#prompt: bruises

[serickswrites]

Answer Me

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, rescue, bruises, caretaker and whumpee

"I'm here, Whumpee. I'm here!" Caretaker shouted as they shouldered open the door to the basement. The others were taking care of Whumper. They only had one job and that was to find and free Whumpee.

But there was no response.

Panic clawed its way up Caretaker's throat as they moved. They had to hurry. Maybe Whumper had knocked Whumpee unconscious. Perhaps Whumpee was bleeding to death. "Hold on, I'm here. I'm right here!"

Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened and they could see Whumpee. Whumpee sat chained in a corner, but they were alive. Caretaker could see their body moving with each rapid breath. "Oh thank God, Whumpee."

But Whumpee did not respond.

"I'm here just hold on," Caretaker said as the hurried over.

Whumpee sat hunched over themself. Caretaker winced as they dropped to Whumpee's level and could see Whumpee's bruised and swollen face. Tears had dried and left tracks down their cheeks. "Oh, sweetheart, it's ok. I'm here, I've got you."

But still, Whumpee did not respond. They sat listlessly, staring at the ground, completely still except for their rapid breaths.

Caretaker cupped Whumpee's cheek. Whumpee's skin was freezing, but Whumpee didn't respond to Caretaker's touch at all. "Can you feel me, I'm right here, Whumpee?"

Even that did not get Whumpee to respond.

Caretaker knew they had to hurry. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. And they had to get Whumpee out of there.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[kitkatyes]

Summary:

The end of Operation: Party Crasher goes a little differently. Phoenix wakes up, hands bound uncomfortably behind their back.

[les-scripta]

Bruises

(Narcissa/Lily, 100 words, ao3, @sapphicmicrofics)

They are hidden away in the back of the library, quietly working on a potions essay, when Lily spots it. Narcissa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the sleeve of her robe slipping down her arm just enough to reveal the red handprint around her wrist. Narcissa forbids Lily from speaking of it, walks away if she tries. 

Lily counters with two bruises of her own.

A glimpse of Lucius’s black eye in the great hall provides no satisfaction. The purple mark at Narcissa’s collarbone, lovingly sucked into the Slytherin’s skin, gives Lily dangerous hope for the future.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Chapter 26

Glass Shards

Warnings: Lady whump, bruises and blood

This one is a fill for my shiny new BTHB.

There is a (very graphic) somewhere before/at the start of the next chapter: Collateral. Please heed the warnings.

Previous | Masterlist | Next [Bonus: Collateral] or Next [Chapter 27]

As soon as they arrived at the inn and Damien had made sure he could leave Merridy alone for a moment, he went to get a bucket of warm water. When he returned, she was sitting on the bed holding the mirror she had bought him weeks ago. She turned around when she heard his footsteps and screwed up her face.

“Looks really bad, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed,” he muttered, pushing one of the chests to the bed with his foot so that he could place the bucket on it. From their supplies, he retrieved a couple of clean rags and set them out. “And while I patch you up, you'd better tell me what happened. I was—” He broke off, running his hand through his hair. This wasn’t about him.

He sat down opposite her on the edge of the bed and lightly touched her chin so that she turned her head towards him. He tried to get a better look at her temple, but all he could see were the traces of blood. Whatever wound had caused them must be further up.

“Can I take your cap off?” he asked.

When she nodded, he pulled the cap off her head, very carefully. There was no way for him to know if it wasn’t stuck to her bloody hair. When he finally got a glimpse of the injury, a quiet ”fuck” escaped him.

Merridy flinched. “That bad?” she asked, her voice trembling. He couldn’t tell whether it was because of his touch or his exclamation. 

At first, he wanted to cover up his worry, but then he realized that there would be no point. “Pretty bad at first glance. I’ll wash off the blood first.” He reached for one of the rags, dipped it in the water, and then carefully began to dab the area around the wound. The cloth and the water in the bucket quickly turned red.

Beneath the blood, he found a tear about a finger long that stretched from her temple to above her ear. At least it didn’t seem to be too deep. “It doesn’t look quite so bad now,” he tried to reassure her—and himself. It was bleeding a bit. Damien assumed that some of the dried blood had stuck to the cap, reopening the wound as he had removed it. He tried to remember everything he had ever learned about field medicine. “Did you lose consciousness?” he asked one of the first things that came to his mind.

“No.” 

Well, that was something at least. “That’s good. I should probably get a healer to look at it, though.”

“No healer.” Merridy gave him a pleading look. “Please. I’m fine.”

“Fine. But please, tell me if you feel strange. Confused. Anything that isn’t normal, okay?”

With a sigh, he threw the cloth into the bucket and reached for a fresh one, which he folded into a small square and held on the injury. “Can you hold this until it stops bleeding? I don’t want to press too hard. I’m going to get some fresh water. I’ll be right back.”

Before going to the kitchen to get his bucket refilled with warm water, he emptied it in the backyard, and washed out the bloody rag with cold water. Back in the room, he put the bucket back on the chest and looked toward the bed, where Merridy had laid out a light shirt and loose pants. He could imagine that she was eager to get rid of her dirty clothes. Still, Damien would have to finish tending to her wound first. He took the cloth from her hand and was relieved to find that the bleeding had stopped for the time being. With Merridy’s help, he put a temporary bandage around her head, which probably wouldn’t last very long, but should at least prevent her from accidentally hurting herself while changing.

Finally, he pushed the chest closer to the bed and tested the temperature of the water again. It was pleasant; not hot, but not too cold either.

“Do you need soap?” he asked Merridy.

She shook her head, probably a little too violently, because she winced and squeezed her eyes shut. He could imagine that the movement must have left her dizzy, if not caused her pain.

“Are you going to be okay?”

This time, she seemed to decide against moving her head. “Yes,” she mumbled, her eyes still half closed.

“All right, I’ll—”

He scratched his head. It seemed ridiculous to him to turn around and stare at the wall, but he didn’t want to leave the room, either. He didn’t want to admit it in front of her, but her wound terrified him. By the Seven, his father had died of a head injury. He wished she’d let him get a healer.

“Stay,” she said softly, and he didn’t know if she was just allowing him to stay, or asking him to at the same time. He nodded and made his way towards his things, hoping to keep himself busy with picking up whatever he had thrown carelessly on the floor the previous night.

After a few moments, a quiet sob made him drop the shirt he had been holding and forget all his resolutions. He turned around to see Merridy sitting on the bed, still wearing all her dirty clothes.

“I can’t,” she whispered. She was sitting there all hunched up, pressing her arms against her sides. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind, but he forced himself to remain calm.

“What can’t you do?” he asked while approaching the bed, very slowly and carefully, as if he could scare her with a sudden movement.

“Undress. Can’t move.” As if to prove it, she reached for the hem of her shirt and tried to lift it. She barely got to the level of her shoulders before she gasped and slumped back down. 

Damien sat down on the bed and looked at her for a moment. “Do you want me to help you?” he finally inquired.

When Merridy nodded—very faintly and very slowly—Damien dared to move closer. He grabbed the fabric of the shirt, which was fortunately very loose, and carefully pulled it up to her neck. One arm at a time he directed through the openings, then lifted the fabric further and pulled it over her head, careful not to get too close to the wound. A second, tighter shirt appeared underneath. Pulling it off her in the same way proved a bit more difficult, but eventually that was accomplished as well. The moment he pulled the shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor, he drew in a sharp breath. Around her chest she had still wrapped strips of cloth to hide the telltale curves and make her role as a boy more believable, but he could already see that her entire upper body was covered in dark bruises.

“You fell?” he asked when he finally regained his speech.

Merridy looked down at herself. He watched as she moved her hand as if to touch the discolorations, but then let it sink before she finished the movement.

“Mmm. Out of a window,” she mumbled.

Damien closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then opened them again and gently began to unwind the lengths of cloth. As the last one fell, the full extent of the injuries became visible. Large bruises had formed under her skin, but worst of all was the line that ran diagonally across her torso, so dark that it seemed almost black.

“Out of a window?” he repeated Merridy’s words while just staring at her. Where on earth was he supposed to start?

“On the… second floor,” she then admitted haltingly, and he shook his head.

“Onto a pile of stones? And after that a herd of cattle ran over you?”

Now he dared to touch her carefully after all. On the dark line, her skin had also been affected, was scraped and sore there.

“No. Onto some flower po— ow! Ow.” 

His touch had probably not been light enough after all. He hurriedly withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair.

“I don’t know if I can help you. It looks terrible. Are you sure you don’t want me to get a healer?”

Merridy shook her head. “No. Please. I just want to be clean again, eat something, and sleep for a few weeks.”

Damien quietly mumbled something to himself while reaching for the rag. Merridy looked at him questioningly and he repeated his words. “I said if you just sleep for a few weeks, at least you can’t get into trouble.”

“Wanna bet?” she replied with a cheeky grin, but immediately screwed up her face again when he reached for her hand and wiped her palms with the rag. He didn’t comment on the numerous scratches, instead silently working his way up her arm to her shoulder, where he removed some blood that had dried there. Uncertainly, he looked at the scraped skin on Merridy’s chest. There was no way he’d be able to touch her without hurting her, and it probably wasn’t necessary anyway. The layers of clothing and bandages would have prevented her wounds from becoming dirty.

With a quiet sigh, he turned his attention towards her second arm and hand instead. When he was done with that, he wanted to reach for the clean shirt, but Merridy held him back.

