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wearywinchester · 3 years

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Hold On

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When you’re injured on a hunt with a shapeshifter, Dean’s there to make sure you’re okay.

Requested by Anonymous: “Come here, I’ll carry you”

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: injuries, mentions of blood, mild swearing, fluff, kissing

A groan.

That’s all you could manage as you tipped your head back and let it thud against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as another groan fell past your lips. You were nothing short of exhausted as you slumped against that wall, one that surely had the outline of your body indented in it from where you’d been thrown earlier. Just how early it’d been, you weren’t really sure about that part.

What you were sure of was the incessant burning across your knuckles and the pressure behind your cheekbone, knowing for certain there was a cut running along your skin there. You were increasingly aware of the way your knee had a dull throb to it, your ankle a million times worse. That familiar pressure radiated behind your eyes as the tears stung and burned, frustration having built up and nearly boiled over. Between the pain of your injuries and the embarrassment you felt for getting them, it was enough to have them rolling down your cheeks, hot on your skin.

It was a shifter. One that’d turned into your very own twin, adding to the strangeness of it all when it cornered you in a room by yourself, the room you currently sulked in with the inability to get very far.

The saying you are your own worst enemy had taken on a meaning you never quite thought of in that moment, one that had your brows furrowing and the anger simmering within you. You knew it’d used your looks to it’s advantage for the brothers you came with, for Dean. You were his sweet spot and it seemed as though every monster in the very world you lived in knew that very fact and took full advantage of the seemingly universal knowledge.

But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was the fact that you’d gotten separated from the pair and were reduced to a hobble should you want to get up and find your way to them. That would be simple if you knew where they were—you’d heard some yelling and a miscellaneous shot fired, but it wasn’t enough to pinpoint where your beau had been.

Your hands were trembling as you brought them up to your face, adrenaline still having its hold on you as you rub your hands down your face despite the jolt of pain making itself known when your hand ran over your cheek. You grit your teeth and curse under your breath at the sensation, fists balling in your momentary irritation before they relax once more.

All around you were heaps of broken glass from windows and cabinets, shards of snapped wood joining it on the floor and you were fairly certain you were sitting on more than a few of those pieces. The couch was overturned and it’s cushions splay around the room in places cushions shouldn’t be, the table split down the middle and sitting in a pile of rubble much like the rest of the room. The paintings and pictures on the walls were torn, the glass in some of the frames broken and from where you’d thrown them in self defense. Something that also took on a new meaning.

You were tired, fatigue weighing you down as your heart hammered in your chest and sweat coated your skin. You were tired and miserable and desperately wanted to call it a day. A bubble bath seemed like a dream to you in that moment, contrasting to the way you felt having currently been covered in dirt and blood and sweat and most freshly—tears.

Your jaw tenses as tightly as you could manage when you rolled to your side, palm pressed to the floor as you leaned on your good knee. It was no easy feat getting yourself up off that floor, the smallest bit of pressure upon your ankle nearly sending you over the edge as you stood to your feet with a tear rolling down your cheek. Balance was something you lacked in that moment, never something you had down to begin with but it paled in comparison to this as you caught yourself on the wall.

“I am never hunting again,” you grumble to yourself, huff leaving your lips though you knew it was a lie.

“Y/n?”

You gaze lifted to the owner of the voice, relief washing over you as he crossed the room in as little as three strides. “Dean? Please tell me it’s really you because I can’t do a round two with that thing.”

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart,” he says, brows furrowing as his hand comes up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over your skin as the tips of his fingers hover over the very curve of your ear.

You could see every emotion that expressed on his face, that filled his eyes as they bounced over every inch of your face at each and every scrape and scratch and bump and bruise. You could see the myriad of questions and arguments sitting on the tip of his tongue on how you should have been more careful, how he shouldn’t have let you leave his side this time. It wasn’t hard to see, even if he’d deny it till he was blue in the face if you’d said those very things you saw.

His eyes fall closed for a moment as the relief falls over him, his forehead pressing to yours as his jaw tenses. He feels the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach at the thought of what’d happened to you and at the very fact that he couldn’t do anything about it. Wasn’t there to help you. If he was, your hands wouldn’t be shaking so much and you wouldn’t have those tears in your eyes that pull at his heart every time he sees them. You wouldn’t be shifting on your feet as you try and stand on a messed up ankle and you wouldn’t have felt scared. You hadn’t said it but he knew you were.

You wouldn’t be hurt.

“You okay?” He asks instead, nose bumping yours softly in the close proximity.

“Take a wild guess, Winchester,” you said, lips quirking up in a soft smile.

He pulls back to look at you then, lips pursed as the crease between his brows deepens. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, getting yourself an eye roll.

You muster up the strength to push past him, all hobbles with just an ounce of balance as your face twists in immediate discomfort. The groan you try to muffle doesn’t get past green eyes behind you, especially not the gasp you’re quick to inhale when that ever familiar searing pain burns up the length of your leg. It was beyond you how you thought you could play it off, but even then you still didn’t give up your efforts.

“Y/n,” he started, a warning tone in his voice mixed with exasperation.

“I’m fine, Dean. I got it,” you insist, though the half cry leaving your lips right after is less than helping your case.

“Would you quit it with the macho tough guy act?” He says and you’re quick to flash him a glare. His brows raise and he throws his hands up. He was right and he knew it. “Come here, I’ll carry you.”

“Are you crazy?” Your glare remains as your head tilts, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart, ‘m not letting you walk so deal with it.”

You sigh as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, one you try desperately to stave off as you roll your eyes. He turns on his heel and squats down, head turning and brow raising as he waits. A huff sounds and so does a stifle noise of discomfort as you move, your hands pressing to his shoulders as you climb on his back. His hands rest behind your thighs as he stands tall, your arms wrapping around his neck as your head rests against his.

A quiet apology is immediate at the sound of your muffled complaints when your ankle is jostled more than you’d prefer, soft and sweet. You tightened your grip around him then, your chin resting on his shoulder as he kicked the busted door open, careful not to let it hit you.

The rain was drizzling outside as he started along the trail back to the car, the droplets cold against your skin as they pelted down over you at a steady pace.

“You’re taller than I thought,” you mumble, a teasing smile on your lips. “Maybe I should stop calling you short stack.”

His chuckle rumbles against you and you can’t see the grin on his face but boy was he sporting the sweetest smile as he shook his head at your words. “Oh really?”

“Yeah really,” you say, laughing to yourself. “But you are shorter than Sam, so I’m gonna have to take it back, short stack.”

He squeezes your good leg in playful retaliation, head shaking some more as he hikes you up further on his back. Even when you’re hurting you never miss the chance to pick on him and he swears you’re the embodiment of sunshine, he knows you are but he doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“I meant it when I said you were a pain,” he says, his grin in his words.

You laughed then, one that has him smiling like a fool. You sigh softly, another laugh falling from your lips.

“I can’t believe I kicked my own ass,” you say, brows furrowing as you thought about it and his own laughter was immediate. It wasn’t all too amusing half an hour ago but in the current moment, it was kinda comical you will admit.

“You kicked mine too.”

You sigh, quiet and gentle as you look ahead over his shoulder. His stubble is rough against your cheek as your skin brushes against it, your hand that dangled over in front of him patting his chest.

“De?” You say softly, eyes focused on his boots with every step in the mud and gravel. He hummed. “You really are sweet.”

Sweet. It was something you called him often, something he’d beg to differ on because he feels you deserve more, but that isn’t even something he’d argue with you on. He knows full well he’d lose. But it’s got him smiling, one that only widens when you kiss his cheek and your smile presses into his skin, paired with a soft press of your lips to the corner of his mouth when he turns his head. He stops in his tracks and tips his head back, kissing you once, twice, three times before he turns once more and continues by the path.

It’s his wordless I love you, his wordless acceptance of your words as he’s got that goofy smile on his lips he’s glad you can’t see. You know you’ll be just fine as long as you’ve got him, and he knows he’s not going anywhere.

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Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester imagine

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love-toxin · 3 years

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a/n: in which tamaki needs a little help with some unexpected side effects.

warnings: pro hero! tamaki, gn! reader, established relationship, quirk kink, lactation, cumming untouched, nipple play, overstimulation, praise.

word count: 1.8k

"Nngh.."

The sound that greeted you as you entered your apartment was not just unexpected, but concerning. You'd only just dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes, and the name of your sweetheart hadn't even graced your lips for you to call out to him that you were home. Tamaki always got back before you did, either to make sure he had food ready for you or to hold you the minute you arrived, so you had grown used to the quiet shuffling of his feet as he moved from room to room until he poked out his head to see you.

But not…whatever that was. If it was somehow a fluke and a villain had attacked you at your address, you would have no doubt in your mind that your boyfriend could send them packing with ease--but if he was unwell enough to not even hear you when you walked through the door, then something was seriously wrong and you feared the worst. At a hurried pace, you rushed down the hallway and crossed through your tiny living room to step into the bedroom, where you could only guess the noise had come from.

And what a sight it was, when Tamaki turned to see you standing in the doorway with a flush that burned his naked, sweaty body. The noises he was making before couldn’t compare to the shriek he let out when your eyes met, and by the time he frantically scrambled to pull the covers over himself, you’d already caught sight of what you hadn’t suspected he would be up to. He had straddled one of your pillows underneath his thick runner’s thighs, and you only caught a glimpse of his cock hanging heavy between them before he dove into hiding, the tips of his ears still peeking out from the edge of the blanket. The trembling of his body nearly shook the whole bed, but it was so endearing you couldn’t stifle the heat rising to your cheeks and the smile you managed to hide behind your hand.

So cute. Whether he meant to or not, seeing Tamaki embarrassed was like having a gift plopped into your lap on your birthday--and with a careful touch, you reached down towards the bed and tugged gently on the blanket, your voice a soft whisper as you began the process of coaxing your sweet Tamaki out of hiding.

“P-Please don’t look!”

Your boyfriend squeaked, and by the rustling of the covers it looked as though he was trying to bury himself even deeper into a hole. This certainly wasn’t new to you, though--Tamaki was awkward and shy at the best of times, and despite being intimate enough with each other to share an apartment and a bed, he still acted as though the world was going to end if you ever saw him nude. Much less…tending to his needs while you weren’t around.

“Tama...c’mon, Tama. I’m not mad or anything, I’m just happy to see you...oh.”

With a tug of the covers to catch a cheeky glimpse of Tamaki's handiwork, the blanket swept off of his lean body like a sheet over a piece of art--and once it fell to the side in a heap and pooled around the dip of the mattress where he was perched, you had to swallow back your shock at what you found underneath.

At first glance it seemed like he'd been injured, his chest flushed and the skin looking irritated around it. But upon closer examination your breath hitched as you realized they were swollen, his pecs having gained at least a few centimetres as if he was starting to grow breasts. Not only that, but you noticed that something was leaking in little pearls of white from his nipples, and streaking down his belly to contrast his fair skin and thick, flared cock that trembled under the weight of its own rigidity. Your pillow cushioned his balls softly as he'd clenched it between his legs in his hurry, and by the spots of dark, fresh stains that had soaked into it, you had a sense of how he'd been using it while you were out.

"Oh, Tama...what happened?"

Even as he spoke, and despite the shame that filled him all the way up to his ears, he still rocked and jittered slowly into your pillow, his neediness leaking out just like the precum that dribbled down his swollen shaft.

"I-I had some beef...a-and…I tried to...to use my quirk, but...I-I couldn't stop thinking…"

He nuzzled into your touch when you brushed his bangs aside, but could barely move when you leaned down to peck him on the lips, the embarrassment pulling his body taut and making him even stiffer than he already was.

"Were you thinking about me, Tama?"

Tamaki bit his lip and you just knew. He wouldn't be able to bear the shame if he said it out loud, but you knew about those dark little corners of his mind that very seldom came out into the light.

