#anyways pray for me and my scratchy throat

[suddenlymicah]

the best way to get out of doing something you don't want to do as a teen is to pretend your parents said no

Source: i use this method and it works super duper good

[bamdelune]

sickly dan heng x reader fluff drabble

notes: not proofread, just fluff in general, might be a little ooc dan heng because this is my first hsr work

A series of knocks echoed through the archive room where a sickly Dan Heng laid as a virus threw punches at his body.

The Nameless had begun an expedition on a new planet where a Stellaron had been found. This time the planet’s climate was not-so-pleasant (read: never-ending thunderstorms) and Dan Heng had initially warned you to bring an umbrella.

Did you listen?

Of course not!

“We’ll manage, love. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

You thought you would be able to manage because the towns were filled with roofs anyway but little did you know that little could be done to avoid the harsh rain and thus, finding out that the thunderstorms continued inside the numerous establishments of the city.

That day, you were the subject of a handful of unamused stares of “I-told-you-so” from your boyfriend.

✦

Here you stood in front of his room with a tray in your hands, standing in a certain guilt. Lucky for you, your immune system had the balls to fight the cold that was creeping up on you whereas Dan Heng’s… not so much.

You slide the door open with your foot to create a space for your head to poke through.

“Hey, bud. You alright in there?” You ask sheepishly with an awkward chuckle.

With all the energy Dan Heng could muster, he shoots you a weak glare. If looks could kill, you might as well been buried way underground already by the time he makes eye contact with you. You sigh with a nod. “Right, right.” You then push the door open to give way for your body to come in.

You set the tray down on a free space on top of one of the shelves, praying to any entity above that it won’t drop as you tended to your boyfriend as it was halfway off the shelf.

“Sit up for me, please?” you say, kneeling down to his level on the floor, your hand finding a way to press on his back to support him. He grunts tiredly, shifting some of his weight onto your palm and sits upright. Dan Heng then leans against a shelf with a huff.

You shuffle over to where the tray was whilst on your knees and come back to Dan Heng’s side, placing the tray down on the free space on the floor.

“What’s that?” Dan Heng asks softly, prompting a soft sneeze from him right after. His face was mostly pale with pink blooming particularly on his nose. His voice was a subtly scratchy. You assume that he has a mild case of a sore throat as well from his cold.

You pick up a bowl, its evaporating steam following in a trail of movement. You gently spoon through the liquid to cool it down a little. “Porridge. Not the usual one you like though since Pom Pom said it apparently ran out so I had to manage.”

You catch an uncertain look on Dan Heng’s face and pout slightly, “Do you not trust my cooking?” You jest, feigning hurt.

“I trust that you wouldn’t want my reply on that, darling.” He coughs, turning his head to the side to avoid coughing in your direction. "In fact, I'm not sure I trust your judgement."

“You wound me."

He sends you another look,

"I'm sorry, I'll listen to you next time." You exhale in defeat.

“Hm.”

You scoop some of the porridge onto the spoon as you bring it to close to your lips, blowing on it gently before you move it near Dan Heng’s.

“Open,” you nudge the spoon slightly to prod his mouth open.

Dan Heng follows with no reluctance when he feels the metal of the spoon on his lips, gulping down the warm porridge down his throat.

You take the spoon out of his mouth and settle it in the bowl, before looking back at him with hopeful eyes. “Is it good?”

Dan Heng nods, sniffling his nose afterwards.

You feed him the porridge until it’s almost finished, setting the bowl on the tray again after it has cooled down.

“Himeko told you to drink this after eating.” You hand him a tablet of medicine packaged securely in a tin packaging. He examines the label before picking the area around the medicine with his nails to take it out. Your hands reach for the glass of water and wait for him to pop the tablet in his mouth before giving it to him.

Once he finishes drinking, he returns the glass to the tray and sighs with relief and slumps down back into the duvet covers. You bend over to tuck him in properly and place a gentle peck on his lips.

“Don’t do that, you’ll get sick.” He mutters with a pout before clearing his throat.

You chuckle quietly at your boyfriend’s words before placing another one on his cheeks.

“Trust me, I won’t. Now get some rest.” You say as you pick up the tray and dim the lights of the archive room when you leave.

Suffice to say you spoke too soon when you wake up two days later with the same cold, earning you another “I told you so” from Dan Heng. But despite his words, the man is eager to take care of you just as you did.

© bamdelune may 2023. do not repost or plagiarize any of my works, thank you so much! reblogs, notes, and comments are always appreciated!

(masterlist)

[elfwitchtrickster]

Cold On Christmas - George Weasley Oneshot

I woke up in the morning feeling achy and tired all over. My nose felt stuffy and there was a scratchy feeling in my throat. I prayed that I hadn't caught my friend's cold from last week. I stumbled out of bed realising that I only had an hour to get ready and meet George for coffee. He had been visiting his family the past two weeks and was finally back just in time for Christmas. I bundled myself up my warmest clothes, pulled on my boots and dragged myself out the door.

The harsh wind nipped at my cheeks and tugged at my clothes. The dull ache at the base of my temple had turned into a pounding headache. I was too tired and cold to appreciate the brightly lit shop windows or people chatting happily as their kids sat with Santa. After what felt like hours, I made it to George and I's coffee shop. The warm air elicited a sigh of relief from me.

I sat down and rubbed my head softly trying to tune out the laughter and chatter along with the right lights of the café. With a flurry of snow George walked into the shop clad in thick pants a long black coat. There were chunks of snow in his hair and his cheeks had turned pink from the cold, but he still sported his usual grin.

I stood up as he made his way to the table to give him a small hug, his large frame encompassing my smaller one. "How's my favourite girl today?" he asked after he had ordered. "Fine" I answered in a raspy voice. "Are you okay?" he asked looking me up and down. "I'm good" I said. "It's just the cold" I lied. He didn't seem convinced but dropped the matter anyway.

I listened quietly as he told me about his family, how his sister had a new job, and his cousin was having a baby. I zoned out after a while trying to keep my awful headache at bay. After ten minutes he couldn't ignore it anymore. "What's wrong?" he asked again his brown eyes showing concern. "It's nothing" I reaffirmed. He raised an eyebrow. "Just a cold" I mumbled.

He slid next to me and let his hand brush my forehead. "Baby you're burning up" he said quietly. "Does anything else hurt" he asked gently. I gave up the façade and laid my head on his shoulder. "I have a headache; my nose is blocked and my throat hurts" I admitted curling into him. He nodded and stood up quickly. He threw away our empty coffee cups then took my hand and led me toward the exit.

He held me close as we walked through the crowd of people. I made to turn in the direction of my apartment, but he pulled me the opposite way. "Where are we going?" I asked confusedly. "To my apartment so I can take care of you" he replied coolly. "You just got back; you don't want to spend Christmas taking care of me" I protested. "I came back to spend Christmas with you, and I will do that whether you're healthy or sick. Now let's get you to bed" Despite my shivering state I felt my cheeks heat up and I grinned to myself. The care ride was quiet, George's hand was on mine the entire way.

Once we arrived at his apartment, he ushered me inside. I flopped down onto his couch as he ran around the house. When he returned, he had a cup of tea and soup on a tray along with several fluffy blankets. After he made sure I was comfortable he sat down next to me and pulled me into his arms. We spent the day snacking, cuddling and watching Christmas movies. Maybe it wasn't the worst time of the year to be sick after all.

Sorry this is short :(

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

[contemplativepancakes]

yarn rants with dandelion

3.5k of Geralt poorly hiding the fact that he knits from his family and, in general, being an idiot, read here on AO3

Geralt slams his laptop shut as his apartment door swings open, causing Eskel to quirk an eyebrow. “Whatcha doin’?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” Geralt says in a rush. 

“Uh huh.” Eskel raises his hands. “Can’t be any weirder than the porn Lambert watches.”

Geralt grunts, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

Eskel glances at his watch. “I figured you might want help before the game.”

“I’m ordering pizza,” Geralt says. “Actually, do you want to do it? I have cleaning I still need to do before everyone else gets here.”

Eskel’s eyebrows climb higher on his forehead, and Geralt starts to sweat as he sees Eskel's skepticism. Geralt always makes a spread on game day, telling everyone he’s not going to wait two hours for delivery while they’ll be so busy. 

“Um. Okay.” Eskel stares at him for a beat before finally pulling out his phone. “What am I ordering?” 

Geralt shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He goes to his room, shutting the door behind him and hearing Eskel’s voice as he talks to the pizza place. Geralt looks to his bed, where a half finished baby blanket is laid out, before hastily gathering it and its attached ball of yarn up and stuffing them in a basket, piled high with various colors and weights. He throws some dirty clothes from his floor on top for good measure before reemerging from his bedroom, Eskel looking at him suspiciously from his spot on the couch. 

“Sure you don’t need help with anything?” Eskel asks. 

“No, I’m, uh, I’m good.” Geralt goes to the fridge and pulls out two beers, passing one to Eskel and keeping one for himself. 

Thankfully, Eskel doesn’t say anything about his odd behavior, just watches the pregame show with him without comment until Letho arrives, followed shortly after by Lambert and Aiden. Geralt’s relieved, because then Eskel’s attention goes to their ridiculous dancing around each other instead of scrutinizing Geralt. 

After everyone has left for the night, Geralt pulls his laptop back out, settling it on the coffee table in front of him and goes to get his blanket. He spreads it across his lap as he clicks play, the sound of a cheerful voice filling his living room. 

“Hey, guys! It’s Dandelion, back with my latest yarn haul! I’ve got some awesome ones, and ones you should avoid at all costs, so watch and see which is which!”

Geralt lets himself stare for a second before he jerks himself out of the trance and looks back down while his needles click together as he starts to knit. 

Geralt lets the feeling of the yarn between his fingers soothe him. That’s why he watches these yarn reviews, after all. He hates going to the store for yarn, but he hates wasting his money on yarn that’s scratchy and uncomfortable against his skin even more. 

Needless to say, he’s grateful to Dandelion for doing all the prep work for him, and he may or may not have developed a crush on the man.  Who watches these videos and hasn’t? Geralt reasons.

Dandelion has an infectious enthusiasm, and Geralt can’t help the soft smile from spreading across his face as he listens.

Geralt keeps knitting until his skein is almost out. When he has less of a ball and more of a tangle left, he casts his eyes around for the next one before looking despairingly back at his blanket when he doesn’t find it. 

Fuck. 

He knew he should have ordered extra; he always does this to himself, but somehow he never learns. He groans as he pulls his computer onto his lap and opens up the website he orders his yarn from. He goes into his history and clicks on the link to his blanket yarn. It’s teal, velvety, and Geralt can’t stop running his fingers over it. When the page finally loads,  out of stock  blinks back at him. 

Double fuck. 

He’s never made a blanket before, and he’s drastically underestimated how much it would take. He’s going to need at least three more skeins. Yen’s baby shower is in a month and a half, and there’s no telling when the yarn is going to come back in stock. What if they discontinued it? 

There’s nothing for it; he’s going to have to go into the store. He looks at the clock. First thing tomorrow, he decides, before it gets busy. He’ll go right when they open, before the store gets noisy and filled with women who always try to draw him into conversation for some reason. 

Geralt huffs at the thought. 

- 

Geralt tugs his scarf a little tighter against his neck before he gets out of the car and heads into the store. There’s only four cars in the parking lot, so Geralt hopes he’ll be able to get in and out quickly. 

Once he’s inside, he makes a beeline for the yarn aisle, trying to hold in his noise of dismay when he sees someone already standing there. Geralt avoids eye contact and feigns interest in the brightly colored acrylic yarns at the end of the aisle. The person is right in front of the baby yarn section, and Geralt tries not to tap his foot. 

Just when Geralt is getting ready to pretend to browse other aisles while he waits, there’s movement behind him. “Lovely scarf,” a man’s voice says. “Looks very soft.”

Geralt turns around, only for his eyes to widen as he comes face to face with Dandelion. 

He’s sure something very intelligent sounding comes out of his mouth, but he doesn’t register it. 

Whatever it was makes Dandelion laugh, sounding familiar and alarmingly close when they’re not separated by a screen. Geralt glances down at Dandelion’s basket to see it piled high with yarn. 

“Nice colors you have there,” Geralt finally manages. 

Dandelion beams. “Thank you!” 

Geralt takes a closer look and realizes they’re rainbow colors. He heaves a tiny sigh. He’s a disaster. Does Dandelion think he’s flirting with him? Not that Geralt doesn’t want to be, per se, but—it’s complicated. 

“Did you make your scarf yourself? Or did a boyfriend make it for you?” Dandelion asks. 

“I made it myself,” Geralt mumbles. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved by this line of questioning or not.

“Oh?”

“No boyfriend.”

Dandelion turns another smile on him, and Geralt tries not to melt. “What are you shopping for?” 

“Oh. Um. A blanket.”

Dandelion turns back towards the shelves with a critical eye before he plucks out a chunky bright yellow and holds it out to Geralt for his inspection. Geralt runs his fingers over it absently. “Feels nice.”

“Right? I love this brand. How big of a blanket are you making?”

“It’s for a baby.”

Dandelion’s eyebrow arches in question. 

“My friend is adopting soon; I thought this would be nice,” Geralt says, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Dandelion shifts his basket from one hand to the other. “Oh, my. That is very nice.”

Geralt grumbles as he piles more yarn than can surely be reasonable into his own basket while Dandelion eyes the shelf thoughtfully. 

Geralt finishes putting the yarn into his basket and goes to leave the aisle, but Dandelion stops him before he takes more than three steps. 

“Better get more than you think. I get what I expect to use, and then add 25 percent more.”

That makes Geralt crack a smile. “That makes an expensive hobby even worse.”

Dandelion shrugs. “The curse of being a creative.”

Geralt picks two more bundles from the shelf. “I suppose you’re right.”

Dandelion clears his throat. “Hey, what’s your name?”

Geralt answers, and Dandelion looks him up and down. “Would you like to join our yarn circle?”

“What?” Geralt asks, throat dry.

Dandelion shakes his head glumly. “Nevermind. It’s just there are so few men…”

“I’ll join,” Geralt says, before he fully thinks out his words. 

Dandelion brightens instantly. “Excellent!”

Dandelion follows him to the register, chattering the whole way, and by the time Geralt leaves the store, Dandelion has his number saved in his phone. Geralt can’t help but notice how the women are leaving him alone today, just shooting him the occasional baleful look. It’s a nice change of pace. Maybe he should run into Dandelion more often. 

“I’ll text you, okay?” Dandelion says after he’s walked with Geralt to his car. 

“Um, yeah, okay,” Geralt replies. 

He slides into his car and watches Dandelion walk to a bright yellow slug bug. He quirks a grin. It fits him. Geralt’s just turned the key in his ignition when he realizes he didn’t even get the yarn that he came for. He sighs and shuts the engine off. 

If he reemerges from the store with the yarn for the rest of his blanket in addition to two skeins of blue that remind him of Dandelion’s eyes, well, that’d be creepy, and it’s nobody’s business but his, anyway. 

-

Geralt looks down at his phone.  yarn circle at that coffee place on Main tomorrow at ten! you in?

He saves the contact in his phone, debating with himself before typing  Dandelion 🌼.

He puffs a breath through his lips. He shouldn’t be this worked up about a text. 

See you then  , he types, and goes back to make the  s  lowercase. 

“Who are you texting?” Eskel asks from his spot on the couch, setting down his own phone.

“Who are  you  texting?” Geralt retorts weakly. 

Eskel looks at him, unimpressed. “My girlfriend, dude. Did you finally get yourself one? You know, it’s kind of weird Yen’s replacing you with a baby…”

Geralt grits his teeth. “She’s not replacing me. We just had conflicting goals for the future.”

“And what, pray tell, are these goals?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not kids. I’d be a terrible dad.”

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s a conversation they’ve hashed out many times before. “Hmm,” Eskel says pointedly, and Geralt gives him an eye roll right back. 

“Are we watching this movie or not?”

Eskel mumbles something too low for Geralt to hear. 

-

The next morning dawns bright and early. Too early for Geralt to reasonably head out to the coffee shop by the time he’s ready, so he takes the time to work on the blanket. He’s inching closer to being done, and he’s looking forward to starting something with the yellow yarn, but he’s not quite sure what he wants to make yet. 

He wonders if he’s supposed to take his blanket to this yarn circle. Do they knit? Or just talk about it? What if they gossip the whole time? Geralt doesn’t have anything juicy to contribute; he doubts they want to hear about Eskel’s latest problems with his goat yoga business. Giving customers ringworm probably isn’t the best breakfast conversation. He takes in a deep breath, trying to stop the panic spiral. 

It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. 

-

It’s not fine.

When he walks in, Dandelion is already sitting at a table, wearing a floral button down that has entirely too many buttons undone to be decent. Geralt tries not to imagine what Dandelion’s chest hair would feel like under his finger tips, if it would be coarse and wiry or smooth and silky. 

Geralt shakes his head and grunts a greeting when Dandelion waves him over. 

“Hello, hello! Find the place okay?”

“No issues,” Geralt says, pulling out a chair and settling his bag with his knitting awkwardly on the ground. 

Dandelion glances down at his phone, and whatever he sees makes his face tighten. 

“Hmm, looks like the rest of the circle isn’t going to be able to make it. Flat tire.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow at him. “Do they...need help? I could go change it.”

Dandelion mutters something to himself before looking back up at Geralt. “I think they already have that covered.”

Geralt laughs and rubs a hand on his neck. “You know, I’m going to start thinking you were just trying to get me alone.”

Dandelion returns the nervous laugh and warms his hands on his mug. “Are you going to get some coffee?” he asks. 

“Uh, yeah.” Geralt stands up before turning back to Dandelion. “What do you recommend? I don’t come places like this very often.”

“Yeah, I bet. You seem like a coffee, black kind of person.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Geralt admits. 

Dandelion’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “What do you mean you don’t drink coffee?”

“Makes me jumpy. My hands shake.”

Dandelion lets out a sharp exhale. “Wow.”

Geralt scowls. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not! Well, maybe a little. You just better get hot chocolate, then.”

“Fine. I will.”

Dandelion’s laughter when Geralt returns to the table with a mug piled high with whipped cream is infectious.

He’s not sure what comes over him, but Geralt sticks out his tongue. 

It’s not until he gets home that he realizes he never even pulled out his knitting. 

-

Dandelion starts texting him more and more, and Geralt feels vaguely guilty when he watches Dandelion’s latest video. 

He should probably tell Dandelion he watches them, but he doesn’t want it to turn into a  thing , and he certainly doesn’t read too much into it when Dandelion mentions running into a handsome stranger on his latest yarn expedition. 

He could be talking about anyone. 

Geralt finishes his blanket for Yen, and he starts to think about what his next project should be. The yellow yarn is bright and warm; silky smooth between his fingers. He starts another blanket, because why not? He’s been wanting to practice cabling, anyway. 

He brings it to the next yarn circle Dandelion invites him to, but it doesn’t get worked on, and Dandelion doesn’t say anything about where the rest of the circle is. Geralt doesn’t ask. 

Finally, four yarn circles in where no knitting is accomplished, Dandelion gives up the ghost and asks Geralt out on a date. “That’s not what we’ve been doing?” Geralt asks with a small smile. 

Dandelion shoves him in the chest, a teasing glint in his eye before his hand lingers on Geralt’s pec for a little too long. He jerks his hand back and clears his throat. “Great. I can’t wait," Geralt says.

“I’ll choose to believe that’s not sarcastic.”

Geralt pokes at him. “It’s not.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and  hmm s right back. 

-

A few weeks later finds Geralt sifting through Netflix for a movie to watch. “Hey, Dandelion!” Geralt calls from the couch, tugging a blanket up to his chin. 

Dandelion freezes from his spot just outside the living room with a bowl of popcorn in hand. 

“I have some white cheddar for that,” Geralt says.

“What did you just say?”

“I have some white cheddar for that,” Geralt repeats, more slowly this time. 

“No, no, before that.”

Geralt thinks. “Your...name?”

Dandelion blinks at him. “My name is Jaskier.”

Now Geralt is the one who’s confused. “No, it’s not?”

“Geralt, I think I know my own name.” Dandelion’s face pinches. “Wait. You watch my videos?”

Geralt steels himself for the conversation. He had been wondering if he'd just be able to take the fact that he watches them to his grave. “Yes?”

“And you didn’t think to mention this?”

“It seemed...weird," Geralt says haltingly.

Geralt’s still reeling from the revelation. He’s the world’s worst boyfriend; Dandelion has to be playing a cruel prank on him. 

“And it didn’t seem weird to you that you were watching me literally sing your praises last week?”

“I thought it was kind of sweet.”

Dand—Jaskier drags a hand down his face. “I can’t believe this.”

“How was I supposed to know that wasn’t your actual name?”

“Geralt, we have been together for a month. How do you not know my  name ?”

“It’s never come up!” Geralt says defensively. “You’re the one who never even introduced yourself. Talk about bad manners.”

Jaskier splutters, and Geralt can’t help but quirk a grin at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

Jaskier finally rallies. “We’re going to have a talk about online boundaries, but—”

“But what?”

“You’re so god damned stupid,” Jaskier says, before dragging Geralt into a kiss. 

Geralt goes without complaint. 

-

While Geralt ponders the new nature of their relationship, he finally finds a use for the blue yarn he’s been hoarding. The whole time he’s knitting the hat, he thinks of Jaskier. It’s exactly the right shade of his eyes, but Geralt doesn’t let himself contemplate it too hard. 

When he’s finished, he finds an index card and scrawls a message. He wraps up the whole thing and gives it to Jaskier the next time he sees him. 

Jaskier tears the package open and rubs the yarn between his fingers in delight. “You made this for me? No one’s ever knitted something for me before.”