“Would you…” She faltered and lowered her eyes in embarrassment. “My hair,” she then continued more quietly. “It’s dirty and it smells. Would you wash it, too? Please?”

Seeing how difficult this simple request was for her, Damien’s chest tightened. “Of course,” he assured her immediately, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms. “Where’s your brush? And your soap?”

Merridy pointed to one of her boxes. Damien rose from the bed to retrieve the soap, a comb and hairbrush before sitting back down. When Merridy turned her back to him, he raised his hand to stroke a few of her strands before loosening the makeshift bandage.

“I know it’s hard with one hand. Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, and Merridy nodded. 

Very carefully, Damien then began to brush out the ends of her hair. He was less squeamish with himself, but even if she wasn’t normally particularly sensitive, her head injury would make any tug on her hair torture. Whenever he came to a knotted or tangled area, he could feel Merridy wince. Sometimes she gave a soft cry of pain, causing him to pause his efforts for a moment, but she didn’t ask him to stop.

When Merridy’s hair finally hung smoothly from her head, he reached for the cloth, which he dipped into the bucket and wrung out.

“Thank you,” Merridy whispered softly as he stroked her hair again, massaging a bit of soap in, then washing it out as best as he could. Far more often than would have been necessary, he let her strands glide through the damp cloth. When he was reasonably sure he had gotten as much of the soap out as possible, he switched to a new cloth, drying her hair instead. It was clean again, smelling faintly of lavender, and the small smile as Merridy pulled one of the strands close to her face made his heart flutter.

Finally finished, he put the rags aside and helped Merridy into the clean shirt. With mixed feelings, he then looked at the pants she had laid out. She wouldn’t need any help with that, would she? He thanked the Seven when she denied his question.

“I’ll get something to eat, and then you’ll finally tell me which flower pot I have to beat up for hurting you,” he tried to cover his self-consciousness with a joke. He felt Merridy’s gaze on him as he left the room.

Damien even managed to talk the cook into a piece of apple pie by telling her that his beloved wife was finally back and he wanted to surprise her. With the pie and some soup and bread in the familiar bucket, he climbed the stairs to her room. This time, he knocked before opening the door, and only when he heard a soft “come in” did he enter the room. 

Merridy had dressed in the meantime, at least that’s what he suspected. The clean pants had disappeared and the dirty ones were lying on the floor. He couldn’t see it, though, because she had already crawled under the covers, a few pillows at her back.

After putting the bucket down, he took out the cup full of soup, checked the temperature, and then handed it to her. Seeing her clasp her hands around the cup, soak up the warmth, and then take a sip with relish made him smile. He gave her a few moments, then broke off a piece of the bread and leaned against the foot of the bed.

“Now tell me,” he prompted her, and she did. About her visit to Cedric, about her way through the city and about how she had discovered and scouted out the house. Damien hadn’t eaten in more than a day, but as he listened to her he forgot that he was holding a piece of bread in his hand. When she told him how she had gotten stuck under the sofa, there was a tightness in his chest, and when she then described her fall, he put the barely touched bread completely aside.

“I’m so sorry, Merry. This is all my fault.”

“Nonsense,” she snapped at him, making him wince. “Stop blaming yourself for everything. I’ve gotten sloppy. In the old days, it would never have happened to me. I was in a hurry and I made mistakes. That’s my own fault.”

At her words, she had leaned forward, holding the cup in one hand and gesturing with the other. Now she grimaced, cowering and gasping for breath. Damien took the cup from her hand, placed it on the table and watched her helplessly.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was just so terribly worried,” he muttered. And he still worried as he watched her close her eyes, take choppy, shallow breaths and press her right arm against her chest.

“The letter… it’s there,” Merridy said quietly, pointing in the approximate direction with her other hand. 

Damien forced himself to follow the gesture with his gaze and spotted a crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor next to the dirty clothes. He slid off the bed, picked up the letter, and then turned it indecisively in his hands. As great as his curiosity was, his concern for her was greater at that moment. He would have preferred to call a healer after all, but he knew she’d hate him for it.

“Read it already,” Merridy prompted him

Damien sat back down, unfolded the paper, and smoothed it out on his leg. It was a short letter. Josephine told her parents how she and Valadan had settled in a place called Nimrisé. She told them about Valadan’s new job in the workshop of one of the local carpenters, and how friendly the neighbors were. And she told them not to worry, as there had been no sign of ‘her husband’s brother’ so far. Nevertheless, she promised to keep a close eye on her family—on her son specifically.

While reading, Damien’s tears had started to run freely down his face. They seriously believed that he was after them after his escape from the dungeon. They believed he would want to harm the child. He had seen the hatred in his brother’s eyes, but until that moment he had not realized what a monster Valadan thought he was.

“I have to find him,” he spoke in a raspy voice when he finally regained his composure a bit. “I have to explain to him that I… I’d never… I have to try and fix this.”

Merridy had caught her breath while she had looked over his shoulder and read the letter as well. “Then we’ll find him,” was all she said now, wrapping her arms around Damien, careful not to touch him with her injured upper body. “In a few weeks it will be warmer again, and by then I will have recovered, too. Then we’ll be on our way.”

Damien enjoyed her embrace for a moment, then freed himself and turned around so he could look at her. “Merry…” he began, but she put a finger to his lips.

“If you ask me now if I really want to come with you, I’ll hit you,” she threatened, placing her finger n his chest instead.”You should have realized by now that you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

[ID: The top image is a banner covered in colorful glass shards. Across it is written the title of the story, glass shards, in a white to bright cyan gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a broad paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup​​​ @kixngiggles​​​ @starlit-hopes-and-dreams​​​ @badthingshappenbingo​

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

The ring was small and silver with a single emerald embedded in the metal.

It wasn’t something flashy, it probably cost less than the smallest gem from his vault all together.

But it was perfect.

Which made it so heartbreaking to turn it down.

“Dick.. you know me so well.. I wish I could take this ring, i really do.”

Dick was still on one knee in the little apartment, but he put the small box down on the floor as he asked.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Danny let out a bitter chuckle,

“The US government.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember.

Oh, He Wants

Week #2 Prompt: Backseat/Clothes On/Bruise | Word Count: 4608 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Unprotected Sex, Bodily Fluids | Tags: Clothes On, Until They're Off, First Time, Virgin Eddie, Horny Boys in Love, Dry Humping, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, Barebacking

Note: It's backseat sex. Suspension of disbelief is often required for this trope. Like the Tardis, it's simply bigger on the inside than it appears, haha.

The windows are steamed up, condensation rolling down the glass, as Steve lays on top of Eddie, grinding down against him, over and over again. Steve kind of thought that was just a thing from movies, not something that actually happens in real life. But they've been at this for at least an hour, both breathing heavily, slowly heating up the car, literally fogging up the windows. 

He feels his face flushing, and his chest is heaving as he keeps rutting against Eddie underneath him. Fingers digging into his arms, his shoulders, his neck. Probably hard enough to bruise. Just clinging to him anywhere he can reach.

It's slow, and steady, and the feeling of Eddie's cock pressed against his, even through all the layers of underwear and jeans, is really working for him. Steve's never been much of a backseat makeout kind of guy. He always had other places for that: Skull Rock. Under the bleachers. The last row of The Hawk. Not to mention there's never been a bedroom window he hasn't been willing to crawl through to fool around with a girl right in her own bed, her parents none the wiser.

But with Eddie? He'll get into the cramped backseat and love it. All day, all night, because he gets it now. He understands, wholly. The thrill of feeling like they are sneaking around, of getting by with something, even if they have other places to be together in private other than an abandoned dirt road.

They could hole up in Steve's big, empty house. Or at Wayne's place when he's gone at work all night. And they have. Make-out sessions that leave them both gasping for breath, needing, wanting.

Jeans, underwear sticky from coming in them as they pushed each other over the edge.

But this is different. Illicit and thrilling. He could take Eddie to a bed, he has every opportunity. Instead, they're here. Pulled off along a dead end dirt road.

And it's good. The shared breaths, the confined space, all of it.

It's a heady mix of lust, and love. Steve's fallen fast, and hard. Just like he always does. He'll never learn, and he knows he's probably headed for another heartbreak after Eddie's wrung out everything he wants from him, leaving the rest. 

Tonight they've kissed so much, so hard, Steve's sure his lips are bruised at this point. But he can't get enough of Eddie. He'll never get enough. He almost lost him before he'd even found him, and he's not gonna waste another minute more.

For as long as this lasts, he's all in. He's gathered up the pieces of his broken heart before, and he could do it again. Would do it again, for Eddie. 

It's worth it. Eddie's worth it. Love, too. He's probably hopeless. Robin would definitely say so, but he wants it so fucking bad. To be loved. To be someone's first pick, to go in the first round, to build a dynasty together. 

Okay, maybe the sports metaphors are a bit much, especially for Eddie, who wouldn't appreciate them. But Steve feels like he's been drafted to the future he wants, if he can only hold onto it, long term. 

Eddie is everything he's been looking for. He loves him. He's sure of it, even if that's never been spoken between them. 

Steve pulls back to suck in a quick breath, all panting and soft eyes, "Hi." 

Eddie smiles, lips swollen and red, "Hi." 

And Steve dives back in. Pressing his lips to Eddie's neck, his tongue sneaking out to taste salty skin. All he wants is this. To lay here and kiss, and grind, and just be close to each other. Nothing else to worry about other than this minute, and the one that follows after.

