#heal quicker you fuckin fuck

[normalsexhaver]

i did not take a broken toe seriously and i've really fucked up my foot and now i'm so bored

should i write more porn or start another bg3 run someone flip a coin for me

[memento-rory]

✭ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬.

✭ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: schlatt indulges you during a storm.

✭ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none! just a cute lil ficlet.

✭ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 694.

✭ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: it’s storming here and my power is out so i had nothing better to do than indulge in my own little fantasies about a rainy day with schlatt. enjoy! 🩵 (go out in the rain more often. it will heal you.)

The sky had turned dark in an instant, quicker than you were able to register from your spot on the couch. Thunder roared from a distance, rolling through the sky over your home, until suddenly, a deafening clap shook the earth. It wasn’t long before you could hear a harsh pouring of rain pattering on the roof.

An excited grin spread across your face at the sound, and you stood up from the couch, immediately heading for the front door.

“Where you goin’?” Schlatt’s eyebrow shot up, sitting up straighter on the couch. You turned to look at him, pulling the door open.

“Rain has healing powers.” You beamed at him, “I’m gonna go play in it.”

Schlatt looked at you like you were insane, and the smile on your face grew impossibly wider as you stepped outside. You took off down the porch, immediately squealing in delight as the rain drenched you within seconds.

“Fuckin’ hippie…” Schlatt groaned to himself, following after you. He stayed on the porch, just watching you from afar as you threw your arms out, face pointed at the sky, letting the rain fully wash over you. You could feel him watching you, and when you turned to look at him hopefully, he shook his head.

“Nuh-uh,” Schlatt called from the porch, “I’m not comin’ out there! I’m just keepin’ an eye on ya in case you get struck by lightning.”

“Fine by me!” You called back, moving your wet hair from your eyes, though the wind whipped it right back against your face. You released a pleased sigh as you really let yourself feel the cold sting of the rain, when you suddenly decided you couldn’t feel it enough. For the rain to really give you the effect you were searching for, you needed to feel it all over, to let it fully encompass you.

So you dropped to the ground, back against the wet, muddy grass, arms and legs sprawled out like you were about to make a snow angel. You closed your eyes, just basking in the gloomy weather.

Schlatt scoffed a little, shaking his head disapprovingly again, but now that he could fully see your face, he softened. You looked so fucking happy, so at peace with such a violent act of nature. He wondered what that felt like.

With your eyes closed, you had no idea Schlatt had given in, until you felt his hand slip into yours. You shielded your eyes from the pouring rain to look over at Schlatt, who just shook his head, letting out a quiet, incredulous laugh at your smiling face.

The two of you stayed like that until the wind started to get a little too cold for comfort, and you both called it quits, heading back inside.

When you got back inside, Schlatt pointed at you and said, “Stay.” at the front door, earning a giggle from you as his demeanor returned to normal. Schlatt returned shortly with a towel, a blanket, and some fresh clothes for the two of you.

“C’mon,” Schlatt gestured at your wet clothes, “Get ‘em off. The faster you change, the faster we can get warmed up.”

Soft jazz played in the background as Schlatt gathered your hair into a towel, helping you dry it off after getting changed. As soon as he decided you were dry enough to be allowed on the furniture, Schlatt wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and led you back to the couch.

Maybe you imagined it, but you swore you could see a hint of a smile on his lips as he sat down beside you. “Thanks for coming out with me,” You smiled over at him, resting your head on his shoulder, scooting closer to him.

“Sure, angel.” Schlatt responded, with a lazy shrug, “Do you feel healed?” He teased.

You nodded against his shoulder. “Very much so.”

A small smile spread across his face as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

Maybe he felt a little healed, too. Whether it was from the rain or from the way you looked enjoying it, he didn’t know, but either way, he’d take it.

[analogwriting]

Childhood Crush

Chapter 22: Bismuth

Killer x gn!reader word count: 2.3k a/n: got y'all two chapters cause it's the man's birthday, but who knows might fuck around and KEEP GOING next (end)

“What do you mean I have to fuckin’ drink this? It looks radioactive.” Eustass looked at you with pure disgust on his face as he held a cup of green liquid. You let out a hard sigh, looking at him.

“It looks like ass. It’s going to taste like ass. But I promise, it’s going to do a lot of good. It’s something I specially crafted.” 

You watched as he frowned, looking into the cup. He was sitting upright now, which was good. His injuries were healing well and almost didn’t need bandages at this point, so he could sit up without difficulty. “Just fucking drink it.”

“I’m getting there,” he snapped at you. Well, he seemed just fine. He was arguing just like he always did, so you weren’t going to complain. You were just glad to see him conscious. “I swear, I will shove a funnel down your throat and make you drink it if you don’t hurry-”

“Fucking okay!” Eustass quickly slams back the concoction you made for him. It was the smartest decision he’s ever made because you knew that shit tasted like ass so the quicker he downed it, the better. You watched as his eyes widened and he immediately started coughing. Luckily, he already swallowed it, so you didn’t have to worry about him spitting it out. You couldn’t help but snicker.

“That tasted like fucking ass! Are you trying to kill me, Bigs? Is this to get back at me for almost dying?” 

You put your hands on your hips and laughed loudly at his reactions. “No, but it is a brownie point, for sure.” You shook your head, taking the cup from him and setting it on to the counter across the room. “I did warn you that it wasn’t going to taste good.”

“I don’t think anything could have prepared me for how terrible that tasted,” Eustass grumbled. “You couldn’t make it taste any better? Aren’t you some groundbreaking scientist? Can’t even make medicine taste good?” You just chuckled in amusement as he grumbled, more or less, to himself. “Maybe I could, I just wanted to punish you.”

“I knew it!��

As things calmed down, you looked up at him from your clipboard. You followed his gaze over to where Killer was laying. You mirrored his frown, walking over to check on Killer’s vitals. He seemed to be healing up just fine, but something was just keeping him from waking up. 

“I did it, you know,” you said softly, not looking at your brother. You felt the air in the infirmary tense for a moment. “What?” His voice was laced with disbelief, soft.

You finished up checking on Killer before looking at your brother. His eyes were wide and his entire face showed the disbelief that was in his voice. “The reason I stayed in Wano? I did it.” 

Eustass looked from you to the bed where his first mate lay. “Well, why haven’t you given it to him yet?” 

You shook your head. “Not yet. I want to wait until he’s up and awake. I don’t want to overwhelm his body. He’s already got a ton of medicine pumping through his veins and his body is working overtime to heal itself. I didn’t want to add the antidote on top of it. Besides,” you paused, looking over to the unconscious man. 

“Right now that smile is a constant reminder that he is alive.” You looked back at Eustass. “You had your vivre card and he has that curse of a smile. Those are the two tell tale signs that you both are stable and okay. If someone with the SMILE fruit dies, their grins fade. And I…” You took a deep breath. “I had never been so relieved to see that dastardly smile when I found the two of you in the state I found you in.” You frowned.

A frown also settled into your brother’s face. The both of you were concerned about Killer - the whole crew was. Speaking of, you knew they should be waking soon. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, providing a warm glow to the room. “Better get ready, captain,” you mused, looking at him. There was a flash of something in his eye.

The look was much like that of when he came to you when you first set sail. He had been somewhat of a new captain and everything seemed to be going awry. It was doubt in himself. You walked over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wouldn’t look at you, instead looking over at the floor. 

“Tungsten,” you said, voice softening. It was moments like this that you felt like you were kids again. Just the two of you, you giving him some kind of advice or instilling his confidence once more. It was when you took on the more parental role, consoling your little brother.

He still didn’t look at you. “What.” His tone was short with you and you knew he was going to be a bit more stubborn. “How about you tell me what’s on your mind?” 

“There’s nothing on my mind,” he said, trying his hardest not to look at you as your own eyes bored into him. 

“That’s a fuckin’ lie. Everyone says we’re ass at lying - it’s not in our genes. So, try again.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he finally looked at you with a scowl. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Annoyance runs in the family,” you retorted and he rolled his eyes. He let out a long sigh, mulling over his words before finally speaking. “I got my ass kicked and our ship was destroyed. I don’t deserve the title of captain anymore.”

You looked at him for a moment, thinking about your next words. “Well, you have this ship and you’re not the only captain who has had his ass kicked,” you said simply with a shrug. You knew the way to deal with Eustass wasn’t pitying him or babying him, it was laying out facts. 

“You still have your crew who cares a whole lot about you. It’s only a matter of time before they pile in here, actually. I had to basically lock them out of this room because they didn’t want to leave your side.” You figured you’d keep the small detail of Heat and Wire pleading for his life secret for now. They could tell him that.

“But we don’t have the Jolly Roger either. We’re not a pirate crew anymore. The Kid Pirates are dead,” he mumbled. Seeing him so broken and defeated…it hurt. Your face softened and you looked at him for a moment, thinking. You stood up, leaving the room for a moment before returning.

“You mean this one?” You walked over, handing him his Jolly Roger that was folded neatly. He took it, his eyes widened. “But…wh-” He was stammering, flabbergasted. “How?” He finally spoke, looking at you.

You just shrugged, a grin on your face. It had actually washed up on the shore of the island they had been on. It was an extremely lucky coincidence. A sign that the Kid Pirates weren’t over just yet. A sign of hope. “Now, you have your Jolly Roger, a loyally devoted crew, and a ship. So, I’d say that you’re still a captain.” You grinned at him. “I’m manifesting that your vice captain is going to wake up and you also have me, the world’s best scientist.”

He just stared at you for a long moment, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find the words to say. “You look like a fish when you do that.” His face immediately turned into a glare as you laughed. 

“Is that captain awake?” you heard from down the hallway. You looked over at Eustass and grinned. “They’re awaaaake.”

“Yes!” you shouted and there was suddenly a collection of footsteps rapidly running down the hallway towards the room. You moved as everyone piled in, dogpiling their captain. “Be careful, he’s healing!” But your cries fell on deaf ears. You let it slide this time. Eustass was mostly healed by now, it was just getting him back into moving around. 

There was a lot of crying and cheering. You took this time to slip out of the room to start cooking for the crew. You figured you’d make your brother’s favorite since he was finally awake. The kitchen wasn’t too far away, so you could hear their excited chatter from where you were cooking. 

--

“So, I’m all good?” Eustass looked at you from where he was sitting. He was on the edge of the bed. You had just given him a full inspection. You nodded. “Yeah. Just don’t go too crazy, but you’re good to start moving around. I’d give you a cane to help you, but I know you wouldn’t even use it so there’s no point.”

“You’re fuckin’ right there’s not. I don’t need a damn cane. I’m not old!” 

“It’s not even that deep. It’s literally to help you walk and it wouldn’t be forever. Just until you were used to walking again.” You rolled your eyes at him, turning to put some things away. His muscles had atrophied a bit since he was in bed for so long, so he was going to be stiff and struggle with moving around properly for a little bit. Sure, you moved them around while they were unconscious, but that only did so much.

You heard as he shifted to stand up, grunting a little bit. You so badly wanted to make fun of him for grunting like an old man, but held your tongue for once. “Like I said, don’t try to move too fast, alright?” You turned back around to see him doing some simple stretches and you sighed. “Careful.”

“What? I’m just stretching.”

“You’ll pull something!” 

“Shut your pus, I’m fine. I’m taking it easy, chill out,” he grumbled, stopping his movements. 

“It’ll probably be another couple of weeks before you can walk normally and about a month before you’re mostly recovered. You…really got fucked up there, Tungsten,” you said with a small frown. He looked over at you, shuffling towards you. He placed a hand on your head and looked at you.

“I…” You looked at him, blinking.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you mused, looking at him with a smug smile. Both of you were somewhat terrible at being serious and sappy, so you always looked to lighten the mood.

“You heard me, I'm not saying it again.”

“No, I don’t think I did.”

“Fucking, c’mon. You know this is hard enough.”

“I think it’s well deserved.”

Eustass groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry for making you worry, Bigs. You specifically told me not to go and get myself killed and I almost did and I’m sorry for that. There. Happy?”

You smiled up at him. “Very.” You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him gently, but firm. You felt him relax, wrapping his arm around you. “Just…please take care of yourself. I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to your brother. He’s been there since you were three. It’s always been the two of you against the world. Well, at least until the other three entered the picture, but for a long time it was just the two of you.

You pulled away, sniffling. “Alright. Take a lap around the ship. Carefully. You need to get used to moving around again. I’ll set up some simple weights to help with your arm as well.” You looked at him, putting a hand on your hip. “I’ve already given everyone else a firm talking to. So, they know not to push you.” You headed over to a closet, rummaging around.

“I need you to get used to moving around so gentle exercise is the way to go, but don’t push yourself. Take frequent breaks. Like I said, this ship is much smaller than the Victoria Punk, so don’t think it’s a large task, okay?” You presented him with his feathered cloak. “Put this on. The breeze is a little chilly and the last thing you need is a cold on top of everything else.”

He took the piece of clothing from you, putting it on. “You worry too much, Bigs,” he said with a sigh.

“I feel like it’s warranted.” You looked at him with a deadpan expression. 

“Fair enough.” He rolled his eyes, heading out of the room and down the hallway. In the distance, you heard everyone greeting him excitedly. You figured it was also time to do check ups for everyone. You were so focused on Eustass and Killer that you weren’t able to focus on much else. Yes, you did make sure everyone was healed up and taken care of in that sense, but they needed their routine check ups. You didn’t even get a chance to do that before they departed from Wano.

Wire making you sleep really helped set your mind straight as well, so you silently thanked him for that. You weren’t about to admit it. Like your brother, you were prideful.

You were standing at your desk, examining your papers when you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms slowly wrap around your middle accompanied by someone’s face pressing into your neck. You tensed for a moment before you looked down, realizing. Your eyes widened as your heart raced.

“K-Killer?”

[auberylis]

magical starsign turned me gay

No but forreals. This was the game i've replayed like three times as a kid, and only now, while replaying the thing again, i realise HOW slowly-yet-steadily it was tapping on my shell all that time. This game has literally everything and anything. Very mild spoliers incoming!

Ahem.

This guy. "Oh, so bloody beautiful! I wish i was like him, minus the guy thing i guess? It's not that bad, but like maybe some other option would be better" - 14 year old Aubery, not suspecting a thing yet. His hair is so beautiful. This moron casts a love spell on you - your love never comes true ;~;

Who the fuck is this? Why the huge mask? Are you a disco fan? I like how despite everyone addressing you as "he" it is still in the air as to who the fuck are you forreals. Truly one of my nonbinary icons. My headcanon is that they're a "girl flavoured enby" (like me, wow!) who dresses a bit more masculine as to have the idiot ass pirates respect them as the leader

This one predicts future if you ask her, and does a tiny little fuckin wink with a little pink heart particle after she's done talking. "She makes me feel like i'm into girls the way OTHER girls are into girls, strange!" - 16 year old Aubery, probably suspecting a thing or two at that point. Also, i mean... Catgirls by themselves are the easiest path to Gay.

And i mean, damn, look, this one HAS A SWORD. And a huge, hot pink heart for a back shield, which is ALSO her flying saucer (don't ask). Can you see where this is going? A pretty lady with a sword, wearing absolutely insane boots? I refuse to believe the game designers were straight, like i refused to believe i am not, 10 years ago. I also swear to all deities that this was the initial trigger for my current wardrobe being 60% shades of pink.

I could go on for an hour, but i should probably stop. However, an honourable mention: one of the hardest fuckin bosses in the game is a literal slime girl. With a terribly sad backstory btw, i cried, poor little slime girl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS BRAIN HACK: I am replaying this game right now, as a female character this time, as one should. I usually give random names to my characters, but this time i just called her with my name to trick my brain into recovering from stupid illness (i'm almost fine!) and loving myself more. "Gotta heal Aubery", "Oh no, need to guard Aubery now", "Heck, Aubery's done so well". Strangely, it works very well and i started recovering way quicker UwU

[bunni-teeth81]

Creepypasta quirks

If they were in the mha universe, what would their quirks be??

- [ ] Dimitri: nature lover! has a very strong connection to nature, to the point that it becomes sentient around him and helps him/he can control it

- [ ] Trender: arms! since he can have all his arms in his human form, he does.

- [ ] Splendor: quirkless! (Eh. I mean they’re all demons so not really. None of them have any quirks. But he couldn’t think of a cover quirk. And they could say their true forms are quirks but like… once they start outliving everyone ppl are gonna get suspicious so. It’s smarter not to.)

- [ ] Slender: didn’t make one up since he doesn’t interact w/ ppl unless he’s killing them

- [ ] Jason- rage! When enraged he transforms into a doll-like person, becoming stronger and faster as well as unkillable unless you break the music box in him. Also if he loses any limbs if he puts them back together before he turns back he’ll just have a new scar, but will have the limb back.

- [ ] Judge Angel- Judgement! Can see the entirety of one person’s deeds or the sum of a group of people’s good or badness based on her beliefs.

- [ ] BEN- Glitch! He can go into any electrical/electronic thingy and is like a virus/glitch. Can also just go into video games and such. Also since he’s a ghost he visibly glitches in real life

- [ ] Sally- whisper! She can communicate with toys, and make one or two sentient (aka mr. Teddy, though because he’s constantly sentient she can’t really make other toys sentient without taking it from him, which she won’t do) still dead btw

- [ ] LJack- fuckin demon idk what you want from me

- [ ] LJill- Also a fucking demon

- [ ] Will- Bounce back! Can bounce back from any injury after an amount of time based on the injury (how long it takes depends on how bad the injury is. Though deadly injury’s can rarely be bounced back from. He needs to seek medical help or die)

- [ ] Frankie- Zombiefy! Can turn anything dead into an unliving thing. But depending on how long they’ve been dead depends on how well it works. Fresh dead work best. Also, Frankie turns into a Zombie if he dies, which he did. Since it was immediately though he’s good.

- [ ] EJ- quirkless! But is possessed so.. yea. Doesn’t really matter. Really good at sewing ppl up tho

- [ ] Jeff- Blend! He can blend into any crowd of ppl and not seem suspicious at all, even with his mouth thingy going on. Most fights he got in cause ppl were bullying Liu

- [ ] Liu- survive! Though thought to be quirkless, as it turns out his quirk was being able to survive serious injuries. Though he does pass out for a while so his body can fix itself. Injuries do leave scars. He woke up in the hospital morgue, not fun lol.

- [ ] Jane- track! Once she has a bit of her target’s blood, she can track them where ever they go. Though it is slightly behind since she never got trained how to make it accurate all the time in that moment.

- [ ] Mary- Healing touch! Can heal injuries my holding her hands to it, takes a lot of focus and makes her tired though. Can’t heal serious injuries like Recovery girl can. Large gashes are about as serious as she can go.

- [ ] Clockwork- quirkless!

- [ ] Puppeteer- Puppeteer! Can make anyone a puppet using his strings, but if the strings get injured then so does he.

- [ ] Lost silver- kindred spirit! Has a very calming effect about him that draws animals to him, works on people tho less so than on animals

- [ ] Nathan the nobody- reanimate! Can come back to life after a life- ending injury. But loses a piece of his sanity each time he does.

- [ ] Nina- Serenade! Can put anyone to sleep by singing.

- [ ] Candy pop- he’s a dream demon, again what do you want from me?

- [ ] Zalgo- again, demon

- [ ] Kate the chaser- Speed demon! In the name, she’s super fast.

- [ ] Tim Sutton/Masky- heal! Can slowly heal himself of injuries. It’s quicker than normal healing, but you don’t really notice till it’s like he’s broken a bone. Though if it is something like a broken bone, there will be effects of the injury. (Ie limping even though it’s healed)

- [ ] Brian/Hoodie- Resist! Has an easy time not succumbing to spells/quirks, though needs the help of Tim’s pills for Slender.

- [ ] Jay- Scavenger! Once he knows what he’s looking for, it’s pretty easy for him to find things. For instance, tapes. Still manages to loose his keys tho.

- [ ] Toby- super jump! Can jump way higher than an average human.

- [ ] Ringleader (oc)- Lion whisper! Can communicate with lions, she can understand them Ans they can understand her, can also talk in lion

- [ ] Smile Dog- is like Nezu, an animal that was tested on. He got super intelligence from that, but instead of being bipedal or being able to talk, he has telepathy and a taste for blood. Likes Jeff tho.

- [ ] Grinny Cat- another tested on animal, but they are like Binx from Hocus Pocus without the talking. They test humans by being near them and obviously being homeless. If they take care of them then they let the human live. If they don’t then they follow the human around to see why. If the human has a legit reason they leave the human alone, if they don’t they kill the human.

- [ ] Kagekao- Slinky! unhumanly agile, able to just kinda slink around things and dodge quickly/efficiently. Kinda like rubber. Can also stick to things. No bones lol.

- [ ] The rake- uhhhh

- [ ] Seed eater- UHH

- [ ] Zero- Monochrome! Can turn anything she touches black and white at will

- [ ] Bloody Painter- Quirkless!

- [ ] Hobo heart- heartless! Can live without a heart, though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want one.

- [ ] Issac Grossman- summon! If he tries real hard he can summon demons, though he and his family thought he was quirkless his whole pathetic life.

- [ ] Suicide Sadie- protect! She’s able to create an energy that makes people feel safe, though unfortunately it doesn’t actually protect them since she’s a ghost.

- [ ] Nurse Ann- persuasion! Able to be exact when she does things (ie a surgery on someone). Btw she ran into Frankie and died and yadayada that’s why she’s like that, though since she wasn’t a fresh death she went kinda crazy.

- [ ] Bloody Painter- Quirkless!

- [ ] vailly evans- Knowledge! Can know everything about a person from a single look at them

- [ ] Ezekiel- fuckin fairy twink demon.

- [ ] Emra- transform! Able to take on any appearance she wants, though it must be human-like.

- [ ] Heartful Lou- Emote! His emotions effect his abilities (Anger makes him stronger, but lose common sense, sadness weakens him, happiness makes him faster, etc)

- [ ] Doll Maker- able to make anything into a non-sentient thing, ex a human eye into a doll eye.

