#my teeth and gums in the sink. not being washed away. just sitting there.

[k20spock]

why do brains sometimes just go ugh I’m bored time for the teeth falling out dream again

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Would you do a Jean x Reader x Reiner one? The reader felt so betrayed by Reiner being a titan shifter and when he left she felt so confused whether she can loves him or not after finding out the truth. Jean comfort her and they eventually fall in love. Or you can do a modern au one where Reiner cheated on the reader and Jean begin to see his chance with the reader then they both had a relationship. But she still can't forget Reiner. I truly love your writing! Have a good day ! ♥

i was wondering if you could do a modern au jean x reader. where the reader is very stressed for a test of some kind, and jean and the reader end up skipping the test and spend the whole day together instead, where towards the end of the day jean confesses his feelings for the reader. a lot of fluff please if you could i am obsessed sorry by @cj-sparkss

A/N: So i decided to merge those two requests because they fit really good together in my head! I hope ou guys like this! I strongly recommend listening to any song in Halsey's album, Manic while reading.

Pairing: Jean/ Reader, some past Reiner/ reader if you squint

Tags: college!au, art school au, fluff all the way

Warnings: Jean being way too cute for his own sake, seriously

Sketches Of You

Your head was burning.

Your eyes were stinging; tiny little little blood vessels were popping here and there, throbbing profoundly as they merged together, rushing their way to your irises. You didn't know for how long you had been awake, mostly because a few days had passed and you didn't remember falling asleep or waking up on your once comfortable desk chair.

Before you laid numerous books open in different pages, most of the writting they held emphasized by your favorite pastel highlighter. What felt like your lamp buzzed, burning a canary yellow light over the mahogany material of your desk, warming up the spot where your hand used to lay. A pen in your hand was all you could bring yourself to hold with your numb, frozen fingers, the plastic edges of its tube sunk into your skin, carving bumps to mark their spot in your hand.

Wait, oh no, you thought as you looked around this wasn't your dorm, this was the university's library.

The library around you was extremely quiet as you laid face down on one book, your mouth slightly part and your lips dry save for the little ribbon of drool that moistened a line down your right cheek. Only for one more minute, you told yourself, deciding to shut your eyes together just to allow them sometime to rest, ignoring how such request was what had caused you to drift off to such extend in the first place. Stinging tears escaped the corners of your eyelids, signifying how tired and dry your irises had grown to be. Letting out a huge sigh you tried to lift your head, at least this could be an attempt to get your life together for the day.

Your scattered books came to close quietly under your palms, the numerous pieces of papers and notes being tucked messily in between pages, your own fatigue causing you to break your own rules when it came to being as neat as you could with your notes. Another sigh left you as you sank into the back the plastic chair, your books firmly standing on top of eachother and into your palms.

This test was going to end you. You knew it. Despite having tried to memorise all the information that was required for you to even try to get a five -seriously, a five would be absolutely godsent if you could at least get that grade- all you were left with was your brain feeling mushy and muddy without any actual knowledge of the subject you had been studying for. Why on earth was gothic architecture an essential class in your first year in art school was beyond you. Was this university never supposed to let you graduate on top of trying to prevent you getting in for numerous years?

Resisting the urge to scream or pull your hair off your head you decided that it was time to get up, your knees straightening slightly at the your brain's command, only to be sent back into the blue plastic of your chair, your whole body growling in fatigue. Your chest heavied as you let out a whine, bringing your hands to your eyes to scrub away the stinging ache you were feeling.

"You good?"

Your head turned to the direction of the voice maniacally, your eyes shooting wide as you practically ripped your hands off of your face. Looking up, your (e/c) orbs met with hazel ones, little specs of yellow and green stared back at you through thick eyelashes, adorned with a complex of worry plastered on dark chestnut eyebrows.

"Yeah Jean, I'm just studying."

"Oh it's Mr Ackerman's test right?"

"Hm" you hummed in response, another whine coming out of your lips.

"Yeah I remember how that class went for me. He's pretty nice if you get to know him though. I have to submit a few sketches for tomorrow, can I sit with you or were you leaving?"

"No, I'll keep you company, I need a break from whatever.." your eyes wandered at the books in your hands and the numerous note sheets peaking out from anywhere you could lay your gaze on "..this is."

Extending a hand Jean reached out for the head of the chair right next to you, pulling it back in order to let himself sink into the dark blue plastic seat, similarly to you. His lips pushed into a thin line as he looked at you, his cheek puffing up in the action. A hand came to your shoulder comfortingly as another one pulled out his sketchbook from his run down and way too littered with dry paint tote bag.

"Are those for Moblit's workshop?"

"Mhm." Jean confirmed. "You got any 0.8 tipped inks?"

"Yeah, I do."

Setting the leather covered sketchbook on the mahogany table Jean turned his head to you again, pointing his eyes onto the black pencil case in front of you. In response you shrugged your shoulders, your palms shooting up to your eyes once again. Jean's hand grabbed on your case, his long fingers digging through the numerous inking pens and markers that overlapped each other.

"I can't believe you have the Sakura Pens when you know I don't like them." Jean whined, hands roaming through your belongings still.

"Jean," you said, a deep chuckle escaping you in the process "I happen to like them, you know."

"They're yikes."

"You just can't use them correctly."

"How do you use an inking pen correctly. Enlighten me." Jean mocked, his fingers throwing signs in the air to accentuate his words.

Resting his head on his fist Jean opened his sketchbook, swiping through numerous ivory cold pressed pages, filled with inked sketches. Your eye twitched as you tried to keep up with many of the drawings you could spot; you had seen the contents of this sketchbook a thousand times, admiring Jean's skill with ink. His professor, Mister Moblit had one of the most interesting workshops for students who specialised in inks, and you aspired to take his classes in your following year in art school, supposing you could pass your classes this very semester.

"What are you supposed to be drawing?"

"Anything, mostly things that make us feel like they are important to draw." Jean said.

"Oh and library is important?"

"Sasha said you'll be here, so yup. And I want to draw my hands actually "

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in borderline disbelief. Honestly, if you weren't that bummed about your test and your recent break up you could have laughed at Jean's sly arrogance. Your eyes traveled to Jean, examining his quiet form as he studied his palms. Inevitably your eyes studied them as well.

His fingers were long and tan and harsh to look at, scrapped in most places with tints of Indian ink. They stuggled to manage with your pencil case, his pinkies and thumbs couldn't even begin to fit in the little object and it made you wonder how he even managed to work his inking pens correctly with such enormous hands. Some veins popped from here and there, accentuating his bulky joints perfectly; they run from the back of his palms to his wrist, mingling with more of their blue kind in his calfs and biceps. The occasional blotches of dried paint were decorating them. Even some paint covered hairs spiked as the light contracted his form.

You smiled miscellaneously.

Your own finger traveled without remorse towards them, poking at a few hairs that were littered with paint. By pinching one, Jean shot back in half pain, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at you. "Hey, what they fuck!"

"You do that to me all the time when i have paint in my hands!" You half laughed, shooting him a mocking furrowed look as well.

“You’re so cruel!” Jean grinned.

“To pay you back with your own penny right?”

Jean cocked his eyebrow at you, a few lines begging to make an appearance on his forehead. He shook his head a couple of times, throwing a few shaggy strands of hair away from his face, his forehead immediately lighting up as his ashy blond locks overlapped just above his ears. You mimicked him, using a hand to move your feathery bangs away from your face as to not have them intertwining with your vision.

Jean brought a digit to his mouth, biting at the bulky knuckle while wrapping his lips around it to suck at the sore spot, dramatically mourning the loss of one single hair. It made you laugh harder than it should have and you told him off, quickly grabbing his hand by the wrist to pull it further away from his mouth.

"Ew you idiot are your hands even washed!? Don't put them in your mouth!"

Jean's smile faded gradually as he nodded its only reminder remaining in his eyes as they softened with each passing second they looked at you. You bobbed your head to the side, taking in the way he was looking at you and you felt your gut grunting in the anxiety you had managed to drown at one time.

You definitely knew that look.

"So how are you after... The whole Reiner thing?"

When Jean let the sentence out, he instantly regretted it. Biting back the inside of his lip, his teeth dug into his soft, fleshy gum, the tiny specks of spiky under lip hair he had poking through his chin. You could see the regret plastered on his face, yet you ignored it with a sigh, pushing your stern further back into the chair again.

Of course Jean would ask about that. Reiner and you had broken up a little less that a month ago and it was stressful enough to send your anxiety over the roof. Coming home to find him drapped in the sheets with someone else was still burning through your brain like a hot iron, marking the fleshy crevices by piercing your skull.

Jean and you hadn't had a chance to talk about your break up yet; in the midst of it being a spontaneous reaction to Reiner's anathema and your upcoming mid-terms, you had chosen to indulge yourself fully with the everlasting pleasure of delving into studying.

And now, as you tried to utter your awaited words your stomach clenched at the foreshaken memory that you had tried to bury in the depths of your soul, your hands sweating just a tiny bit as you gulped down on some saliva to dumpen your dry throat. Jean's hazel orbs were set on you with curiosity and reluctance, his skin tingling inside his crewneck sweater.

"I mean, Eren told us about it and then we fought on who would punch Reiner first you know."

You oggled at him as he spoke awkwardly, your lashes batting rapidly as a wave of confusion washed through you.

"You don't have to hit Reiner you know, we all make our choices and he made his."

"Ah," Jean sighed heavily "I suppose so. I'm here for you though, you can talk to me."

"You're actually doing an assignment at the moment" you said and pointed your finger onto his sharp nose, giving him a playful push to the side. "No need to talk about my sorry love life."

"Your love life isn't pitiful, don't talk about it like that!"

"It's not pitiful, just sad." You sighed, reaching out to your pencil case. "Just sad."

Your fingers run through the case even though your eyes weren't fixated on the action, your sense of touch working its way to let you know which object you were seeking. The tips of your fingers caught on the thick Posca marker quickly and you locked it in a grasp between your pointer and middle finger, bringing it up through the zip up opening.

"Give me your hand." You ordered at Jean as you clapped your fingers to your palm in a 'come here' motion.

"It could always get better you know." Jean spoke and threw his hand to you.

Slowly the cap was off the market with a snap and you slid it up towards it's butt to pop it on there as to not lose it in any case it feel off of the desk and onto the mosaic floor.

Jean's nose lit up in a faint scarlet and his ears followed right next, lighting up in a deeper shade of the color on his nose which made his hand snap away from you in a matter of seconds. With puckered lips he stared at the corner of the room that was in the opposite direction of yours, his gut drenching him in short tempered anxiety.

"You done painting my nails with the posca pen?" Jean remarked, lips still puckered as he turned to face you. "When's your exam?"

"Three o'clock."

"Wanna ditch?"

Your eyes goggled in his for a second. The luminous morning light that peaked through the library binds fell onto him dearly, caressing a few of his features in a lemony colored mellow way, your gaze traveled into anywhere on his face as you tried to examine his expression while your gut was beginning to churn at the sly thought of agreeing with his query.

Weighting your options wasn't a seriously hard thing to do; if you took the test you were most likely going to fail, but if you didn't take it you'd have to live with the guilt of not even putting the minimal effort in it for a few weeks. But, you had tried so hard to pass all of your other classes so why shouldn't you slack off for one that was bound to end in a fiasco?

You found yourself nodding to Jean before you could actually give more thought to it. His face immediately lit up, ashy blond locks flying over his eyes as he shook his head in excitement. With one move his sketchbook was closed again, left to mourn over the non existent scribbles Jean could have made during all this time he was sitting next to you.

The hard cover protected sketching pages were thrown into to his tote bag once again, the sound of the sketchbook colliding and clashing with a few more objects he had in the bag filling the silent air of the library.

"Put your books in here!" He offered, opening the sides of the tote bag right on front of your face, signaling you to do as he suggested.

By taking a long sigh you took a turn in throwing your books and pencil case in the bag, one object following another on the pursuit of finding their own place in Jean's crammed bag. A shy smile adorned your features as you looked at him, the mischievous little devil on your shoulder smiling proudly at your actions as if you were a high schooler skipping school.

_____

Black Cat was a notorious cafe among art university students for numerous reasons. For example, it featured a decent amount of of beautiful contemporary art that was meticulously merged with the soft, cobblestone-cottagecore-home-during-the-winter aesthetic and all of their tables, stools and booths were artist-friendly to the max. Additionally it played Nirvana and Metallica for most of the day and on top of that they actually had a chunky and extremely cuddly black cat roaming around the store that you often found on your lap during your time there.

Oh, and the batwoman made amazing custom cocktails.

Really was there anything else anyone needed in a store?

The soft tangerine light flickered open as the sun outside started to hide it's shy low lights under the peak of a mountain you couldn't recall the name of, the soft smell of apple pie filling your nostrils as you sipped lightly from your earl gray tea occasionally, stealing a few glances of Jean's focused expression. A knowingly half smile went up to your face as you looked at the scenery outside before fixing your eyes back onto the bright screen of your phone.

Jean cooed in his leathery chair for the upteenth time today, his gaze fixated on the sketchbook on his hands. You had spend last hour in absolute silence; you had decided to roam around in your phone for references for an assigned collage you had to do in Photoshop as Jean had settled on drawing the horizon from outside the window to practice on his perspective while finishing up the sketches he had to submit.

Your day had passed by pretty fast; you had visited an urban side of the town that was flooded with art supply stores and you had delved into every single one roaming around to find any kind of supplies you were short on, or just generally needed. As Jean correctly had said, you are always short on art supplies.

Thus, you had ended up with a bag filled with complementary acrylic colors in tubes of 20ml mostly because they costed a dollar each, and also because as art students you got to receive twenty percent off of all your supply bills. Jean had only bought a new set of watercolors and a few Edding inks and 0.7 tipped poscas, as he was sure he would ruin your expensive Sakura Liners in his attempts to finish his project.

Then you had decided to cram your place for some much needed lunch before heading off to Black Cat to have some tea and coffee while Jean would finish off his last few of the sketches he had been drawing throughout the day.

"So" Jean awkwardly spoke as in to break the deep silence, his thumb pressing over the edge of the page his drawing was placed as he closed the sketchbook carefully "I wanted to ask, because ahem, I'm your friend and I'm worried about you... Do you want to vent about Reiner?"

"Ah, no" you shook your head and fixed your gaze onto the auburn colored liquor in your cup as you reluctantly lift it up to bring it to your lips before speaking "I mean, I got so sad you know. And I haven't gotten over it, of course, I mean I liked Reiner. A lot."

"I came see it in your eyes. But I'm here for-"

"And he's a bitch you know? He could have told me if he was bothered by anything I did or if it wasn't going well for him. I'd gladly work anything out or even break up peacefully."

"You know," Jean sighed, he too bringing his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip before gulping it down. "My opinion is obviously biased here, but I support you. I've took a psychology class and we were actually delving into as to why some people cheat, there are many reasons as to why it could have happened."

Your heart slightly aches as you looked at him, a few veins in your hand twitching slightly as he continued rambling about all things he had grasped from his class. Your stomach growled angrily in anxiety, warning you to put an halt to your friend's words but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

Not knowing the reason as to why Reiner had chosen to see someone else behind your back had hurt you beyond repair. Deep inside you still felt the need to get some closure, although with your stress on your exams you had been sure you would most likely give in to anything Reiner would say and this wasn't who you were.

You could go on without having any closure, it shouldn't have mattered so much to you in any way.

And to some extent it didn't.

"I'm hurt, but I'm the other hand I don't really care about anything you know?"

"Mhm, yeah, look at you getting over it so quickly!" Jean said semi enthusiastically. "You need to be able to share your pain in order for it to become small and eventually non-existent."

"You know, for someone who takes such sophisticated classes you talk like you haven't slept in ages!"

"Give me a break, as if you don't."

The two of you burst into bubbling laughter, your chests heaving and falling as the sounds of joy left you one by one. Jean's hand had come to rest on top of yours softly, giving you a couple of squeezes as his eyes squinted in synch with yours.

And then, in a moment that seemed like it was forced out of a coffee shop au fanfiction, Jean's hand rubbed a few soothing circles over yours. Slowly his laughter was begging to set into a silent harmony, the woody brown specs of his eyes providing the slightest tint of warmth into his gaze.

"This is why I love you so much."

The choice of words was supposed to be naive whether it was intentional or not, or that's what you tried to tell yourself because you thought you knew Jean better than anyone. The look in his eyes, the soft upwards curves of his eyebrows, the way his top lip overlapped go bottom one as his eyes glimmered into yours; this wasn't a very casual look for Jean, it was the look he had on when he was looking at something that mesmerised him. And you knew he meant exactly what he had said.

But did you like Jean?

Well, was there anyone who could spend so much time with Jean and not fall for him, even without realising it?

At one time it had become obvious that he liked you, although he'd never act upon it. You knew it in his movements, in the little ways he looked at you or cared for you like no one else actually did while hiding behind the mask of being a friend. Eren had been one to tease him for it restlessly and you had been able to catch upon that too but you had never let it be known that you had been able to see through his facade.

"Forget it I shouldn't even have had-"

With curious eyes you stared back, your gaze never truly leaving him. When he suddenly shook his hand off of yours you found your other hand pressing on top of his, trapping the limb in place as you tried to open your mouth to utter any word. It was still hard to find the right choice of words, ones that wouldn't hurt to be heard.

"Jean... I-"

"No, forget it, it just slipped, shit."

"Look Jean shut up for a second please I want to speak okay?" You huffed half playfully, despairate to stop Jean's mumbling "I know."

"You know?" Jean cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, I do, it's obvious. And I've had this huge crush on you ever since fifth grade you know? I never really got over you because I spent all of my teen years thinking we'd end up together."

You watched as Jean's face lit up at your words, a new glimmer adorning his eyes just as the sky turned a sheer violet as the sun retreated deeper into a non visible horizon.

"And then we kissed in eighth grade and we fought about it and we stopped hanging out because I asked for space since I just could believe what was happening. But we're friends again and it's the best thing to happen to me in years."

You continued, your hand never leaving his while soothing circles were rubbed onto his palm.

"But I'm not going to ask you for space this time."

"You're not?"

"No. Just a little patience. I'm still getting over Reiner and I don't want to be unfair to you and rip you off of something that you might ask from me."

Jean snapped his hand away from yours and you retreated your hands back to yourself shyly, a bitter mouth leaking into your mouth as you tried to swallow it down fast to no avail. Somehow your heart felt a strong stinging, the pulling of your heartstrings at steak while your heart was sprawled before you.

Was that your last chance with Jean? You had told yourself that time and space between you would be right one day, but that day seemed to stray further away now, slipping right off your hands because you couldn't forget Reiner fast enough.

"I'm not fourteen anymore, so don't be afraid about me straying away. I just wanted to show you something."

Jean's worked through the pages of his sketchbook, taking a few seconds before they landed where they wanted to. Flipping the sketchbook to match your point of view, he revealed the sketches he had been scribbling all day. They depicted you in majority. The look on your face as you picked a tube of paint, your hands as they grabbed through numerous brushes and sketchbooks. Even the way you stared at your phone as you sat across him was perfectly sketched on the paper and hatched in indian ink, adorned by Jean's raw drawing style.

"Jean, that's me!"

"Mister Moblit told us to draw things that were personally important to us. So, I hope you don't mind."

Damn, you felt like tearing up.

In the midst of trying to get your stupid heart to calm down from the impossible rhythm in which it was beating at and stating at Jean's sketches so hard that your eyes felt like they'd pop out and any given moment your would felt like setting fire to your whole being while your tears were restlessly trying to put it out. It was even outdated to feel like that about Jean, your younger self told you but there was no way you could help it.

With rivers of tears running from the corners of your eyes you looked up at the hazel orbs that were set on you, feeling your heart want up by their luminous gaze.

"Jean I-"

"Shush, you don't have to say anything. Just let me know if I can hug you."

"I'd love that." You said shyly under your breath.

Next thing you knew Jean had gotten up from his seat and had plopped himself right next to you, pushing your head deep in his chest. The song in the background faded gradually as you felt serenity wash through you, despite your heart hammering in your chest beyond a point you could actually feel it.

And for now all that mattered was that you could listen to Jean's heart beat nearly as fast as yours while his words played inside your head.

Maybe, just maybe time and space between the two of you was right this time.

taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @berrijam @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore 

[pollyrepents]

love will make us

Warnings: John changes a diaper (puts on a show about it) and references sex.

Summary: making the most of the mundane with your gangster husband

Word Count: 2.5k of blatant favoritism

A/N: part two to the love language series! Quality time! i love john shelby! No real moment in time this is set, john’s still kicking. the teething moment is inspired by @hb-writes​ ‘s fic The Baby Whisperer 

Arthur | Tommy | Ada | Finn | Polly 

“Come sleep with me: We won't make Love, Love will make us.”

― Julio Cortázar

You listened to the baby in your arms babble to herself, her own incoherent language making her fall into a fit of giggles. You paced the floor for what felt like the hundredth time that evening and she kicked her legs, her attention turned to the stuffed bunny she had thrown to the floor.

 “Is that it? Is this what you want?” You inquired, bending down to grab the toy. She immediately pulled it to her mouth, her nose wrinkling as she bit down on the fabric as hard as a teething baby could. You brushed down her curls, cooing as she pressed her face against your chest. “I know, sweet girl.  Daddy’s going to be home soon and he’ll have the syrup that’ll make it all better.” You promised, smiling as her mumbling renewed around the soft fabric of the toy, gums rubbing against it.

 She began to whimper and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, the telltale sign of her nose scrunching up allowing you a moment to brace yourself for the noise. She began to cry again, her head thrown against your shoulder in a dramatic display of her discomfort. You sighed and started to rock in place, thankful that her siblings had evacuated the house to play with the other children in the lane. A house full of Shelby’s who could talk and walk was chaos enough, the tribulation that came along with teething would only drive complaints. Even your ever patient and curious Katie had had enough, wrinkling her nose at her little sister and shaking her head when you asked if she wanted to hold her to help her calm down.

The heavy front door swung open, thudding against the wall loudly before slamming shut. You peeked around the wall, the sight of John shrugging off his coat as he made his way toward you filling you with gratitude.

He leaned down to press a quick kiss to your cheek as he passed, making his way to the kitchen. “Why’s my girl making all that noise,eh? I can hear her out on the lane.”

“You gave her those Shelby lungs. She’s using them” You rubbed her back in soothing circles, bouncing her softly. “You missed her giggling. She was laughing up a storm by herself.” You glanced up at John’s peaked cap and he swiftly removed it, tucking it into his back pocket. “I think waiting for the teeth has made her delirious. She’s gone absolutely silly.”

“Have they?” He leaned down and narrowed his eyes at the whimpering baby, his own smile threatening to break his serious demeanor. “They made you silly, did they?”

She hiccupped, hiding her warm face against your neck.

“They’ve made me delirious.” You tutted, running a fingertip lightly down her spine. “Up at the crack of dawn and she hasn’t been down for a moment since. The moment you left her bum was sitting up in that bassinet, just waiting.”

“Let me see them then, pretty. Let’s have a look at the teeth causing all this trouble.” He tipped her chin back, gently pushing her cheeks together with his index finger and thumb. The chubby legs against your stomach began to kick excitedly and she began to giggle, her nose scrunching up. John cooed and inspected her dribbling mouth, laughing at the tiny snort that left the child.

“She’s really lost it.” John agreed, fingers tickling at her neck. “No teeth and all that noise about it.”

“Linda says when she was waiting on Billy’s teeth a little bit of syrup helped her.” You rose an eyebrow, using your free hand to reach into his pocket.

“But there’s nothin’ in there yet.” He pulled the baby up under her arms, covering her cheeks in stubbly kisses. “My girl ought to be out there running with her brothers and sisters.” He bounced her on his hip and she gripped his pinstriped shirt, squealing happily. “All that noise can keep them in check.”

“Try and put her down for a nap.” You stretched your sore arms, feeling the slight burn from being in motion for so long. “She’ll be a riot during dinner if she doesn’t get her nap in.”

“When is she not a riot?” John stretched her above his head, grinning as she began to babble downwards toward him. She spotted you, squealing and squirming in his hand with renewed vigor 

“John, not so high.” You scolded, patting his side in passing. “You better have that damn syrup somewhere.”

“Coat pocket. Straight from Polly Gray. She sends her best.” He affirmed, holding the baby eye level. His eyebrows pinched together and he pressed his nose to her round belly and sniffed, pulling back“Oi!”

“What, John?” You made a face, trying to measure out the thick syrup on a teaspoon spoon. “You’re going to make me spill-”

“She took a fuckin shit.”

“Babies do that.” You nodded, intensely focused on the spoon. “All day.”

“You need to-”

“I’ve been changing her all day.” You tried not to smile, seeing John’s face of disgust from the corner of your eye. “You’re holding her, your turn.”

“I just got home!”

“And I just gave her to you. 

John scoffed, “You knew she shit already!”

“I didn’t, I swear!” You laughed lightly. “Bring her here, she needs the syrup.”

“Syrup and a nappy change.” He scoffed, trying to hand the baby off. You took a step back, trying to spoon the syrup into the child’s mouth from a distance. She let out a whine and John quickly pulled her close, pressing his thumb against her chin to keep her mouth shut. She scrunched up her nose and the two of you watched her carefully. As soon as she let out a sharp cry you dropped the spoon into the sink and took a few steps back, smiling at John.

“You can at least fucking hold her down while I change her then.” He grumbled, his lips against the crown of her head. “Wild little thing, she is.”

“Deal.”

“Go get set up a nappy, then.” He glared at you, trying to hide his smile in your daughter’s hair. As you passed him his hand left the baby’s back and swatted your behind.

“John!” You yelped, rubbing at your backside. “You’re so heavy fucking handed!”

“Never complained before.”

“You’re holding our baby!” You tried your best attempt at a scowl as he began to ready your daughter for changing. You pulled her changing blanket over the dresser, placing a hand over her belly when John laid her down on her back.

She looked up at you, already whimpering and trying to turn onto her belly so she could crawl away. You cooed softly, turning her back onto her back and leaning down to kiss her freckled nose. “I know, daddy’s so slow, my love.”

“If mummy has a problem she can change your smelly arse herself.” John gagged dramatically as he folded up the dirty nappy, holding your daughter’s kicking legs down with one hand as she attempted her routine grand escape. “For fuck’s sake-”

“She’s a baby. This is torture for her.” You covered her ears, pouting at her as she hiccupped while he wiped. “How was work?”

“Fine.” He took a deep breath before leaning back down to pull a new nappy from the drawers. “Long. Busy. Stop moving, you. Not making it easier on yourself.”He pinned her nappy back in place, fingers scribbling lightly at her bare stomach. She erupted into high pitched giggles, kicking chubby feet at her father. “What did you do all day? Miss me?”

“Never.” You rebuttoned the baby’s onesie before John scooped her up to hold her close. “Some reading and chores. I should have gotten dinner started when the troops went out, but someone-” You pinched the baby’s cheek lightly and she pressed herself against John, suddenly shy. “Kept me occupied.”

“Can’t blame her for that.” John walked into the kitchen, already starting to put pans on the counter. “I’d want to be on you every chance I got too.” He adjusted the child in his arms and walked over to the bassinet in the living room. He settled her down and you watched fondly, only catching the end of what he mumbled to her.

“Put up a fight in there, eh.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her head before standing up. “Mummy and I have mummy and daddy things to do.”

You couldn’t help a laugh as he waggled his eyebrows, making his way toward you.

“Dinner, John.” You reminded, quirking your own eyebrow.

“But I’ve been away all day.” He protested.

“So have the kids.I sent them out after lunch..” You turned toward the counter, beginning to wash the vegetables that needed to be rinsed and skinned. “I bet they’ll have an appetite when they get back.”

“But I’ve been away from you all day.” His warm breath tickled your skin as he leaned down slightly to kiss along the skin of your neck.

“You have,” Your fingers gripped the carrot, dragging the knife downward toward the counter and pulling up the skin. “I worked up an appetite.”

“Doin what? Waiting on me to get home?” His voice was teetering on the roughness you loved, low and rumbling out of his chest against your back.

You turned toward him, lips just brushing his as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You leaned in, taking his ear lobe between your teeth for a brief second before whispering, “cleaning your teething daughter’s shitty nappies.”

John pulled away from you, unamused.

“Grab some potatoes, and get to cooking, Mr Shelby.” You chopped the narrow end off of the carrot, smiling at your handiwork.

The quieter moments came when the kids were in bed, on the couch.

Whiskey and John and heat, his heavy head on your lap. He read aloud the same book you read to the kids, a preview to make sure nothing in the next chapter was too scary. Your eyes attempted to focus on the newspaper on the arm of the couch beside you, fingers absentmindedly carding through his cropped hair.

“I have never seen him. But I spoke to him as he sat behind his screen and gave him your message. He said he will grant you an audience, if you so desire; but each one of you must enter his presence alone, and he will admit but one each day.” John cleared his throat as your fingers paused, blue eyes flicking away from the novel in his hands. You looked down at him and smiled slightly, beginning your ministrations again. “Therefore, as you must remain in the Palace for several days, I will have you shown to rooms where you may rest in comfort after your journey.”

“It sounds like your fucking brother.” You muttered, eyes on the day’s printed paper before you.

“No it doesn’t.” John’s eyes closed momentarily, finger saving his spot in the book.

“Sure it does.” You scratched at his scalp in slow circles. “We wait and wait and hope he’ll have some news that won’t kill you. That won’t put a bullet in you.”

“What do you want me to tell him, eh? My woman doesn’t want me doing the hard stuff anymore?” He made a move to sit up and you pressed your palm to the middle of his chest, stopping his movement.

“Your woman wants you to be okay.” You briefly tugged his hair once, sharply, making him look up at you.  “He keeps tapping into that temper of yours and I think it’ll kill you.”

“Nothing’s happening to me yet.” His hand lifted to squeeze your side gently, his hands heavy against the fabric of your nightdress. “I’m not going first. I’ll live forever, I think.”

“I’ll kill Tommy if I have to.” You began rubbing his scalp again. “If it means you do live forever.”

“The little ones will run circles around you tomorrow.” John sat up, rubbing a hand over his own hair. His tone was sharper now, the conversation over with.  “maybe we should go to bed.”

“They won’t, because you’ll be home.” You fingered the page of the paper. “Because it’s your daughter’s birthday.”

 “Fuck.” He rubbed his hand over his face, looking at you with tired eyes in the warm light of the fire. “Alright, c’mon.”

 “I’m still reading the paper-”You pulled your legs up onto the couch as John’s arm looped under your knees, attempting to stop him. “John-”

“Don’t start your hollering, you’ll wake the fuckin kids.” He grunted. He stood up, lifting you into his arms bridal style. He tightened his grip the moment you began to slip and clicked his tongue at you. “Enough, Y/N, let me-”

 “Your bones are creaking, old man!” You tried to get down, afraid of John dropping you or hurting himself. “John, you’ll pull something-”

“Yup, so stop making it fucking hard.” He grumbled, his voice slightly strained. He leaned down slightly so you could reach the table, nodding toward the whiskey bottle and the discarded novel. “Grab em, will you.”

“God forbid John Shelby go without his whiskey-watch it!” You yelped as he dropped you rather ungracefully on the bed, tucking your tight curls behind your ear.

“With my wife comes my whiskey.” He uncorked the bottle, taking a sip and handing it off to you again. John stripped himself of his trousers and button down, leaving him in boxers and an undershirt. He nodded toward the book again, digging around the bedside drawer.

“Don’t smoke in bed.” You reprimanded, knowing there was no use most of the time.

“Start reading, then.” He tossed his lighter back into the drawer and the corner of your lip turned upwards at your small victory. “Give me something to do.”

You squinted at the page, the letters out of focus and small. John reached his hand out, your thin framed glasses in his palm.

You began to protest, “I can see just fine! I don’t need- 

“Just put the fuckin things on, please.” He tossed them in your lap and came to lie down beside you. “You’ll give yourself a headache.”

“Fine.” You shoved the frames onto your nose, batting John’s hand away as he reached out to pinch your cheek.

“You look so sweet like that.” he cooed. “Like a sweet old teacher. I’d be sweet on you.”

You scoffed, eyes scanning the page.“Prick.”

“Maybe if you ask nice.” John smirked beside you, tugging you down by your waist to rest against his chest.

He pressed a kiss to the pulse point behind your ear, nuzzling his stubbly cheek and chin against your skin.

