punk!soap metalhead!ghost brain blast!!!
ghost trying so hard to get soap out of the bad parts of the scene bc he's starting to get pulled in by the shadows, a group of wannabe anarchists that stand for nothing except themselves, but soap loses his shit; laying into ghost for daring to try and "save" him
no one's ever been there for him when he needed them; no one ever offered him support or a soft place to land, why the hell would he want ghost's help when he's perfectly fine on his own? (when he’s always had to be?)
"you think i can't make my own decisions? well fuck you, ghost, who needs a washed up piece o’ shite like you!"
he doesn’t talk to ghost for days, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the hole he’s left behind until he's getting pissed with the shadows one night in an abandoned house and graves starts waving around the gun he snuck through customs and it accidentally goes off, grazing soap's temple
he's never heard anything so loud, even at all the shows he’s attended and there’s so much blood; it's getting in his eyes, running down his neck and soaking into his clothes and he’s frozen. graves and all his shadows bolt after hearing the gunshot, worried about cops finding them and they leave him there; staring at the growing puddle at his feet
soap's panicking; half-blind, blistering pain lighting up his head and he can't think about anything beyond how much he wants ghost
ghost's been sulking at his flat since soap blew him off; pissed at soap for going off on him when he just wants to help but still worried about the punk. he doesn’t want him going down the same road as him; doesn’t want him to repeat his mistakes when he could save himself so much suffering and he almost doesn't answer his phone when it buzzes on the couch
he lets out a ragged sigh as he picks it up; raking a hand over his shaved head when he sees the bubble emoji and contemplates letting it ring out. contemplates answering with a growl; something a younger, crueler version of him would spit. in the end, he decides on silence and puts the phone to his ear just before it can stop ringing
he almost breaks it when he hears soap choke out, "i've been shot."
he's out the door in a heartbeat, running down the stairs because the lift is too slow; trying to get more information out of him but he can't get anything out beyond a repeated, "i've been shot."
he breaks every law there is as he speeds to soap's location; visions of his cold, bloodless corpse staining his mind's eye. the only thing keeping him calm are the strangled breaths from the other end of the line; he's not dead, he can work with not dead, this isn't tommy, soap won't end up like tommy-
ghost screeches to a halt outside a random alley and throws himself from the car when he sees soap collapsed against a garbage bin. he's covered in blood, soaked, just like that night, it's everywhere and he's not moving, he's not moving-
“johnny!”
he skids to his knees and fits his hand under his chin to check his pulse… but his heart beats strong under his fingertips and soap's eyes flutter open; flooded with blood but conscious and alive
the second he registers ghost in front of him, he’s reaching out for him; babbling apologies over and over, "you were right, i'm sorry ghost, i should've listened; i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."
ghost just gently hushes him, cupping his face heedless of the blood. "that doesn't matter now, johnny. we're gonna get you all fixed up, yeah?"
soap’s hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him. "i got shot, ghost," he says again; lost and smaller than he's ever heard from his punk and it's been years since he's felt this kind of rage but he doesn't let a drop of it touch his voice
“i know, lad. i know. gonna let me take a look at it? make it right?"
soap finally nods, his stuttering apologies coming to a halt and ghost runs back to his car to get a towel. he presses it to soap's skin, trying to soak up as much as he can so he can get a proper look; cooing assurances as soap absently hisses in pain the closer he gets to it
it's only a graze and something in his chest unravels; old fears and grief settling as the shallow wound continues to gush into the towel
ghost slumps, pressing his forehead into the top of soap's head and takes a second to just breathe. “‘s’alright, johnny; it’s not even that bad, not even that bad,” he promises, low; spoken more to himself than soap
his hand starts to grow damp and he forces himself to his feet, gathering up soap and getting him into his car. he puts the towel in his hand and presses it against the wound, trying to coax him through his shock to put pressure on it so he can drive
soap curls up in the passenger seat; eyes distant, seeing nothing and ghost has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel so he doesn't turn around
soap is the priority
he has to get him home; has to get him cleaned up and safe
then he can go hunting for the gutless shadow that hurt his punk
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Wolfstar Microfic: Darling
Remus and Sirius were sitting in the back of the library studying, much to Sirius’ chagrin. He would have much preferred to be in the back of the stacks snogging, but that wasn’t exactly the way life worked.
One of these days he would tell Remus how he felt.
Sometimes Sirius thought he might already know. Sirius caught him staring every so often, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he knew what Sirius was hiding. Did he know how often Sirius thought about him? How he consumed his heart without even meaning to?
“I’m so tired of astronomy,” Sirius muttered under his breath.
“What was that, darling?” Remus asked, distractedly.
Both of their heads snapped up at once.
Remus had never called him that before. Had never called him anything remotely like that.
They stared at each other.
“That didn’t- I mean I didn’t- Can we pretend-” Remus attempted, never finishing a single thought. He was blushing furiously.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Sirius could feel himself breaking into a grin. He couldn’t help it.
Did that mean…? Could it mean…? Well, there was only one way to find out.
Sirius leaned back in his chair. “If you want me to be your darling, I’m all yours,” he drawled, smiling in that way he knew made witches melt. Maybe it would work on wizards too. He’d never tried. But he was very interested in this wizard in particular, so it was worth a shot. And if it didn’t work, he could just say it was a joke.
Remus’ mouth opened and closed a few times.
“What are you saying?” he finally asked, bluntly.
Sirius grinned wickedly. “If you want to go back in the stacks and have your wicked way with me, you’re welcome to, darling.” He raised his eyebrows as an invitation.
Remus slowly smiled, and it was a real, heartwarming sort of thing, no posturing about it.
“Yeah, okay, if you’re serious,” he said.
“I am always Sirius,” Sirius quipped. Before Remus could roll his eyes, he finished quickly. “But in this case, I’m extra serious, grab your bags and come with me right now.”
He winked at Remus, who had never in his life gotten his books together and stood up faster.
Well this was going to be fun, Sirius thought.
@wolfstarmicrofic
On AO3 here
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