It might last a month, a year, or a lifetime. Tonight though, he's drunk on the feeling of Eddie under his body, the way they can't seem to get enough of each other. Hands roaming, bodies crushed together.

Steve hasn't felt like this in a long fucking time, if ever. This attracted to someone. Just being with them because you can. 

Because you want to. 

And Steve? He wants to be with Eddie in all the ways.

"Here. Let me readjust," Eddie says, and Steve lifts up his hips, as Eddie sticks his hand down in his jeans, under the waistband without unbuttoning them, into his boxers. It's fucking hot, for some reason.

To see his whole hand disappear, knowing what he's doing. Steve wants that to be his hand. To close around the hard, silky warmth. To feel the weight against his palm. To see if holding another man's cock in his hand actually feels any different. He bets that it does.

Eddie makes the adjustment he needs to make, then pulls his hand back out, and Steve re-lowers himself again to reestablish contact.

Goddamn, now Steve can feel even more of his length. Hard and ready, under him. 

He wants to put his mouth on him. Use every ounce of knowledge he has from girls sucking his cock, and apply them to doing the same to Eddie. Take all the best tricks and move forward, and leave all the worst ones behind in the past. 

He rolls his hips, and Eddie moans, in response, and it makes Steve smile.

"Like that?" he asks, keeping up the same soft, slow roll of his hips.

"Fuck yeah, I like it," Eddie answers, breath catching in his throat, his hands finding Steve's hips, not forcing him to move any faster, nor any harder, just holding him, desperate to feel the motion they're making together.

To hear the sound of the rough denim scratching together in the quiet of the car. Steve had turned the key to accessory mode to keep the radio on, but that went off long ago, now. And he's glad. He just wants to hear the sound of Eddie's breathing, and the rustling noises of their bodies moving together.

They haven't shed a bit of clothing, but they don't need to. This is so good on its own. 

He likes the cramped space, the feeling of being cocooned with him, like they are the only people on earth that matter at this exact moment in time. 

Then, Eddie is twisting under him, and seems to be all knees and elbows. But he squirms, and Steve leans back to see where this is going. He's unsure, but vows to just stay out of his way, and let it play out. He'll follow Eddie's lead, no matter where he's headed.

Surprising Steve, Eddie rolls onto his belly, bumping and jostling Steve the whole time. And Steve watches, trying to let him get situated, just enthralled as Eddie's hands are clearly moving beneath him. Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Then he's pushing his jeans down onto his thighs. Plaid boxers still covering his ass. 

Steve grips his hips, unsure. 

Steve's not even sure what Eddie needs. Or what he needs. He's never had sex with a man before. He's willing, and he wants, oh, he wants, but he can't ask for what he's never had. He doesn't have the words. 

He's not sure Eddie does either. 

But he's pretty sure they can't fuck in a car. He doesn't know much, but he thinks he knows that. 

He's satisfied with this, he'd be satisfied with anything, when it comes to Eddie.

Steve unbuttons his own jeans, pushing them down, and then presses his underwear-clad dick right against Eddie's ass. And presses down, testing, trying it out. He makes small thrusts against him, finding a rhythm and it must be right, because Eddie moans beneath him. 

"Goddamn," Steve breathes out. 

Steve's pretty sure Eddie wants this, maybe more, by the way he's providing the counterpoint. Pushing back, helping keep the rhythm. 

He's never been with a guy before Eddie, but he's been with plenty of girls, and knows horny when he sees it. And Steve wants to fuck him. Wants to slide into him, feel their bodies connected and Eddie all around him. 

Hell, he wants to rub off on him, just like this. Anything. Everything. 

He just wants to make Eddie feel good. He wants them both to feel good. 

"Is it good?" Steve breathes out. 

And Eddie nods. Hair moving. Shaking up and down. 

Steve takes a hand from one of Eddie's hips, and brushes the loose hair from his neck, and then bends down, kissing his slick skin. 

Then, he wants to at least see more. 

So, he pulls down Eddie's boxers, revealing the shock of white skin. He's so pale. Even here in the dark. Maybe even more now that he survived the bats. Like all that lost blood never quite returned to his circulatory system. 

There are jagged scars on his hips, and Steve is familiar with those himself. But they are somehow opposites. Steve's sides still look webbed with streaks of white on tanned skin. Like they were able to heal, but not disappear. Only fading with time. In contrast, Eddie's are dark against his pale skin, still reddened.

They're different, but the same. A matched set, both having survived the same terrible version of hell together.

They made it. Just not unscathed. 

And that's okay. 

Then he grips both of Eddie's ass cheeks, and spreads them apart. It's dark in the car. Nearly too dark to see, everything hidden in shadow, but what he can make out by the moonlight is enticing.

He digs his fingers into Eddie's ass, kneading a little, and then lines up. Cock bumping against Eddie's asshole through the remaining layer of Steve's underwear, and it sends Eddie scrabbling at the leather seats, with no way to find purchase. 

It feels good for Steve, and it clearly does for Eddie, too.

"Fuck me," Eddie whines, begging. 

Steve can't fuck him. Can't just slide inside. No matter how much he wants to. Eddie's not slick and open and ready like a girl, even if he's just as willing. 

But Steve brushes his thumb against his opening, then pulls his thumb back, licks it, getting it wet and sloppy with spit, and does it again. Pressing against his hole, but not trying to push inside. 

Eddie arches off the seat, moaning. 

Steve wants to eat him out. Eating pussy always got him going. Got his dick hard, and ready. He's absolutely certain eating Eddie's ass would do the same. 

He doesn't know how they could possibly make room for that in here, though. 

They'll have to do other stuff. 

Steve presses himself upwards. As close to upright as he can get in the backseat of his car, his head and neck crammed against the roof, the soft lining tickling the back of his neck, as he unbuttons his jeans and wrangles them off his body, struggling with the lack of room.

But getting them off. Tossed out of the way.

And he knows shouldn't, but he does. He pushes his underwear down under his dick, and slides the head of his cock right against Eddie's hole. Pressing against him. Steve's leaking, because he's been leaking all fucking night, making a wet spot in his underwear, but now that helps slick the way.

Not enough to fuck, but enough to glide against him, definitely.

"This okay?" Steve asks. 

"Yes, yes," Eddie answers, "fuck yes."

So, Steve takes his cock in hand, and rubs the head right against Eddie. And Eddie whines, and pushes back. 

Another bead of precum slides out, right against Eddie's warm skin. 

Maybe they could rut here until he finishes between his cheeks. Come splattering his hole. Fuck. The thought. 

But there's more he wants to do first. 

"Flip," Steve says, and with some sloppy, slightly dangerous maneuvering, Eddie does. Again on his back, looking up at Steve. 

Steve pulls his own underwear back up, but forces Eddie's jeans and boxers down even further, until he can slip them off one of Eddie's legs, leaving them dangling off the other. 

Then he heaves Eddie's legs over his shoulders, bumping them on the roof of the car, making Eddie fold himself nearly in half to make the angle in this limited amount of space work. 

Eddie's cock is hard, wet and dripping at the tip, laying back against his belly, begging for attention. But Steve bypasses it. Instead, nudging behind Eddie's balls, and swiping his tongue against his hole. 

Eddie keens, letting out a wild noise that makes Steve's cock throb in his underwear. Getting even wetter.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Eddie whispers, mainly to himself, Steve thinks. 

He looks fucking hot all contorted like this, spine bowed, hands in Steve's hair. Pulling. Tugging. Clawing. 

And Steve keeps licking him, before pressing the tip of his tongue inside, making Eddie gasp. He wonders if he could eat him out enough to loosen him up to fuck.

He'd definitely be willing to try. It's musky and earthy, and not at all bad, even if he feels a little naughty doing this. Especially tasting the salty traces of himself there. As if he's staked his claim. As if the taboo-ness of it makes it even hotter. 

Steve pulls back, and spits on his fingers. This isn't ideal. They can't go from zero-to-fucking, but that seems like exactly what they'd both like to happen tonight. 

But he presses the tip of one inside alongside his tongue.

"I've never," Eddie groans, "uh, never even, oh fuck, gotten head. And Steve Harrington is eating my ass. What is happening?" 

Steve stills at that. Well, leave it to him to skip a few bases. 

He scoots forward, pressing his chest against the back of Eddie's thighs.

"Can I? Can I do that?" Steve asks, searching his eyes.

And Eddie nods, emphatically, "Fuck. Yes. Please. Anything. You can do anything." 

He sounds shocked and borderline hysterical, but in a good way. A really, really good way. 

Steve feels like maybe Eddie's gonna be his undoing. And isn't that a hell of a drug to have rushing through your veins?

Steve wants to slide into the floorboard, but his driver's seat is too far back. 

He can fix that. He lowers Eddie's legs, and leans over the seat, reaching the lever, scooting it up as far as it'll go. 

Then he wedges himself down on the floorboard, and cups Eddie's bare hips. Sliding the still dangling clothes off Eddie's leg, and tosses them up front with his own, out of the way. Eddie's still got his shirt on, but so does Steve, and that's okay. Kinda hot, even.

He takes in the sight of Eddie laying there, cock hard, the base surrounded by wild, dark hair. Even his cock looks like it belongs on Eddie, somehow. 

He's gorgeous. 

"You're gorgeous," Steve tells him, meeting his eyes. 

"Stop," Eddie whines, looking embarrassed. He shouldn't be. He is gorgeous. How nobody else ever did this for him, how they never wanted to see him looking like this, is actually insane. Crazy. 