“Alright-I found it!” You giggled, bringing your shoulder up to block him. You elbowed him in the side and he snorted. “Behave-and listen! I want to make sure this book won’t scare Sarah and Katie.”

You cleared your throat, shifting your position so you were leaned against him, the book visible to both of you. He pulled the covers up, tucking them in around your waist as you began to read, “Thank you,’ replied the girl ‘that is very kind of Oz.”

[saturatedboy]

Anyway we could get a part two to that cannibal reader mush?

Donna Beneviento x GN!Reader Pt.2

Pt.1 can be found here

Yes you may! I'm very delighted that people are enjoying my work!

Requests: Open (make sure to follow the rules)

Words: 2.6k

The meal between the both you and the doll creator was peaceful. Although Donna wasn't one to talk much, she would spare a glance at you every now and again making sure you were doing okay and not making a mess of your stew. However after she was done with her serving, she placed her spoon back into her bowl and looked up to see you staring straight at her. The eye contact between the both of your eyes had made her stare down at her hands that were neatly folded upon her lap. You cheerfully laughed at her blushing state, creaking your chair back and standing up at the same time to move both of your empty bowls. "Oh you're adorable sweetie," You spoke whilst giving Donna a kiss on the cheek.

"Am not..." She mumbled out, holding her hand onto her cheek where your lips had just left. She slowly and gently stroked the spot there re-imaging the touch of your lips back on her cheek. She closed her eye in satisfaction, loving every moment she had with you.

In the background, you had been running the water and washing up liquid into the sink and leaning against it, watching her have her own little moment in her own big world. You stared lovingly, feeling the speed of your heart picked its pace up as blood rushed around your body. "Oh yes you are my snookum." teasing her as you waddled your finger in front of your face. She looked over her shoulder and sighed, leaning her elbow on top of her chair and laying her head in her palm.

"When are you going to see me for what I really am?" Her questioned had lingered in the air. It was like you both were having a staring match, waiting for the other to make the first move by blinking. You blinked and smiled which caught her slightly off guard.

"Darling listen." She watched you intensely, her full hearing set on your voice that she had grew  to fall in love with, especially when she saw your tongue flick the top of your teeth on certain letters. Don't even get her started on the way you would have your mouth slightly open when concentrating on something. The way your lips had- "Donna....Dolly are you listening to me?"

Snapping out of her trance, Donna sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck and was swiftly trying to find something to distract you with. "Oh look," She pointed at the sink behind you, "You have washing up to do." she stated as she stood up and brushed her widows-weed-like dress down, walking over to you and rolling her sleeves up to help you clean.

"Dear," You turned the tap off and had gently grabbed her hands before she could even touch anything. Bringing her hands to your lips, you tenderly kissed her knuckles. She huffed out in protest at your actions but you knew deep down she had secretly loved them- she's told you in the past she loved your small actions of affections. "You are the most bewitching woman I have ever laid my eyes upon. All I see is true beauty and the person in front of me right now, is the person I would love to spend time with until death." You had pulled her into a hug whilst talking, your words at the end quietening as you whispered into her ear. She had gently ducked her head down into her shoulders as she felt your hot breath against her sensitive skin. Not to mention she scrunched up her nose slightly smelling your bad breath smelling of blood and guts still.

Pushing you back slightly, your hands resting just on her waist, Donna had gently flicked your nose with a small smile. "You're sweet but your breath isn't the same as your attitude so lets get this cleaned up then you can clean that mouth of yours. I'm not kissing you with a bad breath like that," Gasping in shock playfully, you placed a hand upon were your heart would be and leant back against the sink once more dramatically.

"Wow...my heart has been wounded. Donna I can see it...I can see the...fact I want to kiss you so badly right now," Without warning, you grabbed her forward and pulled her against you. Soon you had smothered her in kisses everywhere all over her face- even upon where the Cadou had set a scar. She tried to get words out through her mouth but she was very unsuccessful as she was both drowning in affection and taken over by her flustered state. Being cheeky, you had kissed her on the mouth and pulled away watching her flustered state turn to one of slightly annoyed.

"Really, you kissed me on the mouth when you still have a blood taste?"

"Yess," You drew out, snaking your arm behind you and flinging some bubbles at Donna from the sink. Donna was taken back at first not expecting that from you however she had recovered through her shocked state and pushed you lightly out of the way of the sink so she could grab some bubbles for herself. Turning towards you, she fling her bubbles that were in her hand towards your hair and smacked you lightly there as a head pat.

She smirked at you and crossed her arms, placing her weight upon her right leg and leaning that way slightly. "Now be good and if you go get cleaned after this you can watch me work." Now that, had you interested. Smiling widely baring your fangs, you ran to the sink and cleaned up the bowls as fast as you could. Some water had splashed against your clothing and left a small waterfall leaking down the cupboards that were set under the sink. Donna sniffled a laugh as she watched you clean. She knew you never liked being clean because you enjoyed killing, biting and not to mention running in the rain through the forest only to come back looking  like you had been for a full mud bath. Seeing you clean just to watch her work however did bring a question to her mind.

Why were you so excited to watch her work? She thought she was boring. She just sits there and sows clothing to be making clay models for her dolls. On warmer days she would even go test out plants reactions to certain chemicals or plant them in the garden. "Sweetheart I've finished~" You sang out, bouncing on the heels of your feet. She ignore her question in mind, it didn't matter. You was a truthful person and if you enjoyed watching her work, she'll let you watch.

"Now go clean yourself up," She spoke as she turned on her own heel and began to walk away. A sudden breeze ran past her as she watched you run ahead towards where the bathrooms were. She raised a hand to her mouth and giggled into it. You being happy always made her feel joy. You were her pride and joy and even if you normally acted like the one to lead your relationship, she had her moments when she would lead the both of you and take over. Either way, she just adored you so much-even in your cannibal state. Rolling her sleeves back down after wiping her hands dry, she began to walk towards her bedroom where she felt most comfortable to make doll clothing.

As she walked, she was greeted by Angie who was running away from a hoard other puppets. "AHHHH DONNA HELP!!" She cried out as she past Donna the other puppets following close behind.

"Don't break anything!" Donna called out as she watched Angie and the others disappear down the hall behind her. Continuing her way towards her bedroom on the second floor, passing through the many hallways, she recognised a familiar voice.

"I'm sexy and I know it-OW!" They sang out whilst dripping something. Donna bit her lip and followed the voice, ending up at the bathroom that was close by her room. Peering in, she spotted you drowsed in towels about to brush your teeth. She leaned against the door and opened it wide watching you place toothpaste onto your toothbrush.

"Need help sexy?" She questioned. You jumped back startles, dropping both the toothbrush and toothpaste into the sink.

"When did you get here?" You asked panicked, coughing and shaking your head like a doll to dry out any wet drips in your hair.

"Just on the line of 'I'm sexy and I know it OW" She mimicked your voice, walking into the room and towards you, only to stand by the sink in close proxemics to you. She plucked both your toothbrush and toothpaste from your gasp and went to cleaning your toothbrush under the running water from the tap at the sink. Uncapping the toothpaste, she squirted some onto the toothbrush and faced you. "Now say ah." she demanded.

You tutted and rolled your eyes with a cheeky smirk, opening your mouth just like Donna asked. Being careful, Donna had placed the toothbrush on your teeth and began to scrub away making sure she didn't hit your gums or the back of your throat whilst doing your molars. She also made sure to brush your fangs thoroughly since there were slight blood stains staining your teeth. Once done, she had told you to spit and clean your toothbrush for you. When raising your head back up from spitting, you grabbed the face towel and wiped your mouth only to throw it in the washing basket and pulling Donna close. "Now may I kiss the most beautiful woman ever?" You asked her.

"Yes you may my clean dear." Leaning down, you captured her lips with your own making sure to apply enough pressure to savour the moment. Donna had placed her hands on your shoulders and stood on her tiptoes, closing her eyes and smiling into the kiss. Your arms wrapped around her body, bringing her close and you placed a hand on her smaller back. Pulling apart but keeping your lips just touching, you whispered her name.

"Donna, you are my everything," She shivered at the light touch of your lips scraping against hers. It brought butterflies to her stomach as she  longed for more off you. "Not only that, but I think we should tie the knots after this whole Mother Miranda thing is over." Donna opened her eye and stared longingly at your own. She saw the faint cherry colour seeking through and moved her dainty hand to hold your cheek. You leaned against it, gently nuzzling it. "Would you like to get married after all this?"

Her bottom lip quivered at your words. She hadn't felt love in a long time till you had came. You're bloody self always brightening her days, your fangs that would be very useful when she needed someone to be cleared out quickly from her manor. The way you had brought more life into her heart, she didn't have to feel like the only human she had you now. And she never wanted to trade you for anyone else. Hell, she would murder in cold blood for you just like you would do for her. "Her vision had blurred as she held your other cheek in her other hand, straightening your head out.

You sighed softly, taking her silence as a 'no'. Being quick on your words, you said the alternative. "We don't have to, I'm not going to rush you into anything at all my queen. We don't need to get married-"

"Just shut up and kiss me my soon to be fiancé." You were taken back as she pulled your head towards hers, being brought into a loving kiss. Both of your lips moved in sync, her being brave enough to push you back until you were fully between the sink and her frail body. Being careful, you held her head to yours and used one of your hands to stroke the side of her neck. Just as you were about to go further, a cough at the door interrupted you both.

"Excuse me, this is a public bathroom," Angie had called out, having a dozen of puppets behind her on the floor and some floating about.  "However," She smirked, "I'm sure they'll be a lot of this action after your wedding. DIBS ON BEING THE ENTERTAINER!" She screamed, laughing like a maniac after as she hit her hand against the door frame trying to catch what you called 'breath'.

Cradling Donna close to your body, you kissed the top of her head and let her hide her red face in your chest. "Hey Angie, do you think a red dress would look just as good as a red face on soon to be Mrs Beneviento?~" You teased, winking at Angie. Your words only made Donna hold onto your shirt tightly, whining at your teasing.

"Maybe you should also get some sexy ling-" A toothpaste tube was flung at Angie as she dodged out of the way in a stylish matter. The culprit was the one and only Donna Beneviento with a face of embarrassment.

"Angie hush, go play dear." She spoke trying to keep her cool acting like she never threw the toothpaste in the first place. Angie shrugged her shoulders and pointed out for the other puppets to leave, however she lingered for longer by the bathroom door.

"You know," She started, turning on her back getting ready to leave the both of you alone. "You two are amazing together. You work well and you both practically need each other for comfort. If you do get married, I know you won't regret it. I trust both of you too look after each other." And she went, her veil flying behind her as she went.

You and Donna was left alone again, staying quiet within the moment. Although the situation was a little...confusing the atmosphere between you both was rather peaceful. You felt honoured to know Angie was allowing you to marry Donna after everything and you felt content with Donna's answer. Even if she said 'no' you would've respected that. You would understand to the best of your ability to see the situation through her eyes and respect her decision. Taking her smaller hand in your own, you twirled her around into your body. Looking down at her, you brushed a stray hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. "I love you Donna. I love you so much, thank you for everything," Your gentle whispers left her speechless. She knew when you said anything quiet you were at your calmest moments savouring the time you had with her.

"I love you too (Y/n). Forever and beyond all the stars." She smiled as she stared into your eyes once again, something she did rather often. The red had still not left your eyes, it slowly gaining dominance over your original colour. "How about after I am finished with tonight's work, you and I take a stroll through the forest hm? Maybe..." She hastily kissed under your chin and pulled away, smirking. "We could plan ahead."

"You know Donna, I wouldn't want to spend any time with anyone else other than you sweetie." Yours eyes had grown to a full red, the red being more blazing then the fires of Hell. "I'll make sure to protect you from any Lycans tonight on our stroll dear." She giggled at your sentence, finding sweetness and safety when hearing your voice.

"And I'll do the same."

[harrysbluebutterfly]

Love at first cavity

Summary- Harry is a dentist assistant and your his patient and well faith keeps putting you two together and so you listen to your gut.

A/n- hey my loves! I really need to stop starting new fics and not finishing them but i hope you enjoy this! Also I’m not a dentist but I’m in a medical program at my school so kinda know some stuff haha. Anyway hope you enjoy this. Love you!!

Warning- cursing, dentist things, love and bad writing

“Y/n?” A deep voice interrupts the silence of the waiting room of the dentist office. Y/n picks her head up at the sound of her voice eyes finding a young looking man in black scrubs and a charming warm smile. Y/n stands up to follow the young doctor to where she will be having her check up, “We’re going to take some x-rays if that’s alright with you. ” y/n nods her head before answering verbally “yeah, of course” the doctor stops at a door that says ‘x-ray’ on the door and asks “don’t take this the wrong way but are you pregnant? Not that i think that you are just that we can’t do the x-rays if you are, it can hurt you and the baby.” Harry rambles making y/n laugh a nervous laugh “no, I’m not pregnant x-ray away” Harry nods his head before opening the door and waits for the young woman to enter the room so he could follow. “If you could please take a seat on the chair there i will get all this set up and i promise we’ll be out of here in no time” Harry says noticing y/n’ slightly worried look.

Y/n takes a seat in the tall chair that looks way to big to fit her and holds her hands nervously as the doctor places a heavy blue apron like gown with a smile. Harry could smell her floral perfume as he connects the velcro to the back of her neck of the other part of the gown. He thought she was beautiful at first look but he knew he would be crossing boundaries with his job and it would be very unprofessional of him to do so.

Today was the first day of Harry’s new job as a dentist assistant. He’s waited all his life to be in this position,after years of schooling and to say that he’s dentist assistant is an achievement that he will forever cherish. Of course his first patient had to be a beautiful young woman, he wanted to talk to her get to know her and ask for her number but then he remembered that he was at work and he didn’t want to lose his job on the first day. No one ever warned him that he would get patient who was hot as fuck.

Harry looks at the gorgeous woman in front of him and smiles at her y/n returns the smile thinking of it as a kind gesture but in the inside she wished it wasn’t. When y/n saw harry for the first time she thought that anyone with the right mind and eyes would she thought he was hot as fuck and wondering what a young beautiful man was doing in a dentist office filled with people with gross teeth issues but i guess that’s what makes first dates fun. Yes she just ‘met’ this man and was already planning their first date don’t worry about it.

Harry turns and puts some hand sanitizer on before placing some gloves and picking up the plastic piece that will go in her mouth slipping a plastic sleeve and turning back to his patient. “Open please” y/n opens her mouth for the hottie- the doctor who was doing his job, places the uncomfortable spongey plastic in the back of her mouth where he could get a good picture of her molars. Harry then brings the camera to the side the wires were on putting it in place as well. Once in place he steps out of the room to the wall with a button, he presses the button making it take a picture.

Harry then comes back in the room to remove the wires in her mouth to bring them to the front “open again darling” darling the nickname and his accent made her want to drop to her knees in a love and a wanting to suck his big cock way. She opens again looking straight in man’s green eyes Harry noticed how she was looking at him and swallowed trying not to imagine her on her knees in front of him but it was hard his cock and trying not to look into her beautiful eyes.

Once the sponge was in the front of her cheek he left again to take the x- ray picture once again, he comes back in the room “open please, thank you love” Harry repeats the x-ray pictures on the other side and then moves the camera away and takes the sponge out removing the plastic sleeve and hooking it back to where it was before use. Harry then takes the heavy gown off of y/n grabbing a sensitized wipe wiping the gown down making it ready for use hooking it on the hook then throwing the wipe away. Y/n stands up while Harry grabs another wipe to wipe down the chair she was sitting in wanting to keep everything clean.

“Alrighty, now if you could follow be back in here I’ll start with the cleaning before the doctor can come in and check and then you’ll be on your way. Promise it won’t take long unless you get a cavity or something but not to worry.” Y/n follows Harry to the back room with two dental chairs, computers, sinks and some other dental equipment. Harry goes to the spiny chair and y/n goes and gently lays down in the long dental chair.

Before Harry can start the cleaning he has some manual questions he has to ask so he starts with “do you do any drugs?” Y/n shakes her head but Harry doesn’t see so he moves from the computer to look at y/n “no” with Harry not hearing the answer due to her being shy he asks “there’s some medical equipment that we use that can interfere with certain narcotics. I didn’t hear you the first time so I’ll ask again do you do any drugs?” Y/n clears her throat hoping that would make her speak louder and answers “No, i don’t do any of those bad for you health and all that.” Harry nods “awesome”

Harry smiles down at the nervous woman in the chair and pushes a button that makes the chair move up to his waist level so he can work on her. Harry then picks up a paper bib placing it around her neck and tying the back.

Once in place Harry pushes another button that tilts the head of the chair back and asks “ready?” Y/n takes a deep breath and and nods “yeah” Harry turns on turning on the light above her and moving it to her mouth the places a new pair of gloves and a mask before beginning her check up. Harry picks up the hook tool and mirror then moves back to wear y/n was laying down “open please” y/n opens her mouth Harry then starts to count and pick off anything that he finds on her teeth and wipes it on the paper bib and then continuing. After finishing harry moves and placed the tools down and picks up some floss twisting it around his fingers which y/n thought was the hottest thing besides just the way he was working.

Harry flosses y/n’s teeth being as gentle as he could but still trying to do his job. After flossing harry throws the used floss away and opens the small container of toothpaste before dipping the electric toothbrush in the gross tasting toothpaste even he hates “this is going to taste gross but i have to do it so please don’t hate me because it just doing my job” this makes y/n laugh a comfortable laugh “I’ll be sure to karen about you on Twitter and TikTok about it” y/n jokes back making Harry laugh this beautiful laugh. “I’ll be looking forward to it. Open again please” y/n opens her mouth for him preparing her tastebuds for the gross toothpaste and drill like electric toothbrush.

Harry as gently as he cans puts the toothbrush on her tooth in a circular motion going tooth to tooth making sure to grab the suction for the extra spit and toothpaste foam, after finishing the top set of teeth he asks “you doing okay?” Y/n looks at the kind man in front of her before answering “yeah, thanks for the warning that toothpaste tastes like shit” before Harry could welcome her she speaks again “fuck! I’m sorry i didn’t mean to curse. Shit i did it again and again!!” Harry laughs his beautiful laugh while picking up more toothpaste on the brush and twisting back to her “it’s alright darling relax. I do it all the time just don’t tell my boss”

This relaxes y/n about her silly mistake and her shoulders relax into the chair waiting for the command to open her mouth again. “Alright last time with this brush i promise. Open please” y/n opens her mouth allowing the doctor to do his job, after brushing her teeth harry puts the brush down and picks up the suction in one hand the the water and air tool in the other rinsing out her mouth and then sucking the water. “Alright that wasn’t so bad was it?” Harry asks trying to keep the friendly conversation hoping to get closer. “You’re really good at that”

Harry smiles although the mask not showing it “thank you I’m glad you noticed i did go to school half my life just to be good at that.” Harry jokes. “Would you like some water to wash that taste out?” Y/n nodded and Harry brought the water and dryer device to her mouth she opened but not knowing what else to do she waited for instructions “close your mouth sweetie” y/n closed her mouth as Harry washed the inside of it with water then sucked it up with the suction.

The way her lips wrapped around the suction made dirty thoughts in Harry’s mind but before he could make it noticed he continues doing his job and asks “open. Awesome, I’m going to do this new check that we’ve been trained to do. Basically I’m to put one finger in your mouth and feel around to make sure your gums are healthy and so that you don’t have anything that could be cancerous. Is that alright with you?” Y/n nods honestly wanting all of his fingers in her mouth choking her as he fucks her- “yeah that’s totally fine thank you”

“Of course” Harry turns back to y/n after putting the suction and water device back on its hook and wiggles his fingers in a joking manner causing y/n to laugh her beautiful laugh. Y/n opened her mouth and as expected a cold latex free gloves finger enters her mouth touching the top set of gums sliding his finger around making sure he got everything on the top then moving to the bottom set. Once on the bottom set he looks in her mouth seeing his finger going to the very back of her gums, due to the lubricant of her saliva his finger slips into the back of her throat making y/n gag.

Removing his finger as soon as it happened with a sorry concerned look “I’m so sorry!” Y/n laughs it off before answering the worried man “it’s okay, please don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault i have a sensitive gag reflex.” Harry laughs with her before adding in a joke to hopefully calm down any bad energy “i bet that comes in handy” y/n laughed at the inappropriate joke “yeah gets the boys cumming in a second. Works like a charm” this sets something off in Harry’s thought wanting to just kiss her and have her show him her ways with her mouth but all he did was swallow and reply “ i hope to get to know how that feels sometime he winks.

Blushing y/n says “I’ll be sure to make an appointment with you when i have time.” Harry then says “I’ll be looking forward to it. I’m going to go get the doctor and then you’ll be out of her in no time.” Harry takes off his gloves and mask before turning off the light and lifting the chair in a sitting position. Harry then smiles and leaves the room to go fetch the doctor leaving y/n to ponder in her thoughts. When Harry renters the room a doctor following he takes a seat in the chair he sat in before and the doctor following in an identical chair.

“Hello y/n, how are you doing today?” Dr. Lewis asks while putting on some gloves and a mask as Harry moves the chair back into the original position it was minutes ago. Y/n swallows nervously before answering the not as kind doctor “I’m alright. How are you?” The chair now in the correct position Harry moves the light back on her mouth with a smile that helped calm her a little bit then moved to put on some new gloves and mask. “I’m very well thanks for asking. Is Harry here treating you well?”

Y/n looks at Harry who is prepping the tools for the doctor. Harry the name struck her, what a beautiful name for a beautiful man. She is brought back to reality when she remembers that the doctor asked her a question “very well thank you” Harry looks back at y/n with a kind smile still on his face. “That’s great! You know it’s his first day right?” With this new information y/n looks at Harry now with a smile “i didn’t, he is doing an excellent job. You should promote him already” she jokes “wow okay, I’ll look into it. Thanks for you feedback.”

With a nod and a smile her nerves now coming back as she hears the metal of the tools, Harry notices her state and frowns he doesn’t want his patient and now friend- well he hoped there’re friends- to be uncomfortable. “Hey, look at me. Good. Everything is going to be okay, take a deep breath with me ready? In” the two of them take a deep breath in and hold it for a second “out” they exhale and relax y/n mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ bit before he could respond the doctor is ready to begin to check Harry’s work and if there is any cavities.

“Alrighty Harry and y/n let’s get this show on the road. Hook and mirror please and open please” Harry hands over the two tools to the doctor and y/n opens her mouth, after checking the top teeth he moves to the bottom set, Harry coming in with the suction. After half way through the bottom set Harry speaks again to the doctor “There’s a back molar i want you to check on your side that i wasn’t sure if it was an issue or not.” The doctor follows Harry’s guide and checks the molar which in-fact did have something “ah, i knew when i hired you that you would be a good one” Harry smiled.

“Y/n do you have extra time around 30 minutes or so for a cavity?” Y/n checks her Apple Watch for the time before answering nervously “y-yeah, i have time.” More time to be with harry yes please! Although this was not how she wanted to spend the rest of the day she was glad that she met such a kind man. “Great! Harry if you please set up the procedure of a cavity filling that would be awesome. And i will be right back i have to check in with another patient.” The doctor stood up took off his gloves, mask and shield before exiting the room.

Harry turns the light off and puts y/n back in the sitting position then his gloves to start prepping for the cavity filling but notices how worried y/n looks, he turns giving y/n his full attention “hey, it’s going to be alright. I know it’s not what you wanted but I’m going to be right here the whole time. If you need him or me to stop just start hitting me and we’ll stop.” Harry’s calm words calmed her down but still she wasn’t expecting a cavity. A fucking cavity. How did she even get one? She thought she was doing a great job at brushing and all of that but i guess not enough.

“Thank you. I don’t remember the last time I’ve had a cavity and i think my brain block it out so im a little- really nervous for the drills and all that.” Y/n admitted and Harry listened i want to know all of your fears so i can take them away and you can do the same for me Harry thought but actually said “of course, now i have to set this up don’t wanna be fired the first day here” Harry jokes hoping to get that laugh he now adores and he did sending flutters to his heart.

They make light but friendly conversation while Harry sets up, during that time y/n finds out that he has a sister and is originally from the UK hence the accent. Y/n feels comfortable with Harry she’s never felt this way with a doctor or really anybody she’s a kind yet shy soul but having a friend like Harry would be nice well more than nice so she decides to keep talking to him. As with Harry he may be a soft spoken man but he feels like he’s know y/n for his whole life even with his whole life was an hour or two at his new job.

After Harry is all set up and many jokes and bitching about the most random things the doctor comes back in and y/n’s nerves are back to where they were before their conversation. “Alrighty let’s get this finished so you y/n can be on your way. “ the doctor puts on some hand sanitizer and puts on his gloves and a mask and sits down in the other chair in the room as Harry moves the chair back down, turns the light on and puts his PPE on.

“Harry are we all set up?” The doctor asks Harry but already knowing the answer but he still answers “yeah, ready whenever you are. Y/n are you ready darling?” Harry asks y/n wanting to make sure that she was 100% alright. “Yeah, just kinda want to go home now” Harry giggle a nervous giggle completely understanding her, he wants to go home now or well to the little coffee shop with the lights he passed by when he drove to work. Wanting to go there with y/n even if it’s just in a friend way he still wants to go.

“Y/n, remember if it starts hurting to the point where you want me or dr. Lewis to stop just start hitting me okay” y/n looks over to see Harry looking at her with kindness in his eyes and nods.

-

The sound of drilling fills the room and keeps y/n on a nervous edge. Harry tries his best to watch out for her hands to see if she needs a break but with assisting and to make sure the suction in getting everything that needs to be sucked up sucked, he’s getting distracted. As Dr. Lewis is in the middle of telling the two about his very nice vacation to Italy when he his drill hits a certain spot in her tooth that makes her jump. It makes her ball her fists and lifts her lower half off the chair when the balls of her heels dig into the chair for some relief.

Without question Harry transfers the tool into his other hand and reaches for her other. Slipping his fingers through hers a love spark sparks them, she immediately squeezes him. Hard. “Sorry about that y/n” dr. Lewis apologizes as he pulls the drill away for a second to give y/n a break and for Harry to clean her mouth out of any saliva that has pooled. The two doctors both have protective goggles on which y/n envied the moment spit flew into her face, even though it was her own it was still gross.

With her eyes still closed, Harry hooks the sucking tool to the side of her mouth and gently wipes down her chin and lips with the paper bib. “Going back in, only another minute tops” Dr. Lewis assures her and Harry knows that she can handle it the way she unclenches her grip a little bit but still making sure that she is holding the kind man’s hand. She never hurts, though that’s not what he’s worried about he’s worried about y/n being in pain. Whenever dr.Lewis used the drill or picks he watches her eyebrows furrow in a painful manner making his heart hurt for her.

Once the drilling is done, Harry assists with the filling. Preparing the equipment and the water device at the hollowed tooth to clear any lingering pieces of bone, then sucking it back up again. She feels like a hot mess when it’s all over , especially when Harry releases (as much as he didn’t want to) her clammy hand and wipes the gloved hand on a clean towel “sorry”

“S’ fine, don’t worry about it really.” Harry takes off his gloves and mask and so does dr. Lewis “alrighty y/n you’re all done. You can make your next appointment at the counter and I’ll see you then. Take care!” And with that he left. Harry moves the chair back to a sitting position and gets her bag of toothpaste, toothbrush and floss ready putting an extra little dinosaur from the kids prizes just for laughs and for a hopefully conversation starter and hands it to her, y/n gives him a little ‘thank you’.

“Here, pound it. You did amazing, beat that cavity to fucking ground and took its lunch money.” Harry pulls out his fist and with a laugh y/n pounds it Harry adding an explosion sound effect a habit from training with pediatric dental care but y/n loved it. Standing up y/n collects her belongings before saying “harry or your last name i never got thank you for being so kind i really appreciate it. I hope i can see you again even if it’s outside of a dentist office but thank you again.” Harry felt his heart flutter but before he could answer his boss called his name “harry?!”

“You’re more than welcome and yes i would love to see you again but if you could excuse me for just one second my boss needs to speak with me then I’ll be right back to form a day when I’m free.” Y/n nodded and as they started walking in different directions, y/!n stood in front of the counter with a Receptionist with the name ‘ Rachel’ on her name tag. “Hello! If i could please have your name I’ll be more than happy to schedule your next appointment. “

She seemed too happy for y/n’s liking but she nodded and gave her name. “Okay you are all set. We’ll see you in 6 months for your next check up. You have a good day now.” Y/n thanked the weird lady and looked back to see Harry still talking to his boss, not wanting to interfere whatever conversation they may be having she turned and out the door to the stairs she went. When Harry was finally done talking to his boss about how well of a job he was doing on his first day he smiled walking out the door to the waiting room in search of y/n.

He looked and looked and even asked the other nurse where she went but no luck. He stopped searching when a file of his next patient was handed to him.

He had to admit as much as he didn’t want to that y/n was gone and that he had no way of finding her without losing his job.

Masterlist

A/n- wow after so much time i have finally finished the first part of this series. Thank you so much for all the love and support i love you so much!

[nohoney]

I Just Want It To Be Us - 1.3

warnings: 18+, threesome, rough sex, slight dubcon, slight drug use, toxic relationships, angsty-ish

summary: 

“Say his name dove, call out his name.” Keigo’s voice is much more gentle compared to your boyfriend’s. “Touya, say it.”

Touya, Keigo says it so easily. You remember the frown on Dabi’s face when professors would call him by his real name for attendance, clear as day that he hated being addressed by it. No one outside his family calls him Touya except for Keigo… and now you.

1.1 ✧ 1.2  ✧ 1.3

Come downs fucking suck.

You, Dabi and Keigo stay at your apartment to rest up after leaving the party. You feel disgusting being up for so long, you wash up first in your bathroom followed by Dabi and then Keigo. You lend Keigo spare clothes that your boyfriend leaves behind in your home, Dabi already comfortable grabbing what he needs from the drawers you cleared out for his stuff. They tend to you, fuss over you, smother you in affection when you want it and give you space when you’re irritated. You’re not as used to rolling like the two other veterans so your come down takes a little longer compared to Keigo who still popped the other half of his tablet of ecstasy that same night and sobered up much quicker than you did off the two quarters you took.

They press ice packs to your neck and back, trying to cool you down, and get you to drink as much water as you can. Keigo hands you sticks of gum, once again reminding you to unclench your jaw and to focus chewing on the gum while Dabi massages you up and down. You’ve been up for more than 24 hours, your appetite still hasn’t returned yet, but you’re at least feeling half way normal enough where the boys deem it safe for you to sleep off the rest of the come down.

The bed in your room was too small for three people to lay in together, so Dabi flattened your sofa to make it into a bed to fit all of them, a feature you had no idea your sofa could do until he messed around with it one day. Keigo grabs the pillows and blankets from your room to make everyone comfortable. You settle in between them, Keigo on your left and Dabi on your right, and they both send you off to sleep with kisses and saccharine words to lull you.

By the time you wake up, you feel almost normal. You’re craving slightly for more ecstasy but you know better than to ask for more and you still have to remind your body to not clench its jaw so hard. Your teeth ache so much and you wonder what sounds good to eat, probably something soft what with how your jaw feels at the moment.

“Morning doll.”

Dabi’s awake, muting the television and looking down at you, still looking all disgruntled from staying up all night and your body struggling to sober up. He still thinks you’re cute though and he leans over to peck your lips.

“Hm… Keigo?” you ask, stretching your body beneath the blankets.

“Still sleeping, he’s right next to you.” Dabi points out.

True to what he says, Keigo is sleeping comfortably with one hand folded behind his head and the other on his stomach. Even when he’s sleeping, he still poses like a cool guy.

You shimmy over to Dabi, settling your head on his chest and humming in appreciation as he pets the top of your head. It feels like what happened at the house party was so long ago but it only happened just a few hours ago. Your sense of time was really fucked at the moment, feeling like you were in another year and in another dimension. It might be the come down that’s fucking with you too, the mix of alcohol and ecstasy and cocaine is not exactly a good combination. You’re not sure how Dabi and Keigo have been doing this and still function the way they do.

Dabi is silent as he unmutes the tv so he can continue watching his show but his hand hasn’t stopped petting your hair.

The conversation at the party comes to mind.

“Dabi.” you call him.

“Touya.” he quickly corrects you.

So he was serious after all.

