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avesque · 1 year

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THE GREAT WAR I: bruised like violets — tsu’tey

— when accompanying dr. augustine, norm spellman, and jake sully to explore the pandoran forest, you and sully become separated from the group. you barely survive the night before a na’vi woman rescues you.

INCLUDES fem!reader, dreamwalker!reader. mentions of tom’s (jake’s twin) medical history and death + his (purely platonic! brotherly!) relationship with reader, near death experiences. 3.7k words.

NOTE my knuckles were WHAT? 🎤 for the sake of this fic and my sanity, let us pretend time dilation is not a thing because that complicates all sense of logic in this fic’s timeline.

SERIES MASTERLIST | part ii

The familiar darkness of the link unit’s space shrouds you as you open your eyes, mind still reeling despite your countless ventures in your Avatar. Pushing the link’s cover open, you slowly sit up, wiping the sweat lining your forehead.

Dr. Max Patel greets you with a clipboard in hand.

“Grace is waiting for you.”

Your eyebrows jump. “Did she see me and Txur’ii shoot Sari seeds at the other kids again?”

Dr. Patel steps back, gasping, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You said you’d stop doing that!”

“They started picking on him again!”

Txuri’ii is the Na’vi kid you almost plowed into the first time you tested your Avatar. He’s smaller compared to other Na’vi boys his age; a little thinner than usual too. It’s the reason you didn’t immediately see him that first time. He’s grown to be the source of entertainment for the other Na’vi kids, picking on him and bullying him.

When you learned of this, you dragged the kid and gathered all uncollected Sari seeds you could find. Borrowing two straws from the lab, you then hid behind the bushes as you preyed on Txur’ii’s tormentors.

You showed him as you stuffed the Sari seeds in your mouth and brought the straw to your lips. As the tallest of the bullies turns his back in your direction, you blow a seed through the straw, hitting the kid on his nape.

Txur’ii’s delighted squeak almost gave away your hiding spot.

One time, Dr. Augustine caught you and Txur’ii, and she berated you like a little kid when you got back in the lab.

You jump down the link unit, fixing your rumpled up shirt. You bid Dr. Patel goodbye, squashing down your smile with a finger to your lips and an obnoxious “shh.”

There’s a familiar face in Dr. Augustine’s vicinity. You stop short in your tracks, squinting your eyes as if that will help you understand the situation better.

You glide your palms over the edges of tables as you wade closer to where he’s talking with Dr. Augustine and Spellman in a wheelchair.

Last you heard, he’d been caught in a mugging incident. No one wanted to talk to you about it and the rumors you’ve heard said he was in a coma.

You suppose those were that — rumors, since he’s here, in the flesh, right in front of you. But what the hell happened?

“Tommy?”

You seem to have interrupted Dr. Augustine’s litany. All three of them turn their heads toward you and you get a perfect view of his face. He looks so different; definitely a lot more mature with the scruff. With your eyes trained on Tommy, you don’t see Spellman’s forlorn gaze as the realization dawns upon him.

“It’s — Jake, actually,” Tommy says. He offers a hand to you. “Jake Sully.”

Jake Sully.

Your eyes flit back to the head scientist, noting the way her eyes are quite softer than usual. Her cigarette hangs forgotten between her fingers.

“Another Sully?” you murmur. You recall Tommy mentioning a twin brother back when you were still on Earth but never meeting him in person.

He has exactly the same features as him but he doesn’t have Tommy’s calm and friendly aura. You don’t know if that’s the reason he kind of irks you suddenly or it’s something else.

You prop your hands to your waist, looking around. “Where’s Tommy? Has he recovered?” He hasn’t returned your video calls. Just last week, you tried contacting him again, hoping he’s woken up. All you received was an automated response, which made sense if he was traveling halfway through the solar system in cryo, though you would have preferred if he sent you a little heads up.

Jake Sully’s eyebrows reconnect, quizzically looking at the two scientists before saying, “Tommy’s dead.”

A sigh is caught in your throat. You want to ask him to repeat that but if you once again hear what you thought you just heard, you don’t know how you’ll be able to take it.

“Right.” You clear your throat, swallowing the lump that’s making your eyes burn. “Yeah, of course, I knew that.”

The sarcasm makes the dents in his forehead deeper, tilting his head to the side as he watches you.

“How do you—?”

“I gotta get back,” you suddenly announce, already walking away. You don’t bother sparing them another glance as you walk out of the laboratory, a lone tear trailing down your cheek. You’re quick to put your exopack on, a humorless chuckle escaping your lips at the betrayal choking you the way not even the Pandoran air could.

You’re evasive of the other scientists for the past week. Even in your Avatar form, you avoid any interaction with Dr. Augustine and other Avatar drivers.

Their silence about Tommy’s death makes something ugly curl in your stomach. You haven’t seen him since you were 14. Your stubborn mind refuses to accept what Jake Sully said about Tommy because that is just impossible. If anyone deserves to live the longest life they could on this godforsaken moon, or even back there on Earth, it would have been Tommy.

Tommy, who you basically grew up with. Despite being under the Colonel’s wing, there still wasn’t much to life. It was only then that Tommy started hanging out with you did you come out of your shell.

“Y/N!”

Dr. Patel’s familiar voice cuts through your peace. He jogs over to you, worn clipboard in hand. You don’t think he has ever put that thing down. It looks three seconds away from disintegrating.

“Grace is looking for you.”

You say nothing but follow the scientist back to the lab. Inside, you see Jake Sully, Dr. Augustine, and Spellman huddled together.

Dr. Augustine greets you before gesturing towards Sully. “Marine’s coming with us.”

You raise your eyebrows, making an effort to not look at any of them.

“For the research,” she adds. “Norm’s coming too.”

You say nothing as you move and get ready, settling in your own unit. You see Spellman give Dr. Augustine a withering look and you roll your eyes.

To your left is the other Sully’s link unit. You watch as he methodically hauls himself up the machine, lifting his upper body first before hooking his arms under his knees to position his legs.

As you settle and close your eyes, you wonder how he ended up like that.

Spellman’s excited chatter grates at your ears. Tommy used to be like that. It was what you bonded over in the first place. And usually, you’d be more than happy to be out here with Dr. Augustine but you’ve been off-kilter ever since Jake Sully ceremoniously dropped the news.

The forest of Pandora is still a wonder to you despite residing here for the past six years. Though Dr. Augustine had been here much longer than you have, her stacks of files are endless about the Pandoran flora and fauna. It seems like the moon spits out new species every single day.

You huff as the two scientists crouch over a braid of roots, injecting a needle to see the synapses transmit on the small screen Spellman holds. You turn around and realize Sully is nowhere to be found.

Your company is too preoccupied with their discovery so you leave them be, following the ruffles of footsteps against fallen leaves. Pulling back a giant leaf, it reveals Jake Sully tapping away on a bunch of Helicoradian plants.

You don’t make yourself known, watching from the sidelines as a smile spreads across the man’s face. Sully is more… tolerable, you’d say, in his Avatar form. Though the aura you cannot place is still emanating off him, he also has that air of innocence.

You startle as the walls of Helicoradian vanish from his ministrations and instead reveal a crash of Hammerhead Titanotheres, one of which notices your acquaintance and releases a loud cry. They’re like giant rhinoceros, a spattering of blue and purple with thick armor.

You curse under your breath, stepping forward to get closer to him but still hidden from the animal.

“Don’t shoot!” you bark when you notice him grip his gun, finger on the trigger. “Don’t you dare shoot, Sully! That’s got armor thicker than your skull.”

The Titanotheres rakes its foot on the forest floor before charging, letting out another cry, leaving a flurry of dust in its wake. You’re helpless and frozen on your spot as Jake Sully stands his ground, leveling the giant’s cry with a shout of his own.

This seems to deter the animal, skidding to a stop. You think it whimpers. Sully is as surprised as you.

“You son of a bitch!” he spits. He huffs out a laugh and you grimace at the air of arrogance surrounding him. He spews out some more nonsense as the Titanotheres cowers and scurries away… until you hear something worse than a Titanotheres.

Behind Jake Sully stands a Thanator. Its cry pierces the air, sending shivers down your spine.

“Okay, now, what do I do?” The marine asks, gauging the animal. “What do I do?”

Oh, you’d beg Eywa to bring that Titanotheres back.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you grit out. “Run!”

Jake Sully runs, abandoning all sense of dignity as he sprints — toward you. The Thanator charges and chases Sully and you have no choice but to run too, unless you want to be a predator’s lunch. You hear a distant, “what the hell is going on?” from Dr. Augustine as you run past her and a wide-eyed Spellman.

In your head, you’re cursing Sully in the darkest pits of hell. You are not fit for running. Your lungs strain as you fight to breathe, legs already aching and you pray to all the gods you know that your ankles will not give out on you this time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Sully chants. The Thanator growls and you think you can feel it breathing just behind your neck.

“There!” Sully points to an uprooted tree. You don’t question his decision, partly because you don’t have a choice. The two of you burrow under the thick roots, dirt on your hands and knees as you try to crawl further down the shallow hole.

The animal roars, sending a giant claw in your direction. You try not to scream as the roots practically disintegrate on its assault, a shower of wood falling over your heads. Jake Sully tugs on your hand, moving out of your hiding spot and taking off again.

“This is your fault,” you wheeze out, greens and blues flying by your peripheral. “Stupid shit.”

He doesn’t hear you or maybe chooses to ignore you. You don’t care. If you weren’t on the brink of death, you’d kill Jake Sully with your bare hands.

“We gotta jump!” He shouts over his shoulder.

Though there is a giant deadly animal chasing your asses, you skid to a stop, making the marine stumble.

“No.”

He ignores you again, pulling on your wrist hard enough to pop it. The Thanator unleashes another cry, sounding closer than ever.

“We jump on three!”

It’s then you hear the wild splashes of water. You’re running head on on the edge of a cliff. You’re going to die and Jake Sully is the last person you’ll see. It’s enough to make you want to cry.

“One!”

“No!” You try to pull your wrist free from his hold but his grip only tightens.

“Two!”

“I said no!”

“Three!”

“I can’t swim!”

You don’t jump.

Jake Sully does.

But he hasn’t let go of you. His momentum drags you along and you’re free falling to your death first and sinking beneath the waters next. During your fall, Sully’s hold on you disappeared. Your chest tightens in more ways than one.

The panic creeps in and your lungs constrict as you take a deep breath, choking on water and going blind in hysteria. You thrash, mind reeling and trying to open your eyes but between the choking and the drowning and the dying, you can’t find it in you to think.

Something wraps beneath your arms and pulls. You break out of the surface, sputtering and blinking away the water, to find Jake Sully in front of you.

“Hey, hey,” he shakes your arms. Stray strands from his braids are clinging to his face. “Are you okay?”

You hear a faint cry from above, the Thanator peering down at you.

“Can we—?” you cough, eyes stinging and nose burning. “Can we get out of the water first?”

Sully hauls you off the river and into land. You fall to your knees and heave, getting water out of your system. Your clothes are drenched and you assume he lost his gun along the way. There might be no Thanators here but the forest still isn’t safe.

You shudder, running a palm over your face to get rid of the rivulets. It’s no use since your palms are wet.

“This is your fault,” you say again, glaring at the man shaking his arms as if it will dry his clothes faster. Whatever vulnerability you showed when he pulled you out was already gone. “If your stupid little ass didn’t wander off, we won’t be here right now.”

“Hey,” he protests, walking over to where you are, boots leaving behind a damp trail. “I just saved your ass back there.”

“Okay, and?”

Sully blows out a breath. You can see the frustration seeping through his fa��ade.

“Get up, we need to find our way back.”

You roll your eyes but don’t protest, knowing he’s right. He doesn’t bother to help you up as he walks away and you don’t bother calling his name as you stagger behind, sniffling and coughing still.

Trekking the forest is much harder with your clothes sticking to you uncomfortably. You’ve never explored this part so it was much harder to navigate, though Jake Sully doesn’t seem as worried as you are. Your legs are tired and your nose still has not recovered from the water you inhaled. You’d love nothing more than to be back in your human form and actually breathe.

It’s nearing eclipse and the two of you are still deep in the forest. Your clothes have not fully dried but not as damp as before but as night creeps closer, the temperature slowly drops and you shiver every now and then.

“We won’t make it back to camp in time,” you say, pushing back leaves in your way. Sully, ever the gentleman, doesn’t so much as help you jump over rocks, letting you clamber your way up like a soaked baby koala.

“No shit.”

“You are so fucking annoying.”

Sully huffs, turning around to look at you. “So are you.”

You jab a finger in his direction, growing more aggravated each passing second. “Shut the fuck up. If it wasn’t for your sorry, stupid as fuck fucking ass, we won’t be here, okay? We could be back in the lab right now — I could be back in the lab right now and resting on that very stupid and inconvenient bunk but no! I am stuck here with you of all people!”

“Hey—”

“I could have died and it would have been your fault.”

Jake Sully stops and you try to swallow the emotions, try to stop the burning sensation behind your eyelids. You are far more collected than that, far more articulate and definitely far more level-headed if it were a better day but you nearly died. Every breath still hurts your lungs and your body aches in places you never thought it could hurt.

He holds up a hand between you, as if conjuring up some healthy boundaries. You think he looks a little conflicted and it’s a fresh look on him.

“Listen kid.” Oh, you hate that condescending tone. “You and I, we need to work together, alright? If you wanna survive, you follow what I say. You don’t want to? Okay—” he makes a grand gesture of spreading his arm, as if giving you liberty, “—I’ll leave you out here to really die. Your choice.”

You scowl at him, fighting the urge to just reach up and grab at his face and squeeze so hard his eyeballs would pop out. But between the two of you, it’s the marine who knows more about survival skills than you ever could so you comply, grumbling after him in the darkness.

“This better not include more cliff jumping,” you remark, kicking pebbles along the way.

“We need to make a fire,” he announces. You stare at his back, wondering if he hit his head when you jumped off.

“How the fuck are we going to do that?”

“Do you have matches?”

You mutter some more nasty comments as you tap on your clothes, checking the pockets. You find a box of it on a pouch on your chest, pulling it out to find it dripping.

“Well,” you hold it between your fingers, watching as water drips, drips, drips on the dirt, “isn’t that lovely.”

Jake Sully curses, searching his pockets. He stills when a growl comes from behind the bushes, and the sound glues you to your spot. You unconsciously take a step toward him, listening intently as he mutters a silent victory, fishing out a lighter.

“Quick, rip a seam off your shirt.” He’s already plucking dry branches off a plant to his left.

“What?”

“We need to make a fire.”

You tug uselessly on the flap of your shirt. “How is this going to help?”

Sully stares at you with wide eyes, his jaw clenched. “Fucking Christ,” he shoves a branch on your hands and grips your clothes. You gasp as he rips a good portion of your polo, leaving you in tattered cargo and an undershirt. “You won’t survive a day out here.”

You push the stupid branch back on his palms. “I wasn’t made to survive here, I’m a scientist. If I asked you what a Loreyu is, you wouldn’t know a single shit about it too.”

He ignores you. You watch as he ties the fabric on the end of the stick, dipping it on a curved leaf that has collected sap. He hands it to you before doing the same thing to his own piece of clothing and stick.

He flicks the lighter on and brings it to the saturated fabric. It catches fire immediately and you see a lot better now.

Another growl resonates, closer this time. Sully says nothing else as he grabs your wrist, torches in hand, and runs.

It seems all you’re meant to do this day is run and to be frank, you don’t think you have it in you to do so. Your legs give out as you reach a clearing, a pond shimmering in the night. It is a pain to admit but you’re thankful for Sully’s grip on you or else you would have dug your face on the forest floor.

“Shit, kid—”

“I’m alright,” you heave, dragging your feet so you’re kneeling. “I’m alright.”

Your reprieve is short-lived when something pounces behind you. You choke back a scream, ignoring the twitching pain on your ankle and scrambling to stand up. There’s a blur of black dancing in your peripheral and soon, there’s a whole pack of them surrounding you.

Jake Sully snarls, swishing his torch in a wide arc. You do the same, your back glued to his, your heart beating an erratic rhythm in your chest.

“Viperwolves,” you say.

“How do we kill it?”

“I don’t know!” You thrust your weapon forward as another one of them attempts to jump on you. “With a gun?”

“We don’t have a gun,” he grunts.

“As if I don—”

You scream as a Viperwolf pounces on you, sending you skittering away from your partner. Your torch is nowhere in sight and you’re far too panicked to think straight. Its large mouth is right at your face, sharp teeth inches away from your face.

This is it. Six years on this moon and you meet your fate like this. What a gruesome, sad ending. You don’t bother fighting, closing your eyes and flinching as it lets out a snarl before attacking you.

The pain never came.

You think you hear something, hear it whimper and the others scuttle off, but Jake Sully is already dragging you away.

There’s a ringing in your ears and his voice sounds so far away but your eyes are clear. You see him so vividly. Tommy.

“Hey, hey.” He makes a show of snapping his fingers to your left, to your right. “Talk to me, come on.”

It was the same thing he said when you almost drowned in a pool back on Earth. You were eight and stupid, taking a dip unsupervised, feeling like such an adult as you tried to imitate the others who were learning to swim as a part of their Avatar Training Program.

Tommy had found you nearly unconscious, calling and shouting for anyone as he rubbed and slapped at your back, throwing up water.

“Hey,” he had said, wiping away water on your face, “talk to me, come on.”

You had burst into tears right then, clinging to him and never letting go until you fell asleep. For a long time, he had been the only safe place you ever knew and seeing him in Jake Sully in the same situation makes your throat close up.

“M’fine,” you warble. You don’t see the woman who saved you speaking softly as she holds a palm to the Viperwolf that nearly bit your head off.

When you hear faint footsteps retreating, you think Jake Sully has left you out here, but he’s crouched over your form, looking over his shoulder.

He pushes you up despite your protests, shy of dragging you on the dirt by your arms. He’s got a hold on your wrist again, dragging you through the forest again. It is disorienting, all of it. From being chased by a Thanator, jumping off a cliff and nearly drowning, to being attacked by a Viperwolf — paired with your fatigued body, your knees rattle as you blindly follow Sully.

You hear him talking, a string of slurred words. The forest is melting, a spiral of blues and greens, until your vision vignettes and there’s nothing at all.

MORE NOTES when i said this was a slow burn, i wasn’t planning on this slow. but! our boy tsu’tey will finally show up in the next chapter. i’m just happy how we’ve slowly opened reader’s relationships with other characters, and here’s to unraveling them while building up new ones!

TAGLIST @cullenswife @hannibalelijah @neytemsgf @syviiss @katsukiswrld @lovekeeho

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darkreflectionworld · 2 years

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I admit, I may have been having a little too much fun in college. Spent way more time partying than studying or going to classes. When I saw I was about to fail a required course I went to the professor so see if there was anything I could do to fix it.

He was a gross, middle aged man. Snobby appearance, rough looking excuse for a beard, and always sweating. He looked me over for a minute and said he'd be willing to change my grade if I let him borrow my body.

I agreed before I even thought it through. And I don't even know how he did it, but all of a sudden I was seated behind his desk looking at myself! He quickly felt up my lean frame over my clothes before bolting out of the office without saying a word, leaving me as his old pig self.

His office hours ended and I found his address in his wallet, figuring I should just go back to his house until he contacted me.

Getting "home" I figured I should at least see what I was working with in this new body. To say I was disappointed was an understatement. Hopefully he just wanted to have a wild night in a younger, hotter body and he would change my grade and undo all of this.

It was hard to get comfortable to sleep, and I felt overheated in this large body.

Not knowing what else to do the next morning I decided I should just show up on campus and wait on myself. He didnt have any of his clothes cleaned and ready to wear so i had to settle on some rumpled clothes from a pile in his room. My class was just after noon, so I would be able to talk to him.

Except he never showed. After class I tried calling my old phone to no answer.

Starting to feel nervous, I headed to the student center. I found some of my prior friends and made some lame excuse that I had missed an important test and it had to be taken today.

My heart sank when they told me about the accident. Apparently he had been out at the bar last night, and got hit by a drunk driver on the way home. He was now in a coma.

I didn't know anything about his life, other than I hated his body. And I don't even know how he switched us, so I was trapped like this!

#switch bodies #body swap #bodyswap #male body switch

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jegulily-stuff · 1 year

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Little ficlet for you all. Sirius getting blindsided by his friends' interest in his sulky little brother.

....

Sirius kicks the stand of his bike down and swings his leg over the saddle. His boots crunch on the driveway as he dismounts.

Everything's still damp although the morning's rain has passed. He takes off his helmet and shakes his hair out.

Reg is sat in the sidecar with the luggage. It makes him look like a small child in a pram, swamped by the car and his helmet. Sirius has to smirk. His brother hasn't once managed to make travelling by motorbike look cool.

When Reg takes off his helmet, he goes immediately to one of the wingmirrors to fix his hair, and thats just case in point really. You're supposed to have messy hair after biking - being neurotic about it is uncool.

Sirius pulls off messy hair.

He's hot. People stare at him in the street when he gets off his bike, and really all the rest of the time as well.

Reg doesn't have that - the glamour - the magnetism - the star quality, if you will. He just looks rumpled and unhappy about it.

His hair isn't getting tidier as he fusses. It's damp and frizzy and the curls are kinked up awkwardly at one side. The mirror's really a pointless quest. Sirius pulls him away from it, throwing Reg's bag over one shoulder, and walks up to the house.

He rings the doorbell.