Steve presses both thumbs onto the dips of his hips, "If you actually want me to stop, say so. If not, I'm gonna eat you alive."

Eddie's dick jerks and bounces at that promise, and Steve grins, "That's what I thought." 

He wraps his hand around Eddie's girth, sliding, giving a slow stroke, before pushing his hand down towards the base of his dick to keep his pubes out of the way, and out of his mouth. Then he lowers his head, sliding the head of Eddie's cock between his lips. Eddie's never gotten head, and Steve's never given it, but they're in this thing together now.

And Steve couldn't be happier about it.

He glides his mouth up and down, not going too far, definitely not brave enough to take him very deep. Eddie doesn't seem to mind, with all the noises he's making. So, Steve keeps it up. Finds a rhythm, using his mouth, his hand, and it doesn't take long. 

Steve feels Eddie's dick harden further, knows that tell-tale sign.

"I'm gonna," Eddie says, and Steve nods, squeezing his hip with his free hand.

And Eddie does. Comes in his mouth, and Steve doesn't know what to do with it. He holds it there for a few seconds, and then lifts his shirttail, and spits in it.

Maybe not the first choice, but it worked, and Steve pulls his now wet shirt over his head, tossing it away with their jeans.

Eddie claws at him, pulling him towards his face, and Steve kisses him. Over and over. Hoping he's tasting himself on Steve's tongue.

Eddie tilts his head, pulling back, and Steve lets him go.

"I. I need," Eddie says, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

"What do you need?" Steve asks, hand brushing the hair off his forehead, to get a better look at him. He'll give him anything.

"I need you to eat me out some more," Eddie says, head twisted to the side, not looking at Steve. As if he's embarrassed to ask for this.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, surprised, but happy.

And Eddie nods.

Steve maneuvers his body backwards towards the other door, and then gets Eddie's legs up over his shoulders again, and goes all in. Licking, pressing in with his tongue. Eddie's whole body is loose from his orgasm, and sliding the tip of his tongue inside is a little easier, now. So, he licks, and presses his tongue flat against the furled skin, loving the sounds Eddie makes. Breathy moans, heady whines.

"Steve, Steve," Eddie says, "Can you? Can you fuck me?"

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's sweat-slick skin, "Are you sure? We don't have to do this now. We can wait. Do it right."

"Do it now," Eddie begs, "do it, do it." 

Okay, Steve will do it now. If he can. If he has anything to make that happen. He digs around in his bag on the other side of the floorboard, and comes up with a strip of three condoms. But nothing to use as lube.

The condoms are lubricated, and he opens all three, sliding one on his dick, and then getting all the lube off the others as best as he can. With that, and the foreplay, he thinks it just might be enough. 

It's not a lot of lube to work with, but he's finally knuckle deep, and Eddie's making good noises. Which he finds encouraging. 

"Have you ever?" Steve asks, twisting his finger, and then adding a second. Eddie groans, and presses back against his hand. And well, he's not acting like this is the first time something's been in his ass.

"Only to myself," Eddie says, and Steve puts that on the list of things to try alone, now. To see what it feels like. Steve wishes Eddie were slicker, but this is what they've got to work with. 

He'll have to see if it's enough, now.

"If it hurts, let me know. We'll stop." 

"I like a little pain," Eddie admits. 

"Well, if it's bad pain and not the good kind, speak up," Steve tells him. He definitely doesn't want to hurt him. What a shitty first time that would be.

Eddie nods, and Steve starts pressing the head of his cock against Eddie with steady, solid pressure. Not rushing, but not pussy footing around, either. He's not scared of sex. It's one thing that he feels confident about, and he can't see why that'd change today. 

But it's not slick enough. Eddie doesn't give under him. Not at all. Fuck. 

He pulls back. 

"What? No," Eddie says, reaching for him. 

"This is gonna hurt like this, there's gotta be something in here we can use," Steve says. 

Because there has to be something. Anything. 

And he hits the jackpot. A bottle of aloe vera in the console. Left over from summer, he's sure. When the girls wanted to get oiled up to tan faster, and Robin just burned. Badly. 

He squirts some on his fingers, and presses one inside Eddie. The sound Eddie makes is something he'll take to the grave. It was that good. 

Once he has him slicked up and even more open, he's gone a little soft from the concentration, and when he tries to get filled out and the condom back on right, it tears. Fuck. And he used all the others he had trying to get some lube off of them.

He crawls on top of Eddie, putting the bottle down by his head, "Please tell me you have a condom in your wallet. 

"I don't," Eddie admits. 

And Steve punches out a breath, cupping Eddie's cheek, "That's okay. Next time."

He presses his mouth to Eddie's, tongue sliding back in. Eddie wraps one arm around his back, and tilts up his hips. 

Then he takes his other, working it between them, guiding the tip of Steve's cock right against him. 

And Steve moves his hips to rub against him. 

"Oh," Eddie breathes out, "Oh, Jesus Christ. Fuck. Goddamn." 

Steve grins, "That's what I like to hear." 

And Eddie laughs. Steve likes to hear that even more. 

"Fuck me," Eddie says. 

"I don't have-" 

"And I don't care right now. I've never been with anyone, so this is your call." 

Steve's good. Eddie knows it, too. Robin made them all get tested at some event in Chicago, where she was stretching her little lesbian wings, both of them just along for the ride. 

They shouldn't. But they could.

"Steve." 

And Steve nods. 

He inches in, head of his cock popping past that tight ring of muscle, then letting Eddie adjust. Even as it feels like a fucking vice grip on his dick. He wonders what it feels like to be on the receiving end. He hopes he gets to be on the other side of this, and soon.

"I can't wait until I get to do this," Steve says, because he can't. He wants it. He wants it all. 

"I'm almost ready, I think," Eddie answers, and Steve screws up his face, thinking. Finally realizing. 

"Not that," Steve says, hands running down Eddie's thighs, loving the feel of the hair there, tickling his palm. He's so fucking bisexual that he isn't sure how he ignored it until Eddie. Like, it seems absurd, now. 

"Not that, take all the time you need," Steve says, reaching his hand down, touching where they are connected. "This. I can't wait until you fuck me. If you want to. Do you want to?" 

"Fuck, Steve," Eddie says, "of course I want to. But if you keep making me think about that, I'm gonna come again before we even get started." 

Steve might just have the same problem. He's never been inside anyone without a condom before, and he's never done anal at all. He's overwhelmed, overstimulated, in the best way. 

Steve chuckles, stroking Eddie's skin, laying a kiss on the inside of his knee, then resting his cheek there, eyes still gazing towards Eddie's face, "Okay. I'll quit." 

"Thank you," Eddie teases, rocking back just a little, clenching down on Steve. 

Testing. Trying it out. And even if it's hard to stay still, so hard Steve swears he's about to break a sweat from it, he lets Eddie go at his own pace until he's sliding up and down on Steve's cock.

It's over fast. Before it really starts, honestly. They just barely get a rhythm going, Eddie fisting his own dick, then groaning as he clenches down on Steve as he comes. That's all it takes, Steve has to make a decision, "In or out?"

"Are you crazy? In," Eddie demands, tightening his legs around Steve, punctuating his answer. Steve thrusts a handful more times, uneven and hurling towards the point of no return, before following him over the edge. 

Coming inside Eddie. 

Goddamn.

After he catches his breath, he slips out, watching, and slides back into the floorboard, knees against rough carpet, and immediately presses his tongue to Eddie's cock-loosened hole. 

"Oh, fuck. I died. I died, the bats got me, and this all in my poor, oxygen deprived head," Eddie rambles, and Steve pulls back to laugh. That's when he sees that Eddie has the back of his hand on his forehead, like he's in fear of fainting. 

He's ridiculous.

"I'm hypoxic."

So ridiculous. 

"Not likely." 

And Steve puts his tongue back on Eddie, in him, tasting himself. And the bitter aloe. But mainly himself. He's fucking his tongue in and out, just eating him the fuck out some more. If Eddie wants this, Steve's happy to be face-deep forever. 

In fact, this is gonna be his new thing. He's decided. 

He gets lost in the feeling. He only takes breaks to bury his nose in Eddie's pubes, inhaling the musky smell of him. He feels like a pervert, but doesn't fucking care. Eddie's a self-proclaimed freak, and by god, Steve's gonna be a freak right along with him.

"Steve. Steve," Eddie says, and Steve finally pulls back. Eyes heavy, and hooded.

"Oh, fuck," Eddie says, pulling on him, tugging until he slides up his body, mouths sliding together, slick.

Getting lost in just being together. Basking in the afterglow, the heady smell of sex surrounding them in the car.

Bodies grinding. And Eddie is hard again, but so is Steve. How long was he down there? And when can he go back?

Eddie starts wiggling, and rolls over, again. Like he can't stay still. But it's worth it. Now, his ass is right there. Pretty, used hole looking right back at Steve. 

He's gonna put his tongue in it again. 

"Again," Eddie says, and Steve doesn't need to be told twice. He moves to scoot down, but Eddie whines, "Your dick. Not your tongue, even if that's gonna be the star of every wet dream I have from now until my inevitable demise." 

"Okay, okay," Steve says, smiling at his weird, but endearing, rambling as he slicks himself back up, squirting more aloe on Eddie, watching as he jumps, "Sorry. Cold, I know."

Then he slides right back inside. No resistance now, all slick give, and soft moans. Hole gripping him, sucking him in, as if it wants him there as much as he wants to be there.

Fucking him for real this time. The edge off, so he's able to actually set a rhythm. And in the moonlit car, he watches his cock slide in and out of Eddie. 