“I’m glad I could remedy that,” Geralt says gruffly, shifting uncomfortably at the adoring look Jaskier is giving him. 

Jaskier notices the card and reads it before bursting into laughter. 

Sorry I didn’t know your name <3

“You’re forgiven.”

On to the next order of business, then. Geralt clears his throat. “Yen’s baby shower is next week.”

Jaskier makes a noise of polite interest, not looking up from where he’s examining the stitches in the hat. Geralt really hopes he doesn’t notice where he dropped one. 

Geralt waits for a few more seconds and sighs. Jaskier is really going to make him ask. “I was wondering if you would want to go with me.”

Jaskier tilts his head up and gives Geralt a bright smile. “Of course I would!” He pauses to think for a moment. “Are you...out to them?”

“Yes,” Geralt grumbles. “It turns out my hiding spot for my play girls when I was 16 wasn’t as clever as I thought.”

Jaskier snorts. “It never is, is it?”

-

In the days leading up to the shower, Jaskier’s anxiety starts to show, but Geralt politely doesn’t comment. They walk up to the party arm in arm, Geralt carrying both of their gift bags. Geralt had told him he didn’t need to get anything, but he had anyway, insisting that he had just happened to stumble across  the cutest onesie, Geralt! What a coincidence!

Geralt can’t help but smile as he looks over at Jaskier. Jaskier’s thumb is compulsively stroking over a spot on Geralt’s hand, and he’s even wearing the hat Geralt knitted him. Geralt’s chest feels tighter than normal. 

“Oh, so this is why you haven’t been such a grump lately?” Triss asks once they walk through the door, taking their gift bags to set on a side table. 

“I’m never grumpy,” Geralt says, and Jaskier has the audacity to laugh, so Geralt elbows him in the side. 

Triss laughs at that, too, before she goes off to find Yennefer and drags her back to them. “Geralt!” she exclaims, rubbing a hand up his arm. “I’m glad you could drag yourself away from your very important activities that you refuse to tell anyone about.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and looks over to see Jaskier staring at him curiously. 

“Ah, and this must be Dandelion!” Yen says, turning to Jaskier. 

“Eskel wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that!” Geralt hisses, but Yen just gives him a delighted smile. 

Geralt sighs as she moves on to terrorize her next guest. 

“Your friends are pretty brutal, Geralt,” Jaskier says lightly. 

“You have no idea.” 

Geralt leads Jaskier over to where Eskel and Lambert are sitting by the food table and attempts to make small talk. 

Almost immediately, Lambert asks, “What’d you get her?” 

Eskel and Geralt share an exasperated look. “Why so competitive, Lamb? Over compensating?”

Lambert scowls. “I was just curious. You’re not going to be able to top what I got her, anyway. Best uncle ever.”

“You’re not going to be an uncle,” Eskel says. 

Lambert is unconcerned. “Best uncle ever.”

Geralt crosses his arms and leans into Jaskier, trying to block out Eskel and Lambert’s bickering. 

“I hate things like this,” Geralt mutters. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Geralt. You being an unbearable softie is our little secret. I won’t breathe a word.”

Geralt grumbles. “That’s not why.” He pauses, then, “Why do I put up with you?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Jaskier says, turning his head to press a kiss against Geralt’s temple. 

Geralt flushes at the touch and looks around, but no one is staring at them like anything out of the ordinary happened. Geralt relaxes back against him. 

He’s almost dozing off by the time Yen gets to his gift, and he only realizes it by Jaskier digging a bony elbow into his stomach. He pinches Jaskier in retribution. 

Yen opens the gift carefully, making the appropriate polite noises as she does so. 

“Isn’t it soft?” Jaskier asks as she strokes her fingers over the blanket. “Geralt chose some great yarn.”

Geralt whips his neck around to look at Jaskier so quickly he thinks he heard something pop.

“What?” 

“The yarn! It’s so nice and such a lovely color, don’t you think? Geralt did a wonderful job.”

“Geralt, you made this?” Yennefer asks incredulously, and great, her voice cracks. 

Geralt sighs and tries to accept his fate of all the merciless jokes that are going to be made in his defense. “Yes?”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

“When the fuck did you learn how to do that?” Lambert asks. 

Geralt shrugs defensively. “I’ve been knitting for years.”

Everyone’s eyes are drawn to the blue cap perched on top of Jaskier’s head, and teasing grins spread over their faces. 

Geralt groans. He’s never going to hear the end of this.

As Jaskier takes his hand in his and squeezes, he thinks maybe that’s okay. 

[maybedefinitely404]

For You Became My Lighthouse (Part 2)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Pairing: romantic Prinxiety

Content: argument, crying, a decent dose of awkward but it gets resolved!

Word count: 4.1k

Comment: This is the fourth time I’ve tried to post this--- Part 1 HERE!

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

Roman ran a hand through his hair at the message, checking the time at the top of the screen. It was late, far too late, so it was safe to assume that Logan had heard about the spat from Virgil. He should have been home by now. It was just… impossible to convince himself to actually leave the rehearsal studio. He had a younger acting class tomorrow and was perfecting his lesson plan- even though he already knew it was perfect, and his director had already approved it. Just, anything to keep him from going home.

He’d been a dick. Such was obvious; from the second his finger had hit send, he regretted approximately everything in his life that had led to this moment. That day had been particularly bad, overrun with rehearsals he was either taking part in or directing, and gearing up for tech week of a large production. Who knew trying to block a scene with a flurry of pre-teens could take so much out of you? Rinse and repeat the cycle with two more classes to teach back to back and an achingly long dance rehearsal, add in a desperate and fruitless search for a replacement lead in his upcoming directorial debut, and you’d have what Roman would categorize as a “shit show of a day”. 

All he wanted to do at the end of it was spend some time with his boyfriend, without having to talk about his day, so he’d suggested the most basic date his fried brain could conjur. Then his work desk was unceremoniously reacquainted with his forehead as he smacked it into the wood, letting out a groan that bordered on a yell. Luckily, minutes ago everyone had abandoned the theatre, and he’d been trusted with the keys to lock up from a stagehand. He just had a couple more things to do, and then he could drive home. 

Getting a reply of denial from Virgil was nothing new. In fact, he’d been warned in the transition from reluctant acquaintanceship to inevitable friendship, that he tended to veto ideas if they were sudden, or too daunting, or if he was just feeling shitty. It was something that Roman never considered a deal breaker, and he’d slowly come to much rather enjoy a night of cuddling and watching television than going out anyways. Call it ‘getting old’, call it ‘Virgil’s homebody ways creeping into his psyche’. So usually, getting his plans rejected was no big deal. 

Except for today, when he was well and past his limit of frustration, and things not going to plan. He’d typed out and sent the snarky reply far before he’d thought it out whatsoever, and ranted out complaints that hadn’t ever crossed his mind before, which he immediately regretted. In a moment of shame so great it caused physical nausea, he tossed his phone into one of his desk drawers and slammed it shut. 

It buzzed once, twice, and then went silent. 

Until, of course, it began to go berserk an indecipherable amount of time later, and Roman couldn’t ignore it. Seeing Logan’s text, along with about a million missed calls from him and Patton, broke the fragile sense of calm he’d tried to achieve while working. 

He didn’t want to go home and face his consequences. Childish, yes. Well deserved, also yes, but he was afraid of Virgil’s inevitable anger. If this led to a breakup, a fight that wasn’t recoverable, he’d never forgive himself. 

And now…

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

I can see you’ve read my text message.

-Logan

I’m at work. 

You’re inconceivably moronic. Get home. Now.

-Logan

Roman sighed heavily through his nose, clenching his jaw. He began typing out another snarky response- because apparently he never learned- when another text came through.

Virgil was in significant distress last I spoke to him and he has stopped answering me and Patton. Go. Home.

-Logan

Please. If not for my sake, then for Virgil’s.

-Logan

Fuck.

Roman barely had the sense to lock the doors of the building in his rush, throwing the spare key back in through the mail slot and booking it to his car. He sent some sort of confirmation that he was going and tossed the phone to his back seat. Virgil hated when he used it while driving.

It was only on the drive back, on unusually empty roads, did he realize it was well past nine. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing by.

Most of the lights in the apartment complex were still on when he pulled into the car park, but their window visible on this side showed only darkness. He wasn’t used to entering a dark apartment.

Their flat was silent, the living room only illuminated by the oven clock and the dim city lights from the balcony. He toed off his shoes as silently as he could, wincing when he kicked their shoe rack, and decided he’d risk turning on the light. When he finally found the switch and flicked it on, he couldn’t help his gasp. 

The room had once been a pristine display, he could tell. A white table cloth adorned their usually bare dining room table and a half burned candle stood as its centrepiece. He approached it in a daze, cautiously resting a hand on the plate of ravioli nearest to him. Cold. Long cold; the pasta was starting to get crusty. 

He picked up the two plates, intent on throwing out the food. It definitely wasn’t safe to eat anymore, and he didn’t feel like warding off an attack of ants in the morning. One of the towels hanging off the oven handle was drenched in what looked like marinara sauce, and it looked like there was some more spilled in the crack between the stove and the counter. That would be fun to clean. 

Both hands full, he opened the cupboard containing the garbage bin with a socked foot, and promptly froze. 

Part of him cringed at the clang the dropped plates made on the counter, but the louder part of him was just repeating a mantra of ‘holy shit, holy shit, holy shit’ and it was considerably out-screaming the other. Hands now shaking, Roman picked up the small box from the sink edge, ignoring the dried, crunchy texture of more tomato sauce on the outside, and opened it. 

It took every ounce of strength for Roman not to collapse to his knees, guilt instantly crushing the air from his lungs, a thousand times heavier than it had been before. An elaborate dinner, a ring… there had been a plan. That’s why Virgil had rejected his offer to go out. 

And he’d been such a dick to him. 

Speaking of which, where was he?

Roman closed the box and set it back where it had been. Their bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the most obvious place Virgil would be, so he padded over and creaked it open just a bit more. The light from the hallway cast a beam onto the bed, illuminating first a mess of hastily thrown clothes; his button up shirt he only used for fancy occasions on top of the pile. 

Virgil’s huddled form was easy to make out, curled away from the door, his only movement being the steady rise and fall of the blanket as he breathed. Figaro lifted his head from where he was settled in the crook of Virgil’s knees and gave Roman an indifferent mrow. 

He couldn’t get into bed with him. There was no scenario where that was the right move. It wasn’t the right time to talk about what had happened, not so late and when they were both riding high on emotions and tiredness, so accidentally waking Virgil was not the way to go. And even if he was sneaky enough to not wake him… a part of him just felt it was wrong. Not when he didn’t know Virgil’s stance on him at the moment.

Or his stance on the relationship.

Well, couch it was. He acknowledged the crumpled weighted blanket and sound blocking headphones- clear aftermath of a bad panic attack- with a quiet curse. Somehow that pit in his stomach got even bigger, making him nauseous as his shame took a physical form. 

He could only pray that they would come back from this. 

Roman’s sleep was fitful, to say the least. At best, he drifted into a state of half-consciousness, where his thoughts could be somewhat quieted down, but the discomfort of the couch and the heavy weight in his heart were still palpable. Inevitably, one of their neighbors would make a noise or the building would make a settling creak or a distant dog would bark, and the state would be broken, leaving Roman wide awake and wracked with guilt once more. He’d never noticed how loud the world was until he wanted nothing more than for the noise to stop. 

The sun was just peaking into the window when their bedroom door widened and Roman flew up, using the back of the couch to steady his sudden sitting position. When their eyes met from across the room, Virgil in his pajamas and face hidden in shadow, a tenseness settled over the room that neither had experienced in their relationship thus far. Virgil froze in the doorway, wavering slightly. It didn’t appear he wanted to be the one to break the silence. 

Roman stood slowly, as though not to spook him.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Virgil whispered with a sniff, and even in that one word Roman could hear the scratchiness of his voice. “I just...uhm,” He cleared his throat, “I just wanted to get some water. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already awake. No… no worries.” 

Virgil looked down to his feet. “When did you come back?”

“I think just before ten.”

“‘Kay.”

For an all too long moment, both of them seemed to find interest in every part of the room that wasn’t the other’s eyes. It wasn’t until Roman looked towards the kitchen in his awkwardness did he process what Virgil had come out for. 

“I’ll, um…” He pointed weakly to the kitchen and finally convinced his feet to move, filling up a glass from the sink while making a conscious effort to not look at the dishes or wasted food from the evening before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the way his gaze drifted towards the box sitting next to the tap, and judging by Virgil’s sharp inhale, the look hadn’t been subtle. 

He took the glass back to the other, watching him take it with an uncomfortable, “Thanks.”

Virgil downed the glass in one go, his shaking hands almost causing him to spill. He barely had time to take a breath before Roman had zipped the empty glass back onto the counter.

“Do you want more?” He asked, already refilling the glass.

“No, I’m… it’s okay.” 

Roman placed the full glass on the counter quietly and the two were swallowed by heavy silence once again. The clock ticked impossibly loud as they stood, fidgeting, wanting this moment to be over but not wanting to be the one to start it. 

Virgil took a shuddering breath and wrung his hands together.

Roman stared resolutely at a single water drop making its way down the glass.

This was his fault. He’d started it. It seemed only right that he break the tension that almost suffocated him, so even as his mind screamed for him to shut up and every muscle in his body turned to liquid, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Virgil, I-”

“I’m sorry.”

That effectively stopped Roman in his tracks. All night, he’d crafted a collection of apologies, from eloquent monologues to stumbling pleas for forgiveness, but in not one of his countless scenarios had Virgil apologized. 

“I know… I know I can be a lot to handle, I know, I swear. And I was more outgoing when we first met, because I thought I had something to prove and it always exhausted me and I hated it but then we became… I don’t know, official? And closer and… and more comfortable and I didn’t think I had to do that anymore, I didn’t have to keep pushing myself so far!”

“V, stop-”

“The panic attacks and the anxiety and all that shit are a lot for other people and I know that but I didn’t know it was too much for you, I didn’t know you were tired of that and I can be better, I swear, I swear I can go back to how I was in the beginning, just please don’t leave.”

Virgil let out a choked sob and Roman couldn’t stop himself from rushing forward, intent on holding his stupid, stupid boyfriend until he realized this was in no way his fault, only for Virgil to back up before he could do so.

“I’m- I’m not trying to guilt you, I’m sorry, I just, I love you, and I can be better, I can, just give me a chance, please-”

“Virgil, baby, come here.”

This time when he reached forward, Virgil allowed himself to be pulled into his boyfriend’s chest, basically collapsing against him as soon as Roman’s arms tightened around him. The dam broke moments later and Virgil finally let go of his own hands to grab the back of Roman’s shirt with a sense of urgency.

“Please don’t leave, I’m so sorry,” he begged raspily into Roman’s shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

Roman hung onto him almost as tightly in return, rocking them back and forth, finally allowing himself to cry. He shoved his face into Virgil’s hair, peppering small kisses and apologies to the crown of his head in between sobs. 

Virgil whined when Roman finally pulled away, but he didn’t go far, cradling his boyfriend’s face in his hands and wiping his tacky cheeks with his thumbs.

“Virgil, I cannot apologize enough for yesterday.”

“What are-” he hiccuped, “What are you talking about? It was my fault.”

“No, no, no no no no no,” Roman whispered, fighting that damn lump in his throat once more. “I had a spectacularly shitty day, and I took it out on you. I was leagues out of line. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m so, so unbelievably sorry.” 

As if the strings were cut on a marionette, all the tenseness dissolved from Virgil’s shoulders and he slumped forward, bumping his head weakly into Roman’s chest. “Can we sit down?”

“Yeah, of course.” Roman clumsily led him to the couch and sat on the adjacent cushion, assuming that if Virgil wanted to talk, he’d want his own space. His assumption was incorrect, however, judging by how Virgil crossed the space almost instantly and buried himself in Roman’s side like a koala. He shifted them both until he was laying on his back, Virgil splayed across him .

“I thought you’d be more upset with me,” He muttered, freeing his hand to run it through Virgil’s hair. His fingers raked through his own tears trapped in the locks and he grimaced.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling right now,” responded Virgil, accompanied by a shuddering breath, “I just need to know that you’re really here. And I need you.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching the sun begin to peek through their window, until Virgil spoke again sardonically.

“If this is a dream, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Roman snorted despite himself and felt Virgil’s responding half-laugh from where he was tucked against him.  

“I agree. I thought I’d fucked up for good this time.”

A disgruntled meow made Roman crane his neck over the couch, watching Figaro stretch languidly in their bedroom doorway. The cat sidled over to his food bowl and sat pointedly next to it. Feed me. 

“Later, Figaro,” Roman groaned, all too comfortable with Virgil as his blanket. A small part of him was worried that if he moved them at all, the spell would be broken, and they’d lose whatever peace they’d settled into. 

Well, that wouldn’t do at all, not by Figaro’s standards. The cat gave an upset mewl and trotted over to the couch, leaping up with grace and batting Virgil’s legs. It was that pettish action that made Roman realize that Virgil had turned stone still on his lap. Figaro changed his approach to headbutting at his arm in a clear attempt to get pets, but Virgil’s hand stayed still by their sides. 

“What’s going through your head?” Roman murmured. 

“That stuff you said, about me… not contributing to the relationship…” Virgil croaked, and Roman stilled,  “What can I do to-… to fix that? Because I wanna fix it.”

“Baby, no,” Roman whispered, that shame-nausea returning, “I-” He groaned, dropping his head onto the arm of the couch behind him, “I was being an asshole. I didn’t mean that.”

Virgil didn’t budge, still deliberately ignoring Figaro’s futile begging for attention. “Then where did it come from?”

He took a breath deep enough that Virgil rose and fell with his chest, and Roman was struck with the profound urge to pull him closer and never let him go. But that would likely make him feel trapped, and that wasn’t productive. “You remember when I dragged you to that improv show my students put on last year?”

“You introduced me as your boyfriend and we found out the class had placed bets on whether you were gay or not. I don’t know how it wasn’t obvious.”

Roman gasped in mock offense. “Maybe they just were trying not to stereotype!”

“Your phone case is a rainbow-”

“Anyways!” He interrupted, resuming his gentle threading through Virgil’s hair, who snorted but otherwise gave in to the affection. “Remember what happened after?”

“Mmhm.”

It had been a fantastic show, and Roman had been exceedingly proud of his little students, especially since it was his first time ever teaching a class. After the night, when the betting chaos had settled and everyone quickly adopted Virgil as theirs now, they’d pleaded to play a few more improv games before the theatre closed. Seeing as it was their last class, hence the performance in the first place, Roman had acquiesced. But neither of the men had expected for the gang of pre-teens to latch onto Virgil and beg him to play too, despite him having zero theatre experience. 

“Remember what they said?”

“They tried to pack all your lectures into five minutes of information.”

“I don’t lecture, I dazzle.” 

“They thought you were straight.” 

“Only some, and that’s not the point!”

Virgil finally lifted his head, pulling his hands up so he could lay his chin on top of them. He smiled weakly. “Then what is the point?”

“The most important rule of improv is to keep the scene going. No matter what nonsense you have to pull out, just never leave a scene flat.”

There was a quiet moment while the other processed that before, once again, that layer of hurt reappeared on his face. He pushed himself off Roman’s chest in preparation to get up. “So… you’re saying you saw that argument as another scene you had to keep up.”

“No, shit, that came out wrong,” Roman insisted, and Virgil paused suspiciously, “I’m saying, that in a moment of panic, I fell back on bullshitting my way through it! That’s literally what I do for a living!” 

The distrust gave way to resignment and Virgil chewed on his cheek, turning his attention to the window. He sat all the way up on Roman’s legs, leaning back on his shins. “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me right now?” He said. 

“Because,” Roman followed him up, careful not to move his legs and dislodge his boyfriend, “You know I like when the bed is made, and even though you hate making it, you always do when I’m out of the house before you.”

Virgil looked down at his thumb.

“Because you let me choose the music in the car.”

“... you don’t like loud music,” He muttered, picking at the skin around his cuticle.

“You adjust your work schedule to come to every single one of my shows.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, but you hate working mornings. You let me rant about all my theatre stuff, even if you don’t get any of it.”

“I’m learning.” A faint smile was breaking through.

“You tell me when there’s spinach in my teeth, or my hair is messy, or if I’m acting like an asshole.”

“Well, that’s easy enough.”

Roman reciprocated the smile at that, taking Virgil’s hands in his own to stop the attack at his nail. “I’ve been watching you better yourself for years, even if it’s been really, really hard.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Virgil asked with a small blush, switching his fidgeting tactic to fiddling with Roman’s fingers. 

“Every time you do something that betters yourself, you help us, Virgil.” He leaned forward slowly, giving Virgil the time to move away if he wanted to, and rested their foreheads together. “Yesterday, I fucked up. Badly. You said you were anxious and I still acted like a dick. I kinda thought you’d hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” Virgil whispered, seemingly before he had a chance to process it, because his blush multiplied tenfold. Roman grinned. 

“Aw, is someone feeling sappy?”

“Shut up, jackass,” He retorted, bonking their heads together ever so gently. 

“I’m so sorry, Virgil,” Roman said after their giggles and blushes had faded, “It won’t happen again, I swear.” 

In lieu of answering, Virgil closed the already scant distance between their lips, and despite Roman using all of his self control to not sigh into it, he found himself doing so anyways. All the tension bled out of his shoulders at once as Virgil pulled away, pressing one more peck to the tip of his nose, and then leaning back with a small smile. 

“So… that means we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“Thank god,” Roman groaned, flopping back and dropping his arm over his eyes dramatically. He heard Virgil’s quiet snicker before he resumed his job as a blanket. Except this time, instead of nuzzling his head into Roman’s neck, he could feel the distinct edge of a chin digging into his sternum.

The hand lifted from his eyes to see Virgil staring at him, that goofy little smirk on his face. 