Reg stops a little behind him and sets to smoothing out the creases in his jumper. Sirius rolls his eyes. Who is this for? He's not going out anywhere.

He hears the clicking of a lock then Lily opens the front door.

There's a knife in one of her hands, but it looks pretty blunt so Sirius doesn't pay it much attention. He slides Reg' bag through the door.

"I'm giving you my brother."

Lily raises her eyebrows. "To keep?"

"Until next week," He says. "I'm going on holiday."

"You are?" It's not often she and James don't know his plans.

Sirius grins. "Have I ever told you, I've always wanted to take a trip through France, go to all the fanciest towns and try all the fanciest wines? Well this afternoon I realised the only person stopping me was me, so I'm just going to go. I've not done anything that poncey in ages - it's about time."

Lily shrugs. "Carpe diem. Though I'm picturing it'll just be you and a bunch of rich middle aged couples."

"Yeah, I'm going to sabotage some failing marriages for extra entertainment."

"It might not always problems you cause flirting with married couples, so watch out." She says. Then she looks past him and smiles, "Hi, Reg."

Reg raises a hand in a little wave.

"Well, I'll be causing discord only." Sirius says, "I'm not having a threeway with the kind of people who go wine tasting on holiday."

"No, of course not." She nods towards Reg. "So this means he's with us..?"

"Yeah, you know how it is, he needs someone to watch over him, give him water, get him out in the sun, make sure he doesn't die."

"I'm not a houseplant." Reg grouses.

Sirius snorts. "No, houseplants are much more self sufficient."

His three cacti are still at home - they can be trusted to take care of themselves for a few days.

James comes into the hall behind Lily. His face lights up when he sees Sirius.

"Hi, mate." He says. "What's up?"

His trousers are spattered with what looks like half a pint of paint. Forest green.

Sirius gives him a grin.

"You didn't come back," James explains as Lily gives a pointed look to his legs, "I tried to open the tin without the knife... there's no mess - or rather, only on me."

She snorts.

"Hi, Reg." He adds and gets a wave too.

"I'm sure we'll both look worse by the time we're done." Lily says. "Now, Sirius is here to give us a gift."

"A responsibility." Sirius corrects, as James turns to him. He's unsure of how Regulus and gift are remotely connected concepts.

"I'm going on holiday - that wine tasting one you always turn me down for - so this one-" He jabs a thumb towards Reg, "Needs minding."

Reg doesn't bother protesting the statement this time.

"He wants to stay with us?" James asks brightly.

Sirius pauses.

He hadn't considered that in all honesty. Reg hadn't seemed upset when Sirius had told him that was what would happen, and given his propensity to seem unhappy for no reason at all, the lack of that must mean he was fine with the idea... right?

"I want him to stay with you." Sirius answers. "I can't leave him on his own, and who better to give him to than you? My most trusted friends, kind and caring and... stable and all those things we never had in our poor sad childhood, my favourite people in the world, et cetera." He pauses for breath. "Please will you take him?"

"Of course!" James says, "We'd love to have him. I promise you I'll take good care of him. I'm an excellent host."

Sirius grins. James is always happy to do him a favour. No one's ever had a better friend.

James beckons Reg in and he finally steps past Sirius and towards the door. He doesn't complain when James reaches out to tug him gently over the threshold.

Sirius knows James and Lily are planning on spending the next few days redecorating so he's not asking them to cancel anything to take Reg. Maybe Reg'll even help and Sirius will have done them a favour too. And of course he'll bring them back some good wine - that'll be better compensation.

Lily tugs on Reg's hair, teasing him for its sorry state when he usually keeps it so tidy. James valiantly tries to flatten it for him. Reg stand frozen between them and Sirius wants to laugh.

I bet he hates that.

"Oi, Reg." He says, "You'd better be good while you're here - behave and all - don't embarass me."

Reg turns to give him the withering look he was expecting.

"I'm always good." He says primly.

Lily wraps her arms round him from behind and tucks her chin over his shoulder.

"Mm, you're going to be a good boy for us?" She teases.

Reg's expression stays stony but Sirius can see the tips of his ears flushing red.

"Evans!" He complains, "Don't use that tone with him."

"You don't like it?" She asks, but the question's directed to Reg, not him. Rude.

"'S fine." Reg manages.

"Look at him," Sirius says accusatorially, "He's in distress."

"I'm not - I'm fine. Stop treating me like a child."

"See, that's what I was expecting you to say earlier, but you just let me bring you here to be minded."

Lily smiles widely. "Because you want to come spend some time with us?" Then she drops into that tone again, "Honestly, I think you're going to have much more fun getting in the middle of married couples here than Sirius is in France."

Reg has gone very red now.

Sirius, rather irked, turns to James for an intercession, but James isn't paying him any attention. His face has that stupid look. That infatuation that Sirius knows inexplicably reduces his IQ to zero. He's looking at Lily and Reg.

Sirius' eyes narrow. "Hang on."

James' eyes go wide. "I promise... good care of him... all completely appropriate."

He's never been a good liar.

Sirius wonders if whatever this is has been going on for some time without his notice, or if it's started this second.

He feels a great swell of indignation. "In my own house?" He demands. "Under my roof?"

They all frown.

"This definitely isn't your house." Lily says.

"It just felt like the right thing to say for some reason." He says. "What am I supposed to say?"

Lily shrugs. "Have fun?"

He doesn't dignify that with an answer.

There's a pause.

Reg watches him warily. He's starting to get that look that Sirius remembers from many a family dinner and quotidian household conversation - the look of someone who knows they're stood in the middle of a minefield and have to make sure they don't make a single misstep.

His hands hover over Lily's where she's hugging his waist, but he doesn't take hold of them. It might be that he's worrying about her, but its definitely mostly Sirius.

That's not what he wants.

"You promise that you'll take care of him until I get back?" He says lightly. "I meant what I said about water - he won't drink it unless you make him."

Regulus relaxes. He rolls his eyes.

"I think I need to get these trousers off." James says. Then his brain catches up to him. "In a entirely separate context to Reg being here! That's not what I meant!"

He raises his hands innocently.

"It's the paint." Lily says and Sirius waits for the punchline. "Can't walk around with paint on your clothes." She tilts her head. "You know, we're going to be doing a lot of painting..." There it is. "It could get quite messy."

Sirius glowers at her. His withering look is better than Regulus' when he tries.

Lily just laughs at him. She muffles it slightly in Reg's neck and he sinks into the contact. James throws an arm around her shoulders.

Sirius sighs heavily.

He picks up Reg's bag from the threshold and presses it into his hands. Then he grabs the ring of the door handle and closes it between them.

I did say I trusted them.

He walks away down the drive.

"Enjoy your trip!" James calls after him through the letterbox. "Have fun!"

Look after each other.

#jegulily #regulus black #lily evans #james potter #sirius black #fic #regulily #my posts

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valleydean · 1 year

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Chapter 2 [Read Here]

HEAVYWEIGHT a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) read from beginning | playlist | ko-fi

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1927. The Golden Age of Boxing. Two years ago, light heavyweight champion Dean Winchester and heavyweight champion Castiel Novak had a secret affair. After a scandal tarnished Cas’ name and stripped him of his title, the two parted ways. Now, with a heavyweight tournament on the horizon, Dean aims to up his weight class so he can compete for the title. He finds unexpected competition when Cas comes out of retirement and returns to New York to fix his reputation. Upon their reunion, the two contenders learn that, outside of the ring, some bruises never really heal.

PREVIEW:

A warm breeze swept through the buildings, rustling the leaves on the trees and shaking the bright flowers potted on the windowsills. At the same moment, the gym’s door opened. Dean tensed like he was preparing to get hit, and everything told him to duck and roll.

A wavy mess of dark hair walked through the door. The straight line of Cas’ nose was tipped downward as he jostled up the stairs to street level. Halfway up, he tilted his head back—and he abruptly stopped moving.

His cheeks were flushed from exertion, his hair still a little sweaty. The V-neck sweater and trousers he’d changed into were rumpled, but that wasn’t surprising. Cas couldn’t use an iron to save his life.

It’d been too dark to see in the club the other night, but the California sun must have been kind to him, because his skin was golden, tanner than Dean had ever seen him. Even his hair was a little lighter brown. His physique was still pretty much the same, with his sleeves a little too tight around his biceps and strong thighs barely hidden by the stretch of his pants. He was still in fighting shape, and Dean guessed it was true what they say about boxing: even after you quit, you never really lose it.

Only, it looked like Cas hadn’t quit, after all.

Dean’s throat clicked when he swallowed. He tried to keep all signs of his rapidly slamming pulse out of his expression. He’d gone there specifically to confront Cas—because there were questions that needed answers—but everything he’d wanted to say suddenly blew right out of his head and was carried away by the breeze.

Cas got a hold of himself a little more quickly. He slowly took the last two steps of his ascent and paused at the top of the stairs, seemingly not daring to come closer.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, I guess you are back.”

Pulling his shoulders straighter, Cas said, “What do you want?”

That was a loaded question. It almost made Dean laugh. Instead, he picked himself off his car and flipped the keyring over his fingers, hearing the metal jangle. “We need to talk. Get in. I’ll drive you home.” He started for the driver’s door, but of course, Cas had to be difficult.

“I’m capable of walking.”

Dean opened the door and stepped one foot inside, determined to stand his ground. “Get in the car, Cas.”

Cas stared him down for a long moment before giving in. He sighed petulantly, but walked around the car and slipped into the passenger seat. Dean braced himself and got behind the wheel. He busied himself at first, putting the key in the ignition, putting it into drive, hearing the engine burst into life—generally just trying to find shreds of normalcy while he got used to lingering in Cas’ presence again.

He glanced at the passenger seat, watching Cas stare unblinkingly forward with his jaw set, looking like he was trying to hover above the seat so he didn’t have to touch anything. He used to be so comfortable in that seat.

Hell, more than that. Dean recalled a few times when the two of them got very comfortable in the backseat.

When Cas turned his head toward Dean, the light pouring through the windscreen lit up his eyes like sapphires. Dean’s breath tripped as he momentarily lost composure. Luckily, Cas was too oblivious to notice. He pulled his brows together in a confused frown. “Why aren’t we moving?”

Dean blinked and rattled his head to right himself. Quickly, he excused, “First you gotta tell me where I’m going.”

“Oh. Of course. 3rd and 6th.”

So, the gym was still in the nice part of town, but Cas was living on the seedy side, just before the brownstones turned into factories and mills. Figures. Dean hated the thought of him living in some crappy boarding house where anybody could rob him blind if he was walking the streets alone after nightfall.

He told himself that wasn’t his problem.

He pulled the car off the curb and drove forward. For a few blocks, silence stretched heavily, and Dean wished he had some noise pollution to make it less oppressive. All he had to break up the quiet was the persistent ringing in his ears.

After what felt like forever, Cas broke the silence. “You said you wanted to discuss something. I suggest you speak quickly. It isn’t a long drive.”

Dean’s fists twisted over the steering wheel, understanding the ultimatum for what it was.

Nineteen months’ worth of thoughts and regrets screaming from the depths of Dean’s skull, and it was reduced to a five-minute time constraint.

He better get talking.

/////

TAGGED: @lovercas @donestiel @wanderingcas @wayward-angels-club @thetiredstuff @skella-bro @casthegrumpy @celestialcastiel @bluefirecas @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @that-one-fandom-chick @haru-park96 @alejandriaiqq @no-aesthetic-all-aethetic @amirosebooks @epple-benene @agus-likes @the-ship-haz-sailed @justkissalreadyforfucksake @madimoo31 @an-angel-in-love-with-a-hunter @gracelesstars @bazghetti @wayward-waffles @theojaxons @jenmishrob @all-or-nothing-baby @auttownblue @leftistdean @sargafust @wannabe-loser @jessalrynn @splicedthoughts @castielss @that-dumbass-on-a-horse @passionfruixts @fabreagab @princesswinchester100 @superduckbatrebel @hopefuldreamers-world@theangelwiththewormstache @casandeans @mylovelydame21 @confusedisaster @superduckbatrebel @destielwentcanonomg @highest-brightness @i-put-the-ayyy-in-asexual @darkacademiagay @imthedoctorlove @freckledean @youcanteverknowenough @chicken-kebabs @myguardianangelisatrickster @hotactiongirlcoded @wingsandimpalas @casandhumanity @tploz @dontsgotalifee389 @on-a-bender @castiel-mybeloved @siriusseverusdeservedbetter @doctorprofessorsong @castielshotgirlsummer @toomuchheartcas @paintdriesfaster @lesbiancowboyy @angelinthefire @transdeantruther @fluffy-alpacaness @rogue-cas-whore @winchester-derangement-syndrome @lizzybennettdarcy @kineticpassion @i-love-books-and-so-do-you @dascean @llamasdumpsterfire @psychicbouquetblaze-stuff @im-some-lionheart @charlie-bradburi @bunnymcbunnister @gothanna @afeelingsosweet @sinnabonka @artsymoth @cassandrablah @sweetpeaalena @goiwantamuffin @rauko-is-a-free-elf @jessalrynn @ungcl @highwarlockofinnsbruck @deancaskiss @caddy-coo @bloodydeanwinchester @hannibalsthembo @proudpigeon @butterscotchdean @this-is-me19 @layofcastiel @claire-drinks-lovely-lemonade @harleycao @jgvfhl @thembo-cowboy @aussie-twat @slit-wrist

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in chapters or if you’d like to be taken off the list.

#destiel #deancas #my post #my writing #destiel fic #deancas fic #heavyweight #boxing au

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fandomn00blr · 1 year

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Happy Birthentines!! How about a big dumb sweater for either Fenders or I could see Loghain/Stroud being fun for that one? Whichever you prefer! 💖

Oh goodness...why not both?!

(Fenders is in the Dark Sprawl AU...this might actually make it into Linked somehow/someday, so spoilers, I guess?)

The Link’s clothes never seem to fit particularly well, but the sweater he’s taken to wearing under his threadbare parka since it got colder is especially offensive in its ill-fittedness.

“Where did you get that sweater?” Fenris asks him.

“Found it in the trash pile at Lirene’s!” he grins triumphantly. “Isn’t it great? Can’t believe she was gonna toss it!”

“It’s…actually terrible,” Fenris says. But the dejected look on Anders’ face makes him feel bad enough to say, “I’m sorry…?” at least.

“Well, that’s just your opinion,” Anders huffs. “We can’t all pull off head-to-toe black spandex!”

“Oh, well there goes my suggestion for a new team uniform…” Hawke snorts. “I think the sweater looks nice on you, Anders. Really adds another layer to your whole…look.”

Fenris rolls his eyes as Anders beams at her. Her backhanded flattery always seems to work on him.

…

Fenris finds himself in Anders’ apartment. Alone. The Link is still in quarantine at the hospital, and he’s forbidden Fenris from even trying to sneak in and visit him out of ‘concern for his safety’ until Justice can be rebooted somehow. It’s all bullshit. Fenris has fought Sprawlers and signal poachers all by himself, broken through Danarius’ encryptions, and he would much rather take his chances staying at the Link’s side, protecting him from whatever Meredith’s Counselors intend to do to him now that he seems to have lost the protection Justice provided.

But he’s here instead. The closest he can be to Anders because the idiot refuses to let him anywhere near him. The mansion is too empty. Too haunted. Too far away from everyone and everything Fenris has come to care about. Plus, he can still feel the remnants of Danarius’ broken code coursing through him, and the house, with all of its various security protocols, only seems to remind him of the fact that he will never be completely rid of his technology. But here…even without Anders or Justice…he has always felt…free.

He goes to Anders’ bedroom, searching for more of him to hold onto. In a rumpled pile of laundry next to his mattress, he sees that horrible sweater he had insisted on wearing all winter, initially, Fenris suspects, just to spite him. How many nights had he impatiently yanked it off of him or begrudgingly tossed it to him in the morning instead of hiding it or secretly burning it, which is what he would have liked to have done back then?

He’s so glad he didn’t now. He gathers it up and holds it to his face, breathing in whatever trace of Anders he can find here. Thankfully, he hasn’t washed it since the last time he wore it, and it still smells just like him. Like the generic shampoo he uses and soap from the clinic…like his connection…and Justice…and imitation maple syrup and…fuck. He misses him. Misses them both. And he’s scared. What if they transfer him to the Facility ‘for his protection’? What if he ends up like Karl? What if Justice is really gone forever?

Fenris pulls the big dumb itchy sweater on over his head and curls up on Anders’ bed for the night, hoping that in the morning, Merrill will come find him and tell him how they’re going to fix this.

(Spoiler: she will!)

And here's some straight-up Stroghainoff fluff <3

“It gets colder here than in the West,” Stroud says one night, draping an arm over him and snuggling in close behind him as he gently presses his lips to the back of his shoulder.

“I’ve spent the majority of my life in Ferelden,” Loghain grumbles.

“Well, I haven’t.”

Loghain rolls over to face him. “So what? You want me to knit you a sweater or something?”

“No…” Stroud laughs. “Though now that you mention it…”

“I haven’t tried to knit anything since I was a boy.”

“I’d settle for a scarf.” He grins. “Or how about just a cuddle?”

“You’d look absurd in a scarf…”

Stroud shrugs. “So a cuddle, then?”

“Guess so…” Loghain pulls him in against his chest and wraps his arms around him. How Stroud could ever claim to be cold is beyond him. The man is an absolute furnace.

…

Stroud doesn’t say anything when he’s asked to sign the requisition forms the next day and notices a few skeins of yarn have been added in Loghain’s hand at the bottom of the supply list. He resists the urge to follow him when the old man begins to excuse himself early each night from the dining hall. And he tries to announce his arrival through exaggerated grunts and heavy footsteps and give him enough time to scramble and put away whatever he’s been working on before entering their room.

But after a week of this, he finds it difficult not to pry.

“Mac Tir…” he says, setting aside the stack of reports he’s meant to be reading and responding to before bed.

“Hrm?” Loghain looks up from the book he’s been reading.

“I can’t help but notice you’ve been up to something…”

“Up to something?” Loghain looks decidedly guilty, but at least he’s smiling. “You think I’m planning another coup? Or fooling around with your Mistress Woolsey when she’s not in your office barking orders at you from Weisshaupt?”

“No.” Stroud chuckles. “I think you’re up to something far more devious…”

“Yes. Yes…that is me. The Traitor, as they say.”

“I think you’ve been trying to teach yourself to knit.”

“Trying?” Well, now he looks offended. “I told you I already know how to knit. Sister Ailis saw to it that we could knit and mend our own clothes just as well as we could fight.”

“Why are you being so secretive about it, then?”

“Because, you idiot, I’ve been trying to knit something for you…”

“Can I…see it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because…it’s all wrong.” Loghain sighs. “I’ve had to start over twice already. And will probably have to scrap this one, too!”

“What’s the problem? Maybe I could take a look…”

“The problem is you…you’re all…” He waves his hand up and down and across, motioning toward Stroud’s torso. “I think I have the measurements right, but then it just ends up looking like a big dumb sweater.”

“I wouldn’t mind a big dumb sweater.”

“Well, then…” Loghain huffs. He walks over to his chest of belongings and flings it open, then produces a wonderfully fuzzy-looking sweater in Warden blue, which he tosses across the room to Stroud. “Here.”

Stroud immediately pulls it on over his tunic, beaming at him. “It’s actually perfect.”

“It’s lop-sided…”

“Is not…”

“Yes it is. Right…” Loghain crosses the room and tugs on the right arm of the sweater. “...here. This arm looks longer. But I counted the rows. It shouldn’t be.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely. And I’m going to wear it everyday now that Fereldan winter has arrived.”

“Maker spare me…” Loghain groans. “Just don’t…tell anyone I made it.”

“They all know that we’re together, Mac Tir.”

“I know that! But they don’t know that I’m a terrible knitter. It’s embarrassing!”

Thank you thank you thank you for these prompts! Can't think of a better way to spend my birthday morning than frantically writing angst and fluff and angsty fluff for some of my favorites.

#birthentine's prompts #dragon age #fenris #anders #fenders #stroud #loghain #stroghainoff #big dumb sweaters for everyone!

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morvantmortuary · 2 years

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for the request game, 64 + Hector. I can't stop thinking about it lord help

64: "I better leave my mark on you so everyone knows you're mine"

1. I’m sorry this took so long bestie, feel free to bonk me with a foam bat :’D

2. I’m sorry for what’s about to happen, bestie

el quiere sangre -

warnings: death scare, someone watches reader sleep, possessed!Hector, yandere behavior, ghosts, corpses, marking, possessiveness, some gore, dead person making less than wholesome insinuations to the reader. potential dead dove do not eat; we’re going scary and not smutty here.

reader notes: Hex’s Reader, established relationship! Reader uses ‘They’ pronouns, but Hex still refers to them by fem petnames and endearments in spanish bc those are what I know :’D Otherwise Reader is fairly neutral in all other aspects! Any tweaks to maintain that or to fix Hex’s spanish appreciated, as always!!

You knew the seance probably hadn’t gone well when Hex didn’t text you back that night. Or early the next morning.

Your concern was confirmed the following afternoon, when not only one but both of the twins were at the front door when you knocked and neither one looked like they’d come remotely close to sleeping.

“Oh! Hi there, sweetheart.” Maxi gave you his best attempt at a smile, but the circles under his eyes were darker than usual, and you could tell from the wrinkles at his elbows and knees that he was still in his dress shirt and slacks from the day before. “We, uh. Weren’t expectin’ company today. Sorry.”