Then he slides all the way out, and rubs the head of his cock against the warm, welcoming opening, the place he's meant to be, just teasing Eddie as he gets to watch. The sight of Eddie stretching, opening, as the head of his cock finally slips back inside, is so fucking hot. 

"I wish you could see this," Steve says, then adds, "because, fuck, I love…this," Steve says, catching himself, pivoting his words, and Eddie laughs, which makes him clench around Steve.

"I love you, too," Eddie says, not letting him get by with it, and Steve presses in all the way, stopping. Chest heaving, tears burning his eyes. 

"You do?" Steve asks, desperate for that to be true. 

"Don't be obtuse," Eddie says, and Steve's not exactly sure what that means, but he gets the message. Loud and clear. And then Eddie doubles down, and it's music to Steve's ears, hearing him say, "Of course I love you." 

Steve pulls almost all the way out, and slams back in. A punctuation, as he says, "I love you. I love you, too." 

And he fucking does. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesmuttyseptember and follow along with the filthy fun! 💦

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Bruises

Bruises - or ecchymoses

A discoloration and tenderness of the skin or mucous membranes.

Due to the leakage of blood from an injured blood vessel into the tissues.

Pupura - bruising as the result of a disease condition.

A very small bruise is called a petechia.

These often appear as many tiny red dots clustered together, and could indicate a serious problem.

Pattern of a Bruise

Bruises change colors over time in a predictable pattern, so it is possible to estimate when an injury occurred by the color of the bruise.

Initially, a bruise will be reddish, the color of the blood under the skin.

After one to two days, the red blood cells begin to break down, and the bruise will darken to a blue or purplish color.

This fades to green at about day 6.

Around the 8th or 9th day, the skin over the bruised area will have a brown or yellowish appearance, and it will gradually diminish back to its normal color.

Long periods of standing will cause the blood that collects in a bruise to seep through the tissues.

Bruises are actually made of little pools of blood, so the blood in one place may flow downhill after awhile and appear in another.

For instance, bruising in the back of the abdomen may eventually appear in the groin; bruising in the thigh or the knee will work its way down to the ankle.

The blood under the skin that causes the discoloration of bruising should be totally reabsorbed by the body in 3 weeks or less.

At that time, the skin color should completely return to normal.

Sometimes, a bruise may become solid and increase in size instead of dissolving. This may indicate blood trapped in the tissues, which may be need to be drained. This is referred to as a hematoma.

Less commonly, the body may develop calcium deposits at the injury site in a process called heterotopic ossification.

Treatment

A bruise by itself needs no medical treatment.

It is often recommended that ice packs be applied on and off during the first 24 hours of injury to reduce the bruising.

After that, heat, especially moist heat, is recommended to increase the circulation and the healing of the injured tissues.

Rest, elevation of the affected part, and compression with a bandage will also retard the accumulation of blood.

Rarely, if a bruise is so large that the body cannot completely absorb it or if the site becomes infected, it may have to be surgically removed.

Prevention

Vitamin K promotes normal clotting in the blood, and therefore may help reduce the tendency to bruise easily. Green leafy vegetables, alfalfa, broccoli, seaweed, and fish liver oils are dietary sources of vitamin K.

Other good foods to eat would be those containing bioflavonoids, such as reddish-blue berries. These can assist in strengthening the connective tissue, which will decrease the spread of blood and bruising.

Zinc and vitamin C supplements are also recommended for this.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References Writing Realistic Injuries ⚜ On Anatomy ⚜ Fight Scenes Part 1 2

[luxaofhesperides]

Could i request a ghostlight where danny can turn into a dragon, it could be though a curse or just training from queen dora?

Like dragon Danny seeing the yellow signal outfit and thinking "mmmmm gold, shiny, must take".

He should probably be more worried about being cursed.

Scratch that, he should definitely be more worried about being cursed. However, it wasn’t done intentionally or in bad faith. This is just the consequences of him, Sam, and Tucker fucking around and finding out when left unsupervised with the grimoire of a long dead witch.

In their defense, they didn’t know Tucker could use magic. This revelation both upset Tucker, who refused to be swayed from tech, and Sam, who thought she was a better fit for magic considering how goth she is. Danny hadn’t really cared, since he was too busy being turned into a dragon. At least it isn’t like with Dora’s necklace; Danny is still himself, can think clearly, and isn’t overcome by rage. 

He’s just… Danny. But as a dragon.

“Well, you do something to fix him then!” Tucker shouts, waving a hand in the air angrily, “Since you want to be so good at magic, you do it then!”

“I would if I could! But you’re the one who gets to use magic, so figure it out and turn Danny back!” Sam shouts back, getting in Tucker’s face with a fierce scowl.

Danny sighs, shifting uncomfortably. His room is not big enough for a dragon, and his back is starting to cramp up. He looks longingly out the window to the clear skies that call to him, and wonders when his friends will stop fighting. 

They keep shouting, so he doubts they’ll be able to focus on actually helping him for at least another hour.

The only silver lining about the situation is that Jazz and his parents are gone, taking the weekend to visit a few colleges so Jazz can decide which one she wants to go to. Though he’s been cursed into dragon form and his friends are yelling about it, at least his family can’t make it any worse with their attempts to ‘fix’ things. 

There’s a lull in the yelling, Sam and Tucker both turning their attention back to the grimoire. Danny shifts his wings, tail flicking slightly, and leans his head closer. He wishes he could help figure this out, but he can’t talk in this form, and any attempt at charades will destroy his room. 

His friends look focused, at least. So maybe they’ve decided to focus on finding solutions instead of fighting. 

“Here,” Sam says, shoving the grimoire over to Tucker roughly. “Try that.”

Tucker reads over the spell, then scoffs and pushes the grimoire back. “That’s not going to fix anything. Didn’t you read it? It clearly says truth is the greatest revenge, revealing one’s true form force it into light. It’s talking about making people who are secretly cruel turn ugly or something like that! It’s not going to do anything for Danny!”

“It says one’s true form and Danny’s is a human! That would work!”

And they go right back to arguing.

Danny sighs, turning to stare out the window again.

In any other circumstance, being a dragon would be so fun. He has wings! He’s big and has claws and can probably breathe fire! And it’s not making him act on animal instincts or anything! If he could just be outside…

He glances at Sam and Tucker again. 

Maybe he can go outside, enjoy the curse a bit before they figure out a way to undo it. Spend some time flying around with wings. 

All the curse did was turn him into a dragon. It just changed his form. If he still has his ghost powers, if the curse didn’t change his nature from halfa to dragon…

Carefully, Danny focuses on his tail and tries to make it intangible. There’s a strange sensation of ice running down his spine, then it goes into his tail. In the next second, his tail drops through the floor, and Danny bites down a grin. 

He is so out of here. 

He gives Sam and Tucker another glance; they’ve got their heads bent over the grimoire, paying no attention to him. 

Perfect.

Danny goes fully intangible and sinks through the floor of his bedroom, then maneuvers his way outside the house. As soon as he’s out, standing beneath the sunlight and able to stretch out his new body, Danny pulls his power back and takes a few careful steps on the grass, testing his balance. His wings shift on his back, and he stretches them out, feeling the way his new limbs move.

Everything feels natural, as if he’s always been a dragon.

Taking a deep breath, Danny spreads his wings out and takes off running. A few hard pumps of his wings gets him into the air, and he can’t help but let out a joyful roar. 

Distantly, he hears Tucker and Sam yelling again, but he’s too happy to be free of that room to care. Let them argue. He wants to have fun.

Staying in Amity Park is a no go; Val might go after him, thinking he’s a threat, and ghosts could pop out at any time to cause problems. He might as well take this chance to fly around wherever he wants. Chicago wouldn’t be too hard to reach with how fast he’s flying, but he’s been there before and doesn’t want to stay in Illinois. 

What other big city is nearby that he can fly to?

New York?

Or, better yet, Gotham. 

It’s definitely a bad idea, but if any city is able to handle a dragon appearing without warning, it would be Gotham. Plus, he might get to see some of the heroes in action! Sure, it’s the middle of the day, but surely a dragon is a good enough reason for Batman to show up before the sun sets. 

Mind made up, Danny flies up into the clouds and heads towards Gotham, following the roads out of Amity Park. 

The flight is quick. It takes barely over an hour to see the dark figures of Gotham’s tallest buildings, fog surrounding the city like something out of a horror movie. The sun glints off the ocean behind the city for a rare, cloudless day. He’s heard stories about Gotham’s weather, how dreary it is, the occasional acid rain, the gloominess of it all. As bad as his luck is, it seems that the sunny day is trying to give him something good to even it out after being cursed into a dragon.

Excited, Danny angles himself down, diving out of the lower clouds and shifts his wings to catch on a wind current that smoothly sends him towards the city.

Just to be careful, he goes invisible as he gets closer, staying out of sight once he enters the city proper. 

Noise overwhelms him immediately, cars honking and voices yelling, the occasional gunshot and sound of something breaking. It makes Danny wince, disoriented enough to make him falter as he flies above the streets.

Amity Park is quiet and peaceful in comparison, so much so that he hadn’t realized just how enhanced his senses had become in a dragon’s form. 

The sounds of everything are so much, and all the movement of such a big city is dizzying. At least he can’t smell anything but salt from the sea; if he had to deal with the constant smell of blood, guts, and sewage, he would find a way to fully die to get away from it.