- [ ] Dr. smiley- Silver Tongue! Able to make any lie he says believable as long as he’s confident in his lie.

- [ ] Not doing media related Creepypastas (ex Sonic.exe, Tails doll, Pinkemena, Squidward’s suicide, Bart, etc) cause they’re medias that could exist in the mha universe Ans be creep-ified so.

…just realized I did Lost Silver…. He’s the exception! Cause I like him 🥰

- [ ] B.O.B- B.O.B

I’m tired lol

[writinglizards]

Selfish

Summary: Aiden take a contract. It doesn’t go well.

Warnings: non-graphic gore, near-death experiences, general whump Pairing: Lambert/Aiden Rating: Mature

It had been stupid. Aiden knew it had been stupid, but he'd still taken the contract for the archgriffin pair.

He'd killed them both, barely, but he's...he's not in great shape. He should have waited for Lambert like he'd promised he would, but he'd gotten here and the village had been so desperate and the pay had been good. He'd had idle thoughts of taking the coin and taking Lambert somewhere nice for a bit. Just a little break.

Now he's bleeding out quicker than the swallow can heal him and his vision keeps dimming alarmingly before swirling back into focus as his body's natural impulse to pass out wars with the enhancements and the potions.

"Fuck," he sighs, hand pressed tight to his stomach. It's...it's bad. There's more of him outside than inside. "Didn't mean to, Lambs." It's barely louder than a breath and he knows it doesn't mean anything, he'll never hear him, but-- "'m sorry."

His vision goes and stays gone, a terrifying experience as he shifts sticky, blood-soaked fingers against the wound in his gut. Don't find me, he thinks fervently, as awareness begins to fade, Militle be good, don't let him find me.

---------

Waking is an...interesting experience.

He hurts all over but his gut aches, sharp and painful in that way only White Raffard's ever does, proof he's healed too much too quickly. He groans, rolling over on the soft mattress (he must be back at the inn), and he feels the air shift as someone leans over him. Aiden forces his eyes open.

"With me, kitty cat?" Lambert asks. He looks...he looks...

"You look like shit," he rasps, and fuck is that his voice? He sounds like he's been gargling with gravel.

"Speak for yourself," Lambert says tightly, and that's--

"Hey," he has to stop and cough, deep and chest-rattling, and despite how pissed Lambert looks, his hands are gentle as he steadies him, easing him back down to the mattress as he wheezes, "thank you."

"You better fucking rest up because I'm gonna kick your ass as soon as you can stand," he grouses, but there's no heat to it and his eyes are worried.

"'M sorry," he murmurs, and when Lambert doesn't look at him, he wraps his fingers around his wrist where his hand still rests against Aiden's side, "Lambert, I'm sorry."

"Was fuckin' stupid," he says, staring hard at Aiden's bare chest instead of meeting his eyes.

"I know."

"Why'd you do it?" his jaw is tight, and he snaps when Aiden doesn't answer immediately, "Well? What the fuck, Aiden? You almost--" he chokes off, a tiny, wounded noise.

Something in Aiden's chest twists painfully, something that has nothing to do with his injury.

"I wanted the coin so I could surprise you," he says, fingers flexing briefly around Lambert's wrist before letting go, "wanted to give you a break. Take you somewhere nice."

"Witchers don't take breaks," he growls, and it's a valiant attempt at being angry, but Aiden knows him, "You almost--how could you?" he can't say it, expression twisting painfully, and Aiden feels cracked open.

"I'm sorry," he says again, softly, and Lambert doesn't resist as he's pulled down across Aiden's chest, just shuffles up the bed to slot more comfortably against his side.

"Don't do it again," he whispers, soft and vulnerable, and Aiden nods, swallowing hard, "it's not worth it, Aiden. I'd...I'd rather have you."

"Lambert--"

"I know, I know, I'm..." he presses his face against Aiden's shoulder, settles his arm over his waist, palm resting against the slow thump of his heartbeat, "...it's selfish." And it is. Witchers aren't supposed to get attached. It's bad for business. Even so--

"I want you to be selfish," he murmurs, twisting to press his lips to Lambert's temple. He delights in the way his breath hitches, the way he tucks himself tighter against him, "and I'll be more careful next time," he says softly.

"There's not gonna be a next time," Lambert mumbles, "'m not letting you out of my sight again," and Aiden thinks that maybe it's okay, actually. They can both be a little selfish about this.

[writersmorgue]

I had to have my ears repierced like 8 times because my parents kept taking me to places that had teenagers using piercing guns and they kept getting horrifically infected 🙃 took being an adult sick of fucked up holes and going to a piercing shop myself to get that shit fixed and finally have them heal correctly, and even going through scar tissue the needle they used was quicker and practically painless compared to the fucking guns

lolol yeah i know exactly what you mean. i got all six of my lobes done with a gun and that shit is NOT good for your ear. Like idk who thought that was a good idea but i guess it's more efficient for when you're piercing a fuckin one year old (also i do not like that by the way just a quick hot take from me)

anyway they don't do daiths at claire's so i had to go to a local shop and jesus fucking hell was it absolutely NOTHING compared to the gun. Like actually butter. How.

[imaginesofeverykind]

Snowed In || Joel Miller x F!Reader

(Its ironic because this smut is 6k words so it didn’t do that quickly AT ALL LMAOOOO) This took me too many fucking days to write, its so hard to get into smut mentality like holy fucq

YALL I FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED IT HOLY SHIT

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Request: Can I request some Joel Miller fluff (mayyyybe some smut?) I could totally see getting snowed in with him 😏🥰

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: S M U T and S W E A R I N G annndd implied age gap but its not stated (reader is probs like thirties or older) AND you guys being the biggest pain in the ass for Joel :)

Also @ me stanning how yall interract with each other because the banter is highkey lowkey fun lmaoooo

“Ah, shit!” You cursed loudly, your feet stampeding desperately in thick snow while increasingly aware of the group of hunters — that managed to get the jump on you — were probably still tailing you. Your hands clamped down harshly on the wound you bled profusely from, droplets of crimson blood stained the snow with each step.

“Joel!” You shouted in desperation, approaching the lookout as you internally prepared yourself for getting blasted by the old man for being reckless — or better yet, leading the hunters to the lookout. You didn’t want to linger to long on those thoughts, not while you quite literally had an arrow protruding out of your side.

It wasn’t the first time you’d inconsequently been impaled by something or other, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. You had at least hoped that the impending snowstorm worsened and covered your blood trail quicker than you were making pace.

Breathlessly, you lean against the lookouts outer walls, scanning the area for potential hunters. Luckily for you the progressively heavier snowfall deterred any prospect of human threats. You rap hard and heavy on the metal reinforced door, holding onto your side as a wince escapes your lips.

“Joel! For fucks sake… Open the damn door!” You gritted, the bite of the cold air finally hitting the wound you so desperately tried to keep covered. It was incredibly clear that the older man was tactful and cautious, having been on plenty of runs, watches and patrols with him opened you up to his reserved nature.

However, it was getting ridiculous considering the urgency in your voice that now of all times, he decided to cautiously approach.

The door was pulled open, after a succession of noises that were no doubt the barricades being moved. Joel poked his head out, looking around before settling on your hunched figure, “what the hell did you do this time?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing past him as you yearned for the warmth and safety of the lookout, “I’m great — thanks for askin’.” You stumble over to what was once most likely a bar, the remnants of liquor bottles and on tap beer seemed to be a good indicator of that.

Readjusting the barricade, Joel finally makes his way over to you. Concern wasn’t a typical expression he showed to anyone other than toward Ellie, seeing it flicker across his face as he approached you nearly knocked you off the stool you sat on. It was brief but you absolutely noticed it.

“You mind fillin’ me in on what happened out there?” His brow was raised as he gestured to your wound. He was taking his time to gather the gauze and alcohol to patch you up, but he was acutely aware that if it was something to panic about he’d be much quicker.

Joel had known you for a while, in the time you two spent together on patrols he knew that if anyone could handle an arrow through the torso it was most definitely you. He admired your grit — although he’d never admit it, you were one of the only people whose company he enjoyed.

“Pissed off some fuckin’ Hunters… Don't think they liked me killin’ one of their buddies,” your words staggered with intermittent shallow breaths. You eyed your companion as he almost deliberately slowly made his way in front of you with the appropriate supplies needed to patch you up.

His hardened personal walls had attracted you like a moth drawn to a flame, from your first meeting to now, you had been determined to understand the mysterious man who just so happened to also be your neighbour. “Old age really must be gettin’ to you old man — leave me to just bleed out why don’t ya?”

“If it was serious I’m sure you’d be dead ‘lready.” He retorted, unphased by your not so subtle jab at him. And there it was. That little playful glint in his eyes that you’d only witnessed a handful of times prior, it proved to you that he wasn’t completely closed off and coarsened by the shitshow life turned out to be for him.

You scoff at him, a smirk grazing your lips as you make good use of the whiskey beside you, “well ain’t I lucky to be accompanied by someone so concerned about my life,” you took a swig of the bottle, hoping that the smooth liquor would ease the pain permeating from your side.

He chuckled at the harshness in your voice, “concerned? That’s a funny way of puttin’ it… C’mon by the fire I need a better look at this.”

Looking back at him stunned, you pulled a face that was somewhere between shock and delight, “did I just get two jokes from Joel Miller? In succession? You get bit or somethin’ while I was gone?” You eased yourself off the stool and slowly staggered toward the fire, obliging Joel’s request.

You propped yourself up against one of the weathered armchairs, time had not been kind to the piece of furniture as seen by the cracked leather and copious amount of stains. Before getting too comfortable, you shrugged off the outer layers of jackets you typically adorned to protect yourself from the harsh winters around Wyoming.

The flannel you had over top of the long sleeved thermal shirt you wore was unluckily pinned to your side by the arrow, it used to be a dark blue with green accents — now it was almost black with the pooling blood soaking into the fibers.

Joel was looking at you in thought, memories resurfacing of Colorado and reliving his own time having been impaled due to Hunters. Although the arrow stuck inside you was practically a small scratch in comparison to the metal rebar he intimately came to know.

“Starin’ won’t get this arrow outta me, Joel.” You huffed, taking things into your own hands as you pull off one of your gloves, “here —.” you stuffed it between your teeth and gripped onto the arrow tightly before pulling it out. Your muffled cries of pain had thankfully been mostly silenced by the glove.

“Jesus christ, what in the hell are you doin’?” Joel kneeled down by your side.

“Fast trackin’ the healing process — not… so great… of an idea…” You mumbled out breathlessly, your shaky hands completely covered in blood. Your bright idea of taking things into your own hands backfiring, as you grew progressively light-headed.

Now Joel was slightly panicked and annoyed that your recklessness and impatience always seemed to get in the way of his own brooding and thoughtfulness. “Do you even think before you do things? I ain’t here to babysit you goddammit.” He grumbled, wiping away at the wound so he could inspect it.

You airily laughed, feeling tired and exhausted, “babysit? I’m the only person who’ll deal with your bullshit on patrols, cowboy.” Your limbs started to feel incredibly light and numb as your words became more slurred.

You weren’t wrong in that aspect, but what you weren’t aware of was the fact that you were most often paired with Joel on patrols because the man had asked for it, not because of the excuse Tommy told you; ‘everyone has a hard time with him except for you’.

His nimble hands made quick work at the suture needle and stitching, you only wincing when the needle pierces through your broken skin. He was careful and calculated while he patched you up, grateful that you had been quiet for just a few moments as he paid your back the same amount of care for the front.

By the time he had finished, you had long drifted off in a sleep. He was regimented in making sure you were breathing consistently and every fifteen minutes or so, he would wake you up to ensure you weren’t going to die on him.

After two hours of nothing out of the ordinary coming from your peaceful state, he let you rest peacefully undisturbed.

———————————————

When you woke up, you weren’t too sure what to expect. Pain was one thing you anticipated… And the pain didn’t disappoint. Perhaps it was because you woke up in a completely different position and place within the lookout than when you fell asleep. No longer by the fire downstairs, but in the makeshift bedroom loft beside a smaller fire.

The headache that thumped through your head was arguably the most painful feeling that was occurring in your body. But that didn’t stop you from slowly rising up, a hand instinctively placed over the wound as it twitched in pain. Sounds of distant guitar chords echoed through the open area, you hadn’t even taken notice that Joel brought his guitar when you two left Jackson earlier in the morning.

Not that you were really paying him much attention earlier in the morning, freely exploring your own mind and memories. Something Joel envied in you was your ability to be so free spirited, despite the apocalyptic fuck fest that was everyday life. He initially chalked you up to being naive and foolish, but the time he’s taken to get to know you had informed him otherwise.

You hesitantly remove the mound of blankets on you and start your attempt to get up. It was a struggle to say the least, your thumping headache and aching wound made it quite the difficult feat to pull off.

All effort aside, you finally carried yourself slowly down the stairs, nursing your wound and instantly missing the warmth that the fire at your bedside provided. By the dimly lit interior it was well and truly deep into the night, which made you wonder how long you’d been asleep for.

Judging by the stillness of the atmosphere, that also meant your earlier encounter with hunters didn’t attract unwanted attention to the lookout.

Joel was seated by the fire in an amicable state, he was seemingly unaware of the fact you’d woken up or even noticed you had seated yourself on the armchair closest to the fire. His eyes shifted toward the movement, surprised to see you had made your way down the stairs without so much as a voice of complaint.

“You sure you weren’t a country singer before this? I’m getting some Billy Ray vibes… Bitta Keith Urban too..” You smile at him, admiring the way the firelight bounced off his features, the scene before you looking like some cozy cottage fantasy.

He put his guitar aside, if he was amused by your joke — you didn’t see it.

You tilted your head to the side, trying to gauge his mood based off the evident shift that occurred between you falling asleep to now. He appeared to be annoyed (not surprising) and closed off more than usual, which meant that he was most definitely not in the mood to be talking.

But you didn’t care, because you had just woken up and felt like enlightening Joel’s darkened front with some excitement at least. “What’s got you in such a delightful mood, country boy?” You shifted your weight off the wound, alleviating the slight pain that kept pinching every so often.

It became apparent that you weren’t going to leave him some peace unless he relented and indulged your attempts to getting him to talk. If he was stuck with anyone else in this situation he’d be visibly more perturbed, it was either dumb luck or fate that the two of you happened to be paired while this already shitty situation got worse.

“Storm came over while you were sleepin’... Get cozy ‘cause we’ll be here for a while.” He gestured lazily to one of the windows, which upon further inspection was completely shadowed from the snow fall, not because it was incredibly late.

You groaned, following up with a sigh, “fuck I’m bored just thinkin’ about bein’ stuck here… Wish I brought a book.” The throwaway statement managed to crack the hard exterior of Joel, earning the slightest chuckle which in turn boosted your ego. Getting that man to express emotions beyond anger or annoyance was something to be met with like a lifelong skill, high risk and low reward.

He reached over to his bag, “might not like it, but if it’ll keep you quiet for a while… here —,” he pulled out an old leather bound book, the spine had been cracked and the pages barely held together due to decades of weathering. You met his outstretched arm halfway to grab a hold of the book, the weight of it unexpected but you caught it nonetheless.

“Lovecraft? I meet a lot of people, but you are by far the strangest man I’ve met.” You mumble out loud while you appreciate the cover and embellishments decorating the edges. You hadn’t intended for him to hear you, but of course he did.

“Figured Ellie might ‘preciate it…” He trailed off, stopping himself from saying a word too many in fear that he gave away too much of an inside peek at his inner thoughts. Upon hearing him you looked up, surprised that he even mentioned his surrogate daughter — considering your observations of the two had been particularly volatile as of late.

You thumb the raised lettering of the title and look at him, his eyes were sad which contrasted his stature. You weren’t one to pry, despite being impressively curious by nature, “kid’s got a gnarly taste in pop culture… I was out on a run and saw one of them comics she likes… y’know she has those hoarded all over Jackson, yeah?”

His eyes flickered over to you, he was trying to get a read on you and sense any plausible reason why you’d bring up Ellie. He knew you weren’t one for ulterior motives but he didn’t like discussing a whole lot about the young girl with many people, no matter how much he enjoyed your company.

“What are you doin’?” He pressed, turning his body to face you front on with his hands clasped together between his knees.

Your eyebrows knit together in thought, unsure what prompted such a serious question and change in demeanour, “Uh… making conversation?” It seemed like an obvious statement, you refrained from being too direct just in case it provoked him further.

“Right…” He merely uttered, standing up from his position on the couch and moving toward the bar. You looked at him with confusion, unsure where the outburst came from and why it even happened in the first place. It wasn’t the first time you’d brought up Ellie in conversation but now it seemed like it was a soft spot for him.

“Okay… I’ll bite — um… what the fuck?” You strained your neck to face him, not wanting to move your entire body to prevent unnecessary pain, “did something happen between you two bec—“

“Y/N… Don’t.” His voice was low, almost like a guttural growl to fend you off from pressing further.

You threw your arms in the air and shook your head, “jesus fuck, Joel you’re a real asshole sometimes… You’re so broody and temperamental I feel like I'm walking on eggshells just to talk to you… Y’know not every person is out to get you.” The words hung in the air for a moment while you started to move yourself off the chair, wanting to have your own space by the upstairs fire.

Watching you struggle to get up from the armchair admittedly did break the tension Joel brought into the room, he sighed loudly to set aside his pride as he slowly shifted toward you, “don’t move… Let me change your dressings over.”

His voice barely made it to your ears, but hearing them made you loudly groan and sit back down, “jesus fuckin’ christ — I cannot deal with you right now,” you mumbled to yourself. Despite Joel being notorious for his outbursts, they rarely featured up front and centre like tonight; particularly around you.

But when they did, it was exhausting to deal with to say the least. Given that almost every time they occurred, you never knew the exact reason why. Things would be much easier for the both of you, if one participant was just that little more vocal.

“Just give me the shit and I’ll do it myself, take your bullshit energy and fuck off over there.” You pointed to the bar where he previously stood, very blunt in telling Joel how much you didn’t want to fight with him knowing you both were snowed in together for who knows how long.

Being as direct and as blunt as you were had been one of the many things Joel came to admire about you, feeling a tangible sense of guilt for blowing up at you like he did. He knelt down beside you, motioning for you to shimmy forward into the light of the fire better.

You huffed in response, not making eye contact with him as you pushed yourself closer to the edge of the chair.

He was careful and delicate once again, inspecting your wound after discarding the used gauze. You found it exceptionally difficult not to look down and watch what he was doing, mainly because you were inquisitive by nature but you couldn’t help but be fond of his closeness.

One of his fingers grazed the carefully done stitches, prompting a wince from you, the action almost snapping you out of your angry facade, “you definitely weren’t a fuckin’ surgeon in your past life, huh.” You call back to the conversation you had earlier, an attempt to help ease the tension between you two.

“And you weren’t no comedian, either…” he bit back, attaching the dressings on the exit wound.

“So you go from grumpy to jokey just like that?” You raise a brow, fully aware you were rattling the cage at this point, but him even cracking a retort of the sarcastic variety was enough of an indicator that he was trying to make reparations.

He taps your thigh and motions for you to turn so he can start on the entry wound, “I ain’t too good at this whole… People... business,” he admitted, stating it like it wasn’t already overtly obvious to any conscious person with a functioning brain.

“Oh what? You’re joking, right? You are such a people person,” you mock, turning your head down to give him a playful smirk.

His eyes met yours, a glint of something you weren’t entirely sure of just yet. Returning his gaze back to changing over the final dressings on your back, “that was uncalled for,” he murmured, pretending not to notice the smile present on your lips.

The simple fact that he admitted to you outloud seemed to be a step in the right direction and for that, you were incredibly grateful.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here for?” You ask, feeling Joel's fingers lift from your skin as he finishes patching you up. Missing the sensation it made you feel. You turned back to face him properly, not expecting him to still be seated so close to you, not that you minded at all.

“Hopin’ that we’ll be out by tomorrow… Worst case scenario, we’ll be here for a few days.”

You throw your head back over dramatically, “be stuck inside here with your grumpy old ass — what fuckin’ atrocities did I commit to deserve this?” You jest, smiling even wider seeing the light amusement evident in his eyes, “ah! I’m so close to getting you to laugh, one of these days I’ll get you, cowboy.”

“Definitely weren’t a comedian…” He reiterated, a content smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

The thought of a comeback was completely lost on your part as you simply admired his features up close. From when you first met to now, his hair had grown out longer which you thought looked nice on him, even if it would hang over his face just that little bit.

His hazel eyes were your favourite feature of his, and in the orange glow from the fire they seemed all the more alluring.

It was a happy silence, one filled with just the two of you trying to read each other and guess what the other was going to do. For someone so direct, you were quite talented in not telegraphing intended movements or motions. It made you a hard person to pinpoint which both intrigued and infuriating someone like Joel who was quite adept in reading people.

You were the first one to break away from the stillness, taking the book you were given to pass the time, “as much as I’d love to stare into your dreamy eyes all day, I’ve gotta book to read and a whole lotta time to kill… Thanks for being a shitty nurse… did better than what I could, anyway.”

Joel stood up, giving you ample space to shift. He holds out a hand for you to help yourself up, which you take thankfully. Your throwaway compliment didn’t go unnoticed by him, nor did the way your eyes scanned his features moments ago. He lived through life long enough to know what look you were giving him.

It was a look he’d often see you give him, whether it was subconsciously or not— that, he was unsure of. He was always apprehensive when he saw your eyes darken the way they did, but it was his own inability to allow himself to get close to anyone that caused his uneasiness.

You looked at the man standing before you, his face crinkled in thought as if his mind was elsewhere. You felt a compulsion to ask what he was thinking but weren’t too sure how far that conversation would get before it got messy… Despite his change and attitude, the man was notorious for switching in an instant and you knew better than to prod him too much.