Rora was lurking against the wall behind him - her hair a frizzy mess, her dress similarly rumpled, and her mouth poised like she was sucking on her teeth against a bad taste.

You blinked before you remembered to speak - it was unlike anyone in the family to look so rough in front of company. Sure, you’d been spending more time around the House lately, but you thought you still qualified on some level. No one had let you see the basement yet, for example.

“No, you’re fine! Totally fine, no big deal, ” you said, looking between the two. “I hadn’t heard from Hector yet, so I thought I’d swing by and see if anyone, um, needed anything. …Rough night, huh?” You tried to smile even a little at your own bad joke. Hex had warned you that sometimes seances left him a bit worn out, sometimes for a couple of days. He’d made it sound like getting over a bug, though, or something as inconvenient as a common cold.

But the way Maxi’s smile immediately dropped to reveal his bone-deep exhaustion, and Rora glared at the floor like it insulted her personally, you immediately realized that Hex had been selective in exactly what he told you.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, looking between the two. “Sorry, if that was, um. Bad taste. I didn’t know— He didn’t tell me—“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Maxi said, gesturing for you to come inside. “Just.” He ran a hand under his glasses as he shut the door behind you, muffling a sigh into his palm. “We didn’t want to have to do it to begin with, and then things just kept escalatin’, and the person we were lookin’ for kept puttin’ Hex through his paces—“

“It was a goddamn mess,” Rora cut him off bluntly, folding her arms over her chest. “Ectoplasm everywhere, and we just barely got what we needed. He’s still a mess.” She jerked her chin up to the second floor, towards Hector’s room in the back of the House. “I can’t remember the last time it went that badly, and he’s been doin’ this for almost thirty years.”

You looked from her to Maxi as you slid out of your shoes, who was shooting her a warning glare - something that gave you the slightest pause when you saw a faint red reflected in his eyes, a reminder that even the softie of the bunch could still be a bit frightening when you didn’t expect it. “Is he okay? Is he hurt?” You should’ve known the lack of contact was a bad sign - normally he at least sent you a joking ‘I lived, bitch’ selfie, but today there’d been not so much as a whisper across the static ether. You kicked yourself for not thinking to come over earlier.

“He’s fine,” Maxi soothed, holding up a hand. “Took me a minute to get his vitals stable when it left him, and he spent the night on an IV drip in the prep room.” His mouth flattened into a hard line for a moment at the memory. “We at least seem to be past the part where he keeps purgin’ ectoplasm.”

“For now,” Rora remarked over Maxi’s shoulder, still leaning against the wall. “What?” She lifted a hand in a languid shrug as Maxi shot her another look. “It’s come back before. We could just be in the eye of it before he starts leaking purple from—”

“Can I see him?”

Your voice - having gone up a couple octaves, at least, as the twins were sniping at each other - caused them both to look around. You weren’t entirely sure what your face was doing, but it must have been sad enough that both of them immediately looked more guilty than annoyed with each other.

“Of course, hon.” Maxi said, his smile all sympathy. “He’s just upstairs, I’ll take you.” He gestured for you to follow him, and you hurried behind his long strides towards the staircase.

“He’s been askin’ after you,” Rora drawled, tilting her head to look at you as you passed by her. “…I think it’s him, at least,” she added, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

You heard Maxi sigh ahead of you as you reached the second floor. “Don’t mind her,” he muttered to you, slowing down so you could catch up with his long strides. “She’s only grouchy when she’s anxious.”

You looked from Maxi over the bannister again, making sure Rora wasn’t lurking in the parlor below before turning back to him with a furrow in your brow. “But… she’s always like that,” you whispered, not taking the chance of being overheard.

Maxi gave you a good-natured wink. “Family secret.” The smile faded just a bit as the two of you turned the corner towards Hex’s room. “Hex’s channelin’ has scared her since we were little. Scared all of us, really, but probably Ror the most. She can’t… see ghosts quite like we can,” he explained quietly. “So for her, it always looks like he’s havin’ a seizure or somethin’. She’s missin’ most of the context and has to bear with it until it’s over. I can usually see what’s happenin’,” he added, frowning now. “But that doesn’t mean I can help, really. It’s all him.”

You stared at him, feeling your jaw drop slightly in horror. Hex had never mentioned anything of the sort to you. “Holy shit, why is he doing this if they’re that bad?”

Maxi’s eyes fell to his feet for a moment. “We don’t like him to, but he insists he can take it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I keep tryin’ to explain to him that ‘can’ doesn’t mean ‘should,’ but… well, you know him.” He gave you an exasperated side-long look. “And there are certain things we need that only the dead know, so…” He shrugged half-heartedly. “He volunteers.”

The two of you stopped outside a familiar door, clumsily painted a faded shade of black and covered in faded and blurry polaroids that were at least a few decades old by now.

“Last I checked, he was sleepin’,” Maxi’s voice had lowered to a whisper. “If he still is—“

“It’s fine, I’ll just wait with him,” you whispered back, shaking your head. Even if he wasn’t awake, the idea of leaving now felt impossible. You were trying not to picture him unconscious on the other side of the door, wracked by whatever the fuck had just put his body through hell. The very idea made your chest ache like you’d been punched there.

Maxi smiled, but the weariness of it aged him a decade. “That’s fine, sugar. He’ll be happy to see you when he wakes up.” He turned as if to leave you there, but immediately stopped, as if just thinking of something. You watched his face, seeing him briefly worry his own lip as he chose his words. “…If he comes to and doesn’t seem… himself,” he said slowly, meeting your eyes. “Or if anythin’ feels off, in any way - even if you don’t know why - you holler for me and Ror, okay?” His eyes were serious again, moving between you and the door. “He should be fine,” he repeated, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was for his sake or yours. “We’re well outside the usual window for a relapse, but… still.”

“Define ‘relapse’.” Your mouth felt dry, and you found yourself crossing your arms over your chest. Not… protectively, per se. But something about the way even Maxi seemed hesitant, of all people, left you feeling ill at ease.

Indeed, he sighed, briefly rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes, when he was younger, we ran the risk of somethin’… resurfacin’, for a bit,” he said. “Somethin’ that might not have given its hold up on him - not yet, anyway. It’s been a long time since that’s happened, trust me. Years and years,” he reassured you quickly. “I’m only sayin’ somethin’ about it at all just to be overly cautious, y’know?”

“Oh.” You felt your shoulders relax as you nodded. “Cautious is good, yeah.” You smiled the best you could. “I’ll let you guys know if anything’s spookier than normal.”

“Much obliged.” Maxi returned it with a grimace of his own. “Now, if you two’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go try not to fall down dead on the couch. Text me or Rora if he’s ready to eat somethin’.”

“Thanks,” you whisper-called after him, and he waved over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

You turned back to the bedroom door, and caught yourself taking a deep breath before you realized what you were doing. What were you nervous about? It was just Hector. Your Hector. He wouldn’t be feeling well after… whatever the fuck that thing did to him, but even if he was just a glimmer of the clever, chatty weirdo you knew him to be, you’d be content.

Smiling briefly at the thought - and tapping a vintage Selena sticker stuck to the door for luck - you finally twisted the knob and stepped inside.

Hex’s childhood bedroom was dark to begin with, but despite the bright sun outside the House, it seemed completely engulfed in shadows with all the thick curtains drawn over the windows. You stood uncertainly in the doorway for a moment in the small cracks of light from the hallway, the silence within feeling somehow… thicker, than usual. Almost ominous.

Like you weren’t the only one in the room.

A flicker of movement in the dim caught your eye as your vision adjusted, and you stared at the bed until a shape swam into view —

A bundle at the center of the mattress, wrapped in an old quilt and stirring restlessly. A soft, unintelligible mumble and another roll of the lump revealed Hector, his mouth hidden by his blanket, his eyes closed serenely in sleep.

Dumbass, you scolded yourself. Of course you weren’t the only one in the room. You felt yourself exhale and your shoulders soften, your heart aching at the bruise-like shadows you could make out around his eyes in the dim light around the blackout curtains. Hex had a way of always looking like he was anticipating something when he was awake - a feeling of never quite sitting still even when the two of you were lying on the couch, as if expecting something or someone new to enter unannounced at any moment. It was only when he slept that you ever got to see him looking so at peace, so… young. For a moment, it was easier to picture him as he might have been as a boy, carefree and sweet. Away from… this.

You crept towards your usual side of his bed on tiptoes, carefully easing yourself onto the mattress over the covers so as not to jostle him too much. “Hey, baby,” you whispered as you lay down, your eyes at last adjusting to the pressing dark. “It’s just me, okay?”

Hex made a faint questioning noise, his eyes fluttering open like there were weights attached to his eyelids. When at last they seemed to fix on you, he mumbled something you couldn’t quite make out, but immediately scooted closer to you across his bed.

You cooed softly to him, wrapping your arms around his thin shoulders as he settled next to you with an exhausted sigh. You pressed your forehead against his feverish one, trying not to shrink away from the heat and sweat of it as you felt his arm squirm through his tangled sheets to wind around your waist.

“Que tal, Bonita?” he mumbled, and you fought the urge to wince at the way his voice sounded cracked - like his vocal chords were bruised.

“Hi there, Sexy,” you joked back, hoping your voice didn’t give away just how hard this was to see. You’d seen Hex sick, of course - a virus here or there, a bad flu once - but this was beyond any of that. He looked like it hurt to fucking blink. Indeed, when he did, he looked bleary and barely conscious. “Maxi and Ror told me you weren’t feeling so hot,” you whispered, snuggling to him. “So I’m here to be your lowly jello-fetcher while you recover, okay?” You were trying not to panic at just how ironically hot he felt through his covers; since the two of you had started sleeping together, you’d always known him to run cold, to the point you’d have a fluffy blanket all to yourself in the winter months. For him to be shirtless and still warm through the thin cotton sheets between you was… new. It scared you.

But Maxi and Rora said he was better than he had been, so. You’d have to trust them on that one.

“You hungry?” you whispered, hopeful.

But Hex only groaned, shaking his head as he withdrew into his blankets.

“Okay, okay, don’t sweat it,” you soothed, following him with your arms still around his shoulders. “Don’t sweat it, baby, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.” You felt him ease back against you, hugging him tightly as you tucked yourself under his chin. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Yo se,” Hex murmured, burying the end of his nose in your hair. “Te amo, Querida.”

“I love you too, babe,” you whispered back, listening carefully as his breathing quickly slid back into the deep rasp of sleep. You closed your eyes, trying to content yourself with just being close enough to hear him, to know he was recovering even if he hurt to look at. You made lists in your head to try to pass the time: of things you’d run back to your place and grab once he was awake, so you could camp out here for a few days; of dishes you thought you could try if he was having a hard time keeping stuff down - Rora and Maxi had mentioned ectoplasm, what the fuck was that? Was it anything like in the Ghostbusters movies? Of things you apparently fucking needed to Google, not realizing quite what it meant to have a medium for a lover —

You made lists until your breathing fell into sync with his, and Sleep carried you, too, away down its dark river.

You were so far gone, you didn’t notice when something else woke up.

It wasn’t the rustling that stirred you, or the broken-sounding giggle. It was the cold.

Hex had been so warm next to you that you’d eased into his heat, eventually rolling over so your back was against his chest. When at first the heat only disappeared, you continued to sleep, comforted by the weight of his quilt.

When the temperature dropped further, your dozing brain figured it was just the House’s rickety-ass air conditioning system kicking on at last - it was already temperamental, but in the summers it could be downright fickle, still as the grave one minute and then chilling everyone in the vicinity in the same hour.

…But this was something else.

You only woke up when you started shivering, pulling the quilt tighter around you until you were nearly tangled in it. Not quite wanting to open your eyes yet, you rolled over, one hand reaching out to feel for where Hex had obviously gotten up to go to the bathroom, or hell, even rolled off the mattress in a particularly restless dream.

Your hand skimmed flesh that was stone-cold to the touch.

Your eyes flew open, panicking. Oh god, oh god oh god what happened—

“Hex?” you croaked, squinting into the perfect impenetrable black of the room. Had it gotten dark outside? How long had you been asleep? How long had he?

He was still just asleep, right?

There was no answer. The figure beneath your hand, undeniably cold, stayed perfectly still.

You whimpered, the sound rising from your throat unbidden as your free hand frantically scrabbled across the mattress for your phone. You swear you’d had it with you when you walked in, you were keeping it close in case you needed the twins—

But that had been in case Hex got sick, or started running a fever.

No one told you he might not wake up at all.

The whimper in your throat rose in volume as you tried to get your brain to work, wanting to yell for someone to come help. This had to be a mistake, this was a nightmare, this couldn’t really be happening.

But your hand on his skin - his bare shoulder, you realized now - moved slowly upwards, desperately for a puff of breath of a pulse of warmth. You felt nothing, still, skimming his neck and finding his hair hanging in his face.

“Hex,” you demanded, your fingers desperately brushing his hair away as you still groped for your phone. “Hector, babe, wake up. Wake up right now.”

The only heat in the room seemed to be pooling behind your eyes as you begged yourself not to cry. This was a bad dream. This was a bad dream, or a prank. He was going to sit up laughing any minute now at how scared you’d been, how little it took.

But something in you knew that wasn’t true. Hex was a tease, but he wasn’t mean. He would never play a joke on you that made you cry.

He’d die before he’d do that, he was always telling you.

You let out a shaky breath as you finally found your fucking phone, fumbling not to drop it. “Hector, wake the fuck up and talk to me, goddammit.”

The dim light of your lock screen - a selfie of him ambushing you with kisses as you laughed - failed to penetrate the darkness around you, and you felt your panic begin to combine with a sense of claustrophobia.

You fumbled with your phone, trying to flip the flashlight on. Under your free hand, you felt Hector twitch ever so slightly, as if stirring from a dream.

“I’m awake.”

You jumped at the sound, feeling your own breath gush from you in a stuttering half-sob. “Hex, oh my god. I was so scared, you can’t do that to me.” You flipped your flashlight on at last, angling the phone upwards -

And seeing someone staring out of Hector’s face that was definitely not Hector.

You couldn’t explain it: it was his face, of course. But the expression - the grin, the rictus split of the lips - was entirely wrong. He didn’t smile with that much teeth, that much exposed gum. His lips were purple, like he’d been starved for air. His eyes were the wrong color, even: rather than his warm dark brown, staring out from between tangled locks of his hair, they were a sickeningly pale blue in his face.

Or at least, from what you could see of the irises. The pupils, in the dark of the room, seemed to fill every available centimeter of space.

Worst of all - it still didn’t look like he was breathing.

The person wearing your boyfriend’s face stared at you, laying perfectly still with his nose an inch from yours on the pillow.

You stared back at him, struggling suddenly for words.

The room between you two fell completely, utterly silent.

The only light source in the room shook with your hand as your brain raced. He hadn’t moved yet. He was just… laying there. God knows how long he had been laying there; you realized with a sick jolt that you could’ve been sleeping for hours with this… thing right next to you, staring at you.

Remembering Maxi’s words from earlier, you took a breath as slowly and subtly as you could, trying to ready yourself to scream.

“Try,” croaked not-Hector, watching you from the pillow. “And see what happens.” His grin only grew wider, to the point where it threatened to tear the corners of Hex’s mouth.

You froze, your breath dying in your lungs. “…What are you?” you exhaled, staring at the thing next to you.

It didn’t blink, it never twitched save for its lips. “Dead.”

Somehow hearing it, having it confirmed, was worse. Of course it was dead - nothing living smiled that way. Nothing living had eyes that color blue, like they’d been soaked in some sort of preservatives.

“Where’s Hector?” you whispered, the tears quickly returning to your eyes.

“Having his turn in the dark.” The thing clicked its teeth against each other in two sharp bites to punctuate this, then followed it with a laugh like a wheezing cough. Unbidden, you suddenly glanced towards the shadowy corners of the room, as if you felt something else standing there watching you. You couldn’t tell if the ringing in your ears was just fear, or the tail end of a distant shout.

You swallowed, trying to cover for the fact that you were definitely about to piss yourself. “G-give him back.”

“No.” The thing stiffly shook Hector’s head, and you covered your mouth as his neck made a noise that sounded entirely wrong. “No, no no, I like it here. I like this.” It gazed up at you and you wanted to vomit. “I like waking up next to you.”

You shivered, wanting to roll away but scared that moving would cause… something. Something worse. It took you a minute to try to breathe, your next question barely audible: “What do you want?”

“What we all want on the other side.” The too-pale eyes slid down to your neck, then slowly, torturously back up again, entirely silent in the process. “…To feel warm again.”

A black tongue moved wetly over the thing’s teeth, and as you finally went to scream, a withered hand shoved itself from under the covers to stick rotting fingers in your mouth.

You didn’t know when it pulled you under the sheets, but there was fabric everywhere - on your tongue, twisted around your wrists so you couldn’t thrash and between your legs so you couldn’t kick free. You were suffocated by moldering coffin breath as the thing above you laughed in a high pitched giggle, blue eyes still somehow luminous in the shadowy bedclothes. Every time you went to scream, you found cloth or hair in your mouth, and more than once you wretched, feeling like you’d drown in your own gag reflex. The thing holed up in your boyfriend, meanwhile, was pinning your chest with a chest that didn’t feel like Hector’s, like the chest of anything living - it felt too soft, somehow, and cold, like something left to rot in water.

You felt something cold and wet drip onto the skin of your neck, and it felt like river water falling from the thing’s mouth, the black tongue inching closer and closer to your pulse —

Something shoved you both off the bed, like somebody had leapt on top of the covers in a blind attempt at a pile-driver. You cried out as your head hit the floor - thankfully with the old rug between you and the hardwood, but still hard enough to hurt.

You could breathe again, though. You sat up as fast as you could, tearing the sheets from over your face like a caul and practically drinking your breaths. Everything was still cold, and heavy, but you were out from under the dead man.

You looked around, spotting the soft outline of your overturned phone on the carpet, and snatched up the light to point it towards the sounds of the thing being attacked.

Then you wished you hadn’t.

The thing wearing your boyfriend’s body was sitting upright under the sheets and shrieking to bring the house down, furiously flailing at someone else that seemed to be under there with it. You heard hideous gagging noises, like a drowning victim throwing up brine, and the sheets quickly became soaked with a putrid-smelling dark liquid. The other figure wrestled the thing down and slammed his skull backwards against the hardwood floor once, then twice, causing you to panic as you wondered if that would somehow give Hex a concussion. You realized someone was yelling in a language you couldn’t recognize alongside the dead man’s screaming, and there was a third voice in there somewhere, wailing like the damned.

You looked around, terrified of another spectral assault, before you realized a full minute later that the screamer was you.

The dead man was losing, and at one point the water that hit the sheet was a pinkish color that made you scream even more. If he was bleeding, was Hector bleeding? Was Hector in there dying? What if he couldn’t get back, and his body strangled to death on whatever that was?

You screamed again as something banged loudly over your shoulder, like something crashing hard into the wall. For a moment, you thought something was trying to bust through into your world, another unholy terror - until you realized that was only the door.

“Fuck, it’s jammed!” You heard Maxi on the other side, and something hit it again, hard enough that you were surprised the door didn’t buckle. “Get me the shotgun. MAGGIE, GET UP HERE—“

But the sounds of outside were quickly drowned out by what sounded like the roof threatening to cave in, and you looked up, screaming as you saw what looked like a shower of disembodied arms reaching down through the ceiling. They swung backwards and forwards, groping blindly, and as they got closer to the floor you sank lower and lower towards the carpet, afraid they would try to grab your hair or your neck.

The struggle next to you on the floor suddenly had your attention again as the dead man wretched like something was pulling his esophagus out through his mouth, and you heard the sound of fabric tearing. A glimmer of purple slowly grew under the dense quilt, as if someone had lit slow-burning neon, and as you watched, it glowed until it was brighter than your phone.

Horrified, you watched the body suddenly throw the quilt off and sit up, panting.

It was only when it forcefully pushed its hair back that you saw the eyes you knew.

“Hijo de puta, Duquesne,” Hex groaned, rolling onto his knees to wretch as he held his hair back out of his face. You watched, horrified, as black gunk like rotten plant matter ejected itself forcefully onto he floor. He sat there, panting, sounding on the verge of sobbing as he rocked back and forth to prepare for another wave. “Fuck you, you dead motherfucker—“

“Hector,” you croaked, and his eyes snapped up.

“Querida?“ he looked up at the sound of another rafter snapping, watching the ghostly hands wildly grabbing in his direction now. “What’re you— fuck, MAXI, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU BRO?” he yelled towards the door.

“I’M RIGHT HERE, HOLD ON!” You heard the sound of something clicking, then a loud crack like a car backfiring in the hallway, causing you to nearly jump right into a ghostly palm trying to grab at your face. “Fuck. HE JAMMED THE DOOR.”

You heard something scrabbling at the door like claws, like an animal was trying to dig underneath the door frame.

“I TOLD YOU WE NEEDED FUCKING BRONZE NAILS, YOU PRICK!” Hector bellowed, grabbing the hand next to your face and squeezing until you heard something squelch sickeningly. The hand in front of you glowed a bright purple and something above you wailed, dragging the appendage away from his grip as if it was broken.

“YOU’RE THE ONE THAT DIDN’T WANNA WAIT TWO DAYS FOR PRIME, DIPSHIT!” Maxi yelled back. “Fuck, Rora—”

“Get out of my way.” You watched the door suddenly glow around the edges with an ominous shade of green, then heard what sounded like someone snapping a whole box of dry pasta in half one piece at a time. “C’mon, little girl,” you somehow heard Rora cooing over the din around you. “Your turn.”