He slows down to a smooth glide, weaving his way between buildings as he takes in the city. Even with the sun out, it’s gloomy, the tall buildings casting shadows across the streets, a mix of art deco and gothic architecture filling up the space. He wonders if he should find some place up high he can rest, maybe bathe in the sun for a bit until he felt like moving again. If he managed to fall asleep, that might give Sam and Tucker enough time to figure out how to undo the curse.

“Ow! Shit, that hurts.”

Or he indulge in his curiosity and check up on whoever just cursed loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of Gotham.

It takes a minute of searching before Danny’s eyes zero in on a bright flash of yellow moving across rooftops. 

All other colors seem dull in comparison, and Danny has just enough time to think, Oh, there’s the dragon instincts taking over, before he’s flying after it, unable to focus on anything else.

Every time the yellow leaps out of the shadows, it’s as if it glows. As if Danny’s chasing sunlight. 

He gets close, but loses the yellow every so often with how he has to maneuver around buildings, putting his new flying abilities to the test in an effort to keep up.

Then the yellow comes to an abrupt stop. Danny can’t stop in time and flies past it, tilting his body and spreading out his wides as far as he can to make a tight turn. 

“I’m fine, just bruised up, but I feel like I’m being followed,” the yellow says to no one. There’s a pause, and then the yellow says, “I don’t see anything, is the thing.”

If the yellow has anything more to say, it doesn’t get the chance to do more than open its mouth before Danny’s crashing into it, tackling it to the ground. 

He’s elated as they roll across the roof, the living sunlight caught safe in his arms. He holds it close to his chest, protecting it until they come to a stop, dropping his invisibility as a low rumble builds in the back of his throat. The dragon brain has thoroughly taken over, and it takes far too long to wrestle control back from it.

Once he’s able to think more clearly, Danny looks down at the poor guy he’s caught and realizes, hey that’s a hero!

And then he realizes, that’s a hero. I fucked up.

He tries to say sorry, but all that comes out is a low chuff. The hero, who he can recognize as the Signal because who else wears mostly yellow in Gotham, leans back as much as he can, trapped in Danny’s grasp.

“Hey, dragon,” Signal says nervously. “I’m really hoping you didn’t catch me because you were looking for a snack.”

Danny huffs, bumping his head against Signal’s chest. He hopes he doesn’t come across as aggressive, because all he wants to do is laze around with a hero, his dragon brain happy to keep hold of its yellow sunshine.

He’s not going to let go of Signal, though. He intends to make the most of this moment while he can.

“Okay. You seem friendly? That’s good I guess.” Signal sighs, then tries to wiggle out of Danny’s grip. Danny doesn’t budge until Signal gasps and curls into himself, clearly in pain.

Worried, Danny lets go of him and tries to see what’s wrong, his snout poking against the Signal’s ribs.

The Signal hisses out a breath, trying to push Danny away. “Stop, don’t do that. Man, I hope my ribs aren’t broken. That would suck.”

That would suck. Rib injuries are the worst, and the bruises always seem to stay longer on ribs than anywhere else, in Danny’s experience. He would love to offer the Signal some ice, but as a dragon, he’s not sure how to use that particular power. He settles instead for backing off and making himself small, offering an apologetic rumble.

“Thanks,” Signal smiles, gingerly uncurling from where he’s hunched over, an arm crossing his stomach, protecting it. “I guess you’re friendly, then?”

Danny nods.

“...And you can understand me?”

Danny nods harder, a high pitched growl slipping out of his mouth. 

“That’s so cool. What are you doing here in Gotham?”

It’s not a yes or no question, so Danny’s stuck on how to answer when words are so far out of reach. He shrugs, wings shifting against his back, then carefully bumps his head against the Signal’s helmet. 

“Yeah, that was a bad question. Do you need help?”

Danny scrunches up his nose as he thinks. He is cursed, but so far, being a dragon isn’t all that bad. It sucks that he can’t talk, but everything else is cool! He just doesn’t want to be a dragon forever. But it’s nothing the Signal can help with, so Danny just shrugs again.

The Signal tilts his head. “Alright. I guess I’ll get going then, and you can chill up here.”

The low growl comes suddenly, without him even thinking, and Danny wraps himself around the hero again. Distantly, he thinks that he should stop, that this is technically holding the Signal in place against his will, but the much louder, dragon part of him is deeply upset by the thought of the Signal leaving while he’s injured. Danny can protect him, so there’s no need for him to go anywhere! In fact, he’s only safe as long as he’s with Danny!

He leans more of his weight onto the Signal until they both fall back onto the roof, pinning the hero in place. 

Danny tries to be gentle, but the impact still makes Signal groan, tensing up in pain.

Sorry, he tries to say, the words coming out in a low chuffing noise. He draws his tail up to curl around the Signal so he’s completely surrounded by Danny, kept safe from anything that would try to attack him. 

Letting out a breath, the Signal lightly knocks his head against Danny’s neck, the helmet barely felt through Danny’s scales. “Alright, Oracle, can you send someone to my location? I’m a bit stuck.”

It’s hard to hear, but Danny manages to make out a voice saying, “Black Bat is heading there now. What’s wrong?”

“I’m a bit stuck.”

“Injured?”

“Just my ribs, but that’s not really the problem. There’s a dragon who’s very determined to keep me on this roof.”

“A dragon,” the voice repeats. 

“Yeah. It seems to like me? But it’s also not letting me leave. So. I’m stuck.”

There’s a pause, then a soft burst of static before the voice says, “I’m going to send a message to everyone else just in case they’re able to provide any back up. I’m sure Tim is looking for an excuse to ditch Bruce at that accounting meeting.”

“Guess I’ll just wait to be rescued, then,” Signal says, sighing. Then he tilts his head up to look at Danny. “Is there some way you could talk to me? To pass the time. Maybe morse code? Do you know what that is?”

Dragon brain makes him stupid, apparently, because Danny does know morse code. He didn’t even think of alternative ways of communication once he discovered talking was impossible with his new vocal chords. 

It’s probably not even dragon brain. It’s just Danny brain that makes him like this.

Embarrassed, Danny drops his head onto the roof, drawing his tail closer to himself so it can cover his eyes, his best attempt at hiding his face. Then, with one sharp claw, he taps out Y.E.S.

“Oh! So, what’s up?”

N.O.T. D.RA.G.O.N. H.U.M.A.N. G.O.T. C.U.R.S.E.D.

“Why did you say you didn’t need help if you got cursed?!”

Danny wants to say it was an accident, but has no confidence that he can spell ‘accident’ correctly, so he goes with F.R.I.E.N.D. M.A.D.E. M.I.S.T.A.K.E.

“And can they fix it?”

I.D.K. T.H.E.Y. W.E.R.E. F.I.G.H.T.I.N.G. Danny huffs out a breath, flicking his tail in annoyance as he uncurls slightly, giving Signal some more breathing space. He doesn’t look as stressed out anymore, which is nice, but he still holds his ribs tenderly, careful not to move too much. G.O.T. B.O.R.E.D. L.E.F.T.

The Signal taps his own fingers against the roof, thinking after he takes in Danny’s words. “Do you think we can call them and see if they know how to fix it? I doubt you want to be a dragon forever.”

N.O. P.H.O.N.E.

“It’s cool, we can use mine.” And he pulls out a cell phone from… somewhere. Danny has no idea where. It’s like he blinked, and a phone suddenly appeared. His hero suit probably has a lot of hidden compartments and pockets to hold as much stuff as possible, but it’s so well designed that Danny can’t begin to think of where he’d put anything. Especially when his dragon brain keeps getting distracted by how nice the yellow is.

Danny taps out Tucker’s number when Signal asks for it, watching as the call connects and is put on speaker.

“Hello?” Tucker’s voice says, hesitant and a little distracted.

“Hi,” Signal responds with a mischievous smile, “Do you happen to be missing a dragon? Cause I’ve got one here who’s hoping he can get a little help from a friend.”

Danny hears something clatter on Tucker’s end, then Tucker starts yelling for Sam. He’s not quite able to bite back his laughter, entire body shaking with it. The Signal keeps his composure better, but he does share a glance with Danny that has him biting his lip, trying to keep his smile from growing.

“Where is he?!” Tucker demands, and for a moment Danny feels ashamed of how much stress he’s putting his best friends through. And then he remembers them fighting nonstop while ignoring him and doesn’t feel bad at all.

“Gotham.”

“...Gotham,” Sam repeats. Her voice is flat in the way it always gets before she verbally (and sometimes physically) tears someone apart. Danny winces hard enough that it jostles the Signal, making him glance back at Danny.

“Yeah. Gotham. He said he was cursed?”

Sam sighs heavily. “Yeah. Not my fault. It is Tucker’s fault, though.”

“I think I found the solution though! And also, it was an accident. You were the one who wanted to read the grimoire.”

He can tell they’re gearing up for another fight, so Danny lowers his face closer to the phone and lets loose a dark growl. It shuts them right up, and he briefly wonders about learning how to growl like that as a human, since it’s so effective.

Tucker clears his throat, and continues as if nothing happened. “Anyways. The cure. The thing that will make Danny stop being cursed.”

There’s another long pause.

“The cure…?” Signal prompts.

“Kisses.”

“Sorry, what?”

“It’s kisses.”

“Like… true love’s kiss?”

Danny hopes it’s not true love’s kiss. If it is, he’s never going to be human again. Who would his true love even be? As much as he liked Valerie, that ships sailed long ago. And he loves Sam and Tucker, but not quite like that. 

