of love letters he had received. 

Eddie seemed a natural talent when it came to both writing and orating. He had such a way with words that made him believable and gave him a command that most men would never even dream of. His own father wasn’t nearly so eloquent as king, choosing instead to let force and cruelty ensure his power and position. Eddie was different from his father in a lot of ways. Most particularly in his shows of emotion.

Steve didn’t even know if his parents had ever been in love. He had no memories of them being affectionate or ever professing their feelings for one another. Steve wanted it to be different between him and Eddie.

To that end, he found Robin, who was in the middle of polishing some brass.

“I need help writing.”

She looked up from her work, eyebrow raised. “Are you…incapable or…?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I am perfectly capable of writing. I just-need help making sure it sounds right.”

“Are you really about to make me proofread poetry from you to our wet rat of a king?”

“Careful, that nearly sounds treasonous”, Steve teased.

“I don’t hear any disagreement.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him in any state but dry. So I don’t have a frame of reference”, Steve said. “Now will you please help? You’re the only one I can ask.”

“I reserve the right to gag.”

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

My sweet king,

Your words touch me in a way no one has. I find myself wasting the night hours and candle wax, reading them before bed. If I am half the man you espouse, then I must be truly worthy of your grace. To know that you are just as enamored with me as I am with you has me floating on clouds. 

Dare I tell you my dreams? How I long to be closer to you? I know we play these games of propriety but I can never remember why. You know I am not untouched. So what makes you stay your hand? Is it a law that exists outside of us? If so, I yearn to know. For there is not a force between us that could keep us apart.

It was signed simply with Steve’s initials but Eddie would have known even without that who the sender was. There was only one responding to his correspondences after all. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, dinner and dessert had been served and now the castle was winding down for its slumber. He had already bid Steve good night, but he had to see him now. He was dressed for bed, a loose shirt and pants, feet bare, rings already removed and put away for tomorrow and he figured Steve would be in a similar state, but he couldn’t keep himself away. Not after having read his latest letter.

So he crept out of his room, not a particularly hard feat as the patrols were set in such a way that his room was rarely guarded at night. Eddie needed the least amount of protection. He made his way to Steve’s door and knocked, hoping he was still awake.

“Who is it?”, Steve’s voice was muffled by the thick door.

“Your greatest admirer”, Eddie said, cheek pressed to the door. 

“Sir Cox?”, Steve joked as he opened the door and just as Eddie had guessed, he was dressed in a similar fashion, prepared for bed. 

“Sir Cox? Who is that? Has he been sending you letters?”, Eddie asked.

Steve snickered and he looked like a dream with the candlelight from his room lighting him up from behind. “There is no Sir Cox. Only you and your delightful wordsmithing.”

“Well now I wonder. I’ve no doubt you must have several admirers after your bout with Carver.”

“You are the only one that sees me as a man to be pursued”, Steve said.

“Then I am the only one with eyes. Come with me”, Eddie held out his hand.

“Where to?”, Steve asked, already giving his hand.

“You’ll see.” Eddie pulled Steve along, their steps echoing in the dark halls. 

Steve felt like a kid again, going out past curfew for mischief and wondered what he and Eddie might get up to. Was this just a silly excursion under cover of darkness? Or did Eddie have something more intimate in mind? Eddie snickered as he pilfered a sheet from the laundry and then draped it over Steve like a veil. Eddie was struck by how bridal he looked.

“What I’m about to do is called shadow travel”, Eddie said, coming in close to whisper to Steve. “It can be disorienting for the first time, so close your eyes and hold tight to me.”

Steve nodded, doing as instructed. His arms went around Eddie and he closed his eyes. Eddie held him and suddenly Steve felt a cool rush of wind. He was tempted to open his eyes but worried he’d be disoriented if he did. When the rush stopped it was replaced by a soft breeze. He ventured to open his eyes and saw that they were beneath a large tree. Eddie led Steve from under it and took the sheet to lay it on the ground. Eddie sat down first and then patted the space next to him, prompting Steve to do the same.