Then again… your favourite pastime was exclusively getting under the man's skin.

“What’re you thinkin’ ‘bout there cowboy? Thinkin’ mighty hard about somethin’.” Being much taller than you were, you ducked to meet his thoughtful gaze. His internal struggle barely showing in his face, only being tossed aside the second his eyes found yours.

“You.”

That had taken you aback, your eyes growing wide as a slight tinge of red dusts your cheeks. Naturally, unable to process compliments or situations like these, you turn to jestful remarks as a way to assess the mood, “should I be concerned? If it’s about who's gonna eat who when starvation starts settin’ in, I would ‘preciate it if you didn’t carve me up.”

“Can you stop talkin’ for just five seconds,” his voice was low and eyes scanning your features.

Intrinsically, you keep talking to fill the void of silence as you aren’t completely sure how else to alleviate the tension, “well… I can consider but —.”

You hadn’t got very far in your smug retort, cut off by the man's abrupt and unexpected decision to shut you up by pressing his lips to yours. It seemingly came out of left field and only took you just a moment to reciprocate, pushing all astonishment aside.

For someone who sported a rough exterior, you were pleasantly surprised at how gentle Joel was, caressing your face with his calloused hands so delicately. You discard the book that was once in your grasp, trading it for his firm chest while you gripped onto his shirt.

Pulling away, you bite down on your lower lip as you look deeply into his eyes. You considered uttering a witty remark, but the look he was giving you was one of warning. And as much as you would love to find out what would happen as a consequence of speaking out, you were content in continuing whatever had already started.

Your hands trail up to the back of his neck, leaning up to press your lips back onto his. This time with a little more desperation, you swipe your tongue on his lower lip, prompting a short but low growl from your companion. One of his hands was pinned to your *good* side, the other remained on the side of your face.

The feeling that pooled in your stomach, matching the hammering of your heart would almost make you concerned if you weren’t in the safe grasp on the man you’d shamelessly pined after.

Despite the hunger and desperation on your part, Joel was still pleased at going at his own pace; which was painstakingly slow. Savouring the moment you two were sharing, as if you were going to disappear in an instant.

“Gotta say — didn’t peg you as the romantic type,” you whispered breathlessly, eyes never straying from his darkened hazel ones, your hands stroking his firm torso, “but we’re gonna have to speed things up.” You brush your lips against his, hovering daringly close while your hands eagerly undo the buttons to his flannel.

He didn’t seem at all bothered by your impatience (it was typical of you after all), but it was bothering him how much of a tease you were being. Far be it for you to not be a pain in his ass even in an intimate manner. Your soft hands kneading his bare chest — which was ripped, you noted to yourself mentally as he shrugged his flannel off.

Your fingers trace the outlines of numerous scars present, regardless of his age and living in a dangerous time for humanity. The healed wounds did little to impact his figure, instead sprinkling slight imperfections across him as if it were to keep him humble.

Joel dips his head to your jawline, trailing small wet kisses down your neck and nipping at some skin to earn the slightest little noises from you. Oh how that made you feel. You squirm in his hold, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to provide some friction to appease the wetness between your legs.

There was little to no hesitation as he pulls your shirt up over your head, surprised at your bare torso. Sure, you both had seen better days but the scars from knives, bullets and arrows were telling of the journey you’d gone through to get to this point; including your most recent addition.

The warmth his hands provided while they trailed over scars and rise of your breasts left your skin tingling. You notice his eyes wandering over your features, knowing he wasn’t judging your looks merely pondering over what story was behind which scar. You’re confident in that sentiment, considering you felt the same way whilst you thumb the scarring on his collarbone.

“You good?” You whisper, your breath hitching as the pad of his thumb grazes your pert nipple. This man…

“Just takin’ in the view.” His voice was low, prompting a smile from you. The man was a hopeless romantic at heart, that was clear enough — any other time you’d gladly lap it up happily, but right now you needed something a little less idealistic. Desire possessing you further (it seemed like you’d have plenty of time together anyway.)

You press your lips back onto his feverishly, trailing your hands down his torso to his jeans. The bulge in his pants growing more in response to your hand giving him a sensual squeeze, he moans into your mouth which is enough of an indicator for you to start undoing his belt.

His hands cupped your breasts progressively harder, taking in your nipples between his thumb and finger. The sensation pulsing downward enough to make your toes curl and thighs clench. You could’ve fucked him there and then, pleasure pooling inside you.

“Sit down,” You ordered, pushing his chest toward the couch to which he obliged, enjoying the fact you were so eagerly prepared to take charge. As a man of tradition, he’d typically lead but found it incredibly arousing to heed your demands and listen. You’re quick in kicking off your shoes and discarding your jeans, welcoming the chill to the air as it cools down your burning skin.

The sight of him on the couch, shirtless and showcasing the tent pitched in his pants was so remarkably inviting you couldn’t wait a second longer, straddling his hips and bringing your lips back onto his as you begin grinding down on his bulge. The friction alone was enough to bring moans of pleasure from both of you, you tugging at his hair harder the more aroused you became.

He pulls away, running his hands up and down your sides - vigilant in not wanting to knock your wound - before bringing his lips to the valley of your breasts, ensuring to leave short kisses on every indent or raised section of scarred skin before settling down on one of your nipples. The free hand that wasn’t anchored at your hips, was kneading your other breast.

A whimper tumbles from your lips, grinding your hips harder against his. You bring a hand down, frantically trying to undo his pants all the while feeling the euphoria coming from just merely grinding him. Yes it had been a while since you felt this good.

He lifts his hips up, giving you enough space to yank down both his jeans and underwear. The feeling of his cock flush up against the thin material of your panties caused you to gasp and grip onto his shoulders tightly.

Both of you moaning at the absolute bare minimum of stimulation of your most sensitive areas. His cock throbbed the second the tip rubbed up against the dampness of your panties, it being far too long since he partaken in anything sexually charged in quite some time. The same goes for you.

Now it was Joel’s turn to get impatient, bringing one hand up behind your neck while the other dipped down into your panties, his fingers stroking your wet slit. You jolt forward at the feeling of his fingers circle your clit, the sensation pooling desperately as your hips buck, riding his fingers.

His calloused fingers seemed to hit the right spot with every roll of your hips, it made you wonder how his lips would feel and tongue would feel if he seemed to be making you feel this good with his fingers alone.

“Fucking hell, Joel.” You cry out, resting your head on the crook of his neck, leaving small love bites along his collar bone. His scent of eucalyptus mixed with wood was ever so welcoming, the aroma that drove you insane whenever he stood a little too close.

Your high began to climb, grinding your hips more desperately against him while he expertly finger fucks you until hitting the right spot, sending your body rigid as your walls close in and around his fingers, pulsating while you ride your climax out.

“Eager, are we?” His breath tingled your ear, even though you weren’t looking at him you could tell he was fashioning some smug smirk. You laugh breathlessly, sitting upright and sliding off your panties.

One of your hands closes over his length, pumping painstakingly slow, all the while watching his eyes roll to the back of his head. Your soft hand wrapped around him felt leagues better than the familiar roughness of his own. His hips bucked to help quicken the pace you had set, to which you smirked and pinned him flush against the couch.

You kept on pumping his throbbing length, positioning yourself more comfortably on his lap. He leaned his head back, lips parted to let the soft grunts pass through while you continued to torment him slowly. If his fingers felt that great, you were eager to find out how well his cock felt.

You position his tip at your entrance, not wanting to torture the man or yourself any longer, sinking down onto his cock while his length stretches you out. Whimpering in sync with his growls, neither of you moving momentarily as you simply bask in the pleasure.

He thrusts his hips up first, a strangled moan escaping your lips as you meet his pace. Your lips brush gently up his neck, stopping just shy of his ear lobe. The faint mewls rolling out of your mouth sending him further into bliss with each roll of the hips, ignoring the painful irritation emitting from your wound.

His hands were anchored firmly to your thighs, fingers digging hard into your skin which would no doubt leave bruises in the morning. You nip at his ear and neck before returning your lips to his, muffled moans stifling out from the both of you with each sloppy kiss.

The sounds coming from you were near on pronographic, coupled with the quickening pace of you riding him, every insatiable thrust filling you more with a desire you weren’t aware you needed until now.

You dreamed of similar scenarios such as this with Joel, but the meager fantasies had nothing on the real thing. How his lips felt on yours, the way his hands caressed every part of you with care yet also commanded it, the way he made you dripping wet without much effort and most of all; the way he felt deep inside you.

He threw his head back, choked breaths preventing him from rasping out the words needed as his climax began rising. You noticed his staggered breathing and picked up the pace, gripping his hair tightly coaxing a guttural moan out from him.

One of his hands squeezed the back of your neck while the other clasped your breast roughly, his hips became rigid while a series of moans filled your ear just as you feel his cum spilling inside you. He slumped back into a comfortable position panting heavily, eying you in your incredibly typical perky demeanour.

You pulled yourself off him, his semi-flaccid member flopping out of you. Thankful past you had the forethought to pack rags, you rifle through your bag to clean yourself up, “you’ve got a surprising amount of stamina, cowboy,” the compliment earned you a smug smile from him, pride being an aura on Joel you never thought you’d see.

“If I’d have known this is all it took to shut you up, I would’ve done it sooner.” He states, as if thinking retroactively would change your ability to annoy the absolute life out of the man.

Tossing him a rag lazily, you chortle at the idea of thinking Joel - of all people - could be someone to get you to stop your antics forever, “Oh you knew — don’t lie to me mister. You just like to see me suffer in silence.” You were as transparent as one could be, yet your intentions were almost always misread as you did well to keep it muddled. Joel was a perceptive man, often finding you hard to read to the point of irritation for him, but - as you anticipated - he figured you out slowly but surely.

“I just like to see you silent,” he retorted, finally moving from his position to clean himself off, “but you ain’t wrong…” A man of his age knew a thing or two about what your not-so-subtle looks meant (even if it took him longer than usual to realise what you were actually wanting) and knowing you for the time he did also meant the possibility of things going south between you two went higher. He respected you too much to commit to something that might eventually be taken away from him in an instance — or vice versa.

“I’m never wrong, actually…” You confidently state, eying him with the same smug smile he sported only moments ago. The arrogant stature you held broken with a grimace as you clutch your injured side, “maybe a little bit wrong… probably shoulda let you lead there…”

He merely shook his head, allowing a chuckle to audibly sound which always felt you with a sense of satisfaction. The man shrouded in mystery was finally opening up to you more, that alone was a privilege you couldn’t be more proud of.

[y0itsbri]

Red Meets Blue

for a.u.gust @gallavichthings - a time travel au of sorts

slightly abstract & angstier than i expected. i realize that red and blue are the characters in 'this is how you lose the time war.' although i haven't read that, there may have been some subconscious influence with the names.

uhhh fair warning: writing this made me cry so idk if that's a personal problem or if i actually wrote something sad so sorry in advance

words: 1.9k

Ian turned his glass over in his hands, watching the amber liquid chase the fall of gravity. Red lights overhead illuminated his fingertips, still shaky.

He jumped when the bar door was heaved up with more force than necessary, causing it to leave a dent in the wood behind it.

An unfamiliar face strode in like he owned the place, which wouldn't be abnormal if Ian hadn't frequented this bar since he was seven. He knew he didn't recognize this man. And yet he couldn't look away.

"Tequila."

A cup was filled almost instantly and he downed it even quicker.

"Another one." The man pounded on the bar. The bartender filled his glass again and moved onto the next patron when he didn't request another.

Ian couldn't help but stare. There was something about him that Ian simply couldn't tear himself away from. His gruff but confident demeanor. His short stature but loud presence. His cool energy but warm aura.

And apparently his ability to see out of his own two fucking eyeballs because he was staring directly at Ian with a glint of something in his eye.

"Can I fuckin' help you?" The man's dark eyebrows shot up his forehead as the corners of his lips tugged up into a half smirk.

Ian's thoughts clouded over as he watched the man's features, but he successfully managed to stutter out a "No, sir."

The man outright laughed. "Sir," he mocked with no real heat in his words. "'m just fuckin' with ya."

Ian released a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

"Can I buy your next round?" Ian asked, eager to amend any tensions with the newcomer.

"I gotta go, but I'll see you around, Red, don't worry," and he winked.

Red.

"Uh- sure." Ian murmured long after the door had already closed behind the unnamed man.

---

Ian stopped by the bar at nearly the same time everyday. It had been over a week since the mysterious man who called him 'Red' had made an appearance. Ian would have thought the whole thing as some hallucination if there wasn't that dent in the wall behind the front door. Proof that Ian wasn't completely off his rocker. At least yet. He scrubbed his hands down the side of his face and closed his eyes.

He hadn't remembered falling asleep, but he woke up to the sound of a glass clinking on the table mere inches from his head. He expected one of the usual workers, kicking him out of his table for the night. Which is why it startled him all the more when he heard that unfamiliar familiar voice.

"How's it hanging, Sleeping Beauty?" He smiled at Ian, almost like he was the butt of a joke he didn't know was going on, but also with something more akin to fondness. Either way, Ian didn't understand and he was even slower at responding. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, assuming the dark-haired man was solely a figment of his dreams.

He remained.

The man pushed the glass closer to Ian. His usual amber liquid replaced with something more red.

"It's your usual, just with cherries. Wanted something a bit more colorful, but fair warning, it might taste like shit." He smirked.

Ian only stared between him and the drink.

"Here, I'll try it, it's not drugged or whatever, promise." Ian watched as the man took a sip and proceeded to grimace. "On second thought, maybe don't try that. It does taste like shit. It's the sentiment that counts though, right, Red?"

There it was again. Red.

Ian took in the sight in front of him. His eyes were blue. Piercingly blue. Cold but open. Daring Ian to share all of his secrets. His gaze travelled down to his cheek. There was a wide scratch along the side of the man's face. Surely that hadn't been there a week ago. But the gash was too healed for it to not have been.

"Your cheek?" He mustered through his confusion.

The man's smile faltered for a moment, revealing something akin to fear, before perking up even brighter than before. A façade maybe. "Observant fucker aren't you?"

Ian didn't know why he felt so safe. He'd all but spoken a few sentences to the stranger. He didn't even know his name. But he held his gaze like the answers to all his prayers were floating in the pools of blue. Like maybe he was supposed to be here. Like maybe this meant something. Like maybe he meant something.

Blue.

---

Ian didn't go to the bar everyday anymore, but told the bartender to let him know if the man, Blue, ever stopped by again.

Ian spent days at home and nights at school. He kept himself busy. He kept himself on track, at least what he thought was a proper track. It was something. And he was starting to feel proud of his progress. Of his stability.

On a seemingly random Thursday, after a particularly gruesome exam, he found himself at the bar again. His usual table was occupied so he turned to leave. But before he could do so, he recognized the occupant. Maybe not by name, but by being. He sat down across from him.

"Red."

"Blue."

They greeted. They smiled. Like it was a secret.

Blue was first to speak, as usual.

"You look well."

Ian blushed. He didn't know the man, but he felt his words in earnest. Ian took in the man's face. The gash that previously took up half his cheek was now nothing but a faded shiny scar. But a vibrant bruise colored his eye socket. Ian knew not to ask. But nevertheless commented.

"Wish I could say the same for you."

Blue smiled, his eyes, bruise and all, crinkling. Ian was sure it hurt to smile that big, but if it did, he couldn't tell.

Ian felt something strong. A connection of sorts. He looked down at his fingertips, slightly purple. He looked up at the lights, a couple burnt out. He felt a boot kick his own under the table.

"Here." Two glasses of amber liquid were waiting on the table between them. "No cherries."

They clinked glasses. It felt like a celebration of sorts. Of what, Ian didn't know. He didn't care.

---

Days had come and gone. Weeks had come and gone. Ian spent days at work and nights at home. Home being alone. Not quite lonely, but not quite right either. Ian didn't go to the bars much anymore. He ordered in quite a bit, working exhausting him too much, his social life working not enough. He heard a knock at his door, expecting it to be his usual takeout. Instead, he was greeted with Blue.

Ian's mouth dropped open in an o. It had been months, going on a year maybe? Blue's scar and bruise looked the same, as if nothing had changed.

"Got your address from the barkeep. I told them it was an emergency and you left this," He wiggled a jacket in front of him, "They said you were a family friend. Sorry, man, I would've came sooner, but I didn't know how to-"

Ian tugged Blue's shirt, inviting him inside. Inviting him into his arms. Into his mouth. He was warm and he made Ian feel right.

Later, when their bodies were bare and tangled under Ian's sheets, heartbeats thrumming red blood through blue veins, Ian slipped the truth into the universe.

"Ian."

Blue turned his head upwards and caressed the side of Ian's face, "Ian, you're beautiful."

A pause stretched between the two of them long enough that Ian began to drift off, floating into his dreams. Taking the form of a swan, Blue's voice spoke, "Mickey."

Mickey.

It was the last thing he remembered him by.

---

Years had passed. There had been up and downs. High highs and low lows. His hair was strands of salt and pepper. His cheeks a shade of tomato red. His body kissed by the sun. He let his mind wander quite a bit, but he was happy enough. He didn't move as fast as he used to, but he was doing alright.

On an autumn day, his daughter, home from college, strolled into the living room of his house, hand in hand with another girl. Ian couldn't not stare. The girl's blue eyes met his green.

He was hit with something. A realization. A pillow. His daughter threw it at him. "Dad, stop staring at Mandy!" Mandy. It wasn't familiar but it wasn't unfamiliar.

Ian cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. Are you staying for dinner? We're making spaghetti."

Mandy smiled, her eyes crinkling with it. "That'd be great."

Her voice rang in the air as Ian prepped the food. Laughter coming from his daughter's bedroom.

---

Mandy came around pretty often after that. Birthdays. Holidays. Weekends.

Things were fine before, they were. But with Mandy around, things felt better. Closer. Fuller.

One Thanksgiving, Mandy asked if her brother could join them. He had just gotten back from his backpacking trip or something or other.

He had to have known, right?

The doorbell rang, a familiar chime echoing throughout the near-empty house aside from the table set for four waiting in the dining room.

Ian opened the door and came face to face with Blue.

"This is my brother, Mickey. Thanks again for letting him come over!" Mandy hugged Ian once before running off to find his daughter.

Red and Blue stared at each other for a long moment. Too long. Not long enough. He looked the exact same as he did all those years ago. Blue smiled. Mickey smiled. Ian's vision became blurry.

Mickey spoke first as usual, "I'm sorry it's been so long." An edge of regret in his voice.

A hot tear trailed down Ian's cheek, mimicking the scar on Blue's own.

Mickey wiped the tear gently. He let his hand fall onto Ian's clutching tightly. You're here. You're real.

"I'm here now."

Dinner was filled with loud chatter and laughs from the girls, oblivious to the intense gazes between Red and Blue. Between Ian and Mickey.

Ian didn't know how long this would last this time, afraid to imagine a lonely future without him again. He wouldn't let himself think any thoughts besides this feels good, this feels right.

---

Ian and Mickey spent time together. Learning the secrets of Red and Blue - past, present, future alike.

When all the secrets were spilled, they both knew this was it. There was nothing else left to learn, to do. They had explored each other's bodies, memorizing each freckle and scar like the universe was written in them. And maybe it was.

Time was incomprehensible and it ripped a shred through their reality.

Mickey had to go. He didn't when he could return. If he could return in time.

Ian's fingers brushed across Mickey's eyelid, under the purple hollows of his eye. He felt the flutter of Blue's eyelashes. Mickey's fingers combed through the locks of hair atop Ian's head, no longer red.

Maybe this was it. And maybe it wasn't. But they had existed together in something that was real.

Something Purple.

[garoumylove]

Golden Hour Part 7

Just continuing 'Golden Hour', my domestic/fluffy/angsty ♥️GarouxReader♥️ (but written from Garou’s point of view). You can also read it on AO3 here :)

~*~

I lie awake the next morning, knowing I’ll have to get up soon. Really fuckin’ not wanting to.

The sun is just coming up, making itself known through the window. I hold up my hand and catch the light, as if I can hold it in my hand if I clench my fist hard enough.

When I open it, the mark on my hand stares back at me, barely visible anymore. I don’t know what the fuck my body is doing, but it seems to heal quicker and quicker which is not a bad thing.

I stare at that pale white mark across my palm and remember. I remember her hands closing around mine, the way she held it under the water, her fingertips tracing over my skin, and I feel this ache inside. This real deep ache that is nothing but fuckin’ pain and fuckin’ pleasure and I never knew the two could co-exist like that, so intimately.

I slow my mind down, replay everything in slow motion, will my body to remember how she felt standing so close, pressed against me, how her touch felt, the feel of her fingers, her hands…

Her hands, I’ve felt them all over, time and time again, and still…still it never fails to get to me. Every time I think I can keep my head, keep any semblance of self control, she’ll slip her hand under my shirt, playful teasing, runs it down my chest and I can’t fuckin’ think straight anymore. Her hands do the most wicked, the most sublime things to me. And just when I think I’m going to go completely mad, she’ll touch me somewhere I don’t expect and push me completely over that fuckin’ edge. And I’m in fucking ecstasy. Every time.

I open and close my hand slowly again in the intruding morning light, trying to hold on to the memory of her. But then the memory of what I did after interrupts. I go from feeling the bliss of her touch to the feeling of muscle and broken bone under my knuckles, a completely different type of satisfaction.

I should feel bad for enjoying it. A normal person would, I suppose. But I don’t. Every bruise, every scar, every bastard I leave spitting blood is like a step. And I climb higher and higher. Towards what? Towards forgetting. Towards becoming someone I’ve wanted to be for years. To justice. To make up for all the bullshit. Always aiming for the top of those stairs.

And then what?

I pause.

The answer seems fuckin’ obvious, doesn’t it? I’ll be at the fuckin’ top, ain’t I just said?