“What?”

“I love you, idiot.”

Well, now they were wearing matching goofy little smirks. 

“I love you too.” 

That seemed to satiate him, because he gave a little nod and laid his head more comfortably on the other’s chest. He could have left the conversation there, content to just let them lay there in peace until the world fell away- or Figaro grew more insistent on being fed- but Roman just couldn’t banish the one persistent thought in the back of his mind. 

“Were you actually going to propose?” He blurted.

Virgil tensed for a moment, and then gave a resigned sigh. “...Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Roman furrowed his eyebrows, desperately hoping he sounded casual, though his heart was pounding far too loudly to not be heard, “I would have said yes. If you did.”

“Oh?” Virgil lifted his head. “You’re blushing, Princey.” He could hear the smug grin.

“Nooo…” Roman whined. His arm draped once more over his eyes in a weak attempt to hide the redness, but he drew it away only moments later when Virgil didn’t retort. 

The man was staring at him with an odd mix of disappointment and amusement, huffing out a breath as he watched Roman’s eyes.

“This wasn’t how I was planning to propose,” He sighed, “It was supposed to be all perfect, and romantic, and stuff. And the surprise is ruined now.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Roman, continuing before Virgil could cut him off, “If it’s any consolation, I think a proposal in our pajamas, on the couch, would be very us.”

“You’re not in pajamas.”

“I slept in these clothes, they count as pajamas.”

Virgil snickered. Roman counted five breaths as the other’s face melted from a smile to anxiously knit brows, worrying his lip between his teeth as he looked down at him. It took another three for him to speak.

 “So…uh... will you…?”

Roman’s face split into a grin, “Yes, Virgil. Obviously.” 

Virgil’s expression morphed to match his and he swooped down to kiss him again, though they barely could with how much they were smiling. They both devolved into giggles, happy to just stay wrapped in each other’s arms, until Virgil broke away with a gasp.

“Let me grab the ring!”

“Ring can wait,” Roman argued, tightening his grip around his waist to keep him in place, “I want cuddles.”

And so they did.

Taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

@marshymoop

@larkiaquail

@noemiescuriosity

@mycatshuman

@cirishere

@vpow

@ray-does-stuff

@sirprplsnail

[eroslove88]

Lord Give Me Strength

✧Pairing: Yandere!Shigaraki x Fem!Reader

✧Warnings: non-con, gagging (just one part), fisting, mentioned death (not major though), threatening, humiliation, mentions of stalking, public-ish, hinted kidnapping, and yandere themes

✧Note: Random ass thought I had on Wednesday so I decided to write it down hope y'all enjoy!

Another Sunday morning, like most Sundays you spent an hour at church. There were different masses but you always attended the one from 12 pm - 1 pm. This one wasn't far from your apartment but it wasn't close either, well from what Shigaraki could tell you only attended because of 'family'.

Like always the church started with a simple, "Good Morning" then you'd all say it back. You'd hate to admit the mass was boring, but family comes first. About 15 minutes in one of the confession room lights turned on. Even well into being an adult your dad still had to nudge you to get your attention to the red light.

With a sigh you walked over to the door with a silver plate at the top that read, "Father Gonzalez". Since you were the only one there you went in closing the door behind you and covering the window in the confession room for privacy. This confession room wasn't like normal confession boxes, it had a wall with a small curtain covering the window where the priest was on the other side, a cushion to kneel on, a table with holy water and a rosary on it behind where the priest sat and a chair right in between the small wall separating you two.

Kneeling you made a cross with your thumb and index finger and began to persinarte (cross one's self, felt weird to say it in English) , "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was last week" you said quietly bowing your head to the closed curtain. Silently you waited for the priest to say something from Holy Scripture but, "Father Gonzalez?" you asked looking up at the curtain.

"What's your name?" a scratchy voice asked from behind the red curtain. This wasn't Father Gonzalez's voice, but even though this should've been alarming you wrote it off as a cold.

"Y/N, Y/N L/N" you said quietly. He's never asked for your name. Nor was he supposed to but here you were just telling this man anyways. Besides you've known him for ever, he's worked here for years. Maybe he was getting Alzheimer's, he was pretty old.

You were about to say something when a dry pale-ish hand with long nails came out from behind the curtain and grabbed a fistful of your hair with his middle finger up pulling you into a deep one sided kiss. The kiss muffled your screams and protests as you tried to push away. But when you opened your eyes you didn't see black ones staring back, but ruby red ones along with light blue hair. He let go and you threw yourself back disconnecting the string of saliva connecting both of your lips.

Scrambling to get up but a hand got the collar of your dress shirt and pulled you back dragging you backwards and pushing you hard onto the baidge wall. You let out a scream only for two long skinny fingers to stop it making you gag on them as they reached your throat, "Don't you dare throw up on them you slutty bitch" he threatened. Now the voice sounded familiar, it was The League of Villain's leader, Shigaraki. "Scream and I'll kill you" he threatened whispering into your ear as he slowly started pulling out his fingers.

Everything was going to fast before you knew it your body was bent over the table knocking over what ever was on there. Shigaraki had one hand gripping your hair and the other hand decaying your skirt, "Stop i-it please" you whispered begging and praying that he didn't drop his last finger. Of course you weren't going to scream especially since one of Japan's most wanted criminals had you in the palm of his hand.

You were only human so you couldn't stop a choked sob from escaping as you felt a skinny wet finger enter your slightly wet pussy. It had caught you off guard so you began gripping the wooden table- but thats when you noticed the pile of dust in the corner, "You want to end up like that priest?" he asked yanking you by your hair so you could face him. Furiously you shook your head but couldn't help but let out a broken moan feeling another finger enter you. Hearing some mumbles of concern from outside made your face turned a darker shade of read and you couldn't stop crying. "Aww is my baby embarrassed?" he asked before licking your salty tears off your red face.

Of course you were but you didn't say anything just whimpered as he added a 3rd finger.

"I said" he paused with a chuckle, "IS MY LITTLE BITCH EMBARRASSED ABOUT ME FISTING HER CUNT!" did he just? He had yelled it out and now you heard the talking getting louder and more concerned voices.

"Y-yes" you whispered as more tears ran down your face making you see a blurry wall.

"I wouldn't have to be this cruel if you had just been obedient the first time" he muttered as he set and eager pace pulling them in and out repeatedly. Slowly you closed your eyes trying to distract yourself from here but this didn't go unnoticed of course, "Eye's open! Nothing's getting you out of this" Shigaraki said pulling your hair your you were facing him.

"Oh god" you said threw gritted teeth feeling another finger enter, "S-stop you'll kill me"

"I'll try not to slip but that all depends of you" his tone had no pity he was serious about this. Your arms and legs were shaking you didn't know how long you could hold yourself before you collapsed. The four fingers went in until the knuckles were out of sight and left one finger out which he bent into his palm and went in with the other four easily.

"S-stop ngh- pleas-" you begged but stopped with a loud moan forgetting there was a mass going on outside when he curled his fingers and hit a certain spot.

"Why would I do that when you seem to be enjoying this" you knew he was referring to dripping core. "Besides I'm guessing I've already hit your sweet spot" he wasn't wrong but you couldn't enjoy this, right? This was definitely wrong.

Pulling you by your hair closer he kissed your tears with chuckle as you whimpered at his now fast pace. It was only getting faster though, the sound of your juices being heard loudly throughout the quiet room. The prayers from outside are what made you remembered where you were, "Pray for me" he demanded still going in and out.

"Ha~ Hail, Holy Queen" you started while sweat was dripping down your red face, "M-Mother of m-m-mercy, our life, our sw-sweetness and our hope" his sweet sadistic grin on his chapped lips only growing with each sentence, "To thee who we cry, p-poor banished children of E-E-Eve" you were getting closer to your climax and just wanted this to end and go home. "T-to thee- ngh, fuck fuck fuck don't stop"

"Finish your prayer" he demanded slowing down to your displeasure.

"Do we s-send u-u-p our our sighs" god you were desperate now even stuttering and repeating words just to cum on his dirty hand, "M-mourning and w-weeping valley of TEARS" you exclaimed when he went in deeper that evem his wrist was gone. "Turn then most gracious A-ahh~ Advocate, th-thine eyes of mer-mercy toward us, and and after this our exile," you were almost done with this nightmare. Just that thought alone made you cry happy tears, "sh-sh-show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus fuck!" one mote sentence then home free, "O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary!" you said quickly then sighed out a quiet, "amen"

With a loud cry of his name you came on his hand. Finally when he removed his hand licking it clean you fell onto your knees laying your head calmly on the brown table feeling tired and worn out.

You looked over with last energy to a blurry Shigaraki while he took out his what looked like his phone and called someone and all you could make out was, "Kurogiri" the address and then, you saw black.

[medium-kat07]

Roulette

Ao3

Chapter 10; Just a crybaby

Pairings: Sbi (familial,) Tntduo (romantic)

AU: Superheroes

Wordcount: 3070

TW: Heavy talk and description of crying, heavy talk of alcohol (vodka), talk of pain, mention of death, self worth issues, lots of arguments

Masterpost | Prev | Next

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It used to hurt, didn't it?

When Wilbur was seven years old, he cried. It hurt. He remembered that, specifically- it hurt like hell. Pain came in ragged sobs running his throat raw, pain came in a lack of oxygen when his breath wouldn't stop hitching, and pain came in strands of thin brown hair falling to the tile floor of the bathroom- yanked out by the short stubby fingers of a child too young to understand.

He used to cry a lot. That was what they told him, that he'd start crying spontaneously in the middle of class, and it was nothing but a disruption. No teacher cared to ask what was wrong, and that was probably for the best, since if they had, he would have tearfully responded “I don't know, I don't know.”

But they didn't ask. So he stopped crying.

He isn't sure when he really stopped. It just happened. He didn't cry for a while, and then for a longer while, until it got to the point where he couldn't remember the last time he cried. It wasn't important, and everyone seemed grateful for it, so it was fine. It was a good thing.

So what possessed him, a decade and a half later, to break down in the middle of his night into a pillow?

To say the least, he'd had a terrible day.

--

To say the most, he'd woken up at 6am from a nightmare he wished wasn’t a real memory. He stumbled into the living room to find the kitchen light on and two figures chatting at the kitchen island.

“Wilbur, you alright?” Tommy asked with an eyebrow raised. Both he and Techno had faint shadows under their eyes.

“I feel like,” Wilbur drawled, rubbing his eyes, “Someone stabbed me in the throat.”

Techno moved to get a glass, probably to pour him some water. “None of us slept very well, obviously.”

“I had a dream that the tower grew legs and carried us to a volcano and spat us into it,” Tommy recounted with a wide smile. “It’s funny now, but at the time I was fucking terrified. Woke up feeling way too hot. Kicked off all my blankets. Now I’m here!” Techno put a glass of milk in front of him. Tommy raised the glass as if toasting to Techno, saying, “Thank you, bartender, put it on my tab.”

“Of course,” Techno grumbled in reply.

Wilbur took the glass of water Techno offered him with a scratchy “Thank you,” and gulped it down. It eased the rawness in his throat from yelling into his mattress.

“I had a terrible dream, that I would rather not recount, lest one of you try to force me into therapy.”

“We need therapy anyway,” Tommy yawned.

“We do?” Wilbur looked at Techno, who shook his head. Wilbur turned back to Tommy. “No, we don’t. We’re fine.”

“Who says?”

“Techno says. And so do I.”

“Well. We need family therapy, at least.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Wilbur said, and promptly kicked open the liquor cabinet. “There’s my therapy right there.”

Techno closed the cabinet with a raised eyebrow. “We do fine without therapy- and without booze.”

“But vodka,” Wilbur whined.

“Drink your water.”

“Techno, let me have vodka and I’ll tell you what Tommy was doing the night I had the other nightmare.”

Tommy froze. “Wilbur, tell Techno and I’ll tell him what you were doing.”

“He already knows I was drinking. He woke up to smack the glass out of my hands.”

“I was not nearly that violent,” Techno clarified while brewing some coffee. “Wilbur, tell me what Tommy was doing and I’ll tell you what I did last week.”

“Right, and then we'll all tell dad and we'll all be in trouble,” Tommy interjected. “Just give him the booze.”

“Dad would not give less of a shit,” Wilbur grumbled.

Techno huffed. “And you're not getting any booze. How do you even drink straight vodka?”

“Pretend it's water, tip the glass back, and pray,” Wilbur recounted with a small smile.

Tommy slumped over the kitchen island and sighed. “You're both terrible at emotions.”

“My power literally makes me good at emotions. That's all I’m good for,” Wilbur yawned.

“Your power's all you're good for, innit?”

“Perhaps,” Wilbur said with a shrug.

Tommy propped his chin in his palm, elbow resting on the table as he looked at Wilbur with a brow raised. “I'll suppose I’m good for nothing then?”

Fuck.

Both older brothers froze. Techno spilled coffee on the counter and his hand. “Shit,” he hissed, going to the sink to run his hand under cold water.

“Of course not, Tommy- you don't need a power to be good for something. You're still smart and capable, alright?” Wilbur solaced his little brother, and it was true. It was true.

“That sounds rehearsed,” Tommy mumbled.

Wilbur couldn't disagree.

The energy in the room had vastly changed.

Before either of them said anything else, Tommy stood up and walked to his room. Wilbur could feel the exasperation and numb resent follow him and disappear down the hall.

This didn’t happen often, thankfully. But it does sting everyone in the room when a comment is made about Tommy being powerless. Most kids get their powers near the age of six, as earlier stated. Wilbur isn’t sure how old Tommy was when everyone stopped asking if he’d gotten them yet, but it happened, at some point, and nobody really addressed it.

And it was true, Tommy was still a human being who had talent and personality and he was loved and capable- But people reminded him so much that it made Tommy sick of it, and Wilbur was starting to think he was getting sick of it, too.

It’d been better, lately. Nobody had made an offhand comment about it in a while.

It feels strange to tiptoe around Tommy being powerless. Everyone insists its normal and okay, so why can’t anyone talk about it comfortably?

Wilbur groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“So,” Techno muttered. “That was… interesting.”

“I’m too tired to have coherent thoughts about my mistakes. I want vodka.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Techno reached for the coffee pot. Wilbur grabbed his hand.

“Pleaseee,” He whined. “I’ll take one of your missions!”

“No,” Techno said again, trying to take his arm back.

“Besides, I’m sure you have other things to-” Wilbur looked down.

…oh.

That was a mistake.

All up Technoblade’s arm, pale skin was stained with light violet and yellowish splotches, sparsely scattered from his wrist to his elbow.

Wilbur tried to think back to the last time he’d seen or heard of Techno being hurt.

He could not.

“Techno, what happened to your arm? Why- Is your other arm like this? Are you alright?”

“I hear genuine concern,” Techno drawled with furrowed brows. “But It’s in Wilbur’s voice. How is this possible? No one knows.”

Wilbur’s eyes snapped up to face Techno with a harsh look. “Because I actually care when my brother is hurt.”

“Do you? Do you really?” Techno asked incredulously. He snatched his arm back. “Oh, I’d love to see real emotion on your face. Something other than hatred would really help, you know?”

“You knowwhy I hate you.”

“Do I? God, it makes sense that Tommy would have to walk out of the room, it is impossible to deal with you sometimes.”

“Is it not enough that I want you to be safe? Do I have to be unconditionally attached to you, as well?”

Attached was the word he used. He could have said Love. He did not.

“You’d do well to be attached to me, considering you can’t do anything yourself.”

Wilbur bristled. “You know I’ve fought four villains now on my own.” And God, he could taste the lie. He felt the fury twinge in the air, and he wanted to lie and lie and lie until he couldn’t come up with anything else to fabricate of this persona.

“And I’ve fought twenty. I think it’s time you get over yourself,” Techno seethed.

Wilbur narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to say more, but Techno had already set his mug down and was walking out of the room.

Like Tommy had. Like Techno said he would.

Wilbur realized with great disappointment that his brothers had come to the kitchen to escape their rooms, and when he opened his mouth, he drove them right back inside.

Wow.

So with a deep breath, he walked to the living room and collapsed on the couch.

Not a great start to his day.

The phrase “It all went downhill from there” would be good to say here, but it would be a lie. The rest of his day wasn't nearly as bad or as angry. He easily avoided his brothers, taking a walk down the street (where he was bombarded by teenage blondes and their phone cameras,) and hiding out in the tower lounge (where 404 made him hallucinate that the sky outside the windows was red.)

But he was looking forward to one thing that night; he had patrol.

A patrol, with a certain vigilante.

Initially he was excited for it, as he was most nights. He could just put on goggles and a long brown coat, and nobody could tell who he was- as well as it was a chance to speak more to Quackity, who was still somehow the most interesting person Wilbur had ever met. He'd thought the wonder might fade after a bit, but the vigilante's laugh still sounded like soda bubbles, and his eyes still glinted like onyx.

Now, in sort of a bad mood after being accused of being helpless, he began to think about Quackity.

And he thought. And he thought.

And after a bit, his resentment for his brother began to bleed into his mixed feelings for the vigilante.

His entire life he was overshadowed by Techno, his brother, the golden child, the perfect warrior and hero and blah blah blah because Techno was stronger, and he kept saving him. He always beat him in sparring.

And when Wilbur thought about it, he was doing the same thing with Quackity, wasn’t he?

He cared about Quackity, he thought the vigilante was amazing, but he once thought that about Techno. And Quackity was saving him too. The two did all the same things. Wilbur couldn’t let himself- He could not let himself be overshadowed again by someone else. He always knew he could do things himself, if someone would just give him a goddamn chance.

Wilbur’s fists clenched around his phone.

Quackity was just like Technoblade, wasn't he?

Wilbur was blinded by his anger, and he decided on a whim that maybe confronting the vigilante about the issue would bear some results.

It did.

--

“You’ve saved me- what. Four times now?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Why?”

Quackity purses his lips, calculating his next words. “Not sure,” he says. “Just don’t want you to get yourself killed, I guess.”

He and Quackity weaved through the central part of the city, doing a full circle of the tower. They’d been patrolling for maybe an hour now and had gone through about half the sector. The entire time, the conversation never stopped, drifting between one topic and another, never presenting any awkward silence. It was nice. Naturally, Wilbur had to ruin it.

“I thought the villains I was fighting weren’t the killing ones.”

“No, the only killing villains are Badboyhalo, Rosethorn, and Nuclear. Nuclear could’ve killed you, although it’s unlikely. But with your fighting skills, you’d probably find a way,” Quackity joked.

That did not make Wilbur feel better, to say the least. The hero turned his head and glared at the ground for a moment. Quackity did not miss it.

“Is… there something wrong?”

“Do you have to?” Wilbur blurted.

“Do I have to what?”

“Step in.” Wilbur huffed. “Do you have to step in every time? Can’t you just- wait to see if I can do it on my own?”

Quackity looked confused for a moment, and then he barked a laugh, shaking his head disdainfully. “I thought we talked about this, dude. Is your pride really that important to you? So important you’d put your own life over it?”

“It’s not-” Wilbur would have said It’s not about pride, but he had to stop himself with the realization that it was. It was about pride.

Is that really so bad, then?

“Look, Blue, you’re just tired or something-“

“Stop. Stop trying to rationalize me,” He breathed. “I know everyone thinks and says I’m weak, but-” Quackity winced. “-I truly believe nobody’s giving me a chance. If you’d just leave me alone for a little bit, maybe you wouldn’t get in the way.”

Quackity’s eyes widened impossibly, and he bristled. “Get in the way? Get in the way?” He scoffed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Blue, I’m sorry I’m such a nuisanceand a bother to your crystal record.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Wilbur said through gritted teeth. “Can you just listen?”

“I’m listening, Blue, and I’m telling you I was just trying to help you.” Quackity shook his head. “You were in danger. Did you want me to just leave you there?”

“Yes!” Confusion and anger fired in the air and Wilbur felt his chest begin to hurt. “Yes, I do! And I’m not prideful, it’s not even about credit, you know it isn’t.”

“I know it isn’t about credit, because pride isn’t about credit,” Quackity reasoned. “Pride is about your own validation, and you being obsessed with being worth something.”

“And now I’m worthless, then?”

Quackity flinched visibly. “You know that’s not what I meant.” Before Wilbur could refute him, he lashed out again. “You know what, how about I really leave you alone, okay? If I see you on a mission, I’ll just leave. I won’t stick around to see whether you live or die.”

Wilbur was taken aback, but he stopped himself from arguing. This was- well, it was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

He stared aimlessly, unable to say anything else.

He didn’t need his powers to see that Quackity was upset. The vigilante pulled out his phone and turned away from the hero, going the way they came.

“Where- Quackity, where are you going?”

“Home,” he replied with a numb sort of anger that hit Wilbur like a brick. “I’m going home. And I’m texting someone else to do patrol for me. You should go home too.” He pocketed his phone. “It’s gonna rain soon.”

Yet again, the energy in the area had vastly changed.

--

When he got home, he was met with Tommy trying to sneak out.

“I didn’t know you’d be back so soon,” Tommy said smoothly as Wilbur passed him with a scoff. “Usually, you come back much later.”

Wilbur turns to face him, taking in his brother with cargo pants and a vaguely familiar red hoodie with many pockets. “Hm. Had to cut my little adventure early. Where are you off to?”

Tommy blinked. “Oh, I’m actually a vigilante in secret and I have a whole second life while you aren’t looking. I’m going on patrol right now.”

“Very funny,” Wilbur murmured.

Tommy stared at him for a long moment with an incredulous expression, and then turned to leave.

“By the way,” Wilbur said quickly, before Tommy could go to who knows where, “I’m sorry about this morning. I should have thought of something better to say.”

Tommy’s face was unreadable for a long moment. “You should have thought of something better to say?” he repeated.

“I should have thought of something better to say,” Wilbur confirmed with a decisive expression.