Mesmerized in your fear, you saw something small begin to slide under the door, Rora was shoving pieces of fine china through the crack into the room.

You heard something scream in the rafters and whirled around, only to see Hector had just bitten into one of the hands in front of his face that had gotten too close to the back of your head. While the creature above you was obviously trying to pull it away, Hex only yanked it by the wrist and bit down harder, until you saw its thumb fold in a way it shouldn’t. It was only then he let it go, spitting something grey off to the side. “WE NEEDED THE MOON, I TOLD YOU—“ Hector ducked another hand, this one getting close enough to grab ahold of one of his ears for a moment. He swore through gritted teeth, twisting the wrist hard in his hands. “SOME HELP NOW WOULD BE FUCKING GREAT, YOU TWO!”

“DON’T RUSH HER, SHE’S DOIN’ HER BEST!” Rora yelled through the door. “Here, Maxi, give me the damn gun—“

“Be my goddamn guest,” Maxi spat back, and you heard something thud against the door again. This time the door itself seemed to glow a deep red…

But if you stared long enough, you realized it wasn’t the door that was glowing.

It was something in front of the door, something large that seemed to be blocking it. Something that seemed to pulse now with the red light, like the raw, scabbing flesh over a healing wound.

The little white pieces continued to pile up at the bottom of the floor, then sort themselves again, doing an odd little spiraling dance like debris in water. Eventually, they began to fold together into something, to build upon themselves one at a time with an alarming speed. It was only when you saw the skull fold itself back together out of flat little shards that you realized it was Magnolia, Maxi’s skeletal house cat. With a growl, she lunged at the pulsating door - and clung to something fleshy, dragging her claws down it and leaving bright green scratches behind her.

Horrified, you watched as the thing like a skin graft lifted itself off the doorframe, revealing itself to be some sort of creature trying to shove poor Maggie headfirst into a suddenly gaping, oozing mouth. Magnolia let out an eerie echo of a yowl, throwing herself at the thing headfirst and tackling it to the floor.

Hector swore again, narrowly pulling you away from one of the hands. “You know what, fuck this.” He closed one eye as he looked up at the ceiling and began muttering something that was definitely not Spanish or English or any language you knew. He pointed with the index and middle fingers of his right hand and pulled back with his thumb, and you saw something worm-like in his familiar purple start to form and writhe around the extended digits. He made a sudden sharp gesture, like he was flinging it at the ceiling, and overhead you saw the spindly wraith arms suddenly lit up like there was a purple firework amongst them. The slimy, worm-like object spread across the ceiling and between the arms like a fungus or a root system, curling around the limbs and seeming to tighten around them painfully.

Something in the attic wailed, and it sound like it was a crowd of people in terrible pain.

You watched the hands turn on themselves, snatching at each other’s arms - only to scream when something grabbed the back of your shirt.

“It’s me!” Hector pulled you roughly across the floor so your back was against his chest, curling around you like a ball as soon as you made contact. “It’s me, Preciosa, I got you.”

“Hector!” You spun around to look at him as best you could in his tight grip, checking his eyes to avoid last time’s mistake. “Hector, what the entire fuck is going on?! Are you okay?”

“It’s okay,” Hector put one of his hands on the back of your head, pulling you closer to him and out of the path of a grasping hand that seemed to wither into a skeletal form before your eyes before crumbling to nothing. “It’s okay, it’s just some residual bullshit. It’s almost over.”

“Who the fuck is that?!” You pointed over his shoulder at the soaking wet quilt that seemed to sit up by itself, like there was a body from the embalming room underneath.

Hector turned, following your gaze and swearing loudly. He looked back to you with wide, slightly panicked eyes. “Baby, tell me right now: do you trust me?”

You checked his eyes again, paranoid now. “It… is you, right?” you asked, your voice drowned out between the screaming creatures overhead, the sound of another aborted gunshot, and poor Magnolia caterwauling as she wrestled with something twice her size.

Hector leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. In his eyes, you saw a soft purple swirl of what looked like distant stars.

“It’s always me,” he said softly, and somehow you heard him over the cacophony of wailing around you. “And I’m going to give you something so you’re always mine.”

You stared at him, confused, your cheeks wet with sweat and bile from god knows what and your own tears - but you nodded, wordlessly.

Hex smiled, somehow soft despite how absolutely exhausted he looked, and he took your shoulder gently in one hand. He leaned down, finding your pulse - exactly where the dead man had been going earlier, you remembered with a wave of nausea - and kissed it gently —

Before you gasped in pain, feeling something cold and sharp puncture skin.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, and you whined in fright as you felt something drag through your flesh to tear it. “It’s okay, I swear you’re okay, I’m not gonna let anything hurt you anymore, just breathe. I got you, it’s just gonna hurt a little right now while it takes—“

Your hands flew up to seize at his wrists, wanting it to stop, to pull away whatever he was holding. God, it stung, you swore you felt your own hot blood flicking against your face as it felt like he was carving your throat open.

But before you could establish a good grip, you saw something glow in a bright light you’d never seen before just out of your line of sight.

Hector sighed as if entirely absorbed in whatever was glowing on your neck. His eyes were soft, as if he was gazing at something sacred, despite the fact it hurt like all get-out. You gasped in turn, the wound now burning like something was being branded into you.

You gave another strangled cry when you saw the silhouette just behind his shoulder drag the quilt from its face, revealing the bloated flesh of a drowned man. Your mind reeled, panicking: if that thing had been hiding in Hector’s body — where did it get its own?

Hector saw your face and realized something was wrong, but time felt like it was moving in slow motion. He turned too late, just as the drowned man grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled backward—

But something bright green hit the intruder full in the face, dragging both the corpse and the necromancer to the floor.

You clapped your hand to where light seemed to be leaking from your neck, scrambling back to the end of the bed as you watched an enraged Maggie shove her claws into the eye sockets of the imposter beneath her. You watched, horrified and nauseated, as she freed her feet one at a time with a sucking squelch noise, the discolored milky eyeballs of the corpse speared on each of her feet. The corpse let out an unholy scream, splattering more murky brine as its head thrashed furiously.

In the distraction, Hector yanked himself free from the corpse’s grip, giving a muffled whimper as he sacrificed a good hank of his own hair in the process. He scrambled back with you, his hand shaking with fingers extended in front of him again as he landed back against the bed frame.

But Magnolia seemed to be well in control of the situation, now ripping the corpse’s black oily tongue straight out of his jaw with her little needle teeth and standing triumphantly on the corpse’s collapsing, soggy chest as it writhed and gagged on more brackish-smelling bile.

The hands above all retreated as the door burst open, filling the room with a red so bright you thought it was fire, at first — until it was accompanied by a near-nuclear green just behind it.

“Maggie, move!” Rora called — but something about her voice was… unfamiliar.

You saw Maggie leap nimbly onto the floor, and shrieked as the corpse seemed to explode with the force of a gunshot. Hector grabbed you and pulled your head against his chest, shielding you as you heard another loud bang and felt more cold water droplets against your face.

Under Hex’s arm, you saw Maxi and Rora walk into view, realizing they were indeed the source of the colored lights.

You’d never seen them look like this before - not too unlike when Hector was… possessed, you guessed. Rora’s hair was wild around her from an unseen wind, her lips and the y-incision scar on her chest black as though with rot and age, her cheekbones ferociously prominent as though her skin only barely covered her skull. She tossed the shotgun to the side of the room and stepped hard on the corpse’s knee, and you heard it pop loose from its socket with a sickening noise. The crack almost seemed to reverberate down the corpse itself, and you watched as joints seemed to slide out of place in a wave of force, the thing howling in pain.

Maxi knelt down next to her, and your stomach turned: his face looked… wrong. Like an accident victim without the funeral makeup, the flesh along his cheeks looking less solid and more like it was loosely holding his jaw together in thin strips. The red light shone through many vertical wounds in his face, and through them, you could see a tongue that looked like it’d been split in two. He kneeled in front of the corpse-like thing, peering at it with perfectly black eyes as though studying it.

When he turned and said something to Rora, you couldn’t recognize the language. But something in you churned, as though some primal part of you wanted to get away from it as fast as possible. Like you shouldn’t be hearing it at all.

“Don’t look,” Hector whispered, trying to block your vision as you saw Maxi extend a hand with fingers like pointed bone towards the corpse itself.

You didn’t see what he did, exactly — but through Hector’s fingers, you could still see just enough.

Before your eyes, the corpse - still staring at you with unseeing too-pale eyes - seemed to eat itself inwards, flesh shrinking to bone, bone shrinking to dust, dust piling onto the carpet.

Magnolia fell with an unceremonious rattling sound onto the floor, still chewing determinedly at the tongue in her mouth.

It took a moment for the twins to stop glowing, and a moment after that for the lights in Hector’s room to flicker back to life. You jumped at the sound of his laptop on his bedside table suddenly reviving, the rapid dialogue of one of his favorite old shows blaring through the tinny speakers in the relative silence.

You realized, with another sickening jolt, that the dark when you’d first walked into the room hadn’t been something he’d done on purpose. Something had been in here with you two the whole time, and had been holding the room in its sway.

Hex at last loosened his grip, letting you sit up. “Look at me, beautiful — you okay?”

You leaned back, studying him to make sure he still looked like himself. Like a human. “…Yeah,” you said at last, slowly. You didn’t know what you were, really, your head processing so much at once.

You nervously glanced out of the corner of your eye, making sure the twins looked relatively normal before you let yourself look entirely.

Rora was back to her usual self, her scars no more than a soft tissue on her décolletage that you only saw if you knew it was there. She was walking over to where she’d thrown the gun, picking it up and studying it with pursed lips before removing the empty shells and putting the safety back on.

Maxi was still kneeling next to the pile of corpse dust, human again but still frowning in deep concern. “They’re gettin’ better at that,” he mumbled. He shot Hex a look you didn’t quite understand. With a sigh and a slight crack of his knees, he got back to his feet. “We’re gonna have to figure out how, if we want to keep the House intact. …Maggie, honey,” he added, nudging her gently with the toe of his sock. “Spit that out, that’s nasty.”

Magnolia growled, clicking on her tiny toes with her prize under Hector’s bed, where she continued with her grisly chewing sounds. If anything, it just sounded like she was chewing faster.

“Claro, later.” Hex waved a hand at Maxi impatiently, still looking you over with concern. “Did anything grab you, love? Does anything hurt? How does your neck feel?” He added, glancing again towards the spot where you remembered it burning.

You took a breath to answer - and hissed as your skin moved, reaching up to the place where your neck still felt like there was an open wound. “What did you do to me…?” You pulled your hand away, expecting to see blood… but found none. Just a thick, viscous fluid that glowed with an odd purple sheen.

Hector opened his mouth to answer, looking oddly proud of himself —

“You didn’t.”

You whipped around (wincing again), seeing Rora’s shocked expression. She frightened you further by crossing back and dropping abruptly to her knees in front of you on the carpet, one hand taking your chin to tilt your head further to one side so she could see your neck. “Hector, what the fuck.” She turned, glaring at him. “Did you tell them what this was?”

“What?” Hector gestured defensively to Maxi. “He did it to his!”

“Not on purpose.” Maxi was gazing at you with similar concern, kneeling down next to his sister. As a new tingling pain made its way up your neck, you distractedly noticed how eerily similar they were when they were that close together, despite looking fairly different when they were apart. “And I sure as hell didn’t do it the old fashioned way. Fuck, Hex, those lines are raw.” He winced, glancing at your face before looking back to Hector. “We gotta get some disinfectant on that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Doctors, I definitely should’ve asked Duquesne to wait a second so I could scrub up first,” Hex muttered bitterly, folding his arms as he glared at the twins. “I made a call. It was the right one.”

“Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” you asked, looking between the twins and Hector with a mounting sick feeling.

“I told you, Querida,” Hector said softly, holding up his unfolded pocket knife, where the blade seemed dulled in the low light by a dark viscous fluid. “I put my mark on you, so everyone knows you’re mine.”

Rora closed the space between them so they were practically nose-to-nose, her eyes blazing. “Did you tell them what you were doing or not?”

“It was going to happen anyway, we all know that!” Hector gestured frustratedly with the still-unfolded knife. “I didn’t have time for it to happen the new way, Duquesne would’ve jumped to them next—“

“We could’ve handled that without this, Hector,” Rora said sharply. “This is something else. This is permanent.”

“No the fuck we couldn’t, Rora, I could barely handle that,” Hector spat. “It would’ve killed them if it had gotten to that point. I wasn’t about to let that happen. And they are permanent.” He said, gesturing furiously to you. “They’re mine. We knew that.”

“Did they agree to it, though?”

“I asked them if they trusted me!”

“Oh, fuck, Hector, you know that’s not—“

“Shut up.” Maxi growled over his shoulder. Hector and Rora turned in unison to glare at him instead, as if annoyed he’d interrupted. “For god’s sake, the pair of you, we have enough to deal with already. We can talk it out later. Here, hold on,” he pulled his already loose tie off completely, folding it up and holding it to the spot on your neck. “Hold this and keep some pressure on it, hon, okay?”

“I can handle that,” Hector snapped, sliding over to put his hand over it instead.

“Then do it,” Maxi spat, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna go get the goddamn gauze. You’re lucky they don’t need stitches.”

“I knew what I was doing!” Hector called angrily after Maxi. He waited until he’d carefully yet firmly held the ruined tie to your new mark before turning to Rora, glaring again. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” Rora drawled, her face skeptical as she sat back on her haunches.

“Goddamn it, Rora—“

“Is it supposed to burn?” you rasped.

The two of them looked around as if they’d forgotten you were there, despite Hex being the one to press the makeshift bandage to your wound. Immediately, both their faces softened, and they shot each other a slightly guilty glance.

“Only for a little while,” Hector said softly. He lifted the tie carefully, peering at the mark. “It’s just settling in. Making itself at home in your skin, that’s all,” he explained. He smiled his crooked smile at what he saw, and you at least relaxed at him looking normal again, if still slightly tired. “It’ll feel better in a couple hours, I promise,” he added, leaning over to kiss the corner of your mouth. “And you can have whatever you want when you get hungry, okay?”

You let yourself smile just a little bit, your head still feeling like it was swimming. “I thought I was here to take care of you.”

Hector leaned back to look at you, frowning and clearly confused. “Is that… what you were doing here?” He hesitated a moment, looking back over his shoulder to Rora for confirmation. “I don’t remember you coming over after…” he trailed off, concerned.

Rora met his gaze and hemmed for a moment, clearly unsure how much to say. “You were out cold, after,” she said at last, her voice low. “They got nervous and came over. Apparently you hadn’t texted them in a while, or something.” You could tell she was trying to be flippant, but her face couldn’t hide the way she still seemed worried. “…You looked like roadkill, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Hex laughed, but something about it sounded false. “That bad, huh?” He sucked his teeth thoughtfully, looking back at where the tie covered your mark with a new grimness. “Huh. So I was cutting it close with this, then.”

“That’s part of it, yeah,” Rora sighed, suddenly looking tired.

You felt your eyes go wide, looking from Rora to Hex. “Are you going to be okay?” You weren’t sure quite what was happening - you didn’t know how the fuck necromancers worked, and honestly who could blame you when they talked in code around you half the time. But the idea that Hex could look as sick as he had before from… whatever he’d done to you made you feel a new kind of queasy.

“Fine,” Hector reassured you immediately, kissing your forehead. “I’m gonna be just fine, gatita, don’t worry about it. I just might want to stick to chill hangs for the next couple of days, that’s all.” He kissed the spot next to your ear, the one he knew made you shiver pleasantly. “So don’t get any ideas, huh?” He didn’t move, speaking so you could feel him smile against your skin.

You giggled before wincing again, the literal pain in your neck giving another insistent spike. “Yeah,” you agreed with a careful nod. “That… sounds good for me too, probably.”

Something thudded to the floor next to your thigh, and you had to try not to jump.

“It’s my phone,” Rora sighed, leaning back against Hector’s bed and closing her eyes. “Pick whatever sounds good, my delivery app is hooked to Maxi’s credit card.”

“Goddammit, Aurore.” You looked around with the other two to see Maxi standing in the doorway with a neatly arranged tray of bandages, antiseptics, and a magnifying glass next to a tiny pair of tweezers. He was frowning deeply. “I just had a whole argument on the phone with the bank today about how all the burrito bowls at weird hours were from someone skimmin’ my card.”

“What? I don’t have one of my own,” Rora said, her lips pouting with false innocence. “Dead women don’t get credit cards, Maxi, you know the government throws a fit about that.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you up and died, then,” Maxi sighed, kneeling down in front of you.

You saw Rora stick her tongue out at him over his shoulder.

“And you could’ve at least not ordered extra guac every time,” he added, as if sensing that even if he couldn’t see it. He gently nudged Hector’s arm so he would put down the tie, and leaned forward, appraising your new mark with some teeth-sucking of his own. “Well, your hand was steady, I’ll give you that,” he muttered, giving Hex a sideways glance. “…You all good?”

“M’good, just drained. Give me a day and I’ll be conjuring circles around your ass as usual,” Hector muttered back. But you swore you saw him straighten up just a little at the compliment, whether he realized it or not. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“Apparently,” Maxi muttered, adjusting his glasses as he studied the mark some more. He glanced up at you over the frames, his eyes softening. “How’re you feelin’, sweetheart?”

“…I— Okay, I think,” you said, glancing between them. You winced as Maxi carefully dabbed some hydrogen peroxide on the wound with a wipe. “…Kind of still processing, to be honest,” you added quietly. Between the adrenaline whirling through your system, the pain in your skin, and the fact that you were pretty sure you weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight without jumping at every sound, your body was finally feeling everything that had just happened. Not to mention, the longer you sat there, the more you started to feel like there was something… else, under your skin. A second heartbeat, almost, alongside yours. You swallowed. “Today was a lot.”

All three Morvants made varying noises of understanding and agreement, as if you were talking about having to show up for jury duty rather than surviving whatever had just succeeded in temporarily possessing Hector and the House.

“Well, this’ll heal up just fine,” Maxi said softly, carefully applying a bandage to the spot. “I’ll let Hex talk you through the basics of it — he’s the one who put it there, after all,” he added, giving Hex another look you couldn’t read. (Hector gave him one back that you definitely read as irritated.) “But basically… well,” he hedged, clearly trying to figure out how to say something. “We think of it as… declarin’ someone part of the family.” He gave you a smile, shy smile. “Or at least, as intertwined with it.”

“‘Inextricable’,” Hector murmured under his breath, his eyes distant and hazy as if looking far into the past.

“Congratulations, I’m sure you’re thrilled,” Rora said flatly, sitting with her eyes closed again. Both men gave her a withering glance over their shoulders.

You slowly looked from them to Hector, feeling an entirely different type of fluttering in your system. “…Is that true, Hex?” You’d heard him call you permanent, in the aftermath of things. But so much had been going on, it had run off you like rain while your nerves were still swimming with whatever fire had been placed in them.

Hex’s eyes returned to yours immediately, as if you saying his name had woken him from a dream. As he continued to keep eye contact, you saw something you’d never seen before: he seemed… flustered, almost. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then hesitated, closing it again. His gaze turned inward, and you felt a new edge to the fluttering in your stomach. It was unlike him to so at a loss for words, especially for so long - since you’d known him, he’d always had something to say, some flippant response on the tip of his tongue at all times.

The worry that this prolonged silence caused you must’ve been written on your face because simultaneously, without even a look between the pair, both twins reached forward to give Hector a soft ‘thump’ on the back.

Hector shot them both another irritated look before turning back to you and taking a breath. “…We don’t always… do it that way, anymore,” he said slowly, nodding at your neck. “Sometimes, a mark like that just… shows up.” He glanced briefly at Maxi, who pointedly was still fussing with your bandages. Hex looked back to you. “We don’t always know how, though. So I figured, y’know, give it enough time and it’d just… happen,” he said quietly. He sucked the inside of his cheek, still somewhat restless. “But we didn’t have time, Querida,” he continued with an exhale. “So I thought I’d... improvise.” He went to push his hair out of his face, wincing visibly when his hand skimmed the raw patch of scalp the imposter had grabbed.

You leaned forward instinctively, hand up to soothe the hurt and causing both Hex and Maxi to start slightly.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Maxi muttered, quickly smoothing over the bandage that might have warped. Hex set a hand on his shoulder, and Maxi froze, glancing between the two of you. “Actually, it looks fine,” he said quickly, giving you a hurried smile you assumed was meant to be reassuring. “Uh, Rora and I will go figure out dinner.”

“We will?” Rora opened an eye, and Maxi fixed her with a pointed stare as he picked up the tray he’d brought in with him. She looked between Maxi and Hector, who gave her the slightest jerk of his head towards his bedroom door. “We will,” she said, standing up and popping her back with a sigh. She gave you a dry smile. “Don’t worry, sweetpea. It’s a quick learnin’ curve.”

Maxi was holding the door open, waiting for Rora to leave before he glanced back to Hex. “…Do you actually want me to call FT?” he added quietly, glancing between you and Hector. “Because I’m sure they’re probably done for the day, or nearly.”

“C’mon, you were gonna call them anyway.” Hex gave him a knowing smirk. “...But sure.” He nodded, as if thinking this over. He looked between you and Maxi himself. “Might be nice.”