Yes, but then what? It says.

I scowl.

The higher they climb, the harder they fall, it whispers.

Fuck. That.

I ain’t ever planning on falling.

Time to get the fuck up. No use laying around indulging in all this goddamn philosophy. It ain’t gonna do anyone any good.

“Are you sure you’ll survive?” she asks, her small hand in my hair again as I stretch out on her couch later that evening, only at her urging and permission, telling me I look tired. I gotta lie and say it’s the old man, that he’s a slave driver, but really it’s because I ain’t hardly slept last night due to my outing. I ain’t ever felt bad lying before but now, I feel this stab in the back of my mind when the words, completely untrue, came out of my mouth.

“I guess we’ll see when you’re back,” I say, closing my eyes, savouring this moment. “If I've starved to death, you’ll have your answer.”

She does this smiling little tsk with her tongue.

“Well, I’ve shown you how to make two different meals now,” she says, one hand stroking my hair absentmindedly and her phone in the other as she scrolls through the weather forecast. “The rest is up to you Wolf Cub. Make me proud.”

I don’t know if I have or not. I try to. I try not to be a fuck up that she regrets taking a chance on, this whole situation was already so tenuous. I don’t know if she is proud and I ain’t too keen on asking in case the answer hurts a bit too much. But when we’re in public, she doesn’t walk a step away from me, she doesn’t pretend we hardly know each other. Lets me grab her hand and declare to every fuckin’ passerby, whether they care or not, that she’s mine. I mean…that it’s me and her. That this is a place no one is taking from me.

She’s leaving early tomorrow morning, coming back late Sunday night.

And it’s not like we’ve seen each other every day or the like, so it shouldn’t really bother me much but I find it does. She’s going to be fuck knows where, her house empty there. No light in the window. I don’t know. I feel stupid and sentimental for a few moments and then shake myself out of it.

“Keep a lookout and make sure this place doesn’t burn down, ok?” she says, still captivated by the screen of her phone, but her hand moves to my forehead now, lightly tracing, caressing, backs of her fingers gently down my cheek.

I don’t even know if she notices what she’s doing, still very busy with whatever she’s got going on her phone.

“If it does, you can come live with me,” I grin, already happily going down the route of my domestic fantasy.

“Haha,” she says, less than impressed, her fingers never stopping. “Do you even own a washing machine?”

“Good question,” I say.

Maybe I am just that stray cat to her, I think.

This touch, this tenderness, probably means absolutely nothing to her, the thought runs through my mind as I feel the warmth of her hand on my face.

I am just here to be fed and kept out of trouble. That is the best I’m gonna get. And that’s just how it is.

I am the stray cat.

Or I was, until the actual stray cat showed up.

The weekend passes uneventfully, meaning I won all the fights. Nothin’ exciting to report on that front.

I don’t bother her on the Monday because I’m sure she’s exhausted as is but on Tuesday she’s on my doorstep with a souvenir and then we’re eating together again and it seems like this is becoming a regular thing and I don’t know how it happened but I sure the fuck ain’t complaining, even if I’m the one doing most of the cookin’ while she sips wine and gives me instructions, telling me it’s life skills and for my own good. And she doesn’t have to tell me. I know being around her does more good for me than anythin’. More than any midnight bust up.

Then why can’t I stop doin’ that? Heading out in the middle of the night, like a fuckin’ addict.

I try not to think about it too much.

Winter has wrapped up and the days begin to get a little longer, golden hour coming later and later. I notice that kid sometimes, dawdling about on the street all alone. He’s already a fuckin’ dream target for any shitty little punk who wants to pick on him just by looks alone, but to be the new kid in the neighbourhood just pours salt on the wound I reckon. I find myself feelin’ a bit sorry for him. But at least I don’t see anyone botherin’ him outside of school anymore. In school, well, he’ll have to learn to take care of himself.

I make sure to stay out of his way but the next Sunday my curiosity gets the better of me.

I’m walkin’ back home, mid-afternoon, no need to know where from, when I find him on hands and knees, half under a parked car.

I should just carry on my sweet way but I don’t know what the hell he’s up to and whether it’s going to be safe to just leave him here like this, sprawled out on the road.

“Oi, kid,” I say, tilting my head to see if I can catch more of him under the car. “What the hell are you doin’?”

He scrambles to his feet, knees and hands covered in dirt.

“Uncle!” he says, all excitement. “Uncle! There’s a cat under there!”

Eh? Is that all? He got all scruffed up for a cat?

“So?” I say. “Just leave it alone. And I told you, don’t call me that.”

“But it looks bad and scared,” he says, not even realising he’s doin’ these big puppy eyes. “It keeps making noise and I can’t reach it. I think it’s lost.”

I find myself rubbing my forehead, in tiredness, in frustration. I just wanna go the fuck home.

“Uncle! Can you help me get it?” he says, tugging at the edge of my shirt. “Please.”

Goddamn kid.

And then we’re both on our hands and knees, under that car. And sure enough. There it is. But it ain’t a cat. It’s a kitten. This skinny, raggedy grey thing covered in dirt. It keeps squeaking and getting louder by the moment.

“Can you reach it?” Tareo asks.

Not a problem. I reach under there and scoop this ball of fur out. It’s smaller than my hand. Grey and shivering, big eyes not knowing where to look.

I hand it over to the kid.

“I think it’s sick,” he says, holding it close to his chest very carefully as it keeps mewling.

“Take it home,” I say, this thing no longer my problem, ready to walk away.

“I can’t,” he says, suddenly worried. “My mum says we can’t have pets. She doesn’t let cats and dogs in the house.”

And what part of that is my problem?

“Uncle,” he says, puppy eyes intensifying. “We can’t leave it here. I don’t want it to get more sick.”

Well, that’s just how it is, ain’t it? Natural selection and all. The world is a cruel place. I glance at the animal again.

“I ain’t taking it home,” I say firmly, starting back on my way.

“Uncle!” he’s a persistent little brat, running after me. “Uncle!”

“What?” I’m finding it hard to hide my displeasure now.

“I don’t want it to die,” he says and when I turn around I can see his lip quivering.

Fuck. This. Shit.

She opens her door and we all just stare at each other for a moment.

“Oh, hello,” she says, not quite knowing what to make of this.

“He found this thing,” I say, as Tareo holds the kitten up for her to see better.

“It was under a car,” he says, still full of concern. “And it keeps meowing. And it’s got a bit of fur missing here,” he turns it so she can see its side.

“Poor thing,” she says, suddenly as concerned as Tareo and she takes it carefully, gently from him. “Poor baby,” she strokes it under the chin. “Come on,” she beckons us inside.

“Here,” she hands the tiny thing back to me (why me?) and runs upstairs before coming quickly back down with a small box and a towel.

She kneels on the floor, Tareo beside her, as she folds the towel and places it in the box.

“Put it in here,” she motions to me.

I set it down slowly. I don’t like holdin’ it because it weighs basically nothing and it feels like I’m gonna break all its fragile little bones with one wrong move.

We all stare at the noisy thing for a moment.

“Is he going to be ok?” Tareo looks up at her, his lip quivering again.

To be honest, the cat doesn’t look good. It’s missing a bit of fur and it’s got a bit of matted blood on its front. Its eyes don’t look too good either and it’s howlin’ like it’s the end of the world.

She picks it up carefully again, turns it on its back.

“She,” she informs us. “It’s a she,” she gives Tareo a smile.

Oh.

“Is she going to die?” Tareo is almost in tears.

“No, no!” she rushes to reassure him. “We’ll take care of her. We’ll take her to the vet tomorrow and she’ll be fine.”

I get it. She’s lying a bit to him, but it’s the only right thing to do in this situation. We have no idea whether this scrawny thing will survive.

“I think she’s very hungry,” she says, giving it a gentle stroke behind the ear and the mewling quietens down for a moment.

“Will you keep her?” Tareo asks, now full of hope. “My mum says we can’t have cats or dogs in our house.”

I can see her bite her lip.

“I…can’t,” she says very apologetically and I can tell it’s pulling at her heartstrings because she’s fallen for this cat too. “My landlord doesn’t allow pets,” she says this looking right at me. And I feel the kid’s eyes boring right into my soul too.

“No,” I say, trying to axe their plan before they get any more ideas.

“Please Uncle!” Tareo grabs my arm. “Please! I don’t want her to go back out on the street.”

“Please Uncle,” she joins in, grabbing my other arm as they both harass me at once, making those big eyes at me.

What the fuck am I gonna do with a fuckin’ cat?

No. That’s final.

“Please Uncle,” Tareo pulls at me. I look at him. His puppy face has no effect on me. I look at the cat, its big eyes, the desperate pathetic noises it makes.

“You can just take it to the shelter or whatever,” I say, getting impatient.

“I suppose that’s true,” she says, letting go of me. But I can sense the sadness in her voice. “That would be the most logical thing to do.”

“But what if no one adopts her?�� Tareo frets.

“I’m sure she’ll get adopted really quick,” she says, putting on a bright smile. “She’s so cute. Once they treat her and feed her a bit she’ll look stunning.”

I stop listening to them. Look at the cat again, hungry and probably scared out of its wits.

No.

Don’t even think about it.

“Fine,” I hear myself growl.

“What?” she says, turning away from Tareo.

“I’ll fuckin’ take it,” I say.

And I ain’t ever seen that kid so happy before.

“She’s probably very hungry and thirsty,” she says, “so we’ll go buy her some kitten food and try get her to eat. Why don’t you come over just before dinner if you want to see her again?” she suggests kindly to Tareo.

“Can I?” He almost jumps up.

“Of course! I’m sure she’d like to see her rescuer again,” she says.

“Uncle helped me,” Tareo admits. “I couldn’t reach. Uncle got her out for me.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s glad to have both of you,” she looks up at me and Tareo and he looks so damn chuffed with himself.

“We’ll take her to the vet tomorrow evening,” she tells Tareo then turns to me. “My friend’s sister is a vet nurse so we can pop by straight after work. I’m sure it will be ok. I’ll give her a call later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, fuckin’ regretting opening my mouth.

“Ok, we’ll just leave her here for a bit, give her time to settle, and go get some food. Please come by later,” she smiles at Tareo as she gets up off the floor and goes to get her jacket.

“Can we call her Tatsumaki?” Tareo is way too fired up.

“Oh, who’s that?” she asks.

“She’s a superhero and she’s so cool!” Tareo says.

“No,” I say. I fuckin’ hate superheroes and all that shit.

“What do you want to call her, then?” she asks, pulling her jacket on.

“Don’t care,” I say. But not any goddamn superhero names.

There’s a thoughtful silence.

“What about Delilah?” she finally says.

“Eh?” Where did that come from?

“What’s that?” Tareo asks.

She looks at me. “You know, like the Queen song!”

“Eh?” I repeat.

“You know…Queen, the band?” She looks curiously at me.

“Eh?”

“Oh come on! We will, we will rock you…” she says and claps her hands at the end in this catchy rhythm. “Never mind,” she finally mutters. “I’m just old. My parents used to listen to Queen all the time. It grew on me, I guess. I just thought it would be cute. It’s about Freddie Mercury’s cat.”

“Who?” What is she talking about?

“Is that a superhero?” Tareo asks, full of curiosity.

“Who?”

“Freddie Mercury.”

“No, he’s a singer.”

“Oh, his name sounds like a superhero name.”

She giggles at this.

“Ok, fine, whatever,” I give up. “Call her whatever.”

“So you’re ok with Delilah?”

“Whatever,” I say again, driving the point home.

We leave the cat to its own devices and Tareo rushes home.

“Remind me to show you Queen live at Wembley on YouTube later,” she says as she locks the door. “God, I wish I was alive back then…”

“She’s eating!” Tareo is practically ecstatic later that evening when he comes by again. If I get to be here too because of the cat, I’ll let it slide. “Look, she’s eating!”

“Yeah,” she says as she nudges the saucer closer to the scrawny cat. “She’s probably not even eight weeks yet. She can’t eat solid food so we soak her kitten biscuits in pet milk. That way it’s easy for her to eat.”

The little cat looks ravenous. Keeps wolfing it all down, like it hasn’t eaten for days, and it probably hasn’t.

“I think she’ll be ok,” she says. “Won’t you, little Delilah?” she says, caressing her bony back. “We’ll get you back in shape in no time.”

She looks up at Tareo to reassure him as we all sit around this tiny thing.

“If she was really sick, she probably wouldn’t be able to or want to eat,” she says. “But she looks like she’s got a good appetite so that’s a really good sign!”

Tareo is positively glowing.

“I’ll keep her overnight,” she says to me, “and then after tomorrow she’s all yours.”

“Fantastic,” I roll my eyes.

“Uncle!” Tareo says, “Can I come visit her?”

I’m about to say no, but then she gives me a look and I say, “We’ll see.”

It’s the best I can do.

“She ate some more last night and this morning,” she says to me as we walk to the train station, her holding the small box carefully, its cardboard lid on top with a few small holes. Sometimes a tiny grey nose pokes out of one of them and sniffs the air. It’s probably curious about all the new smells.

The vet is in the suburbs and we gotta ride at least a few stops there.

It’s still rush hour and the train is fuckin’ packed. So we stand as she holds the box protectively between us, trying her best to not get crushed and when we stop and the crowd heaves as people get on and off I get to put my arm around her waist to steady her since her hands are busy, and it’s all good because it’s all in the name of protecting this cat. At least I’m getting some use out of it.

I can hear the faint meowing again and suddenly the lid lifts up a bit and half a scruffy head pokes through, yellow eyes peering right up at me, the edge of the box almost against my chest. I grimace back at it.

“I think she likes you,” she says, giving me a gorgeous smile.

Well, if it’s true, and it ain’t, this cat’ll be the first. No one fuckin’ likes me. And I’m fine with that. Almost.

The train moves off again and the cat stumbles back into the box as I grab her waist again before she bumps into more people.

In the end, this ain’t too bad.

We walk a bit from the train station and this area I gotta say is pretty nice. Not fuckin’ rich nice. Just wholesome neighbourhood nice. Disgusting nice.

I pull open the door and let her in first.

This place smells…strange. Like antiseptic and somethin’ else.

“Hi! Long time no see!” a woman comes out from a door behind the reception.

“You too!” she says, setting the box down on the counter. “I hope we’re not bothering!”

“No, no!” the woman in uniform says as she gets behind the computer. “We’re just closing up for the night so we’ll keep your kitten overnight and have a look at her tomorrow morning. Is that fine?”

“Yes, that’s totally fine,” she says.

“I just need to grab your details,” the one who I presume is the nurse or whatever says. “What’s the cat’s name?”

“Delilah,” she says as the lid begins to lift again and the tiny whiskers appear.

“Cute! Like the Queen song!”

“See,” she turns to me. “She knows what’s up,” she gives me a triumphant look.

“Ok, and I’ll need your address and phone number,” the nurse says as her fingers fly over the keyboard.

“Oh, it’s his cat,” she says, grabbing the sleeve of my jacket and pulling me closer to them.

Why the fuck did I agree to this?

“I’ll pick her up though,” she says. “I’ll be out of the office for a meeting anyway so I don’t mind. It will be on my way home. You don’t know what time you’ll be home tomorrow will you?” she asks over her shoulder now that I’ve moved back again.

“Not a clue,” I say.

“Yeah, so I’ll pick Delilah up.”

The nurse finally opens the box and takes out this little runt.

“Aw, poor darling, Look at you. We’ll get you all cleaned up. What happened?”

“They say they found her crying her little eyes out under a car,” she says.

I don’t remember saying any such thing, so I just stand there and grit my teeth.

“She’s been eating though,” she tells her sister’s friend.

“That’s great,” the acquaintance replies. “We’ll give her a thorough check tomorrow and get her all cleaned up.”

She puts the kitten carefully back in the box and the meowing starts again.

They say their goodbyes and we leave.

And I wonder where they’re putting my cat, all alone, for the whole night.

The crowd has thinned out by the time we get back on the train and we actually get to sit down.

"I'll pay for Delilah," she says, and before I can say anything back she adds, "I mean, Tareo and I basically forced her on you so…"

And that's not a lie.

"But you're paying for her after that."

"Eh? For what?"

"For when you take her back in a couple of months. Or do you want more little cats to look after?" She raises her eyebrow at me.

It's just one damn hassle after another, ain't it.

We sit in silence for a bit as the train stops and people get on and off.

"You're very kind, you know," she says with quiet affection.

I can't look back at her. She said that. When I took her to bed she had said that. I thought she hadn't remembered, said it half asleep and forgotten all about it. But she says it in the same way and I can't look at her.

I feel my arms cross over my chest, I don't even think about doing it. Just happens. And the tension in my jaw as I turn away, scowling again.

But then I feel her fingers on my cheek, turning my face back towards her and I'm forced to look into her beautiful shining eyes.

"And you're not as scary as you think," she teases.

And for a moment, it's only me and her on the train. And the rest of the world falls away.

These moments. I'm building a fuckin' whole collection of them and I have no idea what to do with them. I feel them tear at me on the inside.

She lets go softly.

"You were supposed to show me Queen at some stadium or something," I say, feeling my fangs baring despite myself. Not at her. At the situation. At not having her. At having her so close and not having her.

"Why didn't you tell me yesterday!" She slaps my arm. "I told you to remind me!"

Nah, everyone was too taken with the cat yesterday.

"I'm reminding you, ain't I?" I grumble.

"How about we go get some sushi and I'll show you the best live music performance you'll ever see in your life," she says, completely unphased by my frustration.

And we do just that.

Because I can't say no. I don't want to say no. Because with her, no doesn't exist.

[magniloquent-raven]

What Is It I Feel

Harringrove Week of Love: Day 2

Love Potion || Over-stimulation || Mythological Creatures AU

Rated: E

Read on Ao3

“Shit, Billy are you alright?!” Steve is pale, Billy notices, he always goes pale. Purses his lips and stares, a thousand things hiding behind that expression that Billy can even begin to name. He looks oddly human like that. Worried. 

Fussing, like Billy’s one of his damn kids. 

He snorts, and adjusts his grip on his side. The drying blood on his knuckles itches, and he tries to focus on that rather than the searing pain lancing through him every time he inhales. “Yeah. Clearly,” he grunts. “You gonna let me in, or what?”

He sways, shoulder knocking against the doorframe, and Steve’s hand shoots out to steady him. 

“Yeah. Shit. Yeah, sorry, I—come—come here.” 

“That’s the plan, baby.”

Steve rolls his eyes, flushing. He’s had his tongue up Billy’s asshole but he still blushes like a goddamn virgin when Billy runs his mouth outside of the bedroom. 

He pulls Billy inside. The movement jostles torn skin, but before he can complain Steve’s lips are on his, hot and insistent. 

Billy kicks the door closed behind them as Steve leads him further into his apartment, a hand on the back of his neck, never breaking their liplock for more than a moment to breathe. 

And, god, Billy’s kissed a lot of people, but Steve is by far his favourite. He takes his time, even now, when his poorly-concealed anxiety makes his hands shake, fumbling with the buttons on Billy’s shirt, and Billy smells like acrid, greasy smoke and monster guts. He kisses Billy like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

It’s a lie, of course, but one Billy is happy to let himself fall for, over and over again.

Steve’s mouth drops to Billy’s neck, goes right for the spot behind his ear that makes his knees go weak, pulls a groan from deep in his chest. The jolt of pleasure washes away small aches, the bruises on his knuckles, shallow scrapes up his shins. 

He grabs the front of Steve’s shirt, and pushes him back onto the nearest surface. Which turns out to be his bed, thankfully. He falls with a soft thump, and Billy is in his lap the second his ass hits fancy cotton.

“You’re going to ruin my sheets again,” Steve complains, squirming under him, but not pushing him off, instead grabbing his hips and leaning up to seal their mouths together again.

Heat coils in his gut, the familiar syrupy feeling of arousal warming him through. Steve tastes like honey and open air, sweet, clean. Billy’s had pixies before, and they always taste a little earthy, but Steve is...different. Better. The first time Billy tasted him he nearly drained him dry. It’s a miracle Steve still fucking talks to him, let alone lets him feed. 

Billy pulls back a hair, just enough to respond. “Buy better sheets then, rich boy.” Steve stares up at him silently, eyes still hazy from their liplock. He blinks. Furrows his brow.

“Pretty sure blood and monster guts would ruin any sheets,” he responds after a second, and his gaze flickers down, to Billy’s bare torso, the gashes and smears of ichor. “What were you even fighting this time? Shit.”

Billy buries his fingers in Steve’s hair, and tugs his head back, looking him in the eye. Steve goes hazy again, and he whines when Billy tightens his grip. “Do you want to talk,” he leans in, til his lips brush Steve’s, their breath mingling, “or do you want to fuck me?” 

His ribs ache, even the short break was enough for his pain to resurface. He needs more, and he needs it now. 

“Shit, yeah, sorry.” Steve’s fingers skim the least battered part of his torso, gently, as he reaches up to slip Billy’s shirt off. 

The touch makes him shiver. “Hurry up, before I die in your lap.”

Steve sighs. It’s a quiet thing that Billy doesn’t have time to analyze because Steve’s fingers drop to his belt buckle, and his lips brush Billy’s jaw, and suddenly Billy has better things to focus on. 

Like Steve’s nimble fingers, making quick work of his zipper, dipping below his waistband to push his jeans down, pressing into his shoulder-blades when he flips their positions, guiding Billy onto his back so Steve can pull his pants off the rest of the way. They hit the floor somewhere near the doorway, flung across the room once Billy’s finally free of them. 

“Quicker than last time,” Billy laughs breathlessly.

Steve huffs, “You’d think someone whose life depends on people getting into his pants would wear ones that are easier to get into.”

“Now where’s the fun in that.” 

He looks good in those jeans. And Steve looks adorable when he’s struggling to peel them off, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, brow furrowed with intense concentration as he grapples with the wrinkled denim bunched up around Billy’s knees. It’s a win/win situation. 