He wanted to fix one thing today. Just one.

It evidently wasn’t enough for Tommy. Without another word, he huffed and stepped onto the elevator. The doors closed.

Wilbur wanted to scream. He did not.

Instead, he surveyed the room. The kitchen light was on. The dishes were half done, abandoned in haste. The television was off, which was a first.

He probably should have finished the dishes. He didn’t even bother to turn the kitchen light off as he walked past it.

He found, as though he were a kid again, he was dreading having to go to sleep. The day had been a disaster. He was on bad terms with both brothers at once, which was rare, and he’d fallen out with- dear god, he’d gotten in a fight with Quackity. A bad one.

He did not want to wake up tomorrow, because Future Wilbur was going to hate Past Wilbur in the morning, and Past Wilbur did not want to be hated.

He forced himself, one step at a time, down the hall, past Phil’s empty room, and Techno’s room that was always locked, and stopping just before Tommy’s door to enter his own room. And then he forced himself to sit on his bed, and God forgive him, he didn’t quite have the energy to get changed. He didn’t have the energy to lay down, either.

He let his gaze wander around the room for a minute or two, and then, he began to cry.

Hot tears pushed at the back of his eyes, and for a moment he thought he may be laughing, he couldn’t stop laughing, until his vision got impossibly blurry when he blinked, and he knew it wasn’t just because he’d left his glasses on the nightstand.

And this time, it didn’t hurt. Maybe it was because he was older and his lungs were big enough to handle the fit of breathlessness, maybe it was because he was crying softer, not quite loud enough to wake up his brother in the next room, but just loud enough to feel like he may never stop crying as long as he lived.

It felt like relief. It felt like a confession. He cried for Tommy, and for Techno, and for Quackity, and for himself. Even if he knew he would wake up tomorrow with the same blinding anger and stubbornness and will to prove them all wrong, he took this time to feel sad about things, because he hadn’t really let himself feel sad about things in a long time.

This time, he did not pull his hair out, and his breath hitching didn’t hurt, and the sobs didn’t quite rub his throat as raw as they used to.

But he was embarrassed to admit, that even though crying didn’t hurt anymore, he still felt like he was seven years old again.

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Masterpost | Prev | Next

[cosmicbash]

I'm hesitant to post this, because??? Honestly?? I'm not 100% sure I haven't already posted it. I was perusing my Google docs trying to relabel stuff as posted and such to better organize and found this, which @lemon-coke and me both can't figure out if I ever posted. So.

Better to repost it and give you all something to reread then not post it all I assume.

Sorry!

It starts out as a misunderstanding, of course, because how else would their relationship begin?

A series of short tentative chats that somehow blossom into a full on dinner together, Colson sweating and more anxious than he's ever been in his life. It just doesn't seem real, that not only could he be mending this feud with his idol but also sitting across from him at some fancy restaurant table learning Eminem eats his steaks well done like some child. And laughing about it. 

He's actually laughing. With his idol, his rival, his highschool crush. Long legs kicking out under the table at his own bad jokes, Em half smirking back at him. Their feet brushing one too many times for the color to leave his cheeks even after he's done giggling.

By the time Colson is talking Em into splitting some crazy good looking chocolate cake he actually feels better than he has in years. Since before the beef. So of course something has to go wrong. It really would have to be a dream for things not to sour.

He wants to pretend the first few flirty comments are in his head. That Em reaching across the table to roughly rub some chocolate off his cheek is a Detroit thing. But by the time they're finished eating and waiting for the check Colson's creeping suspicion has turned into full on alarm bells blaring. There's just no way to excuse the nervous looks or Em's almost hesitant invitation up to his hotel room. 

It feels like a slap to the face. Everything suddenly makes sense. Why they're eating in the other rapper's hotel, why Em is even speaking to him. None of this is to repair their relationship or end the beef. It's all just some poorly hidden buttering up before Em asks him to get down on his knees. 

Colson should blow up. He should just lash out and throw his fist into Em's face. Storm out and flag down the valet. He's not some escort that the rapper can rent for the night and feed a fancy dinner to.

But there's that guilty feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach. The one that's been there since he first lashed out and ruined everything with his diss track, the comments about Hailey, his childish bitching in interviews. It's only doubled since they first sat down to eat. Every muffled chuckle and weakly hidden smile from the older man digging that pit deeper and deeper. Showing him what he carelessly threw away in some desperate grab for attention.

It's got a small voice in the back of Colson's head warning him how if he says no and storms out he's just doing the same thing all over again, cutting Em out of his life. This time possibly forever.

So Colson bites his tongue and nods. His fingers anxiously climbing up into his hair to help hide the guilty look he knows must be on his face when he stutters out a "y-yeah, yeah, sure."

The genuine smile Em flashes back at him at his agreement just feels like a knife being jammed next to the shovel.

How can the man look so fucking blissful about something that feels like borderline blackmail?

But Em does. He looks stunned, downright flustered even at first at his response. Then happy. A happy that isn't hidden by some fake cough or behind a delicate yet strong looking hand for once. It gives Colson something precious to hold onto in the sea of uncomfortable and nasty emotions twisting up his stomach while the older rapper pays. 

The knot just twists itself up tighter once they're in the elevator, his silence thankfully brushed off as nervousness by Em. The almost shy glance of steely blue eyes his way making him feel so small while buttons are pressed. Usually Colson would blame this kind of nausea on the ride itself, but for once his phobia of the small metal deathtraps is actually being overpowered. A new fear worming its way through his guts as each floor number blinks to life.

He doesn't want to freak out. To run away, but hes too goddamn sober for this. Avoiding smoking and turning down the offer of wine at dinner just to try and impress his idol was threatening to be his downfall. If he'd known Em was going to show such little respect and consideration to his being like this he would have lit a fat one up right there at the table. Hell, maybe that would have changed the older man's mind about propositioning him in the first place. Surely a druggie asshole was less appealing to make drop to their knees instead of his current carefully put together primped and meek self.

"Only a few more floors. Don't go green on me just yet Kelly." 

Colson didn't know whether to take the playful nudge as comforting or creepy. Maybe, a little flattering? If Em had actually looked into him enough to learn about his problem with elevators and the man just wasn't guessing off the apparent discolor of his face that is.

"Y-yeah."

Imagining Eminem of all people actually following his interviews or caring about his personal life that much felt like a pipe dream though. 

Outside of the next 20 minutes or however long it took for the bastard to get his rocks off he highly doubted Em would put much thought into his existence at all. Which would be fair. After all the shit he's said and done he really doesn't deserve the time of day from his idol. 

A ding and the elevator doors were opening. Colson's legs feeling numb beneath him when he finally lets go of the railing in the elevator to stumble forward. Thankful that Em's focus was on digging his room's keycard out of his wallet and not his clumsy steps. Each one bringing them closer and closer to their destination, making the whole situation so vividly real he couldn't help but panic again. The other man's forced small talk about how he "Doesn't usually book the penthouse suite-" falling on deaf ears.

It’s ironic, how often he had dreamed for this exact scenario. For Eminem to be leading him up to some fancy high end hotel room, promising to shower him fully in his attention and gaze. Only now, with his dream coming true right before his eyes he can’t help but feel bittersweet about the heated gaze holding him frozen just outside the door. Em’s final offer for him to back down before they both step through the threshold clear as day in the look.

The twist in his gut tells Colson to take it, to just spin around on his heel and run away with his tail tucked between his legs. Accept he’s too much of a coward and too full of himself to actually mend their beef.

But the desperate need he feels for forgiveness and absolvement pushes Colson forward instead. Sheer will alone giving him the confidence to twirl his idols hoodie strings around his fingers to drag Em inside with him. The loud beat of his heart completely smothering the other man’s flustered outburst. 

Just like in church the blonde finds himself on his knees not too long after entering. Mouth open and hands clasped together, ready to ask for forgiveness. Except this god he’s praying to is running it’s fingers through his hair, and there’s a stiff cock separating his palms. A chorus of curses and “Holy fuck, K-Kelly just wait a second, shit, your tongue is-“ tickling his ears instead of hymns.

He’s never sucked a cock before, and it’s embarrassing how quickly he finds himself choking. But Colson doesn’t give up, even when his jaw starts to ache and the grip on his hair grows a bit too tight. His discomfort doesn’t matter here. He just needs to make Em happy, earn the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Can I- fuck, can I fuck your face?” Both of the older rapper’s palms are holding his bangs away from his face, tilting his head back just enough to force their eyes to meet. The shame in his chest doubles but so does the surprising tightness in his jeans when he sees the uncharacteristic flush to Em’s cheeks.

He isn’t experienced, the smart thing to do would be pull off and admit that. He’s seen first hand how disastrous things can go but his head bobs in a yes anyway. Eyes already starting to water from how the action jabs the other rappers cock right against his gag reflex.

A low groan is all the warning he gets before Em’s fingers are knotting in his hair, forcing his head down to meet the thrust of strong hips. Stuffing that hard dick down his throat so fast it burns and his hands can’t help but flail, helplessly grabbing onto the meat of the older rapper’s thighs through his sweats. Unable to even steal another gasp of air before it happens again. Em’s hips pistoning forward to fuck his mouth like some cheap replaceable toy. 

Even after he gags and gurgles spit the rapper doesn’t stop. 

The harsh pants of praise and encouragement burning his ears just as hotly as the tears in his eyes. “Ah, so good. So fucking good baby, the best, ah-“

Colson doesn’t know what’s worse, how quickly his heart skips at the surprise tern of endearment or how pathetically his cock jerks in his underwear. Not that he has much time to think on it with how Em abruptly forces his face right down to the bone, soft and scratchy pubes tickling his nose. Startling him before the other man’s blowing his load, Colson’s eyes widening and nails cutting deeply into Em’s legs while he chokes. There’s too much, even with his throat reflexively swallowing it still fills up his mouth and bursts out the sides. Dripping down his chin and out onto his shirt when Em finally pulls him off.

It’s salty, and thick. Nothing like the eggnog Rook’s joked to him it tastes like. There’s nothing sweet about this thick cream, even if the lightheaded feeling he’s got from milking it out still makes him feel drunk. 

“Shit. I wanna take a picture.“ Em’s palm is tilting his head back again, dragging his glassy eyes up away from the twitching spit slick cock in front of him. Thumb forcing his tongue down flat to flash what he can only imagine has to be a white mess before the hand in his hair is fumbling out a phone. “Can I?”

He almost wants to laugh at how the brunette doesn’t even wait for his answer before there is the unmistakable flash of a phone light temporarily blinding him. A curse and then another two, these ones at least allowing him the chance to shut his eyes tightly.

The shame within him is boiling, burning through his veins like lava and making his heart drop down into his stomach.

“So pretty-“ Em’s fingers are releasing his tongue and jaw to rake through his bangs yet again. Exposing his face even though Colson wants nothing more than to hide. A stifled sob tearing at his aching throat while he swallows what he can inside his mouth without completely gagging.

He can’t cry. That would ruin the mood wouldn't it? And if it doesn't, Colson doesn't know how he would handle having Em laugh at his tears. The almost soft demeanor and shy quality to his tone is all thats keeping the blonde from running away as it is. 

The shuffle of shoes and curl of strong fingers pulling him up startles Colson's eyes back open. Lashes fluttering to blink away the brief flash of wetness that's blurred his vision before he realizes he's being kissed. That Em's palms are cupping his jaw yet again, helping him to his feet. 

It's scratchy, and softer than he expects. Not that he was expecting Eminem to be kissing him in the first place, but the man doesn't relent. Just keeps kissing him, even after he's grown to his full height and the angle of their heads has switched. Em's tongue snaking its way inside his mouth while they stumble back further into the room. Until Colson's head is feeling fuzzy and his knees weak, the cushioned crash of his body hitting a mattress barely felt.

It feels wrong when Em's hands smooth up over his chest and down inside his jeans. The uncontrollable kick of his hips up into a tight hand around his cock almost blasphemous. There's no reason for Em to even be bothering with touching him there, he doesn't deserve it. But the rapper is sucking and nibbling along his neck, up into his ear to whisper a dozen filthy praises and compliments. None of them possibly true.

"So pretty-" "Perfect-" "Wanted to touch you for so long-" 

"Stop-" Colson's hands feel shaky as they drag his idols face back up to meet his in a messy kiss. Breath tight while he tries to speak between pecks. "Just- fuck, just hurry-"

When he winds up on his stomach some point into the night, Em's too big cock pressing hard against his entrance he can't help but cry out. The pitiful fist he shoves between his own teeth doing nothing to stifle the sound.

It hurts, more than the thin fingers he'd taken only moments prior. But not as much as the soothing shushes and affectionate run of hands through his hair. 

[thoughtsaboutshows]

51. “Gimme cuddles.” “Fuck off.” :)

Finally got this one done! Sabrina has some insecurities and Prudence tries to help. Warning, convos about sex ahead.

“Ugh could you please figure your shit out with my cousin so he leaves me alone?” Sabrina complained as she stormed into the Sanctum and threw herself on the couch next to Prudence.

Prudence eyed her annoyingly over her ancient text and prayed to Hecate if she just ignored Sabrina Spellman that she’d just go away. No such luck.

“Oh please have a seat.” Prudence answered sarcastically and gestured to the spot next to her that Sabrina was already sprawled on. Sabrina was huffing and puffing and her face was a shade of red that Prudence had never seen before. She knew she wasn’t going to get out of whatever rant Sabrina was about to spew if she tried. So she bit the bullet and took the bait Sabrina was so obviously laying out there. “What ever is on your mind, Sabrina?”

“It seems Ambrose can get any so he’s made it his purpose to pry into my sex life.” Sabrina grumbled and crossed her arms.

“Who says your cousin isn’t, as you so eloquently put it, getting any.” Prudence’s smile was sly, and she saw the exact moment that it clicked into place in Sabrina’s mind. A scrunched up disgusted look made its way across her face as Sabrina came to the conclusion that Prudence and her cousin were in fact sleeping together. Despite the fact it was what she asked for, Sabrina was also certain she didn’t want to know the sordid details.

“Great so you’re back together. Could you tell him to leave me alone?” Prudence laughed at that and finally closed and set down the book she then realized she was done reading because Sabrina wasn’t going anywhere.

“What did he say?” Prudence asked her, curious as to what had her so riled up. It was clear as day when Nick and Sabrina had finally had sex. Even without their disgustingly dazed and loving eyes they sent each other before the merge, Prudence could tell by the way Sabrina shifted awkwardly on her feet when she walked that something had gone on when Nick quickly teleported over after being summoned by her.

“He keeps in insinuating that all Nick and I do lately is have sex.”

“Well don’t you?” Prudence asked with a laugh. She figured that once Sabrina had gotten a taste of what it was like to be with Nick it made sense that the two were always running off somewhere. But it also could have something to do with the fact that Sabrina had nearly died and the echoes and moans of the bedroom were their battle cry of victory.

“No, Prudence, we don’t!” Sabrina cried but then bit her lip when Prudence raised her eyebrows. She took a deep breath and then shrugged, her face blushing even redder with embarrassment. “Okay maybe lately we’ve been pretty active. But I nearly died for Hecate’s sake.”

“Then what’s the issue, Sabrina?” Prudence asked her. She knew Sabrina was half mortal, but never quite understood her embarrassment when it came to sex.

“The issue, is I don’t want to be one of those couples where all they do is have sex.” Sabrina admitted. “I want us to have real meaningful connection, and do other real meaningful things.” Prudence raised her eyebrows at Sabrina who scrunched her nose and then added. “And have sex too of course.”

“You don’t think you and Nicky have a connection?” The insecurity bubbling out of Sabrina Spellman was almost laughable. Prudence had known Nicholas Scratch for a long time, and she’d never seen him be as devoted to anyone else as he was to Sabrina.

“No, I know we do. I know we love each other. I guess I just…”. Sabrina trailed off trying to find where the issue is.

“You guess you want to make sure the emotional connection doesn’t fade away in between your sighs and cries for more in the bedroom.” Prudence filled in for her after taking a quick peek into her mind.

“That’s one way to put it but yeah that’s about right.” Sabrina grumbled but then bit her lip sheepishly. “He’s just so damn irresistible most of the time.”

“Oh I know.” Prudence smirked and Sabrina rolled her eyes. She had seen more than once how irresistible Prudence knew Nick could be. It was all in the past now, but that didn’t mean Prudence didn’t like to ruffle Sabrina’s feathers with the memory. “And by the way he looks at you I assume he find you impossible to resist too.”

“How does he look at me?” Sabrina tilted her head to the side and asked her, apparently completely unaware of how Nick’s hungry gaze had been honed in on her since day one in that damn choir room.

“Um I don’t know like he couldn’t give two shits about who’s in the room and he’s a nod from you away from ripping your skirt off and fucking you at any given point in the day.” Prudence was blunt. It was perfectly normal for witches and warlocks to be deeply sexual, to enjoy the passionate romp at a moment's notice. Nick had transitioned, however, from the anyone and anytime to being inherently focused on one witch for the rest of time.

“Prudence!” Sabrina sneered in a whisper. There weren’t any other people in their corner of the Sanctum, but hidden familiars lingered and she swore after one too many lectures by Zelda that the books had ears. “He does not.” She tried to deny what Prudence was saying but found herself faltering. She found it hard to deny too that she looked at Nick in any other way. Prudence didn’t have to do anything more than raise her eyebrows to get Sabrina to recant. “Okay maybe he does...but how do I resist him Prudence?”

“Well let’s practice. I’ll be Nicky, you be you.” Prudence cleared her throat and whispered a few Latin words and the next words out of her mouth came out in Nick’s dreamy tone. The one that was sweet and savory at the same time, a little scratchy but smooth as honey. “Hey, Spellman. Give me cuddles.” Prudence slid closer and wrapped her arm around her shoulder. Sabrina tensed, weirded out by hearing Nick’s voice come out of Prudence’s mouth. She leaned even closer and whispered in her ear. “Or give me something else.”

“Oh my Hecate. Fuck off, Prudence!” Sabrina shoved her away, certain Prudence sounding like Nick would haunt her nightmares for centuries to come.

Prudence burst out in laughter and expected Sabrina to bolt. But she stayed where she was, arms crossed and head shaking. Prudence slid closer again, but didn’t touch her and returned her voice to its typical state.

“Why do you need to resist him?” Sabrina originally narrowed her eyes but she relaxed when she saw Prudence’s genuine confusion in her eyes. “You’re finally having sex, and good sex at that. There is nothing wrong with enjoying each other. Doesn’t your mortal moral compass say you should have sex with people you love anyways? I don’t see the issue.”

Sabrina took a deep breath and turned to Prudence, letting her insecurities fall into place as she considered how to word them.

“Nick’s had sexual relationships in the past, where sex is all it was. And I don’t have a problem with that, truly. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Sabrina held up her hands and Prudence believed her. “But I want Nick and me to be different. I don’t want sex to be all we are.”

“Sabrina.” Prudence told her and the softness that Sabrina knew existed in the girl was shining through. She brushed Sabrina’s hair back in a gentle way and tilted her head to the side. “You and Nicky are not and have never nor will you ever be just about sex. Take it from someone who has been with him both before and after he fell in love with you that he is never going back to that. Maybe it took you guys a minute to get there. But from where I’m standing I don’t see any other outcome than the two of you grossing us out with your love for the rest of our lives.”

Sabrina smiled and nodded, swallowing once before sitting up straight and looking at Prudence again.

“Thanks, Prudence. I guess I get caught up in my head sometimes.”

“I think you should talk to Nick.” Prudence gestured with her head to the door. “If you need to dial back the physical you need to tell him. And he’ll do it. He’d-”

“Do anything for me, I know.” Sabrina bit her lip, knowing how true that statement was. Memories of a masquerade ball flooding her mind. “I don’t know that I need to dial it back…”. Prudence smirked, knowing that wasn’t really what Sabrina wanted at all.

“You just need to know that if you did, he’d stick around.” Prudence finished and Sabrina smiled slightly.

“I’m gonna go find him.”

Sabrina and Prudence nodded at each other one more time, a small gesture of understanding. They were friends. They wouldn’t be having sleepovers anytime soon, but they both had another person in their corners.

Sabrina set out from the Sanctum in search of him, knowing around this time he’d be getting home from wrestling practice at Baxter High and be hopping in the shower soon.

Sure enough when she knocked on his door and walked in before getting his response he was there, shirtless with shorts hung low on his hips and the shower on in the background.

They didn’t spend a lot of time in his room at the Academy, typically ending the night in Sabrina’s bedroom with her essentially forbidding him from leaving her. Not that he wanted to anyways, always holding her close ever since she’d nearly died on that sacrificial altar.

“Spellman!” Nick said surprisingly but with a smile. Sabrina pressed down the recent memory of Prudence’s face saying that name with his voice. “I thought I was seeing you later.”

“You complaining?” Sabrina quirked an eyebrow up in teasing and he playfully rolled his eyes, crossing the room to her in seconds.

“Of course not, babe.” He leaned in, placing his hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. His hand slid down her arm to grab her hand. “What’s up?”

“Can we talk?” Sabrina heard the way her voice wavered. Nick’s worried brows told her he picked up on her nervousness too. He used his hand in hers to pull her to his bed where they both sat.

“What’s going on, Spellman.” Nick used his other hand to brush some of her curls back as his other rubbed circles on her palm.

“Nick, what would you do if I told you I wanted to have less sex?”

Nick’s face contorted in multiple emotions: confusion, worry, and finally it transitioned to fear.

“Sabrina did I do something that made you uncomfortable? Did I hurt you?” He was rambling, trying to figure out what line he crossed. “I’m so sorry, I never meant.”

“Nick.” She grabbed his face to get him to stop. Her small smile only calmed him a bit. “You didn’t do anything. I just want to know what you would do.”

