#it just travels. through all teeth unrelated to the pain

[what-the-fuck-khr]

oh. I feel like ripping my jaw off would hurt less right now. holy fuck. what the fuck

[libraryofgage]

Addams Family B-Side (1)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell (on the way!)

This is part of a series of unrelated works entitled "Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually" and I think that title is fairly self-explanatory. If there are any other couples you think would be good parents for our Stevie boy, let me know and I'll take them into consideration!

Anyway, the B-Side thing is because this is like taking my Addams Family Steddie au and just flipping the cassette tape hfjsdk

This time, it's Steve that's the Addams and Eddie that's normal!

Anyway, blame @whatthemeepever for this one specifically cuz it's gonna spiral into a wild ride actually, so let's all pray for Eddie in advance

If you'd like a tag for any future parts, let me know!

And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't

-------

The moment Steve is born, his father sticks a light bulb in his mouth. When it glows, he jumps with joy and throws Steve into the air. The moment Steve's mother realizes what's happening, she slaps his father upside the head, throws the light bulb at him, and threatens to blow him up again if he sticks anymore into Steve's mouth before he starts teething.

She follows through on the promise exactly two weeks later, and Steve's parents (one smug and the other notably singed but delighted) rebuild their house next door to his father's brother.

Steve's mother chooses his first and last name (Harrington, a reference to some long-lost family friend or other), and his father is reluctantly given the freedom to choose his middle name. In the end, he is dubbed Steve Faustus Harrington, a name his mother is so surprised to find acceptable that she kisses his father as a reward.

And so begins Steve's life.

------

"I can't believe you got expelled," Steve's mother seethes, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turn white. "Again!"

Steve crosses his arms, sinking lower in his seat as he glares out the window. "It's not my fault they were shitty friends. They got what they deserved."

He hears his mother laugh, the sound strained and indignant and very quickly followed by his father turning to look at Steve from the passenger seat. His sunken eyes are filled with suppressed delight as he asks, "What did they do this time?"

A few seconds pass before Steve sighs. "They said they couldn't go out later because they had to study for finals. I mean, what kind of bullshit is that? Finals are three weeks away, and they can't spare one weekend for the funeral museum?" he says, scoffing as he looks at his father, grins, and adds, "So, I brought the funeral museum to them, coffins and cremations and all."

His father's eyes light up, sheer joy and pride dancing in them. And for the very first time in Steve's life, his mother pulls over to the side of the road and parks the car.

"Pumpkin?" his father asks.

"Fester," she says, her voice low and somewhere in the range of upset, "do you remember when I tried to kill your entire family?"

"Of course. It was a splendid attempt."

She nods and looks at him with a tiny, somewhat pained smile. Then she turns and sets her gaze on Steve. "Darling, what kind of grades do your friends have?" she asks. "Because if you're anything like me, and I know you are, you tend to befriend people who are significantly dumber than you."

Steve blinks, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, most of them were about to fail," he admits.

"Then, isn't it possible they really were studying for finals? Especially if they were close to failing at a school where passing is a requirement of attendance? Perhaps you could have suggested going to the...funeral museum after finals?"

A few seconds pass as Steve considers her words, a crushing sense of realization and guilt dropping on his shoulders and traveling to the pit of his stomach. It makes him feel nauseous, and he stares down at his lap. "I fucked up," he finally says, voice quiet and apologetic.

"Of course not!" Fester says, reaching out and ruffling Steve's hair despite the affronted noise from Debbie, "Your plan was beautifully conceived and masterfully executed. Perhaps you should just talk a little more before pulling out the urns next time."

"Incredibly, your father is right," Debbie says, looking pleasantly surprised before turning her gaze to Steve. She sighs and holds out a hand, squeezing Steve's when he takes it. "Don't get so blinded by a beautiful pair of shoes that you completely miss the sale two aisles over, Steve. At the very least, do a little more research before resorting to torture and murder. Personally, I'm very tired of calling the family's lawyer."

Steve snorts at the utter lie. Debbie loves calling the family's lawyer. She does so regularly just to double-check the state of Fester's stocks and bonds and deeds and general worth. "Okay," he says, nodding once, "I'll remember for the next school."

"You know," Fester says, looking at Debbie hopefully, "Pubert is a senior this year. Maybe Steve could go to high school with him."

Debbie hesitates, frowning slightly before saying, "Yes, but it's...public school."

"The best Gomez and Morticia could find! It was highly recommended by Margaret, and Pubert can make sure Steve adjusts and makes friends."

Steve can see the moment his mother agrees. She sighs, lets go of his hand, and fixes her already perfect bob. "Well, I suppose," she says before looking at Steve once more. "And you, Steve? Would you like to try...public school for your junior year?"

"Sure, might be fun," Steve says, thinking about all the movies he's seen that display public high schools as a zoo and the worst place on Earth. It sounds great, and if the place is still standing while Pubert attends, it must be somewhat entertaining.

------

"You've got everything you'll need?"

Steve looks up from lacing his shoes and smiles at his mother, earning a nervous grin in return. Her blonde hair is uncharacteristically frazzled, and Steve feels warm and fuzzy (like a mold growing over his heart) at knowing she's so worried as to appear less-than-perfect in front of him.

"Yes, I've got everything," he says, gesturing to the backpack on the stairs next to him. In addition to notebooks and his pencil case, Steve has also packed a travel mace, a miniature bomb (alarm clock detonator stored separately, of course), a tiny bottle of tequila, and his lucky lightbulb (just in case).

His mother nods once, takes a deep breath, and then turns her head toward the kitchen to shout, "FESTER!"

Something crashes, a cat (they don't have a cat) yowls, and Steve's father slides into the doorway. "Yes, Pumpkin?" he asks, eyes bright and happy and utterly stuck on Debbie.

"Is Steve's lunch ready? You made something normal, right?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

Fester glances at Steve, a brief look shared between them that's both sympathetic and endeared toward Debbie. "Of course," Fester says, disappearing for two seconds before striding over to the stairs with a pink lunch box decorated with black skulls (Steve chose the color, Fester chose the pattern, and Debbie gave them her stamp of approval). "A turkey sandwich, fruit, cookies, and juice."

"Fruit?" Debbie asks, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Apple slices!"

After a few seconds, Debbie nods, and Fester gives the lunch box to Steve, shifting some so Debbie doesn't see the conspiratorial wink that tells him the juice is definitely poisoned. Steve grins and shoves the lunch box into his bag. He finishes lacing his shoes and stands, holding his arms out so his mother can inspect him.

"You've done a wonderful job pairing your shirt and shoes," Debbie says, walking around Steve with an air of pride and approval. She rubs the sleeve of his pastel yellow sweater between her thumb and forefinger, nodding once. "The plum pants are a bold choice, but it pays off. And, as always, your hair is flawless, dear."

Steve grins, letting his arms fall to his side. "I tried that new mousse you gave me," he says, fingers twitching as he fights the urge to run them through his hair. "It works great."

His mother smiles even wider and kisses his cheek, pulling out a handkerchief and carefully wiping away the lipstick residue she leaves behind. "I knew it would," she says, inspecting Steve's face once more before nodding with approval.

"Pumpkin, it's time for Steve to go. Pubert is waiting."

Debbie huffs softly and gives Steve one last once over before nodding and hurrying him toward the door. "Have a good day at school, try not to blow anything up, and call me if Pubert tries to cut off your head with a rusty knife again," she says.

"What if it's a clean knife?"

"Well, that's fine. Grandmama will just sew it back on."

Steve grins and waves to both of his parents before hurrying toward the sidewalk where Pubert is waiting. His hair is parted down the middle and gelled down, his pencil-thin mustache is immaculate as ever, and he's wearing a three-piece suit. When Steve is closer, he pulls out two cigars and offers one.

"This isn't an exploding cigar again, right? I'm wearing a new shirt," Steve says, taking it and looking it over.

"Nah, that joke only works once," Pubert says, dragging a match against his palm to light it. He holds it to his cigar first, puffs a few times, and then does the same for Steve. "How long till you get expelled again, you think?"

Steve shrugs as he takes a puff from the cigar, letting the smoke linger for a moment before skillfully blowing it out in perfect circles as they walk. "I haven't been to a public school before," he says, tapping the cigar over the sidewalk, "so, hopefully, at least a year."

"Public school is fun," Pubert says, getting a wicked grin as he looks at Steve. "You can get away with a lot."

"And the other kids?"

"Well, they've certainly got a lot to learn. I mean, most of them can't even handle a little cyanide."

Steve scrunches his nose and takes another puff of his cigar. After a few seconds he asks, "Will we have any classes together?"

"You're a year below me, so maybe an elective or two. What did you sign up for?"

"I signed up for, uh, shop class, forensic science, and Gothic literature."

"We'll have Gothic lit together," Pubert says, flashing a smile before asking, "And you know what shop class is, right?"

Steve blinks, suddenly a little hesitant. "Is it not, like, something about shopping?"

"No. It's building things. With wood, usually."

"Oh! So, I can build anything?"

"I guess. I haven't taken it."

"Well, I'll find out. Maybe I can build Dad a catapult or guillotine or something."

As they get closer to the school, more students fill the sidewalks, but Steve notices that most of them seem to give him and Pubert a wide berth. They also stare, looking at Steve like he's some kind of puzzle to be solved, with more than a few flashing sympathetic smiles like he's trapped and can't get away. "You're popular," Steve notes, taking one last puff of his cigar before dropping it into a trash can.

"I would fucking hope so," Pubert says, finishing off his cigar and tossing it into the next trash can they pass. "I didn't flood the place with roaches and vermin to not be known."

Steve grins, listening as Pubert regales him with the tale only to cut it short when they get inside the school and pass the front office. "I need to get my schedule, but Mom said she made sure we'd have lunch together," Steve says.

Pubert waves him off. "Yeah, I'll meet you in the cafeteria. Have fun, cousin," he replies, mockingly saluting him before heading off down the main hall.

-----

Steve's first class of the day was AP Calculus, followed by AP Physics, Wood Shop, and AP U.S. History. When it's finally time for lunch, he surveys the cafeteria for a few seconds before finding a table in a dark corner that everyone seems to avoid. By the time he gets there, Pubert has sat down with a tray from the lunch line.

Steve sets his backpack on the table, sits down, and says, "For a place that's so lifeless, it's not even fun."

"Yeah, it's like that," Pubert agrees, poking some unidentifiable mush on his tray with a spork before spooning some into his mouth.

It's with a somewhat jealous expression that Steve pulls out his lunch box and removes a thermos of poisoned juice. "Is it bad?" he asks, nodding to the tray.

"Utterly repulsive."

Steve sighs and takes a sip from the thermos before pulling out everything else in his lunch box. "They made me wear safety goggles in shop. Safety goggles! It's like they don't know how fun splinters in the eyes are. And everyone is soooo scared of the saws, it's ridiculous," he complains, taking an angry bite of his sandwich.

"What about your other classes?"

"Physics would be better with more practical examples. I mean, who cares about apples when we could learn if a body falls faster than a cannonball?"

"From experience, no," Pubert says, "Anyway, you gonna join any clubs?"

"Maybe the swim team? If I'm lucky, I'll drown," Steve says, perking up a little at the thought.

"Best of luck with that," Pubert replies, stealing Steve's thermos to take a sip of his juice. When he places it back, he offers Steve a sporkful of the mush.

Steve lights up and happily tries it, wondering how something can be so perfectly undercooked and overcooked at the same time. "Impressive," he says, passing the spork back. "Is that freezer burn?"

Before Pubert can answer, a bang from the other side of the cafeteria cuts off all other sounds. Steve glances over to see a boy in heavy combat boots climbing onto his table with a mischievous grin. He's wearing a shirt with a devil head on it and "Hellfire Club" emblazoned above and a vest with spikes, pins, and patches. His hair is just below his shoulders and a little curly, and Steve can see from here the wild glint in his eyes as he stomps down the table while talking.

"I'm tired of the double standards of this lame school. If you're into science or band or some other 'uncool' interest, the administration couldn't give two shits! Oh, the choir room needs new risers so the current ones don't break any necks? Well, that's too bad, we've got to give the football team new monogrammed towels for the locker room!" the guy says, grinning when a group of kids to the side shouts their agreement. "And never mind that our Robotics team has won the school three trophies when the basketball team so valiantly scraped into third place last year for being kinda good at throwing balls into laundry baskets."

"Prick!"

Steve glances at the guy who shouted, taking in his letterman jacket before quickly dismissing him. He looks back in time to see the boy on the table sticking out his tongue and holding his hands to his temples to make horns. There's an even wilder look in his eyes now, a sheer glee at causing a scene and getting under someone's skin.

Steve doesn't realize he's smiling until the boy scoffs, shouts one more line about the school's unfair preference for "mediocre jocks," and hops off the table. He looks over at Pubert and asks, "Who was that?"

Pubert glances at Steve, studying him for a moment before swallowing another mouthful of mush and saying, "Eddie Munson. He does that once a week, usually."

"Eddie Munson," Steve murmurs, glancing over at Eddie's table again and smiling a little wider.

[dreamingbrownie]

Shards Masterpost

Prompt list by ao3commentoftheday, these are all unrelated Grindeldore oneshots.

Works:

Off to save the world again?

“You do not want to do this.”

“I thought we were past stating the obvious. Besides, you could have knocked.”

“Yeah, not gonna risk you apparating to Timbuktu or somethin’ just to avoid talking to me,” Aberforth huffed rounding the table. Sometimes Albus saw their father in the way he crossed his arms, the steel in his eyes, the set of his jaw that made ardently clear that he didn’t need magic to take zero bullshit from anyone. Even from his brother. Especially from his brother.

//

The night before everything comes to a head in Bhutan, Aberforth decides that he's had enough of Albus' secrets.

Prompt: A conversation you wish had happened in canon.

Canon for Fantastic Beasts 2, the Dumbledore brothers talking about their shared trauma.

Under a lilac canopy

Summary: To say that Gellert had not expected to wake up on another day at the western front to the Statute of Secrecy finally blasted to smithereens was a bit of an understatement. It fell as silently as a night-time truce: nobody knew who had fired the first shot that brought down the entire thing. To the stench of antiseptics and laudanum was added the cloyingly sweet scent of pain relief potions; the highest dose available in France was handed out like Penicillin: worth its weight in gold. After the initial shock of that surreal day had faded, he’d been ecstatic, of course, eager to write a woefully short, passionate letter to Albus about the possibilities this unlocked in the late war-effort – and not a single letter returned to him from Britain. In spite of the Royal Mail Service, those utter madlads, in spite of every owl and pigeon he could find in bumfuck nowhere, France – silence. He would have to find Albus himself, once he finally got to go home, but amidst London that was torn to shreds and filled with the hungering, grieving masses, nobody wanted to talk about the day Albus Dumbledore disappeared. The day the Statute fell.

Prompt: an expression of love.

Edwardian WW1 AU, hurt/comfort heavy on the comfort side. Hospital reunion fic.

The earth of me

Summary:

Maybe it had been foolish, then, of Albus to think himself safe from surprises. The kind which rocked the very ground underneath his feet, that was, a sort of shock that travelled up and down his spine and shot adrenaline through his entire system. Safe from war, if not from politics, he had considered himself hidden from Death’s crows upon his doorstep. He wasn’t.

He had long known the five stages of grief to be thestral dung. On that particular afternoon in late January of 1931, he appeared to have shot right past denial into depression, or directly into acceptance, perhaps, if one took into account that he had always known that this had had to happen eventually.

Prompt: Character meta

Albus ruminates on the death of his father in Azkaban and what this means for himself. Canon missing moment I guess.

Remnants

Summary:

“You could have mentioned that this dragon hoards eggs.”

In the darkness, Gellert was a mere shade. The ragged rocks cut the howling wind apart into ribbons that slashed the air: high, haunting sounds dancing over the wet grass. No human lived up here, not anymore. The next village was miles and miles away. Albus felt the ground vibrate with the dragon’s steps inside the castle ruins that spanned an entire hilltop. The bare bones of a grand church stuck up into the grey sky that had lifted away the roof from its ribs long ago; of the keep, only the northern and the eastern wall still stood. Everything else was naked stone filed down by the weather littering the grasslands like teeth. Here the remains of a hall as big as a lord’s manor, there circles in the mud: watchtowers, or what was left of them. Bones were scattered in between those trampled histories. The earth only yielded bushes with berries on them that should not be touched by anything that wished to live, no fields survived here. It was so cold Albus could feel his jaws jittering.

“Theseus said nothing of it. I presume that he did not know, else he would have. He only stressed how very unwise it is to go near a nesting dragon.”

Prompt instead of the origina prompt that didn't work for me was three lines of conversation, link lost, unfortunately.

Canon divergence, could be seen as a cousin to my Constellations series in as much as Albus and Gellert live togther throughout their life as professors on Hogwarts.

The red grief

Summary: In 1625, King James I of England and Scotland died, leaving his lover George de Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, behind. Historically, the Duke decided to sack Cadíz on the Spanish coast soon after. In another world, a pair of immortal husbands are none too pleased about being asked for magical help on what others would call a thinly veiled act of piracy intended to escalate political tensions into outright war. How to cope?

Prompt: an emotional moment that you can't find a plot for.

Smut and fluff, immortal wizards AU, the most established of relationships

Golden mornings come again

Summary:

“I know for a fact that you have never asked me to go to the coast with you, but I dream of it, sometimes, finding you at the sea, and when I wake up, I am overcome with such a visceral urge to do exactly that; as if you were waiting for me with your hands in your coat pockets and your back turned to me, facing the sea – in fact, all of these… strange, inexplicable… Merlin, I don’t even know what to call them – these glimpses, these pictures I have of you in my mind that seem so impossibly real – you are waiting for me in all of them. Looking over your shoulder whenever I come close enough to touch, and there it always ends. As though I have been chasing and losing you for a very long time.”

//

It always takes a while for the memories to come back to them.

Prompt: a scene fully without context.

Reincarnation AU, established relationship, a lot of fluff with a side of emotional smut served gently

Historically proud

Summary: The man at the counter had hair so light it was almost white, looking natural, not dyed, but who really knew; his t-shirt had three lines of ancient Greek on it that Albus only realized had to be the first line of the Iliad after staring at it for way too long, toned muscles – arms, hello, damn – and he was oozing confidence. Well, that was all of Albus’ boxes ticked, ta very much. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, I kind of couldn’t not listen – you’re Professor Albus Dumbledore, yes?”

Puzzled, he gave a brief nod.

“Indeed I am. I like your t-shirt.”

The man looked down at it like he’d forgotten he was wearing it, grinning a bit.

“Thanks. I read your last article that you published – what was it, a few months ago? – Anyway, the way you dissected the outdated communist pirate theory with such poise and elegance, that was beautiful.” Then he cleared his throat and straightened from his casual slouch against the counter which looked entirely like a nervous act. “Sorry, where are my manners? Name’s Gellert Grindelwald, I’m the new Ancient Greek History Doctorate researcher and teacher at King’s College.”