For Billy, anyways. Steve always acts like these jeans are the bane of his existence. Like Billy doesn’t know exactly how often Steve stares at his denim-clad thighs.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning over to grab lube from his nightstand. “Getting to this part quicker, numbnuts.” He waves the near-empty bottle pointedly. 

“Pff, whatever,” he scoffs as Steve coats his fingers, taking his goddamn time about it. “Are you gonna get to it or not.” Billy squirms, his bruises throbbing, sheets catching on half-scabbed cuts on his back. He spreads his knees and raises his eyebrows. 

A spike of arousal washes over Billy. Steve’s arousal. It was a low simmer before, like sitting next to a space heater, but this hits like the heat coming off a forest fire. Billy closes his eyes and breathes it in. Relishes it. How it smells. Like the salty musk of Steve’s sweat-slicked skin, but sweeter. How it tingles under his skin. Washes away the ache in his muscles. A warm bath has nothing on this.

He inhales it slowly, relaxes back against Steve’s soft cotton sheets. 

“Yeah,” Steve says after a beat, voice low and rough. He clears his throat. 

And he gets to it. 

In the beginning Billy kept track of how many times Steve let him feed. Kept a tally in his head. He’s not sure when he stopped counting, but he couldn’t tell you now, how many times they’ve done this. 

More times that Billy expected. Less than he wants. 

Enough that Steve’s fingers are as familiar as his own.

He’s sure and capable, massaging Billy open with practiced ease. It’s not long before Billy’s sweating and panting, fisting the sheets at his side and feeling stronger for it. Every time Steve brushes his prostate, every time his arousal spikes when Billy moans, every thrust of dexterous fingers, it all feeds the heat building in his belly. The warmth washing over him, spreading to his limbs, tingling in his fingers, mending his body. 

The bruises are fading, he knows, he can feel the pain melting away, every time he tenses, jerks, breathes deep, it hurts a little less. 

“Steve,” he groans, feeling out blindly with one trembling leg. His foot lands on Steve’s shoulder. “Steve. Fuckin—fuck—get your dick in me—god—right now.” 

He vaguely registers mumbled cursing and fabric rustling, Steve moving up, warm between his thighs. His fingers slide out. The tip of his cock brushes Billy’s lube-slicked hole, slowly. Always so slowly. Always careful. 

Billy lifts his head a fraction to glance up at Steve, kneeling between his legs. He’s got his hand around his cock, guiding it, and he’s watching Billy’s asshole like it contains all the secrets in the universe. His lips parted, brow furrowed under the bangs flopping across his forehead, and his gaze so focused. 

He takes Billy’s breath away.

And then he does it again, with a gentle thrust of his hips. 

Billy’s head falls limply against the sheets, his whole back arches. The stretch hurts just a little, Steve inside him, the wrent skin along his ribs tugging as he writhes, faint, throbbing pain, but it’s nothing compared to the pleasure. 

Steve’s palm caresses his side, skimming the cuts still slow to heal. “Okay?” he asks. 

Suddenly very aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the shallow breaths he takes while Steve’s warm hand moves with him, Billy exhales through his nose, deep, slow, eyes shut, and he nods. 

“Billy, I need you to say it.”

The soft tone makes him shiver. “Yeah,” he sighs. “C’mon, pretty boy,” he taps Steve’s ass with his foot. “Fuck me.”

Steve snorts. “Alright.” He leans down, carefully rearranging their legs, and propping himself up on his palms. Their chests brush, and Steve kisses his collarbone. “C’mere,” he murmurs. 

Heart racing, flipping, tripping over itself, Billy tilts his head up, and seals their mouths together. He tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair, cupping the back of his head, keeping him close as he starts to move his hips. 

“Billy,” he moans against Billy’s lips, “You need to—ah—take more.”

The realization is like an ice cube slipping down Billy’s throat. Steve’s right, he hasn’t directly fed enough. Just fucking isn’t going to cut it, but…

God, part of him just wanted Steve to kiss him because he wanted to.

He takes more. Breathes Steve in. Honey and sweet grass and syrupy summer heat.

His side knits together, skin closing up, and he gasps, groaning into their kiss. It’s always a weird feeling, but the aftermath is pure fucking bliss. The pain is gone. There’s nothing but the slow drag of Steve’s cock in him, the press of his chest, thick hair scraping Billy’s newly healed skin, his hands, his mouth.

Billy’s dizzy with it all, the rush. The heat. 

He whines, as Steve’s hips snap, over and over, into him, skin against the back of his thighs, it builds, and it builds, and then the fizzing, sparking heat comes to a head. He arches, mouth open in a silent scream, his vision whiting out. 

Through the haze, he feels Steve start to pull out. He wraps his trembling legs around Steve’s waist, holding him in place, heels digging into the soft curve of his ass. “Keep going,” he growls, still panting, boneless, barely able to keep his legs up. 

Steve stares down at him, his mouth slack. 

He keeps going.

There isn’t a single scratch on Billy anymore. He’s taken as much as he needs to. But he still wants. Wants more. Wants Steve. The way his cock drags over that sweet spot over and over, sending sparks tingling up Billy’s spine, feeling the heat of him everywhere. 

He keens, loudly, head thrown back when Steve pushes in to the hilt, grinding his hips slowly, purposefully. The sparks catch, burn, Billy lights up with it, feels it in his throat. 

A soft touch to his chin makes him jerk, whine, and he blinks up at Steve through a blur of tears. Steve’s fingers caress up his cheek, palm cupping his jaw, brushing away damp curls stuck to his face. 

The touch is fleeting, but he feels it etched into his skin even as Steve fists the sheets, hands bracketing Billy’s head, not touching him anymore but close enough to tease with the warmth radiating from him. 

Steve picks up the pace, shallow thrusts drawing trembling, punched-out groans from Billy’s lips. His head is swimming, vision going spotty, tears rolling down his temples as he arches, squirms, whines under Steve’s touch. 

‘Til his hips stutter, breath hot in Billy’s ear, one long, gasping moan vibrating between them as he spills into Billy and collapses, boneless on top of him.

His softening cock slips out of Billy, leaving him with an absurd pang of loneliness and come dripping down his asscheek.  

The room goes quiet but for their ragged breathing. Steve wiggles a little, his forehead sticking to Billy’s shoulder, hair tickling as he moves. 

“Mm,” Steve hums, “I kissed it better?” 

Billy chuckles quietly, and his hand moves of its own accord, fingertips tracing up and down Steve’s spine. “Yeah. Good as new, baby.” 

Better than, in fact. He’s buzzing with borrowed life, glowing with it. Feels like he could run a marathon and still have energy to spare. 

Steve nuzzles into his neck, breath ghosting over Billy’s rapidly jumping pulsepoint. “Glad I’m better than a bandaid,” he murmurs. 

And...it’s time to go. This is about as much as his heart can take. Feeling good and having Steve draped across his chest and whispering adorable nonsense in his ear is not a good combo. Puts him at risk of saying something really stupid. 

He slips out from under Steve.

Sex always makes Steve tired, but especially when Billy’s had to feed on him like this. Which is a blessing, really, this way Billy doesn’t have to see the puppy-dog eyes follow him out the door. And Steve doesn’t get to see how much he hesitates. How fucking hard it is to tell himself it’s better this way. 

As he shuffles to the edge of the bed Steve’s hand waves vaguely in his direction, grasping at air as he grumbles, half-asleep already. It’s cute. And breaks Billy’s heart a little.

He brushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, pushing stray locks off his forehead. A moment of weakness, but Steve probably won’t remember, so...it’s fine. 

“Thanks, pretty boy,” he murmurs, before he pulls away completely.

He really should shower before he leaves. He does sometimes, and this was a particularly messy job—Steve’s sheets are definitely ruined again. But he can’t stand hanging around Steve’s apartment another goddamn second, surrounded by pictures of him and the people he actually cares about, soaking up even more of his scent...it’s already going to linger because of the stupid little stunt he pulled while they were fucking, he doesn’t need to wash with Steve’s products too. 

So, he pulls the crusted remains of his clothes back on and slips out the door, thanking the damn gods that it’s dark out and he lives nearby.

He’s hanging out at Hop’s grimy dive bar the next day when shit hits the fan. 

Really, his life has just been a series of shitstorms, bu this is different. 

It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, too early to be drinking, Hop said, but he gave him a beer anyways. There are a few other people milling around, there usually are. This place is never actually empty. Perks of being the only bar in the area that caters specifically to fae.

Billy’s about halfway through his beer when something collides with his side, slopping his drink all over the counter. 

“Hey, what the fu—Steve?” 

He’s clinging to Billy, his face smushed up against the bare skin of his chest. For once Billy kind of regrets how few buttons he does up, Steve can definitely hear his heartbeat right now, and...well, he’s feeling exposed suddenly.

When he looks up though, that’s when Billy realizes something is definitely wrong. When he looks up with blown pupils, and rosy cheeks, and that dumb lovestruck look that used to make Billy break shit when he saw Steve aiming it at Nancy. 

“Steve, are you—”

Their teeth clack together, and Billy jumps back, wide-eyed, skittish. 

“Billy,” Steve whines, “Lemme…” His hands are clumsy when he cups Billy’s cheeks and tries to kiss him again.

Billy pushes Steve away, plants his palms on Steve’s shoulders and shoves. “Harrington, are you fucking drunk? What the fuck,” he snaps, spooked, voice cracking. 

Big, pretty brown eyes go all gooey, sad, red-rimmed like he’s going to fucking cry. Billy’s never seen Steve cry. 

Not like this anyways, he’s seen him gag on dick and tear up but this is different. Way different. This is very much not something Billy knows how to handle. 

“Billy, why don’t you love me?” 

Neither is that. 

He can’t even begin to answer that question. For so many reasons. So, so many. 

He knows Steve is a clingy drunk sometimes, but this is...not him. Can’t be him. It has to be some kind of spell. Potion. Any number of weird curses could’ve fucked with his head. 

Steve’s bottom lip trembles, and his hands go to his elbows, hugging himself. 

And suddenly Billy’s too distracted to do his damn job and think of a solution, because watching a tear dribble from the corner of one of Steve’s ridiculously beautiful doe-eyes is gutting him in ways he didn’t expect. He’s literally held his own guts in his hands before, and it turns out he’d rather do that again than go through this.

“Hargrove, what the hell did you do?”

Billy damn near jumps out of his skin. For a big dude Hop is sneaky. Or Billy’s just very distracted right now.

“Nothing!” he snaps, only sparing a glance for Hop, to glare at him, before his gaze is dragged back to Steve. Who’s also glaring at Hop.

“Don’t yell at him,” Steve squawks, still sniffling, apparently unbothered by Hopper and Billy gaping at him. “He doesn’t like it. And I don’t like when he’s sad.”

What.

It shouldn’t make his heart flutter but it does. And he mentally slaps himself. Turns to Hop. “Has he had anything to drink today?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“S’far as I know, he just got here, kid.” 

Billy rubs his forehead. “Okay, well, someone needs to call Buckley.” 

A few hours later, Billy is poring over dusty old books in the back room, Steve plastered to his back. Besides the fact that Steve’s hair tickling his ear is very uncomfortable, it’s...nice. The heat of him, the strong hands slipped under his shirt and pressed to his belly, the way being bracketed by his thighs makes Billy feel…

No. Nope. 

He can’t get anything done like this. His heart in his throat. His pulse stuttering every time Steve hums or rubs little circles into his skin, or smells like home, and—fuck. But he can’t tell him to get off, because every time he pulls away, or asks Steve to sit somewhere else, Steve gets all weepy, which is equally fucking distracting.

“Dingus, what the hell did you get yourself into now?” Robin yells before she’s even in the room, barging in a moment later looking like a grumpy freckled storm cloud, her eyes widen when she spots Steve. 

“Hey, Robin!” Steve crows in Billy’s ear. “Wait, why are you mad? Did I do something wrong?” 

Billy doesn’t have to see the sad little pout to know it’s happening. He feels it in his soul. Without thinking, Billy skims his fingers across Steve’s knuckles, covering one of his hands with his own. “No, you didn’t. She’s not mad at you.” He glares at Robin pointedly. She raises her eyebrows.

Steve sighs, melting against Billy, nuzzling his shoulder, and Robin’s eyebrows climb even higher. “Mm...I love you,” he murmurs into Billy’s shirt. 

It’s the fourth time he’s said that. Always so casually, gentle and earnest, and it lances right through Billy every goddamn time. Reaches in and grabs ahold, a warm grip around his heart, only to crush it a second later. 

He grinds his teeth. 

“So, uhh,” Robin’s staring at the ceiling, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her face is doing something weird. “What seems to be the problem, then?”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Billy grits out, and gestures vigorously, to himself, to Steve’s arms around him. “He must’ve gotten hit with...some kind of fuckin’, love spell—” he spits the word like a curse, “—or whatever the fuck. And detection spells are your area of expertise, so get on with it.”

Robin blinks at him. Opens her mouth. Closes it. “Would it kill you to say please.”

It takes her far too long to get the spell ready. Especially considering Hop has everything she needed right here in the bar. Paranoid bastard calls the trunk in his office an emergency stash, but there’s enough shit in there to run a whole other damn business. 

Point is, Billy sits around for far too long waiting on Robin to mash some herbs together and do an infusion ritual that takes five goddamn minutes. He’s pretty sure she’s dragging her heels on purpose.

Maybe he should have said please, this is torture.

An eternity later, Billy manages to pry Steve off of him without making him cry, and gently pushes him towards Robin. “Steve, c’mon,” he murmurs when he pulls away and gets a wide-eyed pout aimed at him. He aches. Everywhere. But the only thing worse than having to deal with Steve’s disappointment is dealing with Steve’s affection and knowing it isn’t real. “Just. Go. Let her do her thing, please.”

Steve furrows his brow. “Fine. You know I can’t say no to you,” he sighs.

Billy did not know that. And that brings up some terrifying and uncomfortable questions, actually.

He watches Steve cross the room. The dejected slump of his shoulders, and the way he fiddles with his hair. When he sidles up to Robin she shoots Billy a look he can’t read. She leans in to have a hushed conversation with Steve, before she presses a steaming mug into his hands. 

The whole thing doesn’t sit right.

He stands, suddenly, restless and feeling suffocated in the cluttered room. He doesn’t say anything, or even look at Robin and Steve before he walks out. 

“Hop,” he calls, collapsing into a rickety chair at the bar. “Hop, I need to be drunk right now.” 

Unfortunately, he is not drunk. And the longer it takes Robin to explain what she found out, the more he wishes he was. 

What he’s getting so far is that Steve is, in fact, experiencing some kind of magical influence, but it…feels too organic to be something a person cast. Doesn’t have the structured web of energy and intention that a curse or a spell would have. Which means no guidelines on how to break it, since it’s something naturally occurring he stumbled into. No quest to fulfil, objects of significance to provide, just...waiting it out. 

But if they figure out where and why it happened they might be able to figure out a way to speed up the process. 

And Robin is being very unhelpful on that front. 

Apparently her detection spell only told her that there was magic present, not what kind. Which smells like bullshit to Billy. He has no idea why she’d lie and it’s pissing him off.

He rolls his eyes skyward as she circles her fifth attempt to waffle an explanation. “Isn’t this the exact detection spell you used last week?” he snaps, hands flying outward in annoyance. “The one that let me track down that grimy little imp selling counterfeit luck charms? Because your stupid little cup of tea told you everything I needed to know. So why isn’t it this time?”

Her mouth snaps shut, and her gaze flickers to Steve, who’s sprawled in a seat at the bar, elbows propping him up. He’s nodding vigorously and chatting about something with Hop, who looks like he’s three seconds away from an aneurysm. 

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Hargrove...listen,” she pauses, pursing her lips, and collapses into a nearby chair with an aggrieved breath. “You’re terrible at handling emotions.”

“What.” He blinks at her, and then crosses his arms. “What’s your fucking point?”

“See, this, right here is what I’m talking about. I’m trying to protect my best friend, okay?” 

“From what exactly?”

“You. Dumbass.”

And that, like a punch in the damn gut, stops him in his tracks. Knocks the air from his lungs. He thought they’d moved past this. Thought he’d paid his dues, earned a little trust. 

Apparently not.

“Robin, I wouldn’t…” he whispers, voice breaking. “I—”

She waves a hand, cuts him off, shaking her head. “Hargrove...shit, I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve been feeding off him for months and haven’t hurt him.” 

“You know about that?”

“Everyone knows about that. Besides, I’m his best friend, remember? I always know who he’s sleeping with. He’s not exactly a vault of secrets.”

Billy glances at his boots, hiding a smile. “True.” When he looks back up she’s got her eyes narrowed, and he doesn’t like the thoughtful little wrinkle between her brows. “Do I have something on my face?”

She drums her fingers on the table. Stares at him a little longer in silence. “Hm...You know what. Promise me something.”

“...What.”

“Promise me you’ll let him down gently.”

“...What?”

“You obviously care about him, I just...he’s had his heart broken enough, okay? The magic, the shit muddling his brain right now, it’s...compelling him to tell truths. Basically, he has no filter right now.”

That can’t be right.

It was supposed to be something like...he had cupid blood spilled on him and it made him all affectionate and clingy, and he latched on to Billy because they had sex last night. And it was all just some fucked up lust-clouded mix-up. And it would wear off in the next 48 hours and Billy could go back to pretending he was just fucking Steve for practical reasons and Steve could go back to having good sex with no feelings involved. 

“He...Robin, I don’t understand,” Billy says faintly. He feels lightheaded. Like he’s not getting enough oxygen. Like the room is suddenly too small. He’s not looking at Robin anymore. The only thing he can see is Steve’s back, Steve’s profile, his lazy grin and exaggerated hand gestures. He’s still talking to Hop, none the fucking wiser, and…

Billy’s knees give out and he falls into the nearest chair. 

“What’s so hard to understand,” Robin replies scathingly, seemingly unaware of Billy’s internal crisis. “He gets attached way too easy. It’s not his damn fault, alright, so be nice. Maybe wait until this shit wears off, it’ll probably be an easier conversation when he’s not, y’know, all impulse no control.”

“But,” Billy’s breathing is starting to come in choppy bursts, his eyes stinging. “He can’t love me.” 

“Wha—holy shit, Hargrove, are you alright?”

“No,” he grits out, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, hard enough that he sees stars. He turns away from Robin, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to stop the embarrassing flood of tears threatening to fall. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and he jolts, head snapping up, some defensive, biting comment on the tip of his tongue, ready to tell Robin off, and—

It’s Steve. Staring down at him with soft brown eyes, a concerned tilt to his mouth, his brows, the goddamn expressiveness of his face hits Billy in the gut when he remembers that this is all Steve. Steve with no filter. Steve letting himself care, letting himself show it.

A whine escapes Billy, unbidden. 

“Oh, shit,” he hears Robin whisper. “Shit. I’ll just...I’m gonna go.”

Neither of them look at her, or acknowledge that she’d spoken. He hears the faint rustling of her standing, footsteps as she walks away. Continues to look up at Steve, transfixed.

“Billy?” Steve takes a hesitant step towards him, his voice gentle. 

“I didn’t know,” Billy says quietly, still blinking back tears.

Steve pulls up a chair, drops right next to Billy’s and sits down. Their knees are touching. “What didn’t you know?” He puts a hand on Billy’s thigh.

“Have I...Steve, have I been…” He exhales slowly, staring down at Steve’s hand. “I’ve been hurting you, haven’t I?”

“What? No! You wouldn’t—”

Billy shakes his head, “No, I mean…” He turns to face Steve, puts a hand on his chest, over his heart. Steve blinks at him, mouth slack. “I’ve been fucking with your head. This whole...arrangement. It’s been shitty for you, hasn’t it.”

“I…” Steve’s bottom lip trembles, and he catches it between his teeth. “I hate waking up alone afterwards. And there are times when it feels like it’s real for you too, when you call me baby, and—and sometimes, when I’m inside you, the way you look at me...It makes it harder to remember that it’s just an arrangement to you. Makes it harder when you walk away after, ‘cause I started to hope, and then...”

“And then I go and throw that back in your face, yeah. Fuck, pretty boy, I’m so fucking sorry.” His fingers tighten into a fist, bunching the front of Steve’s shirt. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know,” Steve assures him, hurriedly, covering Billy’s hand with his own. “It’s not your fault. I fall in love too easy.” Billy’s hand twitches at the casual acknowledgement, his heart stuttering. 

“But…” Billy chews his lip, deliberating. There’s a twinge of guilt when he considers taking advantage of the truth spell, but he’s burning up inside, he has to know, “Why me? I hurt you. I’m not...good. I still don’t get why you even let me into your bed let alone your heart.” 

Because maybe Steve’s just kidding himself. Maybe the things he’s saying are things he just...thinks are true. Maybe talking it out will show both of them that it wasn’t real after all.

“You are, though, Billy. Good.” Steve shuffles closer, his expression open and earnest, brows pinched a little with sadness. “You care, so much. You don’t want people to know because it scares you, but you do. You’re always trying to push people away because you think being close to you is some kind of horrible thing, but it isn’t. You’re protective and loyal and strong, and I love you, because you make me feel safe, and I...should I keep going? Billy?” His hands come up to cup Billy’s face, gently, wiping away the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

Billy opens his mouth to respond but a hiccuping little sob is the only sound that comes out. 

“I’m sorry! I don’t...I don’t know how to fix it. Billy—”

He cuts Steve off with a kiss. A brief, chaste press to his lips, wet with tears. Steve freezes. Blinks at him, eyelashes fluttering a little. 

“What...what was that for?” he asks quietly.

Breathing ragged and shaky, Billy exhales slowly, trying to calm himself enough to speak. “Steve—” His voice breaks. He swallows. Tries again. “I thought you would never feel the same, and I was trying to settle for what I could get,” it all comes out in a rush, jumbled together and an octave to high. 

Steve’s jaw drops.