The moon was a half eaten pie in the sky, glowing a pale white in a way that was rivaled only by the tapestry of stars.

“Do you have any favorite star stories?”, Eddie asked.

Steve thought about it. “I can’t remember what the constellation looks like, but I like the Two Lovers. And the Mother of the Skies.”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s hand and used it to point to a star duo. “The Two Lovers.” Then he pointed to a bright twinkle. “The Mother and right under her is Eldest Daughter, then Foolish Son, then Helpful Son, then Wisest Daughter, then-”

“Are you going to name all of the children? We’ll be here all night”, Steve laughed.

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

“If you attend the council with bags under your eyes, I won’t be blamed. I’m sure they already don’t care for me.”

Eddie released Steve’s hand but moved closer to him. “Fortunately, they’re not the ones courting you.”

“But they do make decisions concerning you and your kingdom. Their opinion of me is important.”

“I think most opinions have turned favorably to you now, little prince. There’s hardly a word against you anymore.”

“But what about for me?”

Eddie blinked. “What do you mean?”

Steve’s knees pulled up to his chest. “You treat me like a prince. But a prince is supposed to have power and importance… My father has yet to respond to my letter. Without his involvement, I can’t promise you anything. If you marry me, you’ll get nothing but myself. There’s no promise of peace or even an opportunity for any sort of harmony between our kingdoms. Why should you marry me if there isn’t an advantage for you?”

“Sweet prince, good prince.” Eddie took Steve’s chin to turn his face towards him before continuing. “Benevolent prince, honorable prince. You say that as if you are nothing. You think you have nothing to offer when there is nothing more precious than yourself.”

“Me?”

Steve looked at him, eyes sparkling with starlight. His legs lowered and he turned to face his body to Eddie, opening himself up. Eddie leaned in more, their noses bumping.

“You”, he said, closing the distance between their lips.

It was dipping into a lake after a hot day. It was opening a door to someone smiling at you. It was being told you did a great job when having doubted yourself. Kissing Eddie could be described in many words. But the one that came to Steve right now was relief. Relief when he felt Eddie’s lips move against his own. Relief in knowing that Eddie had wanted this just as much.

A feeling that turned into something more heady when Steve sighed against his mouth and Eddie whimpered. 

“Why have you been holding back?”, Steve asked, sharing the same breath as Eddie when he pulled away.

“Because I felt like I couldn’t stop if I got a taste”, Eddie confessed, chest moving up and down before he chased after Steve’s lips.

“Stop”, Steve said, putting a hand up.

Eddie froze in place, waiting for his next command. Smirking, Steve came forward again and dug his fingers into Eddie’s hair.

“See? You know how to follow orders.” He couldn’t see Eddie blush but he could feel the warmth in his face when he rubbed their cheeks together.

“You’ll be the death of me”, Eddie groaned.

“Imagine that, immortal king taken down by a single kiss”, Steve grinned.

“A single kiss, a dazzling smile, bewitching laugh. You have many weapons in your arsenal.”

“You know”, Steve said before leaning in for a kiss. “This would be much better-” kiss “in a bed.” Kiss.

Eddie’s eyes bulged at the prospect and they sneaked back into the castle, dropping off the sheet off at the laundry. Overcome, Eddie ended up kissing Steve along the way, against this wall, against that wall, it seemed they could only go a few feet before getting lost in each other’s lips again. They were nearly to Steve’s room when they heard voices and saw candlelight from around the corner.

They froze in place when Mike, Dustin, and Lucas came around the bend. The three boys also froze. 

“What are you guys doing here?”, Dustin pointed his finger first.

“I was just-I was escorting Steve back to his room. And here we are and here he is and this is where we say good night. Good night, Steve”, Eddie kissed Steve’s cheek and then hightailed it back to his own quarters. 