Maxi nodded, giving you a last reassuring half-smile, before slipping quietly from the room and closing the door behind him.

You could feel the confusion etched on your brow. You’d met Maxi’s partner before, of course - it was inevitable, with the pair of you spending so much time at the house - but you couldn’t help but wonder what they had to do with all this. What had the others meant, that these… things, could show up on their own time?

You wondered what the fluttering was next to your own pulse, feeling so rapid it was almost like a second panic that wasn’t yours.

You looked to Hector, worried — only to see him staring at your bandage with wide, liquid eyes.

“Hex?”

He met your gaze, looking like a sick little boy caught out of bed with the dark circles under his eyes. “…I would’ve done this different,” he said at last, his voice slightly raspy as the day seemed to be catching up with him too. He reached up with a finger, tracing the edge of the bandage as lightly as possible. “I would’ve waited for it to show up on its own, Querida, I swear. I know you’re mine,” he added in a hush, his eyes back on yours with a new softness to them. “I know it as sure as I know the Veil. As the stars in the sky.” He smiled, and you saw a flicker of his usual self. “If these things can just… happen, if they can just bloom on skin… then I would’ve waited. A hundred years, if I had to.” He took your hands gently - almost tentatively - in his, intertwining your fingers. The guilt returned, his eyes darkening. “But that thing felt like it wanted to tear me in half.” He shook his head. “And I couldn’t… if it got to you, I wouldn’t have been able to…” He trailed off, turning inward again at the possibility that clearly haunted him.

“Hey.” You pulled your hand loose to reach up, running your fingertips lightly through his beard and watching the tension in his forehead relax as his eyes closed. You waited until he opened them again, cupping his cheek. “You said it yourself: you made a call.” You gave him the best smile you could. “And I trust you, Hex. I do,” you emphasized, seeing him grimace. “I know you would’ve only done… this,” you gestured to the bandage, the thrumming still present underneath. “If you thought it would keep me safe.”

“That’s all I wanted,” Hex said quietly. His now-free arm wound around your waist, pulling you flush to him. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the contact… and froze, feeling the thrumming in your neck slowing down. The longer the two of you stood there, the slower it became, until it moved like a weird echo of your own heart.

“…What,” you started, swallowing your nerves down. Hex leaned back so you could see his face, and you met his eyes. “…What does it do, though?”

Hex studied you for what felt like an age before he gave you a smile you couldn’t quite read — something adoring, and yet at the same time, the tiniest bit melancholy. “It means you’re mine, Preciosa.” He let it hang for a moment. “It means no one can hurt you… but me,” he added, almost as a whisper. His eyes were sharp, and his grip around your waist tightened. “And I swear to you, I would—“

“Die first,” you finished for him, holding his gaze. “I know, Hex.” You leaned up, kissing the end of his nose — and watching his face melt into an expression of relief. “I know.”

You would know much more by the end of the night, the three Morvants and Maxi’s partner fielding your questions over pizza at the kitchen table. The entire time, Hector held on to your hand under the table, squeezing it as if he seemed to know whenever your heart sped up in your chest.

When something thudded ominously upstairs during a quiet portion of the meal, the group of you barely looked up.

There were more pressing matters at hand, now.

[*markiplier voice* IS THIS THE MARK OF ‘87?!

anyway. thank you again for your patience, rosie <3 idk for sure how the whole mark bit will play out in the actual arc coming up, but this was a fun hypothetical for sure. :) it was good to write some spooky shit, I obviously missed it.

thanks to everyone who read this far! sending you sweet dreams ;D]

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countrymusiclover · 2 years

Text

14 - You're in My Realm

Part 15

His Golden Princess

@fanficismydrug @misskitty1912-blog @alanaangie24

Entering my parents apartment dressed in a brown leather jacket with my hair completely loose all over. Rumple wears his shaw over his shoulders. My father came down the stairs giving me a look of concern about me and Emma are going on a trip with the Dark One. "Alright, Gold, you’re going out there with my family. Just know, if anything happens to them…"

"Then you’ll what? Cross the town line? And David Nolan will hunt me down in his animal rescue van?" Rumple shrugged his shoulders knowing my father didn't have any real way to do a good threat if something happened.

Dad locked eyes with the man finished his sentence. "I’ll be devastated. This isn’t a threat. It’s a request. Take care of them."

"I promise no harm will come to your family. After all, we have a deal." He responded to him intertwining my hand with his gently squeezing it.

Tugging my father's arm I pulled him away from Rumple. I squeeze his hand in mine staring up into his eyes. "Dad, look I know you're worried but if it helps, he will be out of his element. He will have no choice but to follow mine and Emma's lead." Wrapping my arms around his neck in a hug I whispered. "I love you, dad."

"I love you too, Astrid." He mumbled into my hair hugging me back before we left the apartment getting in Rumple's old car.

Henry asked sitting next to me in the backseat. "So… Where are we going?"

"Logan International Airport." He responded to the boy simply where my sister corrected. "I think he meant after that."

"Let’s just take things one step at a time, shall we?" He replied focusing on the road as we passed the leaving Storybrooke sign.

Emma raised her brow eyeing the shawl he wears. "You really think that shawl’s going to work?"

"Well, if it doesn’t, and I revert to my cursed self, we’re all going to have some problems. It’ll work." He tells her in a warning tone as the blue magic ran over his body. "My name is Rumpelstiltskin. And we’re going find my son."

Finally at the airport the four of us are trying to get through security which for the most part was going fine. Henry walked up to the metal detector talking Rumple's leg off with questions. "It must be really hard not to use magic – being like everyone else."

Emma stared at him as I tossed my shoes in the bin grabbing one of them for his stuff. "You’ve got to put your shoes in."

"How terribly uncivilized." I could see a look of disgut cross his face while he takes off his shoes and Henry goes through the metal detector.

I started to go through until TSA Agent spoke towards Rumple behind me. "Uh, scarf and the cane go in the basket."

"What...Astrid?" He flickered his brown eyes to mine his face almost turned white with fear. "I can’t."

Turning around to face him I grab his hand hoping to calm him down until a man behind us interrupted clearly impatient. "It ain’t rocket science, buddy. You ever been on a plane before?

"Have you ever been impaled upon a cane before?" Rumple spun his cane up in his hands threatening the man through grunted teeth. I immediately grabbed his wrist pulling his arm down before he got arrested by security because that would be an even worse time for him.

Squeezing Rumple's shoulders I got him to look me in the eye again. Reaching behind my neck I clipped the dagger necklace clipping it back together around his neck instead. "Focus on this, alright. I'm gonna go through and you'll follow me. Just keep your eyes on me. Eyes on me, Rumple." He nods a small yes squeezing my right hand a little tighter than normal.

My sister tried to fix the situation with the man behind us. "My… Father’s a little nervous. We’re headed to a family reunion. Sorry."

"Father?" Rumple went to correct her words still out of his element.

Emma reassured him with a look over hjs shoulder at me. "Just put your shawl in the bin. I’ll help you get through."

"If I let this go, I could forget who I am." He frantically told her clutching the fabric in his hands looking between the two blonde's needing him to trust at least one of them.

Resting my hands ontop of the one he used to grip his cane I look directly in his eyes. "Eyes on me. Repeat it and follow me, understand dearie?"

"Eyes on you...eyes on you." He repeated over and over walking through the metal detector freezing in place until I take his hand. Emma throws the shawl back over his shoulders grabbing her stuff.

Finally on the plane Emma sat in an ille seat with two different people. Allowing Henry to sit on one side of me getting the window seat and Rumple on my other side. Henry has a box of cinnamon buns on his lap basically frosting all over his fingers making my sister smile. "You good, kid?"

"You kidding? A trip with you, first plane ride, and we’re going on a quest like in the book. The only thing that could make this day better? Is more frosting." Henry bounced his knee grabbing another treat from the box handing me some that I popped into my mouth.

Emma and I lock eyes where I followed her gaze seeing Rumple's ’s bandaged hand. He had gone to the bathroom when I went with Henry to buy the cinnamon buns he was chowing down on now.

"It’s going to be alright. We’re going to find your son." She reassured him before I saw the leave seatbelt light on the ceiling flip on meaning we were about to take off.

He gulped starting to shake till I reach over intertwining our hands together. Everytime during takeoff I would always hold hands with Emma because it made me less nervous. "I'm sorry this is all freaking you out. I wish my realm wasn't this for you, Rumple."

"It's not your fault, Astrid...maybe someday. If we get back to my realm I can help you out." He suggested resting his head on top of mine. Closing my eyes I heard a voice of a woman. The one that had green skin carrying the dagger I saw earlier. "Someone you'll meet in future, Little Princess."

Lifting my head up he looks down at me reading the nervous in my bright eyes. "What's wrong, dear?"

"Rumple...I think I've seen the future...you're future." I trailed off in a shacky breath feeling the plane begin the flight to New York city. Through the whole trip Rumple doesn’t take his eyes off of me even when I fall asleep on his shoulder.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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coffeedrgn87 · 1 year

Text

December 20th Drarry Drabble: "Hot Cocoa"

Read Parts 1 through 4 here.

Tags: Breaking Up With Someone, Coming Out, True Friends, Insomnia, Flashback, Grouchy Owl, Grouchy Malfoy, Supportive Ron, Emotional Harry, mention of a crush Harry may have had

Two days after Harry had confided in Ron, seeking his counsel in the back of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, he still hadn’t extracted a suitable memory. The unbreakable memory phial was on the kitchen table, but Harry had temporarily given up after seventeen failed attempts. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to extract a memory—he did it often enough during investigations and when submitting his testimonial to the Wizengamot—but rather that he struggled to focus on isolating a single memory.

Each time he tried, no sooner had he grasped the strands of a single memory; everything simply blended together, creating an indecipherable mess. It was frustrating at best and beyond infuriating at worst. Each time he took a crack at trying to banish the cursed mistletoe with the help of an offensive spell, he failed spectacularly.

While the stinging hex had singed the edges of a single leaf, it had also left him with a gigantic bruise on his behind, and a rather ferocious fire spell had nearly burnt his entire office to the ground. Since that catastrophe, Kingsley had ordered him to take a leave of absence. Harry was less than pleased about having been ordered to take time off a job he loved doing, but since there was absolutely nothing he could do to change Kingsley’s mind (he’d tried enthusiastically), he had no choice but to sit at home.

After a whole day of fruitlessly trying to extract a suitable memory for Malfoy to use, sleep was something Harry wanted more than anything but couldn’t get. Sapped, with heavy eyelids that insisted on involuntarily drifting shut, Harry heaved himself out of bed and padded into the kitchen. His pyjamas were rumpled, and loath to fumble for the light switch, he’d wandlessly conjured a sphere of warm golden light.

He wasted a few minutes trying to work out what to do with himself before searching the pantry for cocoa powder, honey, vanilla extract, and a fresh carton of long-life oat milk. Despite feeling drained, Harry managed not to burn the milk as he gradually heated it over a small flame on the stove. Once it had the right temperature, he stirred in a paste of cocoa powder, honey, a pinch of salt, and a few drops of vanilla extract and poured himself a large mug of steaming hot cocoa.

Wrapping his hands around the mug, Harry sat at the kitchen table and slumped forward. With weighted eyelids and a heaviness in his limbs, he laid his head on his arms and quietly observed the small puffs of steam rising from his hot cocoa. A long yawn made his eyes tear up. Blinking to try to clear his vision, Harry struggled to determine why everything was blurred. Eventually, it dawned on him that he hadn’t bothered with his glasses and grumbling into his five o’clock stubble, Harry dragged his mug of cocoa closer and took a few careful sips. A swoop of comforting warmth surged through, and letting his eyes flutter closed again, Harry decided to rest his eyes.

Within seconds, his mind whisked him away to another time and place; to a conversation, he’d almost forgotten about.

“Ron?” Harry slurred his words as he sluggishly dragged his fourth pint of the night closer. The beverage sloshed over the rim of the glass and ran through the water droplets clinging to the outside of the beer mug. A puddle formed on the bar. Harry absentmindedly reached for a bunch of napkins to wipe up the mess but paused when Ron fixed him with a slightly concerned expression. He slowly tilted his head and, offering Ron a toothy grin, leant close.

“You know I love you, right? Like, we’re best mates, always have been.”

Ron frowned.

“Mate, I think you’ve had enough. I’m cutting you off,” he said, attempting to take the beer from Harry.

Harry blocked Ron’s hand, though instead of pushing it away, he took it and sandwiched it between his palms.

“Let me have this one. I need some Dutch courage, alright.”

Ron’s forehead creased further.

“Why?” he asked, making no move to extract his hand.

Harry grumbled, unwilling to answer his friend’s question. Instead, he admired Ron’s fingernails, looking at them with enough interest to convince his alcohol-soaked brain that he’d never seen anything more exciting.

Sure, he’d asked Ron to go for drinks because he wanted to talk to him, but it was all easier said than done. Looking anywhere but at Ron, Harry deliberately stalled for time. He had enough common sense to know that Ron wouldn’t let this go even if he wasn’t pressing him for an answer. Part of Harry desperately wanted to pass out, but he wasn’t nearly drunk enough for the night to end with him vomiting the contents of his stomach into the closest bin. Harry felt a twinge of sadness over that, then promptly reprimanded himself for his stupidity. Staring at his lager, he chewed on his bottom lip, then abruptly turned his head to face Ron.

“Please don’t hate me,” he mumbled.

Now Ron looked downright concerned.

“Mate, why would I hate you?”

Harry felt a flush creep across his cheeks. His armpits felt wet, and grimacing, he swallowed several times. Chest caved, and chin dipped down, Harry squeezed Ron’s hand, holding on to it as though it was his lifeline. He cleared his throat and glanced at Ron, whose friendly, expectant expression only made him squirm even more.

“I— err— Gin and I— we— I— err— we— we sorta— I— erm— calleditquitsforgood.”

Curling his toes in his boots, Harry pulled his knees together and hunched over to make himself as small as possible. He looked down at the bar and dug his nail into a tiny gap in the wood while gnawing at his bottom lip to stop his chin from trembling. He tried to mentally prepare himself for the verbal bollocking of a lifetime and even accepted the possibility of Ron hexing him on the spot. After all, Gin was his little sister, and Ron was highly protective of her, even if she didn’t always appreciate his big-brother-concern. However, Harry wasn’t prepared for Ron throwing an arm around him and drawing him into a fierce hug.

“I know. She was worried you’d avoid me, so she gave me the heads up.”

Whirling his head around, Harry stared at Ron.

“You— You’re— You’re—”

“I’m not mad, Harry, no. Sure, Gin’s my sister, and you’re my best mate, but I’d rather not force two people who aren’t meant to be together to stay in a relationship that’ll make them both miserable.”

Harry heaved a dry sob, then blinked furiously as his eyes started to burn.

“Hey, shush, it’s OK; I’ve got you.”

Like a big brother, Ron’s reaction was instinctive, soft, caring, and protective. It did nothing to prevent Harry’s floodgates from opening, and clawing at Ron’s shirt, he buried his face in Ron’s neck and bawled his eyes out. Even while sobbing, a part of Harry feared Ron’s rejection, worried Ron might want him to pull himself together, but each time he tried to pull away, to flee from the situation, Ron simply tightened his hold on him.

After a few failed attempts, Harry eventually surrendered and relaxed in Ron’s arms. Ron soothingly rubbed his back, and although Harry couldn’t stop crying, he didn’t think he’d ever felt safer or more protected. There was so much he still wanted to say, but Ron made it obvious that there was no rush and that he was allowed to have an emotional breakdown. The knowledge that Ron wasn’t judging him and wasn’t mad at him for breaking up with Gin was like a balm to Harry. It soothed his bruised heart, calmed his frayed nerves, and when he finally looked up and met Ron’s gaze, he felt a million times better.

“Uhm,” he said but broke off when Ron handed him a bunch of napkins.

“Blow your nose first,” he said. “You’ve got snot pouring down your face.”

Harry huffed a laugh and did as told.

Afterwards, he fidgeted with the used napkins and gave Ron a sheepish look.

“There’s more,” he said.

Ron smiled.

“Are you planning to give up on becoming an Auror and shack up with my dragon-wrangling brother instead?” Ron teased affectionately and bumped his shoulder.

Harry pulled a face.

“I mean, Charlie’s hot, but erm, no,” he said.

Ron laughed.

“Not Charlie, then. I am poking the right bear, though, yeah? I mean, you two were quite flirty over Christmas. Don’t think I didn’t notice those love eyes you two were making at each other.”

Harry hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded.

“Fuck, I can’t believe you noticed that. It was just a harmless bit of flirting; nothing happened, I swear. I mean, it’s not that I’m completely opposed to what Gin— err, I mean what women have to offer, it’s just, I think I prefer—” Harry trailed off there, unsure how to continue.

“Men?” Ron offered helpfully.

Harry shrugged.

“I guess. I’m not sure. I think so.”

Ron smiled.

“You don’t need a label, mate. Whatever makes you happy.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck.

“So, uhm, you’re not— mad?”

Ron’s warm chuckle made Harry’s stomach flip.

“I’m not, Harry, I would never, I couldn’t. Anyone who gets upset at that can fuck off. They don’t deserve to be a part of your life. You’ve given the Wizarding World so much and sacrificed so much; you’re entitled to your happiness. How it presents doesn’t matter; it just needs to work for you.”

“What if I was just an ordinary bloke from down the road.”

Ron guffawed.

“Mate, you deserve to be you no matter who you are.”

Harry’s eyes started to burn again, and blinking, he offered Ron a sheepish smile.

“Thanks, mate, this means the world, you know.”

Ron shrugged.

“That’s what friends are for. I’m glad you decided to tell me, though. Means a great deal that you trust me like that.”

Harry grinned.

“You kinda wrangled it from me.”

Ron laughed. He picked up his pint and proposed a toast. They clinked their glasses together, and each took a large sip. Harry delighted in the coolness of his lager, and his throat thanked him for the hydration.

“Sorry, still, you wanted to share, and that’s all that counts.”

Jerking awake, Harry bumped into his mug of hot cocoa and clumsily spilt half of it onto the table. In his confusion and feeling his neck protest over his choice of pillow, he felt for the memory phial and without thinking, he extracted a silvery strand and guided it into the phial. It took a moment for it all to sink to the bottom, and once the last thread had slipped inside, Harry secured the phial with a cork that automatically sealed the whole thing with a spell. Shoving his chair back, Harry stumbled out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into the living room, searching for Odette, his barn owl.

He found her dozing on her branch by the open window, and when he approached, she pecked at him.

“Oi, I’m sorry, OK? I really need you to deliver this, please. I’ll buy you those treats you love tomorrow, I promise, yeah?”

Odette tilted her head sideways and regarded him with an expression Harry could not interpret. She looked displeased, exasperated, bewildered, and highly judgemental but made no move to extend her leg.

Harry stuck out his bottom lip.

“Please, come on, you love me, right?”

Odette hooted, then pecked at him again.

“Ouch, honestly, aren’t you meant to be a creature of the night?”

The look Odette gave him had Harry shrink back to steps.

“Come on, please, I want to get rid of this blasted mistletoe. Help me, yes?”

Odette let out a quiet hoot and finally extended her leg. Harry quickly tied the phial to it and opened the window a little farther. Odette flapped her wings a few times before disappearing into the night. Harry stared after her for a while, then turned around and slowly made his way upstairs and back to bed.

He woke up the following morning to find that Odette had delivered a note, which she’d kindly dropped off on his nightstand:

Potter,

There was no need for your owl to deliver your memory to me at sodding two-thirty in the morning. Have you no manners? Please, for Merlin’s sake, don’t answer that question.

D.M.

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shallyne · 2 years

Text

Because you're my Friend Part 12 Alternative Finale (Fluff)

Because you're my Lover

Alternative fluff ending in you are not one for angst 💕

TW: none

Feyre and Rhys finally are happy together. They have a new family member and Rhys has a surprise for Feyre

Feyre felt a warm breeze on her face. She knew the sun was shining in her room and if she opened her eyes she would see the curtains swaying in the wind. She didn't open her eyes, she kept them close. She knew she wouldn't fall asleep again but she used that moment of peace of to listen to the song of the wind. She listened to the birds singing and the rustling of leaves in the wind. A content sigh left her lips as she pulled the blanket higher. Peaceful. Yes, this moment was peaceful. She was happy. It felt unreal, this happiness. It still felt as if she was waking up from a dream soon but she banished these thoughts out of her mind. Feyre deserved this. She deserved this happiness, this life. She would not ruin it with doubts, no. Feyre is savoring this peace. The peace she was longing for her whole life.

Feyre stayed like this for a few minutes. Listening to the outside world. When she opened her eyes, she looked behind her. Where Rhys should have been but his bedside was empty. Still rumpled. Feyre sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking around the room. It was a long night for both Feyre and Rhys but she knew him, he probably got a work call and left the room to not wake Feyre.

She looked at the floor, where her clothes from yestersay still lay. Some, at least. Others she threw on the chair in the corner of the room.

Feyre held her arms above her head and stretched. Then she stood up and threw over her robe. She sighed when the cool silk met her skin.

Then she made her way to the kitchen. A smile began blooming on her face when she thought about seeing her boyfriend. He probably already made coffee. Rhys knew that Feyre sometimes got grumpy without her morning coffee and if he's awake before her, he already makes some for her. Then he kisses her temple and wishes her a good morning.