“Oh!” Well, Albus was fucked. That beautiful, clever man was going to be his new colleague.

Prompt: The meeting part of a meet-cute AU

Modern AU, historians, getting together, uni colleagues AU with a side-dash of ToG characters mentioned

Candle Stains

Summary:

The different paths that their lives had taken so far had not merged upon accident: they’d worked to make it work. Once Aurelius was fully grown, theoretically, there was no reason why Gellert should still live with him then. The thought seized Albus' heart and held it captive.

“You must know that your continued support has been vital to me. I value you far, far beyond your excellent job as the tutor of my nephew.”

To his puzzlement, Gellert gave a breath of amusement that fast turned fond.

“I do believe that is British for ‘I love you.’”

“And if it is,” Albus responded, half question, half declaration.

Prompt: a shocking announcement (or the reaction to it)

Regency AU, Albus is a Lord living in London with his nephew Aurelius, Aberforth and Aurelius' tutor Gellert. Getting together fic.

All aflame (The fire has found a home in me)

Summary:

“When we are going on our tour together, I am going to make you scream above the Seine and you’re going to have me under the Venice moonlight.”

“Gellert,” he breathed out the pearling laughter in his chest, light as air, “I can’t wait.” Then he turned around, and awkward as the angle was, they made it work for a lingering kiss. Gellert nudged his big nose into Albus’ cheekbone smirking like the cat that got the cream.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you. I’d say sorry for having woken you up, but in truth…”

“Don’t be,” he grinned, “I’m not."

Prompt: A missing moment from canon

Canon summer of 1899, smut, idiots in love, fluff and intimacy, no bad things in this one.

Heaven

Summary: “I am not used to how you look at me anymore.”

“And how do I look at you?”

“Like you would burn the world to have me again. I am not sure if I would call it love.”

I do, Gellert wanted to scream, I do, I do, I do, throbbing in his chest in a double-stutter. //

Prompt: an alternate ending to a scene from canon.

The restaurant scene from Fantastic Beasts 3 do-over, canon divergence, what if these two had actually talked and gotten their shit together?

Stay a thousand years

Summary:

“Gellert is blessed with foresight, wisdom, a cunning mind for strategy, and charms enough to have the whole court fall for him; he is a just and intelligent man and… I love him dearly. Anyone else but him would make no sense for me to marry.”

Percival gazed at him with something like trepidation in his watery eyes.

“He is powerful enough to match you, Albus. Having him so near you could be a dangerous decision… or the only wise thing to do.”

“He would never hurt me. Never,” Albus vowed with all the conviction of late-night conversations about spells that did not exist yet and the long-lost relics that haunted them both from the side-lines of their childhood fairy tales. The court might not know it yet, but Gellert was his, and he belonged to Gellert as firmly as any priest could profess; more so, they were made from the same stardust. It was the one thing that did not made him tremble these days, that knowledge.

“Very well,” sighed the dying king, and let go of his hands. “Get him for me, please.”

Prompt: Someone just having the worst luck.

Medieval Fantasy AU, proposal under rather difficult circumstances fic, royalty AU.

By your leave

Summary:

Captured. The thrice damned teenagers had gotten themselves captured. Bowed over Albus’ tombstone as he was every morning and every for longer than he cared to actively recount, Gellert took the news from one of his many birds scouting the grand, wide world out there for him without moving from his spot. Though he wanted nothing more than to rest his forehead on the white marble painted golden by the sunset until he faded into the stone itself, slowly, painfully slowly, his folded hands detangled to settle on the cool surface instead.

“My heart, I must do something,” he rasped over the polished stone. His knees creaked and hurt as he forced them to move like rusted hinges. “To the snake pit I go, is that not the funniest thing you ever heard – this might finally be my last sunset, my love.”

//

Albus Dumbledore was dead, Harry Potter captured at Malfoy Manor, but the last King had not yet been let off the chess board.

Prompt: An exchange of gifts or mementos.

Canon divergence, hurt with very little comfort, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows alternate ending.

in from the cold

Summary: Gellert comes back home to Camelot in the weeping rain to a row between Master Merlin and King Arthur. Nothing new there, though this time, a dragon is dead, the King is injured, and Gellert would simply like to squirrel away Albus from under Merlin's watchful eyes, thank you very much.

Prompt: That awesome line you simply can't find a plot for.

Camelot medieval fantasy AU. Reunion fic with a side of Merlin/Arthur.

Stained-glass window laments

Summary:

“I cannot bear the thought of life here without you. My head weighs heavy with the crown upon it, and that weight is not made to be carried alone. You must pull through now, my love, and be not afraid of my temper. I see how unusually quiet you are.”

Gellert’s eyes briefly flickered heavenward.

“I got stabbed.”

“After pushing an army of three thousand; twelve clans united despite that they’re squabbling in front of my doorstep now; through the murderous mountains, yes.” He kissed Gellert’s fingers, feeling the cool metal push smoothly into his lips, feeling the shape and weight of them in comparison to Gellert’s roughened skin. Eye contact kept him quiet. “You are thin, my heart. Have they who followed you into battle not treated you to every comfort?”

Prompt: The aftermath of a scene you’ll never actually write

Medieval Fantasy AU, King Albus and loyal knight Gellert, hurt/comfort.

Asja

Summary:

It had been Europe, they agreed on that much. Gellert remembered birches, and Albus still sometimes blinked at sunspots falling through oak leaves dappled with dew in dreams lost before he was fully awake. Sensual memory, that was what stuck the longest. Visuals, feelings, sounds.

Once, they had been like gods.

Prompt: the scene that would bring you personally the most joy.

Pre-historic Smut, rated E.

[rodolfoparras]

First of all, Happy Pride Month 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 there's nothing I can do to celebrate it irl without being hate crimed so I gotta live vicariously through people who can.

Someone else had chipped tooth but I did mention how I managed to accidentally knock my tooth out around the same time 😭 haven't eaten Smarties since.

Also yeah elusive Balkan promaja/promaha and its ability to cause all sorts of aches and pains (apparently) truly is laughable so I can't blame the doctor idk.

I'm glad your new meds dosage is working well for you! I would love to get back on meds but the idea of actually talking with psychiatrist makes me wanna vomit. It took me so so long to open up before and idk do I have it in me to do it again. And on unrelated note, my family is traveling back (they just left) and I'm so so sad :(( imma miss my baby brother so much. I'll get to see them in August again but man does it feel like forever

-🔮

Happy pride month sugar bee!!! And I’m really sorry to hear that you aren’t able to celebrate properly but I do hope you get to enjoy this month in other ways and just rmr even though you aren’t at the parade or at a certain event, those things are being organized for you, for ppl who can’t be open and free!!🫶🏻

Lord I can only imagine! I got the stomach bug from tacos and didn’t eat it for years if a candy or food knocked my teeth out I wouldn’t be eating it again in this life time

But tbh now that I sleep with a fan and windows open I am starting to wonder if they had a point because sometimes my head hurts and I’m like this is it I knew dad was right and then I do the same thing again later 😭

That is understandable! Opening up to someone is taxing especially when you have to do it regularly every week! But is there a way where you can just get the meds and not talk to a psychiatrist because here that is an option! Aaah I’m sorry to hear that sugar bee :( I hope these two months pass fast so you can see him!!

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Platycodon Grandiflorus

Prompt(s): Infection & "I think there's something wrong with me."

Summary: During their guardian travels, Nerissa and Yan Lin contract a virus that makes flowers grow from the skin.

For all of the dimensions that they travel to, she is sprirsed that it hadn’t happened sooner. It was Yan Lin first and then her. It started with a very soft, almost whispered,  “I think that there’s something wrong with me.” And she had deteriorated from there. 

Nerissa swears that this will be the last mission she goes on. She will hand the heart of Kandrakar back to the Oracle. 

Yan Lin has recovered but her right hand is still as teal as the stripes on her stockings. The very same teal that is appearing in freckles on Nerissa’s own skin. Soon the buds will come. She imagines pretty little blue bells. Pretty little bluebells that will agonize her when she tries to preen them away. 

She is alone.

Alone where she can’t spread the infection.

Not to Cassidy, Kadma, nor Halinor. 

And not back to Yan Lin. 

Alone where there will be nothing but pain and petals. 

The teal has taken over her hand by the third day. It leaks constantly and most of the time she can’t tell what is ooze and what is skin. 

She has never been able to leave injuries well enough alone. She picks at scabs and can never keep her tongue away from those spots on the inside of her cheek that she keeps accidentally biting. She’ll be stitched up and Kadma will spend the first week or so scolding her for playing with the stitches. 

This is no different. She pokes and prods at her teal hand–the skin of it feels almost spongy. It doesn’t quite hold its shape if she applies enough pressure. It reminds her of one of those stress balls, the ones that will regain their shape but very slowly. 

It is almost fascinating in some sick and morbid way. 

She had expected it to hurt more. Mostly it just tickles. On the fourth day the tickles become a torture in their own right–they are unrelenting and scratching them does nothing to alleviate it. It only serves to bunch her skin up in all sorts of strange ways. The tickling is under her skin and violent enough to make her want to filet her own hand and scratch it from the inside.

The flowers begin to flourish on the fifth day. 

This is when things become horrible. The buds that haven’t pushed through, break through her skin suddenly and without mercy. Those that had already made it through, unfurl. Not bluebells but balloon flowers of a powdery blue. 

They open as if they were an extension of her. They may just be an extension of her–at the very least an extension of her nerves. When the petals open it feels as though her own skin is being peeled slowly back with a gaping hole at the center. 

Yan Lin had gone ahead and sheared them off right away, screaming and crying with each clip. Nerissa can’t bring herself to do it, not when she knows that it will feel like chopping fingers. And so they creep up her arms with vines and leaves to go with them. They curl and coil about her, living bracelets. Admittedly they are gorgeous. She thinks that she looks like a goddess of some forest variety. 

Momentarily she dances with the idea of letting this infection claim her. Of letting it cover her it dainty, lush flowers. The Oracle says that she has to cut them soon or the infection won’t go away. If it reaches her heart or her brain then it is too late, she will become just a tangle of flower and vine. At least she will have a beautiful, thriving corpse…until it is set aflame to keep the disease from spreading. 

It is with a deep breath that she takes hold of the garden shears. 

If Yan Lin had been severing fingers then she is going to be severing arms. 

She swallows hard and clenches her teeth. It would probably do her well to bite down on something. 

With a cloth bunched up and fixed between her teeth she takes the shears and clamps them down at the base of the largest stem. She shrikes into the cloth once in pain and once out of frustration–the shears hadn’t gone all the way through. In fact it takes twisting and sawing to get it completely severed and she has to do it with one hand. It is like rubbing her skin away layer by layer. 

By the time she has the first vine cut and curled up at her feet, she too is on the ground and bunched up into a little ball. 

She can’t do it anymore. She had let it grow too far. She can’t do it by herself and this time the heart of Kandrakar can’t save her. 

She trembles lightly, feeling sick to her stomach but she picks up the shears once more and resumes sawing away. Once or twice she wakes up on the floor with the shears a few inches away from her limp hand. Everything hurts, everything is hazy. The daze is a curse and a blessing, one that takes the pain. One that makes her movements clumsy and sloppy. She nicks her own skin several times and has opened a large gash that weeps a teal and red. It collects on the floor, taking on a more magenta hue. 

She and the balloon flowers bleed in unison. 

They may just die in unison. 

She can’t remember having cut the rest of them away but she must have. At some point she had to have. She lays now in a tangle of dead vines and flowers, her entire arm throbs. She holds it to her chest and whimpers.

They don’t let her out yet. 

They hadn’t let Yan Lin leave the quarantine until the teal on her hand had lost its vibrancy. 

Nerissa’s doesn’t until approximately day fifteen. 

By the time they drag her out she thinks that she might have lost something of herself. Something important. But she isn’t sure what that thing is. Yan Lin takes Nerissa into her arms. “You’re going to be alright now.” 

And maybe it is because those were the first words that she has heard in a little over two weeks, but she believes them. 

[jellofish4000]

The Consumption Dilemma

02/13/2023

I really cannot fathom how people can bite their forks. Teeth, raw and solid, against metallic, unrelenting silver. Scraping. Scratching at the enamel. The clink shoots to the back of your brain like some extreme form of therapy. Electrotherapy, waterboarding, the malpractice of hypnosis with the impending goal of serious psychic harm, and fork intervention. The biting of the spoon is an abominable action of an equally-serious caliber. Why ignore the soft, plump, malleable puffiness of lips in favor of terrible teeth. One can gently pull their food into their mouth with such harmless grace, yet so many of us choose the more painful option. The option that imbeds itself into the cracks in your eardrums. Nails on a chalkboard. Worse yet, when you graciously allow someone a bite of your meal and they scrape their teeth all over your utensils. A visceral shock runs through your veins from the point where your fingers meet the silver and it travels up your arm, and into your brain. Your mind buzzes as you feel all your neurons short circuiting. Such a simple solution to our dilemma. Teeth are made for chewing. Hardness enclosed on softness. Just take a second to imagine the horror of attempting a kiss between two sets of teeth. Humans have learned, through a long process of evolutionary trial and error, the proper way to kiss each other. That lip to lip contact that is so intoxicating. One that would be entirely repulsive if it were to be replaced by teeth on teeth. The simple explanation for this is: Hard surface on equally hard surface. Scraping. Scratching. Grating. Clashing. Absolutely abhorrent. Yet most of us eagerly endure this when eating our food with the assistance of metallic food-eating tools. We subconsciously choose to scrape the fragile enamel with the harsh argentiferous. Dinner should be the passionate kiss “goodbye” to a meticulously-made sustenance. Instead we treat it with all the grace of a bad dentist appointment. Stop biting the spoons. Stop scraping the forks. Stop going through the motions.

[honeybeefae]

Unexpected Visitors (Bat Boys x Reader)

Kinktober Day Four: In Heat

Summary// With your mother only being half river nymph, you didn’t expect to have to deal with hardly any of the things that full nymphs have to go through, especially heat. However, after a few days of painful cramping and unrelenting need, Madja diagnosed you with the thing you had thought would skip over you. So when you isolate yourself from your friends, specifically three Illyrian males, to ride it out, the last thing you expect is for them to come to your door offering help.

(My first multiple fic, my first heat fic, my first bat boys fic…ya girl is stressed but ready to impress. I hope it meets every wild fantasy you have because let's be honest, who hasn’t thought about being in the middle of them? Let me know how you like it!)

WARNINGS: 18+, smut, multiple partners, one reader, dirty talk, just so messy, oral (m&f), anal, everyone gets a hole lol, teasing, multiple orgasms, masturbation, cum eating, double penetration, 

After Madja had sent you off to your apartment, giving her best advice to just ride it out until the hunger and fever broke, you felt like sobbing. The room was too hot, the feeling of your clothes on your skin stimulating you too much, and with every agonizing step towards your bedroom, you cursed your mother and her entire bloodline.

River nymphs had heats every year, it was what kept their species alive, and you couldn’t fault them for that. But you did fault your mother, who granted was only half nymph, for dismissing your concerns over the same thing happening to you and explaining that you were hardly considered one of them, your blood holding more faerie than nymph. 

She had only experienced them every ten or so years so after you had hit the age of maturity and showed no signs, your mother assumed you were in the clear. If she were here now, you would be stomping your feet and shouting like a child for her lack of information that could help you at your most desperate hour. 

“I’m going to die here.” You groaned, stripping off your clothes and letting the air try to dry your sweat-slicked body. “I have nothing, no one, to help and by the time anyone finds me I will be dust from how bloody hot my skin is.”

A sharp cramp twisted your stomach, sending you to your knees as you cried out in pain. Madja had given you a few tips to help you, most of them being some form of intercourse or sexual gratification, but you could barely gain the strength to use your own hand let alone prowl the streets for a poor guy.

Suddenly you remembered her suggestion of an ice bath, knowing it would at least curb the heat, and you crawled to your bathroom to turn on the tap to the coldest setting. You didn’t even wait for it to fill up, slinking all the way down as the water rose slowly.

It made you hiss at the drastic change, your skin now feeling like it was getting freezer burned, but you gritted your teeth and closed your eyes to try and meditate through the pain.

I can do this. I can get through this. I am more than my pain.

“Motherfucker.” You grunt, feeling like a knife is slicing open your belly while a fresh wave of need makes your already wet sex even wetter. Using your foot to turn off the water that was now up to your neck, you let your other hand slide into the tub and between your folds.

As soon as you touched your clit the tension in your neck and shoulders started to disappear. It was like drinking water after going through a desert, an orgasm already building up quicker than your fingers could rub.

Your mind flickered through different people, and different scenarios, trying to find one to settle on to bring you over the edge. The coil was getting tighter and tighter, your body screaming for release just as you imagine your friends, three of them to be exact, watching you hungrily as you chased your release.

The image stayed front and center in your mind, molding to them fisting their own cocks as they watched, and you felt your orgasm start to travel up your body. 

Until loud, insistent knocking ripped you from your fantasy. 

You let out a shriek of frustration, almost falling out of the bathtub as you got up and wrapped a towel around yourself to march over to the door. Whoever it was was still knocking, and when you yanked it open, you opened your mouth to scream at them to leave you the hell alone before letting it snap shut in shock.

Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian stood outside your apartment looking somewhat uncomfortable, all of them fidgeting in their spots as you stood there dripping wet. 

Literally and figuratively.

“W-what are you guys doing here?” You stuttered, grasping your towel closer to your body while trying not to think about what you had just imagined in the bathroom. Madja had told you she would explain your condition to them, but you hadn’t expected them to come over. 

“Uh, Madja told us you were sick, so we just wanted to check on you.” Cassian said while rubbing the back of his head. You knew they could smell your arousal, but you were praying to the Mother that they wouldn’t mention it, that they would just leave before the cramps came back.

“Yeah, she said you were hurting pretty bad.” Azriel added, mouth tight and hands clenched. You pinched the bridge of your nose and looked over to your High Lord, watching his eyebrows draw together in concern.

“Do you need anything, Y/N?” Rhysand asked with sincerity, making your heart flip at the kindness. They all had your best interest at heart, the four of you had been friends for years, but it was coming at the worst time possible.

“Yeah no, I’m okay.” You smiled before grunting as your cramps came back, making you grasp the doorframe with all of your strength as if it was calling out your lie. “Really, I-I’ll be fine!” The last word was more of a wheeze and you shut your eyes to take in some deep breaths.

“By the gods, Y/N, are you alright?” Rhysand cursed, catching you in his arms when your knees buckled. His warmth and scent immediately had your mind going into a frenzy, moaning as your common sense started to drift out the door when he unconsciously pulled you closer.

It felt so nice, he felt so nice, and you couldn’t stop yourself from burying your head into his neck and inhaling his smell. You missed the look he was sharing with his brothers, looking to them for answers. They licked their lips, practically tasting your arousal in the air, and Cassian motioned for everyone to go inside. 