"Well, we can fix this, ok? Just lay down for me, baby boy."

With a firm tug, you managed to yank the pillow out from beneath him and earned yourself a whine as he squeezed his legs together, but he obeyed once you pressed your fingertips to his chest and pushed him down until he laid back against the sheets, already covered with the sweat that beaded down his body.

"We're gonna milk you, Tama...that's the only way we can cool you down."

You swore his heart stopped in that moment. Tamaki blubbered and stumbled over his words, tears wetting his cheeks as he tried to pull his arms over his chest.

"I-I can do it myself! I can-"

"No you can't. Look at yourself, Tama--you can barely keep it together as is. Besides, it's my job to make you feel better."

Just to prove your point, with one hand you grabbed his wrist to move his arm out of the way, and with the other you lifted it up and flicked his exposed nipple, the swollen little bud twitching and releasing a spurt of milk at once while Tamaki moaned and jerked against your hold. He could pretend like it was shameful all he liked, but the gleam in his eyes as he bit his tongue so he wouldn't cry out for more was obvious. You'd seen him do it so many times it couldn't be anything else.

“Do you wanna feel better, baby boy?”

He squirmed under your gaze, the pressure mounting not just in his body, but in the room as well...he knew exactly what he wanted, but admitting it was something he just couldn't do out loud. So instead he relaxed his shoulders slowly and let his arms fall to his sides, his fingers already digging into the sheets as he huffed a shaky breath and readied himself for what was coming next.

"That's my good boy. Just relax…"

With a practiced hand from working out the knots in your beloved's shoulders after a long day, you pressed the heels of your hands down into his pecs, each one firm and swollen and leaking even more as you kneaded them gently. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth in preparation, and once he started whining again and little pearls started beading at his nipples, you lowered your face to his chest and latched on to relieve him of that terrible itch he needed scratched. With each press he arched his back off the bed, fluttering gasps flying from his lips as spurts of milk flooded your mouth--and you nearly lost your grip on him when his body reacted to your touch. What you expected to taste was nothing like what you got, his milk impossibly creamy and warm and melting on your tongue with each new stream that you sucked out of him. Below you, his stiff cock twitched and strained under its own weight, Tamaki unable to keep his hips down and stop them from rocking painfully into you--but you really didn't mind, especially not when with a quick glance you could see him trying to stave off his oncoming orgasm. Poor thing must have worked himself up so much while you were gone, but it was more than worth it to take care of him now.

"You make such a cute cow, Tama."

You purred as you pulled off of his nipple, your mouth still buzzing with the aftertaste as you leaned over and laved gentle kitten licks over his unattended one, just begging to be relieved by all the milk that dribbled from his peachy little bud. Not one to leave anything behind, you dipped your head down and kissed those little streaks of white away, and somehow that seemed to be his undoing as a cry ripped itself from his throat and his shoulders plunged back into the soft sheets. Doe eyes made way for glazed over numbness, your hand just barely hovering over the tip before he painted your fingers with a frantic buck of his hips, his cum like a magnet to your skin as it stuck and refused to come off easily. And he certainly didn't stop for that, his body overwhelmed to the point that he had no control and emptied himself into open air, each wave of pleasure resulting in an arc of messy, sticky fluid that splattered where it landed and soaked a few wet spots into your work clothes.

"Making such a mess, Tama...I didn't even have to touch you.."

You watched with a bit of wicked glee on your face as the veins that had swollen as he came closer to his end thinned out, his cock growing softer until the moment you brushed your sticky fingers down the underside that was still so sensitive. At that moment he perked back up, and with an experimental squeeze using your other hand, you could feel Tamaki's pecs filling up and swelling again with more milk. Just pinching his tender, sore nipples was enough for them to start leaking again, and even though you knew he would be aching by the time you had finished tending to him, the feel of his body trembling with need and the tears spilling down his rosy cheeks was too much for you to resist. You just wouldn't be able to help yourself.

"..Still hurts, Tama? Does my little cow need another milking?"

You wasted no time in choking up his cock with your hand, squeezing him hard enough that a gasp caught in his throat and a few pearly strands of cum dribbled down his slit and lubed up your grip. But with a fresh set of tears as he blubbered and moaned something you couldn't quite catch, you reached up to stroke his hair and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Being gentle was what always drew him to you, especially when you nuzzled in close and whispered just low enough that his ears twitched, and Tamaki melted into your embrace without even a modicum of resistance.

"Good boy. That's my good boy."

#tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #bnha #kinktober 2020 #love-toxin kinktober #love-toxin #1k

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gas-stxtion · 2 years

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gas-stxtion prompts: needy

//Another one of the prompts from this list! Took me a bit longer to get back to these than I thought it would, but I finally finished another one! This is for the prompt ‘needy’, focusing on Jack. I originally planned to write this about Jack being touch-starved, but the idea occurred to me and I wanted to run with it asdfjkl;

As a disclaimer, I myself am not an amputee and I have never dealt with phantom limb pain! I did my best to research into the topic as much as possible so I could write it respectfully, but I’m more than willing to listen to any feedback on this part anyone has to offer!!!!

This particular oneshot takes place before Tony officially joins the polycule in the main ‘verse!

Phantom Limb Pain isn’t something that’s unusual for Jack. Since he had his leg amputated a few months before, it’s been a fact of life, cropping up now and then. Some days are certainly worse than others.

Today definitely counts as one of those “worse than others” days.

It starts when he wakes up and feels a familiar burning sensation, an itch in a limb he no longer has. It feels like his skin is prickling, yet he knows that if he looks, everything will be fine physically. The air is cold, which makes his bones ache on top of his shooting phantom pains.

When he showers that morning, he tries to follow the advice he read online, the kind that usually works to stave off the pains when they’re particularly bad. He runs warm water over the scarred stump of his knee, rubs his leg with shaking hands, and takes deep breaths. It helps, at least a little bit. At the very least, it helps enough that he can still put on his prosthetic and go to work.

As he lies there in bed, he takes a deep breath and sighs, running a hand over his face. This isn’t anything he isn’t used to, even if it isn’t constant.

His phantom pains aren’t always there, but he knows that they’ll only get worse the more he tries to ignore them.

It takes three hours after he gets to work for him to realize that coming in may have been a mistake.

Each step feels like pins and needles shooting up into his phantom limb, and more than once Jack has to stop himself from reaching down to scratch at the stump. At this point, Jack is practiced enough at dealing with pain that he can keep it off his face and force a pleasant smile while interacting with customers, so it isn’t a problem.

It isn’t a problem, until it is.

He’s directing one of the new part-timers, Leslie, on how to clean the drink machines, when he absently reaches down to massage his leg. When he touches his leg through his ratty jeans, the pain increases nearly tenfold and almost makes him collapse. He barely stops himself from crying out.

“Are you okay?” Leslie asks, frowning at Jack in concern. Jack forces a thin-lipped smile.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m just… gonna go sit in the back. Can you take it from here?” Leslie nods, and Jack immediately half-walks, half-limps to the dry storage closet.

Once he’s inside, he flops onto a box at random and, with shaking hands, rolls up his pant leg. Looking at his leg, it doesn’t look any worse than usual, the smooth scars standing out starkly against his lightly tanned skin. However, Jack can’t escape the feeling that his leg is not only there, but that it’s heavier than usual, burning and stinging all at once.

“Hey,” a voice says, distracting Jack from his thoughts. When he looks up, he sees Tony standing in the open doorway, brow furrowed in concern and mouth turned downward in a frown. “Leslie said you were back here. Everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Jack says, the words tasting like lies in his mouth. It’s clear Tony doesn’t believe him, as his frown deepens as he steps into the dry storage closet and shuts the door behind him, giving them some privacy.

“Is it your leg?” Tony asks softly. Jack doesn’t answer at first, but soon he feels another lightning bolt of pain strike him and the words come tumbling out.

“It’s fucking stupid,” he says, “but… yeah. It’s my leg. My fucking leg that’s been gone for months now and it still feels like it’s there, and it fucking hurts, and nothing I do seems to make it go away.” Tears are beading at the corner of Jack’s eyes, and he almost laughs as he lifts a hand to wipe them away.

Jack doesn’t notice at first that Tony has knelt down in front of him, but when he does he almost jumps. Thankfully, Tony doesn’t call him on it.

“It’s not stupid,” Tony says gently, hesitantly. “What happened was traumatic, and your brain is just… trying to process it the best way it can.” Jack snorts.

“I know how it works,” he says drily. “You don’t need to explain it to me.” He pauses, sighs, and looks down at his leg again. “... Y’know, I’ve been looking into it, and I found some tips online that are supposed to help, but it feels like nothing really does, at least not long-term.”

“Is there any medication I can get you?” Tony asks. “We have some Tylenol somewhere, I think.”

Jack thinks about it for a minute, and then he nods. “Y-Yeah, it couldn’t hurt to try. I-I mean, it’s more of a psychological thing, but sometimes Tylenol helps a little.”

“I’ll get you some, then. Have you talked to your therapist about this?” There’s no judgment in Tony’s voice, only concern, and it’s enough to make Jack want to cry again.

“I’ve tried,” he says with a sniff, “but I never really know how to explain it.” He’s been seeing a new therapist lately after Dr. V mysteriously disappeared, and though they’ve made progress he still never knows how to actually talk about anything that bothers him.

Tony watches him for a moment, then he carefully gets to his feet. “Alright, I’ll go get you some Tylenol. When I get back, if you want, you can talk to me about it.” He smiles a bit sheepishly. Jack tries not to think about how nice Tony’s smile looks. “I mean, I’m no therapist, but maybe talking can help at least distract you.”

“... Yeah, that’d be nice,” Jack says. Tony nods and steps out, leaving Jack alone for the moment.

While he’s gone, Jack starts massaging his leg again, taking deep breaths to try and relax his muscles. It helps the pain subside, just a little, and by the time Tony returns Jack at least has stopped shaking. When Tony steps inside again, making sure to close the door behind him, he’s holding a glass of water and two small white pills.

“Here,” Tony says as he sits on the box next to Jack, “I figured you might want two for now.” He hands Jack the glass of water and the pills, and Jack takes them quickly.

For a moment, the two sit there in silence, then Tony speaks up again.

“So,” he says, “see any good movies lately?” Jack is caught off guard by the question and snorts out a laugh, and when he looks up he sees Tony grinning at him.

“Really?” Jack shoots him a wry smirk. “We’re making small-talk now?”

“I’m just curious!” Tony says a little defensively, but he’s still smiling. “C’mon. You and Jerry watched the new Matrix movie, right? What’d you think?”

Jack is very aware of what Tony’s doing, but he decides not to call him on it and starts rambling away. For the most part, Tony just listens, watching him with a soft, indulgent smile on his face.

As he talks, Jack becomes less and less aware of the pain in his leg. Whether it’s the medicine working, or he’s just feeling more relaxed, he isn’t sure, but as time passes he starts to feel better. It’s not completely gone, but it feels more manageable now.

After a while, Tony puts a warm arm around Jack’s shoulders and draws him close, and Jack is startled a little out of his ramblings. He looks up at Tony with confusion, and in response he receives a sheepish smile.

“Is this okay?” Tony asks.

Jack thinks about it for a moment.

“Yeah,” he says finally, shifting so he’s resting his head against Tony’s chest. “Yeah, I think this is okay.”