“Then I’d say we’d have less sex.” Nick said slowly, still confused. “Spellman, what is this about?”

“You wouldn’t leave?” Sabrina raised her eyebrows. She already knew the answer, knew he’d never leave her. But that didn’t always stop the insecurity. Nick grabbed her face now, and stared intently into her eyes, his gaze and intensity never wavering.

“I will never ever leave you. You are the love of my life. I meant it when I said you were it for me, that I’d wait for however long it took. I’m going to be here, by your side, until our very last day. And even after that, I’m not going anywhere.” He brought her face close to his then to kiss her in a way that eradicated any doubts. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Nick.” She kissed him again, deep and soft.

“Can I ask where this all came from?” Sabrina bit her lip and looked away for a moment.

“Ambrose teased me for all the sex we’ve been having. It made me insecure for a second that we were losing what makes us us.” She reached up and brushed his curls delicately, admiring each one.

“Sabrina, the sex we have is incredible.” His smug smile made him blush. “But it’s the fact that it’s with you that makes it that way. And if you need to dial it back, that’s okay.”

“I didn’t say that was what I wanted…”. She told him as she began to trace her fingers over his bare chest. His skin felt illuminated by her touch, as if her fingers unlocked his nerve cells one by one.

“How about I take you to dinner and a movie this weekend?” He suggested, closing his eyes as her fingers reached his abdomen. “I can even kiss you goodbye on the porch and walk away like a good boy.”

Sabrina stopped her movements at the suggestion.

“A date sounds lovely.” She began moving again, toying with the waistband of his shorts. “But if you think you’re kissing me goodbye and coming back here then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

“So what’s the verdict then?” Nick asked her, finally leaning down to kiss the junction of her neck. “Less sex?”

“No.” Sabrina whispered as her hand wandered to his back now, tracing its dip and moving up to scratch his shoulders. “No more letting Ambrose’s dumb comments rattle me. You rattle me instead.”

He paused his work on her neck and she nearly hissed when he pulled away to look at her, face flushed from the blood pumping through his body.

“I was about to shower before you showed up.” Nick stated and then lifted his hand to play with the flimsy straps of her top. “Join me?”

Sabrina stood, dragging him to stand too and wasting no time discarding her clothes and pulling him to the steamy bathroom.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[lovetorn]

there’s a fine line [harry styles]

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: harry’s feelings for y/n come out over a facetime call warnings: swearing, angst a/n: uh not my proudest moment but i tried… enjoy!

Being in self-isolation was hard when you lived by yourself, and Y/n was only just starting to understand why. She had kept herself busy the first couple of weeks, deciding to deep clean her bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and anywhere else that had a thin layer of dust on everything in it. But by the 3rd week, she was at a loss for things to do. 

One of her friends, Harry, was in the same boat; in his house by himself with nothing to do. He had completed the numerous puzzles that he had stashed away high in his closet and was exhausted from writing songs - surprisingly. So, he opted to speak to Y/n, who he had met back in August of 2019 through a mutual friend, through the phone and FaceTime. They grew very close, very fast, and it was almost as though they’d known each other for years. 

Harry didn’t know if Y/n was genuinely naive or if she was deliberately disregarding his signals. He couldn’t deny his feelings for the girl, she was utterly matchless in his eyes. Yet, when he dropped hints, she didn’t seem to pick up on them, hence making Harry decipher whether she was genuinely naive or was just ignoring his attempts at flirting. He was certain she liked him back, but there was a fine line between being oblivious, and deliberately avoiding. 

When Y/n’s phone had vibrated against her hip, she regretted flipping it over straight away. She was eager for any notification from Harry at this point, completely derived from no contact with him for 2 whole days. 

I’m calling at 1.

After composing herself, Y/n waited by her phone for a FaceTime call from Harry. If her friends saw her at this moment, they would tell her she looked desperate -- but she couldn’t help it, it was Harry. And when his face popped up on her screen, her heart quickened and a flutter erupted in her stomach. 

“Harry!” Y/n said, a smile grazing her features as she was met with his gorgeous face. 

“Hi, love, how you doin’?” His voice was scratchy and Y/n could tell he had been singing beforehand. 

“Aw, did you get dolled up for me?” Harry teased, prompting a harsh red to paint Y/n’s cheeks. 

“Fuck off, Harry,” His laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls of her apartment. 

“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that, darlin’?” Y/n only shook her head, her smile growing smaller. 

“What have you been up to?” She asked, watching as he ran his hand through his fluffy hair -- Y/n didn’t mean to stare, but she couldn’t help herself. 

“Uh, writing, singing -- you know, the usual,” He mumbled, gaze dropping from the phone. Y/n nodded, her interest peaking at something else, “Your nails! They’re red”

Harry breathed out a laugh, bringing his hand up to the camera, showing off his freshly painted nails. 

“Yeah, they’re not the best, you do them way better,” He said, resting his head on his hand. Y/n giggled, her body hot with fluster as she gazed at him through the screen. 

“Now, listen, I need to ask you something,” Harry nodded, smiling at Y/n before she began. 

“There’s this guy, Jack, who said that he knew you?” She asked, seeing his face fall slightly. Harry nodded again, his frown deepening and Y/n thought she caught a flash of panic in his eyes. 

“Well, anyway-” Harry stopped listening after a moment, choosing to pick at one of his chipped nails. He regretted peeling a small layer of red off after he was pulled out of his daydream. 

“What do you think?” Y/n’s face was so innocent that it frustrated Harry that she could talk to him about such topics when he was so sure she liked him back. 

“Don’t pretend like I don’t notice, Y/n,” His voice was quiet but sharp and Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at the sudden mood change. 

She shook her head slightly, “What are you on about--” “You know what I’m talkin’ about! Stop avoidin’ it and tell me the truth,” Harry’s frustration flared, or maybe it was desperation. Y/n heart stammered against her chest as she watched the man throw his hands over his face and groan. 

“Harry--” “Y/n, you know, stop puttin’ me through this -- please,” He sounded like he was begging and it pulled at her heartstrings. 

Y/n thought her ears were deceiving her; Harry Styles was begging for her to confess. To confess the unspoken desires and feelings they shared; to confess her love for him. 

“I want to hear you say it, Harry, tell me what exactly I’m supposed to know,” She pushed, her palms sweaty as he finally looked at the screen again. 

“I want you to tell me that those moments we shared in December were somethin’; I want you to tell me that you think ‘bout me as much as I think ‘bout you; I want you to tell me the truth and -- whether it be good or bad -- just put me out of my misery, please,”

Y/n felt tears prick her eyes -- was Harry getting frustrated for her not realising this earlier? The so-called innocent touches they shared at Christmas; the endless nights she would lay awake and brood about who might be in his bed next to him; the little, stupid things that would remind her of him; the truth. 

She was at a loss for words and Harry sighed, “Sorry,” 

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for, I just really thought that you would never see me in that way,” Y/n sniffed, her throat suddenly closing as she tried her best not to cry. The truth was right in front of her the whole time. 

“I guess what I’m tryna say is I like you, Y/n, and I know this is a pretty shit time to tell you somethin’ like this, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore,” He looked sombre and exposed and Y/n felt for him -- he just expressed his feelings for her!

“Well, Harold, I guess it’s your lucky day because I like you too,” said Y/n, smiling as he raised his eyebrows in disbelief, “You’re not jus’ sayin’ that?” His voice was small as Y/n giggled and nodded. 

“I would never do that to you,” Harry sighed in content before he placed his hands in a praying gesture and laughed. Staring at each other through their screens, Harry and Y/n sat in a comfortable silence -- well as comfortable as silence over a FaceTime call could get. 

“I’m sorry I had a go at you like that, love, I was just so tired of us dancin’ around, you know?” Harry whispered, his face going slightly pink as embarrassment overcame his features. Y/n shook her head, “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, H, I understand I can be quite oblivious some times.” Harry nodded as the two fell into harmonious laughter. 

And in the midst of chaos, a blossoming connection between two people grew -- but obviously as more than friends, as said by Harry.

[likeshipsonthesea]

oh my GOD if you wrote something for "i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight" and nurseydex I'm pretty sure I'd combust pls do it

hello hi it’s been a while. so truth be told i wrote this, or started this, a long time ago, when you first sent in this prompt, and i didn’t like it, but then i read it again and ended up finishing it and..once again didn’t like it. and then i read it last night and thought it was pretty cool and now i’m posting it. fun story, i know.

warning for religious imagery/issues and internalized/referenced externalized homophobia.

nurseydex for the prompt i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight from Hozier’s Dinner & Diatribes. enjoy!

           On the first night back from spring break, Dex sits across the living floor from Nursey and thinks about Easter mass.

           It’s blasphemous, really. A rough rug, older than him, scratches at the exposed skin of his ankles, his wrists. The team around him laughs and mellows in waves. Bitty’s most recent pie sits cooling in the kitchen, chilled breezes from the open window carrying the scent of it into the living room. Dex ignores it all to watch Nursey bring the mouth of a bottle to his own mouth, rest the glass on the soft dip in his bottom lip. He tilts back his head, jaw lengthening, dropping. He swallows, and his throat bobs. A tendon in his neck guides Dex’s gaze up, up to his stubble, to his mouth, to the regal slant of his nose. His eyes.

           Nursey is looking. Half lidded. Green, burning. Forest fire.

           Dex thinks about Easter mass. Scratchy shirt cuffs rubbing red against bony wrists. The too-thin pages of the Bible like receipt paper on his fingertips, half imagining that the print came off with his touch. Songs about sacrifice, and love, and being beholden to a man who is at once so very human, and so very, very not. Ethereality in kindness. The sweet smell of wine, tasteless wafer. A body, given.

           Nursey looks away—back to Chowder, back to conversation.

           Dex wonders what he would give to be looked at like that for a moment longer. Condensation builds between his fingertips and his beer, and he takes a sip that tastes sweeter than it should. He reckons Nursey is some kind of holy. The descendant of a God long forgotten in name, but never spirit. The kind of God who loved rich smells and smart words, who knew the value of respect, and laughter. The kind of God who looked at love as something to be given, not sacrificed.

           Worship no other God before me. Dex’s beer turns bitter on his tongue.

           Blasphemous.

           Dex watches Nursey hands and imagines the punishment he’d endure. Each hit bloody, bruising. Would Nursey’s hands be smooth? Nails short, light scratches, pinkened skin. Dex would cry out, likely, as hard as he would try not to, under the onslaught. The sounds Nursey would make would be soothing, caressing and lovely and breathy and loud. Dex would shut his eyes and imagine in the darkness that he couldn’t see their frothing rage. Nursey, spread across bedsheets, hair haloed on pale pillowcase, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks, smiling.

           During a lull in the silence, when everyone is busy, Dex stands up from the living room floor. He goes into the kitchen and grabs himself a bottle of water, prodding at the pie to see if it’s cool enough. Back to the doorway, he hears footsteps.

           “Not in the mood to chat tonight, Poindoodle?”

           Dex closes his eyes. Nursey’s voice lilts, laughter concealed in vowels outstretched and pointed consonants upturned. When he’s sleepy, or drunk, his words link together like holding hands, drifting thumbs tucked delicately against sweaty palms. Nursey talks with his hands. Sometimes Dex feels the words more than he hears them.

           “Tired, I guess,” Dex says, because all of this is too much to say outside of a confessional. He does not turn around.

           Nursey hums. “How was break?”

           Dex sways into his hands, feeling the pressure between the calluses on the inside of his knuckles and the vaguely floured countertop. “Good,” Dex says. It almost isn’t a lie.

           The nearly normal has become the best outcome he can hope for. Half beats between conversations about school, hockey, fall into place as if the music called for them all along. It is a tune now ingrained in him, even if the words never make sense, or make him sad. He remembers bits of songs they taught in Sunday school and hopes that one day this will be dulled as well. Home is this, and so it must be good, because by any other metric he might not go home again and the Bible has something to say about that, too.

           A hand on his shoulder. Warm, heavy. Nursey does not say anything. Dex counts the words he doesn’t say until he loses track trying to keep his tongue tamed. I love you. I miss you. I wish I was enough. I wish I could live in a world where what I am is enough. I wish you would touch me. What do I do to make you touch me?

           Nursey’s hand falls. “It’s nice to see you,” he says, and he waits a minute, a passage of time, full of breathing and not breathing, and Dex follows along intently. Nursey leaves the room. Dex counts the bones in his hands and bathes in the bloody faded pink of his knuckles.

           That night, after the drinks are gone and the lights are out and they’re all in their beds, like they should be, Dex shifts under his sheets and drags his own incompetent hands against his skin. Wrinkled elbows and knobbed shoulders, shuddering ribcage bones and fleshy sides. He prays, like he hasn’t in years, to someone he doesn’t know but is somehow surer about than whatever it is that stares at him as he sits in hard pews, scratchy and burning. Let me have this, he thinks, eyes shut, lips pressed together. Let me give myself to this.

           Somehow, his feet bring him to the hall side of a closed door. He cannot hear mumbling. Nursey talks in his sleep.

           I would suffer anything to know, Dex thinks, eyes tracing the lines carved into the wood. Let me know.

           He knocks.

           The door opens.

           Nursey stands, rumpled and perfect, one hand curled around the doorknob, holding himself up. His green eyes are deep, mossy, Maine-like and worried. “Dex,” he says, no fanfare. “What’s wrong?”

           “Let me in?” Dex licks his lips. They’re sweet.

           Nursey moves his body to make room for Dex and it takes all the restraint his church has taught him not to fill it up completely. Door closed, Dex inside, a foot and a half between their bodies. Dex’s fingers twist in his sweatpants.

           Nursey stares, expectation heavy. The weight of it, in this creaking room, in this darkness, is heady, not suffocating. Dex takes a deep breath.

           “I—” Dex knows what swallowed words taste like. Metallic and copper, razor blades on his tongue, kept safe by his teeth, lips, until his mouth fills with blood. He wants to say it, he wants Nursey to know, and yet he stares long enough for his eyes to adjust to the faded Maine green reflecting back at him.

           “Is everything alright?” Nursey finally asks, quiet, whispered.

           The question shudders his bones. Instead of answering, Dex says, “I missed you.”

           The shock of surprise is like a thunderstorm over the water, flashing quick and then muffled. “Oh?”

           Dex’s fingers knot up the material of his sweatpants. It leaves his ankles cold. “I did.”

           Harsh exhale, then slow. “Dex,” he says, he says Dex’s name again, not Poindoodle or Dexington or anything else. “What are you—” Swallowed words, razor blades.

           “I always miss you,” Dex says, because the rest of the words are rusted over with sweetened wine and this seems to be the truest thing he has inside him.

           “Dex,” Nursey says, and Dex would like to cry, sort of, because that name on those lips with that kind of homesick color staring at him wide and open feels more like coming home than two weeks of being in Maine and that aches in so many different, good and bad, kind of ways and he doesn’t think Nursey knows, he doesn’t think he could explain, all the things he’d go through to hear Nursey call him Dex, look at him like this.

           “Please,” Dex says, and he knows it doesn’t make any sense, any of it, but nothing does, really, and he thinks Nursey gets it anyway because in the next moment his mouth is parted over Dex’s and he tastes nothing like razorblades, nothing like wine, just sleep stale toothpaste and a sigh.

           Dex releases his sweatpants to curl his hands over Nursey, his hips, his back, the roundness of his elbow. Nursey does not pull back, he does not flinch away. He slips his thumb under the waistband of Dex’s sweatpants and just leaves it there, warm, like a promise.

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Prologue

You Said You’d Catch Me (…If I Fall)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)       x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 3930

Summary for series: In which Steve is forced to solve an unsolvable dilemma and inevitably fails, Natasha is nosy in her attempts to be a good friend and it backfires and Sam Wilson is too old for that $#*!.

Also, Castiel is picking up strays from Heaven, leaving them to Sam and Dean to deal with.

Needless to say, it’s a mess, but when it looks like the God himself might be meddling, Team Free Will doesn’t have a choice. It’s not like they would just let the poor woman with amnesia wander off anyway.

(It is more angsty than it sounds, especially in the beginning.)

Warnings: swearing, very brief smut, violence, some blood, major character death (YEP), mourning, angst

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Don’t you ever bother, my child, trying to win the race against time. Truth is, my beloved, it is such a sore loser that it will never let you win.

-

Steve Rogers woke up with his head pounding so hard he was sure he must have drunk a barrel of Thor’s Asgardian liquor. Not that he remembered doing it.

With his brain in a haze, his hand went to sluggishly rise to his temple as if it could sooth the pain.

He had never sobered up as fast as when he found out he couldn’t do it, something holding his wrist by his side. His eyes snapped open only to be assaulted with a painfully sharp light. A half second later, he revealed he was strapped to a table.

Steve had no freaking idea what had happened, how had he got here or where ‘here’ was, but his instinct yelled at him to break the leather straps. He did so, easily, thanking god for the serum.

What the hell was happening? What the hell had happened?

He gritted his teeth with the effort to get his head on straight. Think, Rogers, think.

To his relief, the pounding headache was fading away, but it offered him no clarity. He couldn’t… he couldn’t recall why he was here and how he had got here in the first place. He wasn’t injured, he thought. If he had been, the serum pulsing in his veins, carved into every cell of his body, had done its job already. Except for his brain cells, apparently.

The last thing he remembered was you. Your laughter echoed in his ears, much brighter than the street and traffic lights illuminating your way as he was walking you home – his haven of the past few days as Tony’s frustration caused by a glitch in his system that he couldn’t figure out was penetrating the Tower’s walls, making the air harder to breathe in when anywhere in the building.

The memory of the twinkle in your eyes, when your gaze met his, automatically brought the briefest smile on his lips if even for a second as he had allowed himself to get lost in the past.

But then the brutal punch had come. Something had stung the back of his neck, an instant dizziness causing him to stumble.

Your horrified cry of his name and the darkness that had followed was like a slap, bringing him back to present.

He jumped to his feet, his eyes quickly examining the room. There was no one in sight. His stomach was squeezed by a cold fist of fear and not for himself.

Your name fell from his lips, silent and wavering.

Someone had drugged him. And you had been there when it had happened. Which, not to point a finger at anyone, but the fact he hadn’t seen anyone coming was totally on you, because when he was with you, he let his guard down, he allowed himself to relax, to forget. To forget who he was to the majority of the world, not to his friends and you.

With you, he was a plain old Steve Rogers, but people were always threatening Captain America’s life.

Fuck.

He prayed to God you were okay. He seemed more or less alright and he couldn’t decide whether that was a good sign. It could mean they had taken out their issues on you instead. His jaw clenched at the idea, the icy shiver that ran his spine in stark contrast to the burst of hot anger in his chest.

If anyone as much as laid their finger on you, he was going to rip their arm off.

Steve tried to shake off the dark thoughts and went to examine the room, this time with his heart hammering, feeling the pulse in his throat. There were two doors on opposite sides of the 40 x 40 ft. room, one to his right, the other to his left. Right in front of him him, there was an enormous screen, stretching along the whole wall. In the corner, there was a little camera. The red dot blinked at him, announcing it was on.

A fraction of second later, the lights in the room dimmed just a bit and the screen lighted up to life, showing a face of an unfamiliar man. He looked like he could use eating a sandwich or two, almost fragile body, deep-set tired grey eyes with wrinkles around them, greyish stubble covering his bony cheeks, contrast to the bald of his head.

“Captain! Good morning!” he greeted him cheerily. Steve squinted, trying to find a clue of what was happening. He could only see the man; not where he was or what was this about. “Good to see you awake. Some of us were getting worried you wouldn’t wake up. Isn’t that right?”

The camera shifted then and Steve’s heart positively stopped.

He lunged forward with his fists clenched on instinct only to realize it would help nothing.

It was you. You with a cloth tied over your mouth, strapped to a chair, a trickle of blood coming from your temple, a strap of messy hair sticking to it. Your cheeks were damp from tears, eyes bloodshot and full of horror. A bruise was forming around your right eye, your line of sight not meeting the lens of the camera aimed at you. Your dress and sweater were dirty and torn as if someone grabbed it too harshly and dragged you away; your nylons ripped, your knees bare and scraped bloody.

Steve didn’t even realize that the raging roar wasn’t only in his mind and actually escaped his mouth, his chest burning with hatred. You sobbed as if you could hear him and Steve understood he wasn’t the only one watching their soulmate.

“You’re a dead man,” Steve growled, causing your eyes falling shut.

While the image stayed focused on you, the man spoke up again.

“And yet I’m still walking…” the man hummed and to emphasize his words, he took several steps towards you – Steve’s feet twitched helplessly, wanting to stop him. But he couldn’t; he had no clue where he himself was, let alone you and that bastard.

He needed to think dammit. And he needed to think very fucking fast. His brain finally kicked in, immediately racing despite the trembles in his body – he couldn’t tell whether it was rage or fear.  When the man circled your chair and aimed the camera lower, Steve was suddenly certain it was pure horror.

There were explosives. There were explosives stuck to your chair and a timer set to two minutes; luckily, frozen. Steve was sure as hell it wouldn’t stay that way as a suffocating lump grew in his throat. He couldn’t breathe in.

The camera moved again, showing the man as he glanced at what Steve assumed was a screen like the one he was seeing, the one you kept watching. Steve didn’t bother wasting his brain capacity on trying to control his expression. The man smiled a toothy grin and Steve wanted to puke, his mind frantically fighting with the heavy stone in his stomach, screaming at him that this was you, his soulmate, basically sitting at a bomb.

“If you’re pissed off now, just wait for what’s to come.”

Pissed off? Oh, Steve was so beyond pissed off. When he was about to get his hands on this man, he wasn’t just about to rip his arm off. He was going to do so with all of his limbs and finish with the carotid, using his bare teeth.