Whatever was going to happen didn’t need to be done in the hallway. 

“Fuck this place is covered in her scent.” Azriel noted, his cock stirring in his pants as they went further in until they found your bedroom. He turned to look at you squirming in Rhys’s arms, noticing how you were rubbing your thighs together in need, and even he couldn’t control how his shadows slid out and down his arms in excitement and curiosity.

Rhysand laid you on the bed gingerly, groaning loudly as you all but ripped the towel off of your body. All three of them felt their morals slip, eyeing you up like a piece of meat as you reached for the closest male…who turned out to be Cassian.

You looked up at him with big, doe eyes and a pout on your lips. “Please, please touch me, I can’t do this alone…” You pleaded while moving your hands down to the front of his pants, palming the large erection that made your walls throb in want. “Cassian, please!”

He took a deep breath through his nostrils before grasping both of your hands in his own, holding you still as more pretty cries left your mouth. “What do we do? We can’t just leave her but I don’t think I can take much more of this, Rhys.”

They shared another look, as if they were speaking in their own language, before Rhys took Cassian’s place and bent down to your eye level. He grasped your face firmly, trying to use pain to get you to come back to reality for a moment so he could ask for your consent. 

“Y/N? Y/N.” He said sternly, watching the light return to your eyes briefly. “You need help. We can help you but we need your consent.”

The world around was blurry, your primal instincts fighting with all their might to take back control, but you tried your best to focus on his words. They wanted to help you through this, like the good friends they were, but…

“All of you?” You questioned, words slurring while looking at Cassian and Azriel. “At the same time?”

Azriel chuckled, coming up behind you while Cassian joined Rhys in front of you. “If you can take us, angel.” He teased, one of his shadows caressing your bare arm which made a shiver overtake your body momentarily.

Rhys shot him a glare, knowing he wasn’t helping, before softening his gaze when he looked at you again. “You’re in pain, darling. Let us help you.” He cooed, his own lust prickling his blood while Cassian ran a large hand up your leg. 

“We’ll take care of you sweetheart, we promise.” Cassian smirked, watching your eyes flutter at all of the attention your body was craving. It wasn’t even up for debate at the point you were out, your body so desperate for them that you would sooner throw yourself out the window than say no to the men that you dreamed of. 

You licked your lips and nodded, looking deep into Rhysand’s eyes as you softly whispered, “Yes, please. I want it. I want all of you.” 

As soon as you gave your permission, they descended on you, three pairs of mouths claiming you in different places. Azriel had moved your hair so he could kiss your neck, his tongue easing the fire under your skin while Cassian lifted one of your legs to start kissing up your inner calf and thigh. Rhysand had taken your lips, molding them perfectly against your own and groaning at your taste. 

It was hard to focus on who to pay attention to so you decided to finally give in fully to your heat and let your body guide you. One of your hands went behind you to grasp Azriel’s hair, nails digging into his scalp while your other went down to Rhys’s collar to pull him closer.

They continued their coordinated attacks for a few more minutes before Cassian grew tired of being at the bottom. He grabbed both of your legs and threw them sideways so that you were now fully on the bed, ignoring his brothers growls as he quickly found a home between your legs. 

“Look at how wet you are for us, Y/N…” He grinned, spreading you open as Azriel and Rhys bent over to look. All three of them moaned as they saw how sticky you were, the juices of your arousal now sliding down your ass from how much you wanted them. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” Cassian murmured before licking your pussy clean, his long tongue going in every crevice to taste as much as he could. You gasped loudly, your hands flying to grasp at the sheets as he ate you out.

Your hips immediately started to grind against his face while Azriel bent down to start playing with your breasts, pinching and squeezing the soft mounds that caused your sounds to grow even louder. He watched you with those dark, amber eyes as he took a nipple into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue at the same time Cassian flicked your clit.

The pleasure was making you go insane. Your head tilted back only to blink in surprise when Rhysand stared back at you, a feline grin gracing his lips as he went behind you and held your arms above your head so that you were powerless against them. He then forced your head back down so that you were watching his brothers touch you, whispering into your ear to add to your experience.

“Look at how they are touching you, darling. How desperate they are for just a taste of you.” He purred, licking the shell of your ear while you started to pant. Another coil winded tightly in your belly and they could sense it, helping you get closer to your release. “I can’t wait to see for myself but I want you to cum first, can you do that?”

You nodded shakily, your mouth opening as all of the sensations of their touches grew to be too much. Cassian’s tongue snaking into your hole and Azriel’s teeth tugging your nipple was what pushed you over the edge, babbling out incoherently as your orgasm hit you like a shooting star.

Rhysand talked you through it, his cock throbbing steadily as he watched you coat Cassian’s face in your cum. Azriel removed himself from your breasts and started to take off his clothes, his brothers following suit until you were all naked and horny.

All of their cocks were of various sizes and girths but you wanted to taste and fuck them all, your body moving on its own as you crawled towards Azriel and started to fist his cock. You were on all fours, ass out, and you didn’t even flinch when you felt one of them slap their cock against your cunt.

When Cassian appeared beside you, you realized who was behind you, turning to look as the High Lord of the Night Court eased himself into you. It was a stretch but you didn’t feel any pain, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat as he wasted no time in grabbing your hips and picking up speed.

“Angel,” Azriel called, his shadows curling around your face to turn you to look back at him and Cassian. “Don’t forget about us.” 

Your hand resumed its pace while you turned to Cassian and gazed up at him innocently, opening your mouth wide enough so he could guide his dick into your mouth so you wouldn’t lose your balance. Both Illyrians growled above you, Cassian using your hair as leverage while Azriel thrusts his hips in time with your hand. 

“That’s it, darling, that’s it.” Rhysand praised behind you, enjoying how tight you were squeezing him and also how much you were into this. He wishes he could freeze this moment forever. You looked so beautiful, taking them all like this, and he knew his brothers felt the same. 

“Mmmmm, fucsks!” You garbled around Cassian, drool trailing down your chin as Rhys abused your hole like he owned it. You switched your positions so that Azriel was now in your mouth, taking him all the way down which had him shouting your name while you let Cass fuck your hand.

The room smelled like sex and sweat, an intoxicating combination as Rhysand felt his own orgasm swell in his balls. Your body sensed it as well, catching up easily as your walls fluttered around him. Azriel’s thrusts were starting to get sloppy as well and before you knew it, they were both filling you up with their cum. 

Both of your holes couldn’t handle the amount of seed and when they pulled away, it leaked out of the corners of your mouth and cunt. Rhysand used two fingers to catch what had fallen and stuff it back inside, smirking at how you sucked his fingers back in.

Cassian’s release was right there and you turned to face him, opening wide as he moaned your name and coated your face and chin with his finish. It was hot and sticky but you loved it, swishing around the mixture of him and Azriel before swallowing it.

Two strong, scarred hands lifted you up and brought you to his height, kissing you and tasting himself and Cassian on your tongue. The fire that was once burning uncontrollably was now dying down but you still needed more. You wanted them all.

“I need more.” You panted, turning to look at them pitifully. “Please, I need more of you all. To be stuffed full.”

They chuckled at how desperate you sounded, as if they would deny you of that. Cassian snatched you from Az’s arms and laid himself back onto the bed, getting comfy as you reached down to line him up to your cunt. He was longer than Rhys, hitting that button inside of you immediately. You grunted when he bottomed out inside of you, enjoying as his hands came up to grope your tits as you started to ride him.

“So perfect,” Azriel said, coming up behind you and kissing down your neck as you felt one of his fingers prod against your asshole. It felt foreign but you didn’t care, arching your back to give him easier access. “You think you can take both of us, Y/N?”

Rhysand came up to your side and tilted your face to look at him, brushing the hair out of your eyes while taking in your cum-stained beauty. “Of course she can, Azriel. She’s a good girl.” The words sent a chill down your spine and he smirked, bending down to kiss you gently at the same time Azriel pushed into your ass. 

A loud whimper came from your chest at the feeling, nails digging into Rhys’s skin so deeply that blood pooled at the sight. He could care less though, pulling away so he could wrap a hand around your throat to watch you lose yourself in their presence. 

After a moment you motioned for Cassian and Azriel to move, eyebrows knitting together at just how good they felt being in you at the same time. It was your wildest fantasy and judging from the sounds of everyone else, it was theirs as well.

“Oh my gods…” You moaned, your face still turned to Rhys’s. He stuck a thumb in your open mouth and you immediately wrapped your lips around it and began to suck it. 

Meanwhile, Cassian and Azriel looked like they were in heaven. The former had his eyes screwed shut as you bounced on his cock like you were made for him while the latter was biting and kissing any bare skin he could get to. The sound of everyone’s skin slapping against something had your ears ringing and despite your best effort to hold off, your body wanted to cum again.

You looked down and saw Rhysand’s cock standing tall but lonely, trying to reach for it but he tightened his grip on your throat and shook his head. “I enjoy watching as much as I enjoy partaking, Y/N Darling.” He cooed, pushing his thumb farther back until you gagged. “Just enjoy what my brothers are giving you.” 

A nod was your only response as he let you go, Azriel taking full advantage and pulling your face towards him for a searing kiss. Rhys started to stroke his own cock as Cassian started to get close to another release, smacking your ass roughly.

“M’gonna fill you up, sweetheart, fuck.” He panted, watching you tongue fuck Azriel’s face which only spurred him closer to the edge. “Cauldron help me. You’re going to be the death of me Y/N.”

His cock throbbed inside of you and when you left Azriel to kiss him, he lost in. Cassian’s mouth was dominating as he thrust sharply into you, groaning into your mouth as he emptied his balls into you. Azriel was right behind, grasping your hips and moaning loudly.

The feeling of both of them stuffing you full had you finishing with them, your body slumping forward and onto Cassian’s chest as you barely had any energy to even cry out. It felt like the first wave of your heat was finally done, your body exhausted, as they both pulled out of you.

Before you could fully fall asleep, you realized Rhys hadn’t came and when you turned to him, he smiled sweetly and kissed your forehead. “Go to sleep, Y/N. We can continue this when you wake up.”

Your body immediately listened to him, eyes shutting as you fell asleep quickly on Cassian’s chest. They all looked at each other, everyone tired and fucked out, before Azriel said, “When she wakes up?”

“Oh yes, heats like these come in waves,” Rhys explained, heading towards the bathroom to grab some towels for everyone. When he returned, he threw them at his brothers with a smile, looking at you sleeping peacefully and saying, “We’re definitely doing this again.”

“Can’t wait.” Cassian grinned, kissing your temple. Azriel nodded in agreement and joined the two of you in bed. It was going to be one hell of a week. 

[teruel-a-witch]

austen's emma inspired (modern) au of season 2 mcdanno

steve gets fed up with what he perceives as danny pining for rachel when she's clearly not worth it and his friend deserves better so he leaves for a few weeks of training with the navy reserves, without telling danny why he left, of course.

as the time of his homecoming nears, lori approaches danny because she thinks he would have the best intel on whether or not steve is into her. danny doesn't want to be mean but privately he scoffs at the idea because steve was so against having lori on the team and seemed to dislike/mistrust her for the longest time.

he is, however, curious of the timing of why lori is asking now, and she surprises him by saying that she used to think steve definitely wasn't interested but recent events have indicated that he might like her after all, particularly citing the hike steve recently dragged her to (as a team bonding activity) and how he carried her back in his arms when she twisted her ankle.

danny assures her it means nothing as steve has taken him on multiple hikes and he would have carried anyone who was hurt the big showy oaf he is which makes lori bristle 'i knew you had a thing for him too and you are jealous, that's why you don't want it to be true, just admit it'.

danny goes to automatically deny it, but the incident makes him think and re-evaluate things. why does the idea of steve having feelings for lori make his skin crawl? why can't he stand the thought of them flirting and happy at the office every day? that's when he's hit with the realisation that the only person steve should be with is him. danny. he didn't realize why he enjoyed steve's undivided attention and being the most important person in his life until he was faced with the possibility of someone else taking that place.

he also re-evaluates the handcuff incident and steve's strange over-reaction which now makes it seem like steve was jealous! over lori! just his luck that danny realised his feelings for steve when he's already halfway to being in love with someone else. what's worse he now has to play supportive best friend™ and encourage steve to follow his heart because he does want him to be happy.

meanwhile, steve had thought that putting the distance between himself and danny would help him get a handle on his feelings, but it just makes him miss him more, even unrelated things remind him of danny and he just longs to hear his voice and see his hands move in an intricate dance of gestures and his cheeky smile when he teases steve.

he hasn't really kept in touch but somehow through the grapevine he hears about the news that rachel and stan have decided to renew their vows (because having a baby made them feel closer to each other) and of course steve can't stay away any longer! danny needs him! he has to be there for danny to comfort him and it doesn't matter that his own heart is breaking. steve will grit his teeth and bury his pain and share danny's because that's what you do for your best friend!

he travels all night just to get to danny as soon as possible and stumbles onto him almost burning down the mcgarrett kitchen. danny seems almost shell-shocked to see him and acts a little cage-y. steve tells him he's sorry and he's here for him if he needs anything.

danny is confused 'not that i don't appreciate it, but what's the occasion'. steve gently clarifies 'it's fine, you don't have to pretend with me, i know it must be a huge blow to you that rachel is re-marrying the same guy for a second time'. it dawns on danny what has steve so distressed and he even laughs a bit because it's so far off from the actual things he's been preoccupied with, giant SEAL shaped things.

it's steve's turn to be confused, because he assumed danny's voicemail meant he's not over rachel. danny has to correct him 'babe...that voicemail was from months ago, and anyway i don't think it was even about rachel, i just wanted my family back, or the idea of it, but you can never go back. holding onto the past only makes you miss the exciting future opportunities'.

steve sees his opening, of course he wasn't going to bring up his feelings but finding out danny wasn't pining for rachel made him eager to find out his chances before it's too late. 'speaking about future opportunities...'

danny realises this is it, steve is going to tell him about his designs on lori, and he just can't, he can't handle hearing it right now, so he stops steve mid-sentence with 'please don't...it'll make things awkward at work'.

the only way for steve not to look like he's been stabbed in the gut is to completely shut down and go into SEAL mode, but not fast enough to hide the hurt on his face. 'very well. as you wish, i would leave now but it's my house' he grits out. danny turns to leave but takes one last look at steve, standing there like a beautiful, cold statue, and can't stand the thought that he did that, he will force himself to listen because he has to be a good friend to steve.

danny gingerly approaches steve and takes his hand, which makes the ice sculpture thaw a little. 'i'm sorry, i was being selfish, whatever you want to say to me i will hear it, as a friend should'.

'friend...you keep using that word...dearest danno...' steve surprises danny by bringing the hand he was holding to his lips. 'if that's all we are ever going to be, i'll be happy with it, i swear, just...you know i'm bad with words and feelings and you put up with so much of my crap and you stay and have my back the way no one else ever had, and you make me feel too much to be able to put into words...tell me one thing, just one thing...do i have a chance? say something' .

danny is too shocked to speak but he's not about to let steve feel rejected again so he just drags him into the most passionate of kisses he can muster, pleased when steve responds enthusiastically.

somewhere in his happiness- and relief- and lust-addled brain a thought lingers and he pulls away 'oh, shit, lori's gonna be devastated'. then he quickly makes steve forget his confusion because poor girl didn't need more embarrassment and danny was feeling generous.

ps. danny can't say he's sorry when lori gets transferred (he is not that generous), and nothing is going to stop him from being disgustingly happy and in love both at the office and in life. maybe that dusty old english book rachel made grace read recently wasn't as ridiculous and far-fetched as he thought. 'if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more'

[ravenclaw-daydreams]

𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐧 | 𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐚

Warnings: Smut!! (18+ pretty please), language, adult themes.

Summary: Toss a coin to your witcher...

A/n: I would let this man do absolutely anything he wanted to me. :)

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 small feet patted across the chamber, your feet molding to the cobblestone underneath your skin with every gentle step. Your slip gently caressed your body, the extra fabric flowing after you like a veil.

When he finally came into view, you had to do everything to restrain your throat from releasing a small 'aww' at the sight. There, slightly stirring, was your witcher, cuddled up under blankets to keep warm from the biting weather outside.

Bottles of rum and other liquor rested on the small table beside the bed, signaling that he was enjoying his time off before having to march off in the early hours of the morning to fight whatever monstrosity there was left to fight.

But for now, he was yours until he left again, all of him, every part. It might sound selfish if you said it out loud, but you wanted him all to yourself. To keep him in the confines of your chamber. All yours.

Alas, the Witcher could never be a caged bird, no matter how hard you wished he could be, but the nights like these made the time he was away from you all the more worth it.

You wreaked of elegance. Something that your Witcher strictly was not. Your slip looked like it was spun out of moonlight, the pure white tone almost glowing. Your hair was untamed, but neat all the same. You smelled like roses and chamomile. A goddess... perhaps that was why Geralt would continue to come back to you.

Silently, you approached his bed, gently uncovering his bear-like body, hoping he wouldn't stir because of the sudden temperature change. You simply crawled onto the bed, gently straddling his nude hips, letting your evening gown slip its way down your shoulder, exposing your upper half, your breasts now fully exposed, nipples now pebbled due to the chilled air that circulated the room.

You were in a playful mood, leaning over slightly, feeling your breasts lightly graze against his collarbone, only proving how much bigger he was than you in size, your lips placing soft butterfly-like kisses across his face. You scattered your lips over his scars, his eyelids, and lastly his forehead.

When you finally pulled back, blazing golden eyes met your own.

You gasped lowly in surprise, your hopes of him not waking yet shattered.

"You missed your queue," you smirked, your smile almost like a drug to the man underneath you.

"Forgive me. Although, I would be more than delighted to start from the beginning," he growled playfully, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

You giggled like a small child, before letting him flip you over, his hulking body now hovering over yours as he leaned down and gave you a passionate kiss on the lips, full of flame and desire.

Letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, your lips went pliant as you let him take what he wanted— what he needed. His hands roamed your body shamelessly, feeling every curve up like he was experiencing you for the first time.

His lips traveled to your neck and you wrapped your arms around what you could, one hand traveling up to his hair and grasping onto it as he sucked a brand new purple mark onto your flesh.

"You body," he grumbled in a thunderous and deep tone against the skin of your neck, "It never gets old."

You whined at his praise, the heat between your thighs warming up your body as you tried to rub your thighs together for friction, which didn't go unnoticed by Geralt.

"Aww, hush," he smirked, a devilish glint in his eyes, "Patience is a virtue that looks good on you."

You gave a small huff, but your attitude was promptly cut of by the sound of tearing fabric, your evening gown now nothing but sheds of cloth as the man above you tossed them to the side.

Just as you were about to protest, he pressed your lips to his eagerly, his hands exploring your breasts as you felt his skin fully pressed to yours, his height pinning you down as your eyes closed. The kiss was stealing your breath away.