She found him exactly where she expected him. He sat on the kitchen table typing something on his laptop. Feyre would never get enough of this sight, of looking at him. They moved together a few months ago after a year of officially dating.

Well, they moved together officially a few months ago. They decided it was for the best because Feyre spent most of her time at Rhys's apartment either way.

Mor and Ressina already moved together directly after finishing college.

Vassa took over the apartment and soon her and Jurian found two new roommates.

Rhys turned to Feyre and smirked "See who came back from the dead."

Feyre rolled her eyes. "Shut up, I didn't even sleep that long. You could have woken me up." she said and went to the coffee maker, getting her coffee.

She heard Rhys's chair scraping on the floor. "I tried!" he said, hugging her from behind, leaving a kiss on her shoulder. "You bit me."

Feyre gasped. "I didn't! I would never! I am hurt that you would sa-"

Rhys showed her his arm, where Feyre could still see a faint mark where she apparently bit him.

"Oh." she said. Rhys chuckled. "Your own damn fault when you try to wake me so early in the morning."

"It was 9am!" he said.

"And?" Feyre asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Artists." Rhys muttered, pressing another kiss directly under her ear.

Feyre sighed, melting into him. "What are you even doing? It's Saturday."

"I just had to fix something. I am done now." Rhys said. Feyre turned around, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Really?"

"Really." Rhys said. "I am all yours."

"Wow! I am so lucky. I don't even know where to begin." Feyre sighed. Rhys raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, that was a lie." she said l, fumbling with the belt of her robe. "I know exactly where to begin."

Rhys stopped her, softly. "Let me help."

He picked her up, sat Feyre on the counter and kissed her.

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

"Where are we going?" Feyre asked. Rhys came home this afternoon and told her that he had a surprise for her. Then he blindfolded her and now they were driving somewhere. Feyre didn't habe any clue where, just that they were driving at least 20 minutes by now.

"It's a surprise, I am not telling you." Rhys said beside her. "It's not far anymore, since when are you so impatient?"

"Since you blindfolded me and don't give me any clue where we go!" Feyre said.

Rhys laughed. "You'll see, soon."

Feyre sighed. "That's ridiculous."

"It's not." Rhys said. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do." Feyre replied.

"Then wait." Rhys said.

Feyre leaned back. "Alright. But Bryaxis gets hungry soon."

She heard Bryaxis yawn on the backseat. They got Bryaxis seven months ago. They told them he was a puppy but Feyre couldn't believe them, he was too big to be a puppy. She thought he was atleast a few months old.

Feyre was wrong. Bryaxis is now nine months old and he is huge. She didn't mind, she loved Bryaxis and she would never give him up.

Though since Bryaxis moved in with them their apartment seems so....small. It wasn't small by any means but Bryaxis just let it seem small with his size.

Oh and hairs. There were hairs everywhere. Feyre gifted Rhys a huge box with lint rollers on his birthday because he kept complaining about hairs. He even bunkered some in his car now.

"Is it Bryaxis friendly?" Feyre asked.

"Of course." Rhys said.

Feyre laughed. "Good."

Rhys was telling the truth, it really didn't take them long until he stopped. He helped Feyre out of the car. "Can I take this off now?"

"No, not yet." he said, opening Bryaxis' door to let him out. Then took her arm and they walked down a gravel path.

He picked her up when a short set of stairs came and put her down again. Then she heard keys clinking and a door opened. A few steps in, Rhys said "Are you ready?"

"Yes!" Feyre said.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm and removed the blindfold. Feyre had to get used to the light first but then she was looking around her. She stood in a house. She quickly realized that it was an abandoned house.

"Why are we standing in an abondoned house, Rhysand?" Feyre asked.

"You don't know where we are?" he asked.

"No?" Feyre said. "Why would I?"

"Maybe you realize when you look out of the window." Rhys said, crossing his arms.

"Stop being so cryptic, just tell me." Feyre said.

Rhys shook his head and pointed to the window. Feyre rolled her eyes and looked out. She saw Bryaxis sniffing at flowers.

"Awww, Bryaxis!" she said, taking out her phone. "He's so cute but I don't know how that would help me."

"I did not mean Bryaxis, look farther." Rhys said.

Feyre said and looked, she didn't find anything until she realized "That's the spot where we went stargazing!"

Rhys grinned at her. "It is."

"Okay, but that doesn't answer my question why we are standing in an abandoned house, Rhys. Are you planning to kill me? Bryaxis will snitch on you." Feyre said.

"I am not planning to kill you, stop being so dramatic." Rhys said.

"You love it." Feyre replied. "So, why are we standing here? In an old, abandoned house?"

Rhys grinned again and held up a pair of keys "It's not abandoned anymore."

Feyre gasped. "You bought that house?"

Rhys smile grew softer as he came close and put his hands around her waist. "We did."

"You're crazy." Feyre laughed. "Why?"

"Because you deserve to see the stars every night." Rhys said. "And it's not far from the city, especially now that you have your driver's license. It's even closer to Mor and Ressina. The house is big enough for all of our family and a painting studio and an office." he kissed her cheek. "Bryaxis." Feyre laughed, he kissed her other cheek. "And a nursery. Someday."

Silver began lining Feyres eyes. "Rhys, that's too much."

"No, it's not." He said. "Not for you, Feyre. Never for you."

Feyre smiled and kissed him. Shortly after Bryaxis found them, too.

Feyre crouched before Bryaxis and petted him between his ears. "Do you like it here, baby?" Feyre sniffed. "It's big enough for your clumsy ass."

Rhys laughed. "Maybe hell destroy less cups now."

Feyre grinned up at him. "I wouldn't bet on it."

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scribbles-by-kate · 7 years

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The return of adult Gideon

@bellegold suggested that he could be from the future, and I actually think that’s a great theory for a number of reasons.

1. It allows them to repeat the season six scenario without doing the exact same thing. They can have adult Gideon show up saying everything went to hell and he grew up without his parents. They could even have four-year-old Gideon disappear and then have adult Gideon walk into the shop two minutes later, repeating the 6.10 appearance, with Rumple and Belle equally distraught and Gideon equally screwed up. Only, this time, he had the first four years with his parents, so he’s a little bit different, and he can tell them what happened, and he knows what they need to do to fix everything - his papa needs to go and help Henry.

2. This scenario might give Rumple some foreknowledge about what he, Regina, Henry and his family, and Hook are dealing with...before he then forgets it during the curse, and remembers again when the curse is broken. They can establish that he knows something, but not give him time to reveal it before the curse is cast, upping the tension and keeping it going until the curse is broken and he can reveal what Gideon told him about whatever they’re facing.

3. Having Gideon’s future in jeopardy gives Rumple more stakes in the adventure. If he wouldn’t leave his family to help Henry, he would definitely do it if his own family is also in danger (though I’d hope he’d also want to help Bae’s son).

4. Having Gideon show up from the future establishes the same stakes as season six, but doesn’t need several episodes to set up. It’s happening because of outside forces this time, and is nothing to do with relationship issues for RumBelle. They can have had four happy years, and then this outside force comes to create jeopardy.

5. Gideon coming from the future creates more stakes than just appearing via dream or vision. It would mean his actual future is in jeopardy. It would be a direct hit on the idea that RumBelle’s happy beginning is raising their son, and that Gideon’s is being raised by his parents. If something interfered with that, that’s their story for the season: fixing it and ensuring that Gideon does grow up with his parents.

6. If Gideon comes from the future, he can hang around all season, until everything is fixed, so we could see him and Belle back in Storybrooke a couple of times. We could even have Rumple telling him to stay with his mother and look after her while he’s gone. Or maybe Belle and Gid go with Rumple to help Henry and they get separated. Then, when everything is fixed, Rumple finds them and adult Gid disappears and we see four-year-old Gideon again, so we know the happy beginning is back on track.

7. They’re obviously bringing adult Gideon back for reasons of communication. I mean, a four-year-old Gideon wouldn’t be able to communicate in an adult way, as adult Gideon can, so there’s obviously some communication that needs to happen here, and some stakes that need to be set up, as well as conveying a sense of threat to the audience. Having adult Gideon walk in and say everything went wrong is probably the best way they can do that, and, as I said, they can do that in an episode very effectively.

I do like this idea. It conveys a sense of jeopardy and danger that having him appear in a dream doesn’t do, and having adult Gideon say everything went wrong is the best way I can think of to throw the family’s happy beginning into turmoil, and the best way I can think of for them to get us invested in Rumple’s journey this season.

#ouat spoilers #ouat speculation #ouat season seven #gideon gold #rumbelle #gold family #because their happy beginning is so bound up in getting a second chance together #having that go wrong is the best way to create drama for them #and to get us behind rumple as he tries to fix it #it's the best way to make us invested in his story #plus it makes sense because they don't have to take episodes to establish it #it can happen out of the blue and then have the how rolled out over the next half-season or so #damn i shouldn't be getting so attached to this theory #but it makes sense!

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scarlettscribbles · 3 years

Text

Turn from Water (2/2)

- Msgr. John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x College Student!Reader

← previous

Tags: 3.8k words - Fluff and smut, a bit of angst, making out, good byes

Tags-list: @maximumcoffeeme @wolfieellsworld

Warning/s: NSFW content, blasphemy, frottage, masturbation, fingering, breaking of celibacy vows, penetrative sex (receiving), unprotected sex, riding, oral sex (receiving)

Summary: On a boating trip, you get stuck on a nearby island. The storm wasn't the only thing you were going to ride out.

a/n: and on this day, i said, let there be smut !! this was what i initially wanted to practice, writing gender neutral reader smut. constructive criticisms are very, very welcome

。⚬。⬡○⬦。

You were just towelling off as the door opened. You heard his footsteps as you put on one of his shirts. You could smell his perfume on the white, crisp shirt.

He called out your name and you came, obligingly. His lips parted when he saw you. There it was. "Welcome home,"

As if it was the most natural thing ever, he swooped down and put his lips on yours, hands winding around your waist. His hands were continuously grasping, not content to just hold you. It's as if he wanted to make sure you were real.

You laughed into the kiss. For a moment, you two just swayed together with bodies close. It was peaceful, more peaceful than some hook-up should be. You respected your partners but it wouldn't do well to get attached. He was so, so sweet but you were leaving tomorrow.

You came back again to his lips and he reciprocated. "I'm sorry I don't taste like wine anymore."

"Still delicious just the same," he murmured in the space where your lips weren't touching. In the next move, he filled that gap pushing you to a wall and hiking your (or technically, his) shirt. You gasped as his fingers made contact with your skin.

"Do you really want to do this?" he asked so sincerely. Have you mentioned that he was sweet?

"I do; do you?"

"Help me God, I do." He was kissing you again. You felt like you would never tire of it. Help me God, indeed.

You groaned at his wandering hands sliding up your waist to your chest, then down your back to the swell of your ass until he rested his hands low enough so the tips of his fingers tickled your inner thighs. You rolled your body into his, the heat spreading outwards from the point of contact. You rolled your head back, hitting the wall almost painfully as he graciously lended you a thigh. Those fucking jeans. You were going to get them so wet.

He cradled the back of your head, the part you just thoughtlessly slammed and whispered into your neck, "Be careful sweetheart,"

You gasped as he ran teeth down the column of your neck. In retaliation, you grasped his ass and made sure that he was also grinding on your thigh. The feeling of those tented denims on your skin was just the hottest thing.

It's like a cold water being poured over you when a series of knocks came through the door and the voice of none other than the deacon rang through the house. "Father, may I come in?"

You thought back to your best friend's words. Now she was really cockblocking you. You rolled your eyes, exasperated. He soothed you and put a finger to his lips, indicating you to be quiet.

He led you to the bed until you lay down on it, propping up your legs. You were confused until he held your hand and led it to - oh. He wanted you to touch yourself. Fuck.

You began doing exactly just that, making sure he saw it. You twisted your fingers in a way that made you arch your back. Some of it was exaggerated, but the feeling wasn't. He tried to fix his appearance back to its pristine condition. The end product was still rumpled.

Before he closed the door behind him, he told you, "Be good,"

You can do that. You'll be good. You reached down and tried to replicate the feeling of grinding against him. You used the side of your wrist to silence your moans, leaving teeth marks. Your fingers flexed every other second.

Just outside the door you heard the voices of Father Hill and Keane. Something went through you at the thought that only pieces of wood separated you from being seen. How does he feel, knowing that you're a step away from him? Because for you it's burning. You wanted it so bad.

You couldn't be bothered with the exact words but you could surmise that his tone was hurried. Not surprising. The lady talked so much but almost all of it was just air. If he lets her be with his usual patience, it'll last a long while.

Your ears zeroed on the sound of the front door opening and closing. Getting locked. You counted 5 steps until he reached the door to the bedroom and opened it. He paused at the frame, looking at what you were showing him. He stayed there for maybe a moment too long. You smiled. It was a great fucking show.

In a slow measured pace, he crossed the threshold between the frame and the bed and crawled between your legs. You made sure he was accommodated comfortably.

He leaned down, bracketing you within his arms. "Were you good?" He kissed you slowly.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" He gently put his lips between your sternum, then above your navel, taking your fingers and laying his tongue flat against them. You let your hand flop next to you as he set it aside, working to wet his own fingers.

"Tell me if there's anything wrong, okay?"

"Wait, wait," you said and he stopped, just like that. "What do I call you?"

There was a moment of contemplation before, "John."

"John?"

"It's my second name. I-I prefer it."

"Oh," you responded. You slightly pulled up as he leaned down, meeting you halfway for a kiss. "It suits you." His finger was circling around your entrance and his other hand was massaging your inner thigh.

You felt like your nerve endings were on fire. Like you were already oversensitive even if you hadn't come yet. He sunk a finger in you as he sat back. You missed his lips already but you didn't mind seeing him like this. He was sitting on the balls of his feet, one - two fingers deep, with a firm hand on your thigh.

He was straining against his usual black shirt with the white collar and denims. You shouldn't find it so hot, but you did.

"John!" you gasped as his fingers found the spot that made you see stars. You saw how affected he was when you said his name so you did it over and over, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a drawn out moan. And he loved it. "I'm gonna - John, fuck -"

He pulled you by one hand and kissed you, still fingers deep in you. With your bodies so close together and his proximity providing additional friction, you came. You remembered John exclaiming just as you did, as if he felt the same pleasure.

He let you breathe for a moment, chests heaving against each other. John kept on dipping his head for repetitive small kisses. "I want you on top of me,"

You nodded, smiling. "Okay." You pulled him close and then gravity was shifting. Did he just flip you both, single-handedly? "You're stronger than I expected." you commented.

"Clearly not strong enough to resist you,"

"And I'm glad for it." It's like there was a force between you like gravity, or magnetism, because you always leaned into each other. Whether it be your lips, noses, foreheads, or arms locked together. It was as if your natural tendency was to be in one space.

You undid his belt carefully, unravelling him bit by bit. When his cock was finally in your hands, he groaned, throwing his head back on the pillow. You thumbed the slit, spreading the precum over the head. You were surprised that he hadn't come yet, given his lifestyle. But then, restraint was very much their thing.

You sat astride him, lowering yourself on his cock. You were throwing caution to the wind and it felt like hot satisfaction going through you. Your twin groans reverberated through the room.

He lifted his hips experimentally, earning him a sharp gasp of his name. You braced yourself on his clothed chest as you both began to move. It was slow at first but powerful. The meeting of your bodies was sounded by the slaps of your skin.

John chanted your name like it was prayer and he was a sinner desperate to be absolved. You told him so and he chuckled softly. "Will you absolve me, then?"

"Of course." You punctuated your response with a roll of your hips. John put both hands on either side of your waist and planted his feet on the bed. Here you were, the metaphorical roller coaster drop; the best fucking ride of your life.

Your earlier comment was warranted because holy shit, he was powerful. You did your best to follow his pace but you stumbled still. He would always right you back up again and each time you would try to hold on better.

"Ah - ah!" The sweat was gathering on your back. You felt almost every snap of his hips at the back of your teeth. You were ruined, so ruined.

John called your name with urgency. You felt it too. You both came, maybe just a second or two from each other. You shivered as he painted you from the inside.

As you looked at his flushed face gazing up at you with reverence, you wondered if this was how being a heavenly being felt. Who wouldn't want to be a god?

You gingerly slipped his cock out of you, feeling the thread of come that connected you until it snapped.

You rested your head on John's chest as he put an arm on your back and behind your head. He kissed you softly on your temple.

"I don't think anyone could ever compare after that," Why was the hottest sex you had with a priest?

"I wouldn't want anybody to compare." John replied. "You're leaving tomorrow."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. You just hummed into his chest.

"Miss Keane organized a mass for tomorrow. That's what she came here earlier for. A proper send-off, she said." His voice was so pleasant. You could drift off to the sound of him speaking. "Will you come?"

"Haven't I already?" you laughed and then yelped as he pinched your side lightly.

"Not what I meant, naughty." he admonished with a smile in his voice. "I wanted to give you a parting gift."

"What, wanna give me a taste of the sacramental wine Father?" you teased.

"Of the sort." He used his arm to budge you upwards so he could place kisses on your neck. You would never get used to how strong he was. "Please just come?"

"Only because you asked nicely." you sighed into his hair, breath quickening as he introduced teeth to his love bites.

"Speaking of asking nicely," The hand on your waist slid lower to grip your ass. "Would you like to go again?"

You blinked. "Already?"

He hummed into your neck as one of his hands rubbed at your entrance, still slick from come. And honestly, how could you disagree?

The next time he fucked you, he was fully divested of his clothes. John knelt behind you and you were on his lap. You could feel the slide of your thighs together. His arms winded around you and you gripped them for support. You were so close that you almost felt one.

The succeeding times carried the same intimacy. By the end, he led you to the shower and took you under the spray for the last time. He towelled you off even when you insisted you could do it yourself. "I don't mind, sweetheart."

。⚬。⬡○⬦。

You came back to the rec center late, very late. You felt that if you stayed the night, you wouldn't want to leave the morning after. Your best friend greeted you with an irritated, "Did you fucking know that lady was hosting a mass tomorrow? For us? Like, what for? She's like everyone-phobic. The nice sheriff who helped us, you know, she was like saying shit to him- Wait." And there it was. Her indignance immediately transformed to unbridled humor. "I don't recall you walking away from the camp with that limp bestie,"

"Maybe I tripped." you shrugged in an attempt of useless denial.

"On what? That dick?" she snorted. You both promptly burst into laughter.

"My god, shut up!" you sat with her on your corner and let your head loll on her shoulder.

"So how was it?" she asked.

You shook your head. "Good, really good." You didn't tell her the details but you told her how nice he was, how he invited you to come see him one last time.

"Okay you're speaking little so it must have been like fucking phenomenal."

"It was," you whined.

"And now you caught feelings."

"Did not," you denied. "Was probably about to, though. He was so sweet,"

She cooed and pulled you into a hug consolingly. "I suppose it's good that we're leaving tomorrow." she concluded. "You know, I wanted to ditch the mass but I'll come for you."

"You don't have to,"

"It's fine, someone has to be on the lookout so a) no busybody comes in and b) you won't be left by the boat." she assured you. "Don't worry, I'll put my fingers in my ears and sing to myself like-" She demonstrated and you smacked her hands, laughing.

"Stop! It's not like we're going to do it in the church!"

"You wanna bet on it?" She held out her pinky. You rolled your eyes. That damn bet again.

。⚬。⬡○⬦。

For the second time, you found yourself sitting in one of the pews of the church again, looking among the sea of people with him at the forefront.

"Um, would you mind if I sat here?" a man with a buzzcut asked. "Got into a bit of a disagreement with the parents. Not that I needed to share that."

You felt amused. "Oh it's fine, come sit!" you patted the space beside you. You introduced yourself and your friend.

"I'm Riley, Riley Flynn. You're one of the shipwrecked kids right?" he asked nicely, albeit awkwardly. "The ones that came to our house were a guy named Angelo, I think, and a couple of other boys. My little brother and mother were ecstatic." You felt a bit sorry that you weren't able to get to know the other nice inhabitants of this island. Instead you had high exposure with the deacon. Sucks.

"Yeah that's us. Hope they weren't too much trouble?"

"Just enough chaos that was welcome, don't worry. Livened the house up a little bit." Riley said. "I heard that Warren, my brother, and some other kids crashed your party, though?"

"Mm, not really crashed. They were welcome. Although! Um, we didn't let them consume like, alcohol or other... substances." you gulped, unwilling to say that there was weed involved.

He raised an amused brow. You were almost certain that he could fill in the blanks of what you weren't saying.

A comfortable silence settled over the both of you, your best friend occasionally nudging you excitedly. It didn't help that today's homily was about love. There was no way it was about you. You didn't think that 2 days' worth of encounters was enough to put that label on it.

You couldn't help but listen attentively still, though. You loved his voice.

"Father Hill really has a way with words, doesn't he?" Riley observed and you nodded along. "He's the one hosting the AA meetings I'm attending. I think it's going well so far."

"John did? That's so - I'm glad for you," you said sincerely, turning to address him but stopped at his expression.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Then you realized, oh shit. You just addressed their priest in a way different from the norm - the same name he wanted you to call him when you were in bed together. "I'm sorry, we kinda talked and became - friends. John, John's his second name." you explained haltingly, neck burning.

"No, it's fine. Just used to thinking of him as Father Paul; John just seems a whole different person." he assured you. You subtly exhaled. You dodged a bullet there, you hoped.

(He knows, he knows. Almost.)