Steve was smiling the whole time at Edward’s frantic act, going into his room and having nearly closed the door all the way when he realized - what were the boys doing sneaking around at night.

“Hey wait a minute!”, he opened the door back up to the hallway, only to see darkness and hear silence. 

They had already scurried off. Well, no matter. Steve touched his lips, the feel of it still fresh. He went to bed, dreaming of Eddie’s mouth and hoping he was doing the same about him.

Part 33

If you saw me make a post about them having their first kiss in the winter, no you didn't.

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent  @snakeorsquid  @ignoremyworld  @theclichefortunecookie 

@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

@justdrugsformethanks  @potato-of-the-lord  @notaqueenakhaleesi  @swimmingbirdrunningrock  @queenie-ofthe-void 

@nebulainajar  @lil-gremlin-things  @nicememerino  @robininblue  @hornedqueenofhell 

@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

[mustainegf]

→ Masterpost

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟓

It was around 5 in the morning, and I was a complete wreck. I had spent the previous few hours shivering and sleepless, images of James speeding through my head. I saw every single time I tried to close my eyes, him lying all alone and in so much pain on that hospital bed. On top of this, this baby seemed to do everything in its power to force me to stay awake. I fought an urge to vomit, a wave of nausea hit me that wouldn't quit.

I had barely gotten into bed for what I was betting would be a minute or two of rest when the phone rang. My heart jumped up out of my throat, and, like a sprung coiled, I burst out of bed and race-walked into the kitchen to answer it. Let it be good news, please let it be good news, I thought.

"Hello?" I answered, voice trembling.

"Hey…" It was a hoarse and groggy voice, but unmistakably James. My James.

"James!" I cried out, relief spilling over me. "Oh my God, are you okay? How are you?"

He spoke soothingly, even though I knew he had to be in so much pain, "Calm down. I'll be all right. I got caught under a huge flame onstage. I have second and third degree burns on my arms, hand, and back I think..."

My eyes welled with tears, and my heart ached for him. "James, that's awful…."

"I know," he pouted in his voice. "But they're discharging me today. I guess that's a good sign then."

"Discharging you?" I repeated, voice laced with incredulity. "James, you need to come here. Stay with me so I can take care of you. You can't just go back on tour, I won’t let you."

"Look-" he began but I cut him off.

"No, James. You have to listen to me. You've been overworking yourself, and you need your rest. And I want you away from that world. At least for a little bit. Besides, we have a lot to deal with anyway. If you want to be a father, you’re gonna do it sober."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I could hear him breathing, almost feel his internal struggle.

“I have to get back out on tour," he finally said, his voice tight. "The band, the fans-."

I gripped the phone tighter, my determination hardening inside of me. "James Hetfield, you listen to me, you are coming here.” I insist. “And don't you argue with me. This isn't about you, not even about the band. It's about our baby. You need to be here."

Another silence, then a heavy sigh. "Alright," he said, sounding resigned. "I'll book the next flight back. But I'm doing this for you and the baby. The guys won't be happy."

"I don't care about the band right now," I said, my voice gentle now. "I care about you. The rest, we’ll sort it out."

"Yeah…" he said, and I could almost hear the apprehension in his voice. "I’ll see you soon."

"Thank you, James," I said, my heart full of love. "I'll be waiting for you."

Afterwe hung up the phone, I stood there for a second before turning my phone off, still in my hand. The tiredness was still there.

I spent the rest of the early hours preparing for his arrival. I wanted everything to be perfect so he would have everything he needed to recover. I had the couch all nicely prepared with a fresh blanket, extra pillow, and every other type of supply that I could imagine he could use: bandages, painkillers.

Though I was so incredibly tired, I bustled from one thing to the next. This was my contribution, my way of showing him he wasn't alone. My exhaustion that had been present all night began morphing into this deep, tired comfort.

Making my way across into the bedroom, every step a little lighter, I lay down. The mattress was soft, and the sheets were cool. I turned onto my back and laid one hand over my belly. I did this a lot now, it made me feel less alone.