“Touya.” you say this time, looking up at him expectedly.

“Yes doll?”

You take a quiet breath before asking, “You really meant what you said, about me being the most important to you? Does being called your girlfriend actually carry any merit to you?”

Dabi sighs through his nose, hating to have this conversation again, but he does it for you.

“It’s been that way this entire time doll. I told you before, you’re my favorite and my number one, the things I do for you I haven’t done for anyone else before. If I didn’t want you around me then we wouldn’t be doing this right now, wouldn’t have invested all this time and energy on you. You should see how the whores beg me to stay after I’m done with them but I don’t ever. They’re jealous of you doll, they think that buying more from me is going to somehow make me leave you. They’ll OD first before that ever happens.”

You bite back the question that wants to leave your mouth.

But do you have to fuck them while they buy from you?

It’s a legitimate question to put out there but even if you do say it, Dabi won’t relent and he’ll say the same thing all over again just like that first fight you ever had about it. You hate knowing that he has side whores, customers, whatever the fuck they are to him. You hate knowing that he’s not going to stop, even if you ask. You hate it so much and yet you can’t bring yourself to just break it off with him.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Dabi pulls the blankets off your body and makes you lie flat on your back, whispering more sweet words how you’re so fucking perfect for him, that he doesn’t want anyone else the way he wants you, that he’s never let any of his side whores ever call him by his real name, only you get that privilege. He kisses at your neck, his hands easily pulling your pajama bottoms down along with your panties and tossing them aside. His fingers gently play with your clit, making you whine and turn your head to the side, Keigo still sleeping peacefully next to you.

“Dab-” you stop yourself just in time and address him properly in a harsh whisper, “T-Touya, Keigo is right next to us! Just take me to the bedroom!”

“Relax doll, it wouldn’t be first time Keigo’s seen me get my dick wet. Besides, it’d be pretty rude of us to have him wake up alone. If you want him to keep on resting then you better keep your cute voice down.” Dabi chuckles as he sinks two fingers into your pussy, knuckle deep and so achingly good. He pushes your legs open and palms his cock with his other hand through his jeans, the big bulge straining against the fabric. You eye it hungrily, anticipating the way he’ll stretch your pussy and really make you whine for him. Every single time without fail, every time Dabi fucks your pussy you’re tight at first and then his cock leaves you gaping open by the time he’s done with you. You’re left a quivering mess but you ask for more, beg for more, you beg for Dabi.

His fingers curl into you just the way you like, the way that makes you a babbling mess, the intensity building so much so that you realize-

You grab Dabi’s wrist to still him, eyes pleading up at him. “Don’t make me squirt! Not here! Not with Keigo here!”

A quick dart to the side and you see that Keigo still hasn’t moved or stirred at all.

Dabi tuts in annoyance but acquiesces nonetheless, though not without giving you a penalty.

“Alright doll, prep yourself then. Make yourself nice and stretched out for my cock to rail you.” he commands you.

You widen your legs, careful to not brush them against Keigo, and reach one hand down to finger yourself while the other stimulates your clit. You’ve masturbated plenty of times by yourself to make yourself cum, knowing what you like and where you like it. But it’s different when your lover does it for you, its different when their fingers are longer and fatter, reaching places you’re not able to on your own or without a toy. It’s different playing with yourself with those intense turquoise eyes set on you, it’s different with that long cock just right there in the palm of his hand and your pussy quivering and leaking at the sight of it.

You bite down on your bottom lip and trying to keep all your sounds in. You don’t want Keigo to wake up to how horny and needy you sound for Dabi and you beg once more to be taken to the bedroom.

Dabi just chuckles at how pathetic you sound and slaps your hands away from your pussy, lining himself up against your sweet hole. He slowly pushes him and you arch your back at the fucking stretch of him inside you. “Would you really hate it that much if Keigo saw you like this (Name)? Whining like a bitch in heat and spreading your legs like the little slut you know you are? All those people at the house party probably thought you were a slut, feeling each other up, sitting on his lap and then making out with him before getting switched over to me.”

“We were rolling! I wasn’t-” you try to explain yourself but Dabi hushes you.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me doll, I’m not mad about it. I thought it was cute that you were all over him. I know the two of you were rolling, ecstasy makes us all extra lovey with each other, but you know that he wants to fuck you too?” Dabi tells you, pushing himself in until he’s balls deep. “He thinks you’re adorable. I talk about your pussy all the time with him. How fucking cute it is, how tight it gets when you get choked, and when you cum all over yourself. He wants to fuck you open so bad.”

Your body quivers as Dabi slowly moves his hips, his cock dragging inside your pussy until he leaves just the tip and thrusts back inside you. “Touya, don’t say that! He’s just a friend!”

“A friend who wants to fuck you.” Dabi snickers at your expression, shocked and embarrassed at the revelation. “I gave you permission to fuck who you want doll, Keigo is not the worst person you could choose. In fact, I’d like it if he were the one to keep you warm for me.”

You can’t believe that your boyfriend is telling you all this while he’s fucking you silly with his closest friend literally asleep beside you.

You don’t want to hear anymore about Keigo, you can barely keep your mind focused as Dabi rails you and you’re trying to keep your sounds in. Dabi won’t muffle you with his hand, he’s loving seeing you struggle to contain yourself. He pushes your shirt up, tells you he wants to see your tits bounce while fucking you. You try to keep in your whines as he shamelessly gropes you, still keeping the rhythm of his thrusts without issue. His hands feel good, one groping your breast while the other plays with your clit. It feels so good and you beg for more as you open your legs for Dabi, your hands holding the back of your knees and splayed open for him.

“You starting to feel good doll? Finally losing your mind over this cock?” Dabi asks with that trademark snarky smirk of his.

“Ugh yes, feels good Touya… I love it! I love your cock!” you whine as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Now you’re losing it, awash in the pleasure that Dabi is generously bestowing upon you when he feels like being nice. Most of the time he likes to bully you a little and really work you up until you can’t take it anymore. You figure it’s not the case this time considering the fight you had not too long ago, so he’s just trying to make it up to you this way.

He really did suck at apologies.

You hate having to keep quiet like this, you wish that you could just moan out loud but you can’t! Dabi’s fucking you hard and fast, like he’s really working to make you lose your composure but it’s already embarrassing that you didn’t fight Dabi hard enough to fuck you in the bedroom. You yelp when you feel a hard pinch to your nipple and you open your eyes to whine at Dabi but you look down to see an extra hand groping your other breast.

Your head snaps to the side to see that Keigo is awake, fisting his cock with his other hand while the other one is reached over and plays with your tit. Surprise does not even begin to describe what you feel, you’re embarrassed that were caught but you quiver in arousal as well.

“Hello dove, hope you don’t mind but I just wanted a little touch.” Keigo beams a smile at you that leaves you flustered. He’s acting like you just caught him raiding your fridge, so nonchalant like he usually is.

“K-Keigo?! Wh-When did you-! Ohhh, fuck!” your hands drop the back of your knees as your back arches and clench your fists.

“Oh damn, she just came… hard.” Dabi is surprised himself, so much so that he even stopped moving inside you. But the shock doesn’t last long and a laugh bubbles out of him. “I think she fucking likes having you around Keigo.”

“Aw I’m flattered.” Keigo laughs and gives the tit in his hand a little squeeze.

“Y-You two…!” you whine in the condition you’re in and hide your face in your hands.

Dabi just pats your head and looks over to Keigo, nodding his head towards you and asking,”Wanna have a go?”

You clench around Dabi when he offers you to Keigo but he doesn’t say anything of it.

Keigo takes his hand back and waves it nonchalantly. “I think I’m cool with just watching, do your thing Touya.”

“Suit yourself.” Dabi says with a shrug as he reaches for you shirt and pulls it off your body and then throwing it over his shoulder. Next he grabs your wrists, holding them together in one hand and pinning them above your head. He’s left you completely vulnerable and open in this position and normally you’d love it, the power he holds over you and making you helpless mess before him. But it’s different with Keigo right there, his honey colored eyes watching you with an intensity that you weren’t used to seeing on him.

It’s pretty obvious on your face that you’re uncomfortable with an extra set of eyes watching you. You start to squirm as Keigo moves closer to you, sitting on his knees and looking down at you with his hand still jerking his cock. You’re shy now with him so close by, turning your head away and clenching your eyes shut.

As if they’d let you shy away from them.

Keigo grips your chin with his free hand and forces you to look up at the both of them. You can’t shake him off and Dabi holds your wrists tight in his hold; you’re trapped and helpless but it makes you shamefully horny for the both of them.

“Don’t turn away, little dove.” Keigo coos to you.

“Come on doll, look at us.” Dabi grunts as he resumes moving his hips into you. You groan beneath him and still try to wriggle free from his his hold, whining quietly from how powerless you are in this moment. “What are you holding back for (Name)? Keigo’s awake now, you don’t have to keep in your sounds anymore. That was the whole point of you keeping quiet from before.”

Keigo grins at you and tenderly rubs his thumb against your cheek, his hand still holding your chin to keep your head straight forward. “How considerate of you dove, trying to keep in your noises so that I could sleep. Well as you can see I’m wide awake so there’s no need for you to hold back anymore.”

No, no! It’s still too embarrassing! You’re barely still registering Dabi’s words from before, telling you that apparently Keigo has been wanting to fuck you this entire time! Everything is happening too fast and your mind is spinning.

Dabi won’t stand for you to hold back though, when he tells you to stop holding back, you better do as he says. So he puts power into his thrusts, fucking his cock into you so rough and fast that you’re left breathless for a few seconds before finally moaning out loud. Your cries are so sweet to their ears and they encourage you even more, praise you for sounding so cute and being so good for them.

The hand that was holding your chin releases you and once again grips one of your tits, roughly squeezing and adding to the onslaught of pleasure that you can barely withstand.

“I can hear you cumming from here (Name), you sound so fucking wet.” Keigo tells you, fisting his cock even harder. “Are you cumming a lot?”

“Yes, yes! I’m cumming so fucking much!” you cry out as your toes begin to curl in pleasure.

“Who’s the one making you cum so much (Name)? Fucking say it.” Dabi orders you, his thrusts becoming more harsh and the grip on your wrists tightening. He’s getting ready to cum but he needs you to be the one to trigger it. “Say my fucking name!”

“Say his name dove, call out his name.” Keigo’s voice is much more gentle compared to your boyfriend’s. “Touya, say it.”

Touya, Keigo says it so easily. You remember the frown on Dabi’s face when professors would call him by his real name for attendance, clear as day that he hated being addressed by it. No one outside his family calls him Touya except for Keigo… and now you.

“Say it doll, say my name!”

His command is punctuated with a sharp slap to your face.

You’ve always called him Dabi from the very first time you met him. He’s always been Dabi to you, now he tells you that you’re special enough to address him by his birth name, his true moniker.

Dabi.

Touya.

Dabi.

Touya.

Dabi.

Touya… Touya, Touya, Touya…

“Touya!” you cry out. “Touya, Touya, I’m cumming!”

It’s so sweet how you cry out his real name, it makes him all the more enthused as he ruts into you. His cock desecrates you, leaves you in ruin as he jams himself one last time into you, balls deep as he cums so deep inside you and so much spilling out from him that it overflows and leaks out of your abused pussy.

At the same time Keigo spurts his cum all over your breasts, groaning alongside you as well.

It’s a real bonding moment you didn’t expect.

You’re left exhausted once again, this time for completely different reasons. Your wrists are released and you stretch them out languidly, flexing your fingers briefly before bringing them down to your chest. You gather some of Keigo’s cum on the tips of your fingers and bring it to your mouth to sample the taste, humming in pleasant surprise that it’s not that bitter.

Two fingers swipe at the cum leaking out of your pussy and is presented in front of you. You open your mouth and taste the familiar essence of your boyfriend in your mouth, less pleasant than Keigo’s but it’s not unwelcome.

“Looks like you could use some more rest. Go ahead and sleep dove, we’ll take care of you.” Keigo assures you before leaning down and giving you a lingering kiss.

“Rest up doll.”

You hum absently and moan lightly when you feel Touya’s hand caress your cheek, curling into his touch and falling asleep.

━━━━✧

Touya offers his joint to you after he takes a hit but you decline, waving it away from you and leaning against his shoulder. The breeze carries the smoke your way but it doesn’t bother you much, you just don’t feel like taking anything right now. “I need a fucking detox, I still feel like I’m trying to sober up from last week.”

“You didn’t even do that much doll. You got halfway through the gram and only had a half of the tab I gave you from the day before, it’s not much. I say you took it easy on yourself, you could have done more.” Touya tells you, reminding you once again that he has a longer history of drug use compared to you.

You roll your eyes and playfully shove at his shoulder. “I’m still a baby when it comes to this stuff alright. So stop making fun of me, it’s not nice.”

It’s best not to mention that you honestly could have finished up the rest of the gram of coke and the rest of the tab of ecstasy if you hadn’t gotten upset and had that fight with Touya.

Your boyfriend puts his arm around your shoulder to pull you close, his lips pressing tenderly against your forehead before leaning down to peck you on the lips. You get the feeling that he’s still playing the role of the extra nice boyfriend, seeing as he hasn’t gone out as much when his customers hit him up, still trying to make it up to you from what happened at the house party. He hasn’t said an actual ‘I’m sorry’ to you, you’re not sure if it’s even in his vocabulary.

Apparently it’s just easier to just give you the extra special princess treatment rather than vocalize an apology, though you won’t complain about it too much for now.

You’ve let it go for now, Touya pretty much swept the fight under the rug for the time being. He didn’t offer an apology, as he usually doesn’t. He once again just had to assure you that the other girls mean nothing to him, that you’re so special and dear to him that you get to call him Touya while to them he’s just Dabi; it’s just you he allows in his bed and he always goes back to you when he’s done with them. He tells you how sweet his name sounds falling from your lips and it wouldn’t be the same if it were anyone else. It’s not an actual fix to the issue, you’re very aware of that, but you can’t help but swoon how Touya really did make you feel special by giving you the privilege of addressing him by his real name.

“I’m going to go to Keigo’s, his Adderall finally wore off so he’s done studying for midterms.”

“I don’t see why Keigo takes it, he’s already a good student when he’s sober. He’s almost got a perfect grade point average.” you point out.

Touya finishes his joint before tossing the roach and grinding his shoe into it make sure it’s out. “It’s just that extra boost he needs whenever he needs to buckle down, I know he doesn’t look it but he actually fusses over his studies a lot. I’m heading over now, come with me doll.”

The last time you saw Keigo was when your come down was finally over. Touya stayed behind with you but Keigo had departed your apartment with a quick kiss to your lips before heading out the door. You still think about Touya’s words from before, about Keigo’s apparent interest in you but you don’t think you’re quite ready to bring it up just yet. In the meantime you can pretend like he never told you anything and give yourself a bit more time to think over what your relationship is with Keigo.

Keigo being an option for you never really crossed your mind before…

Your phone rings from your pocket and you pull it out to see that you’re getting a call from your mother, you haven’t spoken to her in a while so you know that you should answer it. “I’ll just see you back at your place Touya.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, turquoise eyes set firmly on you and you can see that he wants you to reconsider.

The phone continues to ring.

“Yeah, I’m sure."

He nods his head and kisses your cheek before walking off.

When he’s far away enough, you finally answer your mother’s phone call. She’s wondering why you haven’t called her lately and you apologize to her. You’re just busy with school, work isn’t being too hard on you, you’re eating just fine, and nothing is really wrong at the moment. She asks you if you’ve been on any dates recently, wants to know if you’re seeing a nice man who’s studying in a good major and has a bright future.

“You deserve a good man to take care of you sweetie.” she tells you and you hum in agreement, your eyes looking in the direction where Touya was walking, already long gone from your vision. “A nice man to take care of my dear girl.”

She’d be disappointed if she saw you with Touya, but she’d be more disappointed in you for choosing him.

━━━━✧

Part 2: You and Me (And Him)

[fanfictionaries]

The Seduction of Sirius Black - Part 2

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Sirius Black

Summary:

Hermione loves her boyfriend, but there’s just one little problem -- she’s hopelessly attracted to Sirius Black.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Ron bashing (sorry)

Author’s Note: Part 2 is up and now I must go and study for my exam Wednesday! 

MASTERLIST

Part 1

Her head was pounding. Pounding so hard behind her eyes that she thought she might throw up. In fact…Hermione flung her covers off of her, bolted to the bathroom attached to her room, and lifted the lid just in time to expel the contents of her stomach into the white porcelain. She heaved and heaved until there was nothing left for her to throw up, and then she heaved again for good measure. Wracked with full body convulsions, Hermione let her forehead lean against the cool porcelain of the toilet’s edge and vowed to never drink whiskey again. Why? Why had she drunk so much? Oh, right. The events of the previous afternoon came into her mind and Hermione gave another dry heave into the toilet bowl in response.

Ron. Ron was cheating on her. For how long? Was that witch the only one? Who else knew? Did Harry know? Did everyone know? Oh Gods…this was a disaster. No wonder she’d gotten so sloshed. And she was well and truly sloshed. She didn’t even remember paying her tab or how she got home. She sort of remembered getting into the house; there’d been an issue with her key, and she’d tripped quite a lot coming in and then—

Oh no.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Hermione sat up with a gasp, a jolt of pain shooting through her head that made her groan and lay back down against the cool porcelain. It all came rushing back, her stupid drunk giggles, her blatant stares as she ogled Sirius in the hallway, her kissing him, him kissing her, his mouth on her—oh god, her hand on his—and then he’d stopped her and she’d…she’d stomped off like a petulant child! Hermione wanted to die. If she hadn’t thought the hangover was a bad enough pain to cause suicidal thoughts, then the memories of what she’d done the night before certainly were. What did she do now?

Her brain churned, slowly and painfully, certainly not operating at its usual capability. Damn whiskey. What did people normally do when they made horrible drunken mistakes? Hermione thought back to the one or two times her friends had made absolute arses of themselves while out drinking. They usually spent the next day apologizing over and over again, that is if they even—

That was it! She’d simply pretend like she didn’t remember any of it. That would put the pieces into Sirius’s hands. If he was offended enough by her actions, he’d tell her what happened (a mortifying thought), but if he was just as embarrassed by it as her, then he’d lie and say nothing happened at all. It was like a get out of jail free card, so to speak.

Rising gingerly to her feet, Hermione was barely vertical when a hard knock at her bedroom door sent her reeling back. She gasped, sending shooting pain through her skull once again, and tripped backwards, barely catching herself on the shower curtain. Thankfully, they didn’t rip from the rod, otherwise she’d have a hangover and likely a very nasty bump on her head to deal with. She had just resorted herself firmly on her feet when another, louder knock came at her door, and Hermione jumped again, cursing very loudly.

“Bloody hell!” Her pulse thumped violently in her chest and in her ears as she brought a hand up to her heart, surprisingly out of breath for very little physical exertion. She froze, staring blankly at the dark grain of her door. “Who is it?” she called out, wincing as her headache persisted. Who is it? Who did she think it was? She only lived with one person.

“It’s me, open up!”

Hermione sighed with relief at the sound of the distinctly feminine and more importantly not Sirius voice from the other side.

“It’s unlocked, come on it,” Hermione called back, allowing herself to slump against the sink as she reached for her toothbrush and toothpaste. There was a taste in her mouth she needed to be rid of, and Hermione had the sinking feel that it wasn’t just from to the amount of vomiting she’d been doing that morning.

The door swung open, slamming hard against the wall with a great thud. Hermione winced at the sound, wetting her toothbrush and globbing an exorbitant amount of toothpaste onto it.

“Sorry,” said Ginny, looking sheepish at her loud entrance as she padded into the room, arms full. Hermione spotted the contents of her arms and if it weren’t for her hungover state, she could have sung.

“Please tell me one of those coffees is for me,” said Hermione, desperately, mouth full of frothy toothpaste. She spat into the sink and washed away the frothy spit with water from the tap before returning to brutally brushing her teeth and gums.

“It is—” Ginny grinned devilishly as she set the large paper cup down next to Hermione and held up a large brown bag “—and so is one of these pasties.”

Hermione gasped, spitting into the sink, and rinsing it again before rinsing her toothbrush as well. She set the brush down on the counter and snatched the bag from Ginny’s hands. Digging deep into the grease-stained paper bag she pulled a wrapped Cornish pasty. “Is it—”

“Potato and onion, just like you like,” answered Ginny, already knowing her question before it left Hermione’s mouth.

“I mean this with all honesty and from the bottom of my heart, Gin – you are my favorite person in the world,” she handed the bag back to Ginny before taking her pasty and her coffee out of the bathroom and to her bed. She sat down heavily on the messy blankets and propped herself against the headboard before taking a deep sip of coffee. Good. So good.

“And I mean this with all honesty and from the bottom of my heart – you look like shit,” said Ginny, sitting down at the end of the bed and pulling out her own pasty.

Hermione groaned, leaning her head against the headboard, and running a hand down her face, “Ugh, I know.  It was an…interesting day yesterday.”

“Yes, I heard. Sirius said—”

“What did he say?” Hermione asked, voice sounding a bit too guilty in her opinion.

Ginny gave her a curious look before continuing, “Just that you got home late last night, pissed off your arse. He said you came stumbling in giggling up a storm. What were you drinking?”

Hermione relaxed a bit knowing that Sirius hadn’t mentioned what happened after she came stumbling in. “Whiskey—” Hermione gagged just at the thought “—and too much of it.”

“Yes, well, when you find out your boyfriends been slagging around on you, I guess a large amount of alcohol is warranted,” said Ginny pointedly, finally getting straight to the point.

Hermione sighed, her body deflating as she tore open her Cornish pasty and took a large bite. “So you know then,” said Hermione through a mouth full of potato and onion.

Ginny nodded, now giving her a pitying look. Hermione hated that look. It was the same look she got all through sixth year when Ron was dating Lavender, snogging her all around the corner every chance he got. Apparently, some things never changed.

“And…how long have you known?” Hermione hated herself for asking but she had to – for her own sanity’s sake.

“Oh! —” Ginny’s eyes grew wide “—I just found out last night. I swear. He came round to ours right after he saw you. Scared the bogeys out of Harry and me. We thought he was still on assignment. We were just sitting down to some takeout and he burst through the fireplace, tracking soot across the rug, talking about how he’d messed up. Harry nearly hexed him before we realized it was him.”

Hermione sat back, taking another bite from her pasty. She chewed slowly, a little more relaxed that she now knew the secret of Ron’s infidelity was not just a secret to her. She swallowed her bite and then asked, “So, what did he say happened?”

Ginny frowned; her eyebrows furrowed deeply. “Well…it was all sort of a jumble at first but once we got him to sit and calm down, he basically confessed to it all. He said he’d been seeing someone else…behind your back. Behind everyone’s back. He told us how he’d been getting back from assignments earlier than he said he was to spend time with her. Apparently, she works at Flourish and Blotts.”

Hermione balked. She knew she’d seen the witch somewhere before. Of course! She was the new register girl at Flourish and Blotts. Hermione had seen her before when her and Ron went in to…oh Gods, she was going to be sick again. Ginny must have seen the look on Hermione’s face because she thrust the paper bag in Hermione’s direction and scoot a bit further back on the bed. Hermione took it, giving Ginny a grateful look, but setting it aside. No, she was not going to be sick again. Instead, she took another large sip of coffee, hoping the caffeine would soon bring relief to her aching head.

“I know. I know,” said Ginny commiseratingly. “Obviously, Harry and I were furious. I had to hold Harry back from physically attacking him and the only reason Ron’s arse wasn’t hexed off his body was because my wand was upstairs. I’m…I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

“Did he…” Hermione hesitated, unsure of whether she wanted to ask her next question, but knowing she’d drive herself crazy if she didn’t. “Did he say how long it’s being going on? Are they serious?”

Ginny pursed her lips, giving Hermione another one of those pitying looks. “I don’t think you want to know…”

“Just tell me Gin. I’m going to find out either way.”

Ginny swallowed thickly before answering, “Six months.”

“Six months?!” Hermione nearly shrieked, bringing a hand up to her head when it gave a surging pulse of pain. Merlin, she needed a pain potion in the worst way. Well, that answered her second question. If they’d been seeing each other six months, then it was definitely serious. Still, six months…that was a third of her and Ron’s relationship. Thinking back she realized that six months ago was around the time Ron stopped showing her affection and started spending more and more time away on assignments.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” Ginny apologized again. Hermione didn’t really know what she was sorry for though. Ginny wasn’t the one who’d been shagging someone else behind her back for half a year, thought Hermione bitterly. “I just want you to know that everyone’s on your side. Harry practically threw Ron out of our flat last night and told him to not come back until he’d figured out a way to fix things and I owled mum and dad the minute he left. I told mum to let him have her worst. The bastard deserves it.”

Hermione sighed, setting her pasty and coffee down on the nightstand, suddenly no longer hungry. So everyone knew now then. Great. A small part of her had hoped she could go a bit of time in denial. She hoped she could keep it a secret for just a bit before it became a big…thing.

“I guess I should have seen it coming,” Hermione finally said. “He’s been gone so much lately, and I’ve tried to be understanding, but he’s also been pulling away. I thought it might have been something I did…something we could fix, but.” Hermione shrugged, as if to say, ‘What can you do’.

Ginny frowned even deeper before asking, “Do you still want to? Fix it, I mean.”

Hermione frowned as well, thinking hard on her answer before shaking her head and saying, “No. No, I don’t.”

Ginny seemed a bit sad at her answer – perhaps disappointed that they would no longer one day be sisters but gave her a reassuring look all the same. “I completely understand. In my opinion he doesn’t deserve a second chance. I mean, what he’s done is so vile and unforgivable! I can’t believe—”

“Ginny—” Hermione cut of Ginny’s newly rising anger, suddenly feeling very tired “—thank you. Really, I appreciate you coming over here to comfort me. I just, I think I need a bit of alone time now. The last twenty-four hours have been exhausting and I think I just need a bit of a lie down.”

“Oh—” Ginny stood, collecting the trash from their breakfast “—of course. I’ll get out of your hair. Take as much time today as you need. You deserve it. Harry already called you in sick for the rest of the week and I’ll stop by tomorrow to see if you’re up for lunch.”

Merlin’s balls – work. She’d completely forgotten about work! It was only Wednesday. Burying herself into the confines of her duvet, Hermione thanked the stars for Harry Potter. Ginny gave her a soft kiss on the forehead before slipping out of the room. Hermione’s eyes had just closed, the pounding in her head all too apparent now that it was quiet when another knock came from the door.

“Come on in,” Hermione mumbled, voice groggy now that her muscles were relaxed, and her stomach was full of pasty. Ginny must have forgotten something.

“Sorry, Ginny said you were just about to have a lie down, but I thought you might need this first.”

Hermione froze at the sound of Sirius’s voice. Steeling herself, she rolled over and looked up at the older wizard with bated breath. He looked…fine. Calm even. How did he look so calm? He made his way across the room to the side of her bed and held out a small vial of pain potion to her. Hermione sat up a little, taking the vial from him. She uncorked it and tipped it past her lips, letting the bitter liquid slide down her past her tongue and down her throat. Pulling a face at the taste, she grabbed her coffee from the nightstand and chased it, before settling back in her bed.

“Thank you,” she said, purposefully avoiding looking at Sirius directly.

“Sure thing, kitten. How are you feeling?”

“Better, but still not my best,” Hermione answered, wishing more than anything Sirius would just leave. She wasn’t prepared for this. She needed at least four more hours of sleep and maybe another shot of whiskey before she was ready for this conversation. “Did…Ginny tell you what happened?”

Sirius nodded, and then much to her despair, he sat down on the edge of her bed. Hermione scooted her legs over, putting as much space between her body and his as she could without being too obvious.

“It certainly explains last night,” said Sirius, letting out a low and breathy laugh.

Hermione felt her face go hot, and she was sure she was as red as a tomato. However, if there was ever a time to put her plan from that morning into action, it was then.

“I’m so sorry you had to see me like that,” she began, looking down at her lap as she fingered the fabric of the duvet. “I’m ashamed to say I was so drunk I don’t even remember getting home. I hope I didn’t do anything too embarrassing like puke on your shoes, or something.”

There was a brief silence before Sirius cleared his throat and said, “No, no. Nothing like that.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, looking up in surprise. Sirius looked back at her, his grey eyes open and friendly. He gave her a small smile.

“Really,” he responded. “Although if you had puked on my shoes, I wouldn’t really blame you. No need to feel embarrassed for getting a bit too drunk. Can’t say I’d do much better if I’d been in your position.”

Hermione gave a weak laugh in response.

“Now,” continued Sirius. “You get some rest.” He stood and walked towards the door. He was halfway out of the door, handle in his grasp when Hermione called out to him.

“Sirius.”

The wizard turned, giving her a surprised look mixed with, was it worry? Concern? Hermione couldn’t tell. Her tongue faltered, stuck behind her teeth as she realized she had no idea why she’d called out his name. Swallowing thickly she gave him a smile that she hoped looked natural and said, “Thank you, again.”

“Of course, kitten.”

***

“How are you feeling?” Ginny asked, that same pitying look on her face.

Her and Harry sat across the table from Hermione at a small café in Diagon Alley. Just like Ginny had promised, she arrived exactly at noon the following day to see if Hermione was up for lunch. Hermione, who’d been hiding in her room, avoiding a certain older, dark-haired wizard found that she couldn’t say no. She was going stir-crazy and as even a quick trip to the kitchen seemed like too much of a risk, she was starving as well. So, there she was, sat across from the picture of marital bliss, wondering how long it really took to make a sandwich and chips.

Harry, thankfully, wasn’t giving her the same sad look Ginny was. In fact, if she had to put a word to how he looked she’d call it ‘uncomfortable’. He was having a hard time meeting Hermione’s eyes and he kept moving his hands from under the table to on top of it, his thumbs twiddling together.

Hermione sighed at Ginny’s question, bringing a hand up to her temple and rubbing the tired, tender flesh. While her hangover was well and past, she still felt exhausted – strung out really, despite the amount of extra sleep she’d gotten. She blamed Sirius Black for that. Despite every fiber of her being telling her that Ron’s infidelity should have been the main focus of her mind, instead she’d been unable to think of anything but the fact that Sirius Black had let their little tryst be swept under the rug surprisingly easily.

“I’m alright,” Hermione answered, giving Ginny a tired smile.

She should be alright – with the fact that Sirius played along with her little alcohol-induced memory loss game. It’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? The whole reason she’d decided to lie to him was so that he would have an out. So that the two of them could pretend like it never happened. So that they’d never have to have the uncomfortable ‘We almost drunkenly shagged in the hallway’ conversation. Well, she had been drunk. What was his excuse?

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked again.

Hermione looked around the café, hoping to see their waitress coming just around the corner with her food. No such luck.

“Heard anything from Ron?” Hermione asked, surprised that of all things, she’d rather distract herself with the topic of Ron cheating on her than think about Sirius Black.

Ginny shook her head. “We haven’t heard anything, and mum says he hasn’t showed up to the Burrow, which means—”

“He’s been staying somewhere else…like his girlfriend’s place,” Hermione finished for her, her mouth going sour.

A tense silence filled the space around them at the table. It made sense that he would rather stay there than go home and face his mother’s wrath. Did the other witch know about Hermione? She wondered what Ron had told her – if he had told her anything. When she had realized who Hermione was, she seemed to remain friendly enough and she didn’t seem worried. It was common knowledge that her and Ron had been dating. It had been front page news in the Daily Prophet. So what then? Had Ron told this witch too? Had he told her that they were broken up? Perhaps someone should tell her…

“I feel like I should do something,” said Harry, breaking the silence. “I—do you—would it make you feel better if I beat the shit out of him?”

Hermione laughed. Actually laughed, fully and whole-heartedly. “No, Harry. That’s not necessary but thank you. I appreciate the gesture.”

Harry smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Alright then. Just thought I’d ask.”

They fell into a silence again and Hermione found herself looking out the café window for something to do. Her thoughts drifted back to Sirius. After lunch she’d have to go home. Usually she’d kill a few hours by going into Flourish and Blotts, but it felt a bit off-limits at the moment. Not needing any new robes or potions ingredients and having no reason stop by Gringotts, her only option was to go back to Grimmauld Place. She’d have to face Sirius sooner than later, she thought despondently. Still, maybe she could go into Muggle London if she found herself lacking in courage by the time lunch was over.