#mun's writing #jantonio #main verse: the shitty gas station #❝ i'm the only full-time employee‚ which means i'm on the clock more often than not ❞ {jack townsend}#❝ seeing tony actually upset was the scariest thing i'd ever seen ❞ {antonio vargas}

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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years

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Chapter 42

chapter list / previous / next

Jake was a bit nervous leaving Talltail curled in on himself in the Thunderpath tunnel. Talltail luckily didn’t appear significantly burned, but a sharp stone had left a jagged gash in his front leg that may have been singed with embers as well. Jake didn’t know how bad it was. He wasn’t experienced enough with this sort of thing to know, up until then the house cat hadn’t been used to injuries worse than a couple claw scratches. What was it that Talltail had mentioned being good for infection? To stop bleeding? Could Jake possibly apply a clan cat’s gift for healing remedies? Oh why hadn’t he paid closer attention when Talltail talked about his medicine cat friends magic plants?

Lets see, gold-something…? Merry gold was it? What did that look like again? Well, it had to be golden colored, surely. He scanned one side of the surrounding forest, then the other. Ok, there were no golden plants around. Jake had never even bothered learning all the names of plants, they all looked the same, they were just plants for star's sake, how was he meant to tell them apart?

There were some yellow flowers that grew outside his home, but he didn’t really want the housefolk to see him right now. His paws felt suddenly heavy with a sharp flash of sadness as thoughts of Dusty and Cris flitted across his mind. He shook his head. Nope, not now, now wasn’t the time to wrestle with the heavy weight of that loss. In a small way, despite the predicament he was in with Talltail, he was relieved to have something he could do to take his mind off it. Something other than wandering alone in that far too empty house… It would never feel the same again without Dusty.

Maybe that’s another sign that this is where I'm meant to be right now...Now if only I could find a more helpful sign to point me in the direction of merry-golds.

Feeling hopelessly lost and overwhelmed by the plants and trees that all looked identical and green and useless, there was no choice but to do what he always did when he didn’t know what path to take. Just follow his gut. ...Not that that had done him much good recently other than get him into trouble, and run straight into a bunch of very rude “ShadowClan” kits with an apparent blood-lust.

But that was just one time, what were the odds of it turning out that badly again? Jake was absolutely not about to let something as small as “having absolutely no idea where he was or what he was doing” stop him from helping a cat that he cared for. So, with that newfound surge of (possibly undeserved) confidence, Jake took a breath and closed his eyes and focused. Which direction felt right?

...Right...? Yes, ‘right’ seems like a good direction. So, right he went.

One of his front paws stung horribly where he’d trodden on an ember the night before. He never thought fire would be so painful. No wonder Talltail had feared it so much when Jake first showed him his fireplace. He chased the stinging away from his mind, now was not the time to start fretting over a little pain. He would not think about it, he would only think about golden flowers, and how everything would be ok as soon as he found them.

A sharp scent hit the roof of his mouth and made his lips curl. It was familiar, though he couldn’t place his paw on what it was exactly. A looming sense of danger flooded through him from nose to tail tip, making his bright ginger fur bristle. He didn’t have time to search through his memory before his question was answered for him. A russet red muzzle poked its way out of the bushes.

By the stars, you can’t be serious…

It was a fox. A familiar fox at that, like the one he’d pathetically swiped at before running for cover several days before. A fox investigating the remains of a forest fire for unsuspecting prey without cover. It blinked at him curiously with hungry amber-ish eyes. Jake didn’t know any better how to deal with a fox now then he did then. But he was also hyper aware of how close he still was to the tunnel, and how easy cat scent would be to track back.

It was a stupid thing he was about to do, and he knew that, but louder then his instincts to run up the nearest tree was an overwhelming flare of anger at this predator. There was no way, after everything he’d been through, that something like this could ruin everything now. The fox took another step towards him, it’s eyes alight like a kitten eyeing a helpless baby bird.

Jake puffed up all his orange fur and screeched at the fox as loud and as fiercely as he could. “Listen here you dung-breathed flea-brained rat-faced bastard, I have had a really bad last couple days and I am not letting you go anyway near that Thunderpath or anywhere near me! You think you're tough? I’m not scared of you! I dare you to come closer!”

Jake lashed out a paw, yowling and spitting, and the fox looked taken aback at how this very much alone cat was not acting at all as it should. It seemed puzzled as to how it should go about hunting something that it wasn’t chasing. Jake lashed out again and caught it on the tip of the nose. The fox yelped and snapped at Jake, who barely jumped out of the way before raising both his unsheathed paws up, claws flashing in the early morning light. The fox wasn’t really so much taller than him. It snapped again and caught Jake on the shoulder. It tried to shake him and Jake twisted around in its jaws, hoping his skin wouldn’t tear, and bit it hard on the snout just below it’s eye and stuck his claws above its other eye, sinking them in as deep as he could manage. The fox, now facing the prospect of blinding itself, flung Jake to the side. The house cat saw stars as his head cracked against a tree and he landed with a thump in a pile of wet charred leaves, but he was back on his paws and hissing just as fast, driven solely by adrenaline which was thankfully staving off the worst of pain. His instincts warned him well enough to not show any sign that he was hurt.

“Try it again! You don’t scare me!” he screamed.

The fox took a step back, perhaps deciding at last that cat prey really wasn’t worth this much trouble. Letting out one last angry yowl, Jake lunged forward and the predator jumped back and loped away into the bushes to search out prey with duller claws. Jake slowly sat back on his haunches and licked the new wound in his shoulder. It was bleeding more than he thought and his head was spinning. He was dizzy and suddenly aware of how much he hurt now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He sat with his head pressed against his forepaws for a while, trying to convince himself to get up again.

Flowers. Golden flowers. You need to find those flowers. If they aren’t here, maybe in the twoleg gardens? But what if I pick up the wrong ones? There are so many yellow flowers! I’m hopeless!

While crouched on the ground, he thought he heard the sound of a fox's yelp followed by a furious yowl somewhere off in the woods, but he was still dizzy and couldn’t even be sure whether or not he imagined it. If that fox decided to come back, he really would be in trouble. But there was a new scent that warned another animal was nearby again. This scent was distinctly not fox. Jake shot his head up and got to his paws, trying not to sway. What else was going to go wrong today?

It seemed to come from nowhere, a once again familiar and unpleasant muddy taste, similar to a dead rat's fur. The taste that clung to those ShadowClan brutes. He froze in his tracks and whipped around, his greatest fear was realized in the pair of fierce orange eyes narrowed at him from a raised gnarled root. He hadn’t even heard the cat approach, but there she was, hunched with one eye squinted. She was big and stormy gray with long messy fur that could certainly use a good grooming. Deep scars that warned of experience from many past battles were carved into her face and pelt, striking through the tufted murky fur. The way she hunched over and her long, faintly yellowed teeth that stuck out of her mouth at a funny angle made her seem old at first, but looking closer showed there was no out of place silver of age. No, she was much younger than he’d originally thought, but there was an aged look to her hard fire colored eyes that felt wise beyond her apparent years.

Jake fought the urge to shrink away as she studied him closely. He stood frozen, his fur still standing on end as he tried to think what to do. Taking a peaceful approach hadn’t worked out so well last time he ran into these cats… Try to run? He wasn’t very fast even on a good day, and in his condition, he’d be caught easily. Could he threaten her like he had the fox? There is no way a cat like that is going to be threatened by me! But if she attacked him now, he would attack back if he had to. Nothing would stop him from getting back to Talltail, no matter how battle trained this clan cat was.

But her fur didn’t bristle with aggression, in fact, she hardly moved at all. She looked like she was sunning herself, unconcerned and blinking calmly at him. When Jake thought he could not handle the tension a second longer, she finally spoke in a steady raspy voice.

“You look lost, kittypet. A puny chewed up wad of fur like you is pretty easy prey for a fox. Or so I would have thought. ‘Looked like you had some kind of death wish, picking a fight like that.” She grinned, showing her long front teeth more clearly. “It won’t be bothering us again by the way, but I suspect you have greater things to worry about.”

Jake eventually let out the breath he was holding. At this point he was more exhausted and exasperated than afraid. “Are you going to try and kill me too?”

To his immense relief, the molly shook her head, a rumbling purr of laughter escaping her throat. “No, I couldn’t be bothered. But my clanmates may feel different. They are rather tense right now. You didn’t even notice the scent lines, did you?”

He hadn’t, but he’d been rather distracted.

“I haven’t time for scent lines!” he argued. “And if you’re gonna be nice enough not to kill me, I just need some merry gold I think, and uh….cobweb, I don’t know what that plant looks like though...you wouldn’t happen to know, would you m’am? I’m in a big hurry and I promise I'll get out of your fur as soon as I can.”

“Cobweb isn’t a plant, it’s just spider's web.”

“Oh...literal spider web? I thought it was a weird plant name...Look, I just want to help my friend before anything else happens, you see--”

“Yes, I know. Don’t worry, he hasn’t moved from beneath the Thunderpath.”

Jake felt himself bristle again. How did she know where Talltail was? Who else knew? I shouldn't have left him alone!

“Relax kittypet," she purred, clearly sensing his immediate panic. "I have no war with your companion. Quite the opposite in fact. Running into me was quite good luck on your part.”

“I was just following my gut. I didn’t know where else to go. I know that sounds silly...”

She shrugged. “I do a similar thing sometimes. But when you're a medicine cat, you call it following the signs of StarClan. Mind you, that doesn’t mean it’s always a good idea. But sometimes it works out for the best. The name’s Ratfang by the way.”

“Ratfang? That doesn’t sound like a very nice name,” he said before he thought better of it.

Her thankfully amused purr rattled strangely in her throat. “I have little use for vanity.” Ratfang got up and stretched casually, her frighteningly long hooked claws sinking into the bark of the root she perched on. “Anyway, I have what you need. Trust me, you’ll make a mess of things if you try to do this on your own. Let's get going then, shall we?”

Jake was stunned. “Wait--you… you really want to help me? How did you know what I needed?”

Ratfang stared deeply into his eyes, suddenly looking very serious. “Why, I know everything, kittypet. My StarClan given powers show me clear visions of the future.”

Jake stared at her in wonder. “Wow...really? You can really see the future that clearly?”

Ratfang broke her composure and laughed. “Of course not! I’m just messing with you. Imagine StarClan making anything clear. If only my job were that easy! I simply scented strange cats around our territory before sunrise and thought I would investigate. I tracked you to the tunnel earlier, saw you both looked a mess, and went to fetch what I figured you’d need. It’s part of the medicine cats code to help injured cats, even if they aren’t from my clan.”

Jake was a little embarrassed that he’d been so keen on protecting Talltail yet he hadn’t noticed some cat had already apparently found their hiding place. However, that also meant if the ShadowClan cat meant to hurt them, she could have easily done so already.

“Well, I really do appreciate it.” He hastily dipped his head to her. “My name's Jake by the way, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ratfang bent to pick up a large leaf stuffed with sharp smelling plants that had been folded neatly between her forepaws, then she leaped off the gnarled root and began back down the path from where Jake had come without pausing. Her response was muffled through the bundle she now carried. “Well Jake, I hope meeting you will be a pleasure as well. But we will have to see.”

chapter list / previous / next

#canon typical violence #FRU42 #chapter 42 #woah another pov switch

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hoodoo12 · 3 years

Text

Festival (23/30)

@beejiesbitch @turtlepated @go-commander-kim @memedemonhours @monsterlovinghours @yankyo @edosunshine @saucymangos @clairjohnson @beetlebitchywitch

The light touch over her breast sent goosebumps racing across Pink's skin. She arched her back a little to press the soft, cool mound of flesh against his hands. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, though when she heard Kadus speak again she focused hard on his words.

"Mmm . . . maybe," she hummed softly as he mentioned that one of his elders may be more knowledgeable about those like her. When she opened her eyes to see his own fixated on her face, she blushed and smiled. Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly, lingering against his lips and enjoying the heat of him.

"Yeah, absolutely!" she answered suddenly after he'd asked his question. "I don't know . . . well, much of anything . . . don't know my dad . . . never met anyone else like me. Er . . . rather . . . we've never met anyone like us? Mmm . . . I can bring ya over, introduce you, maybe? Only if you were interested, 'course."