You did your best to take back your stolen air when he pulled away, looking down at you with so much admiration, you thought you might burst.

“Take me, Witcher. Make me yours,” you pleaded, but unbeknownst to you, you already were his. Completely and undeniably.

But it became apparent that he needed to prove it. A love such as his needed to be described by not only words but also by touch. His one true love. A purpose. Something he longed for to couple with his chaotic, dutiful lifestyle.

“My dear. You already are,” the snow-whites of his teeth caught the firelight, his lips pulling back, a smile gracing his gruff features, “my perfect little dove.”

His hand gently grazed your cheek before you felt him line himself up with your aching, soaked core, and he huffed in amusement when he heard your breath hitch.

A beautiful flower all to himself. To please his cock, to keep him warm, to love him like no other could.

Slowly, you felt his tip pierce your veil. No matter how many times he had been inside you, it always felt like he was opening you up for the first time. You hissed, Geralt placing a comforting kiss to the tip of your nose.

Little by little, he pushed his large length into you, muttering praise and kissing you gently every time you made even the slightest noise of distress.

Finally; finally he was pushed in as far as he could go, your cunt gripping onto him like a vice as he took a moment to let you breathe and adjust, something he rarely did.

“Your so radiant. How could I have ever thought to pass up something like you?” You heard him say, which lead you to wonder if he truly meant to say it out loud.

Leaning over, his lips attached to your neck once again, licking and nibbling the dark spots littered across your skin. New, old, it didn’t matter.

“My perfect girl,” you felt him smile against your skin.

Suddenly, you felt him begin to unsheathe himself from your core, all the way to his tip, before slipping himself back in just as slowly as he took himself out.

You mewled at his actions, your nails digging into his back as he started a slow, calculated rhythm, taking you in the most delicious way possible.

All the while he muttered words of tenderness into your skin, “You always feel so perfect around me. Like you were made for me, my favorite body to lose myself in.”

This which was true. After the things he’s seen and done in his life, you were his faultless escape, a reminder of how beautiful life really could be.

Unhurriedly, (and almost unnoticeably), his pace began to pick up, his grunts and groans of pleasure mingling with your higher pitched moans and whines melodically, an ideal song of pleasure and passion.

Soon enough, he began to pound into you, and that was the point your brain went haywire, your moans increasing in volume as he took you selfishly. You scratched harshly into his back.

This only drove him to continue. The mixture of pleasure and pain was a perfect combination of everything he seemed to seek after.

Your fingers moved up his back, now into his tangled platinum mane, and he growled, his thrusts becoming harsher, driving himself into you vice like it was the last thing he would ever do.

"G-Geralt!" you moaned, your voice stuttering due to the brute force of his frantic, unrelenting, and punishing thrusts, "I- I lo-ve you!" your weak voice yipped, and everything stopped dead.

When you opened your eyes, you found his, his yellow eyes like a tiger's as he stared at you with a look you couldn't read. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. But maybe that wasn't all that was.

"My dear, you have no idea how long I've longed to hear those words fall from your lips." he sighed, leaning down and capturing your soft lips with his.

Without warning, his thrusts resumed, and your world fell back into a spiral of pleasure once again.

"Say it again," he groaned into your ear, his deep voice like thunder, sending chills down your spine.

"I love you," you said with more confidence, a look of determination and lust crossing your features, Geralt watching as it did.

With renewed vigor, his pace resumed, the tip of his shaft banging into your g-spot with every brutish hit, your arms wrapped desperately around his large frame, nails digging into his scars and breath becoming ragged.

Suddenly, you felt the coil inside you tighten to the point it was almost painful, knowing that you were about to let go. Geralt understood the signs, sometimes you were convinced that he knew more about your own body than you did.

"Cum for me, petal, I want to feel you," he grunted, wiggling his hand down where both of your sweaty torsos conjoined until his large thumb found your dainty pearl.

He rubbed it in tight, quick circles as your eyes finally rolled back, your body shaking violently as you felt your sight turn a bright white. You fell into a state of ecstasy as he continued to rock you through it, the tightening of your slick cunt driving him over the edge, his balls constricting as he came deep inside of you.

You mewled at the warmth that bloomed in your core, Geralt's lips going into the crease of your neck, leaving soft kisses everywhere he could reach as you slowly found yourself coming back down to Earth.

Soon, all that could be heard were the soft breaths of the two lovers that laid exhausted on the bed. You loved the feeling of him in your arms as he did everything not to crush you, the white of his hair mingling with the tangles of yours.

Finally, he lifted himself out of you and you let out a whimper as he tried to ease the discomfort with a kiss to the nose. He flopped to the side of you, immediately pulling you in.

He held you tightly as you rested your head on his chest, his fingers gently trailing up and down your exposed arm. And you both sat in silence, reveling in the love you shared for one another.

"I missed you," you finally muttered, feeling your lover let out a low 'hmm' above you.

"As have I."

You opened your mouth to say something, but you stopped yourself, not knowing how he would react; if he would get offended.

"No, speak your mind, girl."

His commanding tone sent you straight to submission as you felt his fingers tilt your chin up to look at him.

"I'm just... afraid you won't be here when I wake up in the morning. The bed gets so cold, and I-"

You were cut off with a quick kiss to your lips, "Everything I do, I do for you. I used to only do what I did for coin, nothing more. But for you, I use the coin to take care of both you and I, the future that you and I both want."

"Truly?" you questioned.

"Truly," the witcher replied, sincerity lacing his voice, "After all, you said you loved me. Couldn't give that up, could I?" he smirked.

You tuned red, "No, it would be a shame if you did."

Geralt let out a chuckle at this, "You're stuck with me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Petal pt 3 - Taehyung Mafia/Soulmate au Drabble

Part three of me beating my brain to write something. Side note: does anyone want to see Namjoon’s and Jin’s stories in this universe because I may or may not have ideas 😶

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Taehyung thinks of what he could’ve been should he have had a choice in his life, a man with a sliver of life in his eyes perhaps? That would have been enough. He doesn’t even dare to dream of the life he could’ve had with you, he would’ve settled for anything other than the cruel twisted joke the universe was playing on him as he watched his worst fear come to life.

You’re bought to your knees with a harsh crack against the marble floor in front of him. The grip on your shoulder unrelenting, but he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t put a bullet through the head of one of his men for hurting you, he sits stoically, wondering how he thought he had a chance of delaying the inevitable.

The pain from your knees travelled up your spine until you felt it in your jaw. You could feel the bones in your shoulder breaking from heavy hands, but you’d let it hurt you there forever to stop what it did next. The hand grabs a fistful of your hair forcing you to look up at the man you hadn’t seen in years, his eyes void of the soul that held you on that cold night. You stop breathing when you see him, adrenaline forming a pit in your gut. It’s been so long, you forgot how his presence brought you back to life.

Taehyung’s men are whispering around him, he can see his cousin clench his jaw at the scene in front of him, he’s focusing on everything unfolding in the room other than the tears on your face even though his eyes are still bored on you.

“What’s the meaning of this?” His cousin, Namjoon seethes at the man whose nails are in your scalp.

“Our boss has been hiding a dirty little secret,” he sneers at Taehyung, expecting a reaction but nothing comes.

“Be very careful of what youre accusing Kangmin,”Namjoon warns. “Youre very lucky that there isn’t a bullet in your head right now.”

“What’s surprising is that there isn’t a bullet in this bitch’s head,” he pulls at the strand and you wince, gritting your teeth in pain. You can smell the smoke and alcohol on him as he places his head against the side of yours until your cheeks are pressed together, and the cold of his gun is pressed to the underside of your jaw.

There’s silence in the room, as all eyes travel between Kangmin and where his gaze is held, the head of the Kim empire.

“What are you saying?” Namjoon’s voice is quiet but he might as well be shouting. “Who is she?”

You don’t know who he’s asking but you’re sure not to say a word. You look to your soulmate on his throne, the one that’s kept him away from you, but you don’t wonder why he’s chosen it over you. Instead you note the details of his face and how it’s changed since that night. He looks bigger now, not taller just more broad and full. His jaw is sharper, his tan skin looks smooth in the harsh light, he kept his hair longer now, back to its natural black. You ignore his eyes, still set on you with nothing in them, you don’t want to lose yourself in their darkness, you don’t know what you’d do if you did. He looks well, and all the worry you had over whether he was dead or alive are brought to rest even with the question of your life dangling in front of both of your eyes.

“She’s the great Kim Taehyung’s soulmate,” he’s laughing beside you, you can feel like vibrations travel to your face. The room takes a sharp breath.

Namjoon’s eyes are wide as he looks to his cousin, but there’s no answer on his face.

Instead comes a laugh from the corner of the room.

“And what, you want a reward for finding her?” It’s Seokjin that speaks, the final Kim cousin approaching the mess of you both on the floor.

“He’s known about her for a long fucking time,” the grip on your hair and the sweaty face are gone as he points at the stone man with rage.

“Careful Kangmin, the boss is being damn fucking gracious right now not beating to you a pulp,” Seokjin says like he’s discussing the weather.

“How do you know that’s her, boss said he shot his soulmate the day they met, are you calling Taehyung a liar?” Namjoon responds with venom dripping in his voice.

“Boss has been acting weird since he’s taken over the mantle, he hasn’t taken a wife and had a son. The elders asked me to keep an eye on him,” Kangmin jeers.

Seokjin is laughing back.

“I’m sorry why would our fathers ask a low level rat like you to keep an eye on the head of our empire, why wouldn’t they ask their sons?”

“When the elders ask you to shoot, you shoot first and never ask questions later,” he responds.

“And if it looks like a rat, smells like a rat then it’s a rat,” Namjoon takes his gun from its belt and points it at Kangmin’s head.

“If she’s no one, then boss won’t have a problem putting a bullet through her skull now and burying doubt,” he reasons back.

There’s finally a sign of life from the man who’s withered string still hangs on to you. He sighs like he’s witnessed children fighting over a toy and finally stands to break the toy in half.

“Give me the gun,” his voice is still as deep as you remember and you breathe at the sound like you’ve been given life, even though he threatens to take it.

“What...” Kangmin didn’t expect this to be so easy so in his daze he hands over his gun.

It clicks as he pulls the slide back and aims it as had been promised inbetween your eyes.

There’s so much you want to say to him. You want to ask him how he’s been, if he still kept an eye on you after that night, if he got married or found someone else to fill the void only a soulmate could. You want to confess to him you tried, but it felt so wrong. You want to tell him you lost all hope of seeing him again, that when your friends around you met their fated other halves your empty shell felt a pang of jealousy. You wanted to scream at him, blame him for being the one you still thought about every day. Every time there was a gunshot in the night your heart caught in your throat at the thought he could be the one lying dead.

You don’t say a word to him. Despite knowing these were your last moments alive, you felt a peace spread across your limbs as you faced him. You felt safe with the cold barrel pressing against your skin, you welcolmed it, there was always a bullet between you both, fired when you both met, it just took its time to reach you.

Namjoon and Jin didn’t know what happened that night their cousin came back from the cold with his eyes void of a soul, they had seen the look before on the faces of their fathers and assumed what had been done. What might as well have been done, but Taehyung didn’t tell them he left all pieces of his soul with you that night, and walked away from it forever. He didn’t have the heart to tell you he couldn’t watch over you again, instead he told his right hand man to do it, not telling him who you were. He only trusted Jimin with your life, and although his friend didn’t ask a single question, it didn’t take an idiot for figure it out. He didn’t let Jimin tell him any details of your life, he didn’t deserve to know, he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of seeing you again if he heard of you. It was enough to know you were alive.

You don’t close your eyes, you don’t want to miss a second of him in your sight. In your final moments they say you can see your life flash before your eyes but you don’t, you see the life you could’ve had with the beautiful man in front of you, the one you imagined in his absence. Growing up together, childhood dates in the park, by the flower bed you still visited. How fulfilled you’d both be, living with laughter as you learned to love his soul, you wanted to see it before you die. You want to see Tae smile and laugh just once, you’ll know how beautiful it would be. You want to beg him to do it and then leave this life and live.

You want him to call you petal one last time.

The gunshot echoed loud, you feel the cold of barrel leave, waiting for the bullet to take your life.

There’s no gurgle of life from the body on the floor, only blood and dead eyes set on the man with the smoking gun. There’s a breath of acceptance from the men in the room, it was inevitable, they knew that.

No one pisses of the boss and lives. You sit in shock feeling the wet warmth of blood pool around you, but it isn’t your own. You finally breathe when you look to see Kangmin’s body turning cold beside you, starting to hyperventilate when you realise you’re alive and you’ve never seen a dead body so close.

A hand comes to your chin like it had so many night before, raising your head to look at the man who held your life in his hands, and you trusted it there.

Your wish comes true to see a smile grace his features, although it’s small its as beautiful as you knew it would be.

His eyes roam all over you, how graceful you’ve grown, he hasn’t set his eyes on you for so long he doesn’t ever want you out of his sight. Your white dress is staining with blood, soaking it up and ruining it but he knows it won’t taint your soul the way it had his.

You don’t believe you’re alive until he speaks the first words he’s ever said to you.

“Are you okay petal?”

That’s when you finally break down. He’s quick to bring his arms around you, the mess on the floor resembling the mess of your hearts. You clutch onto him hard, holding whatever part of him you could, covering his pristine shirt with blood. You touch his face, your hands travelling to his chest, to his arm. You cover him in blood but he doesn’t care, you both trying to take as much of each other in as you can.

There’s a cough for attention next to you both, but neither of you acknowledge it. He breathes you in again like a man starved for air, you’re crying like you had when you begged him not to leave, he can hear the same plea now though you’ve not said a word. He doesn’t want to let you go, he doesn’t think he can ever let you go.

“Taehyung the men have been told to wait in the foyer,” Namjoon mutters. “What happens now?”

“You’ll be killed if our fathers find out,” Seokjin felt sympathy for his cousin, for reasons he could never admit to should he want a similar fate, but tradition dictated in their family. Though Taehyung was head, there were still laws he could not break without grave consequences.

You feel a chill at his cousin’s words, finally breaking away from him. He doesn’t let you go until you push him back, eyes roaming over the red you’ve covered him in.

It looks like string, you think. Like the mess of red string that tangled you both together.

“It’s okay petal,” he reassures you softly as if another word would break you, holding onto your hand so he’s not completely separated from you again.

You barely know this man but the thought of him dead makes you wish he put the bullet in your head. It was purely selfish, the soulmate bond ran deep, the universe was sadistic in making sure that death was more welcoming than the alternative. You’d never forgive Taehyung if he let you feel the pain of his absence your whole life only to leave you with the irreversible damage of his death.

You’re physically shaking at the thought. You’ve seen what happens to soulmates who are left behind, there’s a new story every night on every news station on every tv. The suicides, the psychotic breaks, the murder sprees, the loss of humanity. It’s how you knew in your heart of hearts that his was still beating.

A soulmate makes you crave to be a better person, it’s how the world was built, and why it was the rule of the Kim Line to kill them on sight. Every single generation before them upheld that rule until now. It’s how they could work the way they did, it was the biggest taboo, the most inhumane sin you could commit to your soul.

Taehyung wouldn’t do it to you, or to himself. He’d live for you as he had done over the years, in every mission or deal, you motivated him to stay alive.

“Can you stand petal?” He’s never sounded so soft in all the words you’ve heard him say, and you can’t help but stare. This was your soulmate with his mask finally removed and you’d never seen something so ethereal. He doesn’t try to break you from your daze as he lifts you off the ground, arm under your knees and one supporting your back.

Your hand is light on his chest, feeling the muscles underneath his shirt, you don’t care where he’s taking you as long as you’re with him. You can’t take your eyes off his face, you want to trace your finger on his jaw, caress his cheek with the back of your fingers delicately, admire him now his soul is uncovered. You lean closer to him instead, drawn in to the skin you’re intrigued with until you place a kiss there.

He takes in a sharp breath, heart starting to speed like a train, you pull away too quick before he can decide whether he imagined the feeling of your lips. He looks down at your soft form, meeting your eyes that haunted his dreams since that night.

You don’t know what he’s thinking, where you both go from here. You don’t want to think about it, you know he’s going to send you away and you won’t let the sour tingle of fear ruin this moment even if it’s covered in the metallic stench of blood.

“Tae,” you sound so sweet to him, so small yet your voice holds his heart. There’s so much on your tongue to say but only his name feels right. His arms pull you against him tighter as he walks, tucking your face in his neck, letting you breathe him in. He wants to be the only one in all your senses, and you welcome it.

“Taehyung he knew I was watching her,” you heard a familiar voice pant. “He snuck her out, I’m so sorry.”

You peek out of your cocoon to see Park Jimin standing in front of you both before following in Taehyung’s steps. You look up at him for answers but he offers you none, so you look to the blonde haired friend you made since the night your soulmate left your life. He smiled sheepishly, a empty promise of answers when the time was right.

You’re not an idiot, and now you realise why you stopped feeling your soulmates presence in your life, he sent someone else to watch you. It shouldn’t break your heart, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t.

Jimin runs ahead to open the door outside for you both. You expect the cold air but not the onslaught of the sound of bullets. Taehyung drops your legs as he’s shot in the arm, and you don’t realise what’s happening until he’s pulling you to the ground behind the Mercedes.

“You okay boss?” Jimin is quick beside you, head bobbing to see where the shots were firing from, gun in hand. “I count two shooters.”

“Petal are you hurt?” He groans, there’s blood drenching his sleeve but he doesn’t care. His eyes are all over you to make sure you’re okay. He takes out the gun in his holster, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“11 and 1 o’clock,” is all Jimin has to say before they start shooting back.

“Get in the car!”

The bullets don’t cease as Jimin climbs into the drivers seat, Taehyung pushing you into the back with his hand on your head to keep it low.

“Get her somewhere safe,” he instructs to Jimin but you grab onto his uninjured arm to stop him from moving.

“No!” “Get in the car Tae!” Both you and Jimin yell at the same time.

“I’m not driving anywhere unless you get your butt in the car boss, and hurry theyre approaching fast.”

You pull at his arm in panic, he can’t leave you like this, without the car as a barrier he’d be dead in two seconds flat.

“Tae please,” you cry and he concedes. Jimin is quick to put his foot on the pedal to get you all out, the glass didnt shatter from the force of the bullets, but Tae still pulls your head down away from the firing line, he doesn’t care it’s bullet proof glass he’s not taking a chance.

It’s not until the sounds of bullets fade away he relents in his hold, feeling the adrenaline that was burning slow to a simmer and with it came the pain of his wounds. He groans as it catches up with him, and you notice he’s taken two more shots, one on his leg and one on his shoulder.

“Jimin he’s bleeding!” It’s obvious to everyone but you still say it as if Jimin could stop it for you. Your eyes are so pretty even in panic, Taehyung thinks as he rests his head on your bloodstained lap. He can feel himself fading but he fights it to keep you in his gaze, you’re stroking his hair wailing at Jimin but he smiles. You’re so beautiful.