"We're going to be okay," I whispered back to myself, closing my eyes. "Daddy's coming home. He's going to be all right."

I smiled, a few tears sliding out of the corners of my eyes, not of sadness, but of a strange and bittersweet joy. I ran my hand slowly across my tummy in reassuring circles.

"You're so loved, little one," I murmured. "I can't wait to meet you. I’m gonna take care of you, protect you, and give you everything in the world."

As I kept on whispering to my baby, the exhaustion finally crashed down on me. Heavy eyelids began to draw themselves down, and my eyes fluttered over. "You're my little miracle," I whispered, barely above a whisper. “Hopefully you’ll be James’ as well…”

The last thing that registered was a gentle kick from the baby, reminding me that there was life growing inside of me. My lips held a smile as I went to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Images filled my dreams of our family whole and happy, an image I knew deep down, would not come to fruition. No matter how hard I wished or dreamed, I wasn’t quite sure if I could pull James out of whatever he was in. I didn’t know how to bring back my Jamie.

When I woke up, I felt a feeling of calm I hadn't felt in a long time. I slowly opened my eyes, the remainder of sleep still clutched to me. As my vision cleared, I was met with a sight that made my heart jump a beat. Crouched at my bedside, gazing at me lovingly with a gentle smile, was James.

"James?" I asked softly, still half in a dream. I wearily pushed myself up, wanting to hug him, to reassure myself that he was really there.

"Be gentle," he said, wincing slightly as he moved to accommodate my hug. The bandages on his arm and the stiffness in his movements breaking my heart a little.

I slipped my arms cautiously around him; his body was warm, his breathing calm and regular. "You really came," I whispered, my voice full of emotion.

"I'm here," he said softly back, holding me.

As much as I desired to kiss him, to tell him to come back to me fully, I knew I couldn't. The past pain still lingered, and I had to remind myself of the reasons we parted ways. But his being here and seeing him safe was enough for now.

He drew back a little and gazed downwards in wonder. He watched as he gently swept the thin blanket aside. "Look at you." he awed.

Down I looked too and placed my hand on my belly, feeling the life inside me. "Our baby," I said softly.

James gazed nervously at my baby bump before I finally nodded and let him place his hand just under my belly. His gentle grasp was splayed against my stomach, feeling our baby for the first time. "Holy shit…" he whispered again, his voice full of emotion.

We just sat a little, the room filling with loving but awkward silence. The last time we had seen each other, it was the day he left. So much had happened in between. It was large, this gulf between us.

"How're you?" he asked me, peering into my eyes for any hint of distress.

"Tired," I admitted. "But seeing you helps."

He smiled then, "I'm sorry. For everything."

I shook my head, placing a hand on his cheek, feeling the hair on his face itch my hand just slightly. "We'll figure it out, James."

He nodded then, his hand still resting on my belly. "I want to be here for this kid."

"And we want you here," I whispered.

"I know," he said, his voice steady. "I'm ready to try."

James looked at me through my face with such tender concern. "You need to get some sleep," he pleaded quietly, "both you and the baby. I'll be fine."

I was dead tired, the exertion and strain of everything over the last couple of days had finally taken its evil toll. Yet, the very idea of shutting my eyes, of letting go even for the slightest of moments, was hard as well.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, my eyelids already growing heavier.

He nodded, reassurance filling his eyes. "I promise, I'm sure. Just sleep. I'll be right out there."

With a tired sigh, I fell back into the mattress, the soft bedding holding me. James leaned in, his hand gently stroking my belly, and pressed a tender kiss to my stomach. "Take care of Mommy," he murmured.

With my eyes closed, I was cognizant of his hand protectively over our baby and his warmth beside me.

"I've got you both."