“An introduction may be nice. It would help me understand better,” Kadus murmured, reluctantly breaking the kiss she so sweetly offered. None of the other women who had approached him wanted to kiss him . . . perhaps what he’d heard was correct; human women were only interested in one thing, while this specter who he had very little knowledge of, was so attentive. “So long as you don’t think I would be too imposing? I’ve found that some are intimidated by centaurs, especially if they don’t approach first.” Despite his partial agreement, he pinched her nipples again because the arch of her back and the soft sound she made while he did was addictive. The females of his kind had much smaller breasts, and they tended not to be as sensitive. He wondered if she would be put off if he put his mouth on her--

Although dawn was approaching, this was a night to revel in pleasure. Without saying anything or asking permission, Kadus lowered his head and, cupping one of Pink’s tits, pulled her nipple into his mouth.

⁂

The sounds Carmen made, the words she spoke to him only stoked Beej's need. He didn't need to be reminded that he wasn't exactly welcomed at the celebration with open arms, and he had no illusions that losing control of himself would be frowned upon here. He had no intention of embarrassing Carmen that way, or Eve for that matter. It was difficult to hold himself together, but with concerted effort he managed to retain his typical shape, save for the thick cock that stretched his lover open so tightly.

He opened his mouth to speak when she gave her permission for him to fuck her, but only a low growl of pleasure escaped between his slightly pointed teeth . His hands gripped her with increasing pressure until he worried about bruising her. Relaxing his hands, he turned his focus to his hips, starting off at a slow pace to indulge in every sweet second of friction as his cock dragged along every inch of her pussy's tight walls.

"So good . . . " he panted, ragged and low beside her ear, " . . . don't know how long . . . I'll be able to hold it in . . . god/satan babes, yer so tight . . . gonna milk me dry with this pussy, babygirl."

His hips increased the speed of their bucking, slapping his pelvis against her ass with satisfying sharpness and volume. He held her hips tighter in place as he bucked into her, hilting his cock inside her with each inward thrust.

Precome seeped into her, slicking her walls and coating his cock as he continued to plunge himself as deep into her as he could, stretching the back of her pussy inward and rolling his hips. He swallowed hard enough to hear the click in his throat as he fought down the pressure winding in his guts, trying to stave off filling her until he'd at least brought her to the brink.

Oh god he was perfect--perfect-- Carmen wasn’t sure if she said those words out loud. Each pull out made her whine, each heavy thrust into her made her cry out; his grip on her hips was helpful, because the size of his cock stretching her pussy so much made her weak. As his pace increased, each slap of his hips against her rocked her forward on the grasses. She made the mistake of slipping one hand to her pussy, to both feel the girth of his cock splitting her open and to stroke her clit, but even the slightest touch to her overtaxed pussy made tears spring to her eyes due to overstimulation, and losing one of her arms to counterbalance made her topple downward onto her chest at his next thrust. She dragged her arm out from under her and stayed down, her fingers digging into the grass and loam underneath for some stability. Now that tears filled her eyes she couldn’t stop them. Each time Beej popped himself forward, sheathing himself fully in her cunt his balls nudged her clit, and that was stimulation enough. She wailed as she came at the brutal yet perfect fucking. She had no control over her response; she lifted her hips to buck back against him, she drooled, she wept. Every muscle tightened, including her pussy, although that didn’t seem like much being impaled on his cock. Vaguely she was thankful she hadn’t taken the offer to fuck the minotaur, because Beej was the only one who had enough control and understanding to do her exactly how she asked and how she needed, but wouldn’t push her too far.

⁂

He didn't mind? Jessie blinked a few times and swallowed hard. Her heart pounded in her throat as she pushed that daydream down though it tried to resurge at his admission that it hadn't bothered him. When his words turned to an offer to use his tongue on her again, she practically scrambled down from his shoulder toward his hand.

"Y-yes? Please? Gods, damnit babe I've missed you--I still miss you . . . fuck, I just want to take you inside me, I miss how good it feels to be full of your cock and soaked with your come . . . you can taste me any time you want, you know that baby, don't you?"

Her words were soft and breathy, her tone needy and shaking slightly. Once she'd managed to make her way into his hand, she opened herself to him again, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

BJ smiled. “So needy. That’s my girl,” he said as Jessie slipped and scrambled down to his hand.

She practically threw herself into the same position in his palm as earlier this evening: on her back, legs spread with her hands behind her knees. As teasing as he’d been about her neediness, he couldn’t deny his cock hardened fully because of her again.

“You’re a fucking work of art, baby.” he groaned, and just like before, lifted his hand to close to his face to slip his tongue against her.

She tasted of come, of course. He had no clue how many loads she’d taken while she had fun with Ollie and whoever else, but more than that, the flavor of her spread over his tongue. He moaned and used the tip of his tongue to lap at her pussy, wiggling it into her folds as best he could. He couldn’t suck at her clit like when she was a proper size, so he did his best--

--a sudden thought occurred to him.

As Jessie threw her head back and moaned at the attention, he paused for a moment as if catching his non-existent breath. Then, while she was still distracted, he focused on shifting just his tongue. It took some concentration, but the next time he licked her, it was with a whip-thin serpent’s tongue. It was small enough to tickle her clit properly, and even slip into her cunt, where he got another taste of fey come. He let his tongue delve deeply into her, and flicked it while it was there. It may not be as thick as a cock but he dragged it along her g-spot. Her reaction and the delicious sounds from her made his free hand drop to his cock and he stroked himself.

⁂

"Of course, I'd be glad to introduce ya--wouldn't hurt to sta-haahh . . . stay like this a bit longer though, would it?" Pink murmured in response, her words cut by the pinch to her nipples.

It was so strange, having someone so very focused on her . . . perhaps that wasn't right. It was strange to have made her own acquaintance. The feeling of autonomy was not something she was familiar with.

"'m sure if I bring you and introduce you, it'll be alright . . . " she breathed, stroking the back of his head with one hand as he cupped at her tit.

Her touch followed his head as he dropped it to take her nipple into his mouth. Unbothered by the lack of communication, Pink arched her back, pressing the soft flesh against his mouth more tightly as her hand tugged him closer. In reciprocation, she brought her other hand to his chest, rubbing light circles around one of his nipples to see what his response would be.

His warmth seeped into her nipple even as it tightened against his lips and tongue, the heat making the sensation all the more potent. She shivered in place, fingers lightly scratching over his scalp as she relished the suction, the attention and acknowledgement that she had never craved before.

Again, if Pink had been a less unearthly lover he’d have to contort himself into odd positions to do as he was to her. The fact that she floated made it easier, although it did make a bit of guilt wind through him. He’d never be able to hold her properly if they fucked again, but he could possibly make it up to her now. Her stuttered response in attempt to answer his question made Kadus smile. Her tight grip in his hair and the other exploring his chest said more than her words. “It’s entirely possible to stay like this a bit longer, όμορφο ροζ κορίτσι,” he agreed in a low voice.

Without invitation, he dropped a hand to her leg and brought it up, around his waist to lay at his back. He did the same with the other, so if he’d been human they’d be pressed groin to groin. It was the only time he’d ever envied human men; an easy push forward by them would fill her, and he had nothing like that to offer! Instead, he supported her back with one arm, having her lean back a little so he could see her entire front. Her nipples were still peaked, one still shiny in the firelight from his mouth. There was still a bulge at her stomach; she still held his seed deep inside her and realizing that made a light thrill course through him. Her pubic hair was still dusty pink, and he could feel that her pussy was still wet against him. Kadus took her in. He murmured, “I’ve seen master sculptors create effigies of the goddesses from marble, but none could capture your beauty.” He dropped his mouth to her nipple again, and used his free hand to slip between them to her pussy, fingers exploring to learn where she was most sensitive.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Musical Beetlejuice #Movie Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #OC x OC #festival #rp #long fic

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technicallymilkshakes · 4 years

Text

Ain’t Nobody Can Hold a Candle to You, Babe

Genre(s): Smut Rating: Mature Pairing: Chanyeol x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k Warning for sexual content, swearing.

You have a difficult time unlocking the door. Your hands are numb and you struggle to get the key in the lock and turn it. The cold follows you inside. You kick the door shut and stand shivering there in the entrance, huddling in your jacket to preserve your body heat.

Chanyeol’s sitting on the couch watching TV, socked feet propped up on the coffee table.

“What are you doing? Come here and warm me up.”

He looks up at you, eyes wide with a handful of popcorn shoved against his mouth. His eyes crinkle and then he shovels the entire fistful into his mouth. You can hear him crunching as he stands and wipes his hands off on his sweatpants. He’s a little bit disgusting. You hold your arms open for him. You don't care.

He mirrors you, laughing, a small spray of crumbs shooting out of his mouth. He gulps and then he starts coughing, slumping down to pound against his chest.

You roll your eyes and put your arms back down while you wait. Chanyeol can be so dramatic.

He pops back up with a big gasp. “Did you see that? Oh my God, I’m never eating popcorn again it tried to kill me!”

You stomp.

“Chanyeol... just... come here.”

He eagerly pads over to you, slipping his arms into your coat. One hand slides under your sweater, covers your breast. “Missed you” whispered right against your ear, a nose bumping down your neck.

You shudder. He’s warm, but the way your sweater is riding up exposes some of your skin, making it contract. He rubs his thumb over your nipple.

“You missed me, huh?” you manage to murmur.

He presses against you, harder.

“Missed you so much.” Kisses your jaw.

You laugh. “I was gone for, like, two hours.”

He groans against you. “Yeah. Forever.”

He pulls back and starts tugging the the coat from your shoulders. Your hand catches him.

“What are you doing? It’s cold. I’m cold.”

But he’s insistent. The coat comes off. Next, he pulls the sweater off of you. Already he’s leaning down, hands over your breasts, slipping under the simple black bra you had worn. He pulls that off, too.

“If you’re going to undress me,” you complain, “at least take me to where it’s warmer.”

He grins, all teeth and feeling. “I don’t need to take you anywhere to get you warm.”

He takes you as far as the bedroom. He has you laid out on your back in bed, kneeling between you legs. Your underwear is still tangled around one foot but that doesn’t matter because he’s got two fingers inside of you already.

"God,” he says after you’ve let out a particularly lengthy moan. “You sound so good.” He kisses the inside of your knee.

The fingers withdraw from you and you lift your head up. Chanyeol’s scooted back on the bed and pulling his sweats and boxers down. His cock is hard and he gives it a few jerks, twisting at the head.

“Fuck.” Your head hits the pillow. “That’s hot.”

Then there’s hot breath against your inner thigh. You gasp as a tongue swipes across your clit.

“Shit, Chanyeol.”

You get up on your elbows to watch him. He's kneeling and using one arm to brace himself while the other spreads you open. He looks up just in time to catch your eye while he gives a particularly lewd flick of his tongue against your clit. You collapse back against the pillows.

Fuck, guys get to see that shit all the time while getting head? Lucky bastards.

The other hand comes back to stimulate you every now and then, two fingers inside while his thumb rubs against your clit, mouth puffing humid air against you.

After one particularly long session where he spreads you open with both hands to lave at your pussy and suck your clit, he moves back and glances at the clock.

“Bet I can get you off within 25 minutes,” he says, still between your thighs.

You shove him with your foot. “God, you're competitive even having sex.”

“I ordered pizza about 20 minutes ago. They said it'd take an hour to get here, but I won't need that long.” His eyes gleam.

“You're such a shit, Chanyeol,” you say, pushing him back and climbing onto his lap. “You're on.”