“Harry, did you have to use the restroom?” asked Ginny, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts. She looked up at the two of them across from her and saw Ginny looking at her husband with wide eyes.

“No?” Harry responded, looking back at his wife in confusion.

“No, no. I’m pretty sure you said when we got here that you needed to use the loo.”

“I think I’d remember if I said—”

“Harry. Bathroom,” said Ginny through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing.

Harry eyes grew wide in both fright and understanding before he made a fidgeting motion, turning slight in his seat. “Right, um, yeah. I forgot. I’ll just—”

Harry stood, walking briskly through the café towards the back hallway where the bathrooms were.

Hermione watched him go, brow furrowed in confusion. Well that was odd. Looking back at Ginny, she found the redheaded Weasley girl staring fixedly at her.

“Everything alright, Gin?” she asked nervously.

“What aren’t you telling me?” asked Ginny, her tone blunt and accusatory.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Hermione’s palms began to sweat. She couldn’t possibly…unless Sirius mentioned something. Did he?

“Hermione. I’ve known you for nearly eight years now. I know when there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Hermione chewed her lip, meeting Ginny’s sure gaze. A raging war battled within Hermione’s head as she sat in the café, the vinyl bench seat squeaking under her restless legs. Should she tell Ginny? If she didn’t, the girl would surely badger her until she did. And Hermione did really need a second opinion on her predicament – needed to tell someone or she might just go insane.

“Promise not to judge me too harshly?” Hermione asked, wringing her wrist in her hand.

“Hermione, of course I won’t judge you—” Ginny’s expression softened “—What is it? You can tell me.”

“You know how I went out drinking Tuesday night after finding out about Ron?”

“Yes…” Ginny drew out the word, her voice lilting up into a question almost.

“And you know how I came stumbling home drunk off my arse?”

“Yeah,” Ginny snorted. “I would have paid big money to see it.”

“Well, when I got home I…I…well you see I—”

“Hermione, just spit it out.”

“I snogged Sirius!” Hermione blurted the words, covering her mouth with both palms as if she could scoop the words out of the air and push them back down her throat. She glanced around her hurriedly, realizing only then that she’d practically yelled out for all to hear that she’d made out with Sirius Black, godfather to famous Harry Potter.

Ginny stared at her, wide-eyed and mouth hung open very much not unlike Ron from two nights previous.

“It—well I was drunk, and I got home, and Sirius was there, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, you see. And I just…he looked so fit, you know? And I thought, well if Ron can go off and shag someone while we’re dating then surely, I can snog someone else now that we’re no longer dating. So I did.”

Ginny continued to stare at her in shock. Hermione swallowed thickly.

“Ginny, please say something. I’m almost positive I will go barking mad if you don’t.”

“I…I’m not quite sure what to say. Sirius? As in Sirius Black?”

“Yes.”

“Our Sirius Black?”

“Yes.”

“The Sirius Black you live with?”

“Yes.”

“Sirius Black – the godfather of my husband, Sirius Black?”

“Oh for crying out loud, yes Ginny. Sirius Black. That Sirius Black. I snogged Sirius Black,” Hermione bit, now rubbing both of her temples.

“Merlin’s beard…” said Ginny in a tone of disbelief.

“I know,” responded Hermione.

“How was it?”

“Ginny!” Hermione looked across the table at her friend in disbelief. The redhead was grinning back at her mischievously.

“What?! Inquiring minds want to know, Hermione Granger. You can’t just tell me something that juicy and not expect me to have questions.”

“Well yes, but I rather thought the questions in question would be more like ‘What were you thinking?’, ‘Why did you do that?’, ‘What are you going to do?’. Not, ‘How hot was it?’” laughed Hermione in bewilderment.

“So, it was hot then,” said Ginny, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh Merlin…” Hermione sighed, resting her head in her hands.

“Okay but in all seriousness, I do need all the details. So start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.” Ginny leaned forward in her seat, crossing her arms on the tabletop, and looking at Hermione expectantly.

Hermione sighed, but figured she owed it to Ginny to tell her the whole thing. Except, while Ginny was probably expecting the beginning to be her stumbling through the front door Tuesday night, nearly falling ass over tits, in reality, Hermione was going to need to start much further back than that. Hermione took a deep breath and then opened her mouth and told Ginny everything.

“Wow…”

“I know,” Hermione moaned, rubbing her palms down her face once again.

They were quiet before a moment before Ginny spoke, “So how are we going to get you two in the sack?”

“What?” Hermione asked in surprise. “You mean you’re not upset with me for more or less emotionally cheating on your brother?”

Ginny shrugged. “He actually cheated on you. I think it’s pretty fair.”

“Okay…” said Hermione slowly. “Isn’t it a bit wrong to be moving on so quickly? I mean last night I couldn’t really fault myself. I was drunk.”

“You’re not still hung up on my brother, are you?”

Hermione paused for a moment, already knowing her answer before it slipped past her lips. She had loved Ron, she still loved Ron in a way. But they’d been growing apart for quite some time. His infidelity was just the nail in the coffin for their relationship.

“Not really, no,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Good,” said Ginny simply, an acrid bite to it. “He doesn’t deserve you wallowing over him.”

They sat for a moment, letting the statement marinate in the space between them. But then Hermione spoke again, unable to now stop her racing mind and worries, “You don’t think he’s a bit too old for me?”

Ginny snorted. “You say old, I say experienced.”  

Hermione’s cheeks grew hot at the implication of Ginny’s words. A flash of the night before came to mind and she knew she couldn’t say Ginny was wrong.

“Okay, well then what about Harry?”

“Merlin Hermione! Harry will be fine! He doesn’t even have to know if you don’t want him to. I’ll keep your secret and I’m sure Sirius would too if you asked. Are you trying to come up with excuses not to do this?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No! I just…last night he rejected me. It leaves a witch feeling a bit apprehensive,” said Hermione, looking down at her hands now clasped together on top of the table.

“Hey,” said Ginny softly, bringing Hermione’s attention up. “He turned you down because you were drunk, Hermione. It’s a pretty bloody gentlemanly thing to do. Plus, he only turned you down after he had a taste. It’s obvious he couldn’t help himself.”

“You think?” asked Hermione, catching Harry walking back across the café from the restroom.

Ginny, spotting her distracted look, turned her head and acknowledged her fast approaching husband. She leaned forward across the table and lowered her voice, “I’m positive. Sirius is clearly attracted to you. We just have to make him realize that you’re both available and willing.”

“How are we going to do that?” Hermione whispered back.

“Simple. Hermione Granger, you are going to seduce Sirius Black.”

[increasethythunders]

the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 2/?

- sephiroth/reader

- sfw

“You look like shit.” said one of your fellow 2nds - Devon - through a mouthful of food.

“Thanks.” you replied, sitting next to him like a bag of rocks.

By the time you dragged yourself out of the training room (not even bothering to hit the communal showers and heading straight for the cafeteria in an exhausted stupor), there was only pallid, unspecified meat and soggy leaves that might’ve been a salad once left in the reservoir. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good either, uncomfortably sitting somewhere in the so-so region. Looking at the vaguely edible shapes in their cold, rectangular boxes, you figured they were more of an essence of whatever they labeled it as. A single piece of white bread had more flavor. You stacked your tray with what you could, and just before you left to grab a seat, you doubled back to grab a water bottle.

After finally having the chance to settle, the muscles in your arms and legs ached. Like someone had taken a hammer to your joints. It was nothing like the feeling of being a spunky 3rd just coming back from rigorous training - you had ached then, but it felt good. It felt like progress. Now you were just dead tired. You suspected with great indignation that the feeling wouldn’t subside in a good while.

You were about to shove a fork full of the essence of meat in your mouth when you couldn’t help but look up at the friend sitting across from you. He was staring at you with wide, bluer-than-the-sky eyes. His puppy stare (that you made sure never to call it that to his face).

“Vic.” you said, feinting a stern tone. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

You were dying to talk about it.

“You’re dying to talk about it.” said Victor and Devon in unison.

You groaned, hands flying to your face and tugging at your eyelids as you dragged them down. You had laid there in the training room for a good five minutes after Sephiroth left, half-expecting him to come back and further damage your ego. But he didn’t. And thankfully, no one else happened upon your battered form, for better or worse. Admittedly, you were feeling a lot less achy now that you were moving around, but where your back had collided with the floor now spouted an angry bruise in varying shades of yellow and purple.

“You sparred with Sephiroth?”

Victor - a 3rd and a few years your younger - always had at least one star in each of his eyes, but as you finished your lackluster retelling of the bout, he was twinkling like the night sky. “That’s so cool.”

“Oh yeah, real cool.” you picked at a clump of soggy leaves. “Ice cold.”

“That bad huh?” Devon said, with all the concern of wet concrete.

Slouching back down from where he was practically leaning across the entire table, Victor pouted.

“C’mon, it couldn’t have been that bad! At least you’re not stuck doing drills every day. Do you know how many of these guys would beg to be where you are?”

“At least you have someone to tell you what to do. Sephiroth just..expects me to know. It’s so - he’s so-” you punctuated with a grumble in your throat and a stab at the chalky meat on your tray, but it was so tender that it flaked away.

“He trusts you - that’s a good thing!”

You paused, taking a begrudging swig of water. “I guess..you have a point.”

You were still feeling slightly bitter, but a childish smirk played at the corners of your mouth. “Okay maybe it wasn’t completely terrible.”

They both perked up, looking at you curiously.

“I might’ve cut his hair.”

Both of their eyes shot open. “You what?”

---

It was dark by the time you and your friends dispersed, drowsily heading back to your respective quarters. But as tired as you were, you still felt like gum stuck on the bottom of someone’s shoe, so with a heavy sigh you hauled yourself to the showers.

They were empty, and completely quiet save for the tap-tap-tap of a few leaky showerheads. You tried to control your shivering as you turned the squeaky knob, a paralyzing chill washing down your body as cold water hit your skin like thousands of tiny icicles. The temperature evened out after a minute or two, though it was so late in the day that the highest it was able to reach was a tepid lukewarm.

You made quick work of your hair, combing out the last of the suds with your fingers. As you washed the rest of your body, your thoughts wandered back to the bout. It had only been a few hours since the training session, and you were already feeling a little better, if a little sore. But now the bruise was the least of your worries.

Sephiroth. Trusting you. You.

You wanted to laugh. You didn’t know why the concept was so unfathomable. To you, it just seemed like he was above that sort of thing. You knew of the other 1sts - it was almost impossible to avoid them, even if you wanted to - and how they were as thick as thieves. You knew your mentor was closer to them than anyone else, recalling brief memories of seeing them roaming the halls together, laughing and being..normal. You couldn’t imagine yourself in that sphere. You’d have better luck trying to catch a cloud.

Shutting off the water, you halfheartedly dried yourself off, your hair still slightly damp on your pillow as you faded into a dreamless sleep.

---

Waking up that next morning wasn’t as much of a chore as you thought it was. You were still sore as hell, but at least you could get up without complaining. Much.

You got dressed, your back popping as you threaded your arms through your sleeveless shirt’s armholes. Then, you rolled your shoulders, taking your wrist in one hand and pulling it across your chest, stretching and popping the joints in that socket. And then the other. Sliding your suspenders over your shoulders, you spied your reflection in the mirror in your bathroom. You could fit yourself inside it, with at least a foot to spare. But that foot was reserved for the door to swing open. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve stubbed your toe while opening the thing with both hands twice over. Brushing your teeth, you poked mindlessly at the dark bags under your eyes. You hadn’t noticed when they had gotten there, nor for how long. You spit into the sink.

Fixing your hair - which had somehow knotted itself in the back, making you look like you had gotten shocked by lightning in your sleep - with your hands, you were satisfied enough to leave your room. It was still early enough in the morning that the cafeteria was closed for at least another half-hour. Feeling restless, a prickling in your bones that couldn’t be quelled by sitting alone in your room - or anywhere else for that matter - you decided to go for a run.

The base’s outside training fields (that weren’t fields at all, but rather a series of cleared pads that weren’t completely overrun with crates of ammunition and other surplus supplies that had yet to be shipped to a warehouse somewhere) were a fair walk away, but you didn’t mind.

As you reached the end of the hallway, the elevator leading to the ground floor already in sight, the door slid open, revealing a figure that you didn’t quite register at first. You awkwardly stopped, your boots slightly skidding against the linoleum as if urging you forward. Which you did anyway, like a machine that had sputtered slightly before kicking itself back into gear. Sephiroth hadn’t seen your buffer, but the sound of it drew his eyes to you almost immediately. He stepped out, jutting one shoulder out first before the rest of his body followed. Trying not to meet his eyes, you waited for him to exit the elevator.

“Morning, sir.” you muttered, leftover grogginess on your tongue.

He nodded, a cordial expression flashing across his face.

As you passed him, one foot about to land in the elevator, you paused. There was a hand on your shoulder. You took a step back, straightening your posture without thinking.

His hand was gloved, always gloved, the leather not entirely warm - like he had just put them on. He wasn’t grabbing you in place, but Sephiroth had a gravity to him that made you want to stay there. It kind of scared you, but you were too busy shaking off the last vestiges of sleep that liked to hang around in the morning to care. If anything, you were just confused.

“Um.” you didn’t mean for the sound to come out, but too much silence made you nervous. You stayed quiet, too muddled to think of anything to say.

Sephiroth himself wasn’t silent for too long, but it was long enough to put a little seed of apprehension in you. You shifted your weight on your feet.

“Was this from yesterday?” he said in a notably smaller tone than usual.

It took you a full second to notice that he was looking at your shoulder, and another second to realize what he was talking about. “Oh - oh, that?”

You twisted your neck as far as it could go, bending back slightly even though the motion was more irritating than you’d like to admit. You gave the bruise a passing glance.

“I mean..yeah.” you said. “But I’ve had worse, can hardly feel it anymore actually.” you quickly added after seeing his brows crease lower on his face.

“Hey, man, seriously I’m over it. It’s just a bruise, you didn’t like, cut my arm off.” Though for a moment, you thought he would have done exactly that.

“I tend to get carried away with that sort of thing..it was unprofessional of me,” He almost seemed to shrink into himself, but he looked more like one of the droopy willows you saw once while patrolling a small village outside Midgar. He withdrew his hand like he had just stung you. “I apologize for causing you harm.”

“You..don’t have to, Seph, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“But-”

“Honest. It was just a fall, that’s how sparring matches are.” you waved him off. His concern was sweet at first, albeit strange and just a little uncomfortable. But now you felt like you were consoling a kicked puppy. “Besides, it was fun.”

“..Fun?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not every day you get to fight, er, you.”

“I see.” he said, noticeably relaxing a bit. “So you’re sure you’re alright?”

“Positive.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in..satisfaction? Relief? Something like that. He looked like he was about to leave, but before he could fully turn his back to you he stopped, turning his head.

“Oh, if you can, meet me in the briefing room in about an hour. There’s something I’d like to speak to you about.”

You could feel your stomach actively turning into a pit. “Aren’t we talking right now?” you said, feeling more than a little thick in the head and wanting very badly to slap yourself when you saw a crease form between his brows.

“It’s important. I requested a meeting with Lazard.”

The pit in your stomach was now a sinkhole.

“Oh,” you said. “Okay, uh...cool.”

Sephiroth snorted with some degree of amusement. “Don’t be late.”

“Sure!” you said maybe a little too enthusiastically. You never were good at masking your anxiety. “Sure.” you quickly repeated in a markedly more composed tone, doing an even worse job at sounding calm.

He was already walking away - thank god. You didn’t want to see his face. As the elevator doors severed you from him, you found yourself tapping your foot against the panels of the floor, arms crossed so tight they felt stiff and weird dangling at your sides as you walked outside to the training field.

You ran laps (you weren’t counting, but it felt infinite), your brain shutting itself off without you meaning to. There was too much to think about, but it was so early in the morning you told yourself, that you deserved not thinking about any of it. Just for a couple minutes, a few more laps. The apology, the hand on your shoulder, the meeting, the apology - nope. Not thinking about it.

---

By the time you reached the cafeteria, you found that you weren’t that hungry at all.

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader. 

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  general angst.    

tags / warnings.  everything about this is pain.  you can literally spin in a circle and point at somewhere on the page and it’ll be pain.  i’m sorry.

beta reader(s).  @midnighttifa​ (your comments make my days better, @pars-ley​ (you’re so lovely), and @papillonsgf​ (i owe you my life and all my love).  thank you, my dears!  💖

wc.  3k

chapter three.

You’d thought they’d left - all the memories of him.  Packed into cardboard boxes and plastic bins, folded between clothes and bare picture frames.     

You realise now, they’d only been hiding, waiting for his return.  

The smell of your perfume.  His favourite one, strawberry jam and cosy cedar wood.  It calls to moments together, of his face buried into the side of your neck.  Wandering hands and wondrous laughter, warmth crowding everywhere.  The wet of his teeth against your skin as he’d smile.  Springtime and Sunday matinees, fresh picked fruit and messy kisses.  

The mirror in your hallway - the one you’d taken too many photos in front of, that’d you almost broke one drunken stumbling night.  The one he’d loved you breathless in, with a hand at your throat and another on your waist.  Where he’d whisper sweet nothings with eyes only for you.  Where your little piece of paradise was preserved by a pretty iron frame. 

The tee shirt that you’d washed and promised to return but never had, keeping it as a trophy.  A rightful reminder of his love.  How it fits you just right without fitting you at all, comfortable and lazy and effortless.  A mirror image to the one he wears now.  

You find pieces of him scattered everywhere, swept under rugs and tucked within cupboards.  He’s there in the kettle that whistles and the tea that steeps, dipped in the honey pot and hidden behind your curtains.  He’s there in your thoughts, tucked away on the top shelf that you pretend doesn’t exist.  

Even as he sits, still and unimposing on the couch you’d both picked, he’s everywhere.

How is he everywhere?

“Want some help?”  It floats across the space, comfortably as if he’d never left.  It fits easily, familiar and lovely.  You hate it.  You hate how it makes you feel, digging up emotions you’d buried from their rightful place in the ground.  

“I’m fine.”  

A lie.  Lily white and inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things. 

You’re not quite sure why you bother.  Whose feelings were you sparing - his or yours?

“You sure?”  It’s closer than you anticipate, a ghost of a breath over your shoulder.  It sends your mind reeling, feet following in the same fashion as you all but slam into the hard block edge of your counter.  You nearly topple mugs as you go, only avoiding a disastrous mess when hands find you, catch you like that’s what they were made for. 

Jungkook’s an indomitable figure, palms searing heat into every nerve ending beneath his touch.  You can’t help the way you instinctively lean into him.  You love him somewhere deep in your bones, in the stardust that makes up every atom - a moth drawn to his flame. 

But you knew better now.  Fly too close to the sun - you’ll only get burned. 

“Please don’t touch me.”  

It’s you who breaks away first, turned towards the scent of chamomile and lavender.  You can only imagine his expression;  it’ll twist out of shape, crooked like you’ve just kicked him while he’s down.  

You suppose you have, but he’d thrown the first punch.

“Why’d you invite me in if you’re only going to ignore me?”  It hits like a shot to the gut, exactly as it’s meant to.  He isn’t asking for the sake of asking - he’s asking so you’ll cry yourself hoarse and find comfort in his arms.  He’s asking because he knows the answer and he wants you to regret it.  

You know it.  You know this side of him, even if you wish you didn’t.  

Even if you wish he was still the same boy who you’d fallen in love with years ago, full of sunshine and promise.  The one who’d have held you all night, kissed you senseless under the moon and held your hand through the sunrise.  Who’d break his own back bending over, weather a hundred storms for the people he loved. 

It’s a silly wish - a useless one, wasted on shooting stars and broken bones.  

He would never be that boy again.  He’d come too far, changed too much.  You hardly even recognise him now, cut from stone rather than cloth.  A thousand sharp edges you catch your hands on when you foolishly reach for him.  He is an incomplete masterpiece and you’ve never been artistic.  There’s nothing for you here.  

A mug is extended - an unnecessary apology.  An olive branch in the form of your old ritual.  “Please don’t say that.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?  Can’t do or say anything.”  It’s petulant and angry, a riot crowded behind his teeth.  You’re worried what the words might do - how they’ll beat you black and blue. 

“I don’t know what you expected.”  You can’t hide the exasperation, the overwhelming sadness that starts in your heart and branches out into your veins.  It creeps further, presents itself prettily in jewels nestled along your lash line and the tremble of your chin.  You’d cry if you weren’t so tired, every ounce of your effort eaten up by the boy that glares at you now and demands more than you can possibly give.  

He sighs - a long, unbroken sound - and something shifts, snaps into place as if the entire cosmos has aligned to allow this moment.  

He looks like him suddenly, like the version of himself you’d thought long lost.  It’s hidden in the peculiar shape of his mouth, uneven around his frown;  it’s there in the light of his stare, where sunbeams pour past boarded up windows.  It’s there, even where you can’t quite see it, in the corner of his soul and his drifting heart.  He’s always been a wanderer.

But then he moves, retreats back to his seat and to himself.  

He feels farther away than the moon, his silence that of the stars.

You take a careful sip of the liquid that burns through ceramic - anything to distract from the cold hands of memory that claw at your neck.  You turn words over in your hand - test them for clarity and weight, a jeweller inspecting their most prized possessions.   Was there anything you could say that would make this better? That would fix this gaping, Jungkook-shaped silhouette that tore a hole right through you?

You remember how you’d fallen for him, tumbled headlong into love with him - intensely, blindly, wholeheartedly.  It’d been easy then.  You’d dived into depths too shallow, climbed trees too fall;  you hadn’t thought your heart would break, even if every other part of you did. 

You’d thought it’d all be worth it.  

Instead you’re left with alkaline bones calcified under paper-thin skin, parchment sewn together by shaking hands and sodden by saltwater.  It’s hardly a body at all, ripe for the picking and bruising and tearing beneath teeth like knives.  

Can you blame him for how he hurts you when you’d already hurt yourself?

There’s a tang on your tongue.  It pools between seams, dripping misery into your mouth and swallowing the sob that’s formed in a wave.  It crashes against your teeth, stings the pink of your gums with salt;  it rises and crests, engulfing sandy shores you’d once built your home upon.  It comes and comes and you can’t stop it - sound bursting forth like a siren song.

He’s upon you then, utterly defenseless to your call.  He crowds you before he can think twice about it;  a drowning man seeking air.  It’s a pretty metaphor for a pretty boy.  What he doesn’t realise is that he is a galaxy all his own - not a sailor lost at sea but a swirling vortex not fit for human life.  Jungkook contains no oxygen of his own, smothering you in what he calls love and feels more like hell. 

“I’m sorry.”  It disappears into velvet, clinging to silk like electricity.  They spark in your eyes, electrifying your thoughts.  “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”  

Arms do the opposite of what they’re meant to.  They crush your resolve beneath the weight of them - pry open your insides - and you’re crumbling.  The agony comes in sheets, like September rain.  It streaks down your cheeks and soaks your clothes, sinking beneath your skin until you’re waterlogged. 

“Don’t say that.  Don’t you say that to me.”  

Don’t lie to me, you think.  

He speaks the words he thinks you want to hear, weaving them until they’re a muzzle for your sadness.  “I’m sorry.  I never meant to hurt you.”  As if good intentions make up for the way your heart aches. 

They don’t. .

“Forgive me.  Please.  I need you.” 

Forgive him.  Forgive him?  You don’t even know what you’d forgive him for.  You’re certain there are more skeletons in his closet than in the ground.  Dig one up and another three would rise - some sort of awful hydra’s head born from your nightmares.

“I can’t.”  It claws itself out of your throat and into the air that suffocates, ripping it apart with teeth and nails.  Hands find the collar of his shirt and it isn’t clear whether you’re shoving him away or clinging to him.  You can’t make up your mind, fisting the material between your fingers until the strands might snap.  It feels terribly familiar, like the thing behind your ribs that’s six seconds from tearing.  

You’re pushing and pulling, hitting and halting.  Hauled in a million different directions.  It’s too much.

“What’re you sorry for?”  A fist to his chest, right where your heart lives (or dies, rather).  Your demands are barely coherent, words with no beginning and no end.  “Tell me.  Tell me what you’re sorry for.”  

He could push you away.  It’d be easy, really.  You half expect him to.  He hates being told what to do.

“I’m sorry for hurting you.  I’m sorry for not realising how good I had it.  I’m sorry for forgetting about what we had.  I’m so fucking sorry.”  They’re confessions you’ve heard a hundred times.  Over the phone, through the door, on his knees.  It never changes - a recital he knows intimately well.  “I’m sorry for letting you down.”  

You shouldn’t have expected more.  It would never come - not with him.  Not from him.  He had too much to lose and you’d never be enough.  Nothing in comparison to those thin white lines, those flashing lights, those women. 

You thought you’d known that.  You’d had three long years to learn that.

These apologies aren’t answers;  they’re excuses.

You peer up at him - into those wondrous eyes, so full of light and swirling with constellations - that you don’t think he expects it when you thrust your hand into his chest, past sinew and gristle to find the truth.  It squeezes, incremental, around the organ that you’d once thought beat in time with yours.  Silly girl.  It hardly beats at all.  

“That’s not what you should be sorry for.”  The tears still fall.  They come, relentless, as if his mere presence undoes all your hard work;  they carry your words, pull them off your tongue like white water rapids.  “You should be sorry you’re asking me to forgive you.  You should be sorry you’re putting me through this.”  It’s those same fists, over and over again, as if you might force something more out of him.

“I’m sorry I can’t let you go.”

“Please let me go.”

“I can’t.  I can’t.”  Jungkook cries like his tears might sway the tide.  “Stay with me.  I can’t do this without you.”  It’s a lie - a terrible, poorly-dressed lie - but he speaks it like the truth, like you’re his truth.  

He begs as if he doesn’t remember the harsh sting of reality and how it fits within your story.  He pretends like these chapters haven’t been written together, passages underlined in garish red ink.  He acts oblivious to the mistakes you point out, refusing to read between the lines even when they’re written in. 

Fault lies with him - mostly, wholly - carried in the palm of his hands with small portions - sections of his knuckles - divided up to reflect the ache of your mutual loss. 

He knows that - but knowing something doesn’t mean facing it.  

“I need you, Pumpkin.”  

“You don’t need me.”  Hasn’t needed you in years, far longer than even the last three.  He’d found others to need, others to fill the gaping you-shaped hole he swore was real.  

Women with beguiling eyes and beseeching mouths.  Women whose names you never learnt but whose perfume found a home somewhere along your shelves, whose clothes masqueraded as yours when you’d find a wayward scrap of lace in the back pocket of his jeans.  Women who took your everything - but only because he’d been ripe for the taking.  

I miss you, he’d insisted over those first few weeks.  I can’t wait to come home to you.  Nothing’s the same without you. 

You should’ve known then that someone so used to having it all would never let go so easily.  

In a perfect world, you would’ve fought less, given more - uprooted your whole life to travel across the world with him.  He would’ve stayed at your side, found his vice in the shape of your smile, the beat of your heart.  You would’ve been happy.  Together. 

You wonder - would it have made a difference?  Or would all paths have led to this?  Had you been doomed from the start?  Star-crossed lovers?  

You’d like to think so.  Passing blame helps - softens the pain and drowns out the what-ifs. 

You never had a chance.

He wants to tell you it’s true, that none of them mean anything close to you.  He wants to tell you that you’re the love of his life and that, when he gives this all up - flickers out like a star that’s burned too bright - you’ll be the one he crashes into.  You’ll be the only arms he seeks, his northern star in human form.

But you told him not to lie and you’d insist he was, so he doesn’t. 

He stares at you instead, soft and sad and so desperate he can trace the fractures in your composure as he levels you with that unwavering intensity.  It stutters to life a hundred hummingbird wings;  he can practically hear them buzzing about in your chest.  He thinks they’d burst out of your chest if you weren’t careful, caging them beneath brass.

“I love you,”  he tells you, words so sweet, so tender - a melody he strings together only for your ears.  It warms your cheeks and fizzles quietly in your stomach, melting away the ice that crystallises your heart and turns it cold.  He strips you bare with the admission, hoping to find some sort of acceptance in your eyes.

He forgets that he is not a blameless boy and your body is more than a confessional booth.

You believe it when you say it, half-hearted and defensive.  It would hurt more if it weren’t so wet.  “You don’t love me.” 

“I do.”  What can he do to convince you it’s true?  He thinks he’d do anything if it brought you back to him - where he wants you most - tucked away in his arms and his head and his heart.  “I swear I do.”  

He reaches for you with high hopes.  It’s silly of him, he knows.  You’re lightyears away, tucked among the stars.  It’s where you belong, out of reach and shining bright.  He can’t deny how badly it hurts.  He wants you here, beside him;  he wants it selfishly, as he wants most things.

“You don’t love me, because you don’t hurt the people you love.”  It’s a phrase Jungkook’s heard before.  From your lips, from movie screens, from god knows fucking where.  What a stupid phrase.  He didn’t mean to hurt you.  He didn’t mean a lot of things and didn’t that mean anything?

Each time it comes, it agitates him, stewing his blood to a boil.  It simmers in his veins like witch’s brew, a love potion rotten and ruined - sweet milk gone sour.. 

Was this that - a relationship that had run its course?  A bond past its expiration date?

“I love you,”  he repeats, ever harder.  As if the words might turn to amber, remain forever on the top of his tongue, crystallised and perfect.  It feels like it.  He’s told you enough times, ever since he was fifteen years old - practically an eternity.

“”You don’t.”  It’s your own insistence, biting and cold and yet somehow still a summer’s day.  You weren’t always like this.  He’d driven you to this.  But you were never very good at keeping him out;  warmth always crept in, sunlight streaming through the clouds.  That was the glory of your love.  It was irrefutable.  

Your skin may have thickened but the fire roars on.  

“I love you.  I love you so fucking much.”  He holds you, seeks to burn the truth of his words into your marrow.  Thumbs sweep the point of your chin, right below where he’d like to leave the impression of his mouth.  

There’s a sadness in your eyes - an ocean of melancholy that turns them bitter blue.  “Love is sacrifice.”  You pry each finger from your face, turn knuckles alabaster with your gentle ministrations.  A part of him wishes you’d tear them clean off;  your kindness hurts more than your hate.  “And sacrifice is something you’ll never understand.”

You lead him to leave, just as he’s led you through hell.  You don’t falter when the door of your home swings open, the one in your heart slamming shut in tandem.  

When you tell him to go, he isn’t ready - wants to spend the rest of his life in this place with you - so you guide him out, with a tiny shake of your head and a click of the lock.  He stares at the wood grain when it shuts in his face - memorises the patterns of the home you’d built together.  He stands there longer than he should, setting sun searing upon his shoulders.  He should leave, he knows.  

But you’re his weakness and he doesn’t know whether he loves you or hates you for it.

author note.  this was really meant to just... explore their past a little bit?  so i hope that comes across?  actual plot movement will be forthcoming.  tysm for reading!!!  💜 

tag list.  @jalexad​​​ @aa-ronpa​​ @kookiesbreaky​​ @celestialflamefairy​​ @xjoonchildx​​ @pars-ley​​ @seokjinssi​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​ @patpus​ @dazedjjk​ @koozui​ @jinhitwhore​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[gubes-sweaters]

Never Be the Same (part 2)

Author's Note: This is part two to the once shot I wrote called Never be the Same. I honestly didn't like the one shot, and I was surprised by the overwhelmingly positive reaction. A lot of people on Tumblr wanted a part two so here it is. I’ve re-written this like three times and this ending I’m semi happy with. Also, don't worry there's a cute fluffy ending. 

Content Warning: Arguing, idk just really sad for like half of the story. 

Word Count: 2.8k 

Never be the Same (part 2): You Have Us

I wake up in a cold and empty bed the next morning. The blankets on Spencer’s side of the bed are still made, so he didn’t come home last night. The sun is stinging my already burning eyes from crying all last night. What did I do? Can we come back from this? I can’t call him and I have no clue where he’s at. I start to get worried to the point that I’m nauseous. I haven't been feeling very good as of late, but I'm chopping it up to the stress of Spencer coming home. I’m trying to think that this feeling in the pit of my stomach as of late is because of how he distanced himself. At first, he wouldn’t keep his hands off me, and he followed me around literally everywhere. Once week three of him being home rolled around, and he started teaching I became a second class citizen. I’m not sure what the freak out was about yesterday because after Spencer got home we didn't have any problems with sex. I mean it only happened once a day or two after he got home, but I thought because it already happened that it would come naturally to us once again. 