The camera must have been set on a stand, still showing you, as Steve could hear the man shuffle around. The next thing he knew, the screen in front of him split in two separate images; one of you and the other showing nine frames of traffic cameras, all of them aimed at trashcans. Steve didn’t understand.

Yet.

Until the frame of you split into two, the other image showing another timer, simply lying somewhere in an empty room. It read two minutes. Frozen. Just like the one on your back.

Something ugly crept Steve’s spine, a hunch he refused to acknowledge.

“You see, you have two options now, Captain,” the man explained and Steve’s teeth grinded with effort to deny what was set in front of him. It wasn’t what he was thinking, it couldn’t be. “There’s a door to your left – close to your heart, of course…”

Steve’s hands trembled as the man walked to you and almost gingerly loosened the cloth over your mouth, only to tear a strap of your dress after that, revealing your soulmark. It was illegible from the distance, but it still sent a fresh way of nausea up Steve’s throat. A whimper escaped you.

“Pick the left door and save your soulmate. Or take the road to your right and be the righteous man everyone claims you are. There are nine bombs planted over the streets of New York. Busy morning, as you noticed, I’m sure. God, Mondays suck…”

Steve’s head was spinning.

The man was lying. He must have been lying.

“Oh and just so you know, your country is watching. Hacking is too easy these days. Ready to start the race?”

“Wait!” Steve blurted out instantly, catching the man’s attention. It was unfair how much Steve’s voice was shaking, but it was the least of his problems. “What… what do you want?”

The man frowned. “For you to choose. I’m sure you noticed the earbud I gave you-“ No, Steve hadn’t. Having a comm in his ear was a second nature now. “Don’t you worry. You’ll hear us the whole time.”

“No! Wait! There’s… there’s gotta be something-“

The man clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “The timer’s about to start, Captain. You better choose or you’ll lose both, her and tens thousands of lives I imagine. Life is full of hard choices, isn’t it?” he mocked him and this time it was definitely rage that overtook Steve’s mind and body.

Until someone new spoke up, scratchy, weak and weary voice that shattered his heart turned his stomach around.

“Steve? It’s… it’s okay. Go,” you creaked, your eyes shining with fresh unshed tears. It wasn’t the haunted look in your gaze that unsettled something deep inside of him. No. It was the dark resignation that laced the breath-taking colour of your eyes. “Go save lives. I… I knew I’d have to share you with the world. Frankly, I didn’t imagine it would be like this, but— you go and be hero. My life is nothing compared to thousands and we both know that.”

The world swayed off its place, Steve’s knees buckling, actually forcing him to stumble backwards and lean onto the table he was strapped to.

The fuck did you just say? With unshakable conviction no less?

“The clock is ticking now, Captain,” the man informed him swiftly, smile in his voice. It was like a punch to Steve’s solar plexus.

With his own shield.

“No,” Steve choked out, his glare darting from one door to another.

How could he even make such choice?! What kind of a twisted monster did this? Who was this man?

“Your soulmate is telling the truth, Captain, isn’t she? You are the hero. You always make choices to save people no matter how much it hurts you… if it hurts at all, of course. Maybe, maybe you don’t care-“

“Hey, I know you do!” you rushed to interrupt, a spark of life lightening up your face, but Steve’s hands only darted to his hair, fingers interlacing in desperation.  Your voice softened then. “It’s alright, Steve. I… I love you. And I’m so sorry it will hurt when I’m gone… but I believe in you. You can make it…”

“Yes, I can,” he growled, jolting to his right to disarm the bomb.

He could make it. He could handle the global threat and then rush to your rescue even if it meant he would burn to ashes shielding you from the flames.

His conviction only grew when he heard a familiar voice in his ear.

“Cap? Cap, can you hear me?”

It shook him more than the collision with the door. “Natasha?!”

“And company,” Stark supplied helpfully and Steve could cry in relief.

He wasn’t alone. He could do this.

“Can you disarm the bombs?” he panted, nearly faltering in his steps in relief.

Could Steve leave the nine explosives with one trigger alone and save you?

“Ah, look at him, Americans. The original Avenger, rushing to everyone’s rescue. Looks like he has some assistance, but that isn’t going to help. The choice was made. What is one life compared to thousands? Maybe she doesn’t even matter to him, does she?” the man interjected again and Steve gritted his teeth, pushing to his very limit to speed up.

The hall was narrow. No other possibilities – just running straight ahead. He felt like his mind was anything but straight, buzzing frantic images and dark scenarios. Your voice, ironically enough, was not helping.

“Steve, don’t listen to him. It’s okay. It’s okay…”

“Tony? Can you get rid of the bombs?” Steve repeated, gulping when the billionaire didn’t answer right away.

“No.”

Steve’s world crashed that moment and he wanted to scream.

Alone it was then. He had been alone before. He could do this.

“Romanoff can help you disarm it, we have… ugh, great visual of the corridors and of you thanks to the guy. I’m on my way, but it will be a really fucking close call.”

Steve mentally nodded, swallowing his fear. No time for fear now. Later. He could fold like a house of cards later. He wasn’t alone after all. He had freaking Black Widow and Iron Man at his disposal.

And finally, he reached another door. He burst into the room, his shoulder crying in protest when he broke down the door and stumbled in.

The room was plain, identical to the one he woke up – except there was the timer on a table.

01:02

01:01

“Natasha?” he howled as he sprinted to it. “Talk to me.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” She sounded confident. That was good.

That’s good, Steve’s mind echoed as he bent over the timer, swallowing thickly. Jesus Christ.

“Alright. I need you to rip off the blue wire at the same time you pressing the button on the left side of the timer. Got it?”

Steve only nodded, not taking a second to breathe in and think it through.

He just did it.

The red numbers of the timer flickered on 0:54 and died. Blood ran cold in Steve’s veins. He couldn’t hear any explosions, but that didn’t mean anything; God only knew how far from New York they were.

“Romanoff?” he hissed, already spinning on his heels and springing towards the corridor that had led him here.

“We’re clear. Run, Steve. Get that son of a bitch,” the redhead shot back, her voice sharp, but with a quiver of worry. Steve didn’t like that in the slightest; Natasha was rarely worried.

It was when the man who had assaulted you informed him he was still watching.

“Oh, silly, silly man,” he lamented, a patronizing note to his words. “Do you think you can make it in time? Don’t be stupid. You made your choice. Deal with the consequences.”

“Fuck. You,” Steve strained through his teeth, his feet barely touching the ground as he dashed through the hall, flashing the enormous monitor in his wake-up room a brief look as he headed to the second door.

It barely gave in as he ran into it, sickening crack echoing the empty space and vibrating his bones. Sharp pain jolted through his shoulder and arm; he was certain he just broke something.

It hurt. It would heal. He couldn’t fucking care less.

“You’re running out of time, Captain… you’re always out of time…” the man nearly sing-sang in mockery, making Steve push harder.

“Steve…” Tony’s heavy voice sounded emotionless through the comms and it felt like a slap to his face. “I won’t make it in time.”

Steve snarled, his lungs burning, his heartbeat pulsing his whole being, but he refused to throw himself off balance by even shaking his head in desperation. He ignored the icy fist that squeezed his insides.

He had to run.

Tony’s voice urged him then.

“Steve, there’s no way you can save her either. The lab’s gonna blow up in seconds. Get out of there.“

“Shut up!” the captain growled and as if it wasn’t enough, your captor let himself known too, counting down.

“Five.”

Shit!

Steve really would have to shield you from the explosion. That was gonna hurt a lot.

Well, though luck. He would burn before giving up on you.

He could see the door at the end of the hall now, his muscles crying with effort, his eyes burning with unshed tears or desperation.

He had to make in time to get you of the chair and cover you!

“Cap! Get the fuck out!” Natasha cried out in his ear, but Steve blatantly tuned it out.

He would have ripped the thing out of his ear, but that seemed like too much effort for now. He had more important goals.

“Four.”

He clenched his fists, bracing his body for the impact as he would throw himself against the door.

“Three.”

Pain erupted in Steve’s other shoulder as he collided with the metal, the door flying in the room with him.

“Two,” sounded on his right as he barely kept himself upright, quickly scanning the room. You were there, still on the chair, twenty feet from the door. The man stood by your side, hand on your shoulder, his head tilted to side with curious smile. “Hi there, Captain. One.”

Steve’s glimpsed the horror in your eyes, perfectly mirroring his own.

“Steve!” three voices yelled at the same time as he lunged after the man.

A fraction of second later, his body was thrown backwards with a shockwave, feeling as if on fire.

And then there was nothing.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

He nuzzled his nose to your hair, perfectly blissed out.

He learned to love Sunday mornings. Before he had met you, the day of the week had made no difference to him; he would wake up at 5:45 and get ready for his morning run and the only indication of something being different had been the amount of people he had been meeting on his route. Saturdays had used to be rather crowded, but not Sundays. On Sundays, people had idled. And you had convinced him to do the same.

It hadn’t required much effort from your side; especially after the first time Steve had got to make love to you. Since then, most Sunday mornings were reserved for lazy rolling in the sheets, exchanging sloppy and sensual kisses, wandering hands and lips and finding paradise in your bodies entangled.

He reached his peak shortly after you – because you always came first, an unintended pun, one Steve had made when he had been being absolutely sincere about your pleasure being the priority and you had laughed at it until your belly hurt – and now he wished for nothing but for cradling you in his arms for little longer.

His palm was sprawled on your stomach and he used it to bring you even closer, half-heartedly trying to convince a certain part of his body to stop reacting to your intimate position.

Too late, judging by your chuckle.

“Steve,” you whispered, rubbing your bottom against the hardness, apparently deciding to torture him sweetly. God, he would take every second of that torture and begged for more if it meant hearing you moan his name like that. Christ, this got him going.

You shifted in your position, catching his mouth with yours, fingers of your hand interlacing with his on your hip as you rocked into him once more.

Steve could die a happy man right there as he felt your heat, your tongue shamelessly twisting against his. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who was insatiable today. He moaned to your mouth when your hands sneaked between your bodies to guide him in and a shot of ecstasy made him arch his back at the contact.

Your smile was lost to the moan that left your lips.

“I love you,” you whimpered and Steve didn’t waste a second before returning the words, even though they paled under the actual force of what he was feeling with you. Love had never felt this intense before.

That was when the alarm blared, annoying and intrusive sound that had you both crying out in frustration.

Steve had forgotten about the brunch you had arranged with Ryan and his boyfriend.

“Turn it off,” he whined, locking his arm around you to keep you close.

“You know I can’t, Stevie,” you replied, not less annoyed than him. “Looks like we need to go back to reality.”

The intrusive beeping continued as Steve slowly blinked his eyes open. His eyelids felt unnaturally heavy. So did the rest of his body, which seemed to be hurting in too many places at once.

It took him few moments to assess the space he was in – lying in a bed, a beeping machine by his head, wires leading to his body, an i.v. in his arm. He knitted his brows together, reaching for the needle – it must have been why his body was so heavy and his mind so fuzzy.

Sharp pain erupted in his arm and torso, low hiss escaping his lips.

“Careful, Cap,” Tony’s voice brought Steve’s attention to the door where his friend was standing, slowly making his way to the bed. “You got yourself a lot of burns. If it wasn’t for the serum… you’d be a toast.”

“Burns?” Steve creaked, his throat scratchy.

When had he got-

Burns. The kidnapping. The choice he had been forced to make. The explosion.

Everything came rushing back to him in a horrifying fastforward.

“Did-“

“You saved lots of lives, yesterday,” the billionaire informed him, serious and excessively soothing.

It didn’t calm Steve’s suddenly rapidly beating heart. This wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. This wasn’t what he was asking; he knew that much. His thoughts were on you.

Did you survive?

“Did… did she-?“

Tony’s grim expression and solemn shake of his head told him everything he needed but didn’t want to know. Everything he refused to acknowledge, because it simply couldn’t be.

“No,” Steve rasped, his throat burning as much as his eyes and the rest of his body when he tried to sit up, his stomach twisting.

No. This couldn’t be.

It couldn’t, but somehow he already knew it was the truth. You would have been here by his bedside, watching over him. Or you would have been the first thing Tony mentioned, updating Steve on your condition.

Steve remembered with painful clarity the terror in your eyes before everything had gone black. The explosion. You had been in the centre of the room, the bomb basically strapped to your back.

“I’m sorry-”

“No,” Steve repeated stubbornly, setting his jaw tight so it wouldn’t tremble. “She’s… she has to-“

“I’m sorry, Steve. I… I really am.”

The crushing weight on Steve’s chest made it hard to breathe in, his throat closing up in effort not to scream. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears threatening to spill.

No, no, no… someone please wake him up from this nightmare. Please. You had to be alive. You had to, because otherwise… otherwise-

Otherwise he had failed you. Otherwise he was alone in this world again. Otherwise his heart was shattered and he would rather if it stopped. Otherwise his life was thrown back to the shadows he knew after coming out of the ice and further, kicked down to a pit of complete darkness. Otherwise he lost his soulmate.

“Please, leave,” Steve strained through his teeth, not bothering to open his eyes.

You were gone. You were gone, your body burned to ashes in the explosion Steve hadn’t stopped in time. He felt like the bomb exploded right inside of his chest, ripping his heart to shreds, pulsing pain pumped though his veins.

He heard no protest, only a sigh from the other man and a click of a door.

Only then, the first sob shook his whole body and he let himself to break down.

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Part 1

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Well… that’s a really long prologue, I know. The chapters should be shorter from here.

Title – inspired by Halsey’s Without Me

Thank you for reading!

Please don’t hate me... it’s a Spn crossover, put two and two together ;)

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Tags: @cxptain @smilexcaptainx , @murdermornings @irepostthingsiwanttoseelater , @polarcrystall @eliza5616 @rayofdawnworld @victor-criss-bish @skychild29  @elysianecho @simmisblog @scentedsongrebel @orions-nebula, @sergeantrosabellaswan​ @songofcosplay​, @ilovesupersoldiers​ @wxstedhexrt​ @silver-winter-wolf​ @nova3312​  @guardian-tn @janieavalos, @vxidnik​

Hello there! Like I said I would, I kept the taglist. If anyone wants in or out, DM me or send an ask :-*

[lunarimagines]

OASIS [1]

Summary: When the world’s oceans start disappearing, everything is sent into chaos. You’re forced to either start moving towards the city center or perish. It almost feels hopeless... until you meet Kim Taehyung.

Warnings: language, future smut

A/N: I hope you enjoy the new series! Send me a message if you would like to be added to the taglist for this series :)

It was fucking hot.

Sweat dripped down your forehead and into your eyes and, god forbid, dripped off your nose in salty splashes against your lips and shirt. Kim Seokjin, your traveling partner, was faring no better. His white shirt was plastered to his broad back with sweat and the ends of hair dripping with sweat below his scarf covering. Both of you had wicked sunburns and tans, the effects of the extreme heat.

Four months ago the oceans had suddenly begun to dry up. The waves had disappeared, then the shoreline retreated the next day, and suddenly the ocean was collapsing in on itself. At first there had been fears of a tsunami but as the event appeared to happen to coasts worldwide, something else was very, very much wrong. Scientists had been stumped. How could such a massive body suddenly start to disappear? But there appeared to be no answer. The effects were devastating. The temperatures around the world began to rise, the rain and snow came less, humidity was practically unheard of. The forests were slowly receding. Concrete and asphalt were unbearably hot to stand on. Dehydration was common. The whole world was crumbling.

When scientists began to understand the phenomenon was not going to reverse itself, sand and dirt were poured over the concrete and asphalt in cities, cars were banned, and water was immediately rationed. The fear was lakes and rivers eventually drying up once the ocean water was gone. Terror was widespread.

When the whole world had seemed to collapse you had been an average university student studying abroad and living in an off-campus apartment with two other exchange students. When the news broke the apartment had cleared out as people rushed home - including your roommates - leading to higher airline prices and backed up flights for days, then months. You had stayed, rationing water from the grocery stores and packing instant food. Your next door neighbor (now travel buddy) Kim Seokjin had decided to stay in the apartment where he was safe from the overwhelmingly poor elements. The two of you had bonded through sharing resources and, as apartments began to be cut off to preserve energy and water, the two of you moved in together. By the time the whole apartment complex had run out of energy and the power and water shut off, the two of you had devised a plan to head inward toward the heart of the city rather than stay on the outskirts. Surely, surely, there was someone in the major city who could save you, offer an oasis.

But, God, it was hot as shit out here. Your throat was aching and scratchy from the dust. You didn’t dare to take another sip of your water.

“Let’s stop here for an hour,” Seokjin finally suggested as he rounded the corner on a concrete building. Though slightly dilapidated, the building didn’t look like it would fall down on your heads like some of the other structures in the city.

You agreed, following him through the hole in the wall where the door had once been. Inside it was stifling, the airflow nonexistent. You dropped your bag on the far wall away from direct sunlight and pulled your scarf off of your head, wringing the sweat out of it. Seokjin followed your lead, offering you half of his granola bar when he finally collapsed onto the floor next to you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled hoarsely. Then, after a bite, “How long do you think it will be until we reach the city center?”

Jin shrugged and sunk lower into the floor, closing his eyes and fanning himself softly. “I would guess about another day. I don’t think we’re that far, but this heat feels like it’s getting worse and we’re definitely going slower because of it. We have enough food and water left for two more days so let’s pray they have water in the city center.”

Your stomach flipped at his mention of resources. In reality, the two of you had enough water to last you another week, max. But in order to have water left in the event that the city held nothing, you had enough water rationed out for one more day. The thought of running out of water completely scared you. Your headache was already fierce from the slight dehydration you were facing. You didn’t even want to imagine what severe dehydration would feel like.

“I’ll set a timer for thirty minutes,” Seokjin said as he pulled out his battery-operated timer. It was the only electronic thing you had left besides your watch currently strapped to your wrist. Cell phones were long gone. “You can sleep first, then I will.”

It wasn’t necessarily that you feared an attack, but with water and food scarce and plenty of wild animals moving into the city because of the deforestation, it wasn’t impossible.

Settling in, you rested your head on your pack, adjusting the lumps in it to surround your head in a nice cradle. It didn’t take much before you were out cold, your body going limp as exhaustion pulled you into a deep sleep.

You knew you were tired when you had no dreams. By the time Seokjin was gently shaking you awake so you could take the watch as he slept it had felt like no time at all had passed. Standing up to shake the sleep off, you set the timer for thirty minutes. Wandering toward a window, you looked out the cracked, dusty glass at the surrounding buildings. Heat was shimmering off the bone-dry dirt and stone buildings. You rubbed dirt out of your eyes as you stared around, eyes watching for movement. You weren’t expecting any movement. At most, people had moved either to the countryside or, as you and Seokjin were trying to do, to the city.

You lost track of time by drawing designs into the dust on the glass lightly. Some of them were simple and some were more elaborate as you tried to recreate the landscape around you. The good thing was you needed no color; everything was in varying shades of beige and white. The sun and heat had all but bleached the buildings.

The ringing of the timer woke Seokjin with a start. He stretched lightly, his shirt lifting slightly to expose his hips. He had lost some of the muscle he’d had when you first met him simply from a lack of nutritious food and plenty of water, but he was still quite toned. You couldn’t help but notice that… While you couldn’t imagine anything romantic in this climate you were allowed to still look, right?

“I wish we still had cameras so I could tell you to take a picture,” Seokjin joked as he stood up.

“Please,” you answered with an eye roll, “I’m sure you’d love to take a picture of my ass to look at in times of struggle. That’s all you stare at when I lead.”

“Sue me.”

You smirked at the banter, slinging your pack over your shoulders and situating your scarf over your head again, knotting it under your chin firmly. Sliding your sunglasses on, you turned to Seokjin.

“Ready?”

“God, you look like such an old lady. Yes, babushka, I’m ready.”

“Enjoy your eyeballs burning, pretty boy,” you said, turning to lead the way out of the building and East toward the city.

“HEY! HEY!”

You and Seokjin whipped around to see two figures running toward the two of you. They were a good football field away from you, but closing in fast. Your heartrate sped up as you quickly glanced at Jin.

“Y/N, run,” Seokjin commanded sternly, gripping your elbow and taking off. You stumbled behind him, your mind malfunctioning at the sight of other people.

“In this weather? Are you fucking crazy!?” you huffed behind him, the dust from your steps going straight into your throat and lungs.

“You want to get mugged and lose all of our water and food or suffer a little bit of dehydration and heat exhaustion?”

“Shit,” you exclaimed, picking up your pace to overtake Seokjin and pull him behind you instead.

“Wait! WAIT!” the voices behind you called.

You focused on your feet hitting the ground, the gravel under your shoes feeling hot and rough. Seokjin’s presence beside you was calming. He seemed secure as his eyes were trained forward, trusting yours which were trained on the ground to help him avoid tripping. It wasn’t difficult. The ground was fairly undisturbed, not travelled on.

“Fuck, this heat,” Seokjin panted, his hand gripping your arm more tightly as the effects of fatigue began to take over. The two of you were not as strong as used to be. The extreme heat during the day, the odd coldness during the night, the lack of water and essential vitamins and nutrients were all taking a toll on you.

The lactic acid in your legs was making them heavy and feel as if they were on fire. Your lungs were filling up with less and less air with each breath. The only thing keeping the two of you going was adrenaline and the half hour of sleep you’d just gotten.

“They’re getting closer,” Seokjin huffed after a quick look over his shoulder. “How are they getting closer?”

“If you stopped talking you’d be able to save more air and run faster,” you puffed out, half-joking half-deadly serious.

“I’m gonna sacrifice you if you keep being petty,” he joked and you couldn’t help but laugh, a quick outburst, at his witty remark. It was times like these, potentially life-threatening, that you were glad Seokjin was the one you were stuck with. It made the days a lot less terrifying even though you could hear the footfalls of the two figures chasing you clearly now.