The neighbors have already knocked twice against the wall joining your bedroom and their apartment, but biting the pillow, your fingers, Chanyeol, does little to quiet you. You cajole Chanyeol into moving to the living room 1) so you can save at least some face the next time you see the neighbors and 2) so you might actually hear the pizza delivery man when he comes. You spend the next few minutes with your lips around his cock while he “thinks about it.”

Chanyeol sits on the couch and you fall onto his lap, his cock sliding easily into place, his knees on the inside of yours. You grind back on him as you feel his shallow thrusts, the thickness of him. His fingers blindly seeking out the stretch of you taking him in.

He kisses your shoulder. “Look at you, taking my cock,” he whispers. He grabs one of your hands and guides it between your legs. You shudder, feeling how he fucks you two different ways, the raised veins of his cock sliding between your fingers and inside of you. Feel equally how wet the glide of him is.

“Like how hard I am for you?” he whispers. His hands rove under your thighs, help lift you up higher and then drop. “Bounce,” he commands, voice low and eyes ravenous.

And you do. God help you, you do.

Chanyeol's head hits the back of the couch, his eyes heavy lidded as he takes you in.

His fingers scratch down your back, making you arch, and then he levers his arm back and smacks your ass so hard it stings only briefly before becoming numb.

“Fucking hell, Chanyeol,” you hiss.

Chanyeol has that look of fire in his eyes now, the kind you're familiar with. He pulls you closer and you kiss, although that is too gentle of a word.

His cock is rocking up into you, his hands palming your ass while you grip the back of his neck and tilt his head up for a brutal kiss and feel the throb of him inside you.

You reach back to brace yourself on his knees. “You gonna come?” you taunt, working yourself up and down on his cock. His eyes flitter down and he moans softly, his eyes drifting closed.

“Look at me, Chanyeol.” He obeys, quiet as he is only in the moments before climax. The rushing in you becomes urgent. “Do you like me like this?” you manage to gasp out. Your thighs and arms tremble as much from the effort of riding him as the pleasure. “Don't you wanna make me co--” You never get to finish the question because Chanyeol slumps farther against the couch, grabs your hips, and thrusts. Your words wisp off into nothing, and you reach down to rub your clit, but Chanyeol knocks your hand away.

“Just my cock,” he grunts.

You pat his cheek with a patronizing smile, but he sucks your fingers into his mouth and you smolder. You feel it building, a distant echo, your muscles taut, and just as it's breaking--

The doorbell rings.

Startled, you jerk a little, enough for his cock to slip out. Chanyeol, still moaning, grabs his cock by the base, trying to push it back in, but it's too late to stave off his orgasm. He's coming, thighs tensed, deep, moaning raspy “uhh, uhhh”s with every pulse.

“Fuuuuck,” he moans, gently stroking his cock through the aftermath. Both your stomachs are wet with his cum. Some even got on his jaw.

The doorbell rings again.

Your press your thighs together, trying to resist screaming. You were so close.

You rise stiffly and slip on Chanyeol's discarded shirt. The front of it darkens from his come and clings to your sweat. You grab some bills out of his wallet on the table, march to the door, and swing it open.

The pizza delivery man gapes, cheeks already coloring. You grab the box of pizza, slap the bills in the man's frozen hands, and slam the door shut.

Chanyeol stares at you in reproach. “You should've put something else on.”

You slide the shirt off, throw it in the distance, and sprawl on the couch and half over Chanyeol.

“I don't give one shit if the man could see my tits through your shirt. I was so close to coming and he interrupted. I am horny.” Your legs drape open and your fingers slip between them. You let your eyes close.

“I won.”

Hands slide up your stomach, swirl against your skin.

You open your eyes and stare at Chanyeol.

“So what's my prize?”

He surges toward you, already hardening, to whisper sweetly against your lips.

“I'm gonna make you burn all through the night.”

A/N: So, I’ve had this in my drafts for about 2 years now. I wanted to get this out while it’s still winter, so I dusted it off and finally finished it. The image used was the original inspiration for this fic. I thought of using an Obsession era burning Chanyeol gif, but this story doesn’t really radiate demonic energy.

Enjoy!

#exowritersnet #chanyeol smut #chanyeol fic #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fanfiction #park chanyeol #chanyeol #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo smut #exo scenario #exo imagines #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol imagine #it's been so long i'm probably missing some #exo fic

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Jokes

Chapter 21

The portal stole their breath from them, chewing them up and spitting them out in a dark, red cavern. Tommy was up to his shins in some kind of tarlike fluid, but he was less put off by the wetness in his socks than he was by how warm it was. Pocked stalagmites reached up from the floor like long, spindly fingers and the air was thick with a humidity that made it hard to breathe. Firelight flickered overhead. It was unexpectedly quiet, save for the lapping of water around their legs as the team assembled raggedly and gained their bearings.

“Oh my gosh, this place is huge,” Gordon breathed.

The unnerving qualities of this womblike place were second to the great, crouching thing that watched them from the center of the chamber. Benrey’s arms were tucked in at odd angles, and his form rose up from the murk like a tumor. From where his wide, pallid face was resting, Tommy could see that dark fluid sloshing into the corner of his mouth.

Gordon sounded as unsettled as Tommy felt when he asked, quietly, “Is he dead?”

Sure, dead like a possum. Benrey’s eyes may have been unfocused and glassy, but Tommy wouldn’t believe for a second the creature was deceased until he personally watched his final breath leave him.

As if sensing Tommy’s thoughts, the entity’s gaze lasered in on Gordon when he took a tentative step in his direction. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Gordon responded automatically, halting in his tracks.

“I knew this was gonna happen.”

Benrey’s voice echoed off the sides of the cavern and rippled the water around their calves. Firelight flickered hot and yellow off his tractor tire irises, and Tommy had to look away.

Gordon had a bit more resolve in him, keeping nervous watch on the entity. “What?” he asked. “What do you mean you knew this was gonna happen?”

“I’m telling you - look, I’m... I like everything, I'm a great cool...” Benrey trailed off.

Tommy watched a confused glance pass between Gordon and Coomer while the entity went on.

“I feel a good, but you make me angry. Rememb-”

“Why,” Gordon interrupted, frustration edging his voice. “Because I don’t have my fucking passport? Is that what this-”

Benrey cut him off abruptly with a flash of his serrated teeth. “No. You remember? The first time we met... you wa- you walk in- I’m on my shift, and you come in, and you got a dick slip in your... in your HEV suit.”

There was a fraction of pause, an iota of processing during which the gears spun in everyone’s heads, until Tommy saw Bubby mouth the words, dick slip? and suddenly he was forced to hold in a riot of shocked laughter.

Gordon threw a glance over his shoulder at the others, astonished light dancing in his eyes. When he turned back and demanded, “What?” Tommy heard humor in his voice.

“And I tried - I tried to stop you. I tried to tell you. I was stopping you - I was going, ‘hey, yo dick out,’ but you didn’t-” he broke off, giant forehead wrinkling in consternation. “I was tryna be nice, and then you were talkin’ to my friend, J- Jefferem, and you’re telling him like, ‘Aw, I don’t have my passport…’”

As Benrey spilled more nonsense out of his mouth, Gordon turned, one hand propped on his waist, to give a “you’re hearing this, right?” look to his teammates. Dr. Coomer exhaled loudly out of his nose, shaking his head as he took this time to reload his weapon. Gordon looked to Tommy, the corners of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly and brows raised like a child asking for a dare.

The entity continued to rumble the cavern as he spoke. “And... he was so upset - he has anger issues - I was gonna protect you from him, we were - I was gonna be nice to you. Remember that?”

“Yeah,” Gordon answered, “and then you contradicted yourself almost immediately. I didn’t say shit to you, you immediately started attacking me, and you just harassed me-”

“No, that’s just my job!” Benrey huffed, eyes rolling in Gordon’s direction.

“To do what?” he demanded. “What is your job? What is this - where the fuck are we?”

Tommy was about to tell Gordon that prying answers out of the entity would be ultimately fruitless, even in possession of a crowbar, but he stopped short when he saw that the man was… smiling. Grinning outright, like he had just told a bad pun and was waiting for everyone to tell him to fuck off. This conversation was on purpose, Tommy realized, prodding Benrey to keep talking - not to make sense of his story, but purely because its utter ridiculousness brought Gordon glee. He fought down a giggle and watched the exchange unfold.

“I - I mean,” Benrey went on, “if there’s a dick - if, y’know, someone’s dick out on the job, I gotta stop ‘em.”

“What are you on about? What?”

“But like... you don’t remember?”

“My dick has not been out all day.”

“No, no! Like... the first time we met.”

“Yeah, in fucki- before the test?”

“What test?”

Gordon exchanged a glance with his companions. “What does this have to - I don’t understand. I-”

“ Listen, ” Benrey said, and launched into an argument that Tommy could barely parse.

Deadly serious, the entity droned on about PlayStation 3, a game called Heavenly Sword, and the embarrassment of asking his coworkers for some kind of exclusive gaming membership. It was nonsensical, difficult to track, and Gordon was loving every second of it. Nearby, Coomer and Bubby were keeping a wary eye on their adversary, weapons in hand, but they were chuckling to themselves, as well.

Somehow this gigantic, horrifying creature was digging himself into a hole with every word, reducing little by little to just… an annoying guy with bad video game opinions. Benrey could immolate them on the spot, stretch out a massive hand and crush them like insects, and instead he was arguing with Gordon about the likelihood of a dick slip in the armored casing of a hazard suit. All Gordon had to do was keep him talking. Tommy felt a flood of admiration as he watched the guy ham it up with that shit eating grin on his face.

“How does that have to do with fucking anything?” he asked, punctuating every word with a gesture of his hand.

Benrey fell suddenly silent, pupils dilating like a cat out to hunt. “My friends are here,” he uttered quietly.

Gordon cut his eyes around the cavern, searching for signs of movement. “What friends?” he asked. “What is he talking about?”

Benrey’s volume rose in agitation, shaking the chamber and raining bits of gravel on their heads. “Sony CEO Jack Tretton survived a nuclear- a nuclear bomb!”

“What?” Gordon barked, taking a startled step back. “What? Should we…?” he looked to the others. “Should w-”

“Sony CEO Jack Tretton hired Nintendo CEO Reggie and they built a big bomb that was gonna go off... but I saved the world!” Benrey bellowed.

Tommy was convinced at this point that, if Benrey was ever occupying the same plane of reality the rest of them were in, he was no longer a part of it. His form began to shift and stretch, shoulders rolling and neck straining as he began to rise out of his false rigor mortis.

Though a touch of laughter remained in Gordon’s voice, he was beginning to sound alarmed. “Should we stop him?” he asked. “Should we just start shooting at him? Cause I d- it’s not gonna do-”

“No, no!” Tommy interrupted sarcastically. “Let hi - le- let him finish. We need to understand.”

Coomer let out a harsh chortle as he racked a round. “It would be rude to interrupt,” he agreed.

As Benrey continued to rise from the murk, a thin, skittering sound could be heard from the walls of the chamber. “So I didn’t - I didn’t have a big plan. I was ‘sposed to be nice, but you forced me to be baaad so I’m gonna be baaad, friend.”

Judging by the way Gordon’s eyes were skimming the area, he heard the noise, too, but laughter was still shaking his words. “How did I force you to… how did I force-?”

Benrey angled his chin toward Gordon, unimpressed with his mirth. “The big plot is slowly unraveling before our eyes,” he intoned. “Look at this.”

“Look at what?” Gordon demanded.

A horrible sound wrenched through the cavern, a sonic bass that Tommy felt deep within his chest cavity and shook the very room they stood in. The scratching grew louder and he caught flickering glimpses of skeletal hands in his periphery, reaching from the burrows that honeycombed the walls. He braced himself and raised the stock of his rifle to his shoulder.