But the floodgates are open now. Voice strained and thick with tears, he continues, “I’m so—so fucking sorry, I didn’t—I couldn’t—I always left afterwards because it would hurt too much to stay. Thinking it didn’t mean anything to you. ‘Cause I was—I always—I always fuckin’, wanted more, and—”

The air is knocked out of him when Steve collides with his chest. Arms circle his waist, and Steve tucks his nose into the crook of his neck. His breath stutters, catches, and Steve’s hold tightens. 

And when he speaks he’s muffled by Billy’s shirt, quiet and tentative, wavering, “Billy please tell me this means you—”

“Yeah,” Billy responds immediately, burying his face in Steve’s hair, squeezing his eyes shut. He wraps his arms around Steve, pulling him close, as close as he can. “Yeah. I do.”

Steve’s sigh is warm, humid against his skin, as he melts in Billy’s embrace. “Can you…” he sniffles. “Can—can you, like, say it, um. Please?”

Heart in his mouth, Billy presses his lips to the top of Steve’s head. He feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, like his pulse is going to break his ribs, like a thousand different things are crashing around in his head as he scrambles, still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that this is actually happening. 

“I love you,” he says softly. Whispers into Steve’s locks of chestnut hair. Puts it out there where he can’t take it back. Can’t pretend it away. Feels like ripping his whole damn heart out and letting the world gawk. A lot scarier than three words should be. 

But it’s worth it for the way Steve looks up at him, jostling a little in his haste to lift his head. The shine in his eyes, surprise parting his lips, but elation overshadowing it by far. 

“I didn’t—Billy, you—I wasn’t sure if you’d say it, I—Billy,” he stammers, a disbelieving grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You do? Like. Really, for real?”

“Yeah, pretty boy.” He bites his lip, a smile inching its way across his face. “So fucking much.”

“Oh my god,” Steve blurts, laughing a little, and he dives forward to kiss Billy. Their teeth clack together. Again. But this time Billy chuckles wetly and doesn’t pull away.

The second try goes much smoother. 

And the third. 

Steve is sliding into his lap, tongue slipping past the seam of Billy’s lips, when Hopper yells from across the room, “Hey! Not in my bar!”

They spring apart. 

Billy forgot they weren’t alone, and judging from Steve’s deer-in-the-headlights stare, so did he. They both dissolve into slightly hysterical giggles.

“Are you two done working your shit out now, or…?” Robin sidles up while they’re wiping away the wetness from their faces, eyebrows raised at the both of them.

“I, uh,” Billy glances at Steve. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs makes his heart flip, and he grins. “Yeah. I guess so?”

“Can we work on Steve’s weird magic issue now, then,” she asks flatly, unimpressed.

Steve shakes his head. “Nah, I want Billy to take me home and fuck me.”

Billy chokes on his own spit, however the strangled noise that escapes him is drowned out by Robin’s horrified yelp. “Eeugh! Hargrove, take your damn boyfriend and get out of here, I’ll figure this out myself!” she cries, throwing her hands in the air and turning on her heel.

“Heh…” Steve chuckles softly, looking down at his hands. “Boyfriend.” He glances up at Billy. “Are we boyfriends now? I wanna be. And we’re in love, so. We should be.”

It’s going to take Billy a while to get used to that. All of it. 

He hooks an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulls him close, pressing a loud, smacking kiss to his forehead. “Makes sense to me, baby. Now,” he ducks his head, looking Steve in the eye, his own dancing with mirth, “You heard Robin, we gotta get outta here and see about gettin’ you everything you wanted from me.” 

Billy’s phone is ringing.

He groans, and reaches across Steve’s back to grab blindly for the offending device. Takes him a few tries, but he manages it without having to sit up. 

“Yeah?” he mumbles into the receiver, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes.

“It’s Robin. Is Steve still all truth-whammied?” 

“Uh,” Billy glances to his left. “No idea. He’s asleep.” 

“What about—you know what, actually, I don’t want to know what the last thing he said was. Nevermind.” Billy grins at the ceiling. If she’d asked he would’ve told her, but she’s right, she would have regretted it. “I just wanted you to know I figured it out.”

“...Congrats?” Billy scratches his stomach. Waits.

“Damn right. I’m a goddamn genius,” she somehow sounds both annoyed and smug. Which Billy respects, honestly. “He’s a pixie, Hargrove. Y’know all those legends about faeries not being able to lie?”

“Yeah, they’re all bullshit, aren’t they?”

“Yes, dingus, obviously, but they had to come from somewhere, right.”

“Would you cut to the chase, Buckley.” 

An irritated huff crackles through the phone. “Chimera blood. It makes pixies loopy if they roll around in it. I don’t know where he would’ve come into contact with it, but—”

“Uh.” Billy rubs his forehead. “I do.”

There’s a pause. “Explain,” she says icily. 

“Don’t be like that, it’s not like it hurt him.” Doesn’t stop Billy from feeling guilty anyways, but he doesn’t need this crap from her too. “I killed a chimera the other night. But I got all busted up, so I had to...visit Steve. And there was a lot of fluid exchange, so—”

“Gross, dude, alright, I get it.”

“Do you? You don’t want me to go on? Because I can—”

“No!”

“Are you sure? I could tell you exactly how much—aaand, she hung up.”

He puts his phone back, and jumps when Steve moves under him, his hand coming up to wrap around Billy’s waist.

“Robin called?” he slurs, still half-asleep.

Billy relaxes, letting himself drape across Steve’s chest in an inelegant sprawl. “Mhm.” 

“She figure it out?” He blinks a couple times, still squinting, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Yeah...about that. Uh. Chimera blood?”

Steve furrows his brow. And then Billy watches the realization dawn on his face. “Ohh. Oh. Okay.”

“It was my fault,” Billy grimaces, eyeing Steve carefully.

“Mm.”

His fingers trace aimless patterns in Billy’s skin, and his demeanour doesn’t change. 

“It wore off, didn’t it.”

“Think so, yeah.”

“Guess I gotta ask if you’re mad at me then.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot upward. “What? No.” He pushes a few stray curls back into place, eyes roaming Billy’s face. “Were you ever going to tell me you loved me?”

“I—” He stares, trying to read Steve’s weirdly mild expression and having very little luck finding anything useful. “Probably not?” he says eventually, hesitant. 

“Yeah, I probably wasn’t gonna either.” He smiles small, his eyebrows pinched. “But then I got all,” he wiggles his fingers at his own head, “And now here we are. And I’m happy to be here. So. I’m not mad.”

“Oh.” Billy blinks. “Yeah, that’s a fair point.”

Steve grins. “Just don’t poison me again, please.”

“No promises.”

“Asshole. I love you.”

“Just my asshole?”

“No, your mouth too.”

“...Dick.”

“Also that.”

Billy rolls his eyes, grinning ear-to-ear. “I love you too, weirdo,” he snickers.

His heart warms, basking in the sunshine of Steve’s responding smile as he leans in for a kiss.

[graffitibible]

how do killjoys treat raygun burns? i genuinely have no idea and i know you've already gone pretty in-depth with raygun wounds in general but i was curious about the treatment

cw: we’re gonna be talking about medical stuff and injuries in here. i’m not gonna include any graphic pictures and also i’m gonna warn anyone who wants to do further research that some of the images that’ll come up are gonna be pretty damn graphic. tread carefully!

SO i’m gonna be going off this ask here, and running with the assumption that raygun burns probably both bleed and burn. thats important since thats gonna affect how youd do treatment. it also means that raygun injuries are messy. most burn injuries in the real world can cauterize - theyre unique in that the site of injury is usually sterile at the time of injury. however, since the rayguns in this world are capable of making someone bleed (rather a lot too, if the comics are any indication), that means that these wounds can get pretty gnarly.

the important thing about how rayguns in danger days seem to work is that they are not pure laser bolts! if they were, they’d be able to pass through something and cauterize it pretty neatly, like a lightsaber. the raygun blasts have an obvious physical component - they can physically knock someone back, for example, and we see sparks shower when people are shot in the music videos. so rayguns in danger days have an apparent kinetic component to them: you are basically applying heat to the human body at high velocity. 

ONCE AGAIN, THIS GOT LONG. THE REST IS UNDER A CUT. mind the content warnings above!!

other than that, we’re not sure what specifically the makeup of the lasers like...are. electromagnetic radiation? plasma? heat? electricity? i doubt its pure electricity since that would be more consistently fatal, but it is some kind of bolt that has both heat and velocity on its side to be sure, but thats the extent of what we know.

now logically, this would actually cause the human body to like. explode. cause thats what happens when you apply that much heat to something made of mostly water. getting hit with a bolt of something that hot would cause all that water to boil off abruptly and then the steam would fucking parboil you. not a fun way to go though it is funny that the steam would be the thing that causes the most damage. so yeah actually a very gory kind of injury.

obviously thats not what happens in danger days, since no one to my knowledge Fucking Explodes when theyre hit with a laser bolt. but lasers from rayguns can make blood FOUNTAIN OUT OF A DUDE’S GUT in the comics so obviously they can do a hell of a lot of damage (the mvs are way less explicit but they also werent allowed to like, swear in the mvs and had to tone down some of the violence and shit so im taking the comics canon as the more “realistic” one wrt rayguns here) the science here is kinda...eh, cause laser bolts don’t appear to be a penetrating injury but rather a messy “burn and blister” kind of injury that are nonetheless capable of making someone eat it pretty quick.

but this is danger days and this is kinda where science goes to die so here is how i view laser injuries in the universe:

danger days laser bolts have a kinetic or explosive quality to them.

what this means is that the injury is twofold: first, the heat damages the external layer of skin. i’d hazard that we’re talking second-to-third degree burn levels of injury on immediate contact. second, the kinetic energy released at that velocity and force generates an explosive impact that does damage to surrounding tissue.

what’s left is an injury that both burns and bleeds. my take on it is that the bolt impact creates the open wound, while the heat intensifies that damage and disseminates it. you need a temp of maybe 300ºF and higher to cauterize a wound so lasers would have to burn at least a little bit lower than that since the injuries do consistently bleed. but since the human body is pretty sensitive to high temperatures that works out in our favor seeing as if you heat things too much, again, the risk is that we would Fucking Explode.

lots of burn injuries, especially third degree and higher, tend to bleed. since thats the closest thing i have to compare to a laser wound in danger days, thats going to be my basis here.

treating a raygun injury is likely to resemble burn treatment in a lot of ways

burn treatment stuff varies a lot and i will spare you guys from googling this and going “oh thank you google images thank you for showing me what a graphic third degree burn looks like i am so glad that i know this and that this is in my search history and keeps popping up in my search history im SO GLAD.” 

burn injuries go by degrees. first degree is like mild sunburn basically, and only affects the epidermis or external layer of skin. second degree affects the top and middle layers of skin and can leave blisters. third degree burns go all the way to the subcutaneous fat layer and can leave the skin white and charred. fourth degree burns can go through nerves and muscles and even down to the bone and can cause permanent damage that requires amputation. at fifth degree you have significant risk of organ injury and at sixth it’s basically like “fifth degree, but with the common side effect of Death.” 

again im not linking to anything here because pretty much every information article you get on this stuff is gonna have some nice graphic images. so if you look this stuff up on your own do it at your own risk or have an image/media blocker extension ready if that kinda thing squicks you out

the main takeaway is that any burn from like the third degree downward can be very brutal and hard to heal over - they can cause swelling and severe scarring and the destruction of the epidermis and hair follicles means that new hair won’t grow. add to that the idea of raygun blasts tearing open that external layer of skin that means that you can get burns that go in pretty deep which would go a long way to explain how it is a weapon that doesn’t appear to have a lot of “penetrating” energy is capable of killing someone relatively immediately, especially if theyve got that initial kinetic impact thats capable of tearing open the dermis and making the injury go deeper.

im going to tentatively say that raygun injuries are basically full-thickness burns with a few bells and whistles. basically, they destroy the epidermis and the layer of skin below it, the dermis. thats the level of third/fourth degree burns and worse, essentially.

so, serious burn treatment usually goes as follows:

clean! that! wound! it’s best to do this in a sterile environment, cause otherwise youre gonna end up blistering the injury and agitating it further. you wanna get all the dead tissue and gunk off the burn.

pain medication. with most burns the nerve endings can get pretty fried and you might not immediately experience any pain, but since raygun injuries go a little harder than your average burn, thats probably not the case. people definitely consistently react in pain after theyre shot with a raygun in the both the mvs and the comics. so yeah, its painful. pain medication is nice to mute that feeling.

antibiotics and/or tetanus shots to make sure that you don’t get an infection

intravenous fluids containing electrolytes as well as a diet high in protein and nutritional supplements

antibiotic ointments/creams for the injury

skin grafts to close the injury since a burn of that severity would have difficulty closing completely on its own. yikes.

continuous monitoring of the patient to prevent sepsis and eschar from fucking with the blood vessels and healing tissue.

obviously killjoys do not have the benefit of a fully stocked hospital. if youre in bat city youre probably gonna be in more luck. but if youre slumming it or if youre in the zones, heres what i imagine the killjoy diy procedure would likely be:

application of water over the wound. cool water is best, not ice-cold (alright alright alright alright alright etc)

cleaning the injury comes next to prevent infection. ideally you would use soap. do not scrub as youll agitate the wound

pain medication might be helpful here, but who knows if thats common out in the zones - and i imagine city-born killjoys might have some hang-ups with taking meds, so who fuckin knows there.

bandages, ideally clean ones, would help cover up the injury and keep it from the elements in time for it to heal. that will also cover up the skin while the bleeding heals up. keep the wound as closed from infection as possible.

check up on the injury consistently especially since the burn probably wasnt sterilized on impact the way most burns are. a messy injury like that one can go south very very quick.

realistically i doubt that skin grafts are readily available. its recommended that you stay out of the sun and avoid lots of exercise that might risk reopening the injury. and that...is going to be nigh impossible if youre a zonerunner lol. its likely that improper treatment can lead to infection and then death. it is also likely that too much agitation of the injury can lead to the wound reopening, infection, and then death.

if you get stuff like light grazes, where the bolts clip you but dont fully impact you, that means youre like to get some surface-level burns that cover a larger surface area. theyll heal quicker if you treat them right, but thats a larger area thats open to infection. burns that go deep into the skin have more immediate fatality risk. there could be variation here as well! maybe a laser gun with a lower or dying charge will do less damage. maybe some guns have fancy “stun” settings that don’t do permanent damage.

the human body is surprisingly resilient and can recover from a lot. but burns are no joke and a raygun blast can easily be fatal either immediately or a little bit after the fact. even if you survive the blast, there are likely to be a lot of repercussions to taking a serious hit, which im again basing on the noted consequences of major burn injuries

likely consequences of surviving a raygun hit in the zones:

scarring. especially without skin grafts, this ones gonna be a gimme, and likely permanent. serious burns can leave lots of color changes to the skin as well as keloid tissue (which is a raised, lumpy kind of scar tissue. you can google it if you want but as i warned before: images might be pretty grody). this would also prevent the growth of new hair in those areas. most hospitals try to excise this and replace it with skin grafts to speed healing but like i said thats not likely to be an obvious solution in the desert.

nerve damage. burns that go super deep can permanently remove the feeling from the affected part of the body. this is likely to be permanent. deep contact usually remains intact but stuff like subtle pressure changes can be outright impossible to sense. this can also cause contractures in the affected area.

weakness in the affected area. related to the above point, damage to muscle tissue and nerves can reduce range of motion, strength in that area, and more.

itching and pain at the site of injury. pretty self-explanatory. that one might get better as you go on depending on how good the medical treatment was at the time of injury.

inability to sweat. the destruction of sweat glands in affected areas are possible if the burn goes deep enough. in the desert this can be very bad news lol

psychological trauma. a given. any traumatic injury can have long-term psychological effects.

my main takeaway here is that killjoys who’ve been in lots of serious firefights are gonna have a sHITTON of scarring, some of it obvious. lots of killjoys looking pretty fucked up. lookin wiped out. my other takeaway is that surviving a raygun blast is pretty dependent on getting care for it as soon as possible, cause the infection/hemorrhage risk seems pretty high.

ofc this is just me analyzing this shit to hell and back and it’s probably nowhere near that scientifically DENSE im just detail-oriented as hell. so take or leave this answer, whichever you like lol. i like writing the nitty gritty details of injuries since i generally wanna emphasize how rough life in the zones can be so this is something im interested in exploring.

[waywardrose13]

Crimson Leaves- Chapter One: Croatoan

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Crimson Leaves- Zombie Apocalypse AU mini series

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The dead have risen. Amid a global pandemic that causes the dead to prowl the Earth, a leader of a small camp in North Carolina fights for survival. Y/N Y/L/N was certain of three things: One, only a bite would turn you. Two, the brain must be destroyed in order to completely kill the thing. Three, trust no one. When a stranger is brought to her camp half alive, Y/N must make the decision to throw him to the walkers, or let the mystery man heal within the gates. As Dean Winchester recovers from a zombie attack, he worms his way into the camp, and eventually into Y/N’s heart. Love is a dangerous game, especially when it’s played with the dead.

Warnings: Angst, language, zombie apocalypse, talk of sex, talk of injuries, zombie attack. Not enough editing to satisfy me. I need a beta lol

Word Count: 4,600 on the dot baby

A/N- Hey, look at that. My first AU series. I hope y’all enjoy! Also written for @spnaubingo​ (Square filled: Free Space) // @spndeanbingo​ (Square filled: Free space)

Tags are still open until next Wednesday before the second chapter is posted (5/27/20 by noon). Send me an ask for a tag:)

The camp was silent.

The sun had not yet risen, the sky still dark and full of stars overhead, everyone still asleep in their tents and cabins. Y/N knew people would be waking soon, the early birds up and ready to go around five thirty. The first of the days’ jobs would begin at six, and soon after, the whole camp would be up and going.

Which is why Y/N left at four.

Before the whole world went to shit and the dead began to rise, she was never a morning person. She loved the late night hours. There was something so calming about the night. Most people were asleep or falling asleep, yet she would be up under the moon. She would sleep late in the day and work well into the night.

That is, until the world went to shit, of course.

At the beginning, most people thought it was some sort of widespread hysteria. Videos began to surge around the internet of people, seemingly dead people, up and walking, half rotting and in decay. It wasn’t until more and more people began to turn did everyone realize it was real.

Once people began to turn, everything went to hell. The internet soon shut down since web servers and power plants were no longer being worked on. Some areas still had electricity through turbines and solar panels, however major cities had gone dark. Whole towns were abandoned, others ridden with the dead. Bottled water was a life source. Unless an area had well pumps. If you were in one place for a while and there was no risk of zoms, boiling water was also a way to get drinking water. But it was tedious to boil and then let it cool before having to move again.

There were three things Y/N was absolutely certain. One, a single bite could turn you. Scratches don’t matter, unless they get infected, because unless you have antibiotics, you’re dead. The only thing that will kill you and inevitably turn you is a bite. Or, if you somehow die after getting scratched, whether it be infection or a fucking bear attack, you’ll turn. 

Two, a shot to the head is the only way to absolutely kill it. Since they’re already dead, any sort of lethal wound or dismemberment won’t kill it. But for some bizarre reason, they still need their rotted brain. So unless you want to turn, a shot to the head will do it.

Finally, number three. Don’t trust anyone. If you were the type of person to not be so trusting before the apocolypse, congragu-fuckin-lations, you’re all set. No one is trustworthy out there. One minute you find a breather, thinking you’ll be working together to stay alive, the next minute they’re stabbing you in the back to steal your supplies. Literally.

It’s survival of the fittest. Risks are the only thing that could both keep you alive or kill you. Unfortunately, anything you do in the apocalypse is a risk. The only way to stay a breather is by sticking to yourself.

Y/N didn’t follow her own rules.

She had been alone for the first two years. She hopped from town to town, hunkering down in abandoned homes, barricading herself in for days. Once the town was ridden with walkers, she’d bounce to another, repeating the cycle over and over. She didn’t know exactly what happened to her family. Her family home was empty except for the few walkers on the property. She had hope that they were alive somewhere, but she knew that wasn’t likely. Still, she kept hope that they were still alive and kicking, maybe in a camp of their own. 

She had barely turned nineteen before the apocalypse. The college she had been attending was a couple hours from home. By the time she made it there, her family was already gone.

Now at twenty-three, Y/N found herself hardened and impermeable. 

She had met a small group of breathers in an empty town down somewhere in North Carolina. They invited her back to their camp. Y/N didn’t trust them of course, but she was starving and on the brink of death. They gave her food, a proper bed, even a damn cold shower. She came to realize the camp was a good one, the people kind and giving, the leaders looking out for their own. So she stayed.

She had quickly become a fond face in the camp. She worked for her spot there, becoming a runner. The runners were the ones who went out for supplies each day. The camp itself was from an old sports sleep-away camp for highschoolers. There weren’t enough cabins for everyone, so the leaders, runners, elders, and families with small children inhabited them. One was only for medical, a makeshift clinic run by an ex veterinarian. The kitchens were in another building near the locker rooms, and the farms were out in the fields. Y/N had been given the rundown after she was taken to the camp. Fences were built by the founders of the camp, traps set all around the perimeter to catch walkers. There was 24 hour surveillance, armed guards standing at posts in the trees all throughout the day, taking shifts.

When Y/N had first arrived, there were only eight people in the camp, including an old acquaintance of hers from college. However, she worked to recruit people, along with the other runners, and after a year of her living at the camp, the number grew to nearly one hundred. She had shown strong leadership skills on the runs, being promoted quickly by the founders to runner one, head of runners. 

The founders had gone out in search of more camps with a few of the other runners one day, and never returned. After a few days, one of the founders was seen out in the woods, an arm missing and intestines pouring from his abdomen.

A unanimous vote was taken and Y/N was elected leader of the entire camp. 