“Everything hurts-”

“Look… who’s talking… now,” Seokjin joked.

“-and they’re going to catch us anyways. I’ll spray them with my pepper spray if they try to attack us but I cannot run anymore, Jin, I’m sorry.”

“Oh thank GOD,” he stopped running suddenly and turned, his chest heaving and his cheeks pink. Sweat dripped down his nose and off of his hair as he stared at the two figures now only ten feet behind you. “I thought I was going to DIE.”

You laughed as you unhooked your pepper spray from your belt and flipped the tab to get ready to spray in case things turned sour. “If we do die, though, I need to be sappy first.”

Seokjin fake gagged but you could see the wry smile on his face as he stared down the figures. They were only five feet away now, their faces becoming increasingly clear as they came to a stop in front of you, panting. One placed his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, the other raising his hands above his head and groaning loudly.

“We called out to you… in the hopes… that… oh my, God I think I’m going to… to pass out… we called because we hoped we could work together to survive but I think… the two of you… are actually trying to kill ALL of us,” the shorter of the two spoke between breaths. The taller one laughed happily. It would almost sound crazed if you didn’t understand exactly how exhausted he was feeling.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you two are the stupidest people I’ve ever seen,” Seokjin replied dryly.

The short boy stood up straight and you finally got to see his face. His jaw was set in defiance and his dark eyes stared underneath his hat at Seokjin with a certain intensity you hadn’t seen in a long time. They sparkled with a challenge and annoyance. His hands came up to rest on his hips and he chewed on his cheek as he continued to stare Seokjin down. “Oh?”

“What kind of dumbass yells at people during an apocalypse and then chases after them? Sure, we’re stupid for running, but at least we can say we did it to try and save our resources. You could have mugged us for all we knew!” Seokjin threw his hands up, his voice raising slightly. You shook your head and wiped sweat off of your forehead.

The boy’s friend laughed again, but it sounded sweeter this time. It was bright and felt comforting because there was no mirth behind it. Only pure happiness and amusement radiated from it. His eyes were bright and, although nearly the same colors as his friends, they seemed lighter with the amusement dancing in them. His cheeks were beautifully rounded when he smiled. You could feel yourself smiling just looking at him.

“He makes a good point, Yoongs,” the boy replied, smiling at his friend who, in return, seemed to relax. At the very least the tension was released from his shoulders. He cracked a smile at the taller one as he turned back toward you and Seokjin.

“We’ve been following you for about a day now, I think,” the taller one explained. “We aren’t asking that you share any of your resources, but we are asking if you would be willing to let us join you as we go toward the city center. I don’t know how much safer it will be, but it feels like it should be safer in a group of four rather than a group of two. I heard there’s a lot of people going to the city center anyway, so more people in the group really does seem safer.”

Seokjin glanced at you and you shrugged your shoulders. He made sense, and if there really were more people going to the city center than you anticipated the extra numbers would be much safer. The thing about large groups of people in hysteria was that violence and deceit always seemed to follow. Plus, the boys had made it clear they didn’t intend to take resources… although the jury was still out on that one. You would be sure to keep all of your belongings close to you when you slept and kept watch tonight.

Stealing a peek at Seokjin you could tell he was still ruminating. The two of you didn’t have much time if you wanted to reach the city center by tomorrow during the daylight hours. It wasn’t an option to reach the center at nightfall when the city was cloaked with a deep blackness that made it nearly impossible to see.

“Fine, but you either have to lead or walk beside us,” Seokjin finally decided for the both of you. You nodded at his decree. The boys also nodded and the four of you turned in a large circle so the boys were in front of you. The taller of the two nodded at you before turning on his heel and starting forward, sticking close the shade of the buildings as he went. His friend followed somewhat reluctantly, but fell in line quickly. You and Seokjin opted to walk side-by-side, your arms brushing lightly as you bent your heads together to talk.

“We don’t even know their names… are we stupid for doing this?” you mumbled. Your voice could barely be heard above the crunch of the gravel underneath your feet.

“Is it too late to ask their names? I feel like it’s weird. They’re just nice one and slightly less nice one to me…” he joked back

“No, it absolutely feels too late to ask. I think we just don’t refer to them by anything other than ‘hey’.”

Seokjin snorted at your comment before straightening up again. His eyes were trained slightly ahead of the two boys on the increasingly tall buildings coming into sight. It felt like an oasis in the desert, which truly wasn’t far off. You sent a prayer to the universe that the solution to your problems would be found in the city because you didn’t want to think about dying yet. You were simply too young and beautiful to die.

Honestly, you weren’t sure what kind of oasis you were hoping to find. Sure, you were hoping to find water and food, but beyond that you weren’t quite certain. Maybe you were looking for a group you and Seokjin could dissolve into so that you wouldn’t have to fend for yourselves anymore. You were so, so tired of having to fight your way through every single day in order to survive and make yourself continue to move, your feet continue to pound against the hot soil and sand, make your lungs continue to fill with air and then expel it. A moment of rest with people who understood your struggle and wouldn’t try to hurt you. Plus, you knew Jin was exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes and his usually soft and highly groomed hair was crusted with dirt and despair. He took smaller strides each hour it seemed.

But he had never given up. He’d kept cracking jokes with you and making sure you had a shoulder to lean on, sometimes physically rather than metaphorically. You’d fallen asleep on his shoulder every single night since you’d left the apartment. It wasn’t just fatigue. It was wanting to make sure he was real, he was really there. There had been moments you weren’t even sure you existed. You faced an unbelievable heartache cut off from your previous life.

A few hours later, the sun was beginning to set. The boys in front of you slowed their pace as they began searching for a good building to spend the night in. They settled on a small brick house that had been abandoned based on the fact that the shorter boy had called out “HELLO” and nobody had answered. You liked that the door locked, but you were skeptical of why the house seemed to be in such good condition.

“I think here’s good.” The taller boy dropped his pack on the dusty couch, a plume of sand and dust coming off of it from the weight. He wiped a spot haphazardly before plopping down, spreading his legs and draping his arms across the back of the couch. “Take first watch?”

The other boy nodded as he dropped his pack beside his friend’s on the couch. He took a small sip from his water bottle before tightening the lid and slipping it back in his pack securely.

“You want to sleep first?” Seokjin leaned down to whisper, his lips brushing your ear slightly. He blew into your ear lightly just to piss you off before straightening up.

“You can sleep first. I slept first this afternoon.”

Seokjin nodded and went into the second room to find another couch in pristine condition. You followed behind him, suddenly uncomfortable to be alone with the two boys. You still didn’t know their names.

You sat down with your back against the couch as Seokjin spread across it. His hand came down almost automatically to run over your hair lightly. He traced shapes on the back of your neck as you stared down at your watch. You could barely see the time in the dim dusk lighting, but you read the time: 6:45.

“Do you want to eat now?” you asked quietly as you rummaged in your backpack for a protein bar. You would make breakfast with some of your instant noodles in the morning.

“Hmmm… can I have a bite of yours?” Seokjin asked, opening his mouth.

You rolled your eyes but allowed him to take a bite.

“Tastes like shit.”

You snorted. The protein was truly the star of the granola bar. It was bitter and made your mouth feel grainy, but it offered enough energy to keep you going. But yeah, it tasted like shit.

Leaning your head back, you peered up at Seokjin as he shifted onto his side to look at you. “Do you think we’re safe?”

Seokjin let out a deep sigh. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were drooping as he tried to focus on you.

“I really hope we are. If you don’t feel safe tonight wake me up. I’ll wake you up if I don’t feel safe, too. Keep your pepper spray open.”

You nodded as you settled back to stare at the wall. Soon, the soft sounds of Seokjin snoring filled your ears. His slightly parted lips led out a puff of air onto your head each time he exhaled, providing the only breeze you had felt in ages. The air was still hot around you, the sand still warm. You knew it would cool down soon, though. The land always lost the heat sooner than water had, letting a slight reprieve seep in.

After a while, you stood up to stretch your aching legs. Your knees popped. Glancing at Seokjin, you wandered to the doorway where the smaller boy was leaning, staring out the window toward the city.

“How long have the two of you been together?” he whispered once you’d settled against the doorframe.

You let out a splutter, not expecting him to be so blunt. “Well, I mean… we’ve been living together for about three months and traveling together. But we certainly aren’t dating.”

“I get that,” the boy replied, “because it’s nice to have companionship, even if it’s not romantic. I feel pretty alone out here. I never realized how dark the world was without light pollution. Even camping you know there’s still light in the cities. Now? Not so much.”

The way he spoke had you nodding slowly as you took in his words. He was extremely well spoken. It almost surprised you but not quite. The way he carried himself had clued you in earlier that he was an astute person.

“How long have the two of you been together?”

He seemed to have to think for a minute before answering.

“We’ve been friends for about ten years, I think, and it just seemed natural that we go together…”

You nodded as he trailed off, staring back into the pure darkness. You could barely make out his frame in the gloom.

“What do you think we’ll find in the city?” you finally asked after the silence seemed to encompass the both of you, suffocating in the darkness.

You could hear him sigh and shuffle so he was leaning on the doorframe opposite you. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I think it’s ridiculous to think we’ll find anything functioning but I think I’m still kind of holding out hope that we find a functioning community. Like in a dome, you know? Which feels stupid now that I’m saying that out loud.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” you interjected quickly, “or if it is we must both be idiots because I think that’s kind of what I’m hoping for. I haven’t heard anything about how much longer we’ll have the oceans, but I hope somebody can figure out something quick.”

“One and a half months.”

“What?” you questioned, your eyebrows knitting.

“One and a half months until the oceans are completely gone. Then I think we only have a few weeks left to survive. The heat will wipe us out first, I think. If not that then lack of water. If not that, then lack of food. Not to be morbid.”

Ending a sentence with “not to be morbid” never makes it less morbid, especially when the future appeared especially bleak now. You let out a harsh breath and rubbed your eyes roughly.

“Can’t believe there might actually be a day I miss eating these protein bars,” you joked lightly and you heard the boy snort before he began laughing quietly. You could tell he was stifling the sound behind his hand.

“No, last week I had one that was lemon. I was like damn, can’t go wrong with lemon. It felt like I was eating lemon-infused dirt. Literally could have scooped up the dirt from the ground and eaten it.”

You let out a light cackle at that, immediately slapping your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. The boy was snickering.

“It might have expired. I have no idea what today is, to be fair.”

“Amen.”

The two of you spent the rest of your time in comfortable silence. You could only hear the soft snoring of the two sleeping boys and the light breathing of the other across the door frame. The temperature was finally bearable and you could feel yourself relaxing and cooling down as the sweat drenching your shirt cooled. You knew you would be chilly for the same reason soon. But for now you simply basked in the slightly cooler temperature.

The soft rustling behind you a few hours later let you know Seokjin was up. He gently grazed your arm as you turned to look at him. His hair was pushed up to one side with, a sight you could barely make out in the complete darkness. The only reason you could see anything was from the full moon and the stars outside the window. You reached up to smooth his hair down lightly, the coarse strands caked with dirt and sweat. You didn’t mind. He’d done the same for you before.

“You still have another hour if you want to sleep,” you mumbled quietly as you smoothed his hair. He’d bent down slightly to give you a better angle.

“It’s okay. I woke up naturally so I think that’s my body’s way of saying it’s time for me to get up.”

You smoothed the last strand and patted his head affectionately before he straightened up.

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. Go sleep,” he said with a gentle push toward the couch.

You couldn’t really complain anymore. Your body went to the couch on autopilot, spreading across it with your head on your backpack before immediately passing out. Your body relaxed finally for the first time in hours, and not only did you sleep well, but you even had it in you to dream.

They weren’t serious dreams. Most of them had to do with your life before the apocalypse. Spending time with the people you loved in your hometown. It felt like a fever dream. You felt like you were looking at yourself from the outside rather than living it. You weren’t that Y/N anymore in some ways. You held the same name but you weren’t sure you spoke the same, looked the same, or thought the same. However, the dreams were happy ones and by the time Seokjin was shaking you gently awake you found yourself feeling content and refreshed, though perhaps also slightly nostalgic.

“Let’s have breakfast before we start again. I think we should get there by late afternoon,” Seokjin said as he rummaged through his backpack for food and water.

You sat up and rubbed your eyes. Cheers to another day, you supposed.

“Ahh, I love the taste of incredibly chewy, salty noodles in the morning,” the taller of the two new boys said as he sat down across from you, his friend following behind.

“Be grateful you have food at all, Hobi,” the shorter one grumbled, tearing open his own packet of noodles.

Yoongs and Hobi. You were guessing those were nicknames. Cute.

Your group of four ate silently. You couldn’t really talk much as you tried to chew through the undercooked ramen noodles and forget how salty they were. They certainly wouldn’t help with your dehydration but when they were the only things left to eat that offered more than 190 calories you couldn’t truly complain. Besides, the more you ate them the more you forgot how they should actually taste. At this point these noodles were becoming a delicacy, albeit a chewy one.

“I think we’ll make it to the city by mid-afternoon maybe,” Yoongs said, as he finished his breakfast and placed his wrapper in the dusty trashcan standing in the corner of a room that looked like the kitchen. His actions amused you, but you found yourself following suit out of habit. Refraining from littering a wasteland… ironic.

“Let’s get going then,” Hobi said, slinging his pack over his shoulder and securing his hat on his head.

You decided to pour a dash of water over your scarf before you tied it to your head as you felt the heat permeating every inch of the air. It would be a small sacrifice to help ward off the heat fatigue.

The blisters on your feet were raging today as you began walking beside Jin, following the two boys from shadow to shadow. The buildings seemed to grow taller with each step. Their windowpanes were increasingly busted which worried you. The climate was not different enough on the outskirts of the city from the city center to cause such breakage. The only explanations were riots or violence. You weren’t sure how effective your pepper spray would be against a large group of people.

Your eyes scanned the building windows and, beside you, Jin kept glancing over his shoulder. It hadn’t been more than a few hours before Hobi was abruptly stopping.

“Wait,” Hobi said quietly, holding up his hand to signal to you and Jin to stop. “I don’t know if I’m just being paranoid… but I feel like we’re being watched.”

Goosebumps broke out on your arms and head as you understood what he was saying. You felt like you were being scrutinized. Yet, you hadn’t been able to see anything or anyone in buildings or out in the open. Still, the fact that you were so close to the center of a major city and there had been no people other than the two boys in front of you was suspicious.

You unclipped your pepper spray and twisted the tab open. Beside you, Seokjin unsheathed the small knife he kept strapped to his muscular thigh. His eyes were scanning in front of you as he backed you and himself against the wall of the nearest building. Your pack dug into your back and hips as you got as close to the wall as possible to protect it. Yoongs jammed in beside you and Hobi jammed in on his other side. You waited with bated breath. The air seemed even more stifling.

“Oh my, God! Can you just come out so we can get this over with!” Yoongs suddenly called out, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Despite his confident call you could feel how tense he was.

Figures cloaked in various shade of brown appeared from the buildings surrounding you. Your breath caught as you watched person after person step out. There were at least twenty of them surrounding you before one stepped forward. You couldn’t see their face beneath the hood, but anyone who was so rude had to be absolutely fucking ugly, you thought.

“Holy shit,” Jin whispered, his hand clenching around his knife. His knife began to look comically small amongst the crowd. “How much pepper spray do you have in that thing?”

“Never had to use it before. If I’m careful I can probably get half of them.”

Nobody else spoke. The heat shimmered off the ground and the buildings swam. You wished someone, anyone, in that group would talk. Finally, the one who had stepped forward did.

“How much water do you have?”

It was a woman’s voice. Her voice was gruff, the sound of gravel rolling around a metal tube almost. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“None,” Yoongs bluffed. “Why else would we be heading toward the city center.”

You could feel Jin holding his breath beside you, waiting to see if the group bought the lie. They seemed to grumbled slightly, shifting from one foot to another as they waited for their leader’s decision. She seemed to contemplate it.

“See, why don’t I believe you?”

“You have trust issues?” Seokjin asked, and Hobi snorted from the other side of Yoongs. You sucked in your cheeks to stop yourself from smiling. Even if you were going to die you’d all go out acting petty.

“You think you’re funny-”

“I know I’m funny.”

“-but I still think you all have water. Since you were so rude to us I think we’ll have to take all of it. We were thinking of saving you some-”

“Bullshit,” Yoongs mumbled.

“-but I’m not feeling very kind now. You can either give us your water or we can take it by force. If we have to take it by force I’m not sure we’ll leave your food with you either.”

You couldn’t even be mad about Jin possibly ruining your chances of escaping with your food. His humor and wit were needed against their rudeness. Seriously, who did these people think they were?

Your hand holding the pepper spray twitched as the group moved closer to box you in. You couldn’t see their eyes well enough to aim and you didn’t want to waste your pepper spray, the only thing you had to defend yourself besides the boys on either side of you.

“Water. Now.”

The four of you stayed still, jaws clenched in defiance. Your hands were clammy as you waited. What you were waiting for you weren’t sure. Maybe someone to save you. Maybe heat exhaustion to strike you down. Maybe someone else in your small group to step forward first.

Thankfully a fourth option was presented to you in the form of a man’s voice coming from a window above you in the building you were currently pressed flush against.

“This is so boring will someone please just do something.”

His voice was so deep that it caused shiver to run through you. You took a chance to crane your neck up to see the arms of a man draped over the window as he leaned out casually to watch the scene unfold. He tapped his fingers against the brick impatiently.

“Stay out of this, Namjoon,” the girl called back, flipping him off.

Yoongs snorted beside you at the childish gesture and for just a second the situation seemed less terrifying. You felt a surge of relief course through you because at least there were other people here who maybe weren’t friendly but were also not foes.

The sound of a body dropping out of the window closest to Hobi startled you as the light thump and resulting rise of dust seemed to cut through the tension. Another body dropped down in front of you, landing gracefully on his feet, his hand touching the ground to stabilize himself. He stood, dusting off his hands. The flash of tattoos on his hand caught your attention as you found yourself almost entirely mesmerized by his hands as he reached to unsheathe a knife strapped to his hip.

“You must be scared if you’re sending your guard dogs down,” the girl called up, but she and her group had retreated back a few steps.

“If I was doing that Taehyung would also be down there. As it stands now, I’m not too concerned. This group seems like they could give you a run for your money. I’m sure pepper spray to the eyes in this dry heat would hurt like a bitch,” the man, Namjoon, called back. Your hand gripped the pepper spray tighter as you noticed the boy in front of you turning back to take a glance at the pink container clasped in your hand. His hair flopped roughly into his eyes as he looked up at you and grinned, his cheeks growing round and his shoulders relaxing.

“We just need water, Namjoon. Are you going to give that to us or do we have to take it?”

Namjoon seemed to think that over for a second. He hummed.

“What can we get in return if we give you water?” The girl seemed taken aback at his question.

“What do you want?” she questioned slowly.

“Jimin! What do we want?” Namjoon called.

The boy beside Hobi straightened up and put his forefinger to his lips, pretending to think. He tapped his plump lips lightly before smiling.

“I happened to hear you have painkillers you’re hoarding. Those are quite the delicacy… I think those would be a sufficient trade for some life saving water. What do you think, Jungkook?” The boy in front of you cocked his head to one side as he also pretended to think. “Seems like a pretty fair trade to me.”

“You heard my boys! Bring back the painkillers and we’ll give you even more water than you could possibly get from this group. I would suggest you hurry. I think my deal will expire by midnight.”

The girl turned to look at her comrades who nodded under their beige garments. She turned to flip Namjoon off once more before turning back to her group and dissolving back into the buildings around you, the plumes of dust from their feet the only indication they were moving from shadow to shadow. Your group stood there watching them, almost in a sense of awe and wonder, as Jungkook and Jimin walked back toward the door leading into the building.

“You all going to stand there until the oceans come back or are you going to come in?” Namjoon asked from above, his voice tinged with amusement.

The question stirred you from your daze and you turned in a uniform line to follow Yoongs and Hobi toward the door, slipping your pepper spray closed and clipping it back onto your belt as your feet shuffled forward. Jin grabbed your elbow lightly and leaned down to whisper, “Stay close.. I’m not sure I trust them yet.”

You could only nod as you were met by Yoongs and Hobi halting. Jimin was leaning against the doorframe, his leg sprawled out to block the entrance.

“What’s the password?”

Yoongs huffed in annoyance. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I am, in fact, not shitting you. What’s. The. Password?”

“I’m gonna knock your pretty little teeth out?” Yoongs grumbled and Hobi snorted.

“Thank you,” you sighed to Jimin, craning your neck around to look him in the eye. His eyes shone with amusement and even glee at your answer.

He grinned as he stepped aside. “Bingo.”

“My next guess,” Yoongs shrugged. You shook your head at him. Even though you’d only met the boy about a day ago you had to admit you kinda liked him. He sometimes had a blunt way of speaking but he was also funny and charming and intelligent.

You followed the boys in to find the building had been almost completely gutted. The upper floors wrapped around the edges to leave an open center that looked up to a chandelier filled with candles. Their lights flickered dimly against the square brick ceiling. Faces peered over the edges of the railings and out of rooms. It reminded you of a fancy hotel. You had grabbed Jin’s wrist, earning a look from Jungkook that he shared with Jimin from behind you, as you took in the building. This was your oasis. This.

“Welcome to your new home,” Namjoon said as he stepped off of the last step on a staircase tucked behind a wall. “You’ll always be welcome here as long as you pull your weight.”

“What the hell is this place?” Hobi asked, his eyes wide and his mouth parted slightly as he watched people move.

“Um. I mean. We don’t really have a name,” Namjoon replied awkwardly, his eyebrows crinkling. “We’re not that lame I don’t think.”

Yoongs let out a laugh at that and truly smiled for the first time since you’d met him. It was a cute, gummy smile that had you smiling, too.