Right there and then, I let myself let go.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I was able to sleep soundly.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hi, I just feel you’d be the rightest person to submit this too… ajaf James x reader, where she is his childhood friend and she’s been with them through thick and thin? Maybe they even live in apartments next to each other and she does the cooking, laundry, etc for him cause she loved him since high school but of course he never noticed. But cause he’s a rockstar now, he starts to ghost her? Like cause they got groupies now, he doesn’t invite her to shows anymore, doesn’t hang out with her, but she has enough when he promises to spend her birthday with her but doesn’t show up? And she waits in the restaurant until it closes but next morning when she comes to his apartment for explanation she realizes that he ditched her for two groupies? That’s beyond that she can forgive so she cuts all the ties and moves to a different place. But a few weeks later James realizes that she’s the only woman who liked him as a normal person and not cause he’s a rich rockstar? And he realizes that she was always by his side cause she loved him more than a friend? And they do reconcile (I’m a sucker for heavy angst with happy end)))

I hope you like it😘

Always you

Every morning, I crossed the hallway to James’s apartment, a quiet ritual I’d maintained for years. It felt almost like home—the scent of coffee brewing, the sunlight streaming in through his windows. I let myself in with the spare key he’d given me back in high school, only half awake but always at peace in his space. I made him coffee, folded his laundry, and tidied up his ever-growing stacks of records and sheet music—all things I did for him without thinking, a way to show love I hoped he’d one day see.

We’d been close for so long, bound together by late-night talks and small gestures. Loving him was easy; he was my constant, my best friend. I was the one who cheered at his first gig, stayed up with him after a rough show, patched up his dreams when they got battered and bruised.

But as his band’s success surged, I felt him slipping away, pulled into a world of flashing lights and groupies who clung to him after shows. At first, it was subtle—canceled plans, unanswered calls, casual get-togethers he suddenly avoided. I tried to convince myself it was just a phase, that his new lifestyle demanded more of him. But then he got even more distant, he wouldn’t invite me to his shows anymore, he doesn’t hang out with me, he spends more time with some groupies.

When he promised he’d be there for my birthday, it felt like a lifeline, a chance to bridge the growing distance. I dressed up, ready and waiting, my heart pounding with excitement and nerves. I arrived early, hoping to catch him first, imagining the smile he’d give when he saw I’d reserved our favorite table.

As the minutes ticked by, I glanced at my watch, the hands moving far too slowly for my liking. My heart raced as I looked around the restaurant, hoping for a glimpse of him walking through the door. But as the hours wore on, hope melted into heartache, and the clock became my worst enemy.

I tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. By the time the restaurant closed, I felt foolish and numb, clinging to a piece of a friendship I wasn’t sure existed anymore. The laughter of other diners faded into the background, replaced by the echo of my disappointment.

The next morning, fueled by hurt and anger, I made my way across the hall. I needed answers, or maybe just an apology—anything to show me I hadn’t imagined what we used to have. I knocked harder than usual, and after a few moments, he finally answered the door, looking disheveled and barely awake.

“Hey…” he greeted, blinking at me in confusion. “Didn’t expect you to be here.”

I stepped inside, my eyes sweeping over his place. The remnants of a late-night party were scattered around, and there, on his couch, two half-dressed groupies were pulling on their jackets, giggling to themselves. My stomach lurched at the sight.

“Were they worth it, James?” My voice trembled as I forced the words out.

He looked confused. “What? Worth what?”

“For you to leave me sitting alone last night,” I continued, my voice barely a whisper. “For you to ditch me on my birthday?”

His face paled as he took a step back, his expression shifting between guilt and frustration. “Look, I… I didn’t mean for things to go like that. You know how it is—things got out of hand, the night was a blur.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound catching even me off guard. “You didn’t mean for it to happen?” I shook my head. “I was there, waiting for hours. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to sit there, hoping you’d show up?”

He stepped forward, reaching out as if to touch my arm, but I pulled back. His face twisted, and I thought I saw a hint of regret, but it was far too little, far too late.

“Forget it,” I said, my voice thick with tears I didn’t want to shed. I turned away, reaching for the door. My hand was on the knob, my heart breaking with every step I took away from him.