“Jimin he’s losing a lot of blood, please I don’t know what to do!” Youre sobbing.

“You need to stop the bleeding Y/n, press down on the wounds,” Jimin’s panicking too but has to focus on getting you all somewhere safe, the car is swerving in and out of traffic and he doesn’t want to kill you all after escaping death.

How are you meant to stop the bleeding there are three gunshot wounds, all three of them mocking you. You’re hyperventilating, pressing down on one with your hand but he groans in pain against the pressure.

His fingers come to play with the strand of hair in front of your weeping eyes, and in his own all you see is peace. The silence fills between you both as the blares of cars and horns around to reduce to a hum.

There’s so much you want to say, there’s always so much you want to say, but your relationship was built on silence. His hand drops back to his side as he loses the fight to keep his eyes from closing, and both your worlds fade black.

[silkenstarlight]

blackbird's lullaby

Summary: After a rough day, Bucky can’t sleep. Reader decides to help.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning/s: a bit of angst in regards to Bucky’s past, but the end is fluffy and sweet :)

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s note: something possessed me to write this instead of working on my finals, so here, enjoy the fruits of my academic negligence lol

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Bucky’s side of the bed was cold when you woke.

You sighed deeply, wrenched from the arms of a dream, rubbing the heavy, lulling tug of sleep from your eyes. You were half awake, toeing the line between the violent brightness of a dreamscape and the hazy, blurred shadows of your bedroom. The warmth of the blankets wrapped around your limbs and threatened to pull you under again, but before you could succumb to their soft, enticing tangle, a singular thought rose in your mind from the murky depths of sleep. At first, it was quiet, a hushed voice in your brain whispering to you that you were alone. But then, the concern gained traction, and it blared in your skull with a deep, unnerving clarity, a nagging insistence that made your eyes snap back open.

Where the hell was Bucky?

You sat up in bed and looked at the alarm clock on your nightstand. 2:46 AM.

You frowned, turning to face Bucky’s empty pillow, and reached a hand out, lightly tracing the crisp, untouched folds. The sheets on his side of the bed were still flat and pristinely tucked, his pillow perfectly fluffed. He hadn’t bothered to try to sleep.

You knew why.

You peeled back the blankets and shivered, met instantly with the deep chill of night air as you unfolded yourself from your fleece and goose-down cocoon.

Bucky preferred to keep the apartment cold. You obliged, of course, bundling up in endless sweaters and blankets as he opened the windows wide and turned the rotary fan on full blast. You never questioned him about it, never asked if you could dial up the thermostat just a few degrees. You knew that keeping the apartment cold helped him to avoid the dreaded space of sleep, helped him to outrun the ever-looming specter of his nightmarish past. And, whenever he did come to bed, he gave you all of the blankets, covering his body with just the thin cotton layer of a bedsheet.

You knew that he rarely fell into a deep, nourishing slumber, so you tried to help boost his energy in other ways. Big, steaming pots of the strongest coffee you could brew, a fridge stocked with healthy snacks, and daily morning walks around the neighborhood together. He quietly thanked you for your efforts, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead and leaving fresh flowers in the vase on the kitchen table every Sunday. But, even though he preferred to stay awake, whenever you rolled over in bed to snuggle into his side and found that his eyes were still wide open, a hard lump rose in your throat and a worried pit formed in your stomach.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and put on your slippers, grabbing one of Bucky’s sweatshirts and shrugging it on as you padded out to the kitchen. You just wanted to check on him and make sure that he was okay.

When he had returned from his mission earlier in the evening, he had seemed a little off to you. Usually, he was quiet, preferring to listen to you as ranted about your stressful workday or gushed about the newest book you were reading. He never wanted to talk much about himself, silently refusing to drag the horrors of his work into your home. It was where he felt at ease-- the plush pillows, the diffused, ambient lighting, the cloying scent of vanilla candles-- it was all so you. He didn’t want to taint the safety and warmth he felt when he was surrounded by your essence with the cold uncertainty and lingering shame of his work. Even though his missions nowadays were usually unrelated to his past as a clandestine Hydra operation, and even though the two jobs differed vastly in motive, he sometimes felt the creeping prick of deja vu traveling up his neck. Follow this person. Disable that vehicle. Shoot this opponent.

All of the lights in the apartment were off, so as you approached the kitchen, you used the bright white glow of your phone screen as a flashlight. You didn’t want to go directly to the living room and make it too obvious that you were checking on him. He would just shake you off if you did, insist that you go back to bed. So, you reached into the cupboard above the sink and grabbed a glass, turning on the faucet and filling it as you peered over the countertop, trying to pick out Bucky’s rigid frame amongst the inky shadows of the living room. You turned off the faucet and brought the glass to your lips, swallowing a couple of small sips.

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” The sound of Bucky’s voice coming from the couch made you jump, the thick glass of your cup clacking against your teeth. You placed it in the sink and walked over to the couch.

Despite the low light, you could see that Bucky was still wearing the clothes he had on when he came home from his mission. Gray tee, leather jacket, dark jeans. He hadn’t even taken off his heavy black boots.

You stepped slowly towards him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to bury him in a hug and pepper him with kisses. Instead, you sat next to him, leaving a little space between your body and his. Now, you could see his clenched jaw, his jittery, tapping fingers, and the jumping vein in his neck that only pulsed when he was stressed. His gaze was fixed on some indeterminate point on the wall in front of him, as if he were lost in thought.

This wasn’t a normal sleepless night. Something was wrong.

“I… I guess that I should be asking you the same question,” you said softly, voice gravelly and low from sleep.

He didn’t respond, just took a sharp inhale that made it sound like he was staving off tears.

You couldn’t help it. It was like your body could sense his distress. Your hand jerked up to rest on his shoulder, a subconscious reaction to his apparent suffering. You let it stay there, though, stroking your thumb lightly along the cool leather of his jacket.

He stirred from his reverie and turned to look at you. It was so dark, the curtains shut tight, not a single ray of moonlight filtering into the room, but the blue of his eyes shone bright, glistening with the wet sparkle of unshed tears. Sadness swelled in your chest.

“You can tell me,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here to listen.”

His gaze dropped from your face, silently weighing your words. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you enough to open up. The truth was that he didn’t trust himself to speak. If he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And then, his demons would be given a voice, and the doors to this vanilla-scented, blanket-swathed haven would be wrenched open to the darkness that waited for him beyond the threshold.

But he could also see the way that his silence affected you. You frowned more on the mornings after he didn’t come to bed. You talked and talked and talked, trying to fill his ears with noise to distract him from the numbing static in his skull. And you were constantly touching him in some way, whether twining your lithe fingers around his thumb or draping your body on top of his in a warm, crushing hug. It was as if you didn’t want to let him out of your sight.

So, he let out a long exhale and reached up, taking your hand from its perch on his arm and twining his fingers tightly with yours. He idly stroked your palm with his thumb and decided to tell you the truth.

“I… I had a bit of a setback tonight.” He felt like he was wrenching the words from his throat. He couldn’t look at you, a deep sense of shame settling into his bones, but he stared at your hand held in his and felt the creeping self-doubt hesitate just a little.

“What do you mean?”

He dragged his eyes up to yours, blinking nervously. “I, uh--” he inhaled sharply and felt tears prick at his eyes. “Someone used my trigger words tonight. And it worked.”

Silence lay heavy between you as you digested what he said, but you didn’t pull away, didn’t pry your hand from his. You simply held his gaze.

“How is that possible?” He had gone through years of extensive mental treatment in Wakanda, the emotional scars that he suffered after years of lost identity and unwilling servitude seemingly healed. But, now, it seemed that one of those scars had re-opened.

“Ayo said that it was unlikely, but that it could happen. Relapse is a part of the process.” His voice was pained.

You nodded slightly, assenting to Ayo’s expertise. But Bucky’s next sentence made you fall apart at the seams.

“I thought I was different, after all these years. But I guess I haven’t changed. I’m still him.” He spat the last word, his face creasing into an expression of disgust.

You didn’t hesitate. “Come here.”

You gently separated your hand from his and reached up to his shoulders, guiding him towards you in a tight embrace. You wrapped your arms behind his neck and he pressed his chin into the notch between your shoulder and neck. As you began tracing your fingertips along his jacket collar, his chest heaved in desperate inhales, slow tears tracking down his cheeks developing into full, wracking sobs.

“You’re safe. I won’t let you go.” You pressed your mouth against his temple in a soft, soothing kiss.

“You were never him.” Although your voice was barely a whisper, it spoke volumes, your words ringing clear and true in the quiet stillness. Bucky shuddered, squeezing you close. You moved one of your hands up to cradle the back of his head.

You stayed like that for a long time, until you saw the blue light of dawn trickle through the gap beneath the curtains, but you didn’t say anything, waiting for Bucky to say what he needed. When his breath finally stilled into a regular rhythm, no longer halting and ragged, you pulled back and took his face in your hands, staring deeply into his eyes.

“I’m so tired.” His voice was flat and broken, but when you wiped a stray tear from his cheek with your pinkie, a small, grateful smile formed on his face.

You nodded. “Well, I know what will help. Come here.” You pulled back, shifting down the couch, guiding him with you with your hand wrapped around his arm. When he had enough space to lie down, you stopped, settling into your seat. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he could risk falling asleep in his current emotional state, but he sighed, knowing that he needed to rest. He laid back, resting his head on your lap, and looked up at you.

You carded your fingers through his short hair, brushing it back from his forehead. He melted into the gentle gesture, relaxing into the couch, into the warmth of your body.

And then, you began to sing.

You were quiet at first, as if trying out the thought of singing him a lullaby. Your voice was tentative, trying out the feeling of the different notes in your mouth.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

You thought that your voice was nothing special, your untrained, warbling syllables rushing from your lips in a breathy exhale. But Bucky loved it. The way you let your words flow together, followed by a long, lilting end note and a pause to inhale-- it was sweet and soft and so very you.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.

All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.”

He could feel it already, the lull of an encroaching dream. His first instinct was to fight it, to blink the sleep from his eyes, but he let his lids shut, blocking out every sense except for the sound of your voice.

“Blackbird fly, blackbird fly,

Into the light of a dark black night.”

And, as he welcomed the embrace of sleep, your voice followed him, a glowing amber halo of warmth that pushed the dark away and lit his path into the space of dreams.

“All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

He dreamt of blackbirds and forehead kisses, of vanilla candles and forgiveness.

He dreamt of you.

[ot7always]

No Rest for the Wicked

Word Count: 2.4k

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader x Yoongi

Genre: Smut (pwp)

Warnings: dom!Hoseok, dom!Yoongi, sub!Reader, threesome, fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, cumplay if you squint, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, creampie

Rating: 18+

Summary: Didn’t anyone ever teach you that “prove it” was definitely not a thing to say if you weren’t expecting to get absolutely railed?

A/N: This fic is a part of my 1k Milestone Requests.

This is my second time posting because the first time didn’t tag;;;; but anyway this is the best birthday present I can give to my bby @dee-ehn​. I remembered your request and thought “well why not two biases instead of one?”

I hope you enjoy Danica, happy birthday!!!!!!

--

Well – there was certainly no rest for the wicked.

Despite your heaving chest, sore limbs, and helpless whine, deft fingers shoved the leaking cum back into your sopping cunt. Your sensitive walls clamped down on them, shivers wracking your body, jerking as they curved against your g-spot.

Your head lolled inelegantly against the chest you were clinging to desperately, the hard planes of his body plastered to the front of your own. It was all you could do to whimper lowly, fingers wrapping around the arms holding you down atop him, unable to escape the pleasure raining down on you.

Despite having taken cock not minutes ago, the addition of a third finger had you feeling heady, groaning at the stretch. That hand didn’t give you the slightest of moments to collect yourself, pressing deep and scissoring within you.

“Shhh,” a voice urged right against your ear when you let out a particularly loud cry. It would have been soothing if not for the smirk you could hear in his tone. If you had the mental capacity and didn’t feel like the human version of a noodle at that moment, you’d have punched him right in his stupid mouth.

But all you could do was squirm fruitlessly in his arms, your body unsure whether it wanted to pull away or rock against the fingers inside you.

When that hand maneuvered itself so that a thumb rubbed against your clit, you could hardly bite down on the squeal that wrenched itself from your throat.

“Ah, can’t,” you slurred, panting as you moved your face to tuck into the neck in front of you. Another groan left you as those fingers curved within you again. God, everything felt like too much and not enough all at the same time. It felt like you were riding a wave of pleasure entirely out of your own control. And as much as that pleasure was laced with pain as the thumb moved against your swollen, oversensitive clit, you couldn’t help wanting more.

A dark chuckle sounded out from behind you. “Aw, look at you. You talk so big for someone who falls apart so easily.”

You felt a hand grasp firmly into the root of your hair before your head was yanked backward, your face on full display to the man before you. When you forced your eyes to flutter open, you almost wished you’d kept them shut.

The look in Hoseok’s eyes was positively devious, his trademark happy smile replaced only by a slight upturn of his lips. When you fixed your blurry vision to meet his gaze, he grinned, though there was hardly any humour in it.

“Oh, princess,” he crooned. “You look so wrecked already and we aren’t even done with you.”

Before you could even process his words, the unrelenting brush of fingertips against that spot inside you had you keening, gaze immediately dropping as your eyes clamped shut.

“Yoongi...” you moaned breathlessly, and your head would have fallen right back into Hoseok’s chest if not for the other man’s hand gripping your hair.

“Hm, what was that?” the voice behind you drawled. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

“Yoongi, please,” you responded, hoping it would urge him to do something.

“Hm, kitten, I don’t know what you’re asking for,” he cooed before thrusting into you harshly. You tried not to gasp at the sensation.

God, how did you end up in this situation? One moment you were jokingly mocking the two of them for their boring sexual tastes (where did that conversation come from, anyway?), and the next you were in bed with both of them, Yoongi’s lips at your neck while Hoseok thrusted up into you relentlessly.

“Hah, I bet you just missionary and piston like a machine ‘til you cum, don’t you?”

You were only joking to rile them up, but they didn’t seem to take the insult very well. Before you knew what was happening, and maybe with a very unintelligent “prove it, then,” Hoseok already vowed they would “fuck you stupid.”

And you could definitely concur that they succeeded – and as was said to you not moments ago, they weren’t even done with you yet.

You must have been silently gaping a moment too long, because a hand stroked lightly at your face, tipping your chin back up to look into Hoseok’s face.

“Use your words, princess. What do you want?” he hummed. The sight of him looking so sinful when he usually looked so bright and cheerful only further blanked your mind, want flaring in your chest.

“I-” you said dumbly, already forgetting the question as Yoongi’s grip in your hair tightened, fingers speeding up.

“Cute,” Yoongi quipped, sounding as though he was thoroughly enjoying your state.

“’m gonna cum,” you gasped, fixing pleading eyes onto Hoseok’s in front of you. You didn’t even know if that was a proper response, only that Yoongi’s constant ministrations were bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Good,” Hoseok grinned, arms pulling you impossibly closer to his body, his strength rendering movement more and more impossible. “Cum then.”

His words paired with the crook of Yoongi’s fingers had you falling into bliss, pleasure wracking your body enough that your vision went hazy. With Hoseok’s arms holding you down and Yoongi’s hand in your hair, there was nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do except take what was given to you.

Your face scrunched up in pleasure was on full display, whimpers falling uncensored from your lips. The sight had Hoseok hissing beneath you.

But when you came down from your high and his motions didn’t cease, your expression became pained, the pressure against your clit feeling suddenly much too sharp.

Sensing that after two orgasms the sensation was more unpleasant than anything else, the thumb on your clit moved, but the fingers continued to thrust into you slowly. The feeling remained overwhelming, the feel of every drag of his knuckles against your walls amplified tenfold. It left you speechless, but gave you enough capacity to catch your breath as he wound you down.

The hand on your head released you gently, the arms around you loosening to let you cuddle into Hoseok with a low whine. One of his hands moved to rub soothingly along the bare skin of your back, though it did nothing to quell the goosebumps dotting your flesh at Yoongi’s continued, slow motions.

Hoseok’s rested his head atop yours with care, noticeably much gentler than he was before. “Princess,” he said lowly.

“Mm,” you replied weakly, limp in his arms, unsure whether you were more overtaken by fatigue or the pleasure Yoongi was slowly, tenderly wringing out of you.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked upon hearing you, no trace of teasing in his voice.

You shook your head immediately. Everything was so overwhelming, but it was so good. You wanted more. You were selfish – you hadn’t felt Yoongi’s cock yet, and you wanted him so badly. Part of you wished you had some sort of nobler cause – that Yoongi hadn’t come yet, that you wanted to pleasure him too. But in truth, you just wanted to be spoiled by them, wanted to be fucked until your mind blanked of everything except their skin on yours.

“Words,” Yoongi said brusquely, though not unkindly. When you didn’t respond right away, his motions paused. “Y/N?”

“I want it,” you mumbled, sound muffled into Hoseok’s chest, though they seemed to understand you perfectly well.

You let out a sudden breath as Yoongi’s fingers slipped from you, smearing the mess of your arousal and Hoseok’s cum along his own length. He hissed through his teeth at the sensation after going untouched so long, pleasure traveling up his spine.

“What do you want, kitten?” Yoongi asked, smirking at the indignant whine you let out at the question.

You could hardly wrap your tongue around words and he knew it, took pleasure in your desperation and helplessness. Fuck you stupid, indeed.

“Princess wants cock, hm?” came Hoseok’s voice, and you didn’t know if the teasing lilt in his tone made you want to complain or simply be grateful that he was making this easier on you.

Just as you were about to open your mouth, a warm presence behind you, along with the head of a cock rubbing against your entrance had you canting your hips and whimpering.

“Does little kitten want to play?” Yoongi cooed, pressing forward ever-so-slightly, your walls beginning to part for him before he pulled away again.

A sob wrenched itself from your throat. “Please,” you begged, sticking your ass out as though to entice him, and it seemed to work fairly well.

“Say it again,” he replied, groaning as he rubbed his cock through your folds again. At this point, you couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or himself.

Your fingers dug into the sheets near you, a hand braced against Hoseok’s shoulder despite being boneless against him. “Please, Yoongi-”

There was no time to think before his cock was shoved into you to the hilt, with no regard for how sensitive you’d become.

In your surprise, you couldn't suppress the near-scream at being filled so suddenly, cunt clamping down on his length. You felt stretched so wide despite his fingers having been inside you already, body shuddering in overwhelm.

Yoongi paused immediately at the almost distressed sound, but moaned lowly when you whimpered, grinding back on his length.

At that, he started thrusting slowly, hissing at the constant fluttering of your walls around him.

The movement had you feeling out of your head, the slightest movements sending pleasure ripping through you. Your mouth fell open, uninhibited sounds coming from your lips. Another time you might have been embarrassed at the drool falling onto Hoseok’s bare chest, but you had no capacity for anything besides bliss.