You sat there contentedly, listening to his impassioned speech. You, your friend, and a couple others from your university declined communion. You noticed that Riley remained stationary in his seat too. By the time mass had ended, you were jittering in your seat. At one point your friend held your knee to make you stop, and said, "Chile. Keep it in your pants for like a minute."

As the people stood up and slowly dispersed, John came down from the altar and talked to some of the congregation. Similarly, you went to your friends who huddled at one of the pews.

"Make sure you all have your stuff okay? It'll be hard to come back once you've left something behind." You don't say. "Meet you at the dock in about 45 okay?" Anj announced. The group chorused their agreement and soon the rest of you were going as well. You lingered on the edges of the church with your friend, until she too went outside, seeing that nobody else was left.

"Don't be too long now," she teased before walking a safe distance away.

You closed the doors and locked them behind you.

"Hi," you called from across the church.

"Hey," he smiled. You were gonna miss that. "Come here, please?"

You obliged, walking up the altar. By the time you were there he revealed a bottle of what seemed like wine, although it looked deeper. "I'm afraid it doesn't have golden flakes."

You laughed, both incredulous and touched. "You're giving me sacramental wine as a gift?"

"Of the sort." he shrugged and popped the cork open. "I noticed you didn't participate in the communion. Do you want to try some?"

"Sure, not too much though." Yacht and you being drunk wasn't a good combination. "Save me some for when I'm back home."

He agreed and poured it into the communion cup. You almost raised a brow but you guessed that maybe it wasn't a big deal. It's better than just pouring it in your mouth.

He offered it to you with both hands and covered his with yours, drinking like that. The wine tasted way smoother and deeper, richer. There's a taste at the back of your tongue that you couldn't point out. But it was really good, dangerously good.

"You need to tell me your supplier, John." you told him, licking the remnants from your lips. "This would be so popular at parties. Not everyone wants to drink beer and gasoline, you know?"

"You like it?" he asked. You hummed.

"I really, really do." You stepped close to him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a loose embrace.

"You can't share it. It's only for you," he stated firmly.

"Yes, Father. I promise I won't give to anybody the sacramental wine you just gave me," you laughed.

"Can I taste it?" he asked. He was so, so close.

"I don't see why not, it's your gift to me." The clang of the cup against the floor echoed through the church. The wine spilt from the altar up to the first pew, vibrant red. Oh, he meant your lips.

"Delicious,"

You held onto him as he gripped both of your thighs and lifted you onto the altar, swiping aside whatever was on it before. He was kissing you desperately which was a stark contrast to how gently he held your cheeks. You could taste the remnants of the wine between the sliding of your tongues. He immediately slotted up against you like a perfect puzzle piece when you opened your legs. The friction was going to drive you crazy.

"John, John," you panted.

"Don't say my name like that," he pleaded. "I fear that I may not be able to let you go if you do so. I may not be a good man but I refuse to be selfish, not when it comes to you. You deserve the world."

By God, you wanted to stay when he looked like that. But you knew you couldn't. You had dreams after college and he was the priest of this island. "Maybe in another life John," you whispered. "But right now, at this moment - you have me."

He dived back into you, memorizing the depths of your mouth and the plains of your body with his wandering hands. "Can I taste you?" he murmured into your ear. You gasped a yes and John knelt before you.

You threw your head back, grasping the tablecloth as he laid kisses on your inner thigh before he put his mouth to better use.

You couldn't help the movement of your hips but you kept on slipping. The chasuble he wore proved far too smooth and silky to find purchase on with your feet. You wondered if this was the ultimate form of your sin - getting absolutely wrecked on the altar by a priest who was still wearing the same clothes from mass.

At a particular swipe of his tongue, your hand flew to his curls. "Fuck, sorry!" You let go immediately. You were worried that you hurt him or maybe he didn't like it.

"No, please," You couldn't disagree. Not when he looked up at you, eyes almost black from dilation and spit-slick mouth. So you tangled your hand in his locks and made sure he knew how much you appreciated it.

The vibrations from his moans sent you over the edge. Your legs shook and your thighs would've closed involuntarily if John didn't hold them open, still busy licking you past your orgasm.

You tapped his shoulder and he rose from his knees. You tasted yourself on his tongue. John held you until your breathing has calmed. You could've stayed in that moment for eternity.

"I almost want to ask, will I see you again? But that would be a stupid question." You didn't answer, content in tucking your nose in his neck.

"I'll keep the bottle so I won't forget you." It was a promise.

A sharp rap came from the door and you both jumped. You sighed in relief when your best friend's voice called your name, saying that your 7 minutes in heaven was over. You and John both laughed.

And then you said your goodbyes.

Maybe you were too quiet so your friend didn't comment on anything until you were on the newly-fixed yacht. Once you settled on one of the chairs, she turned to you and asked. "So, he gave you wine, huh."

You chuckled. "It's a bit of an inside joke. 'S mine though."

"Yeah yeah. Believe me, I have no interest in your holy wine, or unholy," she pointed out. "Come here." She nudged your chair closer to her and laid your head on her shoulder. You sighed into the contact.

"You're a gem." you told her.

"I know."

At an angle you watched Crockett Island fade from the horizon like a distant dream.

。⚬。⬡○⬦。

John wished that he would be able to find his way back to you again one day. Someday. For the moment, he hoped that the holy sacrament he gave you would be enough.

He cleaned the spilt wine with a spare cloth and reminisced when he was able to drink it from your lips.

。⚬。⬡○⬦。 [fin.]

#midnight mass #midnight mass x reader #father paul x reader #father paul hill #monsignor john pruitt #gender neutral reader #reader-insert #college student reader #midnight mass smut #turn from water #scarlettscribbles

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bellarkeselection · 2 years

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I need .ore rumple my life is bad at the .moment and I missing rumple plz plz writing something about how the reader tells rumple/mr gold she is pregnant let it be in storybrooke after they found neal like what would his thought process be to having a second chance at fatherhood I know rumbelle had a pregnancy or something but.........yea so ...... anyway of u wanna obsess over 1D I'm here for it

His second chance

Rumple heard the shop bell rings looking over his shoulder he smiled seeing you enter rummaging for something in your bag. "There you are my love. I haven't seen you all day." Y/n tucks hair behind her ear her shoulders dropping a little. "Yeah Henry wanted me to play knights with him. I hate saying no to kids." Rumple simply nodded helping you take your jacket off but something hit the wooden floor and you gasp seeing him pick it up recognizing it as a pregnancy test. "Why do you have this lass?" He asked staring at his wife of only two months. He read the line seeing the words pregnant that made his heart skip a beat.

Rumple couldn't hardly believe it to be true. That he would be a father again. Ever since he had reunited with Bae he tried to fix his mistake of not following him to a world without magic. That his sons lasts words before the portal closed was that he was a coward. "Look I just found out this morning. I understand if you're not ready because of Neal returning...God I had a better plan to tell you Rumple." Y/n threw her hands up into her hair freaking out while I just stand still. He felt his heart race at the thought of being a father again. It terrified and excited him all at once, drove his very being insane that he might be getting another chance to be a father.

"What if I'm not good at it...being a father again?" I finally spoke out not looking her in eyes until she stepped up tilting my chin so I'll look. "Rumple, I know you're scared and the truth I am too, since it will be my first born. But we can face it together..." She cups my face in her hands staring deeply in my brown orbs with hope filled in hers. "We have beaten all the odds, from a curse and everyone around us thinking we shouldn't be together. Yet I've seen your heart knowing you'll be a great father." Leaning forward I gently kiss her lips and she smiles against it when I mumbled. "Thank you, Y/n. You and this child shall be my second chance."

Comments really appreciated 😊

#ouat #ouat x reader #ouat rumplestilskin #rumple x reader #rumplestilskin x reader #ouat rumplestilskin x reader #robert carlyle #requests open #one direction songs #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated

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teawithkpop · 3 years

Text

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 7

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6 - pt 7

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 5.4k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, a lot of emotional turmoil, talk of pregnancy scares (birth control, contraceptives, etc.), implied discrimination towards sex workers (not by any of the boys dw), mentions of sexual acts

slowly hands you a cake that says "I haven't updated this fic in 14 months and I don't know when the next part is coming but here's an update thanks for being patient" in comic sans

-------

The rush to the hospital goes by in a blur of tears and shouting and panic and questions that you can't bring yourself to answer. The only constant is Min Yoongi's hand, firmly locked in your own throughout the ordeal, tethering you to reality.

You now sit in a private room on a sterile medical table and wait to be seen, too numb inside to feel the sting of the cold metal as it cuts into the backs of your thighs. Yoongi stands beside you, still holding your hand, his fingers are laced through yours and squeezing as if it could sap away the fear that eats away your insides, leaving you hollow and empty.

"It'll be alright. Don't worry about a damn thing, okay?" He shifts his weight anxiously, betraying his own underlying worries.

You barely remember him throwing his jacket over you before being rushed out of the house, and you don't feel deserving of the modest coverage. Though the leather is worn and soft against your skin, all you can feel is the harsh metallic zipper, scratching at your chest as though reminding you of your wrongdoings.

"Yoongi…" you start to say, but he cuts you off, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Don't you fucking dare. Don't apologize."

You feel tears well up in your eyes. Your chest grows tight with the words he's forbidden you to say.

"I've already called Namjoon, it'll all be fine. Don't worry." He works his jaw and rubs your hand with surprising tenderness, glancing to the little window in the door every other second.

He's been assuring you with those same words for the past half hour, but it feels like it's been an eternity. As you glance at the clock on the wall, watching the hands tick by, you imagine a scene like that of a health documentary. Tiny sperm, swimming up your insides… fertilizing your previously dormant eggs.

Fuck. You've fucked up.

You might be pregnant with Min Yoongi's child. Your Opticon birth control implant could send you into toxic shock at any moment.

You don't see how things can get much worse than this.

The door finally opens, and what appears to be a nurse steps inside. She holds a clipboard, and examines it while she lets the door close behind her. "Let's see now, Miss..." Her shoulders slump marginally as her eyes reach your name. "Oh, right. The PhysCom."

You don't have the energy to ignore the change in her tone from friendly to disinterested, and simply nod. However, you feel Yoongi stiffen beside you.

The nurse lets out a brief sigh and dons a professional expression. "So, what appears to be the problem?" She directs the question to Yoongi.

"We think her birth control implant isn't working." Yoongi explains, his eyes darting furtively between you and the nurse. "She, um… she reached orgasm."

You flush at the memory, ashamed of your failure to adhere to even the most basic of rules set before you.

The nurse makes a noncommittal noise and jots something down. "Says here it’s an Opticon. And you didn't turn it off, sir?"

He shakes his head.

The nurse touches the end of her pen to her mouth, a note of sympathy forming in her eyes. Not for you, but for Yoongi. "How long have you had her?"

"Excuse me?" Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

The nurse tucks the clipboard under her arm, giving him a weary, patient smile. “With PhysComs, we have a list of probable scenarios we’re supposed to check for, to better inform the doctor of the situation, and speed along the treatment process.”

She barely spares you a glance before returning her attention to Yoongi, her voice lowered just a fraction. “It’s not uncommon for newly hired female PhysComs to try and… well, intentionally get pregnant from their clients. Especially if those clients have any amount of wealth or status.”

Yoongi seems lost for words.

She nods as if to agree with his surprise. “It’s some psychosis associated with the job,” she says with a shrug, then straightens her posture once more. “So has she been acting strangely at all? What are her symptoms?”

Your ears burn a bit at being talked about like you’re not in the room, but this isn’t the first time you’ve been in such a position. Oftentimes checkups during training were the same way, the physicians would speak exclusively among themselves and Madame while they examined every inch of you, inside and out.

Yoongi, however, is not used to such an experience.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” He says, in a voice much calmer than you would have expected. But one glance at his face tells you all you need to know. His eyes are burning like hot coals. Molten and dangerous.

The nurse doesn’t pick up on his irritation, and busily flips through the pages on her clipboard. “I need reliable information, sir. If you please,” she prompts him.

You can feel Yoongi’s hand clench around yours, and you turn to quiet him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hoping to reassure him enough so he’ll talk to her, but he stands his ground, his eyes glued on the nurse.

“Get out,” Yoongi says.

The nurse does a double take. “Excuse me, sir?”

“I said get the fuck out of here.” He points to the door. “Send us someone who will actually help.”

She fumes silently for a moment, but decides not to argue with him, and heads for the door in a huff.

Yoongi scoffs as you two are left alone once more. “What the fuck kind of bedside manner was that supposed to be?” He mutters, staring at the door.

“It’s okay.” You place a hand on his arm.

“No, it’s not.” He’s adamant, and you sigh wearily. How do you explain that this is only what can be expected?

You pick out a few haphazard words from the maelstrom in your brain, too tired to find the best phrasing. “Medical personnel… they don’t really get it.”

“Get what?” He asks, turning to you in outrage. “Being a fucking decent human being?”

You flinch, withdrawing your hand. You’re too tired to try and get your point across. But he notices you wilt and immediately comes closer, lowering his voice and placing both his hands on your arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the edge of anger fading away to gentleness. Kindness. “What do you mean?”

You sigh, looking off to the side. You don’t deserve to have him look at you like that.

You carefully remove his hands, trying to maintain some semblance of a professional distance, even in the face of disaster. “Most hospitals don’t look favorably at PhysComs. We were given a few lectures about it in training. We use up their resources and time that could instead be given to patients who didn’t willingly put themselves at risk.”

You remember how your fellow trainees had reacted after those discussions. Many of them found the treatment to be unfair, but you yourself felt that, in a way, the medical field’s viewpoint was reasonable. Your choices are what landed you here.

“What the- what are you talking about?” He huffs, still seemingly in the dark. “You didn’t ask for this… this scare. It wasn’t your fault.” He tries to meet your eyes, but your gaze is fixed firmly to the linoleum floor.

A mirthless smile paints your lips. “But I chose this life. And these risks along with it.”

Before he can question you further, the door bursts open and Kim Namjoon enters the room, both his dress shirt and his hair are rumpled, and his eyes are frantic. “Sweetheart?” He rushes to your side and crushes you in a hug. “Are you alright?”

You hear Yoongi let out a breath of relief. “She’s okay, for the moment.”

Something about the way Namjoon holds you feels like a lamp being held against your cold skin. You’re too damp inside to light a flame yourself, but his own body warms you from the outside in the meantime. You want to let yourself enjoy it, but the memory of your unresolved questions leaves you limp in his arms, filled with nothing but misery and confusion.

He pulls back after a moment, checking you over for signs of injury. His eyes are wide with concern. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

A flare of shame rises up in you at the notion of telling Namjoon about your rule-breaking and everything that occured since this morning.

Thankfully, Yoongi seems to sense your hesitance, and he fills in most of the pieces for Namjoon. Namjoon’s expression remains stoic as Yoongi recounts what happened - you being brought home unconcious, seducing Yoongi - up until the mention of your orgasm. Namjoon’s jaw slackens slightly at this, and his eyes scan your face, searching for something.

It’s at this moment that the doctor walks in, a different nurse at his side. He’s a slightly older man, a few wrinkles creasing his brow, and a smile that appears kind until it lands on you. His face is then tinged with that same indifference that most medical professionals give you.

You wish it was your usual physician, but since this was an emergency, you didn’t have time to take the trip to your usual practice. Whatever hospital is nearest, that’s what Yoongi had told the driver.

The man turns to Namjoon, who arguably commands more presence than Yoongi, and the kindness returns. “Sorry for the delay. Busy night. From what I understand, your PhysCom has malfunctioned, is that correct?”

“Her Opticon malfunctioned, yes.” Namjoon corrects him. His diplomatic tendencies are a blessing right now. You just want to know if you’re pregnant or not. You want to know if you’re losing your job. You want to go home.

The doctor runs a few physical tests on you, feeling your breasts, peering down your throat, and examining your vaginal canal, checking for any other symptoms of malfunction from your Opticon. “All’s well so far.” He says, pulling his forefingers out of you, snapping off his gloves, and disposing of them. “May I take a look at the ComGear?”

You feel a flash of panic, waking you out of your stupor. Fuck, was it still in the group chat? You pull out the slim device, heart hammering as you check. Nope. Just settings. Thank god.

You hand it over, and then remember with a looming feeling of dread exactly why it might have been left on the settings page...

“You do so much for us, jagiya.” Taehyung keeps his hands braced on your arms, his thumb rubbing gently against your skin. “You’re always there for us. Always giving… Now it’s time for you to receive.”

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-” Jimin’s eyes fall to your compromising position, Yoongi’s dick still out, your leaking core exposed, and claps a hand over his mouth. He looks like he might cry. “Oh no...”

The pieces fall into place, and there’s no doubt in your mind. They must have switched it off.

But why? Why, why, why…?

The doctor - you’re too frazzled to read his nametag - pulls out a pair of reading glasses and takes a look at your ComGear, poking around the device with his pointer finger. “Hm. Strange.” He squints. “The Opticon does appear to be switched off.”

Namjoon blinks. “That’s impossible.”

“I’m afraid that’s the case.” The doctor shows him the setting, the toggle very much in the off position. Namjoon takes the device and looks at it in shock.

The doctor coughs. “I know that, um… for some individuals, the temptation and the… risk associated with no protection during intercourse can be sexually arousing. It’s not the first time we’ve gotten a case like this.”

He removes his glasses, folding them back into his pocket. “However, I would remind you and anyone else who uses this one’s services that although Physical Companions may be virtually expendable, it can become quite expensive for your own sake to impregnate them on a whim, using and discarding them, what with the standard fees for breaching their contract and-”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Namjoon interrupts him, and you notice the iron grip he now has on Yoongi’s arm. Likely the only thing restraining him from throwing a punch. “We’ll be more careful.” Namjoon glances at you, confusion making a little crease between his brows. “Is there some sort of morning after pill she can take, or…?”

“I’m afraid the lingering effects of the Opticon implant render any outside hormone blockers ineffective.” The doctor says, his smile turning thin. “It’s a bit of a blessing and a curse. The hormone production and ovulation suppressant in the Opticon normally make the chance of fertilization zero percent while in use. After it’s switched off, chances are still fairly low at 30 percent, for up to 24 hours. But the chances of fertilization after taking a morning after pill are significantly lower than that, at only five percent.”

He shrugs. “We’ll just have to wait and see. Chances are, your PhysCom will be right as rain and ready to pleasure clients again in about a week.”

A week.

First a week of suspension on Namjoon’s terms… Now it’s on medical advisement.

“A week? What should we do until then?” Namjoon voices your very thoughts, Yoongi seething silently beside him.

“Well, we won’t have any results until three to five days from now.” The man clarifies. “But I highly recommend you leave the implant switched off and keep her on traditional contraceptives until we know for sure. I strongly recommend utilizing other PhysComs in the meantime, just to be safe.”

You’re finished.

The doctor hands Namjoon a paper bag, most likely containing birth control pills and condoms. “She may be somewhat volatile for the next few days. You can bring her in for another checkup in a week.”

You’re weak.

“Thank you.”

You’re numb.

-------

It was a silent car ride back to the house, and as Namjoon helps you step out of the vehicle, one hand holding yours for stability while the other rests on your lower back, you can’t help feeling utterly useless. Detached from your surroundings.

What’s the point of any of this now? There’s no way they’ll want to use you until this is resolved. You’re of no use to them as a sex toy until at least a week from now, and by then it’ll be far too late to earn their favor back.

“We need to have a meeting. Call the others into the living room.” Namjoon speaks to Yoongi in an undertone, and you feel a small ache of hope. Maybe things will work out if everyone just talks to each other.

But when you enter the house and Namjoon begins to steer you upstairs, you finally find your voice.

“No.” You resist against him, turning around at the base of the stairs. “No, I want to be part of the meeting.”

The surprise quickly fades from his face, instead turning to concern. “You need to rest."

Something about the look on his face, about being told yet again through his actions that this doesn’t concern you, it causes something inside you to snap, your apathy vanishing in the wake of this new beast beginning to rear its ugly head within you.

Your throat closes up and a scream erupts from your aching chest. "You don't know what I need!"

Namjoon matches your desperation with an infuriatingly patient look of sympathy. He approaches you, his hand outstretched, but you stagger back away from him. He smiles sadly and drops his hand. "Stay here. It's what's best for you."

What's best for you.

The words throb in your mind, like the memory of an old wound. They bounce listlessly off the walls of your grandiose prison long after Namjoon shuts the door, sealing you away again.

You don't know what comes over you as you see visions of launching yourself at the door, pounding and scratching at the wood like a wild animal.

You could just open the door and follow him downstairs. Some part of you does register that.

But you want them to hear you. You want them to hear you rip your throat raw as you exorcise your demons.

You blink and you're standing still.

You haven't moved.

Your spacious room feels stifling. Like the walls are closing in on you, suffocating you.

Silken ropes sway in the dusk, catching your eye from beyond the balcony window. Your escape route from earlier that day.

You don't think twice before stuffing a few meager belongings into the long forgotten backpack kicked beneath your bed.

You need to leave this place.

You can't stay here.

-------

It had started drizzling not long after you left the house, and even now as you sit on the damp curbside, waiting for the next bus to take you far away from this place, it strikes you as funny, in a way, that the weather is crying for you, since you can't muster any tears of your own.

It's cold and misty, a foreboding atmosphere, by all accounts. It makes you question if what you're about to do is the right call.

But you shut down the arguments in your head as quickly as they appear.

Second guessing was what had gotten you into this situation. You need to follow your instincts.