And here she was, sneaking out of the camp at four in the morning in order to go on a supply run. She was no longer runner one, or a runner for that matter, but she still went out in search for supplies. People would give her lists of what they were in dire need of, and she would find it. As leader of the camp, she felt as though it was her duty to still go out and do what needed to be done. Runners would get things that would benefit the camp as a whole, but there were people who needed specific things. A family was nearly out of baby formula. A woman needed a pregnancy test. One man was nearly dead from asthmatic fits. 

Y/N followed the marked trail into town. Small flowers had been plucked from the forest and planted in a way that runners would know where to go. Walkers weren’t common around the camp. Traps kept most of them away and the camp itself was deep in Pisgah National Forest. The city of Brevard was located at the entrance of the forest. It took about ten miles to get there, nearly four hours on foot with the mountainous terrain. However, hidden within the confines of the trees two miles from camp was a Jeep. Runners used the Jeep to get to town quicker, keeping it far enough from camp that if there were any walkers that followed the sound, they’d be caught by the traps set before they could even make it to the Jeep itself.

Although the camp was protected, the occasional walker would still be spotted. The fences kept them out of the grounds, but the rotting hominids would frighten the residents. Guns were only fired in dire situations for two reasons; amount of ammunition and the sound. Guards were armed with both guns and bows. Crossbows were the most resourceful, but harder to find. Longbows were higher in availability. A few compound bows were scored during a couple runs as well. Archery was a needed skill for both guards and runners. There would be the occasional runner who was bitten or an elder who passed simply of old age. Sometimes infection. But it was a rarity in the camp for anyone to pass on. Most people were younger, under the age of fifty, and the elders were all in great shape physically and internally. 

Again, survival of the fittest. Natural selection had taken its course early on.

Once Y/N made it into the Jeep, she fit her arm through the bow and ducked her head through it, allowing it to go cross-body. A pistol sat on her lap and her rifle was slung over her shoulder onto her back. She started the Jeep, wincing as it roared to life, and took off towards town.

It didn’t take her long to get there, and she quickly put the Jeep in park beside the department store she and the runners frequented. The store was picked clean for the most part. Food had been taken immediately, along with toilet paper, paper towels, and basic hygienic necessities. The shelves barely had anything, however the storage in the back of the store was plentiful. Seemed as though even during the apocalypse, people hadn’t thought to go back there. Maybe it was their subconsious morals, or simply were too dumb to think of it. Y/N’s morals had drastically changed during the time of the walkers, and she had a whole camp to think about.

She wondered what the camp would do once the back storage was picked clean as well. She didn’t want to think of that, knowing she’d have to venture further into the city. The first half was relatively empty, the other half, not so much. The retirees and blokes that were unfortunate enough to fail to get out of town continued to inhabit that part of the city. The camp had already lost three runners in their expedition to the “dark side.” She didn’t want to lose anyone else.

She unzipped her backpack and began her search of items. She grabbed a few pregnancy tests, four boxes of formula, and other basic necessities she knew people were starting to run low on. Her bag wasn’t too big, but she was able to fit a good amount of toiletries and the items on her requested list before she made her way to the pharmacy.

Like the rest of the store, the pharmacy had been ransacked. Cold and cough medicines, pain medicines, and anything of the sort was nowhere to be found anymore. However, a couple Albuterol inhalers were found within the mess of pill bottles and medication boxes. Y/N also grabbed a thing of eczema cream she had found. She knew a child in section one began to break out in a bad rash, and a rash of her own had begun to creep up on the backs of Y/N’s knees and the dips of her elbows.

Once her bag was packed to the brim, she zipped it up carefully.

Something crashed somewhere in the store.

Y/N jumped, immediately slinging her bag onto her back and unbuckling the buckle of her gun sash, holding it out in front of her. Her bow was hidden in the seat of the Jeep, and a gun would be easier to use in a store anyway. Walkers were never found inside, nor were people. No one ever came down this way and the doors were barricaded so only people could figure out how to get in.

She heard more clattering in the distance. Y/N slowly began to make her way towards the exit, ears and eyes on alert. She had her knees bent in case she needed to run, gun ready to be cocked and fired. Once she made it to the front of the store, she noticed one of the barricades had been pulled apart but not put back together. Not a runner from camp, however Y/N didn’t think a walker would be smart enough to pull apart a barricade.

She didn’t want to stick around to find out. She needed to get back to camp and begin the days’ duties and scheduling.

Slipping out the door, she rushed to the Jeep, starting it up quickly and peeling out of town and into the forest. She followed the road, turning off it once she reached the two miles till camp mark. She parked and turned off the Jeep a little ways off the main road, reapplying the branches and leaves over the Jeep, before heading deeper into the forest, following the flower marked path.

The gates were opened for her once she got to camp, closed and latched once inside, and she let out a deep breath.

Safe and sound.

By the time she had finished dropping off the requested items and toiletries, it was around seven. Residents of the camp began to wake as the sun rose. The first runners were suiting up and laying out their game plan. Y/N was getting ready for the daily meeting in the compound’s “control center.”

“How’d the run go today, Lord Commander?”

Y/N let out a sigh. She turned around from the map she was currently marking, narrowing her eyes at the man who had just walked in.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

Luke grinned. “And I thought I told you that it was your own fault for giving me the books in the first place. Now you gotta deal with it.” He reached over to ruffle her hair, eliciting a groan from the woman he was teasing. “Besides, you love it. You just act like you don’t.”

A smile hinted on Y/N’s face. “Okay, yeah I do.”

Luke laughed, taking his seat at the table. “Where’s the rest of the watch?”

Y/N checked the clock hung up on the wall. It was dusty and cracked, but worked just fine with fresh batteries. Batteries weren’t easy to come by, but she had stacks of them in the cabinets within the command center.

“They should start arriving soon. If not, fuck ‘em. We’ll start the meeting without them.”

Luke shrugged, reaching into his jeans pocket for a cigarette. He lit it, took a long drag, and blew the smoke over the map. He held it out to Y/N, who shook her head in decline.

“Mornin’ campers!”

“Hey, Steve.”

A tall man with a long red beard and curly strawberry hair ducked into the cabin. A wide grin was on his face, long arms outstretched. “How are we this fine morning?”

Luke let out another puff of smoke. “Tired and horny.”

Y/N’s face screwed up. “Oh, Luke- come on.”

Steve chuckled. “I heard ya, brother.” 

“What, you and Lana haven’t done anything for awhile?” Luke asked.

“Ran outta condoms,” Steve said. “Medical said that condoms are first come first serve. They’re clean out of them. So uh, Y/N, might wanna talk to your runners about that.”

“They do the best they can,” she said, marking a few things on the map. “Just do it yourself and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple,” Luke said. “Now I know you don’t get it since you’re the Virgin Mary-”

“Hey!”

“-But sex is different than just whackin’ off,” Luke said. He held his hands up as a, ‘what can I say’ gesture. “Humans are sexual beings. I don’t know how you have gone so long without getting any.”

“I was nineteen when all this shit started and I had never had a boyfriend, and I don’t exactly have time to find a partner now.”

“Uh, hello?” Luke said. He gestured to himself, raising a brow. “Willing participant right here.”

Y/N made a face. “No thank you.”

Luke frowned. “Oh why not? I’m great at sex!”

“No he’s not.”

A new voice chimed in. A pale head of hair ducked into the cabin. Taller than the majority of the men in camp, Alice grinned down at Y/N, giving her a pat on the shoulder as she took a seat at the table beside Luke. He gave her a hurt look.

“I mean, he’s not bad,” Alice said. “But he’s not as good as he says he is.”

“Wow,” Luke said. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Alice shrugged. “I wasn’t. I hadn’t gotten any dick in months. You’re good, just not great.”

Luke smirked. “Wanna help me get better?”

Alice raised a brow. “Seriously? You just asked Y/N to bang, now you’re asking me?”

“Smooth, dude,” Steve said, finally taking his seat.

Luke went bright pink, looking at both women sheepishly. “I mean… yeah?”

Alice took a deep breath, staring at him for a moment. “Alright, fine.”

He perked up. “Wait really?”

“Yeah, why not,” she said. She gave Y/N a look, the leader chuckling behind her hand. Steve gave Luke a fist bump, Alice rolling her eyes.

“Where’s Mikela and Richard?” Luke suddenly asked. Mikela, who was now runner one, and Richard, head of medical facilities, were missing from the meeting. Y/N checked the clock again, furrowing her brow.

“I don’t know,” she said. “They’re never late.”

Alice pulled her curls back into a bun. “Maybe someone from the run this morning had an accident?”

Y/N shook her head. “They’re supposed to report to me immediately after getting medical,” she said. “The first runners should’ve returned half an hour ago.”

That’s when the horn blew.

One blow means a runner (or runners) approaching. Two blows means stray breather. And three blows means a walker.

There was one blow, and two blows thirty seconds later. Which meant both runner and breather.

The group within the cabin jogged out to the front gates, wondering what the hell was going on. Not only were the runners extremely late, but they had a newcomer with them. Newcomers were to be inspected of bites and interrogated outside the gates. Mikela was runner one, she knew this, yet she disregarded the rules anyway.

“This better be good,” Alice muttered.

As the group approached the gate, they noticed Mikela, runner three and runner six, Matthew and Gary, carrying in a man half unconscious.

“We could use some help over here!” Mikela barked. Alice and Steve immediately ran over to help the others, Luke staying back with Y/N. 

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked.

“Found a breather outside the warehouse on our run,” Matthew said. “Zoms surrounded ‘im. He was barely fightin’ ‘em off by the time we got to ‘im.” His voice was shaky, his southern accent more prominent when he was anxious. “We loaded ‘im into the Jeep and brought ‘im back here.”

“He’s got a serious gash on his torso,” Mikela said. “If we don’t get it sewn up, he’ll die, and he’ll just be another addition to their fuckin’ army of the dead.”

Y/N let out a deep breath, brows slightly furrowed in thought. “Get Richard to inspect him. Don’t do anything until he does.” She looked pointedly at Richard. “I mean it, Rich. Make sure he’s not bitten.”

“Whada we do if he’s bit?” Matthew asked.

Y/N’s eyes flashed to the Georgian. “Shoot him.”

“Boss-”

“I said shoot him,” Y/N interrupted Gary. “It’s like Mikela said. If he’s bit, he’ll just turn into one of them. So if he’s infected, take him out to the woods and put a bullet in his head.”

Gary swallowed thickly, a solemn silence washing over the group. The ones with the mystery man quickly shuffled to the medic cabin. 

“The rest of you.” Y/N addressed the other runners and guards. A couple of the farmers and cooks watched on. “You know your duties. Get to work.”

Murmurs were heard throughout the small crowd, people scattering to do their daily duties. Luke looked up at Y/N.

“I’ve known you for a long time, Y/N,” he said. “I know that the world has changed you- changed everyone… but you were always so gentle.”

Y/N looked at the ground for a moment, before squinting her eyes up at the sky. “Yeah well. If you wanna survive-” she looked over her shoulder at her comrade “-you’d be more lethal too.”

Without another word, Y/N turned away, trekking back towards the command cabin, wondering just how much she had lost herself.

***

By midday, the sun was hot and blaring. Y/N stood out on the porch of her cabin, arms crossed, leaning against the railing of the steps. She watched as children laughed and played. She watched the farmers tend to the gardens down in the fields. Her eyes wandered up to the guards standing on duty up in the towers. The parents of the children sat outside their cabins, reading, knitting, or simply enjoying the sun. Singles either relaxed in the cool of their tents or tended to their duties for the camp.

It was peaceful. It was the only place she knew was completely safe from zoms, where for a second, she wasn’t Y/N the leader, or runner, or fierce warrior. She was simply Y/N.

“Hey boss.”

Y/N inwardly sighed at the break of peace. It was Matthew, a somber look on his face. 

“What is it?” Y/N asked. The unfolded her arms, stepping down the stairs onto the ground.

“The breather we found- he’s waking up. Bite free,” he told her. “Figured you’d wanna talk to ‘im.”

Y/N gave Matthew a nod, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, lead the way.”

Matthew led Y/N through the camp. People waved and said hello to them both as they passed. It was hot. The days were typically mild during this time of year, however the air had turned a fierce eighty-nine degrees. Save for the fields, the camp was covered in trees, however the mugginess below the leaves still left beads of sweat on Y/N’s brow and covered her skin in a sheer layer of moisture.

Matthew jogged up the steps to the medic cabin, Y/N following suit, ducking inside as he held open the door for her. At the sound of footsteps, the inhabitants of the cabin, save for the man lying on the cot, stood as their leader entered.

“Lord Commander,” Luke murmured. The man on the cot quirked a brow, staring at the woman who had just walked in.

Y/N turned to Richard, the medic taking off a pair of latex gloves.

“Matthew said he was clean,” she stated.

“No bites as far as I can tell,” Richard said. “Dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, and a deep laceration on his abdomen. If the runners hadn’t gotten him here when they did, he’d be dead.”

“He’s stable? I don’t want him turning in the camp, Rich,” Y/N said. Her voice was low and authoritative. The man on the cot continued to gaze at her.

“He’s stable,” Richard confirmed. “He’ll have to be here for a few days for observation. After that, we can move him to the wing. A week later, he could have a tent.”

Y/N hummed, glancing over at the man. Her breath hitched in her throat as she did. 

He was incredibly handsome, one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Green eyes locked with hers, freckles dusting over tanned skin. A beard covered the man’s face, brown with almost a ginger tint to it. His hair was light brown, slightly spiked from sleep. His lips were full and pink, a hint of a smirk gracing them as he noticed her stare.

Snapping herself out of it before anyone else noticed her staring, Y/N gripped the back of a chair, swinging it around to face her, sitting in it with her arms up on the back, facing the newcomer.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Dean,” the man answered.

“What’s your full name?” Y/N asked.

“Dean Winchester.”

“You got a camp?”

“Nope. I’m a lone ranger.”

Y/N hummed. “What were you doing out by the warehouse.”

“Scouting,” Dean replied. “Needed some more ammo. Was running low on fresh water and batteries.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Zoms typically aren’t found in that part of town. Did you do something to attract them?”

“May have set off a car alarm trying to hotwire it,” Dean said.

“Moron.” Y/N heard Luke mutter under his breath. She shot him a glare.

“So what, you got what you needed and got jumped on your way out?”

“Yep,” Dean said. “Didn’t notice them at first. Then I was surrounded. Tried shooting at them, but there were too many. By the time your friends got there, I thought I was dead.”

Y/N thought for a moment. “You got a criminal record?”

Dean scoffed. “Few charges but nothing major.”

“Like what?” Gary asked.

Dean shrugged. “Couple of fights in my early twenties. I had a brother who I was very protective over. Got charged but never convicted. So technically yes,” he said. “Like I said, nothing major.”

“Got any other family?”

“Besides my brother, no.” Dean answered. “Don’t know where he is. He could be dead for all I know. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three,” Dean said. “How old are you?” He sent Y/N a wink.

“I’ll be asking the questions,” Y/N told him. “If we were to let you stay, would your strengths be better as a runner or a guard?”

Dean thought for a moment. “A guard.”

She sighed. “Look, we’ve got kids and families here. You get violent? You’re out. But we need the extra help. You seem strong. You fought off a pack of zoms and survived. You could be a valuable asset.”

Dean thought for a moment. “Has it occurred to you there may be a reason as to why I was a lone ranger?”

Y/N hummed, standing from her seat. She folded her arms over her chest.

“Far as I can tell, you didn’t fare too well at the end of your solo ride. Way I see it, you need security and you need a team,” she said. “You don’t wanna stay? Fine. As soon as you’re up and running, you can waltz your ass out of camp.”

She took a step toward him. “But if not, I’m Y/N. I’m the leader of the camp. You have any business, take it up with me or Luke, my second in command.” She nodded her head towards the freckled blond behind her. “Once you’re better, you’ll become a guard. You’ll have your own tent and designated locker in the men’s locker rooms near the farm. The locker rooms also have toilet stalls and showers, both with running water. You will get three meals a day and a shower everyday after your shift. If you have any sort of medical conditions, you’ll bring it up with Richard here. He’s in charge of all medications. If anything were to happen to you to impair your health or disable you while you’re on duty, you’ll be relieved of your duties and allowed to live the rest of your days within the camp. However, all incidents will be investigated. If we find you have self sabotaged, you’re out of here, got it?”

Dean gave her a nod. “You got it, Chief. Seems I’ll be sticking around then.”

Y/N smiled at him. “Great. Welcome to Camp Roanoake Dean.”

Chapter Two

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[madhyanas]

I pronounce it as Yin hhahahah but also um 👉🏼👈🏼 are u going to share your poly fic with the class

i feel inordinately validated w getting an anon ask (also sorry this took so long wow i’m a hoe)

alright see anon i have a love for poly reader fics there’s a whole oberyn x reader x ellaria thing i want to talk about too asjdhgfsjhdgf 

@pettyprocrastination and @concussed-to-pieces really beat the shit out of me with their writing. in a really good way like i adore their poly content. also @wickedlyemma is simultaneously the best and the worst because her tua fics are what got me in this hellhole to begin with mwah

but the one i mentioned on the post you’re talkin about is a diego x fem!reader x lila fic for the umbrella academy. man it lives in my mind rent FREE. holy fuck. ok listen right just humour me for a sec.

this is about 1k lmao it really got away from me

not really what you’d call Good Writing but it’s a blurb that’s vaguely coherent please enjoy

(spoilers for s2)

s2 is where the gang finally find out they’re not the only ones w abilities, right? like they don’t know about the whole ‘43′ but they have an inkling. so: an au where lila STAYS, and after all that shit w the commission, the family gets back to the present and the next hyperfixation is to try and find these other super-powered people. (none of that sparrow academy shit alright - ben’s still hangin around - let me have my self-indulgent au where these kids catch a fuckin break)

———

It’s been a few months. The family takes in Lila as one of their own, but it’s stilted. Like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong space, made to mesh and fit in an image it doesn’t belong to. Everyone’s got their own shit to deal with after the time jump and very little time to make the effort to trust her. Five doesn’t even bother, and Luther’s inclined to agree with him. But that’s okay. They’re like her, in that they’re not normal. They’re all so laughably not normal. It’s so funny she cries. 

But she has Diego. Which is all Lila really cares about at the end of the day. They’re working through things. Things she put him through. Things he needs to let go. Things they need to talk about. Little by little, they make it work. No more secrets, not with each other. They love each other too much for all that pain, all over again.

But that’s family politics and emotional healing aight back to the romance. Listen ok maybe Five does his freaky investigation shit, maybe he digs up whatever records he can find of unnatural births on October 1st, 1989. Maybe he finds one of these unnatural kids and tracks em down to a flower store downtown - closer than any of them could’ve imagined, practically in the Hargreeves’ backyard. The owner is kind, pleasant. Boring, in Five’s words. You don’t seem anything out of the ordinary.

But even with a modest little greenhouse out back, you’re still in the middle of the city. With smoke, fumes, pollution. How are the leaves that healthy? How are the flowers that vibrant? How is it, that in your shop, no plant ever really seems to die? The flourishing life your shop fosters is beautiful, but uncanny. 

And yeah, sick of being treated like a knife in the back waiting to happen, maybe Lila volunteers for recon. To get away for a while. Some part of her is desperate for a mark, itching to get back to what she’s good at. Especially since the last one went... awry. 

Since they won’t trust her to go it solo, Diego gets dragged along as a handler supervisor. Perhaps because he’s the only one they think she won’t harm. Idiots. She’d never, not her boy. Not after the Kennedy clusterfuck. So Diego goes along, and to her surprise he’s actually looking forward to it. He knows the urge to stick to a lead like your life depends on it. He’s been that person before. God, he still is.

A honeymoon, she croons in his ear, and he snorts. His hand sliding into hers brings a grin to her lips and a warmth to her cheeks.

Out of all of them, Lila’s the least recognisable. She’s learnt how to blend in, how to appear innocuous. How not to appear at all. So she slides into the florist’s with ease, just another customer. And maybe the little gardener is cute. You smile at Lila like she couldn’t do anything wrong. You see her as a person, rather than a ticking time bomb. Your face falls meekly as Lila tells you she’s buying flowers for her boyfriend. You look so pretty when you’re flustered, scarcely breathing as Lila traces the smear of soil on your cheek, tucks that errant lock behind your ear. Oh, if only you knew.

Debriefing takes longer and longer as the days go on. Lila tells Diego with giddy excitement how you hum while watering the succulents, smile at the blooming buds like you’re proud of them. How you listen to Lila like she’s the only thing that matters and how your laugh sounds like the first break of spring. And Diego might take some convincing, but he can’t help but feel somewhat enamoured with the gardener. The idea of you, at least.

Falling for your mark. It’s so cliché.

Even so, Lila gets to know you. So does Diego, living vicariously through surreptitious surveillance and Lila’s own love-struck recounts. 

Maybe they break protocol a little. Lila takes you out for coffee, learns your order. Learns that the care you attend to your plants with is applied to just about everything in your life. Including her. Maybe Diego begins to join you, discovering that all the hiding and sneaking around was pointless because the name ‘Diego’ doesn’t mean anything sinister to you. ‘Hargreeves’, though, they don’t mention. Not right now. You’re kind, not stupid, and if you do have the abilities they suspect, then any mention of the mythic family will send you running for the hills.

While Lila’s in the bathroom, Diego throws a light jab. Just to test the waters. Maybe you counter with something quick and cutting, raising a brow. And oh, how his heart flutters once he finds out you have thorns. Diego falls quicker than he realises, your sweet half-smile taking hold of his heart just like Lila’s sharp grin did, way back in ‘63. He decides, then and there, that Five doesn’t need to know about this. None of the others do.

Maybe they break protocol a lot, and show up at the flower shop one day, asking you to sit down. No more secrets, they remember. Not between them, and now, not with you. They tell you a story of cruel parents, superpowers and lonely children. Of death and rage and destruction. Of the apocalypse, which never happened yet apparently did, and how you died, a speck amongst billions. Of falling down a rabbit hole to the 60′s, and falling all the way back again. They tell you who they are, who they think you are, and why they showed up in the first place.