“Feel good, princess?” Hoseok murmured hotly by your ear.

You didn’t even process what he said to you, moreso moaning just from the sound of his voice. Your sounds were only increasing in volume as Yoongi’s pace quickened.

“Look at me. I want to see your face.”

Hoseok didn’t give you any opportunity to do so yourself before he was pulling you up by the chin. You didn’t try to look at him properly, face slack as every thrust only pumped more and more euphoria through your veins until you felt like you were going to burst.

“Fuck” he cursed lowly at the sight of you, thumb moving to wipe at your mouth. “You look so fucking ruined.” The words sounded so sinful coming from his lips, spoken between you as though it were a secret.

“Gonna cum for me again, aren’t you?” Yoongi growled, taking note of the way you only got louder, cunt not relenting in its grip on him.

You nodded furiously, entire body feeling hot as that string holding you teetering over the edge was about to snap.

“Mm, that’s what I thought. Kitten’s so weak for cock, isn’t she?”

It was another one, two, particularly harsh thrusts at just the right angle that sent you careening off that edge, something between a sob and a loud whine leaving you. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, but Yoongi didn’t dare stop there.

No, he fucked you through your orgasm as if his life depended on it, only encouraged by your loud gasps as he only brought you higher and higher.

But it wasn’t long before discomfort wound its way through the pleasure, and despite that, you didn’t want it to end.

At the same time, though, you swore you’d never felt pleasure like this, and you didn’t know how to handle it – couldn't handle it.

“Doing so well for us, princess,” Hoseok praised softly, capturing your lips with his own.

It was more accurate to say that he was kissing you, and you were just along for the ride as ecstasy battered you on all sides. Everything left you breathless, and you had to quickly break the kiss just to gasp for air.

“So good,” Yoongi’s voice choked out behind you, sounding about half as wrecked as you felt. “Gonna... gonna cum. Can you take it?”

“Please,” you whimpered, strength completely gone from your limbs, but wanting so badly to please him.

You nearly cried when he sped up again, but it only took seconds before he was spilling into you with a groan, warmth filling you for the second time that night. You shuddered at the sensation, unable to stop yourself from squeezing around him one last time.

You both moaned when he pulled himself from you, the last of your strength leaving with him. You were utterly limp in Hoseok’s arms, exhaustion taking hold of you and dragging you into its depths.

When Yoongi collapsed beside you on the bed, he tugged you into his arms immediately, and you went without a fight.

The silent, warm caresses along your back were more than enough to bring you dangerously close to passing out, humming contentedly.

You were so out of it that you hadn’t noticed Hoseok’s absence until he returned with a washcloth between your legs. You hardly reacted to the touch aside from the initial jolt of surprise.

Once he’d gently cleaned you up, he returned to lay beside you, leaving you to indulgently cuddle into Yoongi after not having felt much of him. Yoongi seemed content to have that moment with you, whispering affirmations that you’d done well, that he was proud of you.

You were happy to lay in Yoongi’s embrace, basking in his warm touches, but before sleep captured you, Hoseok’s voice broke through your stupor.

“So,” he said, already back to his loud, cheerful self. You groaned in annoyance, unprepared to handle his volume after having Yoongi’s low, quiet, raspy voice in your ear only minutes ago.

“Hm?” you grumbled. You weren’t quite ready to return to reality yet, but Hoseok’s voice dragged you from the blissful, unthinking state you were in.

“Was it exciting enough for you?” He didn’t even try to stifle his laugh after posing his question, and you heaved a sigh, turning away from Hoseok as much as possible, shoving your face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck. If Yoongi was smirking at you, you didn’t want to see that either.

“I hate you both.”

--

[gryffindors-weasley]

Promises

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: After you have an unpleasant encounter with Lucius Malfoy, it leaves Draco in fear of losing you. Though he can’t seem to keep himself from you.

Requested by @kiiramalfoy : “i would like to order something with Draco where the reader is Slytherin, and they date, and Draco’s father hurts the reader, and Draco cries a lot for fear of losing her.”

Warnings: mentions of injury, scars, anxiety, fluff

A/N: Thank you for the lovely request!

You exhaled a quiet sigh, one of many that afternoon though the sun was beginning to dip lower into the sky and turn over to evening. It’s golden rays still cast its beauty, however, coloring everything it had landed on in varying hues of a warm orange the more time that goes by. It had always been your favorite time of day for that very reason, that and it was when you could spend most of your time with Draco.

His midnight black blazer had long since been discarded in a crumpled heap in the grass next to you, the top two buttons of its matching dresshirt undone and its corresponding tie loosened around his neck. The light breeze caused a ripple in the water of the Black Lake, the edge not more than a few feet from where the two of you resided against the same old tree you claimed as your own.

This very location was one the two of you had claimed as a whole for that matter, a place that was secluded and nearly unfrequented by most. Despite that fact, Draco had always felt he’d been a target for prying eyes as of late, but he couldn’t seem to keep himself away from you for very long. He’d tried. He’d tried so hard to withdraw himself and keep you away, if only to keep you safe was his reasoning. But his reasoning quickly became overshadowed by his desperate need to be near you, to be with you. So he broke the promise he made to himself not long after it was made.

He lay in the grass with his head in your lap while you sat there, tucked comfortably between the thick roots of the familiar old oak tree. Unseen grass stains litter his black slacks but he couldn’t bring himself to care about such trivial things, instead focusing on the warmth of the sun on his skin or the sweet smell of your perfume wafting his way every time the wind blew. A few stray stars had begun to twinkle directly above the two of you as evening slowly crept in, lightning bugs flickering like glowing yellow dots along the waters edge as they flutter aimlessly through taller blades of grass.

Your hand had been absentmindedly running through his hair as you read a new book, making sure to miss the few sections where a wildflower or two was carefully woven into it. They offered a burst of color in contrast to the iciness of his hair. It took everything in him not to fall asleep at the comforting feeling, because he wanted to take in every single second he had with you in fear that there wouldn’t be more. Though sometimes the task of staying awake wasn’t very difficult when his hair pokes in his eyes or you gasp upon reading something surprising in your book, your hand pausing its movement right over top of his face. Still, he wouldn’t trade these moments for the world.

“Are you going to talk to me, Love?” He asks softly, peeking one eye open to look at you.

“After this chapter, Draco,” you say, though you weren’t entirely sure what he’d said, your eyes focused on the tattered pages as you run your hand down his cheek gently.

“You’ve said that three chapters ago,” he huffs, though he isn’t truly angry.

He sits up quickly, the sudden movement causing the delicate petals once tucked in his hair to tumble lightly to the ground like feathers. You laugh down at your book and shake your head, turning to the next page. He leans over and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, another to your jaw, smiling softly when he sees the pink blush beginning to appear on your skin. However, your attention doesn’t seem to falter from the pages you read from, so he kisses your cheek once more before settling his head on your shoulder with a sigh.

His smile widens a fraction when he feels you rest your head on his though, the small action appeasing his need for your attention momentarily. He takes in his surroundings, the reflection of the pointed rooftops of the castle not too far away, rippled and distorted on the lake. The puffy clouds colored with pinks and oranges and yellows, and the grass swaying gently in the breeze. Yet with all the beauty set out right in front of him, it all paled in comparison to you. And surely someone had to have been wondering where the two of you had been all day, but that wasn’t of any importance to him.

Truthfully, he’d abandon any and all things just to be with you.

His attention is soon focused on your hand, more-so the scar that rests atop it. His fingers brush over the pale scarlet splotch on the back of your hand, one that blossoms slightly further up your arm. One that he’s cast numerous Episkey spells on, and several healing potions gathered from Madam Pomfrey. But not even his rather vast knowledge on healing could permanently fix it. He doesn’t think it makes you any less radiant, never, but he remains horrified by the means of how it’d been put there. His very own father. The thought still taunts him with each day that passes and he fears it might never go away.

7 Months Ago

You walked through Diagon Alley in search of the few items left on your list in preparation for your seventh year. It wasn’t as extensive nor did it feel as important, but you still wanted to go. The pathways were crowded with excited young students experiencing this place for the first time. Though you weren’t as worried this time around because you had taken this trip by yourself now that you had been old enough to.

You were startled by the firm grip placed heavily upon your shoulder, your gaze quickly and dreadfully meeting icy blue eyes when you look to your left.

“Mind if I have a word?” Lucius asks, his smile far from friendly.

Of course he knew you’d be there, and you were starting to regret coming here alone.

You swallow thickly, though you remain calm as you try and control the spike in your heart rate. You barely have the time to give a nod in response before he veers off into an unfrequented alleyway, the sneer on his face now completely gone in favor of a more hardened expression.

“Do you think I am blind to what you have been doing?”

Your eyebrows knit together in faux confusion. “Blind to what?”

His jaw clenched at your apparently clueless words and he took a step closer. His stare was intense as he seemingly towered over you, as if he was reaching into the very depths of your soul to pull out whatever secrets you may have been keeping. Ones you fought desperately for him to be unaware of. “Whatever it is you think you have with my son must come to an end.”

Your heart had froze in your chest at the statement, and you clench your fists at your sides to keep your trembling hands from becoming obvious to the man in front of you. “I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about, Mr. Malfoy.”

He laughs bitterly, his eyes scanning your expression as if he could detect the very fact that you were lying. You took a step back from him. “You are merely a distraction and nothing more, you would only bring disgrace to the contuation of the Malfoy name and you know it. You’ve already brought shame to yourself.”

You try not to let his words have any affect on you, though the task is proving to be far more difficult than expected as stinging tears press just behind your eyes. But still, you were becoming angry at his taunting words as he tried to antagonize you. “How so?”

You’re startled by his sudden grip on your wrist, and he tugs it up to eye level. “You might have the purest magic running through your veins, but that does not make you worthy of anything at all. You and your family’s infamy and regrettable choice to defy the Sacred 28 have no place here, you don’t belong,” He says, teeth gritting, “Either you listen to my words now or I’ll just have to do something about it. Won’t I?”

You flinch at his harsh words as you try and pull yourself from his grasp. It only tightens, unrelenting as his nails dig into your skin and you suppressed the urge to cry out. However, it still hadn’t stopped you from speaking your mind.

“Regrettable? My families morals and their ability to defy your terrible ideals and not frown upon individuals you deem to be less than you is not regrettable. At least my family knows what love and kindness is,” you quip, narrowing your eyes up at him.

You watch the anger twist his face into a threatening glare, the pressure on your wrist almost becoming too much to bear. It felt as though it’d snap in two if it got any tighter and you couldn’t suppress your tears as one rolls down your flushed cheek.

“What are you doing?” A voice sounds behind you.

You glance over your shoulder to find Draco, having difficulty masking his surge of emotions as he catches sight of the tears lining your eyes. Then his eyes bounce to his fathers face, furious and so full of venom he couldn’t bring himself hold his stare. Then his eyes landed on your arm.

His worst nightmares seemed to have been coming true right before his very eyes, and he mulled over his next actions quickly. If he protects you from his father, it’d confirm the relationship the two of you held in secret and he would more than likely lose you. If he doesn’t, he’d singlehandedly destroy your trust and lose you that way. The thought made him sick to his stomach and his head spun with worry as he made up his mind.

“Relashio!” Draco utters, his fathers grip on you faltering. You tug your arm away and rush to his side, though your attempt isn’t all too easy.

A searing pain scorches the back of your hand, the sensation traveling up the top of your wrist as you recoil your hand to your chest and peer out from behind Draco. The flames extinguish from the wand in Lucius’ hand just as quickly as they appeared, the very flames that kissed your skin in his spiteful attempt to hurt you. To scare his son with the consequences of his love for you. The horror was apparent on Draco’s face as he drops his wand, looking at his father through glossy eyes.

“Draco, you’re doing it again,” you sigh quietly, marking your page before closing your book and setting it aside for the first time since you’ve been out there.

“Doing what, darling?”

“You’re thinking about it again. You’ve got that look you always have when you do,” you say, knowing he’d try and convince you otherwise. “I know that look.”

His thumb brushes ever so gently against your hand despite the tension in his jaw as it clenches. He closes his eyes and takes a breath to steady his emotions. “Sorry.”

You sigh lightly and press a chaste kiss to the corner of his jaw, lingering there for a few moments before you spoke up softly. “I’ve dealt with worse, you know.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He asks, more so a scoff, the idea of you experiencing anything worse than that moment making his stomach churn and twist in knots. He turns to look at you with furrowed brows and a slight frown, though you remain positive.

“Ideally yes,” you say with a soft laugh, one that makes his heart flutter in his chest as you take his hand in yours, “though I take it it’s not working.”

He’s quiet after that, frustration simmering in his stomach as he tries to control his temper for your sake. His gaze shifts to the sky above him once more as he rests his head back on the crumbling bark of the decades old tree. It’s not his fault, not entirely and he knows that. You knew that. It was his fathers doing and if he had been there sooner he wouldn’t have let it happen. You knew he’d protect you, right?

He could only hope that you knew he’d endure a lifetime of pain just so you never had to experience a single drop ever again. It was risky of him to defy the promise he made to his father, never to see you again. It was a deal he’d made before storming back to his room in a bout of angry tears that persisted for the entirety of the night. He doesn’t believe he’d cried over anything at all quite like this. But you’ve etched yourself in every part of him so much so it’s made it impossible to deny the profound love he feels for you. He could only last three weeks without you once your final school year had started again, barely that, his lingering stares only increasing his longing for you until he cracked.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the feeling of you twisting the ring around his finger, the cold silver band sending a shiver up his arm. It’s a habit you’ve picked up, he hadn’t been sure of where it came from, but you did it. Much like the way you often button and unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirts; he can’t remember how many he’s had to replace because they eventually fall off.

Regardless, he doesn’t mind the habit, but the very ring you’re playing with is one he’s grown to dislike considerably. The swirling metallic snake only reminds him of his father, his family, and the mistakes he’s made up to this point. Most notably, what it’s put you through. He’ll get another ring for you to twirl, but he cannot bear wearing this one a moment longer.

He slips it off his finger and stands to his feet abruptly, walking over to the waters edge.

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, getting up and wandering to his side. You watch as he examines the ring, running his thumb over the silver snake curling across the front.

He lifts his hand and throws the ring, watching as it bounces once across the shimmering water before disappearing with a small splash. His lip curled up in anger as he grabbed his tie, hastily plucking the matching house pin from the black fabric and throwing it with more vigor. It goes farther than the last, though the action does very little to release the animosity towards his father.

“Draco stop,” you say, grabbing his arm and turning him to face you. It wasn’t until the water calmed again that he looked at you again. His chest heaved slightly, cheeks tinged a soft pink as he stares down at you.

Tears line his eyes as he stands before you. “I don’t want to stop. I want to rid myself of everything that has to do with this place.”

“Would you just calm down? For me?” You ask quietly, offering a patient smile as you grabbed his hands gingerly. “Being angry and upset isn’t making matters any better, Draco. You’re only souring your mood.”

You reach up and wipe a frustrated tear before it could fully roll down his flushed cheek, your thumb tracing over it in a way that set him at ease almost immediately. He closes his eyes as he finds himself leaning into your touch, trying to focus on the warmth of your hand on his skin rather than the anger pressing insistently within his chest.

You have a way of doing that, he realizes. He feels you could take any situation, no matter how miserable, and make it brighter. You could take his sorrows and change them to utter happiness. Perhaps that’s why he was so attached to you. You’d always be there to keep him from sinking, it didn’t take much effort on your end. He could get through anything if you were there to pull him through it.

“How are you so care free? About all this?” He asks once he’s calmed down a bit, both intrigued and envious as he brushes your hair behind your ear. The tips of his fingers trace down your neck, grasping the green tie dangling from it softly as he sighs, his hand running down your arm until it envelops your own tenderly.

You smile up at him, the contours of his face becoming more apparent the lower the sun sets in the sky. “I’ve spent the entirety of my life under scrutiny for my family’s choice one way or another,” you start, brushing the blonde strand away that dipped in his eyes. “It grows tiring after a while, and you learn to tune it out.”

His crease between his brows deepens slightly as you wrap your arms around his neck, his arms quick to hold you close to him with the intention of keeping you there for a long while.

“Words only hurt you if you allow them to, Draco. It’s not always going to be easy, but it’s true,” you say, reaching up to smooth the worry between his dark brows before your hand slides down to rest on his chest, the other tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m scared for the future, I think we all are. But I want to focus on what’s here right now. With you.”

A soft smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, another to your jaw, and perhaps the softest just below your ear. Your perfume was sweet and enchanting as it flooded his senses and left him lingering there for a few fleeting moments, his remaining anger subsiding completely.

“Tell me we’ll be okay,” he asks, barely just above a whisper. His reluctantly pulls away from the crook of your neck, pale blue eyes bouncing around every inch of your face in search of doubt.

You smile sweetly at him, gaze flickering up to his eyes before you lean on your toes and press your lips on his, gentle yet firm as your hands settle on his cheeks. Any traces of tension he had left dissolves in that very moment, his arms caging you tightly against him as your shirt crinkles under his grip. It’s as if nothing else mattered, and to him nothing ever mattered more than you. When you parted, he chased after your lips for another kiss, soft yet full of love as he smiled softly.

“We’ll be okay.”

—

[hargrove-mayfields]

The first summer after the incident at Starcourt, things have finally had enough time to slowly ease back into normalcy.

The day after school lets out, the kids talk Steve into letting them come swim in his pool. It’s only for a couple of hours, and honestly, it does them all some good, the kids getting to pretend things are okay for a while, and Steve getting to soothe that worry that crept in every time he didn’t have an eye on all of them, so despite the guilt they all certainly felt for having fun, they let themselves enjoy it, for a little while at least.

The gimmick of what made summer fun ran out pretty quickly for them though, so once they’d all gotten sunburnt shoulders and had tangles in their hair and wrinkles on their fingers from the chlorinated water, they decided it was time to go home. They weren’t up for the arcade or ice cream after the pool like they used to be either, but they had had just under a year now to decide they were okay with that.

So Steve loads them all up into his new Mercedes-Benz, the replacement for the BMW that became necessary post battle when they discovered his car had been crushed at some point during that night by the Mind Flayer, and took them all home.

Max’s house was the last on his route no matter which way he went, the only member of the party who lived on the outskirts of the wealthy part of town now that the Byers’ had moved, so it’s just the two of them in the car. As they pull up outside though, she hesitates to get out, instead nervously picking at the stitches in the seat, mulling over something in her head.

They aren’t really close, no bond between them beyond babysitter and grumpy teenager not happy to have one, but Steve feels an obligation towards all of these kids, so he shifts in the seat so he’s facing her, and asks her in a way he hoped sounds approachable, “What’s up, Max?”

Max takes another second and a deep breath before speaking, wringing her hands nervously, “Billy’s birthday is in a few days and I don’t think anybody knows that, but I want to do something for him.”

Steve nods, doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do at first, “Have you talked to your mom about this?”