There's this feeling of nauseousness in the pit of my stomach as I feel the bile rise in the back of my throat. I quickly run to the bathroom and release all of my food from last night. After a minute I can finally pull myself off of the ground and brush my teeth. As I go to brush my teeth a little part of my brain remembers a similar situation I was in about a month before Spencer went to prison.

-Flashback-

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer consoles me as I’m hunched over the toilet. Despite being a germophobe he insists it’s okay because I need help.

“Yeah I might’ve picked up a stomach bug from work,” I say with my head resting on his shoulder.

He pulls me into a tight embrace before helping me off the ground. I walk over to the sink and go to brush my teeth, but as I do Spencer puts his hand over mine and shakes his head at me. 

“You shouldn’t brush your teeth right after you throw up. Just gargle some mouthwash it’ll have the same effect except you’re not brushing the acid into your teeth and gum line.”

“What would I do without you.”

“Probably have problems with plaque,” he says before kissing the crown of my head.

-End of Flashback-

I took Spencer’s advice from a while ago and went to use mouthwash but I couldn't find any. I check the medicine cabinet, a cabinet where we tend to keep extra toiletries for his go-bag, and finally, I check in the cupboard underneath the sink. When I grab the mouth wash I also knock over a small box. I pick it up and I’m reminded of the same day as the mouthwash memory. That day I've never seen Spencer as anxious, excited, and happy.

-Flashback-

“Are you sure? I think you’re being a little over dramatic,” 

“I'm completely sure that we should at least check. Between your nauseousness, acid reflux, fatigue, vertigo, and now you’ve missed your cycle twice. I think we have reasons to be at least a little suspicious. Please just take the test for me,” He says while passing me the box with two tests in it.

“Fine, but I don’t think I’m pregnant. So don't get your hopes up,” I say before walking to the bathroom. 

I take one of the two tests and Spencer and I wait the ten excruciatingly long minutes. Eventually, the timer went off, and we just stared at each other silently begging the other one to look. Eventually, I conceded because I'm super impatient. I picked up the stick and there was only one line there wasn't even a faint tiny second line. 

“As disappointed as I'm sure we both are, we have time. This means that we can both do some pre-planning for our little genius.” I tell him with a sad look on my face reflecting the same look Spencer has on his face. 

He just nods in silence. I can tell this really hurt him. Partly because he was so sure, and he's not one to be wrong normally. I can tell that he's mostly disappointed that I wasn't pregnant because he wants to be a father so bad. At least he took my advice for taking this time to plan very seriously. He came home the next day with three baby books which he read them all before I even finished cooking dinner. 

-End of Flashback-

That same feeling Spencer had that I lacked the first time I took one of these tests is now very present, but this time I'm the one with the feeling. Something in my gut is telling me to take this test. It’s really stupid because I don't want to worry about my boyfriend and a baby. This couldn't be a more inconvenient time. I'm not on birth control because I've had a bad reaction to the pill in the past, so it’s possible. My heart is telling me, yes, but my brain is telling me no that I'm stupid and I should be worrying about Spencer right now. I go against my brain's wishes and I take the test. In the meantime, while I'm waiting for the test results I set a ten-minute timer, and then I call JJ. We've been friends for a long time now, and she's the reason I met Spencer. When it rings through I assume she’s busy, so I decide to call Garcia instead. 

“What's up sugar plum?”

“Hey Pen I hate to ask this of you, but I'm really worried about Spencer. I know he always leaves the house with his work cell no matter what. He left last night and hasn't been home since. I'm worried about him. Can you at least tell me if he's okay?”

“Of course doll. Give me a moment. Is everything alright between you two?” she asks while her fingers were furiously typing away at her keyboard.

“Yeah, just a little bit of a disagreement, nothing to write home about.” 

“Okie Dokie his work cell first pinged off a cell tower near Morgan's house, then pinged off a tower near a bar down the street, then finally he’s been at Morgan’s ever since. Is that all I can help you with?” 

“Yes, thank you! I owe you one.”

“Oh please sugar the pleasure is all mine.” She says in a flirty tone before hanging up.

Next on the agenda is to call Morgan. I know him pretty well because I was dating Spencer for a couple of years before he retired from the BAU to be with his son. I call Morgan but it rings through. I decide that I might get better results if I talk to Savannah.

“Hey girly! Let me guess you want your boyfriend back;” She says in a goofy tone.

“Huh?”

“Spencer came here last night and said he needed to blow off some steam. He, Derek, and Hank went down to the park about half an hour ago. He didn't look upset at all today or yesterday, so I don't know what he means by blowing off some steam. Either way, he and Morgan have been all smiles all day. I figured something was off because he came here with tears in his eyes, but he hasn’t been crying since-”

Beep

Beep

Beep

The alarm interrupted both of our thoughts. I walk over to the test as I stammer out a sentence if you can even call it that. With a shaky hand, I pick up the test and look at the stick with two very defined pink lines.

“Hey...hey...um can I come over and talk to Spencer there. We had a bit of a disagreement last night. I think it would be best if someone like Morgan with a level head was there. Only if it’s okay I don’t want to intrude,” I say, my voice and hands shaking as my eyes start to well with tears.

“Nonsense you’re always welcome at our house. Any time of day I'll let the both of them know you’re coming over once they’re back from the park.”

“O--okay I'll see you in a bit,” I say before hanging up.

I decide that I need to calm myself down before driving far out to Morgan’s house. I go to the dollar store not far from our apartment and decide to take two more tests just in case. I also took this time to collect my thoughts and come to terms with the fact that I’m pregnant. Holy shit I’m pregnant! Sure enough, both tests also came back positive. There’s only one possible time it could’ve happened so that means I’m ten going on eleven weeks along. 

I drive to Morgan and Savannah's house with two of the three tests in my purse. This isn't the perfect time but I hope that Spencer will hear the good news and the old Spencer might come back to me at least part of him. I take a deep breath as I put my car in park, preparing myself for the worst and best possible situations. As I knock on the door I can feel my heart speed up faster and faster. The door opens to Savannah with a big smile plastered on her face.

“Hey, it’s nice to see you. I’ve missed you so much and I'm sure Morgan does too.” She says before stepping to the side and welcoming me inside.

“It's nice to see you too. Spencer isn't upset is he?” 

“No, he's actually sitting with Hank in the living room. He and Morgan have watched Hank trip over his feet for the past hour.”

We both walk into the living room and sure enough, the sight is enough to melt anybody’s heart. Hank uses the coffee table for balance, and he's walking back and forth between Spencer and Morgan. 

They both look up after Hank falls on his butt once more. Spencer gives me a tight-lipped smile and Morgan picks up Hank before walking over to me. 

”Spencer explained what happened. He doesn't know how to apologize for being so defensive and scared. Be a little lenient on him.” he tells me in a very calm and patient voice. The type of voice that a father should have. I baby talk hank and take in how much he's grown in a short amount of time before making my way over to Spencer. Savannah and Morgan leave the room monetarily and I sit next to Spencer in an awkward silence for a couple of moments.

It was completely silent, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. It wasn't until the silence was broken by the sniffles Spencer was trying to contain. I turn to see that hot tears are streaming down his face, and he's looking at me not like he's not angry but scared. I reach out to touch his arm and I hate the way his muscle tensed under my touch. Is he that disgusted with me? He can't even let me be near him comfortably.

“Can you please say something...anything at all.”

“I’m scared,” that's all you hear out of Spencer before he starts sniffling once more.

“Spencer why? Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“I’m scared of myself. I’m not the same person I used to be. I’m scared you’re going to leave me because I'm not the same. I'm just terrified that I might hurt you even.”

“Oh Spence, you didn't hurt me and I know you wouldn't. If you’re referring to last I know you never would. We need to talk about this. Why did you even go to Morgans in the first place.”

“I knew that I'd be far from you. Morgan had to learn more than once how to feel normal again after a traumatic situation. He also knew what it was like to possibly lose Savannah. I just needed a distraction. I'm sorry I snapped at you, but I didn't want you to press the issue.” He says just barely above a whisper. He can't even look me in the eyes he feels so ashamed. If he does make eye contact it’s a split second, and he looks like a kicked around puppy.

“Spencer… I’m not going to act like I know what you’re going through, but something I can do is be with you the whole time. I get Morgan is like your older brother and you look up to him, but this kind of feels weird having this serious conversation here.”

“I know it feels like we’re invading a bit, let's just go home.”

-time skip-

“This feels much better,” I say as I throw my keys on the countertop.

“It sure does.” He says standing right behind me.

Before he can protest I wrap my arms around him so tight I basically have a death grip on him. After he relaxes into my touch he starts to nestle his face in the crook of my neck.

“I’m just scared of losing you, hurting you, or upsetting you. I realize pushing you away and yelling at you did nothing but put me in jeopardy of doing all three.” He says as I can feel each breath pass along my neck. It feels like home because this apartment isn't home without him. 

“You’re not going to lose me. I love you so much. I'll always be there for you… we’ll always be there for you…” I trail off.

“Yeah I know… wait who else?” He asks while pulling me from him just enough, so he can see my face. With a proud smile from ear to ear I decide it’s now or never to tell him.

“Well, we won’t get to meet them yet. Give it about six months.”

“Wait, you're pregnant?” He asks totally dumbfounded. An IQ of 187 to 60 just like that. I just nod as the tears start to fall, but instead this time they���re happy tears.

“Oh my god! I’m going to be a dad!” He says as he picks me up and twirls me really quick.

“Wait, are you okay? I didn’t cause too much stress right? We’re going to have to do so many things we don’t have enough time. What if I’m not ready?” Panic thickly laced in his voice. His head is obviously going a million miles a minute. I need to bring him back down to earth and quickly.

“Love it’s going to be okay. I saw you with Hank today and I’ve seen you with Henry and Micheal. They all absolutely adore you. It’s going to take time, there's still a lot of healing. It’s all going to be okay because we’re going to have the little family we’ve always wanted. We can worry about all of the details tomorrow. I just want to be right next to you for the rest of the night. Okay?” I say as I lead him to the couch.

“Okay,” He says with a larger than life grin on his face. He leans in to kiss me and this time it wasn’t rushed or filled with dread. It was like he was putting all of his love into one tender little kiss. 

“I wish we had more time at Morgans. To think that’s going to be us one day soon. Hank was so adorable waddling around. He couldn’t even get a couple of inches before he fell back on his butt.” Spencer says as he wraps his arms around me. We're cuddling in a way that we're both lying on the couch but my back is to his chest. He rests his chin on my head and his hands on my lower belly. 

“Spencer I love you so much, but you have no room to talk. You don’t have much better coordination, Hank might even have you beat.” I giggle a bit before leaning back into him even further.

He laughs at me, and he knows it’s true because he doesn’t even try and rebut what I just said. Finally, everything feels like it’s right back into place. Sure, Spencer will never be the same again, but we can work with what we have. Deep down he’s still just as loving, hopeful, kind, caring, and empathetic as he once was. It’ll just take time, and we have about six months to spare.

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Taglist: @rexorangecouny @haylaansmi​

[nommy-thoughts]

Mastication Concentration

Summary: Logan usually chews gum while he studies, but today he is out. Remus volunteers to take its place.

Contains: Hard-ish vore (idk exactly where it falls. There’s chewing, obviously, and even rough chewing at points, but the only injuries sustained are bruises). Brief mention of digestion.