Five definitely doesn’t need to know about this.

It’s... a lot. You need time to process, and they understand. They don’t like it, but Diego’s not Sir Reginald and Lila’s not the Handler. So they leave you be, thinking that’s that. Their florist, yet another mistake made by The Umbrella Academy, left in the dust. You feel confused and betrayed and heartbroken for a long while. Radio silence.

Until things get better. 

You show up at their apartment one evening, weeks later, holding a potted un-sprouted bulb, panting at the doorstep like you ran all the way there. They let you in without a word. You set the flowerpot on the table and god, you talk more than they’ve ever heard from you in one sitting. It’s rambling, not all that eloquent. But they understand what you’re saying, eyes softening at your misguided panic.

And then — shyly, as if they could ever deny you anything — you ask if they want to see. (It takes Diego’s elbow in her side to get Lila’s mind out of the gutter.) You dip your fingers into the soil, frowning gently in concentration. There’s a familiar pins-and-needles sensation in your fingertips, flowing through your nerves and into the moist earth. Absently, you worry if it’ll even work. These two have a tendency to throw you off guard.

But lo and behold, the dormant bulb unfurls before their eyes in a matter of seconds, springing forth a fresh green shoot, and a moment later, a starburst of golden petals. 

A daffodil, bobbing lightly on their coffee table.

———

ugh yeah lmao this got long but that’s the fic idea, anon. thanks for askin :)

and NO the super-powered kids aren’t related - in my mind the hargreeves’ were adopted/raised together and are therefore siblings and THAT’S why they shouldn’t date each other - but diego, lila and reader have no familial connection. at all. i’m not here for any pseudo-incest shit in this fic pls and thank u.

aha look at me writing blurbs for tua fics when i have a wholeass! paz fic! published! and u n f i n i s h e d ! alsdhfgalshdfg now i want to do more someone come scream at me about ezra and oberyn and ellaria and paz and boba and din and any other character under the sun

listen y’all i have a lot of IDEAS for various fics and i also have Zero self control - please ask me about them!!!! fuck it man ask me about anything odds are i’ll fuckin write it!!!!!! i am a desperate hoe!!!! i have no self-respect!!!!

[smuttymess]

bts astro soulmate reading | for anon

sign: libra sun | aries moon | libra rising

lover: Min Yoongi | soulmate: Jung Hoseok

This reading is for my cute anon moot. Honestly this one was tough because your chart is quite unique, but I am really happy with how it turned out - I fuckin snapped on this one. I hope you enjoy & it feeds your inner delulu ;)

A sun in Libra means that your soul craves balance, harmony and peace in your life and your relationships. Due to your caring, optimistic, and encouraging nature you happily boast a large circle of friends and acquaintances who adore you. Generally, you are known as a king person who people can rely on for a vent sesh or some good advice in a pinch. Upholding your integrity and high position in these interpersonal relationships is one of your highest priorities, as you want to maintain the persona you’ve established at all costs. Above all, you want to be respected and loved by those who you are close to and even sometimes those you are not, fearing unsteadiness and turbulence in terms of your image. If your sun sign represents what you want, you moon sign represents what you need. And you, Aries moon, needs fire, excitement, stimulation, and adventure. Your Aries nature is at odds with kind, harmonious Libra, wanting to disrupt, rebel and shake things up. This creates quite an interesting contradiction within your truest self, which desires both balance, security and stability but also independence and unpredictability - a dilemma that you may struggle to find peace with throughout your life.

Charming, attractive and strong, it is likely that you have your share of admirers. You can’t help it (you flirt as easily as you breathe!) plus your slightly mischievous demeanor only makes you more alluring to those you meet. This works out for you nicely, as given your Libra nature you love nothing more than to be adored romantically. One of the most passionate signs in the zodiac, it’s not unlike you to be involved in many romantic relationships, falling in love easily and unabashedly with a variety of people who come into your life. While one day you may envision an a home and a more stable life (your Libra heart at work) that thought can feel somewhat foreign when there are just so many people, places and things to explore.

Your adventurous spirit and joie de vivre makes you the life of the party, the one people call for a good conversation or a night of debauchery. It is not uncommon for your friends to entrust you with scoping out the next opportunity to get into a little trouble, knowing you will find the best option. While your Libra is happy to have a wild night out, your Aries moon usually wants to up the ante - why go to a regular old bar when you could go to a secret, underground lounge that boasts go-go dancers and fire eaters. It is at one of these events, a lavish multi-course dinner at a downtown music venue to kick off a long, eventful night, that your attention is drawn to the stage for the night's entertainment. From the minute you lay your eyes on the performer on stage, his hands gripping the microphone as his piano accompaniment dances through the air, you are fully entranced by the artist. Your Aries moon makes you much more decisive than others who share your sign, and you decide quite quickly that this boy with the black hair and broody mannerisms is what you need. Soon after leaving the stage, you make a flimsy excuse to get his attention, sauntering up to him and immediately making yourself known - his dark, slightly glossy eyes penetrating every inch of you as he introduces himself as Min Yoongi. There is a strong physical attraction here, and when he asks what you're up to after the show, you have no choice but to invite him along to the next spot.

In the hours, days and weeks that follow in getting to know Yoongi, you learn more about the beautiful soul that lies beneath the very strong, masculine persona that owns the stage. As air and water signs, you two connect quickly - fucking after a couple rounds of whiskey back at his place - after which you spend hours tapping into the mind of the soft and creative Min PD. Yoongi is a true Pisces, his caring, romantic and sentimental nature clear very early as he sits back and enjoys simply basking in your company, letting you open up and taking you in as your eyes light up, energetically moving from thought to thought (as you are ought to do). His dreamy, patient and sensitive quality is heightened by his Neptune in Capricorn, providing a softness that makes you fall hard and fast. He is drawn to your demonstrated strength, his more reserved, thinking Virgo Moon latching on to your confident, optimistic Libra Aries duality.  He possess a graceful, calm quality from his Libra Jupiter that you deeply admire, as it is something you seek within yourself. You are both generous, peace-loving people, finding comfort in each other's propensity for pleasing each other. This extends into your sex life as well, which is equal parts passionate and intense.

You and Yoongi are both wired for pleasure and togetherness, and as a duo you are able to satisfy both of these desires, devoting countless hours to daydreaming, cuddling and fucking in his studio or at home. You two enjoy switching up power-play dynamics, you straddling him and pinning his hands to the bed while gently marking his neck to release moans from his lips before he uses his strength to flip you over and return the favor. Your sexual compatibility is not to be understated, the passion both of you possess being some of the most powerful in the zodiac.The concept of time ceases to exist when you find yourself intertwined with Yoongi, his hardness pressed into your center as he grinds against you, his lips expertly tracing your ear, and neck before moving to your breasts to tease your nipples until you're practically falling apart. For however soft and gentle Yoongi is, there is nothing that turns him into an animal quicker than hearing you beg underneath him as his fingers trace lower, slipping in between your thighs and onto your clit. He craves this level of intimacy with you, the moment you melt and truly become his. Say my name baby, I want to hear you.

It is only after months of amazing sex and pillow talk with this dreamy duo that he differences between you become very stark. Yoongi is a diehard romantic at the core, often making decisions in love that are more emotion-based - the main reason why he keeps his Pisces Sun and Mercury quite guarded. You, on the other hand, tend to be wary of commitment and tend to keep things casual and light, your Aries moon wanting freedom and autonomy. This scares Yoongi, who is quite willing to be loyal to the right person and wonders if he can really be enough for your highly sociable and outgoing Libra spirit. This is heightened by your strong need to be around people, receiving stimulation from the outside world, fueling his increased neediness (his Venus in Aries) that eventually transforms into resentment as he cannot see a future wherein you are ready to give it all up just for him. Ultimately, this relationship unable to move past a very intense friends-with-benefits scenario given your places in life, and you both need ample space to heal your wounds after going your separate ways - though you are not alone for long.

A double Libra, the way you present yourself - poised, polished, and elegant - and how you want to be perceived are very much in sync. You exude luxury, and and while your fashions may not be the loudest or most expensive in the room, you know how to make an impression even in a room filled with trendy, designer-clad fashion types. On a particular night out at a gallery opening, dressed in one of your newest thrifted and expertly styled pieces, you find yourself approached by a handsome stranger. Great find. Where did you get that that? Turning around, you are surprised by man who the voice belongs to - a tall, slender gentlemen dressed head to toe in contrasting prints: an asymmetrical color-blocked striped sweater and denim cutoffs paired with orange slides and a green beanie. His look is unusual, something that just anyone could pull off, but it striking nature of his posture and his face that truly has you staring. His hair parted to the side, you're able to take in the full visual of the man: his piercing dark brown eyes, sharp nose and defined jawline. After some light conversation, he offers to grab a drink sometime, which is less of a request than a demand as before you know it he hands you his card, the length of his fingers brushing yours and sending chills up your spine. He flashes you a devilish smirk before exiting the exhibit almost as swiftly as he arrived, prompting you to exhale as you begin to feel the ground beneath you once more.

In the early stages of dating, you two are both delightfully hard to get, the ego of his Aquarius Sun exhilarated by the chase and you turned on by the charming elusiveness of his personality - classic Air sign energy at play. Initially, see each other as enigmas, as things to be explored and conquered. You soon realize that his emotional detachment is merely a facade, a way to protect his fierce independence and ensure he does not get hurt again - something you can relate to quite well. Aquarius Hobi is highly perceptive, quickly able to put a finger on the pulse of who you are and what you want, seeing past your gentle, calm persona and tapping into that very restless, energized and mischievous Aries that beneath the surface of your do-gooder Libra. Initially, what starts as a more physical relationship and attraction to each other's complexity blooms into something much deeper and more profound as you get to learn each others shared insecurities and powerful internal worlds that are constantly thinking and reaching for new challenges. While you typically want to be fawned over and doted on, you enjoy diving beneath his into his independent, strong-willed and no-nonsense exterior (hello director Hobi) and accessing his softer sides - something very few people can do - through intellectual communication and shared experiences in your various social groups. Though slow to commit emotionally, once you are able to tap into his Venus in Pisces, you get to unearth the beauty of his dreamy, playful, sweet and adoring persona, which is in endless supply once he feels that he can trust his heart with your compassionate Libra soul.

By the time you find yourself naked in Hoseok's room for the first time, you are keenly aware that your physical relationship together is a space wherein you will surrender in ways you haven't been able to with anyone else. You in your Libra/Aries combo you possess both masculine and feminine features and an ability to both disarm and enchant but also dominate, but in bed it is Hoseok who more often than not holds the keys to your pleasure. His Aquarius ways makes him one of the least conventional and spontaneous partners in the zodiac, and this paired with his intense and impulsive Jupiter in Scorpio makes him an extremely passionate and engaging lover. He instinctively knows where to touch you to send you over the edge, having an awareness of your body that is almost unnerving - his ego loves knowing he has that control and you enjoy his slight posessiveness, enjoying role play during your regular nights out on the town. There are few things sexier to you than watching his eyes peering over his glass from across a room as he watches you so casually flirt with strangers, his gaze moving from your lips down over the curves accentuated by your outfit fo choice, knowing full well that the same outfit will be ruined within seconds of getting home. Your Aries moon is exhilarated when paired with the inventive Aquarius, who does not even think about fucking you until you've achieved your third consecutive orgasm by his fingers and tongue in the backseat of the car on your way home, you legs draped over his shoulders as he purrs into your folds. It isn't until after he feels satisfied that he unbuckles his pants and thrusts into you vigoursly, hitting your walls as his low voice coos into your ear. Are you thinking about him, baby? You know damn well only I can fuck you like this. Now be a good girl and tell me who you belong to - don't be shy now.

You and Hoseok are like-minded, airy souls, and together you are an extremely sociable and likable pair that enjoys life’s many pleasures and pushing the boundaries of the status quo. You work well as unit to achieve your individual goals, affording each other the delicate balance of freedom and togetherness your signs both truly need in a partnership but few others are able to provide, effectively eliminating the desire to stray. At the end of a long day of independent endeavors, you are both able to come home to each other and keep the fire burning in creative ways - think candlelit nights at home in with a personal chef followed by Hobi tying your wrists up and enjoying you for dessert. Your inner worlds compliment each other: the boundless encouragement of your double Libra serves as a healing tool for his relentless perfectionist and self-critical nature, while his dedication to excellence helps push you away from your indecision and people-pleasing ways and towards your goals. Given your shared taste for novelty and tendency to break from convention, you two may decide to push a traditional life of marriage and family to the back burner for many years, choosing to dedicate your lives to your work and each other as you continue to build, learn, and experience the world around you on your own terms. Together, you create a minimalistic home that serves as a base for you to quickly touch down and recharge before stamping your passport en route to your next delightful adventure.

[destielstuffandthings]

Back Together Again

Destiel prompt: Dean goes out to a bar or maybe goes out on a case and gets practically beaten to a pulp cuz he got ganged up on. Dean gets home and Cas sees his injuries and gets super protective and pissed. Up to you whether Cas goes out to smite those who hurt Dean or chooses to tend to Dean's injuries. Congrats on 2600 followers! Love your blog 💜💜

Warnings: None? I mean, Dean get’s wrecked and there’s a healthy dose of angst with some kissing at the end

The fifth shot of whiskey burns just a bit less than the fourth one did. At least Dean thinks it’s the fifth. He can’t really remember.

He can’t get Sam’s stupid “I’m worried about you, please just stay home and talk about this” face out of his head, but the alcohol is starting to blur it a little. He can’t stay cooped up in that fucking bunker anymore or he’s going to lose his mind. It’s been weeks since Castiel left, not that that had anything to do with Dean’s bad mood and alcohol intake. No. What did make it worse was watching that stupid, somehow always clean, trench coat wrapped around his best friend walk up the bunker stairs and to God knows where. Wait, yeah. That’s what what bugging him, actually.

No calls, no texts, nothing. And it was starting to weigh on him. Sure, they’d gone this long without talking before, but that’s because one or the was dead at the time. It’s not like they chose not to talk to each other, there just isn’t great cell reception in Purgatory.

But Cas chose this time. He chose to walk away from Dean. And that just really fucking sucked.

Dean signaled the bartender, a really hot bartender that he hadn’t been paying any attention to like he usually would be.

“Need another.” He pushed the shot glass forward with his pointer finger before resting his head in his other hand.

“Sure hope you ain’t drivin’ sweetheart,” the bartender purred as she filled his glass. “Might wanna think about switchin’ to beer.”

“M’good,” he waved his hand in an impatient attempt to get his drink quicker. She sighed and nudged it forwards before walking away. He watched as a drop slid down the glass and melted into the napkin beneath it.

A loud snap caught his attention from across the room.

“You fuckin’ kidding me, man? That’s bullshit! I ain’t payin’ you!” A long greasy haired man stood there with a broken pool cue in his hands. “You fuckin’ hustler---” Greasy hair charged at the other man and before Dean knew what he was doing he was standing between them.

“Alrigh’ guys, let’s take it down a notch. No need to disturb this fine establishment with your cat fight.” Dean held his hands out to the men and put on his best Dean smile, which right now kinda came off as a weird smirk.

“Get the fuck outta my way, man. This isn’t ain’t your fight,” non greasy hair guy yelled.

Dean licked his lip and smiled. “Nope, it sure as hell isn’t, but I’m sittin’ my ass over there trying to enjoy my drink and I can’t seem to do that with you idiot assholes bitching like teenagers.” He clapped his hands together and motioned to both the men. “So, how about you pay up. Not his fault you can’t pick a hustler out of a lineup.”

A shotgun cocking made everyone freeze.

“How about all of you mother fuckers get the hell on outta here before I use this on all your asses?” The bartender stood behind them with the gun in one hand and the other on her hip. Dean snickered at how easy it would be to disarm her but hey, she was just doing her job so he let it slide.

He raised his hands in defense. “Alright honey, I get it. Just tryin’ to help.”

She cocked an eyebrow and glanced to her gun. “Does it look like I need your fuckin’ help? You three,” she waved her finger a the three men. “Out. Now.”

Dean rolled his eyes and reached for his wallet. He slapped a few twenties on the bar before heading towards the exit. Once the damp night air hit his face he realized just how drunk he really was. He fumbled with his eyes trying to unlock the Impala. He had every intention of sleeping it off in the bar parking lot when he heard footsteps coming up behind him.

“Hey asshole!”

Dean turned to see greasy hair guy and a few of his friends behind him.

“You should learn to mind your own fucking business,” he yelled.

Dean shook his head. “You should learn to spot a hustle. Not my fault you’re dumb as shi-----”

That’s the last thing Dean really remembers from that night. There are glimpses and flashes in his throbbing head.

Punches crushing the bones in his face. The air being kicked out of his lungs. Something hard and cold smashing his fingers against the wet asphalt of the parking lot.

He had no clue where he was or how he got there, but this definitely wasn’t his bed. It didn’t feel or smell like his room in the bunker. He tried to sit up but someones hand pushed him back down.

“Sammy?” His voice was hoarse and broken. His jaw ached and he’s pretty sure one of his molars was missing. Swallowing hard, he pried one of his eyes open immediately shielding it from the light. “Where’m I?”

Someone sighed next to him as he felt something warm touch his head before he passed out.

~*~*~*~*~

The next time Dean woke up was much easier. The pain in his face was gone and his lungs didn’t crackle every time he took a breath. He sat up in bed and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers snagged on something sticky and hard.

“What the fuck,” he whispered as he pulled his hand away. His fingertips were red and covered in dried blood.

“I apologize, I hadn’t had the chance to wash it our of your hair yet.”

Dean turned his had over his shoulder towards the voice he’d know anywhere. He’d heard it in hell. He’d heard it in his dreams every night. He’d hear it long after he was actually dead and gone from this world.

“Cas?” His eyes widened as he swung his legs over the bed.

“Don’t get up,” Castiel warned.

Dean rushed out as he stood and walked towards the tired looking angel. He stopped in his tracks when he realized he wasn’t wearing any pants, just a pair of boxers that also weren’t his. He looked down at his bare legs and then back to his friend. “Uh, Cas?”

The angel pulled his eyebrows together and looked at the ground. “I needed to remove your pants to tend to your wounds. You leg was broken in three places.”

“Well, shit,” Dean breathed out. He sat back on the bed and ran both hands over his face, feeling more than a days worth of stubble. “Shit, wait. Sam. I gotta call him and---”

“He knows you’re here,” Castiel said smoothly as he walked over to a bowl of water. He rang a washcloth out in it and walked over to the bed. “I called him as soon as I got you back here.”

“Where exactly is ‘here’?” Dean asked, watching as his friend raised the cloth to his forehead.

“It’s my,” he cleared his throat nervously, “this is where I live now. Jody is letting me stay here.” He wiped gently at Dean’s hairline, pointedly ignoring Dean’s gaze.

“Oh,” was all Dean said. “How uh---How’d you know where I was? How’d you even get to me?”

Castiel folded in the red corner of the cloth and worked a clean section deeper into his hair. His forehead creased and glanced at Dean. “You were calling out for me. I think you were mostly unconscious, but I could hear your praying. For me.”

Dean looked down at his lap and picked at something invisible on the blanket draped across his lap. “I don’t remember---”

“They almost killed you Dean, I’m not surprised,” he said quickly and set the washcloth aside. “I wasn’t quite finished healing your head wound before you woke up. Do you mind?” He raised his hand to Deans forehead with a questioning look.

“Knock yourself out,” Dean shrugged. He watched his friends eyes close as a bright light manifested above his head. His scalp tingled and he felt his skin pulling together. He sighed when Castiel pulled away. “Thanks,” he mumbled, running his fingers over the now healed wound. “Of course, Dean.” The angel stood and crossed the room to deposit the cloth in a hamper and rinsed his hands off in the sink. “I hope you’ll be more careful in the future. I won’t---” Castiel gripped the edge of the sink hard. “I’m not around to look out for you, or your brother, anymore.”

Dean’s heart felt like it was smashed with a sledgehammer. He watched his friends expression fall and his knuckles turn white against the porcelain sink. He stood quickly, fuck pants, and walked over to the angel. Without thinking, he pulled Castiel’s hand away and held it in his own.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his voice betraying him as it broke. “Come home.”

Castiel didn’t say anything for what felt like years. He stared down at his hand is Dean’s and shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

“Why?” He gripped Cas’ hand tighter.

“You know why. As you once said about yourself Dean, I’m poison.”

Dean sucked in a breath and yanked Castiel towards his chest. His free hand gripped the back of the angels neck tightly and glared into his eyes. “Don’t you ever fucking say that again,” he hissed.

The angel pulled back enough to look Dean in the eyes. He pinched his eyes shut and raised a hand to Dean’s chest, feeling his heart pound in his chest.

“Dean,” he sighed heavily. “I left for a reason. You---you don’t want me anymore. I only make things harder for you, I can’t keep making things worse, so I need to stay away.”

Dean’s throat tightened as tears pricked behind his eyes.

“I don’t want you anymore? I don’t WANT you anymore?” Dean tightened the grip on Castiel’s neck and pulled him forward.

The kiss was a blur of lips and teeth. Dean registered the smooth feeling of Cas’ tongue tenderly moving against and vowed to feel this again every day for the rest of his life. His fingers ran through the thick hair at the base of Castiel’s neck and pulled him even closer as he rocked into him.

“Always wanted you, Cas,” he whispered between kisses. “Always. Please. Please come home.”

Castiel sighed into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, his hands running up his back. “I missed you,” he whispered against Dean’s mouth.

Dean smiled and kissed the angels lips tenderly before pulling away. “Missed you too, Cas.” He kissed his lips once more before running his fingertips over Cas’ cheekbone. “C’mon, let’s go home.”