“No. Thankfully,” Sam says. “Just kisses. What matters is the amount, not the person it’s from. So whoever you are, we’re gonna need you to be giving Danny as many kisses as possible until he’s human again. We’re also on our way to Gotham now. Johnny’s offered us a ride.”

On cue, an engine revs loudly. 

“We’ll be there soon!” Tucker shouts over the engine, and the call ends just a second later. 

Danny huffs, shaking his head lightly.

“Interesting friends you got there,” Signal comments idly.

Y.E.S. Danny taps out. L.O.V.E. T.H.E.M.

The Signal sits up and moves away from Danny, who has to stomp down the urge to curl around the hero tighter to keep him in place. He stands up, putting his phone away, and looks over Danny. His gaze feels like a physical weight, moving from his face, and the horns on his head, to the scales covering him, to his wings and tail.

His tails flicks back and forth nervously. Danny can’t get it to stop.

“Dragon,” someone new says, startling Danny. He spots the newcomer immediately, a lithe figure in all black perched on the ledge of the roof. Her voice is rough and he can’t see her face at all, fully covered as it is in her mask.

This must be Black Bat. He doesn’t know much about her; no one does, with how she’s managed to avoid being photographed and how rarely she is seen by anyone at all. He honestly wasn’t sure if she was real or not, but here she is.

“Hey,” Signal greets easily, “We need to kiss him better.” 

Black Bat tilts her head. “Kiss… dragon?”

“He’s cursed. And kisses will fix him. Not true love’s kiss, but just a lot of kisses.”

“True love’s kiss?” she repeats.

“Oh, shit. I guess you haven’t read any fairy tales?” Black Bat shakes her head, and Danny wonders how she’s managed to avoid all fairy tales for so long. They’re usually among the first stories children are exposed to. “Yeah, in a lot of those stories, a curse can only be broken from a kiss by someone by love.”

Black Bat nods slowly, and it’s clear she doesn’t really understand, but she does hop off the ledge and walk over to Danny. She pulls up her mask to reveal her mouth, then looks to the Signal for guidance.

“Like this,” Signal says, then leans over and presses a soft kiss to Danny’s cheek.

If he were human, Danny would be blushing madly. As it is, he has to force himself to stay still and not hide his face in his hands, claws and all, from how flustered he is.

Black Bat follows in suit, dropping a delicate kiss to the top of his head. 

Danny loses track of how many kisses he gets, all over his face, beyond flustered by the amount of affection two heroes are showering him in. It’s just to break the curse, but it’s still a lot of kisses! 

Signal kisses the tip of his nose, and there’s a flash of light. Danny feels himself change, growing smaller, his human softness returning to him. It’s barely a few seconds, and then Danny’s human again, sitting on the roof with the Signal and Black Bat standing over him.

They blink at each other for a long moment, then Black Bat smiles and pats the top of his head. 

Danny smiles. He knows his cheeks are red, can feel how hot they are himself, and ducks his head, too embarrassed to look at either of them.

“How are you feeling?” Signal asks, crouching down to be eye level with Danny.

He tries to answer, but all that comes out is a hoarse rasp. He winces and brings a hand up to his throat, then shrugs and gives the Signal a thumbs up.

He clears his throat. This time, he manages to whisper, “Thank you.”

Black Bat gives him a cheerful wave, then hops back onto the ledge and jumps off. Signal barely takes his eyes off Danny enough to give her a nod goodbye. He reaches out and brushes Danny’s hair off his forehead some before his fingers trail down the side of his face. 

“I’ll admit, you looked cool as a dragon,” Signal says, “But you’re much cuter like this.”

Danny gives in and hides his face in his hands. The Signal laughs, warm and bright, and kisses his forehead. 

“Come on, let’s make sure your friends can find you.”

“They’re going to be so annoying about this,” Danny mutters.

“It’s how friends show affection.”

“Seriously, though, thank you. I know being tackled by a dragon isn’t what anyone expects. Did I hurt you? Your ribs…”

The Signal shrugs. “Nah. I’m all good. Just a little bruised, but it’ll heal quickly enough. Though, you’re more than welcome to give me a kiss to help me feel better.”

Danny shoves him lightly for the teasing, but he does pull the Signal back for a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It’s only fair, after all.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 129

Danny, now an adult, has just moved to the city of Gotham. Actually he’s been an adult for a while, but every once in a while he has to end his life, at least legally, lest someone get suspicious. Usually whenever Dan or Ellie does an oopsie and pulls a firebird with being reborn through their core. 

So legally, one Danyal Nightingale, has just moved to Gotham to open a bakery (Thank you for the wonderful recipes and bonding Clockwork) while taking care of his practically newborn son Jordan. Of course Elnath- Ellie- had to pull a core retreat too, which is just his luck. 

It wouldn’t be a problem, but he’s trying to not be so broody. A ghost- even a half-ghost- carrying another core though, has instincts turned up to like, eleven. Which again, wouldn’t be much of a problem if not for someone falling into his dumpster late at night bleeding. A vigilante, which he’s sworn to stay away from that life years ago. And it’s not a lethal wound…

But his instincts are screaming to not let the person bleed all around his nest, and he knows from experience that it would continue to bother him. Which is how he ends up with Batman on his couch to Dan’s glee if the ghost chirps are to go by. 

[whumpitisthen]

"Oh, you are so little. I could hold you in place with only one hand. Such a slender throat... I reckon you fit perfectly in my palm. You will behave, won't you? I am going to mark you. I want to see my fingers bruised into that lovely flesh. I want to feel you writhe and squirm under me. I want to watch you flinch away from my touch, and then I want to punish you for it. Then I want to listen to you cry, until you give up all of your tears for me.

Doesn't that sound nice? To be made mine this way? To scar you so deep you cannot help but fall apart? To belong to me so completely?

No? Well, I think it sounds wonderful. We will have to keep doing it over and over again. Bruises are not permanent, after all. Not unless I scar you instead. Would you rather I burn a ring into you? Melt a metal shackle around your neck? You only have to go through that once.

Haha. I thought so. Come here then. Let's see how easily you will bruise for me."

<3

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[whispers-whump]

bruised knuckles

burst blood vessel in their eye

split lip

nosebleed

a bracelet of bruises around their wrist

black eye

cracked teeth

blood dripping off their chin

faded scars on the back of their hand

[serickswrites]

Nowhere Else to Go

Warnings: captivity, bruises, torture, escape

Villain stumbled along the well worn road that they avoided at all costs. Everything hurt and they could barely move. It had taken everything in them to escape from Overlord's evils. They didn't want to be here. But now this was there only option. They froze as the spotlight in the yard turned towards them.

"Villain, what are you doing here?" Hero's voice came over the loudspeakers.

Villain lifted their bruised face to where they thought Hero might see it. "I didn't know where else to go," their voice was weak, but clear.

"And so you came here? Why?" Villain could picture Hero staring at the screen with their cold, pale eyes.

Villain swallowed around the lump in their throat. This had to work. "I....I....I had nowhere else to go."

Villain closed their eyes as they listened to Hero's cruel laughter. Closed their eyes around their pain. Closed their eyes around their tears. "And that's supposed to be my problem?"

"Please," Villain whispered as a lone tear tracked down their cheek, "I have nowhere else to go."

[tanglepelt]

Dc x dp idea 51

One of Damian’s pets passes. Instead of moving on it’s a Cujo situation.

Damian’s animal does not move on. Instead attacks the ghost king to get back to Damian by becoming king. The animal thinks its the only way to get back to Damian. So Danny now had a feral animal constantly attacking him.

Danny just has gotten used to the attacks. One day sam is complaining about a gala she’s being forced to. She shows tucker and Danny pictures of the Wayne’s.

Just in time for the attacker to see the picture and start hitting the picture. It clicks for sam what’s going on.

Sam has the brain cells.

Danny now brings the ghost animal to Damian. Telling him that his pet is feral, then proceeds to explain how to care for an ecto-pet. Also a supply of ecto supplements to add to the pets food.

[whumpypepsigal]

@whumpgifathon | Day 31 (alt. prompt): “Collapsing”

Octavio Bergmann in 60 Minuten/Sixty Minutes (2024)

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

I Do

TW: Blood, bruises, and some angst

Ya girl has some off-days from college, and she's decided to use em. Missed y'all < 3

The villain's gloved fingers drummed impatiently on the table, his dark shadow looming over the hero with a promise of danger.

"What's it going to be, Hero? I sell those codes to Supervillain? Or you comply with our little agreement?" His tone was perfectly calm, eerily so, his eyes impossible to read behind the domino mask, but he still emanated danger, his lips drawn together in a tight line.

It was cruel calling it 'their' agreement because the hero had no hand in this. The suggestion had left her more shocked than angry, still reeling from the villain's words.

"Marry me," he'd said in a commanding tone. Like any other choice would've been the wrong answer, tilting her chin upwards ever so subtly.

And the hero held his gaze, transfixed, gasping and laughing and hoping this was nothing but a fever dream.

"Wha-" the hero choked out incoherently.

The villain had let go of her face, his hands resting on the top of her chair. "I can repeat it as many times as you want me to," he stage-whispered against the shell of her ear, his tone gentle and dangerous all at once.

"But, I don't understand. What could you possibly gain from this of all things? You despise me, Villain." She truly couldn't process any of what she was told, the mere idea of being tethered so bindingly to her worst enemy leaving her mind an ineffective, nervous wreck.