“I don’t know what he’s saying anymore,” Gordon said, “I-”

There was a sickening rip-tear and a subsequent wave of red water rolling in their direction as Benrey hauled himself all at once to a standing position. He stared cooly down at the four of them, murderous intent clear on his face even at this distance. Fluid trickled down his form in red lines like blood. Tommy readjusted his aim.

Gordon took a couple frantic steps back, water sloshing around his legs. “What’s happening. What is happening?” he asked. “What is happening to him?”

“I can feel a change in his DNA,” Coomer answered thinly, right before Benrey became a nightmare.

His form unspooled like a helix torn in half. Flesh and bone separated, sinews snapping apart as whatever it was that made this thing Benrey released itself. The creature fanned wide, covering the space with limbs that shouldn’t function, eyes that shouldn’t be able to see, serrated and hungry. All this time it made a terrible noise, war made sound, shaking the cavern in its horror.

This wasn’t a joke anymore.

Several things happened at once. Skeletons poured from the walls, clawing and scraping toward them in a rattling wave. Gunfire exploded around Tommy as his teammates began firing - at Benrey, at the undead, at anything that moved to stave off the onslaught. The entity roared his frame-shaking bellow, and through the whirlwind of movement and all the terrible noise, the Science Team was scattered like dandelion seeds caught in a lawnmower.

Reality blurred for Tommy after that, boiling down in his brain to the pull of his trigger finger and his own heartbeat in his ears and Gordon, somewhere, frantically calling his name. Hearing it almost hurt worse than the psychic waves crashing over his body while the skeletons pursued him. He swung the stock of his rifle and shattered a stray skull as he ran.

Where did he run to? Where else was there to go but into oblivion? Panic rose in his throat as he fired off rounds and dodged the reaching fingers of the thing that once was Benrey. Distantly, he heard calls from his teammates, and then a hand locked around his wrist and he was being yanked into a portal.

Atoms scrambled, heart hammering in his throat, Tommy landed on the other side with his ears ringing, stumbling and tearing his palms open on the gravelled ground. For a second, all he could focus on was the steady beads of blood rising to the surface of his skin, hypnotic and scarlet in their mortality. But then a strong pair of hands were under his arms and Dr. Coomer hauled Tommy back to his feet. A heavy slap on the back knocked him back to reality.

Gordon, after checking that they had all made it through, swept the room with a cautious gaze as he rallied his nerves. “Are we safe?” he asked. “What is this?”

Did it matter where they were? Somewhere else in the monstrous structure that was Xen. A vesicle, an artery, the porous space inside a network of bronchioles. All Tommy could think about was how heavy his arms felt as he carried his gun. A pool of unidentifiable fluid lapped nearby, its depth unguessable.

“What the fuck is the plan?” Gordon asked them. “What do we do?” he passed a glance between Bubby and Coomer, who could only offer a collective shrug. His voice was on the verge of breaking as he went on. “I don’t know. I’m scared as shit.”

Bubby worked his jaw contemplatively. “I’m… confused,” he admitted, quiet in a humility Tommy rarely saw from him.

Dr. Coomer nodded in agreement. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, Gordon.”

Gordon turned his gaze to Tommy, who slowly shook his head. Stay alive. That was the plan right now for him. He wiped his bleeding hands off on his lab coat and said nothing.

“Okay… We know that he likes PS3… and that my dick-” he broke off to drag a hand down his face in frustration. “What the fuck? ”

“And he and his friend just got a - uh, month of PSN,” Tommy added.

“And Heavenly Sword,” Coomer agreed.

“Okay,” Gordon uttered automatically, backtracking with his brow furrowed. “I don’t kn - I’ve never played that game. Is there anything he said that’s gonna help us kill him? How do we kill this fuckin-”

“Well, he said it’s not a ripoff of God of War,” Dr. Coomer added, unhelpfully.

This somehow drew the entity’s ire, his terrible voice thundering through the chamber, source unknown. “It’s not a ripoff.”

Suddenly the walls were crawling with skeletons again and the once quiet room exploded with gunfire. As Tommy spun and popped off rounds, he distantly heard Bubby cry, “Into the water!”

His mouth was halfway open to bark wait waitwaitwaitgunsdon’tworkinwater - when there was a splash and his companions disappeared below the surface. Tommy spat out a curse and followed them.

Muffled silence pressed into his ears as he slipped into the depths. Tommy blinked against the gloom, darting his eyes around as he tread water with his rifle in one hand. There was Gordon, a furious figure filling hollow skulls with gunshot wounds. Bubby and Coomer backed him up, honing in on something dark and swirling beneath their feet. This shouldn’t be possible, shouldn’t be working in this way; physics were definitely, definitely busted here. A skeletal hand clutching at Tommy’s pant leg tore him from his thoughts and he twisted to kick it away.

Well. When in Xen. He bicycled his legs to stay afloat and started firing.

An explosion of something deep beneath them sent the water boiling, forcing the team to haul themselves to dry land while the skeletons perished around them. Tommy spluttered and coughed at the lip of the pool, limp and unresisting as someone hauled him out. Unsteadily, he found his footing as his lungs expelled water. He wiped his eyes clear of the brackish fluid and blinked them open, gaze finally focusing in on Gordon. He stood before Tommy with a steadying hand on either shoulder, space between his eyebrows creased with concern while rivulets of water ran off of him.

Tommy let out a quiet sigh and gave him a weak nod. I’m okay.

Gordon released him as soon as he was sure he could stand on his own. “Tommy, was that your passport?” he asked, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“That was Tommy’s passport,” Bubby confirmed.

Tommy paused, brow furrowed, trying to recall ever seeing anything passport shaped in the murk. Water dripped and puddled around his shoes. “...No,” he said. How would that even make sense? A passport the size of a flatscreen, spinning in some alien pool, detonating upon impact? Seemed impossible, but so did a lot of other shit in this place.

Gordon’s eyes were alight, like he was on the edge of some conclusion. “That was your passport,” he insisted. “Is it in- it’s not in your pockets. Check your pockets. What’s going on?”

A span of silence stretched as Tommy wrestled with his exhausted brain for context. Maybe this was another physics thing, a side effect of existing on Xen. He scrubbed the side of his jaw with his fingertips in exasperation as he worked over his thoughts.

“He’s checking his pockets,” Gordon explained to the group, humor touching his voice. “He does it with his brain. With his mind.”

That was enough to surprise a light laugh out of Tommy, and when he met Gordon’s eyes, he saw that he was giving Tommy a weary smile of his own. Making jokes even now, even here, just for him. It was a balm to Tommy’s troubled soul.

“Tommy,” he prompted.

Okay, he’d humor him. Tommy slung his rifle over his shoulder and began patting the pockets of his slacks. “That was - ah- that- that wasn’t-” Hmm. Wallet, phone, keys. He checked the waterlogged pockets of his lab coat, too - old receipt, rubber band, gum wrapper - and came up empty. “Yeah, my passport’s missing,” he sighed.

“Okay!” Gordon exclaimed. “Okay, so he took our passports. And that's gotta be-”

“One by one,” Benrey interjected, disembodied voice shivering through the room.

“Oh, fuck,” Gordon hissed, freezing to check for more incoming denizens. When no threat immediately arrived, he continued hurriedly. “There’s gotta be some kinda energy field around it, and the skeletons…” he trailed off, raking his hand through his hair. “I don’t understand this. I don’t get it. But we gotta blow up the rest of those passports. We gotta put an end to this bullshit.”

He dropped his hand and looked to his team. Gordon had suspended his disbelief for the sake of taking down their enemy and was asking the others to, as well. Tommy fingered the rifle strap over his shoulder as he thought it over.

The way Gordon laid it out, this sounded vaguely like some video game thing. Benrey had pulled from Earth again to create an off-brand horcrux out of their passports, for what, spite? To fuck with Gordon? Tommy could hardly parse his motives, why he would set up an elaborate stunt like this when he could just outright kill them. What was he waiting for?

Tommy realized belatedly that three pairs of eyes were fixed on him, expectant. He sighed heavily through his nose and nodded. Okay. It was hope. The tiniest, slimmest claw of it, but it was hope. He’d try it. If Gordon was reaching for it, by god, he’d try it.

---

The subsequent three hours of Tommy’s life were some of the hardest he had to endure, and he’d lived through some pretty shitty ones in the past week. The Science Team hurried through Xen, weapons in hand, dodging skeletons and shockwaves of noise and the horrible flailing limbs of the thing that was Benrey as they sought out the other passports. All of it swirled together in a cacophony of gunshots and white noise, but Tommy knew there were things he’d see on the backs of his eyelids at night after this.

Bubby’s failed prototypes, crawling and lockjawed. Colored lines of psychic barriers, trapping him in place and squeezing the air out of him. And the skeletons. The skeletons were possibly the worst thing, because Tommy realized he recognized some of them. Nametags clipped to half-shredded uniforms told him that these were the people Benrey had killed in Black Mesa, and now they were conscripted to pursue Tommy and his friends through this nightmare. Looking at them made him sick. Shooting them made him sicker.

They eliminated Bubby’s passport. Then Coomer’s. Benrey attempted to flaunt his, and they took that one out, too. They fell back and regrouped, shaky and warweary with the blood roaring in their ears. How all four of them were still alive was a miracle. Water sloshed around their legs, thick and red.

“Gordon,” Coomer panted as they retreated from Benrey’s looming form. “We’ve got all the passports, but… You - you never had yours with you, did you?”

“No,” he ground out through gritted teeth. His legs were shaking with the effort it was taking him to stand. “It’s in the locker.”

“Bad little boy,” Benrey rumbled from across the room. The skeletons that had loped around him like a pack of wolves were gone, but he still cut a menacing image in his oversized state.

Gordon’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “He’s just waiting to kill us,” he huffed. “He’s just playing with us now. There’s no more portals.”

“No,” Bubby said suddenly.

Tommy, Coomer, and Gordon cast him curious glances.

His eyes glittered, defiant and steely, behind his glasses as he set his jaw. “I don’t accept this death,” he said with resolve. “I have a plan.”

Tommy caught on immediately. It would be putting Gordon at a huge risk, but it was likely the only chance they had. He turned to Gordon, already hating himself for the suggestion on his lips.

“Do you think you can still get your passport if you go back?”

Gordon cut his eyes over to him. “How can we go back, Tommy?”

We, he said. We, not I. Tommy dropped his gaze, unable to look at Gordon. He wanted nothing more than to follow him back to where this all started, to stand at his side and fix this mess together. The thought of sending him through alone felt like tearing out one of his own organs. He swallowed thickly and didn’t answer him. Tommy was needed here. He would stay here.

Bubby was already unholstering the weapon he’d kept stashed since they departed from Darnold’s lab. It hummed as he powered it up. “We can go back,” he said, with confidence.

“Portal gun,” Coomer exclaimed.

Gordon blinked. “So that’s what th-”

“Everyone,” Bubby cut him off. “I need space.”

Tommy and Dr. Coomer exchanged a glance before retreating to a safe distance behind Bubby. Coomer raised his rifle and locked the sight on Benrey in a warning. The entity stayed put, tracking them with his big yellow eyes.

“This’ll be a little trippy,” Bubby warned. “It’ll be a little fucked up. But we’re going to have to take you back to the past.”

“Send me back, Bubby,” Gordon said, bracing himself.

Coomer didn’t take his eye away from the scope as he offered a final, “Godspeed, Gordon.”

“Alright, one last warp,” he sighed. He tossed a disdainful look over his shoulder at the entity. “Later, Benrey,” he growled.

“Peace,” Benrey sneered at a distance, grinning like a wolf.

Tommy raised his rifle to provide suppressing fire with Coomer while Bubby pulled the trigger. There was a discordant snap to his reality that left his ears ringing as a flashfire of green billowed out. He flicked a final look at Gordon, met his eyes just before he blinked out.

The man smiled, determined and lovely, as he disappeared.