He asks because word traveled fast in a small town like Hawkins. Everyone and their mother knew that Neil Hargrove had split before they’d even stabilized his son in the hospital, and his wife had stayed with their children, taking full responsibility for Billy and Max. If anyone should be having a party for Billy, it should be Susan.

“Yeah and she liked the idea, but she’s been really busy with work and stuff, double now with Billy’s medical bills, and I know a lot of the other parents are too and some of them I just don’t know well enough to ask, and I don’t know who else to turn to because normally I’d take this stuff to Billy and I can’t do it by myself.” Max rambles all in one breath, has clearly been thinking about this for a long time.

Steve obviously wants to encourage that, so he asks, “What did you wanna do for him?”

“I just wanted to have a party for him at the hospital, but I know that’s kinda dumb since nobody goes to see him anyways.” Max mumbles, wrapping her fingers around the door handle like she’s going to get out, “I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“No it’s not. What day is it, his birthday?”

“The sixth. I know that’s kinda short notice but-“ Max starts again, but Steve interrupts, a small smile on his face as if to prove he’s genuine, “No, it’s fine. We’ll figure something out. We’re not going to let Billy be alone on his birthday.”

It doesn’t seem to have the effect Steve wanted though, because Max scoffs and pushes the car door open, snapping before she gets out, “You do every other day.”

Even though Max had been so short with him at first, after that, she and Steve work on a plan at the end of every day when he was driving her back home, Max slowly evolving from tense about even bringing it up to actually excited for this thing they were working on together for her brother.

Steve doesn’t really have the time or the know-how for home made anything, but he buys everything you typically would find at an under twenty one birthday party, balloons and streamers, a chocolate cake, per Max’s request, and a tub of Superman ice cream, also a suggestion from Max.

He doesn’t buy Billy a present, he figures he doesn’t have use for much for anything material in the hospital, and although he’s willing to help, he feels he still doesn’t really know Billy like that anymore.

Or maybe he does, he just doesn’t know if the friendship they had been reluctantly developing would withstand the strain the accident at Starcourt had put on it, and didn’t feel it was very appropriate just to show up with an expensive knick knack that would just rub his wealth in Billy’s face.

Instead, he gets him a card, because who doesn’t want a birthday card, and leaves a hundred dollars and a heartfelt note in it. The money is because he has it and Billy needs it more than he does, and a hundred dollars was standard for milestone birthdays, in his family at least, and since Billy was lucky to see his nineteenth come around, he figures this counted.

So on the sixth of June, they’re ready to celebrate Billy.

Steve drives the kids all to the hospital that day, surprised that even without El around right now to convince them to, they were all willing to come. He guesses they’d all seen how torn up Max was when Billy was admitted to the hospital, and now that eleven months later he still hadn’t got out, it was bound to be hard on her.

It wasn’t a surprise anymore, Max had let it slip to Billy a few days beforehand in her excitement, so they just went straight up to his room, each kid and Steve carrying something, decorations or food or presents.

At first, Billy doesn’t really seem to thrilled to see them, but Steve supposed he wouldn’t be either, it couldn’t be any fun aging in the hospital, especially surrounded by nobody but your little sisters friends.

But they still set it all up for him, tying balloons to his bed and hanging streamers above the door. Max sits with him and keeps him entertained with stories, but what makes his mood significantly improve is when a nurse interrupted them to give him another dose of his pain meds.

Once they’re all set up, it’s Lucas who points out, “We forgot the candles for the cake.”

And it’s Max who, without really thinking about it, reminds him, “We probably have some with all the decorations and stuff we bought.”

It’s Dustin who looks and finds a pack of candles that someone indeed had brought, and calls out, “Found some.”

But it’s Steve who is seemingly the only one able to remember that the birthday boy was still on oxygen after a lung transplant and didn’t think he needed to be blowing out any candles, reminding Dustin very pointedly, “Actually, Dustin, I don’t think we need any candles.

Of course he argues, because kids do, “C'mon Steve, it's a birthday cake. All birthday cakes have candles.”

“Yeah, but I said I don’t think this one needs any.” Steve says, through his teeth this time, nodding subtly towards Billy, and Dustin's eyes widen a little, and the candles get put back without another word about it.

Instead, Steve gives Billy the zippo from his pocket, flipping it open for him so a tiny flame dances in front of his face, “Make a wish, Hargrove.”

Billy takes the lighter, a little apprehensively, but he stays quiet, looking up at Steve as he presumably makes his wish to himself, then clicks it shut, extinguishing the flame.

Ever impatient, the kids decide that’s their cue to cut into the cake without really asking anybody, but Steve doesn’t stop them, because as Billy reminds Max when she sits down on his bedside with a piece, “I can’t really eat that right now, kiddo, but thank you.”

She blows him off, teasingly uncaring in that sibling way, “Oh, I know, that’s why I picked chocolate cake, ‘cause I know you don’t like it. I just wanted you to have one, so it felt like a real birthday.”

Billy smiles wide, holds his arms out the best he can anymore for a hug, “Aww, come ‘ere, shitbird.”

Max spends the rest of their little impromptu party at his bedside, talking to her friends but sitting with her brother, the both of them chasing that sense of normalcy that everyone else had been able to move on and achieve, but they had no chance at grasping so long as they were apart.

That is at least, until to keep himself busy while the kids argue about something, Billy reads his card from Steve, that long written out note that detailed all his feelings and regrets and thoughts about Billy that he had been grappling with since Billy was hospitalized, sorrys and thank yous and happy birthday, everything crammed into that card but the part about how Steve had been falling in love with Billy since they met in ‘84.

It makes Steve nervous, twitchy and vulnerable with Billy reads it, until he gently closes the card and looks up at Steve, eyes wide and a little teary.

The first thing he says is an unrelated question, ruffling his little sisters hair and asking her, “Maxi, can you go down to the vending machine at the end of the hall and grab me some stuff? I’m running out of candy to hide in the bedside drawer.”

Max nods and slides down from his bed, and Billy adds, “Take all your friends too. See if they want anything.”

He waits until all the kids are gone, their voices echoing distantly down the long hallway, to ask Steve, “D’you do all this for me, Harrington?”

Steve shrugs, not sure if he’s more humble or nervous about why Billy wanted to talk to him alone, “It was Max’s idea.”

“But you still organized it, right?”

“I guess. I don’t want a thank you or anything though.” Steve insists, but Billy smiles, a bright one like Steve hardly ever saw anymore, and insists right back “Too bad, you’re getting one. Thank you.”

Steve just shrugs again, “It’s your birthday, Hargrove. I wasn’t going to let you be forgotten.”

“I would’ve been okay, Steve. Birthdays were just… never really a thing in my family anyways.”

Steve can tell they were going to go back and forth all day, arguing over whether or not he should be celebrated, and if he needed someone by his side, if he doesnt change the subject, so he asks him, “What’d you wish for?”

“Can’t tell you that or it won’t come true.” Billy hums, thoughtful, and he says, sounding like his sister, “And it’s sort of dumb anyways.”

“Hey, I’m sure it’s not dumb. If it’s something you want, it can’t be.”

Billy looks up at him, a little smile on his face, and explains, “I don’t know it’s just, I’m going to be sick for the rest of my life, I’m stuck in the hospital for another month at least and my dad disowned me, but, my wish still wasn’t for any of that to change.”

“What was it then?”

Billy takes a deep breath, a noticeable flush to his face, “I wished that I would have the guts to finally do this.”

For a second Steve wonders what he’s talking about, worries briefly that he was going to use the distraction and the relaxed attention from the nurses on his birthday to make grand escape from the hospital or something, until Billy leans up and kisses him.

It’s chaste and it’s sweet, everything that he’d expect from anybody that wasn’t Billy Hargrove, and everything that Steve could ever have wanted. He sits down on the bed beside Billy to make the angle easier on the both of them, not breaking the kiss for even a second, bringing his hand up to cup Billy's cheek, and deepening the kiss.

They’re interrupted by the squeaking of tennis shoes on the waxy hospital floors in the hallway, the kids coming back already, so Steve pulls away, just as flushed as Billy was now and keeping one of his hands resting on top of Billy’s, “Happy birthday, Billy.”

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 6

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

EXTRA WARNINGS - this chapter is pretty much unrelenting whump and the violence and consent issues (past) tags strongly apply. I have put more detailed (spoiler heavy) warnings at the bottom so if you’re particularly sensitive to that stuff and want to scroll down to check before you read you can do so.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

In a tavern just outside of Leovan the crowd roars another! And Roman laughs and gamely starts to play another jig. He’s been playing for hours and he drinks in the attention happily, even as the cheers of the crowd become a ringing in his ears. The night is long and his throat is raw and his stomach empty and it’s harder and harder to keep his eyes focused, but his hands are steady on the strings. He sways in place, sweat dripping into his eyes, but it doesn’t matter- the crowd adore him. They sing and dance and laugh along, and after each set they call another, another, another until the room is spinning and his throat is bleeding and the audience’s laughter had turned cruel and high and lilting and-

Roman woke with a gasp and immediately regretted it.

The underground room was still pitch black, the humidity still cloying. At some point during his fitful sleep he had slumped to the floor, Lucius’ ill-attempt at binding having come loose enough to allow him to slide his arms down the length of the pipe. He was awkwardly sprawled at the base with his wrists still pinned above his head and his legs twisted underneath him. He tugged experimentally at his binding and got a sharp spike of pain down his shoulders and spine for his trouble. Whilst he had wasted time sleeping, the silk had become sodden from the moisture of the room and shrunk tight against his wrists, making even Lucius’ knotwork impossible to pull apart.

Not that it would have made much difference if he could get it loose.

Stay here until I come back with your transport.

Grunting with pain, he managed to untangle his legs out from under him and sit up. He pushed himself up on his knees as best he could, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists, but gave it up quickly as the pain lacing down his shoulders intensified.

This was bad.

He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to think, but the heat was making it almost impossible. The black of the room kept swirling back in to crowded tavern, the rush of water into the jeers of a crowd…he could feel the raw burn on his throat and his mind scrambled desperately for another song-

Except it hadn’t happened like that. He shook his head furiously, his hair flicking sweat into the room, trying to banish the tavern from his mind.  He had already started traveling with the others by the time he sang in Leovan and if he’d tried to perform so late into the night Virgil would have come stomping down the stairs to tell him he was being ridiculous and to go and get some sleep.

Or Patton would have sat up listening, playing bodyguard, until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open and sweetly suggested that the crowd might want to be getting home to their own families.

Or Logan would appear, pocket watch in hand, demanding he finish within a set time frame in order to allow for optimal sleeping hours.

Roman could almost hear the lecture, relief at a chance to escape the crowd mingling with exasperation at the scholars ridged scheduling.

In the dark Roman glanced over to where he thought the door should be.

The only sound was the gentle hiss of water.

He tried pulling at the rope again.

***

“Hey! It’s you!”

The man blocking Roman’s path back to the ballroom was clearly drunk. He stumbled towards Roman, half leaning on the hallway wall for support, a big dopy smile on his face.  “I saw you- I saw you back there – wow!”

“Thank you friend.” Roman smiled brightly and took a step backwards, but not quickly enough to prevent the guy from grasping onto his sash.

“You’re so pretty.” The guy breathed, his eyes unfocused but his grip firm, “I saw you lookin’ at me when you were singin’.”

Roman squirmed. He was almost certainly better trained than his admirer, and he had had a lot less ale, but he was also shorter and skinnier. With the man pressed so close in the narrow hallway it was almost impossible to find the leverage he needed to push him off.

And. This was a nice place. And by the quality of the man’s clothing he was an honoured guest not a servant. Roman had been the one to convince his new companions to accompany him to the local lord’s house for the ball, he had wanted to give them to a chance to relax whilst he performed. He didn’t want to get himself, and them, kicked out by causing a scene- not when he was half hoping they would allow him to continue to travel with them even though the job he’d been hired for was done.

“I look at everyone-” he said, smile fixed and polite ”– engaging the audience is actually very important for-“

“Shush.” The man whispered.

Roman shushed. Grinding his teeth in frustration.

His assailant brought one hand up to paw at his face in a clumsy attempt at seduction, thick rings knocking against Romans jaw. His other hand released the bard’s sash to grip his wrist instead.

“Kiss me,” the man breathed, the stink of ale on his breath making Roman gag.

Face burning with mounting frustration and embarrassment, Roman attempted to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, but the man twisted his head at the last moment to meet his lips with his own.  Pressing Roman back against the wall with a slobbering assault as he attempted to pry Roman’s lips open with his tongue.

Panic flickered in Roman’s belly and then just as quickly dulled. It was generally easier to let these things run their course.

And then, suddenly, the pressure on his mouth – and wrist and chest - was gone.

Roman blinked open eyes he didn’t remember squeezing shut to see Patton with an expression so furious Roman had to fight the instinct to cower.

“What.” Patton snarled “Do you think you’re doing?”

“I di-didn’t mean to-“ Roman started.

“Well?!” Patton roared and Roman realised he wasn’t speaking to him – but rather the rich man who appeared to be rapidly sobering up in Patton’s grip.  The warrior held him by the scuff of his neck, his toes just scraping the floor. When Patton shook him, the plethora of chains around his neck clinked together musically.

“Roman,” Patton asked, his voice still shaking with an anger that made Roman draw his shoulders up instinctively “do you…know this man?”

“Well…no.” Roman glanced at the chains again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his heart rate started to return to normal “I think he might be the mayor though Pat, put him down!”

“I don’t care if he’s the King of the elves! Did you want to kiss him?”

“Well no, but – but its fine! These things happen!”

“You call yourself a Prince and this is how you carry on?”

Wait. What?

Roman blinked, feeling strangely hot in the cool hallway.

Patton wasn’t supposed to say that. Patton was supposed to ask what he meant. And Roman would backtrack and feed him some lines about people often feeling entitled to performers time off stage – which was not untrue – and Patton would look at him wide eyed and tell him that would never happen again –

“You’ve been told over and over, to keep yourself to yourself.”

- that Patton would stand guard at every performance from now on if that’s what it took.-

“If you insist on putting yourself into these situations, don’t come crying to me when the inevitable happens.”

-And Roman would be so elated at the implication that they were to keep travelling together that he would almost forget to feel embarrassed at the situation.-

Patton’s lips narrowed into a thin disapproving line, “Don’t be naive. You are far better off alone, Romulus.”

“Dad?” Roman whispered.

“He doesn’t look much like the Prince.”

“Oh, like you’ve seen him.”

“Well he’s meant to be handsome right? This guy’s not winning any contests.”

Roman opened his eyes, squinting against the light. Three men stood around him, illuminated by the glow of an oil lamp. For one wild moment elation flooded through him - his friends had found him after all!

And then their conversation registered and he scowled. Disappointment robbing him of a witty comeback to their insults.

Still. Let them travel almost non-stop for three weeks, spend a night standing out in the middle of a field whilst an old woman sang at herbs, march for five days through a forest - including a detour through he thickets brambles known to man- and then follow that up with an entire day wandering around the city, have two panic attacks and be left to sleep tied up in caller. And then see if they looked their best.  

With the gag still in his mouth, Roman’s attempt to covey this sentiment were mercifully muffled.

“I don’t know.” The biggest of the three stepped forward, grabbing a handful of Roman’s hair and yanking his head back painfully, abruptly cutting off his complaints. “I can kinda see it.”

“Be careful Niki,” the one who had first spoken whispered, he was holding the lantern and keeping well back from Roman. “His nibs thinks he’s got devils with him.”

“In here?” Niki cast a glance around at the iron cage of pipework that covered the room. “If he does they’re not coming out.”

“Still.” Lantern-boy whined.

“Well let’s test it.” Niki grinned down and Roman spitefully and released his grip on his hair. In one quick movement he had produced an iron dagger, not unlike Roman’s own, and pressed the flat of it to Roman’s cheek.

Roman stared at him.

“There you see? If was possessed he’d be screaming.” Niki said smugly and pulled his knife back, twisting it slightly as he did so, leaving a shallow cut along Roman’s cheek, making him wince.

“Careful,” lantern-boy said meaningfully “he’s still the Prince’s brother.”

“Oops.” Niki smiled cheerfully down at Roman. “My bad.”

“He needs to drink.” The third man stood far enough back from the lantern that Roman couldn’t see his face, but he saw the way the other two responded to his soft voice, their posture automatically stiffening.

“Here,” lantern-boy stepped forward after a moment, holding out a water skin to Niki  who rolled his eyes but reached down to rip the gag from Roman’s mouth.

Roman coughed, swallowing air greedily. His throat was painfully dry, all moisture sucked out by the silk, but he still hesitated when Niki held the skin up to his mouth.

“Listen to me.” He croaked “you-“

“Just drink it.” Niki snapped and Roman surged forward despite himself, swallowing a few precious mouthfuls before the skin was yanked away again.  

“You’re from Notaleveale.”  he whispered. “Right?”

“Obviously.” Lantern-boy muttered, taking the water skin back from his companion.

“Well then,” he drew himself up as much as he could, ignoring the pain the movement caused “ – as true men of The North I must implore you to assist me. The Marquis has been embroiled in some- some conspiracy of untruths, is perhaps plotting against the very crown itself and-“

“The Marquis de Orenlla couldn’t plot his way out of a paper bag.” Niki snorted contemptuously.

Roman opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Isn’t he your Lord?” he asked eventually feeling bizarrely offended on the Marquis’ behalf. Niki and lantern-boy were both wearing chest plates embossed with the three peaked mountain range that signified allegiance to Orenlla, the royal kraken of Notaleveale floating above. They were clearly guardsmen brought with Lucius on his journey south.

The third man, who hadn’t spoken since he mentioned Roman needing to drink, wore no identifying uniform.

“It’s not an insult.” Niki shrugged, “personally I prefer an employer too daft to organise a coupe.”  

Lantern-boy nodded in agreement, “It’s a, whatcha call it - a positive working environment, innt?”

“…alright.” Roman decided to change tactics. “I’ll double what he’s paying you.” This time both men laughed.

“With what?”

“Well, I. I’m still a Prince I’ll have you know -  I have many rich and influential friends who would gladly-“

“Oh really. Where are they then?”

There was an unpleasant pause whilst Roman desperately tried to get his brain to think. He was supposed to be more creative than this!

“You’re no Prince of ours anyhow.” Lantern-boy stepped a bit closer to glare into Roman’s eyes. “Traitor.”

Roman flinched back at the pure look of venom on the young man’s face.

Little fae touched traitor.

“Listen to me. Whatever you’ve heard – it’s not true. My father-“

“Don’t you dare speak his name!” Niki surged froward, pulling Roman up by the neck of his tunic. Their faces were close enough that Roman could feel the spittle from the man’s mouth land on his cheek as he shouted: “After your despicable actions you would dare to-“

“Nicolas. Don’t upset yourself.”