The villain huffed out a rough laugh, very genuine and horribly cruel. "Oh, but I do despise you. Very much. I despise how defeated and humiliated you left me in front of half the city . Despised the fact that you got me locked up. Despised how for the very first time, I actually felt like I lost the game, and I'm a rather sore loser, you know." The villain's demeanour was eerily calm, his shoulders straight, his resting face showing nothing but a placid neutrality as he turned to stand in front of the hero, but it was arguably more terrifying, more unpredictable.

"I just want to see you as defeated as I've been, Hero. Bound so intimately to your worst enemy, your greatest nightmare. If you do this, it means admitting to me, and more importantly, to yourself, that the only option you have is bending to my whims," he crooned, his lips curling into a wicked smirk.

The hero wanted to scream, to kick the villain in the teeth and watch the blood trickle down his lips and the bruising dye his skin a grotesque purple. She wanted to think of a clever solution that left the man's face contorted with a strange mix of hatred and respect, to blow his plan up in his face. Anything that would spare her this hell.

"Did I mention you have exactly five minutes to decide?" he piped up casually, examining his nails.

The hero swore and the villain let out a half-snicker. This was madness. A death sentence that would last for the rest of her life. And it didn't matter if she said no, if she undid whatever she could of the havoc those codes would wreak in Supervillain's hands. The conviction so heavily saturated in the villain's tone, the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened was more than enough proof that he would spread more chaos, spark more fights, destroy an endless array of things and lives until she gave in to him.

The villain loved control like he loved the air he breathed, even more so, like a drug that left him intoxicated and lusting for more.

If she didn't listen, she was sending everyone she cared about, sending the city, the whole world if the villain had it his way, to hell.

The hero sucked in a measured breath, reading the contract word for word, from the title to the fine print, scouring it for a loophole she could use, for any more tricks up the villain's sleeve, just to find nothing. She tried to relax her tensed shoulders, her grip merciless on the pen in her erratically shaking hands, every curve and line of the letters of her name feeling like a blade was slicing through her heartstrings like how one would rip a stalk; slowly, unevenly, time seeming to slow down and the world seeming to freeze for a moment that felt like a thousand years and then some.

The villain didn't smile or laugh or let any display of emotion etch itself onto the harsh lines of his features. He nodded curtly instead, snatching the paper and folding it into a square and tucking it in a well-concealed pocket of his suit. "The cruelty only ends here," he attested, his voice tight and no longer playful, the way it was whenever he promised something.

The hero nodded, swallowing the humiliation at the back of her throat, even though she wasn't inclined to believe him.

"There's a ceremony. Nothing very insane, just you, me and an officiator. This is just a contract, not a marriage certificate, even if we both know which one of those is more binding. You'll show up today, if you know what's good for you, heroine."

The hero wasn't sure when she was up on her feet and slapping the villain harshly across the face, blood spurting from his mouth and staining his perfectly straight teeth, as he only grit them into a manic grin, shaking with a hoarse cackle as he wiped the blood of his face "Is that how you treat your husband, my dear? Do they forget to teach you manners at the hero agency?"

The hero was too dazed with rage to speak, trying to mar the villain's visage with another rough blow to it, until he caught her hand with an iron fist. "I said I'd never hurt you for nothing, but not that I'd let you do to me what you please without consequence. So play nice, darling." The villain let go of her arm slowly, the bruises he left in his wake more than enough of a warning.

The second he left, the hero didn't cry as she thought she would, she didn't scream, she didn't destroy everything around her or rip through her hair. Instead, she slid down against the wall, expressionless but breathing hard, her lungs hungry for air that seemed so unfairly little, her heart playing songs of anxiety and fury and sorrow every horrible emotion she'd ever known.

She was marrying the villain. Marrying the villain, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Marrying him and no one would come to save her.

Sometimes being a hero means saving the whole world except yourself.

✨️Timeskip✨️

Sure enough, the villain was there in a tailored suit, in front of his house her new prison, where he'd told her to show up, the officiator standing with a solemn expression on his face.

The villain wasn't supposed to be handsome, the dark brown hair she was normally used to seeing messy and caked with blood slightly damp with gel and mostly hanging in loose, luscious waves, his eyes a dazzling green-blue, long, dark lashes framing them in a way that put the best kinds of kohl to shame and his cheekbones sharp and high-set, the split on his lip hardly distracting from the rest of his appearance. It was so unbelievably stupid, so inconsequential, and yet the hero hated him even more for his tantalisingly beautiful features, for the way his grin would've fooled her into thinking he truly was in love, if she didn't notice how it didn't reach up to his eyes.

The hero hadn't paid any mind to whatever the officiator had said until it was her turn to say 'I do', flashing the villain a terribly fake smile that wasn't half as charming as his, but it would have to do as she slid a simple platinum ring on his finger, and he slid a diamond ring onto hers.

"Let's go," the villain said when they were finally done, gently taking the hero's gloved hand in his and leading her up the stairs and into the mansion.

The heroine was not one to admit defeat and snap in half in the fashion that a twig would. Many a battle would need to be lost for a victory in the war, many a sacrifice would have to be made for a greater reward. She would take the pain like stone would take a blunt pickaxe, just to twist a knife in the villain's chest when he least expected. Because history forgets everyone but those who laugh the last.

Tagging for this: @hufflepuffwritingstuff2

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[ohtobeleah]

Day Three [Protect Thy Savour]

Summary: When Jake and Hollywood are enjoying a fire in the comfort and silence of Jake’s courtyard, Hollywood reminds Jake that nothing was ever his fault.

Warnings: PTSD. Shared Trauma. Jake Seresin x F!Reader. Mentions of Captivity. Survivor’s Guilt. Mental Health

Word Count: 0.9k

Whumptober Prompt Day Three: Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Bruises Masterlist

“I wish this moment could last forever.” Time is a strange thing. When you’re waiting for something good to happen, it can often feel as if time is dragging on. But when you want it to slow down? It goes by in the blink of an eye. 

“We can stay right here, like this, for as long as you want Hotshot.” The odd part is time isn’t real. It’s a concept imagined by scientists based on the imperfect movement of Earth around the Sun. 

“Hmm, sounds perfect,” So why do people put so much importance on something that’s just a theory? The simple answer to that loaded question….is that it’s sometimes all people have. 

There’s never enough time. Work, friends, being held hostage in the middle of nowhere for months on end, life, death. Something always cuts our time short. So our best bet is to make the most of the time we have. Or we can strive to make up for lost time. But sometimes, if we’re really lucky….time stands still. 

The crackle of the fire pit filled the comfortable silence you and Jake shared. His courtyard had become a space where the two of you would go to fill the empty void you both shared. The void where innocence and hope in humanity once resonated within your souls. 

The orange hume cascaded down your shared silhouettes in the midnight darkness. Still, it could never be as dark as the pit of hell the two of you had shared. 

“Your hair smells nice.” Jake sighed as he held you close to his chest. Your back was pressed firmly into him as he let the side of the concrete seat hold both his and your weight. His arms hung around your shoulders as your fingers danced up and down his forearm. 

“Black plum and vanilla,” You replied, a little drowsiness in your tone. “It’s new, Phoenix made me this basket full of products, said it was a pamper kit.” You chuckled softly, the kindness of those closest to you hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

Jake didn’t reply, he simply stayed holding you close, afraid that if he were to let go he’d wake up and still be in that godforsaken cell he spent months being jealous of the rats that got to come and go as they pleased. It had just been one of those days. One where Jake couldn’t for the life of him quiet the voices in his mind. The voices that told him everything had been his fault. That he was responsible for all your pain and the trauma that would follow you for a lifetime. 

One of those days where if he closed his eyes and never woke up, Jake wouldn’t mind. He’d welcome the sweet release of death if it were to take him tonight. The only person who kept him sane enough to remember to breathe was you. 

“Hey Seresin?” You mumbled as you snuggled a little deeper into Jake’s warm embrace. 

“Yeah?” Jake replied as he felt tears welling in his eyes as he let his chin rest against the top of your head. Your touch was grounding, all-consuming, settling. It was the only medicine Jake would admit he needed. The anti-psychotics, the pain meds, the sleeping tablets, he didn’t need any of them in his damaged mind. All he needed, all he wanted, was you. 

“It’s not your fault,” Battle. Fight. Win. Loose. These are the words we use when someone is diagnosed with an illness or disease. People tend to use militarised language that implies it’s a fair fight. “None of what happened to us was your fault.” 

But when it comes to life and death, what does winning really look like? Is a person you love a loser for dying when the outcome isn’t really in their control? 

“What happened to you, me, us, none of it falls on your shoulders, Jake,” You continued as the crackle of the fire filled the silence. Jake never responded, all he did was hold you closer, hold you tighter. His tears streamed down his cheeks freely, to the point that when they fell your hair sucked up the moisture. 

“I love you–” Jake whispered as the heat from the fire and the warmth of your heart kept him sane. “Thank you,” He followed up as he placed a simple kiss to the spot where his tears had fallen on your head. “I love you with everything I have, with everything I’ve lost.” 

“I love you with everything we’ll build together,” You mumbled as you moved Jake’s hand up towards your lips. You couldn’t help but to leave a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “I Promise.” 

When it comes to medicine, who’s to say what’s winning or losing? There’s just as much value in trying again as there is in letting go. Letting go of suffering, regret, pain, fear. Instead of saying someone we love is battling, beating, fighting, winning or losing, why don't we just tell the truth? 

That its not always a fair fight. 

*******************************