--------

It had been weeks since I’d left, but somehow I was still haunted by him, by everything I’d tried to walk away from. I told myself it was over, that I’d moved on, but there were moments—like tonight, sitting alone in this quiet apartment—where I could feel the ache settling back in. I’d spent years by his side, but he hadn’t thought twice before trading me for the thrill of the stage and people who didn’t know him at all.

The knock at the door came as a shock, breaking the stillness. I took a breath before opening it, bracing myself. But nothing could have prepared me for seeing James standing there.

“What are you doing here, James?” The words came out cold and clipped, sharper than I intended. But after everything, he didn’t deserve any softer. His face looked worn, like he hadn’t slept in days, and his usual swagger was gone. For a moment, he just stared at me, and I could see his shoulders sagging under some invisible weight.

“I… I messed up,” he said quietly, his voice barely holding together. “I didn’t realize what I was losing until you were gone. I don’t deserve it, but… please, just let me explain.”

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding. “An explanation for what? For forgetting my birthday? Or for not even noticing me?”

He winced, his hands still shoved in his pockets. “For everything. All of it,” he admitted. “You were… always there, you were the only thing that felt real, and I didn’t see it. I just—” His voice broke. He took a shaky breath, his eyes pleading with mine. “I took it all for granted. How you were always there for me, even when no one else was. How you’d bring me coffee in the morning, your perfume filling the room. I wake up now, and it’s like… like the place doesn’t feel like home anymore. None of it feels right.”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the familiar pull of my heart, the memories of all those small things I’d done for him because I loved him. “Do you even know how many nights I waited, James? How many times I hoped you’d come around? You were everything to me, and you couldn’t even see it.”

He stepped closer, his hands shaking. “I see it now. I swear, I do. And losing you made me realize how much you mean to me, how much I need you. I love you.” His voice was soft, breaking on the last words. “I always have. I think I was just too scared, or maybe I thought I didn’t deserve you. But these weeks without you… it’s been hell.”

There was a long silence as I looked into his eyes, my heart torn. The man I’d loved for years, who I’d given everything to, stood there, looking as lost as I’d felt for so long. Against every ounce of resolve, I felt something softening, the smallest crack in my defenses.

I took a shaky breath. “Do you even understand how hard it is to forgive you?”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you,” he whispered.

I let out a slow, uneven sigh. “One chance, James. Just one. Don’t make me regret it.”

Relief flooded his face, and he stepped forward, his arms wrapping around me tightly, hesitating only until I nodded. He held me as if he was afraid I’d disappear, his grip warm and familiar. I leaned my head against his shoulder, letting myself relax, letting the weight of his embrace ground me.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “I love you,” he murmured, the words like a confession, soft and vulnerable. “And I’ll spend every morning for the rest of my life proving it to you.”

I felt tears prick at my eyes, but they were mixed with a smile. I touched his face, letting my fingers trace the worn lines, the way his eyes softened as they met mine.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine, gentle at first, then deepening as if he was finally claiming what he’d been missing all along. The kiss was soft, sweet, and full of a promise I could feel in my bones. When we finally pulled apart, he held my hand tightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I promise,” he whispered again, “to never let you go.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I believed him.

[ifitmeanslosingyouthenno]

i've got your blood on my hands

day 6 whumptober prompt: not realizing they're injured | "it's not my blood"

neil stumbles down the hall towards his dorm

god he’s fucking tired

he doesn’t think they beat him badly, but the hit to his head must have been harder than he remembers, because his head is pounding and he wants nothing more than to fall into bed (or maybe andrew’s bed) and sleep for 8 hours straight

fuck kevin and his night practices for tonight

andrew’s opening the door before he even has the chance to get his keys out of his pocket

most people like to say andrew’s face is a blank slate, but after the years, neil knows better, he can see the worry and rage in his eyes, the way his eyebrows twitch and the corners of his mouth pull downwards

neil almost sighs in relief at seeing him, rage and all

“where the fuck have you been?”