Chapter 20 <-----> Chapter 22

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #guns #violence #body horror #hlvrai

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permanentcrossfics · 5 years

Text

Thirty-Six Hours Ago and One Rumor Later.... // h.s.

A little late to Tumblr due to duties to an animal friend, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. x

“Warm enough now?”

You nodded, lips turned down at the corners.

“Gonna talk to me?”

You looked at him, blinking owlishly, and his mouth twitched.

“S’a ‘no’, then?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Harry bit his tongue and chewed out the frustration in it. “Me neither, really,” he said lightly. “But we should. And you know how much I hate talking.”

How long had it taken him to kiss you in that bakery? To turn up again after you’d spent the night with him because he was going mad and couldn’t stop thinking about you when he should have?

“Shoe’s on the other foot, now, innit?”

You flashed him a close-mouthed smile.

“You don’t read the Daily Mail,” he said. “Why’d you start now?”

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Thirty-six hours ago, there’d been sunshine. Thirty-six hours ago, Harry had been soaking up warmth with sunnies perched on his nose and the wide Californian sky stretching endlessly above him. Now, he could hardly see his garden through the thick London rain pouring down in buckets outside his window, and every now and then, he shivered despite his slouchy jumper. Even inside his house, the damp chill afflicted his bones — a harsh welcome back from his homeland.

In his very recent memory, the dark, gloomy weather would’ve left him climbing the walls and scheming his way back across the pond, but lately, it was London he’d been craving. England was home — his childhood, his mother, his sister, they were all there. Friends made home for him around the world, but this one had his name on it.

This one had you.

Harry glanced at his window when wind changed and the rain pelted the glass more directly, the fat drops frosting the panes. He’d yet to see you since he’d landed — you had uni and couldn’t take off in the middle of the week, and he was trying to wrap some work up to be able to put it away for the weekend. You’d made a plan together for you to come in on the train, and he’d promised to pick you up — one simple pleasure he’d allow himself regardless of the risk of a feeding frenzy in public — but it was days until you’d be here, and he found himself wishing he’d booked a room somewhere near your university. You could’ve stayed with him, even. He’d have been an all too willing revisions partner, and he was sure you’d remember every detail you two discussed.

Eyes burning and scratching the back of his neck just underneath where his hair was gathered up, Harry turned back to his laptop, index fingers poised over the keys. Just a few more days. He’d made it this long, he could make it a little longer with the knowledge you were at least closer without having to struggle with a time difference. There was a film on that weekend he’d like to take you to, and he’d like to cook you dinner if you’d—

Ding-dong-ding-dong.

Hands still frozen mid-sentence above his laptop, Harry frowned, glancing sideways at his front door without turning his neck. Who knew he was back? Next to no one. His mother was home, Nick was on holiday, and he’d purposefully held off on telling anybody else he’d returned to keep the pool small in an effort to stave off the welcome back invitations to pop next door to the pub. Post? His mum sent him things sometimes if she thought he’d like them, but he’d seen the truck puttering along the road when he’d gone for a jog earlier.

The doorbell rang again and he stared, paranoia starting to itch his skin. The knock that followed had him all but flying to the door, heart racing, and he peeped through the hole to confirm his suspicions, already grinning when he twisted the lock.

“Where’s your umbrella got to?”

The hood over your head offered at least some protection from the weather, but the rest of you was drenched. Rain was dripping off you just like his roof, and your blue jeans were a darker shade than he remembered those particular ones being. Your trainers looked soaked, and you were shaking like a leaf, teeth chattering, but your mouth was sullen when you wordlessly held out a rolled up newspaper.

“What’s this?” he asked, unfurling it. Instantly, his stomach dropped so hard and fast it landed in China. There, on the front page, was a blurry, overexposed photo of a hulking man with a woman in a short dress. Her face was turned, but neither of you needed to see her face to know it wasn’t you, and the name of the restaurant he’d been at thirty-six hours ago was more incriminating than even the headline.

Opening his door wider, Harry stepped back, jerking his head in invitation. For a moment, it looked like you were going to run, and his muscles tensed in preparation to sprint after you. To his relief, you strode past him instead, trainers squeaking on the hardwood floor.

“Tea?”

Without waiting for an answer, he skirted around you and headed for the kitchen. “Should shower, too,” he said, throwing the paper on a chair. “It’s cold and you’re—“ Wet. “—soaked to the bone.”

He dragged two heavy mugs from his cupboard and set them on the counter with successive clunks before flicking the kettle on and opening the fridge for the milk. He could feel your eyes on him from the doorway, and he was growing progressively hotter under his jumper, but he refused to engage until the pop of the box of teas wasn’t the loudest sound in the room. They plinked against the porcelain when he threw them in, and he eyed the kettle, waiting for the switch to pop.

‘“Tea’?”

Harry stiffened and closed his eyes briefly to brace himself.

“‘Shower’?” you asked shrilly.

He turned, weary, to where you were dripping water on his kitchen floor.

“That’s all you can say?”

“S’all I’m gonna say now, yeah,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because we’re gonna talk about this.”

You laughed, a breathless, derisive little noise, and sniffed, rubbing your nose. “Sure,” you said. “Let’s talk.”

The kettle whistled angrily behind him, and when the switch clicked off, he poured the boiling water over the teabags.

“Some milk’s there, if you want it,” he said. “Sugar’s in the bowl.”

He took his own mug back to the living room and when he’d sat himself on the couch and set the mug to the side, you followed, hands empty and wet trainers squelching against the floor.

“D’you wanna sit down?”

He glanced at you briefly before punching his password in on his laptop.

“Not really, no.”

Harry inhaled sharply but pursed his lips and nodded, navigating to his browser.

“Do you have anything to say?” you asked.

“Few things,” he said. “Can I ask when you started taking the Daily Mail seriously?”

“When they started running pictures of my—“ You stopped short and gulped. “When they ran a photo of you. With her. Whoever she is.”

“Think that’s something I’d do?”

His stomach turned just asking the question, but he had to ask. He had to know.

“I didn’t,” you whispered.

He clenched his jaw and nodded.

“Can I ask—“ you choked and his chest tightened. “Can I ask when you decided to do that?”

“I didn’t.” He cleared his throat. “And you know I wouldn’t.” Harry looked up at last, and, doing his best to ignore your welling eyes, he gestured for you to come forward.

“Why?”

Your voice cracked with accusation but he held his hand out still.

“Because I’ve gotta show you summat,” he rasped. “And we’re not gonna fix this unless y’see it.”

You were stubborn — he’d given you that before, and he’d give it to you a million times over. He held you gaze unwaveringly, though, and finally, you teetered forward.

Squick, squick, squick.

Harry tilted his laptop towards you, headline after headline on a page of search results. “How many of these d’you reckon are true?” he asked.

Your eyes flickered down the screen.

“How many of these d’you remember laughing at with me in Mandeville’s?”

Your lower lip quivered. “I saw the— there’s a photo, Harry, and you had that shirt—“

“D’you know some people get my tattoos exactly?” he asked. You looked at him and back at the screen. “They do. Down to—“ He waved the back of his left hand. “How many people do you think have seen Harry Styles somewhere in Miami, or Ibiza just recently?”

Your throat bobbed.

“They can do anything they want, pet,” he said. “They can say anything, they can… anything that gets them a story, and a click, and a pound. And you know that, just like y’know I wouldn’t do that.”

You bit your lip, which was vibrating by that point, and took deep, slow breaths, hands in fists at your sides.

“Wouldn’t try like this for hardly anyone else,” he said, running his hand around his mouth. “But it’ll tear us apart if you let it, and I can’t… I’ve gotta know you trust me, cause they say a lot of shit about me. And about you, too. And—” Harry cleared his burning throat, but whatever was stuck in it refused to budge. “I’m not always going to be a train ride away to fix it and talk about it with you,” he said hoarsely. “S’what it is to be with me, and I told you that when we started this.”

You stamped your eyes shut and two tears fatter than the raindrops outside rolled down your cheeks.

“So I need you to trust me, because if you can’t, I don’t… I don’t….” Harry swallowed convulsively and fell silent. He couldn’t finish that thought out loud, because as much as he’d mean it if he did….

One minute, you were holding it together, and the next, your shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs, tears spilling in full force.

“I’m sorry!” you all but wailed under your breath, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-so—”

The table nearly upended with how quickly he stood, and he caught one of the legs with his big toe on his way around it. He ignored the throb and his watering eyes, though, to wrap you in a tight embrace. The cold rainwater soaked into his socks and jumper, but he kept you nestled under his chin, rocking you in place through your sobs. After countless minutes of gentle shushes and kisses to your hairline, he murmured his suggestion for a shower again. This time, you nodded, and he held your elbow as you struggled to get your wet trainers off and he took your coat to hang it on a hook.

While you warmed up, he wiped down the puddles that had accumulated and set the kettle to boil again. By the time you got out, dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of his jogging bottoms rolled at the waist and cuffed to absurdity, he had a mug waiting for you the way you liked it, and you took it this time before fitting yourself under his arm.

“Warm enough now?”

You nodded, lips turned down at the corners.

“Gonna talk to me?”

You looked at him, blinking owlishly, and his mouth twitched.

“S’a ‘no’, then?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Harry bit his tongue and chewed out the frustration in it. “Me neither, really,” he said lightly. “But we should. And you know how much I hate talking.”

How long had it taken him to kiss you in that bakery? To turn up again after you’d spent the night with him because he was going mad and couldn’t stop thinking about you when he should have?

“Shoe’s on the other foot, now, innit?”

You flashed him a close-mouthed smile.

“You don’t read the Daily Mail,” he said. “Why’d you start now?”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I didn’t,” you said. “It was there, and I saw the headline and the photo, and….” You paused, but he kept quiet so you could gather your thoughts. “I’m under a lot of… there’s a lot going on, with uni and other things.”

“What other things?” he asked, because last he’d heard, everything was fine, but you shook your head.

“All I’ve been thinking of are reasons why—“ you gulped several times. “—why you’d want to leave. You come home, and I can’t even….” Your face crumpled. “I can’t even be here, and that’s not… why wouldn’t you get sick of that?” You sniffled and composed yourself before looking at him with a shrug, eyes full. “So when I saw that, I thought… well, why not?”

“But you know I wouldn’t,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter what I know,” you said, shaking your head. “Because why wouldn’t you go with someone who could be there?” you asked.

“I’m the one always having to run off, aren’t I?” he asked.

“But I can’t run with you,” you whispered.

“You’re there,” he murmured. “You’re here. When it counts, you’re here,” he said, touching your chin when you looked down. “Hey. Took a train to kick me in the ass. That’s all I need to know.”

You swallowed hard and he kissed your forehead. “M’gonna go lie down,” he said. “Jet lag is killing me, and you’ll be carrying me to bed if I don’t go now. Why don’t you join me, hmm?”

Nodding, you set your mug down and he locked his fingers with yours to pull you to the bedroom. “Just for a little bit,” he said, flinging the duvet back for you to crawl in. “Just for….”

Harry trailed off, settling in bed, head spinning when it hit the pillow. “C’mere,” he mumbled. “Come have a cuddle.”

You fit your body in against his, back to his front, and the last thing he remembered saying was, “Promise t’always talk t’me when you’re… when you’re scared…” into your hair and under his breath before everything spun into blackness.

***

It was still raining when Harry finally started to wake up — blissfully unaware of the time, but equally as aware of the rise and fall of your chest underneath his arm.

For the first time since he’d gotten home, he felt like he was. This was how you should’ve reunited.

Harry pushed his nose into your shoulder and nuzzled, inhaling the sleepwarm smell, but his eyes flew open as wide as they could when you scratched his arm lightly.

“Thought you were asleep?” he rasped. You yawned and smacked your lips, stretching out against him in his hold and shaking.