Wordcount: 2.9 K

[more of my vore writing]

~~~~~

“Do you have any gum?”

The sides in the living room look up. Logan’s on the stairs, leaning over the banister and looking down at them.

“Gum?” Patton repeats.

Logan nods. “I’m out,” he says. “I’ve already drunk five mugs of tea, I can’t just keep making more. And chewlery is just too squeaky right now, and I’m trying not to destroy any more shirt collars. So, do you have any gum?”

They exchange glances. Nobody, it seems, has gum. Then Remus perks up excitedly. “Ooh!”

Logan, relieved, starts to say, “You have—”

“Me!”

Logan pauses. “What?”

“Chew on me!” Remus elaborates, bounding to his feet and hurrying over to the stairwell. He grabs a railing in each hand, looking up at Logan imploringly.

Logan makes a face. Then pauses. Reconsiders. “That… that actually might be a worthwhile stim,” he admits. Remus squeals happily, and Logan adds, “But no injuries. I don’t want blood in my mouth; I don’t like the taste.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Oh, fine. I’ll be durable.” But he’s still grinning broadly. With a dramatic flourish, he summons the shrinking device. Scampering around the corner and up the stairs next to Logan, he sets it. Then, with a flash of sickly green light, he appears to vanish. Logan knows, however, that in reality, Remus has simply shrunk out of Logan’s eyeline. He looks down, and sure enough, there he is.

The device, no longer supported by Remus’s hands, falls from the air. It nearly strikes Remus in the head, missing by less than an inch, and crashes into the carpeted floor beside him. It bounces, skiddering off the step. It continues to fall, bounce, and roll its way down the entire flight of stairs, but nobody pays it much mind. They can always resummon it when they need it again.

Logan bends down, scooping up the now miniature Remus into his hand. He considers his fellow side for a moment, then nods, lifting Remus to his lips. A moment before he inserts him, however, Logan pauses.

“When was your last shower?”

“Does Thomas’s last night count?”

Logan frowns. “As I recall, you just sat on the soap tray, making various random thoughts pop into Thomas’s head, and didn’t even get wet, let alone wash.”

“That’s true.”

“No, it doesn’t count. When did you last wash?”

Remus thinks back further, absently shimmying his shoulders as he does so. After a few moments, Logan sighs.

“Not recently enough,” he concludes. Remus in hand, Logan heads up the stairs. In the bathroom, he plops the shrunken creative side into the sink and turns it on. Squeezing a large dollop of hand soap into his palm, Logan begins to lather Remus up, rubbing the soap into his clothes and skin. Remus squirms. He’s not trying to get away, but he quite enjoys being a slippery problem, and if it means that Logan has to apply a bit more force to get the job done, well. Remus likes being manhandled.

Due to Remus’s constant movement, getting him clean takes rather longer than it needed to, but in the end, Logan is satisfied. He holds Remus directly under the streaming faucet to rinse off, considering the spluttering that results to be fair payback for making things difficult.

“Okay, you’re clean.”

Remus cheers. “Now eat me!”

“I’m not going to eat you,” Logan corrects. “I’m going to chew on you. There’s a difference.”

Remus shrugs. “Not a big one.”

“I suppose not.” Logan considers his shrunken friend for a few moments more, then nods, heading back toward his own room. Once inside, he sits down at his desk.

“C’mon,” Remus pleads. “Put me in your mouth already!”

Logan does so, head first to shut him up. Remus isn’t small enough to fit entirely inside his mouth, so his legs dangle from between Logan’s lips.

As Logan settles back into his study routine, he slowly begins to lick and suck on Remus like a piece of candy. He doesn’t taste like a piece of candy, but thanks to the sink bath Logan just gave him, he doesn’t taste bad, either. Along with the licks, Logan tugs absently on Remus’s ankle, like he might with the stick of a lollipop.

After about a minute, Logan summons the shrinking device with a gesture. He adjusts it, and he activates it again. Remus shrinks.

Logan slurps Remus the rest of the way into his mouth. Positioning him lengthwise along his lower left molars, Logan gently bites down. Remus is somewhat soft and squishy, but there’s some firmness to him too. Logan uses his tongue to move Remus across his mouth to the other side, trying a bite there too. He nods to himself. The sensation is different than that of gum or chewlery, sure, but he believes this will work. Logan returns to his studies.

Inside of Logan’s mouth, it is dark, and warm, and wet. In other words, it’s perfect. Logan’s tongue, bigger than Remus’s entire body, lifts him, crushing him against the roof of Logan’s mouth and knocking the air from his lungs with the force. Pinned in place by the enormous squishy muscle, Remus can’t even wiggle. Logan overpowers him without hardly trying. Echoing all around him, Remus hears an enormous glk as Logan swallows the saliva that had been building up around him.

He has never found the nerd more attractive than in this moment.

Logan’s tongue drops, and Remus drops with it. The large muscle tilts under him, rolling Remus around Logan’s mouth. He’s quickly dizzy and disoriented, and the first time that he has long enough to get his bearings is when Logan shifts him between his back teeth again so that Remus lies, sprawled on his front, across the bumpy teeth. They lift, pressing Remus’s back against the equally bumpy ceiling, and slowly squeeze all the air from his lungs. Logan holds him like that, delightfully snug, for several long seconds. Remus considers blacking out from the lack of oxygen, but decides that he’d rather stay conscious to enjoy the rest of the experience. If he gets bored — which he doesn’t expect to happen, but you never know, he’s had incapacitating boredom strike at the weirdest and most inconvenient moments before — he can pass out then.

After a while, the pressure releases. Remus gasps in a breath of — not fresh air, not really, he is inside a mouth, after all. But it doesn’t smell that bad, either. Unfortunately. All that dental hygiene must’ve given Logan un-bad breath. Actually, Remus realizes, he can smell some of that tea Logan said he drank, though not well enough to guess at what kind it was.

Logan bites him again, the same way. And again. It’s rhythmic, soothing. After a while, Logan moves him over to the other side, and does the exact same kind of crushing bite over there.

After he’s done that enough times that Remus has gotten used to it and is getting bored, Logan changes it up. He moves Remus to the front of his mouth and nibbles on Remus’s ankles with his front teeth. Since his ankles are, of course, boney, they don’t provide much give. If Logan hadn’t made him promise not to, this would have been a good opportunity to break something. Remus wonders, then, if breaking an ankle really would be a breach of that promise. On the one hand, Logan had said “no injuries,” which would technically include broken bones. On the other hand, the only reason he had given was blood, and if Remus just made sure his skin stayed intact, he wouldn’t bleed.

Before Remus could come to a decision, Logan moves him again. Apparently he didn’t like this position nearly as much as the one before. Logan’s tongue pushes at Remus, shoving his legs between teeth and lips, til he can feel the cold outer air on his toes. He wiggles them.

Logan nibbles on Remus’s calves now, which have more muscle to pad them, though not from all angles.

Remus decides that bruises are acceptable under their terms. Logan won’t feel a crunch or taste blood, but Remus will be able to tell the difference. And really, the way Logan’s biting him, his shins should be bruising. And now they are. Remus grins.

Logan shifts again before long. He pushes Remus even further out his mouth, so that Remus’s hips balance uncomfortably on Logan’s front teeth. They’ll be bruising too. His legs stick out of Logan’s mouth. Since his hips are still inside, and a fair portion of his thighs are supported by Logan’s lips, and since he’s lying on his face, meaning his knees bend up, not down, Remus’s legs don’t dangle. He wonders if he’s big enough to kick Logan in the nose, but before he can try, Logan pinches his legs between his fingers, rendering him immobile. Then Logan bites.

His teeth slip off Remus’s hips, thrusting into his stomach instead. Remus’s stomach, having no bones in it, offers considerably less resistance than Logan was probably expecting, and Logan’s teeth sink deep.

Remus nearly pukes. The only thing that stops him from actually doing so is the realization that if he throws up in Logan’s mouth, Logan will spit him out and probably not put him back in again, perhaps not ever. So Remus swallows the bile, forcing it to stay down with sheer willpower.

The pressure against his gut releases, and Remus gulps down air. He has only a second’s reprieve before Logan bites down again, but this time it’s a bit slower, a bit gentler. He still presses his teeth far enough into Remus’s midsection that the shrunken Creativity muses that if not for his promise of no injuries, he’d be bitten in half by now.

Logan seems to like the squishiness of Remus’s gut. He keeps him there for a good while, squishing Remus’s stomach in on itself with his teeth and making its contents want to squeeze up and out his throat each time. It takes a lot of Remus’s concentration to keep the mix of acid and partly-digested food inside, until he remembers that he can simply banish it from reality. It takes only a quick gesture to do so, and then, stomach empty, Remus can finally enjoy the sensation of being chewed on without distractions.

Two bites later, Logan presses his teeth hard into Remus’s stomach, and then slowly pulls his lower jaw back, effectively heimliching Remus. It’s a good thing Remus had banished his breakfast, because otherwise, there was no way he’d be able to keep it down. Logan rocks his teeth forward again, not stopping when they bump Remus’s pelvis. Slowly, Remus finds himself being pushed out of Logan’s mouth. He can feel Logan’s upper teeth scraping along his back, bumping each vertebra as they go.

He can feel cold air on his butt. He’s more outside Logan’s mouth than in, at this point. Logan’s upper teeth are behind Remus’s shoulders, shoving his face down into Logan’s tongue, and his lower teeth, though considerably less deep into Remus’s stomach without an opposing force to hold him in place, force Remus’s butt to stick up in the air.

Logan holds him there for just a second before reversing directions. His teeth slide up Remus’s belly until they catch on the bottom of his ribcage. Slowly, he’s dragged back inside Logan’s mouth, back to where he started. Logan’s teeth press harder and harder into him as they go, smushing Remus’s organs. (He’s not exactly sure what he’s got right there, but he’s pretty sure there are some organs getting smushed right now. Maybe a spleen? Yeah, Logan’s probably smushing Remus’s spleen.)

After Logan’s got Remus back where he started, he does it again. And again. Over and over, Logan pushes and pulls Remus around, not once releasing the pressure. He doesn’t exactly heimlich Remus again, since his teeth are sinking in at the wrong spot for that, but Remus feels reasonably certain that his spleen is paste by the time Logan switches it up again.

Logan slurps Remus all the way into his mouth, and for a few seconds, the lack of crushing pressure is disorienting. Remus lies on his face, catching his breath.

Then Logan tilts his tongue, and Remus rolls like a log til he lands on something hard and bumpy. Logan’s teeth, he realizes. He’s on his side, facing Logan’s cheek — he thinks; it’s too dark to actually see, but based on the direction he’d rolled and the side he’s lying on, he’s pretty sure Logan’s cheek is in front of him, and his tongue behind — with one arm flopped over him and the other pinned awkwardly underneath. His head smarts from striking the tooth, and so does one knee.

He’s only given half a second to make these observations, because Logan immediately bites down. He chomps, really, with enough force to immediately break all of Remus’s ribs if only he hadn’t promised not to get hurt. The teeth separate, and Remus finds himself suspended for a moment, the soft flesh of Logan’s cheek in front of him and the slightly rougher tongue behind supporting him so he does not fall. Logan chomps again, and this time as he releases, he spins Remus with tongue and cheek so that Remus lands on his face once more. Chomp. Spin. Remus lies on his other side. Chomp. Spin. Now on his back. Chomp. Spin. Back to the first side.

It occurs to Remus, as Logan continues to aggressively chew on him, that the nerd is finally treating him as what he’s standing in for, as gum. Remus isn’t quite as squishy, but Logan doesn’t appear to mind.

Remus wonders if Logan will try to blow a bubble with him. That might be fun, being stretched out like gum.

Logan doesn’t, though. He just chews Remus up for several minutes, not even pausing to shift him to the other side. Vaguely, between bites, Remus wonders what the nerd is studying right now. What emotions translate to chewing so intensely? Is Logan reading something exciting? Something infuriating? Is he trying to puzzle out some twisty bit of logic? It doesn’t really matter in the moment, but Remus still finds himself curious.

Eventually, Logan’s bites slow again. He grips Remus (lying on his face again) between his teeth and, almost gently, especially compared to moments before, slowly crushes the air out of his lungs. Remus’s spine goes pop pop pop. There’s a particularly satisfying pop at his hips. After a second, Logan releases the pressure. He shifts his jaw around, dragging his teeth across Remus’s back. Remus sighs happily, relaxing. It’s almost like a massage.

The sensation is pleasant enough that Remus almost falls asleep. Perhaps he does fall asleep. He certainly loses track of what Logan does after that.

Some time later, he has no idea how long, Logan spits him out. Well, no, he’s gentler about it than that. Logan sticks a finger in his mouth and uses it to drag Remus out. He pinches the spit-covered Creativity between thumb and forefinger, looking him over.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Logan asks.

Remus grins and flips him off — almost his equivalent of a thumb’s up, in the current context. “Why’d you stop?”

“I have concluded my studies for the time being,” Logan answers. “Thank you for your assistance. You were quite helpful.”

Remus beams.

“Would you be amenable to repeating this experience at a future date?”

Remus grins. “You wanna chew on me again?”

Logan nods. “As I said, you were quite the aid to my concentration.”

Remus wiggles happily. “Yeah I wanna do it again!”

“Excellent. Would you like me to swallow you now?”

“Will you digest me?”

“No.”

Remus droops, pouting. “Aww.”

“However,” Logan adds, “I intend to get an actual snack as well, and I have no objections if you wish to observe as it digests.”

Remus considers for half a second, then nods, accepting those terms. “Can I get stomach burns?”

“No, I would prefer not to digest you at all, even superficially.”

“Fiiiine.” But there’s no hiding that Remus is eager to be eaten, even with the restrictions. “Chew me up one more time before you swallow?”

“Very well. Anything else?”

Remus shakes his head, reaching up toward Logan’s mouth and making grabby hands. Logan chuckles.

“In you go, then,” he says, lifting Remus up. He dangles him above his gaping maw, and Remus stares down into it, his heart thudding in delighted terror. Then Logan drops him.

Remus screams as he falls, flailing in the air. He lands on Logan’s tongue, and the mouth snaps shut after him. Before he can get his bearings, Logan’s shoved him back between his teeth, chewing forcefully on him.

Then Logan swallows, and Remus slides head first down his throat, whooping all the way. He gets stomach acid in his mouth when he splashes into it.

Bobbing back up to the surface, Remus flicks his fingers, creating a light so he can see his surroundings. At the moment, he appears to be the only solid in here. But not for long, he thinks with a smirk, settling down against the wrinkled wall.

Maybe he can even convince the nerd to leave him in here through dinner. If Logan objects to Remus skipping a meal, Remus can just have some of Logan’s portion. Isn’t like the big guy would miss the amount it’d take to fill Remus’s tiny gut right now, anyway.

[one-boring-person]

Bit Morbid.

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: blood imagery, blood drinking, implied sexual content

Context: idk really, it's just an idea that popped into my head at work today😂😅

Masterlist.

A pleasant burn runs down the length of my throat as I take yet another sip of the strong alcohol in my hand, the sensation having built up over the last couple of hours as I slowly drank more and more, my tolerance naturally quite high. In my head, a small buzz has started, but it's nowhere near enough to satisfy me, my body aching for something more, something better, which comes in the form of Kai, a surfer I picked up on the Boardwalk, the cocky boy having quickly taken me up on my offer of whiskey and beer on the beach. Evidently, he hopes he'll get a good lay out of me.

Across from me, Kai has cracked open yet another beer, raising it in cheers to me briefly, before he takes a long drink from it, the alcohol going straight to his head, inebriating him further, his mannerisms already becoming looser and looser, his inhibitions long lost to the high. It was only around his fourth bottle that he started getting handsy, but it's gotten progressively worse, his left hand nearly always reaching over to caress my hair and neck, his hazy eyes roaming lazily over my body as he slowly shuffles closer, a small, seductive smirk on my lips. I'm leading him on, I know, but it'll be so with it in the end.

"You're really pretty, (Y/n)..." He slurs, mind struggling to catch up with what he intends to say.

"You think so?" I inquire jokingly, leaning forwards slightly, crawling a hand over the sand to his leg.

"Oh yeah, definetly. You're one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen..." He continues, edging closer, eyes fixed on my lips.

"If you really think that, then you'll have to show me how serious you are." I tease him suggestively, biting my lip.

Instantly, his hands are pushing me back into the sand, his lips moving to cover mine, body hovering over mine as soon as it can. I kiss back, pushing my hands into his hair and around the back of his neck, a dull ache starting to form in my gums, lust and hunger growing rapidly in me as he pulls away to kiss down my jaw, leaving his neck exposed to me. Mouthing at the skin, I swiftly find his sweet spot, just above the point where his pulse is most prominent, a moan escaping him as I suck at it, my face starting to contort as I feel my eyes turn, my vision sharpening as it focuses on one thing and one thing only: his beating artery.

Finally, the hunger becomes too much and I sink my fangs into the soft flesh, easily puncturing the blood vessel, my hands tightening in their positions as Kai lets out a surprised yelp, trying to pull away with a protest, only to be pressed tighter against me as his blood pours onto my tongue for the first time. I moan as I get a taste, my nails digging into his skin as I hold him as close as I can, my jaw working at the flesh as much as it can, chewing away at the tendons and muscles there, relishing the euphoria that comes with drinking his blood. Panicked screams of pain ring in my ears as the surfer in my arms continues to fight, though I can feel his life draining away from him with speed, the blood loss making his movements uncoordinated and clumsy, his voice petering out into gargled whimpers, incoherent and irrelevant to me as I pull away from the wound. A sigh of pleasure leaves my gaping mouth, his blood coating my chin and neck as I tilt my head back, a few droplets trailing down my chest and below the neckline of my shirt as I do so, leaving warm lines on my frigid skin. The sickly sweet scent of the scarlet liquid entices my senses once more, my need to feed quickly resurfacing as I move the body's lifeless head to the side, biting into his shoulder to get at a "fresher" vessel of blood.

For a good ten minutes, I remain in my position, drinking Kai's blood until it starts tasting off, at which point I pull away and let the body fall from my grip, shoving it off of me as I lay back, arms spreadeagled by my sides, a satisfied grin on my face as I close my eyes. Gradually, my awareness returns to me, the scents of the surrounding areas becoming noticeable again, the sounds of the Boardwalk a little way away loud and clear in my sensitive ears. With them comes an odd feeling, one I normally only get when in the bustling crowd of the public attraction, where I often have four pairs of curious eyes fixed on me for the majority of the night, the sensation of being watched.

I concentrate on it, focusing on where the feeling is emanating from the most, quickly sourcing it as I catch the sound of a light footstep, followed by the tell tale sounds of shifting sand, coming just left of where I am. Internally, I decide not to react, waiting to see how they'd approach the situation, seeing as I am lying beside a mauled body with its throat practically torn out, all the evidence pointing rightfully at me. Instead, I open my eyes, the grin becoming a smirk as I listen closely to them approach me, not missing the sharp inhale that leaves them when the grisly scene before them comes into view, the bloodied layout clearly not something they were expecting. For a long moment, everything is silent.

"Can I help you, boys?" I call out to them finally, fed up with the awkward quiet that has shrouded us.

"No, don't worry. We were just admiring the view." A smooth voice answers after a minute, the tone sounding genuine.

"Like it, do you? Bit morbid." I respond, licking at my lips a little, grimacing at the now-bad taste it has acquired, having been given the chance to cool down and dry a bit.

"Says the person who just killed a guy." Another voice retorts, amusement evident in how he speaks.

"Hey, I never said I liked the look of it." A low chuckle floats up from the group, my own accompanying it as I sit upright, pushing myself onto my elbows as I look over at them, making eye contact with their leader.

I nearly double take at their appearance, not expecting them to be so good looking or relaxed with the situation, a wave of surprise and shock washing over me as I feel an unfamiliar sensation start up in my body. It's odd, as if my body wants to get closer to them, as if it needs or desires them to be closer, my confusion spiking as I stare into the leader's eyes a little longer, before taking in the others, trying to avoid the weird feeling. To the far left of the group is a tall, lanky blonde who shifts from foot to foot, as if itching to move around properly; beside him is a smaller blonde with curly hair and a patchwork jacket, his thumb between his teeth as he watches me, doe eyes wide in the dim light; up front is who I presume to be the leader, a platinum blonde mullet wearing guy with piercing eyes, his gaze raking over my form with curiosity as he smirks; last of all is a taller, dark haired guy who appears to have lost his shirt, his only attire on his torso being a leather jacket, his nearly black eyes staring at me with no discernible emotion. Having taken them all in, my attention returns to the internal conflict between some primal instinct I never knew I had and my self control, confusion rife in my mind.

"Who are you guys?" I question them, eyes flicking between them as I wait for a response.

"I'm David, this is Paul, Marko and Dwayne," The leader points at each person in turn, watching me the entire time, "Who are you?"

"I'm (Y/n). Nice to meet you."

Silence ensues this brief exchange, during which I stand upright and look over the body, trying to ignore the urge to go over to them, my body trying to speak for itself as my vampiric features threaten to break through, the inhuman part of me craving the presence of the four boys before me. It only takes a minute or two for the tall blonde, Paul, to say something.

"Jesus, can you guys feel that?" He questions his friends, speaking quietly, as if to make sure I can't hear.

"That weird connection thing? Yeah, I feel it, too." Marko responds, watching as I pour some of the whiskey from before onto Kai's body.

The other two appear to exchange a knowing glance, a cunning smirk appearing on David's lips.

"The mate bond." He whispers, knowing I would've heard that, seeing as I am quite clearly not a human.

His words stop me in my tracks, a match lit and ready to drop onto the body, arm poised to allow the small splint of wood to fall straight onto it's target, my now-frozen fingers only letting go when the small flame licks at my skin, burning it slightly.

"What did you say?" Marko, Paul and I chorus, each if us as confused as the others.

"It's a mate bond. We've all got the same mate." David responds, eyes still fixed on me.

Dumbstruck, I stay silent, trying to process what has been said as the other two start asking questions, neither of them getting answers as their friend's attention remains on me.

"I'm your mate?! But we only just met!" I manage to force out, interrupting the barrage of questions.

"That's not how it works, (Y/n). A mate bond is something we have no control over." The platinum blonde confirms, stepping closer, entering the light of the blazing body. By now, Kai's remains are hardly recognisable, and the smell is nearly unbearable, the pungent reek assaulting my nostrils and eyes viciously.

"I guess that makes sense." I muse out loud, before realising something, "That must mean you're like me."

"It does." Dwayne speaks up, finally interacting with me a little.

"You guys are vampires? I thought I was the only one in Santa Carla."

"We thought we were, but I guess we were all wrong." David shrugs, still coming closer.

"How the hell did we miss that?" Marko wonders aloud, Paul adding to the confusion.

"I missed it, too, so I don't know what happened, but I guess we found each other." I respond, wiping my hands on my jeans.

"Indeed." The leader smirks at me, having finally reached me, his blue eyes still fixed on mine, "Wanna come with us?"

I consider the offer, quickly coming to a conclusion.

"Sure, why not."

"Great. There's only one thing we need to ask you, though." David informs me, gesturing for me to follow him and the boys as they walk back to the Boardwalk, an action I find odd considering I'm covered in blood.

"Go on."

He sends a knowing glance at the rest of boys, chuckling a little as he senses my nerves picking up.

"How do you feel about riding a motorcycle?"

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Suicide Queen (part two)

[Ice Skater AU]

Part 1

The Sixtended characters that cameo in this chapter belong to: Mary Boleyn- @marygrey, Meg Tudor- @me-tizi, Jane Parker- @altairtalisman, Christina of Denmark- @the-queen-of-the-castle, Anya Askew- @thenicestnonbinary, Anne Parr- @inquisitive-mess

TW: Referenced self harm

-------------------------------

Bessie’s eyes were stinging when she woke up that morning. She groaned, draping an arm over her face, and knew it was going to be one of those days.

She hauled herself out of bed and gazed around her small dorm room. She always thought it was rather dull compared to some of the others she had seen, simply having a bunk bed with a black couch underneath it, a desk, a single shelf for her belongings, and a venus fly trap that she took care of better than she took care of herself. Thick grey blackout curtains were drawn tightly over the single window; she preferred to use light from the lamp sitting nearby or the fairy lights strung across her ceiling. She never turned on the overhead fluorescents if she didn’t have to.

On her way down from her bunk bed, Bessie stumbled on the last rung of the ladder and nearly hit her head against the wall directly behind her. She wished she had. She longed for her skull to shatter and for her brains to ooze out, signaling that she was no more in this horrible world.

Her bare feet sunk into the fluffy white carpet in front of her couch. The softness brought on an odd sense of comfort and she sighed softly.

  “Another day,” She said to the taxidermy crow sitting on her desk.

She wondered if the reason why nobody liked coming into her room was because of all the vulture culture stuff she had. Her shelf was full of various animal skulls and bones, she had a bottle full of fangs, a jar with peacock feathers sticking out of it, and even a real kangaroo fur she bought from an antique store hanging up on the wall. A lot of people found it creepy and ‘cruel’, but she found it all fascinating.

After watering her venus fly trap, which she had named Jackie, she grabbed some fresh clothes and her shower supplies and stepped out into the hallway.

Her dorm building was notorious for its decorations during the holidays. It was always set up, regardless of what season it was. Right now, black and orange fairy lights were suspended across the ceiling, with little rubber bats and spiders hanging freely, signaling Halloween. There were even a few skeletons and zombies standing around in the corners, which never failed to scare the absolute shit out of Bessie when she got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Several girls were already awake and mulling around, getting ready for the day. Mary Boleyn and Meg Tudor were chatting loudly outside Mary’s dorm room, talking about something some idiot said in their political science class. Margaret Dymoke was waiting impatiently outside of Christina of Denmark’s room, yelling at her to ‘hurry her ass up.’ Jane Popincourt was whisking out of the bathroom, shamelessly swathed in a pure white robe. Bessie shuffled past her with her head down and entered the bathroom.

Along with Jane Parker and Anne Parr, The Beast was there to greet her inside.

  “Good morning, darling,” It said from the reflection of the mirror.

Bessie used to have a mirror in her room. She had to get rid of it after she punched it while having a mental breakdown and shattered the entire thing. She remembered all the heads peeking out of the other rooms as she walked the broken thing to the dumpster outside.

Bessie felt Jane and Anne’s eyes on her as she trudged into one of the open showers. Their conversation resumed after she turned on the faucet, thinking the sputtering of the showerhead would drown out their words, but Bessie could still faintly hear them.

  “…She’s so weird.”

  “…Yeah. I’m surprised the counselor hasn’t called her in yet.” 

  “…They haven’t already? Damn. I thought literally everyone telling them about how she cries herself to sleep at night would be enough.”

  “…Clearly it’s not. I kinda feel bad for her.”  

  “…Yeah, me too.” 

Their gossiping whispers disappeared as they seemed to exit the bathroom, and Bessie was left in silence once again.

But only for a moment.

  “You wanted attention, didn’t you?” Said The Beast. Even with the spraying water, Bessie could still hear it so clearly. Probably because its voice came from inside her head, and it wouldn’t quiet down no matter how hard she covered her ears.

  “Not like this,” Bessie muttered. She stared down at her naked body, at the slimness of her sides, at the sunkenness of her stomach, at the cuts marring her stomach and thighs. She splayed her hands open in front of her and looked at the scoring on her wrists, the point system of her constant losing battles. She clenched her fists.

  “Be grateful,” Said The Beast. “They could ignore you. And don’t say you would want that because I know how you react to being shunned.” Even though she couldn’t see it behind the curtain, Bessie knew it was smirking. “You would be alone with me.”

Bessie grit her teeth. “Shut up.”

She roughly grabbed a bottle of vanilla milk and papaya shampoo and squirted way too much into her hand. She began scrubbing it violently into her hair, making sure to rake her nails down her scalp so she could feel the pain. 

Hey, at least she was bathing. Her hair had been a greasy mess for about two weeks now.

  “They can ignore you, but you can’t ignore me,” The Beast said. “I’ll always be here, darling. I’m your best friend. I’m your only friend.”

  “Shut up!” Bessie yelled, yanking back the shower curtain and flinging the shampoo bottle at the mirror The Beast was reflected in. At the same time, Anya Askew entered the bathroom with her showering supplies and gave Bessie an extremely confused and concerned look. 

Bessie jerked the curtain back so only her head and shoulders could be seen. “Umm-- S-sorry, I was--” She glanced at the mirror, and Anya’s eyes followed, but she knew she couldn’t see The Beast smirking in the glass. “Thought I saw a spider! G-guess I was wrong! S-sorry!” She wrenched the curtain shut completely and backed up against the wall, covering her face with her hands.

  “I don’t even need to ruin your life,” The Beast said, sounding like it was right behind her. “You do it for me. You make my job so easy.”

Bessie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a few tears stream free. She sniffled and swiped them away quickly. She couldn’t cry this early in the day. She needed to retain some shred of dignity.

Turning her attention back to the shower, Bessie began scrubbing her body with apple-scented soap, wincing when any open cuts on her skin stung in reaction to the chemicals. The scars, those that hadn’t scabbed over yet, were still gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. The faint paint they caused brought a dull sense of clarity within Bessie.

God. How much more of a freak could she be? Was she some kind of masochist or something?

No… No, she only liked pain when it was self-inflicted. She didn’t like when it was put upon her by someone else. He proved that.

She shook her head, sending a scatter of water droplets flying throughout the small space. She twisted underneath the hot water, washing off all the soaps and suds still clinging to her frame. 

She was clean once again.

  “Or as clean as a teenage whore could be…”

Bessie just barely managed to bite back a yell, remembering that Anya was still in there with her. So, instead, she just closed her eyes and breathed out heavily.

After drying herself off and wriggling into her clothes for the day- grey sweatpants and a plain black sweater- Bessie stepped out into the rest of the bathroom. Even with the mirror completely fogged up, she could still see The Beast’s red eyes glinting at her hungrily as she walked to one of the sinks.

  “You’re beautiful,” The Beast cooed, materializing in the mirror over the sink she was using.

  “Shut up.” Bessie growled, thinking that Anya couldn’t hear her because of the running water.

  “I’m just complimenting you,” The Beast said innocently. “You should thank me.”

Bessie glared down at the sink as she began brushing her teeth with so much force her gums began to bleed. She spit bloody toothpaste foam into the drain before washing it out, gathering her things, and storming out of the bathroom. She faintly heard The Beast chuckling deeply before the door shut.

Once back in her door room, Bessie put her showering supplies back in their place and set her pajamas on the couch for later. She brushed out her long black hair, not caring if it was dripping wet, and then gathered her school supplies, put on her glasses, and left the dorm building.

Upon stepping outside, Bessie’s glasses instantly fogged up. She took them off while walking forward, wiping away the cloudiness until they were clear again. She put them back on and saw a black truck sitting by the curb.

Bessie froze.

All the dorm buildings on Princeton University were further away from the main campus, fenced in by brick walls and a gothic-looking gate. That meant that, unless Bessie wanted to try and scale the walls, she only had one way out. And she would have to pass the truck to do that.

Gathering up all her courage, Bessie began striding towards the gate. There were kids already outside in the courtyard, surely He wouldn’t try anything… 

Her confidence disappeared completely when she crossed the threshold, and Bessie fought the urge to turn and run back to the safety of her dorm. She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry as she walked by the truck. The windows were so tinted that she couldn’t see inside, but she knew He was looking back at her.

The truck rumbled to life upon her crossing the street. Bessie didn’t run, knowing that running would only make Him chase her. Maybe He would just go away if she moved slowly and acted like she didn’t care…

A tear ran down her cheek as the truck began rolling along behind her. She turned sharply and walked up a short flight of stairs that led up the curve of a small hill. Princeton University’s sprawling, plant-filled campus was then stretched out to her, but not even its thriving beauty could calm her nerves.

Bessie walked faster, keeping her head down. She knew she should be monitoring the truck, but she didn’t want to look at it. She didn’t want to risk seeing Him.

She tried to distract herself by looking around. The lush, healthy emerald green grass was sprinkled with early morning snow, glinting softly in the pale light slipping down from the blanket of grey clouds in the sky. It was too dull for shadows to be cast, and yet a dark shade grew from her feet and smiled at her wickedly.

  “Come to me, darling,” The Beast said.

Bessie jerked sideways and ran right into someone without even realizing it. She heard a grunt and instantly tottered backwards, apologies spilling from her lips.

  “Sorry! I’m so sorry! I-I wasn’t watching where I was going!” Please don’t hurt me…

The person she had rudely bummed into stepped back, blinking brown eyes that were so dark they looked like pieces of ebony infused in their skull. Bessie realized it was a woman a year or two older than her, and she was the most beautiful person she had ever laid eyes on.

Internalized homophobia had always been one of the many problems Bessie had, but not even THAT could disagree that this was the most gorgeous human being to ever grace the earth.

She was a dark-skinned woman, tall and muscular, looking like she was capable of crushing Bessie’s skull between her thighs like it was a watermelon, and Bessie found herself longing for that to happen, and not just because she was suicidal. Her short dark brown hair was cut into a style that screamed ‘I AM NOT STRAIGHT!!’, tucked gently into a vermillion beanie, which only fueled Bessie’s hope that her gaydar wasn’t messing up. She was dressed in black jeans and a red-and-black flannel, which had its ends tied together over her stomach. When she spoke up, her voice was husky and warm, tinged with a German accent.

  “You’re good,” The woman said. “No worries!” She smiled down at Bessie, but it disappeared in almost an instant. “Hey, are you alright?”

Bessie sniffled, and she realized there were a lot more tears than she had thought. She opened her mouth, lips quivering, and pointed to the truck nearby without even thinking her decision through.

  “Th-that truck,” She whimpered out. “I-it’s following me.”

Bessie expected the woman to dismiss her panic, saying something like, ‘there’s trucks everywhere!’ or ‘how do you know for sure that it’s following you?’, but instead she glared at the truck and flipped the driver off as it sped away.

  “Fucking creep,” The woman muttered. She turned back to Bessie, looking concerned, and set a hand on her shoulder. When Bessie flinched at the contact, she respectfully pulled her arm away, and Bessie cursed her instinct to recoil at any touch because she really wanted this woman to touch her (just not like that, not like that--). “Are you okay?”

  “Y-yeah,” Bessie said, quickly wiping away the tears that were still on her cheeks. “Th-thank you.”

The woman smiled that beautiful smile again. “No problem!” She seemed to sense that Bessie was still on edge because she then said, “Would you like me to walk you to class?”

Bessie looked surprised, but nodded fervently. “Y-yes. Please.”

The woman nodded and began walking with Bessie, scanning around the area as if she were a guard dog. “I’m Anna, by the way.”

  “Bessie,” Bessie said.

  “Bessie?” Anna echoed.

Bessie blushed faintly. “It’s silly, isn’t it? It’s the 21st-century, who names a kid ‘Bessie’ if they aren’t a cow?” She gave a small laugh, shifting her belongings in her arms. “Umm-- My real name is Elizabeth.”

  “I think Bessie is cute.” Anna commented.

The blush turned from a light pink to a deep, dark red in an instant. Bessie’s pale skin definitely didn’t help make it any less noticeable. 

  “R-really?” Bessie stammered, wide-eyed.

  “Yeah!” Anna nodded, grinning. “It’s impossible to create a nickname for my name unless it’s the dumb ‘Anna Banana’ one.”

Bessie giggled. “What about ‘Annie’?”

Anna thought it over, then tipped her head at Bessie with a smile. “I like Annie, actually. Good thinking, Bessie.”

Bessie’s ears felt like they were on fire, but, for once, it was in a good way. She couldn’t help but smile back shyly.

  “Okay, so I actually have no idea where we’re going,” Anna admitted. “I’ve just been following you. I’m new here.”

  “Oh,” Bessie said, nodding. “That explains why I’ve never seen you before. Where’d you come from?”

  “Düsseldorf, Germany,” Anna said, which explained the really attractive accent. Bessie’s face burned even hotter. “I’m living in an apartment down the road. I prefer to have my own personal bathroom.”

Bessie giggled. “I get that. Living in a dorm has its perks, though.”

  “Really? Like what?”

Bessie was silent. “Hang on, I’ll think of something…”

Anna laughed loudly, and Bessie couldn’t help but join in.

  “You’re funny, Bessie,” Anna said as they got near the math building. “I like you.”

Bessie faltered. “R-really?”

  “Really!” Anna said, then tilted her head. “You seem surprised.”

  “Oh, no, I-I just--” Bessie trailed off awkwardly, not wanting to spill stupid stuff and ruin her friendship with this woman. She shook her head. “Nothing. Nevermind.” She looked at the large building looming over her. “Well. This is my stop. Thank you again for helping me. I had a really good time talking to you.”

  “I did too,” Anna smiled. “See you around, Bessie.” She gave a saluting goodbye before turning and walking down the sidewalk with her hands in her pockets.

Bessie watched her go, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Not even the frigid wind could cool down the heat on her face.

  “Bye,” She whispered long after Anna had walked away.

[ravenvsfox]

Rockband AU Chapter 11

we’re back and badder than ever, join me in the latest instalment of the band au in which there is no actual music unless you count screaming as music :) 

The first slit is paper thin, a fissure in the centre of his tongue. Even superficial, his mouth fills instantly with ripe, oily blood. He swallows painfully, and peers up at his father though one eye. There’s sweat at Nathan's temple, just a brush of it, as if daubed on with a dry brush.

Nathaniel puts his hand around Nathan’s wrist, like he used to when he was a very small child, too young to understand why he was being hurt.

“Stop,” he tries to say. Blood wells past his lips and bubbles down to his neck. He’s smudging red so bright it looks orange, ketchupy, all down Nathan’s sleeve. The knife clicks across his teeth and slips down into the gum.

“I won’t have you biting anymore,” Nathan says. He starts to wedge the knife into the bed under his molar until Nathaniel hears a crack. It feels impossible, this shard of his jaw knocked out of place, like a whole continent drifting away.

Someone pounds on the upstairs door. The perspiration on Nathan’s brow accumulates into a single droplet, and Nathaniel waits for it to fall, holding his breath.

All of the pressure is removed from his mouth at once.

Nathan sits back on his heels. “Someone deal with that.”

DiMaccio cracks his neck, agitated.

“Police, open up,” a muffled voice says, raised over the din of the pounding.

“For god’s sake,” Nathan says, rolling his eyes and standing. “Lola,” he says silkily. “Keep him warm for me.” Nathaniel melts back into the concrete. He licks blood from his lips, staring hazily into the overhead light so he doesn’t think about the changing landscape of his mouth.

“With pleasure,” she says. She’s holding her ribs, and Nathaniel knows he’s done some damage. Even her robust good mood has been dented.

She kneels. Nathan sheds his over-shirt and washes his hands at the sink in the corner of the room. DiMaccio climbs the stairs. It’s like they're tinkering around at the office, while he’s smeared out on the floor, pulsing with blood and pain and hatred. He remembers what Lola said before, that Nathaniel’s indiscretion had boosted him to the top of his father’s to-do list. He is a task. He will be crossed out.

“Open wide,” Lola says. Her head is just blotting out the light.

“Open up,” the cop upstairs reiterates.

Nathaniel’s face is so soaked, and so swollen. He doesn’t recognize the feeling of his own features.