before he can reply, there are other sets of footsteps coming from inside the dorm, nicky with kevin close on his heels

“neil! you’re back! where were– neil! what happened to you?”

nicky’s voice is too loud, and his pounding head reminds him of how much he hates the light and the noise right now

huh he probably has a concussion

andrew physically hauls him inside the dorm, guiding him to a chair in the kitchen, and neil gently tries to swat him off

god his too tired for this shit

“i’m fine, ‘drew, i just wanna go to sleep”

“drew?”

it wasn’t intentional, but his voice slurred just a little bit, he’s that tired

“josten you’re covered in fucking blood and you definitely have a fucking concussion, sit your ass down”

“it’s not even my blood”

“like that’s any better,” kevin grumbles

“what happened neil?”

nicky’s voice is so soft, but he’s carrying the first aid kit they keep under the bathroom sink

wait when did he leave to get it?

“some guys tried to jump me on my run”

“tried?”

“yeah, they had a knife, but they were amateurs… i – i knocked them out”

andrew’s tense posture says everything he’s feeling, but neil hates to be the reason he’s so tense and stressed

“i promise i’m okay, can i just go to bed?”

andrew’s eyes harden, and of course he noticed his growing drowsiness. he’s just tired

“nicky, kevin, get out”

“what- but andrew-”

“andrew you have to make sure he’s not lying, i swear to god if he has to miss practice-”

“if i have to repeat myself it will be with a knife, day”

“jeez okay, we’re leaving”

once nicky and a very grumpy kevin leave, neil smirking at him as he leaves, andrew turns his serious expression on him

“yes or no, neil”

“you know it’s always yes with you”

his lips twitch in anger, but he doesn’t hesitate to pull neil’s running shirt off him

neil’s eyes are feeling droopy, but he’s aware enough to see andrew’s hands clenching into fists hard enough that neil doesn’t know if his shirt will survive the strength 

he focuses enough that he realizes andrew isn’t looking at his eyes, but at his bare, so despite how hard it feels, he forces his head to move, forces his eyes to take in his bare chest and abdomen and–

oh

so that’s why andrew’s angry

“oh”

“oh, he says, it’s not even my blood, he says”

now that neil’s noticed the stab wound on his lower abdomen, it’s like his exhaustion makes sense, and suddenly his brain catches on and nothing but pain engulfs his entire left side

he tilts forward before he’s noticing it, but andrew is there to hold him up with all his strength, pressing down on the wound hard enough that neil winces

his breathing is growing ragged, and oh– oh it makes sense that it’s bloodloss making him feel like this

“i’m sorry, i– i didn’t realize–”

“shut the fuck up josten, just stay awake”

he can feel himself fading, and he hates himself a little for not being able to follow andrew’s instructions

he’s growing soft, a stab wound wasn’t enough to incapacitate him before

“‘drew call abby, there’s– something isn’t right”

“what the fuck are you talking about? neil, neil, don’t fall asleep”

it takes everything in him to stay awake, “not- not the first time stabbed, something isn’t right”

“don’t you fucking die on me junkie, i will bring you back and kill you myself”

neil can feel andrew struggling to get his phone from the kitchen counter as he balances neil’s weight with one arm, “you wouldn’t do it”

“don’t let me prove you wrong”

“you love me too much to kill me”

he doesn’t even hear himself talking anymore, doesn’t feel his body anymore

“neil, don’t fall asleep, come on, open your eyes junkie”

he wants to, god he wants to so badly, he wants to see andrew and his pretty eyes and his handsome face

but his eyes are too heavy, he feels too heavy

and in andrew’s warm embrace, how could he not feel safe enough to drift away?

dw neil was just probably stabbed right in the spleen and needs surgery but he'll be fine title from blood by nothing nowhere, its not at all related but i could not find a single lyric or phrase that i liked for this prompt and i got tired of searching ajsk