“Taehyung!” Namjoon called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Sorry. Taehyung’s like our unofficial tour guide and, apparently, one of our guard dogs.”

Jungkook snickered behind you and Jimin stifled a laugh.

Jin nudged your thigh with his hand and gave you a pointed look that said, “Do we stay?”

You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head to say, “I have no fucking clue.”

His question was answered when you saw Taehyung, however. His shaggy hair brushed the top of his eyelashes, his dark eyes filled with a warmth and kindness that made your chest feel light. His tanned arms were crossed over his chest as he regarded your small group, his eyes landing on you. He smiled softly and you nearly choked at how gorgeous it was. His deep chuckle had butterflies in your stomach. This boy was affecting your whole body already. You were drawn to him. You wanted him.

“Hi,” he greeted. “I’m Taehyung.”

[et-lesailes]

in it together // ver. b

pairing: ari levinson x reader

word count: 1770

summary: you end up getting arrested in sudan while working as a part of operation brothers, and your boyfriend and team leader ari bails you out of jail before things get even worse.

themes: angst but fluff at the end !!

warnings: sexual harassment

taglist: @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema , @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @b-val1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo​, @poerebel , @bitchbabes-world , @gogomez-509 , @quaiderade

note: requested by @clevercamijo // the first version of this story is right here! hope you like this version, as well :)

It’s okay. It’s okay, they’ll come get you. You won’t be here for long.

You looked around the jail cell hoping you came off as at least slightly cool and unbothered-- but the truth was, you were terrified, and you had a feeling these men could practically smell it on you. How could the officers here be cruel enough to put you in an overcrowded square cell surrounded by bigger and stronger men, men who were criminals? You were the only woman in there, and the guards were barely doing their rounds; fear was sinking in more and more by the second.

You had moved to stand in the least crowded corner you could find, too nervous to even sit down. If you seemed too relaxed, you could be taken advantage of. The resort was in a lawless part of Sudan, and God knew where all of these men could have come from. You were starting to feel frustrated that you were even there-- they had absolutely no proof connecting you to smuggling, otherwise the entire team would be there with you.

You noticed a tall, rather beefy man suddenly walking up to you, and you froze. You prayed he was on his way to approach someone else, but sure enough, he stopped right in front of you, harsh eyes staring down at you. You tried to gaze up at him with confidence, keeping a surprisingly cool exterior, but you knew it was hopeless. Someone like you could not faze someone like him. “What is a pretty woman like you doing here?” he inquired, his English thickly accented, the slight smirk on his lips already menacing. “I’d rather not talk about it.” You replied dismissively, trying to step away from him, but he only followed to block your path. “Then we do not have to talk.” His smirk grew wider, his dark eyes scanning your body up and down. You felt your stomach twist in simultaneous disgust and fear. “Leave me alone,” you spoke firmly, relieved your voice was not yet giving away your anxiety. “I’ll be out of here soon enough.”

“Maybe, but until then, you can make yourself useful and provide some entertainment.”

You bit your lip as you noticed more men were looking at the two of you now, mainly at you. “I-I’ll scream for the guards.” Fuck, you stuttered. “You think they will help? They will only want to watch,” another man said with a scoff, a wicked grin lighting up his rugged features. It was horrible, revolting, terrifying, but you knew he was right. This was a completely different world, and a very corrupt one, at that. “I’ll-- I’ll give you money when I get out of here. I’ll even use my connections to bail you out. I’d be able to do it, I’m working with the-”

“Lies,” he spat in your face, and you shut your eyes tight as you barely winced. “Just stop talking, it will make this much easier for you.”

You cried out when he grabs your waist, jerking you to his body. You tried to squirm desperately out of his hands but the other men were surrounding you, ready to catch you if you dared try to run-- and where would you run, anyways? You were in a jail cell, for God’s sake. “P-please!! Please stop, I’m begging you!” Any attempt to act confident and unfazed was thrown out the window-- you were a pathetic mess now, tears streaming down your cheeks as you felt the man’s hands start to slide under your shirt, trying to fight him off as best as you could.

“What the hell is going on here??!”

Your head snapped up at the loud, angry voice barking out from the other side of the cell door. There stood Ari, his eyes a shade darker, his fists clenched so hard the skin tone of his knuckles was practically albino. A security guard gestured for you to come to the door as he unlocked it, seeming completely unbothered by the fact that you were being sexually harassed-- however, you were too frantic to get out of there to even be appalled by such a disgusting example of the bystander effect.

But suddenly, Ari was storming right in, grabbing the collar of the man who had been bothering you. Jerking him forward, he lifted his fist and punched him right in the face; you had never seen him look so angry before, his veins practically bulging and his teeth clenched. “I don’t even fucking have anything to say to worthless swine like you,” he hissed, shoving him down to the ground roughly before grabbing your arm, pulling you out of the cell. You were practically speechless, your eyes wide and your heart pounding as you held onto him, realizing your cheeks were still fresh with tears. “Are you alright?” the team leader asked once you were safely outside the building, now turning to you as he gently took your face in his hands. “That fucker didn’t hurt you, did he? Was I too late??” You could see the panic in his eyes and you quickly shook your head, sniffing but touching his hand lightly. “No, no, I-I’m okay, just.. shaken up…”

He pulled you to him and hugged you tightly, and you immediately took comfort in his broad chest and fresh scent from his cologne as you wrapped your arms back around him, feeling more tears falling forth. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” he murmured lowly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his lips brushing against your hair as he continued, “I promise, I will never, ever let anything like that happen to you again.” You nodded your head somewhat pitifully into his chest, feeling bad that you were staining his shirt with tears, but unable to remove yourself from his hold. “It’s okay,” you forgave him in a soft whisper, not blaming him for anything. This operation came with risks, and you knew you were being sensitive about it, but you couldn't help yourself. Feeling a mixture of weak and violated, you just wanted to go back to the resort and crawl into bed, and Ari could tell. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, clearly not caring that you were in public despite your secret relationship, murmuring quietly, “Come on. Get in the truck, let’s head back.”

_________________

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking a few times. The events of the day immediately flooded your mind, making you wince slightly as you remembered them, but upon realizing the strong, muscular arms wrapped around you, you instantly felt comforted. Looking up, you smiled tiredly seeing your boyfriend’s sleeping face, his eyelashes rested peacefully against the top of his cheeks. You tilted your head up slowly to kiss his beard, smiling softly at the scratchy texture that tickled your lips. A low hum of content escaped his throat, his hold tightening around you. “Hey there, beautiful.” His voice was low and husky from having just woken up, making you sigh happily. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed in confirmation, wrapping your arms and legs tighter around him. “But I don’t want to get up yet.” He chuckled and exhaled deeply, rubbing your back up and down. “Good, we’re on the same page. I just want to lay here in bed with you for the rest of the day.” With one swift movement, he suddenly had you straddling him as he lay comfortably on his back, a lazy grin on his lips as he looked up at you. “God, you’re gorgeous.” You could feel your heart racing, but this time, unlike before, it was in a good way. You smiled as you leaned down, your hair falling to one side of your neck as you kissed him sweetly. “I love you, Ari.” You whispered against his lips, and he suddenly growled as he rolled the two of you over, now on top of you as he leaned down to kiss you back. “And I love you, sweetheart.” He pulled back to look down into your eyes, his features becoming slightly more tense. “I’m still so sorry about today, baby. I should have been there earlier. God, not only that, but I should have snapped that fuck’s neck. I was so fucking angry I didn’t even know what to do besides inflict pain as soon as possible.”

You shook your head, reaching up to stroke his cheek gently. “It’s okay, Ari, really. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” You chuckled softly, adding, “Or other people. Although… it was really attractive when you did that.” You admitted with a little smile, teeth barely pulling at your lower lip. He blinked before barely smirking amused, turning his head to kiss your hand. “Well you can expect to see it again if anyone ever decides to fuck with you like that. Fuck, I’m still so--”

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling his face close to yours. “Let’s both just forget about it,” you whisper, desperately wanting to leave this incident in the past. “We’re going to be okay… I know it.” He hummed softly, inwardly taking a deep breath and pressed his forehead against yours. “You’re so good to me, baby girl. Thank you,” he mumbled softly, kissing your nose softly. “I can’t wait until we can finally be public about our relationship so I can tell everyone how much I fuckin’ love you.” You giggled as you gazed up into his eyes, rolling your own fondly. “Mm, well for now you can just focus on telling me,” you teased, and he grinned widely, moving his hands down to tickle your waist as he attacked your face in kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I fuckin’ love you, I love fucking you--”

“Ari!” You exclaimed with a loud laugh, squirming and playfully smacking his chest. He grabbed your wrists with a happy grin, leaning down and kissing you passionately. The trauma from earlier was slipping away from your mind as you melted into his kiss, allowing yourself to be completely embraced and comforted by your loving boyfriend, entirely grateful for everything he did for you.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Mama, We All Go To Hell (part two)

[Tour!verse]

TW: Abuse, non-sexual child grooming, gaslighting, victim blaming, mentions of CSA

——————

When Bessie was very young, before moving into the castle, her mother used to shove her into the dark, stuffy “Sinners Room.” Clouded by smoke, hot from the burners, and illuminated only by the crimson glow of the fires, Bessie was forced to pray on her knees for hours.

Mother said God didn’t like little girls who didn’t keep up with her studies. Mother said bad little girls needed to be punished. The Sinners Room was created for that very purpose. It became the bane of Bessie’s existence, something she sped by when she passed it in the hallway. She always left it gasping for clean air and soaked in sweat, much to her mother’s disgust. It became a place of nightmares for her, a replica of literal hell.

And yet…

Right now, Bessie would have much preferred the Sinner’s Room.

The water spraying out of the shower hose was scalding hot. Liquid fire was shooting out onto her bare back, purposely positioned to beat into her scars.

(Catherine has sneered when he saw them.

“Really Elizabeth? Why must you fight? You should’ve liked what the king did to you.”)

Not a day goes by where Bessie wonders if she should have liked Henry’s treatment. Hearing her mother say she wasn’t a victim strengthens that belief.

(“B-but mother… I was thirteen when he was twenty-three-”

“So? I was ten when I had you! Stop complaining!”)

Tears well up in Bessie’s eyes. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she was just whining…

But when a hand rubs across her shoulder blades, she doesn’t register it as her mother’s hand, rather Henry’s. He would enjoy her like this- curled up in the bathtub, shivering, completely naked.

Her scars start to hurt. She wants to shove Catherine away, but she knows she’s not allowed to do that to her mother. She knows the punishment if she even tries to struggle.

(Henry was the same way. If she made too much noise, then he would use her mouth more. If she struggled, then he yanked her hair. If she didn’t sit still, he’d rake his nails down her back like claws.)

A tiny whimper wormed its way out of Bessie’s throat. The hands roughly scrubbing her shoulders freeze.

“Is something wrong?” Her mother’s voice crooned from behind her ear.

“N-no.” Bessie said, but her voice is tight and pitched.

“Are you sure?” Catherine’s breath is hot on the back of her neck. Her hands trail down, smooth against Bessie’s hips and waist, then back up with her nails digging in. She feels her daughter squirm slightly in her hands.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Bessie squeaked, her voice pitching again.

“Oh aren’t you pitiful.” Catherine said, continuing her scrubbing with a scratchy sponge. “You know, you wouldn’t be shaking like you are if you would have just enjoyed it. I would have.”

Bessie makes a tiny noise. The sponge makes her scars feel raw. Catherine smirks when the skin eventually breaks open and starts to bleed from exertion.

“You were with the king. When he was still married! And he chose my baby girl.” Catherine pressed a soft kiss to the back of Bessie’s neck, making her shiver. “My special girl…”

Butterflies flutter wildly in Bessie’s stomach when her mother calls her that. Even in a situation like this, she still craved those possessive titles.

“You know what I think, sweetheart?”

Bessie gave a tiny, “Hmm?” Her eyes were shut and she tried to just relax.

“I think you actually liked it.”

But any chances of slight relaxation was thrown out the window.

Bessie went rigid. Fear shoots through her veins. Her stomach turns.

“I think you were loving what the king was doing. I bet you were hungry for his touch. Isn’t that right?” Catherine chuckled and stroked the top of Bessie’s head, “Oh, you dirty little slut.”

Bessie whimpered quietly. Catherine continued to play with her wet hair, chuckling.

“You’re playing the victim, eh? To get everyone on your side, drawing them in. You temptress! You really are my daughter...”

—————

Even though Bessie assured her mother she could sleep on the couch, Catherine practically forced her to sleep in her bedroom. Usually, Bessie would be thrilled, but the feeling of fingers all over her body have yet to disappear and the venom-laced words from Catherine still ring in her ears.

Maybe she was right. Maybe she wanted it all along.

Catherine’s arms tighten around Bessie’s torso. She’s coiled in her embrace, held close to the woman’s chest as she sleeps. Oh, how she wished it was a protective move to keep her child safe.

No. It was to keep her in place so she couldn’t run. So she couldn’t escape.

Just like Henry used to do...

The night is long and silent. Bessie only falls asleep because she pretends it’s Howard holding her.

She misses Howard.

Her real mother.

—————

It’s been two weeks since then. Bessie starts staying the night at her mother’s apartment more often. She’s distancing herself from everyone, allowing Catherine to become her whole world, whether she likes it or not.

—————

Bessie sits at the edge of the couch, holding a DVD case in her hands. The old plastic case is cracked and battered, but the disc contained within escaped any damage. She’s watched it herself- an apparent classic titled “Rear Window”. She knows her mother will enjoy it. Bessie just needs to get up and go to bedroom, where Catherine is no doubt bored of the latest TV special. Catherine will love to watch this, she just knows it!

So why can’t she move?

Instead of joining her mother in the bed, she rubs her fingers nervously along the plastic, exasperating its tears. The beating of her heart is elevated, and her skull is clammy with sweat.

Fed up with herself, she jumps up, and makes it to the door in only a few swift strides. But her courage whimpers as she grabs the doorknob. She just has to open the door, but her arms are like lead.

Stupid, indecisive Bessie. Is it any wonder nobody likes you?

Rallying herself, she manages at last to open the door. Near sick with dreadful anticipation, she steps inside the bedroom, the DVD case held firmly against her chest.

Catherine doesn’t look over at her, not even when one of the floorboards creak. Bessie stops about a foot from the bed, which her mother is laying on, working dutifully on her laptop.

“Um.” Bessie’s voice is thready. “M-mother, I found this copy of a-a movie that I thought…” Her prepared request dies in her chest as Catherine finally looks over at her. Her grey eyes are cold, flat.

“You ‘thought’ what?”

“I…I thought.” She clutches the DVD tighter. Like a feeble shield. “I thought we could watch it…together?”

Bessie squirms under Catherine’s withering gaze.

“Why would I ever want to watch something with you? It’s not like you’d understand it, anyway.”

“I-I-” Bessie knew she was smart. Parr said she was, so it’s gotta be true. But she wasn’t one to disobey her mother, so she doesn’t say anything against the comment, “Maybe you could explain…”

Catherine snorts and Bessie shrinks backwards.

“I’m sorry-”

“Can’t speak properly without stuttering, teenage whore, too weird to land a real job. I’m the one stuck paying all the bills, and now you want me to take time out of the few free hours I have to attempt to do something with you?”

“N-Nevermind. It was stupid.”

Stupid, stupid Bessie.

Catherine’s gaze flicks up and down Bessie’s form.

“And for fuck’s sake, could you be wearing shorter shorts?” Catherine sneers.

Embarrassment rises to Bessie’s face. The shorts really weren’t that short; they just about reached her knees, but her mother was right. She must look ridiculous.

“You’re right. I’ll change. I-I have to go get ready for the show, anyway.”

Catherine shook her head and stood up. She strides over to Bessie, who shrinks back and flinches when she takes one of her hands. She runs her nails over the calluses that have formed from playing bass and made a tsktsktsk sound.

“What a waste.”

In one swift movement, she slams her daughter’s fingers in the door.

—————

Bessie’s hand was on fire. Every twitch of her finger sent strings of fire blazing through her nerves, alighting flames in her knuckles. All she could really do was bite her lip and hold back her tears when she got ready to perform.

(She was using a replacement bass. Joan has yet to get over the one that got destroyed. Bessie is convinced the music director now hates her.)

Aragon notices the girl’s obvious discomfort right at the start, along with the deep purple bruises on her fingers. She wants to ask about it, but she has to wait until after the show. The entire time, she keeps a close eye on Bessie, who is certainly gritting her teeth throughout the whole thing.

Once the curtain closes, Aragon skips stage door to go check on Bessie, who retreated to her dressing room. There, she finds the girl fumbling with her costume while hiccuping and sniffling.

“Elizabeth?”

The girl freezes, inhaling sharply.

“Elizabeth, what’s going on? Why is your hand like that?”

A tiny whimper bubbles forth, but Bessie is quick to bite it back. Aragon approaches her slowly, so slowly, and she completely forgets that she’s supposed to despise the girl.

“Elizabeth,” Aragon said again, this time much softer. She circles around to where she’s facing Bessie and her heart clenches at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Are you okay?”

Bessie nods. But then Aragon looks at her the way she used to, when she was hurt or sad or ill as a child, and it all came crashing down onto her.

All at once, Bessie shatters.

Aragon barely has enough time to catch the girl before she hits the ground when her knees go out. She lowers her to the floor and the poor thing is instantly clinging her, digging her face into her shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably. The queen’s hands hover over her back in shock before holding her tightly, practically bundling her against her chest.

And she finds that she doesn’t even care about the studded leather scratching against her or the fact that Bessie was making a mess on her shoulder.

Bessie cries painful hard for a long time. Weeks worth of terror and trauma and anguish and agony coming back with so much power and force that it almost makes her sick. She coughs and wheezes and hyperventilates in Aragon’s arms, who can only watch in horror because she never really knew how bad the girl’s condition was until right now.

(That certainly made her guilty.)

Eventually, Bessie cried herself out to near exhaustion. She was slumped in Aragon’s lap, panting and breathing heavily. That’s when Aragon finally decided to ask what had happened and Bessie doesn’t hold back. She just doesn’t care anymore. She tells the queen everything.

And Aragon is livid.

“Jane,” Aragon called, “Jane!”

The queen hurries in, eyeing Bessie worriedly. They all had heard the crying, but stayed out of it at Aragon’s command.

“Get Katherine, will you? Poor thing needs her mother so badly.” Aragon sighed, stroking the top of Bessie’s head while she said this.

Jane nodded and left the room with one final glance in Bessie’s direction. It isn’t long until a hot pink whirlwind enters the dressing room. Howard is immediately down by Aragon’s side, and the elder queens starts to carefully transfer Bessie into her lap.

“Shh, shh,” Aragon murmured when Bessie whimpered softly, “Hush, darling. It’s just your mother.”

Howard quirked a brow at the pet name Aragon used. And if her calming down Bessie wasn’t weird enough...

However, she didn’t dwell on that long when the shivering girl now curled up in her arms began to apologize. Her voice was so weak and hoarse, and fresh tears started to flow down her cheeks.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Howard soothed, rocking her daughter, “Don’t apologize. Whatever happened is not your fault. I promise.”

“B-but-” Bessie was cut off by her phone going on several times. She whimpered softly and Howard’s hand came up to the back of her head to press her face back against her chest, shielding her protectively. Gingerly, Aragon checks the messages and, like that, she’s storming out of the room like a livid lioness that was primed for blood.

If Howard weren’t holding her precious daughter, she would have done the exact same thing.

Where are you?

You better get your ass back home in ten minutes or else

I’m going to scrape you raw

Filthy slut. I know what you’ve done.

Nobody will ever love you. You’re a disgusting whore. The only person who can love someone like you is me.

I’m going to make you bleed, little girl.

You were loved.

Bessie sobbed audibly into Howard’s chest, her entire body seizing with a painful spasm. Howard drops the phone and pulled her daughter closer, rubbing up and down her spine to calm her.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl, I’m so sorry,” She whispered into Bessie’s messy hair, “That horrible woman will never touch you again, you hear me? I promise. I’ll never let her hurt you again.”

Bessie nodded feebly. She dissolves into tired sniffles and hiccups, too weak to cry anymore. The sight of her, shivering and pale and so, so scared, made Howard’s heart tighten.

“Mama, I don’t f-feel good,” Bessie whispered. “Wanna go home...please...”

“Of course,” Howard said, “You must be so tired. How does cuddling up and watching a movie sound? Or you can just rest. It’s up to you, sweetheart.”

Bessie nods again.

It seemed that the latter was the thing that ended up happening. Bessie is unconscious by the time they get back to the queen’s house, still shaking and whimpering, even in her blacked out state. Howard gets her changed into the softest pajamas she has, which the girl barely wakes up for, and by the time she’s finished she’s limp in the queen’s arms again.

Aragon finally comes home an hour later. She goes to Howard’s room to find the queen watching TV with Bessie bundled up beside her. A tiny smile twitches on her lips.

“How is she?” She whispered.

“Shaken up.” Howard answered, threading her fingers through her daughter’s hair, “What did that woman do to her?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Aragon said while crossing over to sit on the edge of the bed, “You may get a little worked up and that might startle Bessie.”

Howard nodded.

“Look at you,” She teased to try and lighten the mood, “You care about her.”

Aragon snorted lightly.

“You forget,” She said, “I was her mother before you.”

A tiny mumble caught her attention. She and Howard both looked down to see Bessie squirming slightly. Her eyes were shut tightly.

“Mama...” She whimpered.

“Shh, shh,” Howard immediately began to soothe her, “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

Then, she glanced at Aragon, who was looking at Bessie with worried eyes. Reaching out, she takes the queen’s hand and sets it on Bessie’s head. Alighting old maternal instincts, Aragon’s fingers immediately began to stroke through the girl’s hair, making Howard smile.

“We’re both here.”