Once, the band had been trapped in an endless soundcheck at a sweltering venue. Andrew had been spread out at the lip of the stage, foot dangling over the edge and arm over his eyes, tattooed ‘yes’ turned delicately towards his face. Nicky had maneuvered himself under the piano, and the rest of them wilted to the ground after him, glad to be off their feet. For a while, they had all been breathing the humidity in together, dropping off to sleep or looking up at the lights.

He hears DiMaccio open the door and gruffly say “not a good time”. Lola’s claws hook in his lower lip. He thinks — sleep? Or follow the lights?

Nathan’s at the top of the stairs now too, and he’s playing charming.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Wesninski,” the cop says familiarly. “I know you’re not causing trouble again.”

Nathaniel’s thoughts race and fall all over each other. Is this another dirty cop? Is Nathan paying him off? If Nathaniel screams, and the cop knows to look the other way, Nathan will only be more enraged, only kill him slower.

“No more than usual,” Nathan replies.

“Glad to hear it. We’re just investigating a tip-off. I’m sure you won’t mind if we have a look around?”

“Like my assistant said, you caught us at a bad time,” Nathan says, less smoothly.

“It’s funny how many times I hear that on house visits.”

“No, really, I can’t entertain any more guests.”

Nathaniel can hear him moving to block the door, and there’s a sound like weight scuffing against wood. He’s coming inside? He can’t believe it.

Lola pulls his lower lip even harder away from the gum. Her composure is a little wrinkled, which is how he knows that this wasn’t in the plan. He can hear his father talking intricate circles around the officer, but he can also hear the voices getting closer.

He swallows. Swallows again, and closes his eyes, thinking of the domino line-up of threats stacked back as far as he can remember. Don’t you dare cause a scene. Holler and I cut your tongue in half. Tell them how well I treat you. You can either be useful or dead, your choice Junior.

He twists out of Lola’s grip, rolling gracelessly onto his stomach. She grabs his hair with both fists.

“Help!” he shouts. It comes out thick through his warped lip, wobbly tooth, and all the blood, but as soon as he’s opened his mouth, he can’t stop screaming. He wants to live so badly.

Lola wrestles with him, pressing her forearm to the side of his destroyed face. He thrashes against her, sobbing, “please, they’re killing me, please, please, please.” It’s not even a performance. He can’t stop.

“Shut up,” Lola hisses.

There are fast footsteps coming down the stairs, and Nathaniel’s heart claws for his throat. Lola puts the gun to his mouth and the metal knocks painfully against his front teeth.

He looks up just in time to see Nathan following the cop down the stairs at a clip, teeth bared. He reaches back towards DiMaccio and comes away with his favoured cleaver. As it crests in the air, Nathaniel is hit with the cruellest deja vu imaginable. He knows what has to happen next.

“No,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” the cop says. His eyes are wide as he takes in Lola, crouched over him like an animal, Nathaniel’s skin split open and spilling.

“Don’t—“

Nathan cuts the officers throat, so quickly that Nathaniel’s not sure if he really saw it happen. He falls awkwardly on the stairs, his knees folding and his head drooping forward like it might slide clean off.

Lola makes a noise that might be a laugh, and stops fighting Nathaniel down. It was barely a fight anyway, he’s so weak now. The hand with the gun in it goes lax.

“That was close,” she trills. Nathaniel wraps his hand around the barrel of the gun. She doesn’t even look down. She’s so delighted by the spectacle of senseless murder that she can’t see him.

“That was unacceptable,” Nathan corrects. He tosses the cleaver to the ground next to the officer, who is crumpled up like a scrap of wet paper towel. “You—“ his eyes float to Nathaniel and settle.

He’s holding the gun.

For a long moment, they stare at each other.

“How cute,” Lola says.

Nathaniel turns and shoots her in the chest. The sound of it is muffled—too quiet, certainly, to come from a pistol. Her mouth is round and wet with surprise. Her chest blooms.

Impossibly, she looks down and spreads her own wound like she intends to perform surgery. She laughs giddily at her own pain, wheezing, then falls backwards. When she hits the floor, it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

No one moves. A pale cloud comes over Nathan; he looks thunderstruck, washed out. Nathaniel’s never seen him look this way before. It’s—his gun-toting hand starts to shake—It might be pride.

He can’t stand it. He fires the gun again, and it clips his father in the neck. He watches him stumble, sees the blood splatter and froth. He’s unable to wrap his head around the reality of it. He shoots him again in the stomach, then the chest. He clips his hand, and a finger flies off.

Der Ausreißer, he thinks wildly. The stray bullet.

DiMaccio lunges teeth-first, like a panther, and Nathaniel shoots him too.

He spasms violently, squeezing the trigger even after the bullets are gone. Eventually, the gun drops like a stone, and he slumps to his hands and knees.

He’s not sure how long he stays like that, head hanging down between his caved-in shoulders, panting. He knows, distantly, that he needs to leave. There’s gore streaking out around him in every direction. Inevitably, there will be more police, somewhere out there in Baltimore, mobilizing.

He feels like two separate people. Everyone in the room has been ripped in half, and he will always be one of them. He was staring a death sentence in the eye for so long, and just as he eased into the electric chair, his jailer dropped dead. His path cleared. His wrung-out body was suddenly his own. He was Nathaniel, and then he looked up and he was Neil again.

He staggers to his feet.

His sneaker skids sideways in Lola’s blood, and he windmills, touching the ground to steady himself. He looks at his handprint in all that red.

I’m an orphan, he thinks. He starts to laugh. His tooth is still trying to escape his gum. The sweet iron smell of blood burns his nostrils, and the silence rings like alarm bells. Somehow, all of his senses are intact. He is the only surviving Wesninski.

He limps to the metal cabinets on the far wall, and riffles through the meticulously organized shelves. It’s been years, but he remembers watching Lola lining up cleaning products, sheets of plastic, sharpeners, and ammo. It’s difficult to see without the use of both eyes, but he quickly finds the vital red of the jerry can. He laughs again, merrily.

He shakes gasoline out over the perimeter of the basement, not lingering on anyone, not really looking. He doesn’t know what it would mean if he did.

He pointedly ignores his failing body. At one point, he feels an unhealthy crunch beneath his heel and realizes he’s squashed his father’s stray finger.

He takes the stairs one at a time, hands on both bannisters, hair hanging down into his panting mouth. It’s a herculean effort, staying on his feet. The gasoline is wedged under his arm upside-down, trailing a path up the stairs. As soon as he reaches the plateau of the still-open side door, he lets the jug droop from his grip. He wrings the doorknob, redoubling his efforts to stay vertical.

The digital clock in the living room blinks at him, and he blinks back. 6:38 AM. He was on stage not even ten hours ago.

He breathes in and out, fast, bracing himself, then limps onward towards the kitchen.

He knows there used to be a blowtorch in the drawer next to the oven, and he heaves out a sigh of relief when he finds it there, untouched.

He tries not to linger on the familiarity of the living room, furnished with self-satisfied plum and mahogany. He blinks, and for a moment he sees his mother at the window, holding her dressing gown closed over a broken collarbone. There was a crescent of Nathaniel’s blood hidden by the heavy coffee table before his father had the good sense to rip up all the carpet. He remembers crouching in the walk-in pantry with his mother, hands over each other’s mouths. He can see them in all the saddest corners of this house.

Burning it down won’t be enough. He could raze and build and raze again, and cruelty would still live here.

He drags himself back to the door, which is blown wide open now. It’s like the whole wide, breezy night knocked it aside to get a look at him.

He stoops, sets the end of his gasoline trail alight, and ducks away from the roar.

Nathaniel walks out of his childhood house for the very last time.

Looking blankly at the police cruiser still parked in the driveway, feeling the brutal, burning heat at his back, he thinks,

I’m going to be Neil for the rest of my life.

_______

He’s wandering the freeway when a minivan slows to a crawl on the shoulder next to him. A petite, greying woman rolls down the passenger side window.

“Hey, are you okay?” she calls.

Neil squints at her, woozy. She recoils when she sees his face, then reaches for her seatbelt. It’s a testament to her strength, really, the way her disgust hardens into resolve.

“Oh my god. Wait right there,” she says. He shouldn’t have stopped; he’s drooping to his knees. “Jesus.” She wrenches open the driver’s side door and leaves it hanging there, cocked into oncoming traffic. “Jesus,” she insists, her moccasins skidding through uneven gravel.

She crouches in front of him and takes hold of his upper arms. Her grip is as gentle as the snuffling wind.

“I’m an orphan,” he tells her. He’s not sure why he says it. He wonders if it will ever not be the most focal thought in his head.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“Oh, no,” Neil laughs. “No, no. I killed him.”

She looks disturbed for a moment, and her mouth twists reproachfully, like he’s telling a joke in poor taste. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

Neil shrugs.

“You—you really need to go to the hospital.”

“Yes,” Neil agrees.

“Are you strong enough to stand?”

“No,” he says, coughing. It’s too much for his body to withstand, and he doubles over. When he looks back up into her concerned dark eyes, he thinks abruptly of Dan. Then without pausing, he hurtles over that thought, and straight into Andrew.

“Hey,” he pants. “Uh…”

“Mary-Anne,” she supplies.

“Mary-Anne. I need to borrow your phone.”

_______

The drive to Baltimore is endless.

The road is a jammed zipper, and Andrew is forcing it. He doesn’t care what breaks.

“No, he’s—no. Maybe 5’3”. No, that’s not him. Call me back if—okay. Thanks anyway.” Nicky hangs up and throws his phone at the windshield so hard the battery pops out. “We’re never going to fucking find him.”

“Call Saint Agnes,” Andrew says.

Nicky hesitates. “It’s the last hospital in the city,” he says. “If he’s not there—“

“Call.”

“Andrew, I’m worried you’re—“

“Keep your worry,” Andrew hisses, “for the man with a serial killer for a father.”

Nicky flinches. “I’m scared too, you know,” he says, stricken.

Andrew wants to say, I’m not scared. I can’t be. I’m the bar where the four horseman of the apocalypse come to drink themselves stupid. I’m a vessel for tragedy.

“Call,” he says instead.

Nicky sighs and passes the phone back to Aaron. “I can’t hear no again,” he says. “It’s killing me.”

Andrew watches Aaron’s furrowed face in the rearview mirror, his endlessly puckering brow. He’s surprised to see how scared he looks, as he reunites battery pack and cell phone. Kevin is nearly catatonic next to him, face pressed clean to the side window even though every bump in the road rattles his skull against the glass.

Wymack is driving Abby and all of his Foxes in the van, while the Monsters took Wymack’s fast little car. They all fit neatly, without Neil.

“I’m looking for someone named Neil, or maybe Nathaniel,” Aaron says into the phone. “About 5’3”, dyed brown hair, blue eyes. Has anyone come into emergency tonight—Yeah, whatever, I’ll wait.” He holds his hand over the receiver and shakes his head.

It’s impossible, to feel any worse.

Then Andrew’s phone rings in his pocket.

For a suspended second, his eyes flit back to Aaron’s, and he knows the thoughts in their heads are precisely the same. Aaron’s expression is a forgery of Andrew’s, snagged with panic.

“Andrew.” It’s Kevin, looking suddenly alert in the backseat, flushed as if with fever. “It might be bad news.”

“Who cares,” Nicky says, reckless. “It’s news.”

Andrew finds himself nodding, or shaking, he can’t tell. He lets go of the steering wheel and fumbles for the source of the buzzing.

Nicky grabs hastily for the loose wheel as they coast towards the ditch at unfathomable speed. He just barely manages to swing them back into their lane before the gravel crunches into grass, and they topple out into the darkness.

Andrew’s fist closes over the phone, and it splits open like a fortune cookie in his grip.

“Neil?” he asks.

“Um,” A woman says.

His disappointment is quicksand; his foot sinks reflexively down onto the gas pedal. Nicky has to grapple again with the slippery steering.

With crushing effort, he asks, “who the fuck is this?” The words hit with the compact burn of splattered fry oil—he can hear her flinch through the phone.

“Sorry, is this um—Andrew? I’m not sure I caught that right, before he…”

Before he—what? Andrew’s imagination rips itself in half before he can take the thought any further. He is so tightly braided with terror and relief.

“He’s with you?” he chokes, but she’s still half-talking, high and traumatized.

“I’m sorry, I really—I don’t know where to start—“

“Andrew, pull over,” Aaron says.

“Put him on the phone,” Andrew says faintly. He is leaden, and his foot is pressed flat to the gas. They’re screaming along at almost 100 miles per hour, and it still doesn’t feel like his body is moving as quickly as his thoughts.

“I can’t,” she wails. “He passed out. I don’t know what to do, there’s—he’s—I don’t know his name, I don’t even know if this is the right—“

“It’s Neil,” Nicky says, from where he’s already pressed close to copilot the car. “Brown hair, blue eyes, right?”

She shifts around noisily, and there’s a soft, muffled curse. “I—I can’t tell.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell?” Andrew asks sharply. Headlights flash and swerve out of their treacherous path.

“Slow down,” Kevin says.

“There’s… so much blood, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, he’s not in good shape.”

Nicky meets Andrew’s eye miserably. “That’s Neil, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply. His foot sags off of the gas altogether.

Nicky has to wrestle them to the side of the road, half-crying, and by then, Aaron has plucked the phone from Andrew’s loose grip.

“Yeah, no, not the first time. Is he breathing? No. Right. Oh. Do me a favour, don’t call the cops yet, okay…? Mary-Anne? Okay. Yeah. Thank you. Maybe two hours? Okay. Thank you.”

He hangs up. The car is quiet and crackling, like they’ve just survived a wreck. They breathe and blink owlishly at one another, and Andrew knows they’re waiting for his next move.

He can’t feel his hands. He’s so singularly, mind-numbingly enraged.

“She told me he said—” Aaron swallows a couple of times, then continues, “—he said he killed his father.”

“Jesus Mary. Just offering that up to passer’s by, is he?” Nicky says. “I guess Jean wasn’t lying.”

Andrew feels his anger transform to account for new, more vivid colour. He can’t keep up with it. If he felt out-of-control fast before, now he feels slow; he’s being rewound, paused, and randomly scene-selected, an overworked VHS. He needs to fast-forward. He needs to unravel all the way to Baltimore. He needs to reroute his fear into violence or he’s going to be torn up.

“If the butcher’s dead, then everything’s—okay, right?” Nicky continues.

“Sounds like he got in some last minute butchering before he died,” Aaron says darkly.

Andrew turns the engine over, and it whines thinly. “Where is he?” he asks.

“Someone else should drive,” Kevin says.

“Where is he,” Andrew repeats. He keeps picturing what kind of damage would have to be done to make Neil’s striking colouring unrecognizable. How fragile his untrusting body would have to be to droop unconscious in front of a stranger.

He needs to thrash this highway to death. He won’t believe Neil is alive until he’s in front of him. If he never touches him again, he knows, he knows his hands will ache for the rest of his life.

“Passed out on interstate 83, right now,” Aaron says slowly. “She’ll call back when the ambulance comes.”

He pulls brusquely away from the shoulder, threading the car back into the middle lane. “Call her back first.” He feels like it’s all he can say. Call him. Find him. Bring him back. I will not be here while he is there. It is my responsibility to slosh above deck, through the twitching eye of the storm, and toss a line out for him.

“What good is it going to do? You want to listen to your boyfriend bleed out from a hundred miles away?” Aaron says it to be mean, but he looks upset. He twists the ring on his thumb, the one he thinks Andrew doesn’t know Katelyn gave him.

Nicky looks nervously over at Andrew. Usually, he wouldn’t take the bait. He would barely notice it being laid out for him.

“Aaron,” he says, and there’s no room for argument. “Call.”  

He doesn’t say please, but Aaron flinches anyway. He shakes it off, as always, and begins to click back through to the disconnected call. Before he can dial, the phone rings again in his hands.

He blinks dumbly at the caller ID, then hits ‘answer’.

“Wymack?” Aaron asks. He looks up at the others while he listens, then recites, “half the block Neil grew up on is on fire.” He waits, brow furrowed, then adds, “at least four casualties.”

Kevin fumes. “God, exactly the kind of visibility we don’t need.”

“Don’t think it was a publicity stunt, Kev,” Nicky says thinly.

“Self-defence,” Andrew murmurs.

“Overkill,” Aaron say. “And now the cops are going to be looking for him, because they just got eighteen panicked long-distance calls about the Butcher’s son.”

“They will not find him,” Andrew says.

“You think he’s gonna bolt?” Nicky asks.

“What other choice does he have?” Kevin asks.

Nicky shrugs. “He’s got us.”

Aaron covers the receiver. “Even if he could physically run, he wouldn’t,” he says, looking at Andrew. “He’s selfish.”

Andrew ignores this and keeps driving. He can’t stop. He feels—underwater, parched and disoriented, and if he doesn’t break the surface soon, he never will. Behind him, Aaron tells Wymack what they know, then hangs up.

“He’s alive, Andrew,” Nicky offers, in the quiet. “He’s okay.”

“Don’t,” he chokes. He looks at his hands on the wheel, the way the inked yes and no are both distorted when his fists are clenched. They haven’t looked clear since Neil was taken.

The closer they get to Baltimore, the more everything else starts warping to match, and his vision narrows to a pinprick in the deep, dark horizon.

_______

Neil half-rouses in the ambulance, enough to understand that his injuries are real, and many of them have reopened in transit. The medicinal tang in the air is crisp and pungent. The sheets beneath him are streaked red; his hands struggle for purchase in the slickness of them. His chest feels watery and full.

“Where’re you taking me,” he demands hoarsely. “I need to go to Columbia.”

“That’s a little outside of our jurisdiction,” a paramedic says. There are two of them looming over him, passing supplies back and forth over his prone body, taping him into a cats cradle of wires and machinery. “Can you tell us your name?”

“You have to let me out,” Neil says, suddenly frantic, sitting up until his injuries cramp and hiss and push him back down.

“Oh-ho, okay, we’ve got a runner. Can we get some soft restraints on him please?”

His chest is a whirlpool, spinning and devouring itself. “No restraints,” Neil begs. “Don’t, please.” His wrists are wreckage already. “Don’t tie me down.”

“Okay, okay,” the other paramedic says gently, her hand to his chest. “Then you’ve gotta calm down, kid. You’re gonna undo all our hard work.”

Neil looks down at her dark hand on his bare, scarred body, the gauze encasing both freshly maimed arms, the productive pinch of the IV. Embarrassment crushes him, chased hotly by fear.

“My hands—“

“You’ll keep ‘em,” she assures him.

“I’ll be able to play piano?”

“Don’t see why not. Most of the cuts are pretty superficial.”

He can’t believe it. They are taut with agony. He tries to hunch over the jungle of wires to get a look at them.

“Woah, easy,” the first paramedic says. He’s very pink and very blurry, and Neil can’t focus on him. He can focus on sitting up. It should be easy, and it’s all he can think to do to take control of his body.

He falters when the pain in his ribs whines and holds him at a distance again, and he puts a hand loosely over his eyes as if it will block out his feelings.

“I need to speak to my band.”

“You need to stop moving around so much.”

“I need to speak to my band,” he repeats. “Let me borrow a phone.”

“Look, from what I hear, your friends are already on their way. Ms. Thomas took care of that for you.”

“Ms. Thomas,” Neil repeats dumbly.

“Yes sir. Sounds like you owe her a hell of a gift basket.” 

He vaguely remembers those dark eyes swimming above him, her little red phone drooping out of his hand, his temple colliding with gravel. He feels robbed, furious at himself, and wretchedly grateful.

“She spoke to them for me?” he whispers.

He hums, flicking at a syringe so the bubbles settle. “She did more than that. Might have singlehandedly saved your life, you know?”

Neil disagrees, quietly. Not singlehandedly. He’s been saved in almost as many ways as he’s been hurt, now. He sinks back into the messy sheets. Somewhere, outside of the antiseptic rattle of the ambulance, his family is coming to find him.

“Don’t—let me sleep,” Neil says, disjointed.

The paramedics exchange a meaningful glance. “Uh-huh.”

“I have to—I can’t—I have to see—“ he swallows dryly. His consciousness is slipping out from under him like loose bedding. “Don’t let me sleep.”

“Neil,” one of them says. “You’re safe. Sleep.”

_______

Andrew leaves Wymack’s car strung haphazardly between two spaces, the driver’s side door flung open, keys in the ignition.

Afterwards, he couldn’t tell you what the hospital looked like, who he spoke to, or how long he was running.

The flimsy hospital protocols try to catch at his clothes and hold his hands behind his back, but he keeps sprinting, floor to floor, stairwell to stairwell, and everything else is inconsequential. He feels like he’s been chasing after Neil’s shadow for twenty-four hours. Maybe longer. Maybe he’s always been trying to keep pace with shadows.

He keeps saying Neil’s name to strangers and waiting for the flash of recognition that will mean he can stop. He reels in orderlies for questioning and ducks into private rooms. He can hear the others toppling after him, joining the hunt, straightening out altercations with hospital staff before they can drag Andrew down.

“You’re them,” someone says.

Andrew slows, and the others jog up behind him. There’s a mousy woman just beyond a wall of windows, standing in the world’s saddest waiting room, clutching a red phone.

“Mary-Anne?” Nicky asks.

She nods, swallowing.

Andrew prowls towards her, and Kevin grabs ahold of the back of his shirt.

“He’s okay,” she says quickly. “They’re worried about infection, but he’s—he’s.” Her face crumples.

“What?” Andrew demands.

“Nothing, nothing, I just don’t know who would do something like this.”

Andrew bucks forward in Kevin’s grip. “Like what,” he repeats, red-hot.

She trembles, trying not to say whatever she’s so obviously thinking. “Rip—rip someone apart—like—“

Andrew makes a choked, gummy noise, and Aaron and Nicky instantly crowd him. It’s disorienting, that they are for once trying to protect him and not someone else from him.

“Andrew,” Wymack’s voice calls. When they turn to look, he’s down the hall, Dan is hugging Neil’s duffel bag and looking murderous, and the rest of them are scattered on the floor or in green vinyl seats. With their phone-call detours and near-accidents, the van must have skipped ahead of them. “Stop terrorizing everyone in the damn hospital.”

“This is the last time I will ask to see him,” Andrew says, striding over to meet them all, “before I lose my temper.”

“I’d hate to see that,” Wymack says, somehow sarcastic and regretful at once. “From what I hear, they’re still bandaging him up.”

“What room?”

Down the hall, on cue, there’s a clattering sound like an overturned gurney, and then a calamity of raised voices.

“… fuck, again? Where’s—somebody stop him—”

“Lie back down, Mr—hey, come on, turn off the—no, I’m serious this time, I’m calling security.”

A metal basin skitters out into the hall, and a wooden door pops and splinters.

Someone skids sideways out of an exam room, and catches himself heavily on the opposite wall. He winces, slides down half a foot, then braces himself to keep running.

Andrew’s terror falls to the ground and covers its ears. His anger puts up its fists. The whole sickening mess of his feelings for Neil won’t stop bleeding; he’s not sure they’re going to make it.

Neil looks up, and between one laboured breath and the next, he spots them. His face comes alive.

“Andrew,” he breathes. He takes a pitiful step forward. Andrew hates him so desperately for what he’s done that it loops all the way back around and becomes obsession, the kind that drives the wayward eagle to swoop down for Prometheus, day after day.

Neil is drenched in bandages. The blood has been recently and imperfectly scrubbed away, but he’s obviously been tortured, tumbled and sliced and spit out different. The reality of it sends Andrew lurching forward stomach-first. He can feel the others scrambling behind him. Two strangers in scrubs grab for Neil’s arms, and it corrodes Andrew’s brain to think of someone else touching him; he hisses with smoke.

“Don’t,” he snarls. He is sharpened to a point, sailing over the squeaky tile as if released from a bow.

“Just let them... do this,” Wymack is saying. “Okay?”

The nurse puts his hands up and steps back, and the shrewish medical student follows, at length. “Just don’t let him go any farther. The cops want to talk to him, and I’m not going on another wild goose chase through pathology.”

As soon as they’ve surrendered, Andrew forgets their presence completely. He doesn’t have the capacity to care about them when Neil is in front of him again, wounded and haughty.

He reaches him, finally, and puts his hands to his neck. His thumbs come up naturally to bracket his jaw. Neil sinks almost involuntarily into a stray waiting room chair, and Andrew follows him down, crouched between his knees so that they’re level. Neil blinks at him. One glacier-blue eye, the other swallowed by tape and gauze.

At the sight of it, he crushes his left palm to the back of Neil’s neck, and with his right he traces the bandage, searching for a seam.

“You, too, huh?” Neil says, ghosting a hand over Andrew’s bruised eye. “Percussion is a dangerous sport.”

Andrew doesn’t respond.

He peels the tape back, and finds Neil’s face in pieces. He was braced for it, but it draws and quarters him. His eye is moving sluggishly under the paper-thin lid, but something has nearly pierced through it. The deep gauge in his brow forks like lightning over his lid and sweeps down to his cheekbone. It’s difficult to imagine sustaining an injury like this and staying conscious.

Behind him, Dan gasps, “Oh my god, Neil.”

Andrew steadies his breathing. A panic attack puts a gun to his head, and he fights to disarm it. He puts the bandage down on the chair next to them, bloody side up, then reaches for the smaller tan patch over Neil’s chin. Underneath there are little abrasions mostly, criss-crossing down to his neck. The bulk of the damage is obviously to his eye and wrapped arms, and when Neil licks his bloodless lips, he can see that there are cuts inside his mouth too.

“Open,” Andrew commands.

Neil does, and Andrew holds his chin aloft, index finger nestled in the corner of his mouth. He’s missing a molar, and his piercing. His tongue has some loose pale skin at its heart, where the stud was clearly yanked on and sliced around, but it will heal quickly.

He probes the stitches under Neil’s eye, and Neil’s clean white-bandaged hands come up to hang off of his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Andrew’s thumb presses down too hard into the bloody seam of Neil’s skin, and he has to snatch his whole hand back before he rips something. He’s shaking with fury. He knows now that he dissolved their deal while Neil’s feet were dangling over the shredder; as soon as he let him go, he was torn to ribbons.

“Don’t.” It’s all he can say. He puts his arm to Neil’s throat threateningly. “Don’t ever—“ His vision is ruddy, red. He could put Neil in the ground for what he let them do.

Neil’s head lolls backwards; his gaze is ice you can jump up and down on without breaking through.

Andrew imagines himself as a wick that curls and blackens and liquifies everything around it, and then he lets his arm relax. When he does, it smooths down Neil’s chest and comes to rest across his lap.

“Careful with him,” the med student complains. “If we have to stitch him up again, you’re paying for it.”

“Oh, go to hell,” Allison says. At the same time, Andrew jerks towards the whole crowd of gawking hospital staff with intent. In pieces, Neil coaxes his attention back where it belongs. Both of his swaddled hands are raised close enough that if Andrew turned, his mouth would press flat to Neil’s wrist.

“If you continue to interrupt us,” Neil says, “You will be paying for it.”

“Don’t threaten—“

“Don’t bother,” Neil counters. “You can keep pretending that you have any authority and see what happens, or you can get out of our sight and keep those delicate physician’s hands of yours intact.”

To her credit, she bares her teeth before she turns tail, shoving the nurse ahead of her and marching them both down the hallway.

“Ten minutes, or we call security,” she calls behind her.

“I don’t think so,” Neil calls back. It’s such a relief to see Neil’s wounded mouth still spitting. He’s righteous as always, larger-than-life without meaning to be, beautifully bitter.

Andrew keeps being struck by the haunting, muffled feeling that finds you when you’re watching footage of the dead. Neil’s here, in motion, but for the last twenty-four hours, he’s been dying in Andrew’s imagination.

“Threats, threats,” Andrew says flatly. “You are your father’s son.”

The jab lands. Neil’s jaw works, and he looks down at the hands still hovering about Andrew’s neck. His fingers are always finding the heads of Andrew’s hydra when they kiss, each digit eclipsing a ravenous mouth.

“Not anymore,” he says. Without ever making contact, he lowers his hands to his lap. Andrew’s fingers twist immediately in the loose bandaging at his wrist. He is angry, but he needs to be close to Neil so the cold, lucid nightmare of today can warm into a pipedream again.

“You have a knack for killing him. Resurrected and struck down again in 24 hours.”

“I was going to tell you,” Neil says lowly. “The countdown—“

“Do not lie to me.” He thinks of Neil tossing feverishly in bed, waking often, holding his face with the root of both palms. Neil catching his own reflection in the hall mirror and flinching back painfully into the doorframe. All along, it was his father. It’s always family. He should’ve known.

Neil looks vicious for a second, and Andrew is relieved, again, at his fire. “I told you more than I ever thought— I gave you all the pieces but one. You don’t get to—“

“I get to,” Andrew hisses. “I get to ask you whatever the fuck I want.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Neil doesn’t look at him.

“The security, at the show, they worked for my father. They were in the audience, backstage, everywhere. I was trying to keep you safe by going quietly.”

“Quietly,” Andrew repeats.

“I didn’t know they were storming the stage,” Neil says. “If I’d known they were going to hurt you anyway…” he touches the very edge of Andrew’s injured eye. “I might have stayed and fought.” Even as he says it, he doesn’t look like he believes it.

“Your self-sacrifice is getting very old.”

Neil smiles. It’s a hole-punch expression, there and gone, but it leaves a perfect hole. Andrew peers through it and into his racing thoughts.

“I know. But I’d do it again.”

“If you try, I will kill you.”

“I’ll risk it,” he says, lifting his jaw. “How did you find me?”

“Jean Moreau,” Andrew replies. Neil obviously wasn’t expecting it, and he squints, waiting for an explanation. “You told me Riko knew things about your past. Turns out it’s common knowledge among Ravens.”

“You talked to Riko?” Neil asks, hushed.

“You disappeared,” Andrew reminds him. Then, because it’s as unbearable to avoid as it is to look at, he asks, “what happened to your eye?”

Neil shakes his head, so slightly that Andrew’s not sure he knows he’s doing it. “Vegetable peeler.”

Nicky gags, somewhere behind them, and Aaron mutters something low and disgusted.

“They didn’t,” Matt wonders aloud. “Neil—“

Neil swallows, then looks properly towards the sound of his voice. Matt reels back a step, covering his mouth. He and Dan are holding onto one another, and she has to squeeze his shoulder to keep him from falling back further. Kevin makes a small, sad noise, and turns around completely.

“Jesus. What the fuck. Can you see?” Matt asks.

Neil taps his right eye. “Some.”

“Gnarly.”

Andrew is quickly growing impatient. From the periphery of his vision, he can see that the med student has returned, and she and Abby are speaking in hushed tones. They keep glancing sideways at where Neil and Andrew are tangled together. His fingers loop tighter on Neil’s wrists.

“Neil,” Abby calls softly.

“No,” Andrew says.

“Please,” Abby says. Andrew puts a hand on the unblemished side of Neil’s face, gathering his focus again. He looks into that unchanged eye and breathes. “He has bruised ribs. He should be in bed.”

She moves delicately closer, and his anger spikes, hits a ceiling, and sloshes back down over him.

“Get away from us,” he says clearly.

“They’re not done with him,” she says, nervous but insistent. “We have to let him get treated or we have to leave the hospital. Those are the rules.”

“I don’t care,” he says, “about the rules. Come closer and you will be glad you’re in a hospital.”

“Andrew,” she tries. “Neil needs—“

“Abby,” Neil says. “I need this, first. I’m not going to be any less hurt when this conversation is over. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But—“

“It’s okay,” he says firmly. Then, softer, “we’re okay.”

Andrew hears Abby melt back into the rest of the Palmetto crowd, and there are some more restless murmurs exchanged between her and the hospital staff. His thumb swipes through the grey space under Neil’s good eye.

“You know what happened?” Neil guesses quietly.

“You tempted a butcher to violence.”

Neil turns his face just a little into Andrew’s hand. “Whatever I did or didn’t tell you before,” he says, “I’m an orphan now.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“I didn’t think—I never thought he could be killed like that. They kept me on the line my whole life and all I needed was—a second—just—one second with the upper hand, and they’re gone.”

“All of them?” He thinks of the woman in the pencil skirt, the shadowy security.

Neil hums. “A police officer, too. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess.” He shrugs, like he’s not talking about a macabre parade of casualties.

Andrew shakes his head. “Right place, right time.”

Neil searches his face, then sags with understanding. “You called them,” he says. It’s obvious that this thought hadn’t occurred to him before—that his friends could have risen up to save him, could’ve guessed right, could’ve been in that house with him all along.

Andrew doesn’t answer.

“Thank you,” Neil whispers.

“They’ll be after you, now.”

“Someone always is,” he says wryly. He looks smudgy and sad for a moment. “I’m glad I got to see you again.” It’s such a pathetically earnest goodbye.

“We won’t let them take you,” Andrew says.

Neil’s face droops, and Andrew can tell he’s fighting through all of his pain and exhaustion for composure. They’re both doing it, poorly. 

When he speaks again, it’s in coarse German: “I don’t understand. My father was a big enough player to orchestrate the riot that give you that black eye. It’ll be Riko, next. He assured me he would come for us, and you know he doesn’t care who he puts in danger. I’ve been a liability since day one. I stayed in the band even when I knew what damage my visibility could do.”

“You’re on our contract for a reason,” Andrew says.

A laugh bubbles from somewhere helpless and acidic in Neil’s body, and it seems to hurt his mouth on the way out. “What possible reason could you have?” he asks. “You’ve always, always known I was a runaway.”

“Exactly,” Andrew says. “We knew, and we wanted you anyway.”

They both wait, but nothing breaks, once this heavy truth has been splattered out between them.

Neil says, in jittery English, “I want—I know it’s ridiculous, I know what I’ve done, and what it cost, but I want to stay with you. I want to keep this for as long as I can.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Andrew agrees. He thinks of him ebbing out from where Andrew has him pinned, floating out of this hospital, snipped and slippery as a stray balloon. It’s impossible. Losing him doesn’t make any sense. The thought tries to keep its balance but it just slips and falls and slips and falls.

“What are they gonna do, arrest you?” Dan asks. “It’s pretty obvious to me who threw the first punch.”

Neil shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I covered my tracks back at the house. There’s not much evidence.”

“Then we’ll find witnesses,” Matt says. “Fuck, I’ll testify.”

The corners of Neil’s mouth twitch. “We’ll see,” he says quietly. Andrew knows he’s thinking of Riko, the whole other lobe of this problem that no one else can see well enough to dissect. He looks warily towards Wymack, who scoffs.

“Don’t look at me if you want off the hook. I signed you knowing full well how much of a mess you’d be. Palmetto is richer in problems than it is in talent, look around you,” he says.

“Misfits,” Nicky says winningly. His arms are crossed in such a way that Andrew can tell he’s trying not to reach out to them. “You’re Ausreißer’s frontman, remember? You’re our family.”

“And you still have a tour to finish,” Wymack says. “If that’s what you want.”

��It is,” Neil says quietly.

“Then that’s it,” he says. Neil slumps, fatigued with gratitude, and Andrew fists his hospital gown.

“Get patched up, okay?” Dan says. “Tell the police what a bastard your father was. Come home with us. We’ll figure things out.”

“Thank you,” Neil says. He taps Andrew’s shoulder, and Andrew shifts his hands to Neil’s waist to maneuver them both to standing. “I’ll—you deserve the truth, all of you.”

“We’ll channel all that hurt and betrayal into lyrics,” Allison says, waving a hand. “Seriously.”

“Worry about explanations later,” Wymack says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t want to be getting into the nitty-gritty when security comes.”

Neil nods once. He’s remarkably steady as he walks through the tunnel of living, thrumming worry his friends have made of the hallway. Dan passes him his duffel bag and swipes an affectionate thumb over his bandaged wrist. Nicky reaches for his shoulder, can’t decide where to touch, and gives him a thumbs up instead. Matt tugs on a lock of his hair as they pass.

Andrew walks alongside him; he will not leave until he’s been asked. He’s been searching for Neil with such single-minded intent that keeping pace is all he can do.

“Going with him, are you?” Allison asks Andrew snidely. There is a brown bruised shadow on her cheek where Andrew slapped her.

Renee jostles her good-naturedly. “Take care,” she says, to both of them. To Neil, she reprimands, “you scared us.” She’s tugging her cross back and forth so it cuts into her neck a little, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.

“Sorry,” Neil says dumbly. All of their affection is unfamiliar to his palette, but especially Renee’s. He usually swirls it in his mouth like wine and spits it out, but this time he considers its vintage, finishes the glass, then buys the whole bottle.

They reach the end of the hall together, stepping over the discarded basin and scattered instruments. Andrew watches Neil compensate for his pain, favouring one side so his posture can’t crush his ribs, reaching out to the doorframe so his depth perception doesn’t fail him.

There’s almost nothing about Neil in tatters that is easier than Neil, missing.

Together, they look out on his kicked over bed, toppled IV stand, and overturned plastic bag of unwearable clothes. There’s a pill bottle and stout tub of ointment on the bedside table.

“Did you find my key to the house?” Neil asks.

Andrew swallows. He imagines he can feel the shape of it against his thigh through the denim. He often grazed it, in passing, over the course of their rabid, nighttime chase, thinking of how many times Neil had done the same. “It’s how I knew,” he says simply.

Neil breathes out, easing himself onto the side of the other bed in the room. “I thought so. You know I wouldn’t—“

“I know.”

Neil unzips his bag and produces a soft, blue shirt. He looks at it for a long moment, and then he starts to cry. “Oh,” he says. “Don’t let me,” he reaches for his ruined eye, and clenches his teeth, choking, “I can’t—cry.“

Andrew crosses briskly to the bed and slides a hand over the back of his neck. “Breathe,” he commands. He plucks the shirt from Neil’s loose hands and holds it to his eye like a compress. “Breathe.”

The uncovered side of his face is flushed and twisted. “I never thought they’d let me come back.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention,” Andrew snaps.

He frowns, looking somehow fierce and leonine in his grief. “No,” he admits. “I was afraid of getting attached to—to Neil, to everything he represents.”

“Well I’m not interested in Nathaniel,” Andrew says, watching Neil’s face travel over complicated hills and valleys with words like interest and Nathaniel. “He is long dead. It’s always been Neil who nobody could touch.”

“Not nobody,” Neil whispers. Andrew closes his eyes. They sit together, in the windowless white room, hip to hip.

“Neil Abram Josten,” Neil says, wondering, perfect, like he stole the name from a fantasy.

Andrew opens his eyes, and it’s like waking up from a bad dream.

[blancheludis]

@whumptober2020 Day 11 “Crying”

Characters: Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Tiberius Stone Tags: Asexuality, Friendship, Kissing, Tony Needs A Hug, Protective Rhodey Words: 4.121

Summary: What a coward he is. Maybe Howard is right and there is something inherently defective about him. It was only kissing and - Tony shudders and raises the toothbrush back to his teeth, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “I didn’t say no,” he says when Rhodey asks him what happened. “That doesn’t mean yes.”

- Tony and Rhodey have a conversation about asexuality and the importance of consent.

---

Pink stains the sink when Tony spits out. His gums are burning from brushing too hard, and yet he cannot put down the toothbrush. There is this taste he cannot get out of his mouth, which is only enhanced by the faint trace of copper. One more time, he thinks, just to be safe.

His teeth must be cleaner than ever before by now. Then again, Ty has been very thorough in plundering his mouth, sticking his tongue where it should not go. All the brushing in the world cannot seem to get rid of the phantom feeling of Ty’s lips against his own.

But it is his own damn fault. He could have said no, could have made up some excuse why he needs to leave. And yet he stayed when Ty started kissing him. He does not like disappointing Ty, since his tongue can be almost as sharp as Howard’s if he tries, although he hits in very different places.

It is not that Tony is afraid of Ty hurting him. He could walk away at any time. But they have a good thing going, yes? Ty is smart and understands the world Tony comes from. He would not give up Rhodey for anything in the world, but sometimes it is nice to have someone who knows what it is like to come from a family with more money than sense. To have a name he is supposed to carry on, to live up to.

The door to their dorm room opens and Tony freezes in front of the sink. He watches himself go pale, his knuckles white around the toothbrush. Chances are low that this is Ty, who prefers people chasing after him instead of having to do any of the work himself. Still, the tingling of dread is there. Tony does not think he can get through another kissing session with Ty and keep up his smile.

What a coward he is. Maybe Howard is right and there is something inherently defective about him. It was only kissing and a bit of groping. They have not even gone any farther – not that Ty did not try. But all they touched was skin on skin, lips on lips – and lately tongue on tongue.

Tony shudders and raises the toothbrush back to his teeth, his eyes fixed on the door. When there is a knock, he relaxes. Ty is not the kind of person to let a closed door stop him. If he wants to enter, he does. Knocking only wastes time.