And your instincts are telling you to flee.

It won't be so bad, you try to convince yourself. After the first night on the road, you'll eventually find a new town, a new home, a new place for yourself in this fucked up world. You've done it before, you can do it again.

You're considering suitable aliases for your new persona, when you sense another person approaching, their shoes tramping through the wet grass.

You don't look up at them, hoping they'll pass by and leave you alone. But they come to a stop beside you.

You keep your gaze on the road, droplets rippling the puddled potholes.

Then the stranger goes to sit on the curb too, and you can't help but look at them.

You'd recognize those lips anywhere, even beneath a baggy hooded sweatshirt.

"It's a bit late to run errands, don't you think?" Seokjin says, pulling his sleeves down to keep out the chill as he perches beside you.

He glances at you, then looks ahead at the road, the same way you were. You return your gaze forward, too exhausted to make a run for it. Though you don't get the sense that he would chase after you, even if you tried to escape.

Maybe that's exactly why you decide to stay put, but you don't give the suspicion any more thought.

"What do you want?" You finally ask, your voice croaky from being silent for so long.

"Nothing."

"Liar," you mutter, hugging your knees to your chest. "Everyone wants something."

He chuckles. Rests back on his hands. "I guess you're right about that."

Damn right you are. You didn't study the human condition through your years of training to be fooled so easily by pretty words.

"So?" You prompt him, still staring at the dreary horizon.

He takes a moment to respond. The silence is punctuated by the distant noises of traffic, an occasional car passing by, its headlights shimmering in the mist before disappearing down the road.

“The others are all out looking for you, you know,” he says simply. “Why do you think that is?”

If it were anyone else that had run away - their manager, a friend - you know what the answer would be. Because they care about that person. But how can you believe that about yourself, when you know you can never amount to anyone with that level of importance to them?

Ironic, since you’re the person with which they can be most intimate and vulnerable.

“I’m a liability,” you reply halfheartedly.

His silence serves to confirm your suspicions. A runaway PhysCom? Far too risky for a group at their level. You could become one of those anonymous sources like you saw in the news. A firsthand account of the BTS members’ secret sexual urges. Unacceptable. Snatches of words from the NDA you signed buzz around the edges of your mind like stray flies.

But since you're no longer connected to your network, then your tracker is probably disconnected. If the bus had come just a little earlier, you might already have escaped without a trace.

“You really think that’s the only reason?” Seokjin’s voice pulls you back to the moment.

His abysmal attempt to divert from the problem gets a hollow laugh out of you.

“Any other reason has ulterior motives. It’s just business.” You check the time on your ComGear. The bus should be here any minute. “I’m leaving, and I won’t let you stop me.”

“I don’t intend to,” he agrees, to your surprise. “God knows you’ve been put through enough.” He then leans forward, resting his forearms across his legs. “But for what it’s worth, you deserve to know the truth.”

Your ears perk up at this.

Seokjin seems to take your silence as permission to continue. “The reason we decided to suspend you. It wasn’t… entirely selfless.”

You purse your lips in irritation and fix your gaze upon the horizon, settling your chin beneath your crossed arms. “Right. Ulterior motives, like I said.”

He clicks his tongue. “Touche.”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

Your curiosity gets the better of you.

“So, what… were you planning to replace me?” You ask, trying to sound contemptuous. “I heard you all having your little group meeting in the kitchen. There are plenty of shiny new whores at your disposal, take your pick.”

He still makes no noise.

You wait, preparing to accept a bitter confirmation of all your fears.

But then he finds his voice. “We could never replace you, dear.”

You stop. Look over at him. His eyes are half lidded, his smile bittersweet as he stares off into the distance. After a few moments, he fishes around in his pocket and pulls something out, then hands it to you.

His smartphone.

“Here,” he murmurs, sympathy in the quirk of his lips. “In case you need to call anyone. Those devices they give you don’t have a cell plan, I assume.”

He seems to sense your wariness, and waves the phone a bit in a gesture of insistence. “I can buy a dozen new ones. It’s no trouble.”

You very hesitantly take it. “Thanks.”

Of course, he has no way to know that your ComGear is now jailbroken, for all intents and purposes. But… is this a trap? What if there’s a tracker in the phone? But why would he need to put a tracker in it if he doesn’t know your ComGear is off the grid?

The rumble of an approaching motor pulls you out of your cyclical thoughts, and you get on your feet, slowly coming out of your dissociative sulk.

But you still feel numb. Nothing matters anymore.

Nothing at all.

Jin gets up along with you, slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Stay safe, alright?”

You give a brief nod of acknowledgment, only half in his direction as you shrug your bag onto your shoulder more securely. The hydraulics of the bus screech as the vehicle comes to a stop and lowers slightly, allowing you to step onboard.

You glance back, fully expecting Jin to stop you. But he doesn’t. He blinks raindrops out of his eyes while you board, and gives you a small smile once the doors close behind you. He lifts a hand in farewell, then turns and starts to walk away down the street.

He’s really letting you go.

You pay your fare and find a seat towards the back of the nearly empty bus. Rain pelts at the windows, picking up in earnest, and it feels like yet another layer, another barrier, separating yourself and creating an ever-growing chasm from the life you knew up until yesterday.

You pull out Jin’s phone, staring at the dark screen and wiping away stray raindrops from the surface with your sleeve. Why had he come to find you, if not to stop you?

“But for what it’s worth, you deserve to know the truth.”

Maybe he felt guilty. Or remorseful for the hell you’ve been put through recently. You would normally have felt immense satisfaction at such a thought.

But you can’t feel much of anything right now.

You don’t think you’ll be able to feel properly again. At least not for a long, long time…

Hm? The screen lit up. You must have pressed a button by accident. You swipe at it again, and to your surprise it unlocks. Who doesn’t put a passcode on their phone?

Is it possible… he disabled it before he gave it to you? Maybe. Whatever. You’re so tired of thinking, playing investigator and second guessing people’s motivations.

You scroll over to the phone icon, and tap on it, briefly considering calling your parents. But the wetness on your fingers messes with the touchscreen and you open the messages app instead.

You’re about to wipe the screen and try again, but… the most recent messages are… all about you. You tap on the group chat among the seven of them, currently bustling with activity.

[ Kim Namjoon ]: has anyone found her [ Park Jimin ]: hyung I’m so sorry [ Park Jimin ]: it’s all my fault [ Min Yoongi ]: she’s not at the studio [ Kim Namjoon ]: we’ll talk about it later Jimin [ Kim Namjoon ]: everyone keep looking [Jeon Jungkook]: manager said they can call her network to track her down [Kim Taehyung ]: should we do that? [ Jung Hoseok ]: no! she could get in trouble :( [ Min Yoongi ]: she’s not a stray pet [ Kim Namjoon ]: exactly [ Kim Namjoon ]: we need to keep this quiet for her sake [Kim Taehyung ]: she hasn’t replied to my texts or calls [ Min Yoongi ]: me neither [Jeon Jungkook]: hyung... will she be okay? [ Kim Namjoon ]: everything will be fine don’t worry [ Kim Namjoon ]: we’re going to fix this somehow [ Min Yoongi ]: whatever it takes [ Jung Hoseok ]: where could she have gone... [ Park Jimin ]: what if she doesn’t come back?

You scroll further up, past days and weeks and months of texts between them… not even a day between mentions of you. Wondering if you’re alright. Hoping you’ve eaten enough. Wanting to do more with you.

The thread of texts Jimin sent to Seokjin just yesterday.

Hyung I wish things were different I want to hold her I want to tell her she’s enough I wish I could kiss her… I think I love her Do you ever feel that way?

And Seokjin’s reply.

I do I know just what you mean Why do you think I turned those secondaries away last night, hm? No one can compare She really is special…

He didn’t… fuck the secondaries? After you broke at dinner, he… didn’t...?

You switch to his thread with Namjoon from a few days ago.

I know you’re our leader but I don’t think this is the way to go You need to be more cautious

Namjoon’s reply.

What we need is action, hyung If we work together on this, we could get rid of these unnecessary rules We could all have what we want Including her It’s what’s best for everyone

Seokjin took several minutes to reply.

You’re going to lose her.

Jin knew. He tried to talk Namjoon out of writing that stupid essay, or maybe it was about your suspension.

Either way, he defended you.

You open his thread with Hoseok. Dimly, you recognize that you shouldn’t be snooping, but you’re too absorbed to stop.

Hyung, I think she really wants this All of us ♡ I don’t know how, but we need to show her that it’s okay That we want it just as much

How do you know that’s what she wants?

I can’t say ♡ But I know now She wouldn’t reject us Our feelings She feels something too

The date and time lines up with this morning. The morning after he made love to you.

He didn’t tell them. He kept your secret.

“Our feelings”? What does he mean? Him, Jimin, Taehyung… Seokjin? Do they all…?

Your head spins, the hollowness of your heart filling with a rush of jumbled emotions, like a tide crashing in. All your numbness is washed out with light, just a pinprick at first, that grows rapidly into a ray of warmth as you consider what all this could mean. The chasm starts to narrow, and you get the urge to jump ship, to turn back and figure this shit out. To know once and for all what they want from you. What you mean to them.

But how can you trust this isn’t a trap? How can you be sure?

The answer is as simple as they come.

You can’t.

You can’t be absolutely certain that their intentions are pure… that this is the right thing to do… that you won’t be hurt again.

But maybe... trust isn’t about being infallible. Being right. Being sure.

Maybe it’s built on what ifs. On trying again, even with no guarantees.

Guarantees are only as good as their word, and talk is cheap. Lies are easy. Your Opticon had a 100% guarantee, and look where that got you.

But you remember the way Hoseok held you that night, and made love to you like you’ve never felt in your life... When Jimin kissed his way down your body, with only the best of intentions. Namjoon’s strong arms embracing you when you felt powerless. Yoongi’s hand never leaving yours, even while you waited in the hospital. Jungkook carrying you home after you fainted, breaking your door to make sure you were safe in bed. The look in Taehyung’s eyes when he finally kissed you, breaking the ice you’d been growing around your heart.

How Seokjin let you go.

Maybe...

You get up with a start, rush to the front of the bus, and hastily ask the driver to let you off, much to the old man’s disgruntlement, but the moment the doors whoosh open, you take off at a run.

You want to go home.

You want to try again.

No matter how much you try to bury it, to forget the way they make you feel, you care about them. All of them. On a much deeper level than that of a PhysCom and client. And it scares you.

But you’re done running from fear. From uncertainty.

Now you’re running towards it willingly, as you give chase down the torrential streets, searching for that familiar hooded figure and hoping you’re not too late. You’re embracing the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty, the paranoia... letting their shadowy claws sink into you until they can’t hurt you anymore. Until they fade away, cowering under the glow of your determination.

You’re setting some new rules for yourself, no longer letting fear control your thoughts and actions, barring you from any chance of happiness.

You see Seokjin in the distance, trudging home through the pouring rain. You run faster.

You’re fucking terrified. But you’ve never felt so free in your life.

“Jin!” You shout to get his attention, still a block away. He turns around, and shakes his head, seemingly confused, but a smile starts to appear. You smile too.

Finally, you catch up to him, and without warning, you throw your arms around his shoulders. Damn, he’s always taller than you remember.

He laughs, shocked by your change of heart. “What are you doing?”

“I want to hear you say it.” You reply, looking up at him as rain dashes down your face. You don’t know when you started crying, but you’re grateful to the weather for masking your tears.

“Say what?” He asks, his hands resting on your waist to support you. Thunder rumbles in the distance, rain sliding down his perfect face.

“How you feel about me.” You reply, studying his eyes. “Be honest.”

He seems to sense the gravity in your words. He holds you closer. His eyes soften.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

For the first time since all of this started, you sense no deception in his words, no double meaning, no hidden agenda.

Because you aren’t searching for reasons to doubt this time.

You’re searching for reasons to trust, and you find them.

You want to kiss him. So you do.

#bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts x reader smut #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts ot7 #bts ot7 smut #bts smut fic #bts fic rec #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #thank you all for waiting ;w;

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

New Duties

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, cheating, fuck machine, toys, tied up.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bucky’s wife is never around as much as the maid.

Based on these drabble requests:

Bucky Barnes + “If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought.” + Maid AU + Bucky is rich and married too, but his wife is never in the house so he decide have fun with the naive maid.

Bucky Barnes + “You really think this is over?” + Fuck machine + honestly just the reader being tied up and left with a fuck machine and some overstimulation.

Both requested by anons.

The large house was often empty when you went there. You had a key on a tag and the alarm code written on it. You showed up in your black pants and matching shirt and let yourself in as you always did. You tied on your apron and looked around as you went over the work in your head.

It was hard not to be envious of the grandiose abode. Hard not to feel bitter at all the money spent on the place and yet it seemed the resident never enjoyed it. They hired a maid, you, to clean the table they never ate at and make the bed which was the only lived-in part of the place.

You started on the lower floor as usual. Living room, dining room, kitchen, the office, the foyer, and the parlor dedicated to a carved pool table and shelves of expensive sculptures. You climbed the stairs and set off down the hall of unused rooms. There wasn’t much more to do than dust and check that the sheets didn’t smell musty.

As you approached the master bedroom, you stopped short as the door opened and you were met by one of the elusive owners of the mansion. You saw Bucky Barnes more than his wife but your run-ins were still rare. And you’d never seen him like this. You were embarrassed and off-centre as you were surprised to find him there.

He wore only a pair of silky pajama bottoms and his hair was amess, sticking out at all angles. His muscles moved under his skin as he rubbed his eyes and smiled at you. His voice was thick with drowsiness and he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said, “thought I heard someone.”

“I didn’t know you were here, sir,” you glanced around. It was late for him to be sleeping still.

“I took the red-eye home,” he shrugged, “don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you chuckled nervously, “I can come back when--”

“You sure?” he batted away the last of his tiredness with his lashes and leaned on the doorframe, “you almost jumped out of your shoes.”

“Uh, yeah,” you assured him and started to turn back.

“It’s fine, I’m up now,” he stopped you, “I’m gonna have a coffee…” he caught up to you and brushed by you, facing you as he blocked your path, “bedroom is all yours.”

You fidgeted as his eyes flicked away from your face for just and instant but you didn’t think much of it as the apron hid made your figure lumpy and vague. You nodded and gave another yes, sir. He watched you until you spun back and headed for the bedroom. You felt his gaze until you slipped inside and let out your breath at the rumpled blankets.

You heard him descend the stairs and set down your bucket of supplies. You went to the bed and fixed his side of it. You could smell his sweat on the sheets still. Then you began to wipe down the edges of the tables and inspected for any inch of imperfection.

“Looks good in here,” his voice spooked you again. Bucky stepped inside and set his tall coffee mug on the polished table beside the door. “I’m glad I caught you, I did have a special request.”

“Oh?” you stilled the cloth and twisted it in your grip. You watched his metal arm as he he rubbed his middle finger with his thumb.

“Here,” he crossed the room and waved you over, “it’s a bit of a secret but… I haven’t had the time to take care of it myself.”

You watched as he went to the bookshelf on the far wall and he reached behind the gilded globe. He spun it slightly but you could see what exactly he was doing. There was a shift and the shelf lurched forward. He carefully pushed it over until the edge met the corner and a small doorway appeared.

Your eyes rounded in confusion and he chuckled as he looked over his shoulder, “our little secret,” he said, “I figured since you’re here…”

“I… yes, sir,” you neared as he waited, his hand on the shelf, and as you stepped by him, he quickly followed, so close you could feel his body heat.

You stopped short as he flipped on the light. A red haze cast over the hidden room. You were shocked, almost laughing in disbelief as your brain spun to process what you were seeing; leather cuffs hung from the wall on one side and a leather bench sat center with similar bounds, there was even a sex swing dangling from the ceiling. You never expected that but really, you tried not to think about your clients intimate habits.

The shelf shifted behind you and the room grew dimmer, only the scarlet shadows of the tinted bulb remained. You turned back to Bucky.

“My stuff,” you pointed to the wall behind him. There was no visible mechanism and that made you nervous.

“Oh, well, you see, I haven’t had a chance to use any of this,” he shrugged and stepped closer. You inch backwards and dropped the cloth as his hands settled on your upper arms, “Ilona’s never here, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Mr. Barnes,” you winced as his vibranium hand squeezed, “I should get back to my--”

“The house is spotless. I only pay you because my wife can’t be bothered to lift a finger herself or even be around,” he said.

“Please, I should go,” you gulped, “I think you, uh, you…”

“Fine, go,” he moved out of your way and smirked at the wall, “if you want to, go.”

You looked between him and the smooth wall. You neared it and shoved on it. It didn’t move. You felt all along it, searching for anything that might trigger a response. There was nothing there.

“Can you--” you began to ask but stopped as he pressed himself to your back.

He tugged at the knot of your apron and it fell loose. His hands crawled up your back and he lifted the strap over your head. He grabbed your shoulder and turned you to face him.

“Thought you were going,” he taunted.

“Let me out,” you tremored.

“I said go, so…” he gestured to the wall.

“I can’t--”

He snickered and pulled you with him as he walked backwards. “It’s just a little fun,” he purred, “for both of us.”

“No, I-- you’re married--”

“My wife, if you can call her that, hasn’t touched me in a year, probably more,” he pulled at the hem of your shirt, “so this is as much her decision as mine.”

“No, Mr. Barnes, I--”

“Listen,” he grabbed your jaw and loomed over you, “you can be a good little maid and do what you’re told or I can report you to the agency for stealing.”

“What, I never--”

“Maybe a few of Ilona’s necklaces go missing or a few bills out of my wallet,” he growled, “we’ll see who they believe.”

“Please--”

“It’s time you start earning that tip,” he turned and thrust you towards the low bench, “now get undressed and lay down on your stomach.”

“Mr--”

“I have a gag. I have several if you want to choose,” he warned, “even if I’d rather hear that sweet voice calling my name.”

“Why are you--”

“I won’t tell you again,” he barked as he crossed his arms and paced.

You noticed how the front of his pants tented and you slowly neared the bench. It was all so jarring, you didn’t know what else to do but obey. You couldn’t leave and you were certain if you tried, he would lose all patience. You peeked over as his metal fist tightened and a chill went through you.

You pulled off your shirt and kept your eyes down. You rolled down your pants and took your time untying your sneakers. You hesitated to strip off your underwear but a gristly breath made you wince and you added them to the pile of clothes.

You were cold but your flesh burned as you sensed his close attention to your every move. You got down on the bench, the leather icy against your chest, and stared at the floor. Bucky walked around behind you and framed your ass with his hands as he stood over you. He pushed your thighs apart until your legs bent over the side of the bench and the cool air tickled your cunt.

“Hmmm,” he mused as he flicked his finger along your folds, “I can’t decide what I want first.”

An overwhelming wave of panic shook you and you tried to push yourself up. His hand slapped down on the middle of your back and he held you down. He tutted and reached down to slip your wrist into a leather cuff and tightened it until you whined. He ignored your struggles as he did the same to your other arm and your ankles. You straddled the bench as he pushed himself up and groped your ass again.

“Why are you making this hard?” he asked, “you’re already spread for me.”

“Please…”

He sighed and you heard his bare feet on the floor as he marched away from you. He came back around you and knelt to force the ball gag into your mouth and buckled it behind your head. Your eyes glistened as you watched him desperately and breathed heavy through your nose.

“We have a lot to do,” he touched your chin, “you need the proper training.”

You tried to talk past the gag but it only came out as muffled gibberish and your saliva soaked the gag.

“If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought,” he chuckled and stood, rubbing the front of his pants, “guess you’ll have to wait for it.”

He left your eye line again, even as you craned your neck around. He was quick to huff and stomp back to your. He took the collar that hung from the front of the bench and secured it around your neck so you could stare at your impossible escape.

You heard something rolling behind you and metal fasteners being loosened then tightened. His fingers scared you as he touched your cunt and felt around for your clit. He teased you until you tilted your pelvis in response. You moaned around the gag as your thighs quivered. Despite your fear, it felt wonderful.

He played with you until you were wet and then you heard the same wheels. You felt a prod at your entrance, a hard silicone tip slowly slid into you until you were full. You gasped and choked as he pulled away his hand entirely. You heard a soft click then a whir and the dildo began to move, your cunt sucking at it loudly as you grew wet around it. He reached under you and a new buzz began as he placed a vibrator against your bud.

He rounded you again, his pants were gone and his hand glied up and down his dick. He watched you with fiery eyes as you tried to hold back. The flames licked from your core and crawled along your thighs and back. You shuddered and your eyes rolled back as your voice droned sloppily as the gag made you drool.

You came in defeat and hung your head. You gasped and gulped for air and your entire body tensed and released, but he didn’t stop it. The vibe kept buzzing on your clit and he only turned the machine up so that it fucked you harder and faster. You wined and rolled your head back and forth.

Another orgasm strangled you and your muscles ached from the tension as it snapped again. You lost count as the red light glared through your eyelids and a sheen of sweat coated your body. Breathless and battered, you could only twitched as you were rocked by climax after climax.

And then it all stopped. The machine shut off and the dildo was slid out of you, your thighs sticky and sore. The vibrator stilled and slipped from under you and you groaned. There was a moment of peace as your heart slowed and then a slap across your ass made you yipe.

“You really think this is over?” Bucky asked as he got behind you and bent over you. His tip pressed against your entrance and his hot breath bristled against your scalp, “I’ve only just begun.”

🧹🧹🧹

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