The third man was barely visible to Roman over Niki- Nicholas’- shoulder, but as soon as he spoke the large man stilled, lowering Roman slowly back to the ground.

“Marcus. Some more light if you will.”

Lantern-boy -presumably Marcus– quickly produced a box of long matchsticks, almost tripping over himself in his haste to light more lanterns around the room. By the time he was done the room was brightly lit, the glow from each lamp bouncing off the metal pipes until it filled every corner.

The third man did not look especially Notalevealean, with skin almost as white as Virgil’s and pale white blond hair.  He was dressed plainly, with pale grey robes and soft shoes, and carried only a thin walking stick. If he hadn’t spoken, he could have quite easily faded into the background - camouflaged against the dull back drop of pipes.

“Nicholas. Marcus. Go and guard the passages.”

“But we already have a dozen men out there-“

“And I’m sure they’re in need of leadership. Go now.”

The two men glanced at each other. Roman thought for a moment that they would stand their ground, but then Marcus snatched up his original lantern and headed for the door, Niki following after one last reluctant glance back.

“W-wait.” Roman called. “Is my Father alive?”

They disappeared into the gloom of the next room.

Left alone with only the quiet grey man, Roman found himself wishing they’d stayed.

The grey man smiled at him as he shuffled towards the kneeling prince. His smile was an awful thing that did not touch his eyes.

“The young Marquis de Orenlla is a rather silly boy.” He told Roman in his soft papery voice. “Much like yourself.”

Despite himself Roman let out an offended squeak, but the grey man continued unhindered. “He has very little idea how to survive alone, can barely function without his servants.”

Roman caught himself staring at the floor and snapped his gaze back to the grey man’s face. He didn’t want to miss any information he might let slip but looking at him was-

It was difficult.

When he tried to look at the details of his face they seemed to slip away. Was he young or old? What colour were his eyes?

The whole time he had been talking, had his mouth actually moved?

“What are you?” Roman whispered.

The grey man smiled again, Roman shuddered.

“But also like you, he is not wholly stupid. He has started asking some inconvenient questions.”

Within the blink of an eye, the grey man was next to him a knife in his hand. Before Roman had a chance to do more than flinch, he had cut the ties biding his hands, and was back across the room.

Dazed, Roman rubbed his wrists, trying not to wretch.

Up close, the grey man smelt of death.

“Now. Sit there, and listen to me until I finish.”

Romulus whimpered.

“Your father is dead.” The grey man told him bluntly. “You killed him.”

“No.” Romulus- Roman shook his head. Used his newly freed hands to cover his ears. “He was sick.”

“You poisoned him over many weeks.” the grey man whispered. “Disguised it as a common sickness. You tried the same on your brother but he was too strong to succumb.”

Roman lowered his hands. They were pointless anyway- the grey man’s voice seemed to be inside his head.

“That’s not how his strength works!”

“And so instead, you allied yourself with a traitor to the fae court and placed a curse of madness on the crown prince, rendering him unable to rule. You hoped to take over in his place, but luckily your father’s advisors found you out. You were forced to flea with your fae companion.”

Roman stared at him, eyes wide. “That’s insane!”

“That’s the truth.” The grey man insisted. “When The Marquis asks you for the truth, that’s what you’ll say.”

“No.” Roman shook his head. “No, no, no.”

The grey man reached forward, resting his hand gently against Roman’s cheek. Romulus stared up into his eyes.

“Julius?” he whispered.

“In a way.” The grey man’s face seemed to twist. For a single moment, it was Julius’ face that looked disdainful down at him, rendering Romulus mute with terror. And then with another twist to reality it was gone, back to the grey man’s blank visage.

“I’ve had eyes all over looking for you Romulus. I was so sure you must have died in the mountains and yet –“ His fingers tightened on Roman’s face, nails digging cruelly into his skin. “Here you are. Like a little cockroach.”

With a shove he released Roman’s face and walked swiftly to the centre of the room, where the largest pipes rose out of the floor. “Stay on your knees and come here.” he ordered. Face burning, Roman shuffled after him, knees bruising on the stone floor.

“Put your hands here.” He gestured to one of the larger pipes. Even before his hands touched the surface, Roman could feel the heat radiating from it. It was far hotter than the one he had been tied to and although he braced himself he couldn’t hold back a yelp of pain when his hands made contact.

He snatched them back quickly, his palms an alarming shade of red. And without pausing, sprang to his feet, aiming a punch directly at the grey man’s immobile face.

“Stop moving.”

Roman felt his muscles lock, momentum sending him crashing to the ground as the grey man easily sidestepped his swing.

“Don’t move until I tell you too.” The grey man added, leaving Roman frozen on the ground where he landed.

Slowey the grey man stepped around him, crouching down by his head. “Look at me, Romulus.” Roman did so, only moving his eyes to stare at the flickering mirage of the grey man’s face.

Up close, the smell was so bad Roman felt the remains of his pastry threatening to make a reappearance.

“I am going to ask you some questions. You are going to tell me the truth. Nod if you understand.”

Slowly, Roman nodded. The grey man – Julius – whatever it was, had already told him what it wanted him to consider the truth. But even so, ‘tell the truth’ was an easy enough order to get around. Truth being in the eye of the beholder and all.

“And if you don’t, I am going to tell you to hold onto that pipe again, and I am going to tell you to keep holding it until I am satisfied with your answers. Do you understand?”

Roman swallowed.  He nodded again.

“Did you kill your father? Tell the truth now.”

“No.” he said quickly and then bit his tongue, cursing. Franticly he looked up at the grey man  “You, you said that was a truth for The Marquis, not for everyone I can’t just –“

“Raise your left hand.” the grey man said mildly. “Bring it here.”

Romulus felt tears of frustration and fear spring to his eyes. He was stupid for thinking he had a chance at this. Julius’ tests were never designed for him to pass.

***

Roman wasn’t sure how many hours passed before the grey man seemed satisfied.

Fortunately, he had methods of persuasion beyond just the pipe. When Romans’ left palm had become completely coated in blisters the grey man had handed him walking stick and instructed him to bring it down hard on his own back instead. And then his shoulders. The side of his face. His left palm.

The grey man never touched him himself.

He didn’t have any need to.

Whenever there was a pause between punishments he ordered Roman to stillness. Time which Roman happily spent fantasising, first of smashing the stick down across the grey man’s head, then of pressing his own eyes to the hot pipe.

Even if they took him home – he could not allow himself to lay eyes on Remus. That was the one thing he could not fail on.

“Did you kill your father?” asked the grey man.

“Yes.”

The stress of raising Romulus, of hiding the curse; there was no doubt he’d contributed to his fathers early death. It was true, at least to him.

“Did you curse your brother?”

“Yes.”

When he was a little boy there had been a phase where he tried to put a curse on Remus daily, and Remus him. The kind of curses they dreamed up were for itchy feet and stinky farts, and none of them had worked, but it was still technically true.  

“Why?”

“I was jealous of my brother.”

If Roman had only been born a half hour earlier he could have avoided a lifetime of being second best. He could have avoided his curse. Grown up with his Father instead of Julius. Not that he would wish any of that on Remus but. It was natural, surely, to be a little jealous of his brothers freedom.

“Good.”

Julius’ face smiled down at him. He reached out with the grey mans hands to stroke Romulus’ hair, like he sometimes did when he was a child. “You see Romulus, there is always a way to work within the confines of your curse, so long as you are willing to look for it. I taught you that.”

“Where are you?” Romulus whispered.

“I am waiting for you.” he smiled. “I have no sons Romulus, no one to pass the Stewardship to. And we must think about the future of our kingdom. When you are back, we can write a new story.”

“You…you’re ruler?”

Romulus frowned. There was a missing piece here but he couldn’t find it. The heat and pain were making his brain slosh against the inside of his skull. He found himself leaning in to the hand in his hair, even as revulsion rippled through him. “If you’re ruler then where’s –“

“Where’s the serpent?”

Roman blinked. Looking up, he found that Julius was gone again, the grey mans expressionless face staring back at him.

“What?”

“The serpent. Where is he?”

“I don’t – I don’t know what you mean.” Romulus held his injured arm close to his chest, curling over it protectively.

He heard the disappointed sigh and flinched even before the grey man brought his other hand to Romans’ bruised shoulder, squeezing hard.

“Look at me.”

Romulus did, eyes bright.

“I know he has left his prison. I know he was with you at that inn. I sent that stupid boy to get him and he found you.”

“I don’t know what you mean!” Romulus wailed, hating the childish wobble in his voice. “There wasn’t anyone else at the inn.”

“No?”

Julius eyes were peering out of the grey man again, a cruel glint to them. ”You were alone?”

“Yes.” Roman told him. Voice steady.

He’d entered the inn alone. He’d sat in the room alone. Climbed out of the window alone. Anything else was none of Julius’ business.

Before the grey man could speak again, a clatter from the next room made them both jump.

“Hmph. He’s early.” the grey man murmured.  “Get back to your place.” He gestured to the pipe Roman had originally been tied to and, haltingly, Roman crawled towards it, sprawling at the base.

“If The Marquis asks, tell him nothing about your injuries.” the grey man added lazily, taking up his position in the centre of the room, fading back into the background.

Roman grunted. It wasn’t a bad plan: his most visible injuries – the burns on his hand which he couldn’t stand to look at – could be explained away as being caused by the very pipe Lucius had tied him to. As usual, nothing could ever be pinned on Julius.

They waited. But neither the Marquis or his men appeared.

The grey man stood across from him, gazing out into the darkness of the next room. Roman wasn’t even worth looking at.

He slumped further against the pipe and tried to focus on breathing. There wasn’t a single place on his body that didn’t hurt, though the worst by far was his hand. He shivered from cold, which, given the heat of the room, couldn’t be a good sign. He let his eyes slip closed. Exhaustion threatening to take him again.

And then he felt a soft pressure on his lap.

“Mrrp.”

Roman opened his eyes. Then he closed them again.

He opened one eye. It was still there.

“Mister Mittens?” he asked, slightly hysterically.

Romulus and Remus had grown up with dogs. He wasn’t sure if cats were supposed to be able to feel smugness, but this once clearly did. It butted it’s head against Roman’s chin with another self-satisfied “Mrrp.”

“What?“ The grey man was staring at the pair of them, looking as confused as his expressionless face could manage. “Where did that thing come from?”

Roman was saved from having to answer by a crossbow bolt. One that came through the open door, burying itself in the grey man’s skull.

Chapter 7

Extra warnings

Consent stuff – Roman relives a memory of being sexually assaulted (he doesn’t necessarily think of it in those terms). A drunk man kisses him and pushes him against a wall. The man tells Roman to ‘kiss me’ without knowing anything about Romans curse. They are interrupted before it goes beyond kissing. (whether anything else would have happened, or whether the man would have stopped if he had known about the curse, is not shown in the text). It is implied that this sort of situation has happened to Roman before, and that it has gone further, but this is not explicit.

Violence stuff – Roman is tortured in this chapter. This includes cutting, burning and beating with a stick. The majority of this is not described in explicit detail but it’s certainly going on. Due to the nature of his curse, most of this takes place due to another character ordering him to hurt himself. Roman briefly contemplates burning his own eyes (for ‘trying to get around my curse’ reasons rather than ‘self harm’ reasons) . Someone also gets shot in the head with a crossbow. Roman also spends most of this chapter dehydrated and suffering from heat stroke .

I’m not totally sure what this falls under but its grim stuff – a character from romans past spends a lot of this chapter tyring to gas light him/ manipulate him into believing a set of false memories. Roman retains his correct memories but gets hurt a lot in the process. Meeting said character causes Roman to dissociate (I think this is the correct term but please correct me if I’m wrong), he continuously switches between his name and his childhood name during the chapter and at some points reacts as if he was a child.

[one-boring-person]

Just Relax.

John Rambo (Rambo III) x reader

Warnings: severe injury, blood imagery, heavily implied sexual content, MINOR SPOILERS

Concept: Set after the first time Rambo infiltrates the Russian base in Rambo 3. He is injured and the reader helps him clean up. (Followed by...Yeah...)

A/N: No comments on where this came from. It wasn't supposed to end this way, but it did 😅🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

I watch in curiosity as my companion sends our guides on their way, the veteran barely able to stand from pain and exhaustion, his shoulders heaving. He cocks his head as he watches them go, Mousa making sure the kid's head stays front-facing as they ride off, leaving John and I alone together in the cave. Naturally, the veteran has noticed that I'm not with them, the look on his face as he turns back to face me showing his disapproval of this. His lidded eyes meet mine, just hidden by the low cast of the small fire we have going, his skin glistening in the flickering light. Slowly, the muscular man steps over to me, giving me another side-glance as he sits by a rock, wincing from the movement.

"You should go with them." He grunts, gruff voice husky from the pain.

"What, and leave you here on your own? Hell no." I retort, rolling my eyes as I step away from the wall I was leaning against, going over to him.

"Suit yourself." Is all he says, before maneuvering himself into position, taking hold of his soaked shirt and tearing it off of his corded body to reveal a bloody wound, his skin stained dark crimson.

Standing over him, I watch his movements carefully, a grim expression on my face as he starts pressing at one end of the wound, harsh grunts and groans of pain escaping him. After a moment, I shake my head and sit beside him, batting his hands away.

"What're you doing? John questions, breathing heavily.

"Just relax." I tell him, looking him in the eye, hoping he'll trust me enough to help.

Keeping his expression still, he almost indiscernibly nods, shifting to sit so that I can reach his side easier, meaning our proximity is now much greater. At this closeness, I can feel my face heating up, my heart skipping a beat even as I force myself to stay professional, knowing my idle thoughts will cause me some trouble if I'm not careful, though his familiar smell is making it very difficult to concentrate. 

Shaking my head again, I gently place my hands on his heated skin, probing ever so carefully around the puncture wound, feeling the hard shaft of something left inside. John's breath hitches sharply, his body tensing under my palms as I slowly start to push at the end of the splinter of wood. A strangled growl of agony tears itself from between his gritted teeth, the man adjusting slightly to give me better access again, leaning back so his side is exposed to me, whilst keeping one hand on the rock before him, the other hesitantly coming to grip my shoulder. His large hand easily encompasses my shoulder, fingers digging into my skin as I keep going with my work, trying to ignore the horrible feeling welling up in my gut from his sounds of pain. 

Thankfully, the piece of wood finally starts to emerge from the gushing fountain of blood, the slick substance making it difficult for me to get a grip on the extrusion, leaving my hands coated in crimson fluid. Gently, I remove the wood, holding my hand over the wound now to staunch the new flow of blood. 

"Cauterize it." John grits out, voice gravelly and low, teeth ground together as his body remains tense.

"Cauterize it? With what?" I ask him, looking around for a suitable tool, whilst also reaching for his shirt to use as a bandage.

Weakly, the veteran reaches out and hands me a bullet, understanding setting in. Leaning back, I take the bullet and reach for the knife at my belt, swiftly using it to remove the tip and expose the cartridge inside. Grimly, I move to bend over him again, allowing him to rest his torso partially against mine, though I know I will have to move in a minute.

"Are you sure about this, John? It's gonna hurt like a bitch." I ask him, wanting to be totally sure.

"I'm sure." He nods, fists already clenching, one hand moving to my thigh to help prop himself up. Any other day, and the rush of heat from his touch would've had me reeling for minutes, but now, I stay focused, knowing he's only doing it to stay upright.

Sighing, I tip the contents of the bullet into the wound, making sure it all goes in properly, the black gunpowder sticking to the blood. Having done this, I toss aside the empty shell and reach for a burning stick from the fire, gritting my own teeth as I get ready to do what I have to. John tenses in preparation, his breathing coming hard and fast, as before, muscles trembling in anticipation. Carefully, I lower the blazing end of the stick to the open wound, watching as it catches.

Instantly, a cylinder of flames shoots through the puncture wound, sealing the flesh off in the most painful way I think is possible. The action draws a half-scream of pain from the veteran, who reaches round and grabs my wrist tightly, his grip on both my arm and my thigh bruising as he tenses up, writhing into me as he searches for something to hold. Finding me as his nearest source, he moves his arms again and wraps them around my waist, pulling my body to him as he buries his head into my lap, growling and wheezing in agony, grasp tight and unrelenting, his knuckles white as he leaves marks on my skin, his fingers pressed into my muscles. Wincing, I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, opting instead to soothingly rub at his back, feeling over the rippling lines of muscle and small scars as he tries to regain his composure, back contorted slightly.

For a few moments, we stay like this, John seeking refuge from the agony in my lap, my fingers tracing idle patterns onto his skin as I mutter calming things to him. He eventually pulls away, loosening his grip, though he does keep his hands where they are, his dark eyes meeting mine. Swallowing, I stare at him, biting my lip to keep myself from acting on my urges as he rights himself, his height meaning he has to look down at me slightly. In this light, I can see every plane of his face highlighted in the flickering orange glow, each scar stark against his otherwise smooth skin.

I never notice he's gotten closer to me until he finally speaks, at which point I can feel his breath on my face and lips.

"Thanks, (Y/n)." He mumbles, his grip on my hips tightening again.

Shuddering in hope, I swallow again and go to reply.

"No prob-" I am instantly cut off by the feeling of his lips on mine, my body stiffening at the unexpected action. 

I quickly relax, kissing back with force as he smooths his lips against mine, pressing himself closer to me as his hands pull me into his lined body, his hair falling around our faces to shield us from the outside. A moan of satisfaction escapes me as he kisses me, my heartbeat racing, longing and need pouring out into the kiss, heat spreading along my skin as he presses closer. His hands are everywhere now, roaming over my curves, feeling over my every imperfection, using his grip on me to keep us together as he pushes me onto the ground, hips pressing into mine as he urges my mouth open. A growl escapes him as I willingly open up, his tongue hungrily exploring around my mouth, twisting with mine as he swallows my every noise. Pleasure and ecstasy flood me, each of his movements firing up my need for him, my hands moving to pull his face down to mine, his own starting to push up my shirt as he goes to drag his fingers over my heated skin. Moaning now, I break apart from him for air, keeping him close enough that our lips are mere centimetres apart, breaths fanning out over each other's faces even as his hands continue to explore.

We regard each other closely, both dishevelled and filthy, his injury not quite forgotten as he hovers over me, hands moving to cup my ass and pull me closer to him again. Leaning back down, he languidly mouths at the skin below my ear, pressing his tongue against the sensitive area before biting gently down, drawing a moan from me, his actions surprising but not unwelcome as he leaves wet kisses in his wake, sucking a mark there. Nipping my earlobe, the veteran pulls back ever so slightly to whisper directly into my ear.

"Fancy helping me some more?" He groans, grinding his hips into mine, a sharp gasp escaping me at the tone in his voice. His usually gruff accent has thickened considerably, goosebumps breaking out over my skin at his implications, heat rushing downwards.

"Yes, please!" I whine back, arching up into him as he licks a stripe up my throat, nibbling his way to my lips again, our mouths colliding messily as his hand starts travelling South.