Keeping the toothbrush like a shield in front of him, Tony hums and opens the door, only to reveal Rhodey. That is good, he is safe. Not that he is in any danger from anybody else, really. But Rhodey is his self-proclaimed protector and will scare off anybody Tony does not feel comfortable with.

“Don’t tell me you just got up,” Rhodey says by way of greeting with just a hint of worry in his voice that does strange things to Tony’s heart.

Tony can only guess what Rhodey thinks. That he spent all night partying and drinking too much? That he collapsed in the lab and only now crawled home? That he fell into one of his listless, almost depressive bouts, that sometimes come over him, mostly after a visit home, and spent the morning in bed, moping?

It is nice that Rhodey worries without immediately voicing accusations, without expecting Tony to be guilty before he ever said a word. This is not disapproval or even mocking. Tony never came home last night and he generally has a penchant for keeping unhealthy hours.

The only other person who ever cared whether Tony gets enough sleep is Jarvis, and no matter how much Tony loves him, Jarvis gets paid to care.  Nobody is paying Rhodey, although Tony tried, if only to make sure he would stick around. That has been their only big fight so far, and Tony is glad he lost it.

“I’ve been in the lab, but then I had rhubarb for dessert and you know what that stuff does to the teeth,” Tony replies and somehow manages to sound appropriately cheerful. When he smiles, he keeps his lips pressed together as if his shame could be visible on his teeth.

“I know you’re not supposed to brush your teeth immediately after eating rhubarb,” Rhodey says, but looks like he generally agrees with Tony.

Too much at ease already, Tony makes the mistake to grin and immediately sees Rhodey’s eyes zeroing in on his mouth.

“Is that blood?” Rhodey asks with a frown. “When was your last appointment with a dentist?”

He had one task, keep his mouth shut and nod along. He knew his gum was bleeding, knows that one drop of blood against the white of the teeth is impossible to miss for someone who constantly worries about him.

Tony swallows a dismissive reply and settles for a glare. Better not to go down that rabbit hole. He turns back to the sink and spits out, quickly washing away the pink evidence of his frantic brushing.

It is enough for now. He cannot go for another round with Rhodey’s all-seeing eyes on his back. But maybe he does not need to. Rhodey’s presence makes everything better, after all, and he just has to take care not to move his tongue too much, to avoid touching the places Ty did.  

“You got somewhere to be right now?” Tony asks and carefully does not look at Rhodey as he picks up a towel to wipe over his face. He has been told that his eyes are too expressive and he odes not want Rhodey to feel obliged to stay if he has other plans, even if Tony is desperate for the company.

“Afternoon classes are over,” Rhodey says slowly, apparently not buying Tony’s nonchalance. “Why?”

Rhodey never asks why when he thinks everything is okay. And why would he? They hang out together all the time and never need a reason. Perhaps Tony looks more spooked than he thought.

“I thought we could go over some of Professor Brixton’s stuff together.” Tony used to be better at making up excuses, but they do often study together. And it is not like he can simply come out and say he needs to be distracted from thinking about having been kissed. Because he does not want to lie to Rhodey, though, he adds, “I need to get my mind off a problem I can’t solve in the lab.”

There, that was almost honest. He does have a problem he does not know how to deal with, and Ty did pick him up in the lab.

“Of course,” Rhodey agrees like there is nothing to it. “Let me get my book.”

Tony has a hard time hiding his relief. It still seems like nothing short of a miracle every time someone seeks his company without hoping for some advantage. And with someone, Tony almost always means Rhodey.

Rhodey turns back into their dorm room and Tony follows after rinsing his mouth one last time. He stops to watch Rhodey take the book out of his bag and sit down on his bed, patting the free space to him when he notices Tony just standing there.

And Tony hates himself for hesitating. They have done this a thousand times, cuddled up together on the bed or the couch to work together or just to talk. There has never been anything else to it. And yet, Tony cannot help but think of Ty’s wandering hands, brushing against Tony completely unexpected, how they ended up sitting closer and closer until Ty’s face had only been a breadth’s width from Tony’s and then not even that.

They had been talking about some lab experiment and Tony had forgotten to be apprehensive about hanging out with the son of one of his father’s business rivals. He is not sure how they turned from talking to kissing, does not know how he encouraged that, considering the thought never crossed his mind.

And now he is afraid of getting on the bed with his best friend. He does not think Rhodey would push him to do something he does not want, but what if it is something he should want? Kissing is supposed to be great, right? All the books and movies talk about it. Tony has seen how happily Ana leaned into Jarvis’ touch. He should not be repulsed by that. Even if he did not think about Ty in that way before, it should have been at least a bit nice. Right?

“Tony?” Rhodey asks, the concern back in his voice. “Everything okay?”

How long has Tony been standing here, staring at the bed as if it personally offended him? Shaking his head, he gets moving and gingerly lowers himself down next to Rhodey.

“Peachy keen,” he says and pushes his lips into a smile – only to have that turning into a grimace as he wonders whether smiling alone was enough of an invitation for Ty. “Still stuck on that lab problem.”

Rhodey keeps watching him for just a moment too long for Tony to think his excuse was believable enough. “Want me to take a look at it?”

“No,” Tony answers too quickly. Rhodey already has to deal with enough of his defects, so he does not need to add to that. In a much softer tone, he adds, “I just need a break from it.”

He holds his breath until Rhodey nods. “Very well, then. Come and let me distract you.”

Sometimes, Rhodey seems to know Tony better than he does himself, so Tony should be safe here, safer than anywhere else. Rhodey would not hurt him, not after being his steadfast protector ever since they met.

Tony sits down more comfortably and tries to sink into the familiar world of math problems and physical laws. It helps to apply his brain to something far more logical than thoughts or emotions. Rhodey helps, with his calm voice and his warm presence.

And yet. They sit too close and Tony is hyper aware of each of their movements. He just waits for Rhodey’s knee to shift or his face to turn just so. Perhaps it would be different with Rhodey. Perhaps it would not feel so wrong. Perhaps the problem is not Tony but Ty.

Tony is so focused on maintaining a safe distance between them that he does not hear a single thing Rhodey is saying anymore, and does not manage to give more than noncommittal hums in answer. Right up until Rhodey stops talking altogether and instead looks at Tony with the beginnings of a frown building on his forehead.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

This is it. Tony has to make up a convincing lie and – “Do you like kissing?” he blurts out, hating how small the question makes him feel. It comes out desperate too, but hopefully that means Rhodey will not take it as a suggestion.

Instantly, Rhodey’s frown becomes more prominent, although it does not quite feel directed at Tony. “Depends on who I’m kissing,” he answers slowly, the way he does when his thoughts are racing to connect the dots. “Did something happen?”

“Why would you ask that?” Tony laughs but even to his own ears it sounds too nervous to be anything but fake. He shifts farther away from Rhodey, a move that does not go unnoticed.

“Did someone hurt you?” Rhodey looks ready to jump up and rain down the fury of the righteous on whoever dared to harm Tony.

In his head, Tony makes a note to never ever introduce Rhodey to Howard. That could only end in ruin for everybody.

“No,” Tony says and tries to sound calm about it. “Nobody did anything.”

It is obvious that Rhodey does not believe him. “Then why do you look so spooked?” He could as well have asked, Why do you sit so stiffly and so far away from me as if you expect me to devour you any second now?

What lie could Tony possibly make up that would not sound either completely unbelievable or sound much worse than what actually happened?

“Ty kissed me,” Tony confesses and it sounds wrong to even say it. Again, kissing is supposed to be nice and not leave a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

“Against your will?” Rhodey asks and immediately straightens, already angry on Tony’s behalf.

They cannot start an all-out war on campus, especially since nothing happened, so Tony hurries to say, “No.” He does not quite manage to make that convincing.

Tony usually lies so easily. Then again, it is not really a lie when it is just some inexplicable, nonsensical part of him that did not want to be kissed.

To his utter frustration, tears well up in his eyes, undoubtedly a result of that broken part of him that does not quite know how to be human.

“Tony?” Rhodey asks carefully, much gentler now. And he does not move closer, which Tony is eternally grateful for. Even though he might like a hug from someone safe, someone he does not have to wonder with what the price might be for it.

“I didn’t say no,” Tony admits very quietly. It would not be fair to put this on Ty when he is the one having a problem with the most normal thing in the world.

To his surprise, Rhodey does not look convinced but actually even a little upset. “That doesn’t mean yes.”

Shrugging, Tony draws his knees up to his chest, wishing he had not started this conversation after all. He is sure Rhodey would not blame him, but he is often overly cautious with Tony, which means he is not always right.

“I mean, we didn’t really talk about it.”

These things are often just implied, right? People on TV do not ask every time before they kiss. On the contrary, the first time is usually that magic thing where they finally give in to whatever has been pulling them together. It is Tony’s fault that he did not feel that – and that he did not pull away when Ty stated kissing him. It does not matter that his mind went blank and he basically froze in place. He is responsible for his own actions, or inactions as it is.

“You do get how that’s worse, yes?” Rhodey asks, shifting so he faces Tony fully. The textbook lies forgotten between them and Tony wishes he could have concentrated a bit better on it. “If he forced himself on you, I swear I’ll –”

“He didn’t, I promise,” Tony interrupts hurriedly. The last thing he wants is for Rhodey to get into trouble for him, especially not with someone like Ty, who could make life very uncomfortable for the both of them. Especially since Howard would not lift a single finger to help them out. “I mean, he didn’t ask, but he wasn’t mean about it. I just – What if there’s something wrong with me?”

As soon as the words are over his lips, Tony wishes he could take them back. There are things wrong with him. Howard has been telling him so for years, and it is unfair to burden Rhodey with soothing his mind with lies. The list of Tony’s faults is ever-growing. They would never get up from this bed again if he wanted reassurance for every single point on it.

“Oh, Tones,” Rhodey sighs and the sheer gentleness of it breaks Tony’s heart. “Nothing’s wrong with you just because you weren’t into kissing someone else. I definitely wouldn’t want to kiss Stone either.”

Disgust flickers briefly over Rhodey’s face which has a smile tugging at Tony’s lips. That thought really is ridiculous. Rhodey has far more class than that, than to settle for some smarmy rich boy like Ty.

The amusement dies again quickly, though, because this is not quite what Tony was aiming at. “What if I don’t want to kiss anybody? Like ever?”

It sounds monstrous. How could he not want what everybody else does? What is wrong with him?

Rhodey’s face does not change, his confidence does not waver. “Then there’s still nothing wrong with you.”

Even if it is a lie, Tony is grateful for it, grateful that he has a friend like that, who will catch him when he is falling. He still needs an answer though, and he will not get that if Rhodey keeps pampering him.

“But everybody wants to kiss other people. And more.” There mere thought of that has Tony grimacing. Ty’s wandering hands were barely bearable when they were still clothed. “But it was just – weird.”

Weird fits it pretty well, those first moments of lips moving on lips. Right up until the disgust crept in. But by then it was already too late. It is not like Tony could have pushed Ty away several minutes in and said, Sorry, changed my mind.

“Not everybody likes kissing,” Rhodey says without the slightest bit of hesitation. No matter whether it is a lie, Tony loves him for it. Loves him for trying. “You don’t, apparently. Maybe that was because of Stone, but maybe it doesn’t matter who’s on the other side. And that’s okay. You don’t need to kiss anybody to live a good life. And you definitely don’t have to kiss anybody to show them you like or even love them.”

The tears are back, burning at the back of Tony’s eyes. No matter how quickly he blinks, they just swell and soon there are cold tracks down his cheeks. Tony looks away, awkwardly aware of how embarrassing this is. To cry because his best friend said something nice to him. Because Rhodey always wants to convince him so badly that there is nothing wrong with him, no matter all the evidence to the contrary.

A hand appears in his line of vision holding a tissue – and Tony does the typical Stark thing and takes more than is offered. He snatches up the tissue but holds onto Rhodey’s hand with his own, eager for that contact even if he does not know how to ask for it. Rhodey does not comment on it but simply shifts a little so they can sit more comfortably.

“What if –” Tony sniffles, then tries again. “What if you loved someone and they loved you back but then they wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

“Then that would be perfectly fine.”

That has to be a lie. Or if it is not, then Rhodey must be the only person in the whole wide world who thinks so. Well, he already is the only one willing to suffer Tony’s presence without some sort of recompense. He is just too good, too pure. And Tony keeps piling up problems for him to sort through.

“But –” he tries to argue but is cut off when Rhodey squeezes his hand.

“You can come up with a thousand arguments, Tones, but the answer will stay the same,” Rhodey says, serious enough that even Tony’s mind cannot claim he does not mean every word he says. “You don’t owe anybody any part of you. If you don’t want to kiss, then that’s the end of the discussion.”

It will not be that easy, Tony knows that even without seeing the worried twist to Rhodey’s lips. People always want something from him. It never goes over well when he says no.

Before he can voice that, Rhodey continues. “And if someone doesn’t listen, you get out of there and tell me. Some people don’t like being told no, but that’s not on you.”

They have had this discussion about other things. About Tony throwing around money just so people would stop bothering him. About him doing all the work for group assignments. About him doing dares or outdrinking everybody else or working twice as hard as others, just to prove that he has a right to be here. All of that had to do with him being a Stark, however, and how that ruined him in a lot of ways. This, however, is just Tony. He cannot blame this on his father.

Very quietly, Tony admits, “It feels like his mouth is still there.” He reaches up as if to touch his lips but leaves his fingers hovering in the air, afraid to recreate the feeling of something moving against him. “It’s – gross.”  

Rhodey nods like there is nothing strange about that. “How about we get some cheeseburgers and ice cream to get rid of the taste?”

Another wave of tears flows unbidden over Tony’s cheeks, and he hides his face in the tissue as he nods. Where does Rhodey take his kindness from? It is nothing short of a miracle that Tony managed to find the only anomaly in a see of demanding faces here, the only one who seems to value Tony as a real person.

After a long moment in which neither of them moves, Rhodey adds, “Do you want a hug first?”

Relief floods through Tony. He feared that this would be off the table now. They have been rather open with touching each other before. Or, Tony has and Rhodey just went with it. He always expects Rhodey to withdraw when he presents another broken part of him. And yet he never does.

“You don’t need to ask,” Tony says and moves in, ready to bury himself against Rhodey’s chest and forget all about the world around them.

Rhodey stops him, though, and it is as if all of Tony’s fears come true. “Of course, I do,” he says, still so very gentle. “Everybody should.”

So it is not a rejection but simply Rhodey wanting to underline his point.

“But you’re –” safe, Tony wants to say but swallows it down. He has made himself too vulnerable already.

In response, Rhodey’s face softens into something almost unbearably kind. When he opens his arms, Tony does not hesitate to sink into the offered embrace.

He still cannot quite believe what Rhodey said is true, no matter how much he wants to. The world they live in seldom is so kind. If he had asked anybody else, he is sure he would have gotten a vastly different answer. Something must be wrong with him. But it is nice, at least, that Rhodey does not seem to think so.

Then again, Rhodey sees life differently in so many ways. He cannot be wrong about all of these things. He cannot be right about them, either, because that would mean that Howard and Obie would be wrong and that is not a direction Tony can allow his thoughts to go. Not if he wants to hold on to his sanity and what little sense of self-worth he has left.

“Can we just stay here?” Tony asks quietly. Everything is better here where he does not have to see the world and is held by someone he trusts completely.

“Of course,” Rhodey agrees without the slightest bit of hesitation. He does not make a move to let go of Tony either.

Rhodey really is the best friend anybody could ask for. That he is here, holding Tony like there is nothing to it really makes Tony feel less defective, more than his words did.

Maybe Tony will even have the courage to tell Ty no the next time they see each other, to not let things happen to him because that is easier than starting an argument. Even though it was not that bad, after all. Right?

When Tony swallows, he still tastes the faintest bit of blood from brushing his gums raw. It is that bad, he decides. Worse than going home for Christmas and facing his father’s eternal disappointment.

“Will you stay nearby when I have to see Ty next time?” Tony asks, pretending that he does not feel like a coward for it.

“Of course,” Rhodey says again. “I’ll also make his body disappear if that becomes necessary.”

The seriousness with which Rhodey says that has Tony feeling giddy. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Rhodey tightens their embrace for a moment, which says so much more than words ever could. “Now, how about we let those cheeseburgers be delivered? That way we don’t have to get up.”

Perfect, Tony thinks as he nods. If he could, he would never let Rhodey leave his side again. He feels like a much better person with him close.

All it takes, really, is a friend, a best friend, and the entire grim world looks so much brighter. And lying here in Rhodey’s arms, Tony feels like the luckiest person alive.

[amayawolfe]

Ch. 4 - On Death's Doorstep

My Stories Masterlist  

Word Count: 4468

Summary: Hisoka finds himself back in familiar company from his past. Is this all real? Or is he dreaming? Perhaps even... dead? The only thing that quickly becomes clear is that the redhaired teen is most definitely not safe.

⚠️ Warnings: angst, blood, gore definition, mild violence, nightmares, mental trauma, mentions/suggestions of trauma, mental instability, panic attack, rot/decay, self harm, strangulation, near death experience, unintentional/accidental suicide, death rattle

Hisoka

   A warm, bright light slowly penetrated Hisoka's closed eyelids, steadily rousing his conscious mind. He could tell he was laying on something soft and was covered with some sort of blanket. Keeping his eyes closed, he attempted to shift his position to get more comfortable only to be greeted with a wave of intense pain. He winced and hissed through his teeth, he felt as though his entire body had been trampled by a herd of stampeding horses.

   Having been overcome with such a great amount of pain so quickly, his muscle tensed and cramped, making matters all the worse. He swallowed hard and felt his brow furrow as he tried to focus on making his muscles relax. It was a slow and exhausting process.

   The sound of someone walking on soft flooring close by caught his attention. Whomever it was shuffled right up beside him and stood silently next to him. Before he could speak, a warm hand lightly lay on Hisoka's sweaty forehead as though checking his temperature. After a moment, it began to gently stroke his head, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead. The act was soothing, and Hisoka could feel himself start to relax and take some of the edge off the pain.

   "I'm sorry, baby, that last one was really rough with you, wasn't he..."

   Upon hearing his mother's soft, tender voice, Hisoka felt as though he had downed an entire bucket of ice water; ice and all. He forced himself to suppress a shiver when chills ran down his back and he felt himself nod in response. Confusion trickled into Hisoka's brain, was this a dream? Or was he dead, too? How come the pain felt so real? If he was dead and now in the afterlife with his mother or simply dreaming of her, he shouldn't feel this kind of pain, right?

   "Am I-" ♣ his voice cracked, sounding hoarse and brittle. He licked his lips and found that they were dry and cracked. He then realized he was horribly thirsty as if he hadn't drank anything in days.

   "Water," ♠ he pleaded in a croaked whisper.

   His mother loosed a pain filled sigh, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but the water was shut off again. I'll have to leave to try and find some." The soft rustle of clothing indicated his mother was starting to move away to do just that.

   Hisoka shook his head, causing it to throb and spin behind his eyelids. Everything hurt so badly, it made him feel weak and vulnerable. He didn't want to be left alone, even if it meant the company of someone he hated. He feebly reached out to where he had heard his mother's voice coming from. His arm shook and ached as he reached for her.

   After a hesitant moment, he could feel her soft, warm hands gently wrap around his own. He sensed her draw close; the movement was followed by a tender, motherly kiss placed upon his brow. Her actions made a tight ache form in Hisoka's chest. How he wished that this could have been his mother all the time. Loving, caring, gentle. He knew all too well this facade was only the beauty that hid her venom.

   He slowly opened his eyes, his vision was a little blurry but he could see her sitting there beside him in her pale green bathrobe. Hisoka guessed she had just recently gotten out of the shower since her hair was up in a towel. The warm light that filled the little apartment they shared was brighter than normal and gave their surroundings a very fuzzy and surreal feeling.

   Hisoka tried to recall how he could have possibly gotten here. His brow furrowed again as he struggled to remember the most recent past events.

   I was with the troupe, we reached Dolle, we got to the inn, Jasper harassed Aba- Wait! ♠ Hisoka's eyes narrowed as flashes of being pulled into an alley darted through his mind. He could see and hear Jasper talking to him, and the brief scuffle they had. Then someone was behind Hisoka, but the broken stream of memories ended there.

   Hisoka felt a sinking sensation within the pit of his stomach. He licked his lips once more and tried to swallow before he spoke, "Am.. Am I dead? ♠"

   His mother gave him a sorrowful look, "Oh, sweetie, no no, you're not dead." She let go of his hand with one of hers and began to stroke his head again.

   "You must feel awful, I told that last one to be gentle with you. I'm so sorry sweetie."

   Her tone had become sickeningly sweet with empty apologies. Hisoka's nose wrinkled as a wave of disgust washed over him. He pulled his hand away from hers and looked away, yet she continued to stroke his head.

   "You always did say you were sorry, mother," he barely croaked in a rough, broken voice, "but you never did anything to prevent it." ♠

   The hand that had been stroking his head stopped and slowly pulled away. There was a heavy silence for a few minutes before he heard his mother sigh.

   "You're right, I'm a terrible mother. I should have done more to love and protect you."

   A scowl started to form on Hisoka's face yet he did not respond to her. Another heavy silence, one that grew uneasy with every tick of the second hand in the clock on the wall.

   After a while, Hisoka finally broke the silence, "Do not expect me to disagree with you..." ♣

   He could hear her shuffle and shift uncomfortably beside him.

   "I didn't- I mean, I know..." She trailed off and Hisoka snickered at her pathetic attempts.

   His anger and disgust with his mother was starting to override his pain and dissipate the fog in his mind. It gave him new energy to say the things he had wanted to for so long.

   "You knew perfectly well what you were doing," ♠ he snarled, glaring at the back of the couch he was laying on, "Yet you never did anything to fix it. Your own pleasures were always more important than me. ♣ Even though you could see what it was doing to me and what I was being put through you-"

   Hisoka stopped his tirade, he could sense something was wrong. The warm light that had been filling the room started to fade away and the air around him had become cold and heavy. His mother's breathing changed, becoming thick and ragged.

   "I know," her voice rasped, barely above a hoarse whisper, "I know I was a horrible mother. No, a horrible person. But Hiso, my son, my love, did I really deserve... this?"

   Hisoka hesitated, dreading what he would see. The air had become so heavy he could barely breathe as the room continued to descend into darkness. He slowly turned his head to look back at his mother. What he saw caused him to open his mouth wide in a silent scream and desperately attempt recoil to further into the couch.

   All color had drained away from his mother's flesh. A horizontal slit appeared in the middle of her throat. The wound wept crimson rivers as it began to yawn wider and wider. He could see muscles, tendons, and trachea seemingly rot away at a frighteningly rapid pace. Hisoka tried to scramble away but his battered and bruised body failed him while his decaying mother leaned forward and slowly began to reach for him with both hands

   "Tell me, please sweetie, did mommy deserve to die like that? Did you really have to kill me?"

   As she spoke her lips started to rot and pull away exposing her teeth and gums. Her cheeks became sunken as her eyes fell back into her head, leaving empty withering voids that bore into Hisoka's tortured soul. She wrapped both of her rotting hands around her son's throat and began to squeeze, cutting off the precious oxygen his body so desperately required to sustain life.

   Hisoka began to thrash and tear at the arms in a frantic and desperate attempt to pull death's hands away from his throat. His actions were futile as he only managed to tear away large handfuls of rotting flesh leaving behind exposed bone. His mind was in full panic, he couldn't breathe to scream and his eyes were blown wide, staring into those voids in his mother's now skeletal face. She drew closer, slowly descending upon him as she chanted over and over.

   "Hisoka, why did you do this? Why did you do this to me? I'm your mother. Hisoka? Hisoka! Hisoka! Hisoka!"

Abaki

   "Hisoka? Hisoka! Hisoka wake up!" Abaki cried out to her unconscious friend who now thrashed around in his bed and wasn't breathing as his own hands were wrapped tightly around his throat. She desperately tried to pry Hisoka's hands away to free his airway but couldn't get a good enough grip.

   She watched in horror as his usually pale, freckled face started to change to an angry shade of red and his lips began to turn blue. Shaking her head, Abaki turned and bolted for the door. Flinging it wide open, she screamed out into the hall, "HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE, ANYONE, HELP! IT'S HISOKA!"

   She looked back over her shoulder, tears of fright were streaming down her face. Terror gripped her heart as she feared she was going to lose her closest friend. That she was going to watch him die right in front of her, unable to help.

   Within seconds, Abaki could hear doors opening and hurried footsteps rushing in her direction. The first to the door was Magikana, barefooted and in her long sleeping gown.

   "Abaki vaht-" the magician's gaze darted from the frightened girl to the thrashing, dying boy. Her already wide eyes grew even wider as she pushed passed Abaki and made a beeline for her apprentice. As she made it to Hisoka's side, another showed up at the door in boxers, a tank top, and socks. It was the juggler that had seen Hisoka before the sideshows. His eyes grew wide with shock amd concern as he took in what was going on.

   "Do not just stand zere, Zane, hold him still for me!" Magikana snapped, struggling to hold Hisoka down the best she could. The juggler blinked then rushed over to help. He barely managed to grab hold of Hisoka's legs to pin them down.

   "Kids stro- OOF!" Zane was cut short when Hisoka unconsciously delivered a hard kick to Zane's gut, knocking the wind out of him a bit.

   The next person who appeared at the room's door was Moritonio in a house robe. With a quick look he immediately understood the dire circumstances, grabbed Abaki's wrist, and made his way towards the others.

   "Come girl," he instructed calmly, "we'll need your help, too."

   Moritonio drug a dazed Abaki with him over to the bedside opposite Magikana, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. Zane was now laying over Hisoka's struggling legs, keeping them pinned to the bed.

   "Press your hands on his chest, Abaki, try and keep him still as best as you can," the troupe leader ordered, "Kana, hold his shoulders, I'll try and pry away his hands."

   "Be careful as to not break his neck," she warned as she adjusted her position and pressed Hisoka's shoulders down into the mattress.

   Just as Moritonio took hold of Hisoka's wrists he noticed the boy's thrashing had diminished greatly, becoming nothing more than feeble twitches. A sense of dread washed over him as he realized what was happening.

   "Hisoka?" The boy's hands were still wrapped tightly around his own throat. Moritonio strained to carefully pull Hisoka's hands away. As he did so, Hisoka's nails drug across his own flesh leaving behind bright red trails in their wake. The moment his airway was free, a strange gurgling sound started to emit from the trainee's throat. The adults grew pale as Moritonio felt for a pulse. After a moment, he looked up at Magikana and shook his head.

   Abaki's chest grew tight and it felt like her heart had stopped. Her eyes grew wide and became brimmed with tears, gaze falling upon her friend's face, "H-Hisoka?"

   At the sound of her voice, Moritonio glanced over at Abaki and his eyebrows suddenly shot up; an idea came to mind. He looked back to Magikana who seemingly heard the ringleader's thoughts and she nodded. The magician then snapped her fingers at Zane to draw his attention away from the poor boy and onto her,

   "Quick, fetch zee doctor, ve vill do vaht ve can."

   Without question, Zane nodded and bolted out the door. As soon as he was gone Moritonio looked back to Abaki once more.

   "Abaki. Abaki!" The traumatized girl jumped a little and turned her focus to her troupe leader and nen master. "Listen to me carefully, Hisoka's heart has stopped as well as his other bodily functions. We could try to resuscitate him, but Kana and myself are not familiar with the methods and may make matters worse trying. However, we need to try something, and I may have just the thing. I want you to emit a small amount of energy into his body. Give it a jump start."

   Abaki blinked a few times, she was in a mild state of shock, "W-what? You want me to..." She looked down at her friend's lifeless body and nearly broke down. Magikana turned swiftly and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, shaking her just enough to snap the trainee's attention to the magician.

   "Listen carefully, if ve are to save Hisoka," she said in a cool, calm yet stern voice, "ve need you to listen to vingleader, okay?" Abaki nodded with a sniffle before looking over to her nen master.

   "O-okay, what do you need me to do?"

   "Place your dominant hand here," Moritonio instructed, pointing to an area of Hisoka's chest just over his heart. Abaki hesitated, but only for a moment, then she leaned forward and rested her hand lightly on his still chest. Her lip quivered but she kept it together and looked back up at her nen master.

   "Okay, what's next?"

   Moritonio spoke clearly and quickly as he explained to Abaki to move her nen to her hand. Once she had done that, she was to slowly and carefully emit her nen into Hisoka's fading residual nen. Abaki was terrified, she knew there were so many ways this could go wrong. She could accidentally force too much nen into her friend causing organs to be ruptured and bones crushed. Or she could completely fry his nervous system rendering him brain dead. She could even damage his aura nodes and cause him to become nenless.

   Tears started to spill from her eyes again when those horrid thoughts threatened to cloud her mind. She gave her head a little shake and bit her lip to help maintain focus. She understood why Moritonio was having her do this instead of himself. Emitting nen would flow smoother from a person who is naturally an emitter. With Moritonio being a transmuter, the task would most likely be more dangerous even though he was the more experienced nen user. The fact that her and Hisoka had been training their nen together for the past several weeks and were more intune with each other's nen was another positive factor.

   Abaki bit her lip a little harder as she felt the strain of her efforts start to fatigue her body. She had no idea how much time had passed. Seconds? Minutes? Or had it been hours? She honestly felt as though it had been the latter. Her eyes having been shut during most of the process, she wasn't even sure if Magikana and Moritonio were still there.

   Hisoka, please, wake up, her heart and mind pleaded as one. She pictured his warm, mischievous smile as he teased her about her crush on Camilla. Those sparkling amber eyes filled with life and excitement as he showed off his nen and magic tricks. She couldn't picture him any other way. This cold, still, lifeless body she was mixing her nen with was not, no, could not, be her friend.

   Her brow furrowed and her jaw tensed all the more as she pushed those happy memories of their short lived friendship down through her nen and into his. She now tasted blood coming from her abused lip, but she didn't care.

   Hiso, I'm not giving up on you. Wake up. Wake. Up. NOW!

   Abaki gave her waning nen a gentle but firm push in a last attempt to save her friend. The last of her nen energy that she could spare. She gasped and would have collapsed onto Hisoka if not for Magikana catching her and holding her upright.

   Her vision had begun to blur from over use of her nen, but she could see her friends' still, lifeless face. Moritonio checked for a pulse once again. After a moment his shoulders drooped and the look on his face became sad and grim.

   "H-Hiso?" Abaki whimpered. She began to reach towards him with trembling fingers when all of a sudden his entire body jerked.

   Abaki cried out in frightened surprise as Magikana pulled her back in sheer reaction; even Moritonio jumped back. Hisoka threw his head back into his pillows and his back arched greatly, lungs hungrily sucking in a massive breath. His bloodshot eyes were now wide open and possessed a frightened, feral look.

   When Hisoka started to flail again, Moritonio quickly stepped forward and grabbed the trainee's wrists in case he were to hurt himself again.

   "You're alright, boy," Moritonio calmly stated, "no need to thrash about, you're safe. Nothing and no one here is going to harm you. You're among friends."

   Hisoka blinked several times, pupils so constricted they were barely visible within their golden irises. He was obviously confused, not to mention terrified. He seemed to slowly recognize the older man as he began to settle down. Moritonio let go of Hisoka's wrists and slowly backed away a bit to give the boy a little more room to breathe. And breathe he did, for he was alive and now conscious to the waking world.

   Abaki let out a choked sob as an enormous wave of relief washed over her. She wanted to rush forward and hug her friend, but Magikana held her back. A task not too difficult since the girl was now quite weak herself.

   "Is best to let him rest, yes? Little one still has injuries."

   Abaki glanced up at the magician and saw that, she too, had tears in her eyes and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly. She looked back at Hisoka then reached out and gingerly took her friends hand. She winced a little at just how cold his usually warm hands had gotten. The touch made Hisoka look in Abaki's direction. His gaze was a little unfocused, and he still seemed a bit confused. He blinked a couple times before he attempted to speak.

   "Aba-" Hisoka, Magikana, and Abaki all winced in unison at the sound of Hisoka's voice. Broken, dry, hoarse, it sounded painfully horrible. Hisoka lightly touched his throat with his free hand then jerked it away with a ragged hiss. He then looked over to Magikana with a muddled expression.

   "Is bit of story," she sighed softly, reaching over and gently brushing the red raspberry hair out of the eyes of her apprentice. "Rest now, you are safe. Doctor should be here any minute now."

   As soon as the magician finished her sentence, a huffing, red faced Zane magically appeared through the door with an exhausted looking woman in tow. She wore medium length salt and pepper hair up in a messy bun, wore glasses, and carried a doctor's bag.

   "S-sorry it- *pant* took so long," Zane puffed, "She was *pant* asleep."

   "Well," the doctor mumbled under her breath, "it is the middle of the night." She spotted Hisoka and adjusted her glasses as she walked towards him. Moritonio stepped back to give the women more room while Magikana and Abaki stuck close on the opposite side.

   She instantly frowned upon a closer look at Hisoka and looked back over at the ringleader.

   "Is this the same boy that was attacked in the alley a couple days ago?" she asked, carefully tilting Hisoka's head up to get a better look at his neck.

   "Yes," Moritonio answered plainly.

   "These are not the injuries my colleague told me about, these are fresh," she glowered at the marks on Hisoka's neck and snapped her head back round angrily. "What happened to him? Who did this?"

   "It would appear that while the boy was in comatose he had a horrendous nightmare," the ringleader explained calmly. "He's been mumbling and talking in his sleep throughout most of this past day. We figured he would soon wake up, but instead, he attacked himself. He strangled himself to the point of losing consciousness once more, as well as he had stopped breathing."

   The doctor's face paled a few shades and even more serious, something Abaki had not thought possible just a moment ago.

   "Heartbeat?" Moritonio slowly shook his head.

   "How long?" she further inquired.

   "Close to thirty minutes I'd say."

   The doctor's frown depended and she continued her exam. She checked his eyes and listened to his vocal cords, heart, and lungs. Once that was done, she asked Hisoka to do some simple motor function tests which he completed relatively well. Abaki held Hisoka's hand while the doctor worked, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze whenever Hisoka flinched or seemed uncomfortable. She was relieved to feel the warmth returning to his fingers.

   When the doctor lifted his shirt, Hisoka's eyes blew wide with surprise. His attention was drawn to the vast collection of bruises and bandages all over his body as well as the ones on his arms and legs. He looked over at Magikana and Abaki. His trainer frowned and shook her head slightly, silently mouthing the words, "vill explain later".

   Finally the doctor sighed, removed her stethoscope and placed it back into her black bag.

   "Well," she started in a tired voice, "his vocal cords and trachea are damaged, but not to the point of needing hospital care, thankfully. The rest of his injuries seem to be coming along nicely; and quickly, might I add. But he will still need at least two weeks of bed rest, plenty of good food, and lots of water. You want to have him stretch a couple times a day so his muscles don't stay stiff all the time. It'll help up blood flow and healing as well. I will be back to check on him in a week, but call me or my colleague if anything strange starts to arise. Not breathing or having a heartbeat that long, I am honestly surprised he's doing as well as he is, all things considered."

   "Thank you, doctor," Morintonio replied solemnly.

   Abaki noticed the older man frowning at the doctor's news and how he exchanged looks with Magikana. This was an issue, the troupe was supposed to have been in the next town by now, but due to the recent events things had been put on hold. To put travels on hold for another two weeks could prove to be devastating to the troupe's finances.

   Moritonio motioned for Magikana to come with him as he walked with Zane and the doctor outside the room. She nodded then gently brushed Hisoka's hair once more.

   "Rest, little vun, I vill explain everyzing in zee morning." Hisoka frowned a little as he looked over his trainer's face. He then sighed through his nose and weakly nodded his head. She produced a tired smile and gently ruffled his already messy hair. Before she left, she retrieved two blue sports drinks from a nearby grocery bag and handed one to Abaki and Hisoka each.

   "Both of you, drink, rest," she instructed then focused on Abaki, "Stay viz him, I vill be back as soon as I can be." And with that she left the room.

   Abaki shifted her position so she could lean back against the headboard to rest more comfortably. She watched as Hisoka opened his bottle and chugged down over half of the blue liquid in one go, wincing from the pain as he swallowed.

   Once Hisoka drank his fill, he pulled the bottle away from his dry, cracked lips and took a large, shaky breath. He looked over to Abaki and the two friends stared in silence.

   I wonder if he knows that he nearly died. Well, I guess he actually did die. At least for a short bit there. Should we tell him if he doesn't know? Or would it be better left not telling him? I'm not sure if I would want to know that I did something like that to myself without knowing.

   Her mind continued to wander as she carefully examined the red haired teen. His dark and sunken blood shot eyes, messy hair, bruised and scratched face, then finally the freshly forming brushes on his neck. She felt her lips twitch as she surprised a grin and snorted through her nose.

   Hisoka blinked and opened his mouth to question her but quickly thought better of it. Instead, he closed his mouth and tilted his head, giving Abaki a look of inquiry.

   She couldn't help it, a wry, exhausted smile lightly danced across her lips as she said to her friend, "Hiso, you look like shit..."

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📜 A/N: Thank you so much for reading my story and I really hope you liked the chapter. If you did, please remember to heart and pass word along of this story! I do apologize for the long wait on this chapter, life just gets crazy sometimes, yah know?

Also, I wanna add that if you are feeling down, depressed, unstable, or think that you could cause harm to yourself or even others, please, please, please reach out and get help. Whether it be friends, family, or even someone from a help service, someone out there does does care about you and you do, in fact, matter! As a survivor of attempted suicide, and one who deals with Bi-Polar I Depression, I know that the battle can seem tough, endless, and just down right exhausting. I know that asking for help can be tough and scary, but the first step to anything worth while usually is.

With that said, I again thank you for reading, and please take care of yourself. Get lots of rest, sunshine, exercise, and drink plenty of water! Until next, laters!

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Next Chapter: Ch. 5 - Whispers of the Cards