“Not anymore….”

You squirmed and wriggled until you were facing him, eyes closed and smiling contentedly.

“Hi,” you whispered.

Harry kissed your browbone. “Sleep well?” he asked against your skin.

You hummed, nodding, and wrapped your arm around his shoulders while pulling your leg high over his hip.

“Don’t really have to go back, do you?” he mumbled and you smiled wider, opening your eyes at last.

“Not a believer in higher education?”

“Never graduated myself, if you look online,” he chuckled.

“Wouldn’t believe everything I read,” you said, touching his face. He gripped your wrist gently and rubbed his thumb back and forth when you looked away.

“Get some things right,” he murmured. “Most of them say you’ve got me whipped.”

You lips quirked and you looked at him again, and he leaned in for a kiss. Soft, pert, he shifted to get closer. It was the first proper kiss he’d been able to give you, and you were welcoming receiving it as much as he was giving it.

“Can stay the night, can’t you?” he asked and you nodded, looping your other arm up around his neck. “Good….”

The suggestion of cooking you dinner died when he moved on top of you entirely and you hooked your legs around his waist, both of you dissolving into groans and each other. You were particularly aggressive, ankles locked and hands clapped firmly to his cheeks, and he got the distinct impression you were trying to make up for the afternoon.

“No, no,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Don’t have to…. Lemme…” he barely got out. “Lemme… I wanna….”

He was already crawling down your body under the duvet and pulling your underwear and his jogging bottoms down your thighs. You said his name, breathless but muffled by the blanket over his head, and you lifted your hips when he settled between your thighs. They tensed against his shoulders when he landed a kiss to your clit, and your hand clapped down over the back of his head when he pressed his tongue to it. He wanted this, but he wanted this for you. Something just for you to relieve the tension that’d boiled over.

Harry licked slowly, once, then twice, before languidly pulling your clit between his lips. You shifted and he gripped your thighs with his forearms to keep you in place, groaning and pressing in tighter. He chuckled when you squeezed your legs around his head and you dug your heels into the bed next to him, pushing your hips up while pushing the top of his head, but he stopped sucking for only a second to lick as deeply as he wanted to.

“Har—oh….”

His eyes watered when you drilled your fingers into his skull, and he felt the briefest rush of cool air before you reached under the blanket and dug your fingers into his hair, wrapping them tightly in the strands.

“Feel nice?” he mumbled more to himself than anyone else. “C’mon, pet, let’s make it better for you… s’make it better….”

You moaned, long and keening, when he slid his index finger in just under his mouth and hooked it up inside you, pulsing his finger until he found the spot that always had you bucking your hips like you would if you were riding him. You twisted but he held you tightly in place while adding another, and he pumped his fingers in a staccato rhythm while suckling with gentle vigor.

“S’it here?” Harry pressed his palm to your abdomen. “D’you feel it here?”

“Yes…!” you called out and he heard a thump followed by a choked gasp. “Harry, m’gonna cum, I’m… ah…!”

Not yet. Harry popped off, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth to suck instead, teeth digging in harshly even as your hips rocked fervently in search of his slowing fingers.

“Harry!” your cry was sharp and desperate and made a chill run through him despite the sweat on the back of his neck. “Harry, I—“

“Shh,” he kissed your clit again. “Shh, shh… we’re gonna make it a good one, aren’t we?” He rubbed circles over your abdomen. “Gonna make you feel it from right here.”

He sucked softly, laving his tongue up and down in featherlight strokes that had you sighing, but every time you tightened around his fingers, he slowed and you immediately cried your protest.

“Please… please….”

He pressed his mouth to your cunt. “D’you wanna cum?” he asked. “Y’making such a fucking mess already, pet.” He kissed the inside of your thigh. “Feel how wet my face is?” Harry laughed when you whimpered. “I know, I know, all right… c’mon.”

When he pulled your clit between his lips this time, he sucked strongly with wet, puckering sounds, and this time when you got closer around his fingers, he kept pumping, groaning with each buck.

“Yes!” you cried out and he stamped his eyes shut, that simple sound escalating the throb in his cock from steady to painful. “Yes, yes, yes… Harry… Harry, m’gonna cum, I— I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m—“

Your frantic cries dissolved into a garbled scream and you sat up, pressing down on the back of his head to the point he nearly suffocated, but if he died between your legs he didn’t think he’d mind. That would be a headline to read.

It was only when he felt the last pulses and you dropped back to the bed that he stopped sucking and pulled his fingers out to lick them off. “So good,” he mumbled, mouth full. “So… so good….”

He wiped his chin and scrambled up your body, throwing the duvet off his head and dropping down onto his elbows in his haste to kiss you. You pulled him in and clutched him close, panting against his mouth.

“Can….” You exhaled harshly. “I wanna… condom, we need….”

Clumsily, Harry opened the drawer on his bedside table and slapped around inside it until he pulled out a foil square.

“Remind me to get more,” he muttered before lifting off you so you could tug his jumper over his head. He shoved his jogging bottoms down his legs and struggled to kick them from around his ankles while kissing you.

Somehow, your shirt came off and the condom rolled on, and he choked when he finally pushed inside, pumping deeper with each tentative thrust. “God, that’s it…” he slurred, inhaling sharply. “Oh… fuck….” Long and drawn out, holding his breath through the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of you and the creak and thud of his bed against the wall. “Fit so good on me… so, so… oh, fuck….”

Teeth bared and jaw tight, he lowered his head slowly and tucked it into the crook of your neck, still thrusting. You gasped when he squeezed your breast, and he shuddered. “Christ, I—“ His mumbles were incoherent even to him — he could’ve been telling you anything and he wouldn’t know from how lost he was in chasing the feeling while trying not to be too rough, but every time you let out a cry that was a little sharper, he sputtered an apology, unsure he was succeeding.

“God, it’s coming,” he said, throat tight. “‘S in my balls, ‘s in my fucking—“

His next thrust was heavy, slamming into you, and he ground his way through his release, groaning pathetically into your skin.

“Shit! Sh-shit!” High and reedy, he spluttered, hips jerking and cock sensitive even through the latex. His swears dissolved into wordless grunts when he finally slowed, muscles giving way, and he held you tight beneath him before he relaxed. “M’gettin’ off you, just… a minute… one minute.” Like a sack of sand, he dropped to the side, panting, head spinning like it would’ve if he’d drank his weight in alcohol. “‘L cook… cook you dinner if you… if you’d like,” he said. “Was gonna… I just gotta… f’you give me, like—“

You patted his arm, breath hitching. “Just get a takeaway,” you said. “Just….”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence, but he nodded anyway. “Can do that,” he said. “Drive you back in the morning, too.”

“Don’t have to—“

“Wanna,” he said, biting down gently on your shoulder. “Give them summat to write about if they’re gonna run their fucking fingers.”

#harry smut #harry styles smut #harry x reader #harry fanfic #harry blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #original writing #permanentcross #thirty-six hours and one rumor later....

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aggressivelyclueless · 5 years

Text

Unlucky Break

prompted by @reallydumbdannyphantomaus "for once, tucker is the one injured in a ghost fight when danny can't get there fast enough" Words: 6751 Warning: brief gore, mild angst/feels, would be followed up by a halloween special if i had the time

The streets of Amity Park were silent. The moon, only half-full, glowered grimly over the town, and a low and ominous breeze swept over the pavement. The color had drained away to gray in the darkness; tall, spindly lamp-posts cast tired circles of light every fifty feet in an effort to stave off the night, but it wasn't enough. They flickered one at a time, as if directed by some distant and higher power, and one of them sputtered and went dark entirely. It was upon this dark post that the phantom perched, unseen. He cast a wary eye downwards to the streets, searching for a glimpse of movement or the echo of fiendish laughter. He caught neither. He floated off of the post, which buzzed back to life behind him, and drifted down to the curb. The chill smell of fall swept by him as the breeze shifted, and it brought his mind elsewhere. It told him of pumpkins and hayrides and bounties of candy poured out on the living room floor, and for a moment it swept him up entirely. He paused, enthralled, and inhaled as deeply as he could. The holiday was still two weeks out, but he almost didn't care. Why couldn't it have been tonight? He saw the little plastic spooks that hung from some of the street signs. In his neighborhood, most of the front lawns had been littered with fake skeletons and headstones, and the house four doors down from his had begun to trim the dead oak in the yard into a monstrous hand. They were the ones that outdid themselves every year, and he found himself wondering what they could possibly pull off after that. The breezes shifted again, and this time they brought with them a warning. He hiccuped, a thin line of mist escaping him, and refocused. Suddenly alert, he traced the alley ahead of him and crept closer. He peered into the darkness, seeing nothing but knowing he wasn't alone; he swore he heard something skitter away through some crack in the bricks, and he floated down into the alley in pursuit. He made out a vague rectangle on one side of the alley - a broken window, perhaps - and he was certain that the skittering thing had escaped through it. He phased after it, not wanting to touch the jagged shards directly, and found himself in the disused back room of an empty shop. Inside, it was pitch-dark; the thin green ring in his periphery only allowed him distorted and hazy shapes, but at least he could see. Edges of old crates and forgotten merchandise blurred together if he wasn't looking directly at them, but the strangeness no longer bothered him. The back door to the shop had been left ajar, he noticed. From it, an inhuman laugh echoed. He turned, slinking like a wisp across the space, and slipped through the door to the alley on the other side of the building. He could see the culprit: a spidery little thing, with eight jointed legs, rooting through an overturned garbage can. It was smaller than he'd expected, only the size of a city rat (it had a tail like one too, he noticed), and it scuttled back into the alley with a scrap of discarded meat in its mouth. It paused, gulping the scrap down whole, and then spotted him. It froze up at once, startled. Its four eyes widened as much as they could, and one at a time it began to rearrange its limbs under itself as if it might appear more demure that way. It aimed for the image of the little gray cat it had seen wandering the alleys in nights past, and by the time it was done it wasn't far off; it was enough, at least, to keep from being attacked, and it found that outcome suitable. Danny watched the little gremlin in silence. He'd seen it before (or perhaps another one just like it) and he knew that it was harmless. It wasn't a shapeshifter, at least not outright - a mimic, rather - and he'd begun to wonder where they were coming from. That's the third one I've seen this week, he thought to himself as he bent down to meet the little troublemaker. He'd scared the first one away before he'd been able to capture it, but he'd since figured out how to catch them without much fuss, and he offered one hand for it to explore. The anomaly did, and sat for a moment in his palm. Up close, he could see four of its legs hugging its belly to make it appear rounder. It had squinted two of its eyes shut, hoping he wouldn't notice them, and the remaining two stared up at him. Its defense had succeeded; it knew that he thought it was cute. "Wonder where you guys keep coming from. I mean, I guess I don't really mind," Danny thought aloud, giving the little creature a scratch with one finger. It had been right; he thought it was adorable. "Only thing is, you keep making my ghost sense go off and one of these days that's gonna get me in trouble. At least you're not out to get anybody, though. I suppose it could be worse." Into the thermos it went. He flew up higher, taking a moment to survey the streets from atop the roof of the shop, and then spotted two silhouettes up on a different roof three blocks down. He flew over to them, landing on top of the air-conditioning unit and reappearing before them. "Slow night?" Sam asked. "You know it," said Danny, "I found another one of those little spidery guys, though." "You catch him this time?" "Yeah." Tucker turned to him. "Wonder where those guys keep coming from? You think there's like a whole building infested with 'em someplace?" "I'm starting to think so," Danny admitted, "They don't really seem to do a lot, though, so I'm wondering if they'd even be worth the trouble?" "You're a ghost catcher," said Sam with a shrug, "I'd say so. Maybe they're poisonous or something, and you just don't know it yet. You wanna wait until one of them bites you to find out?" "I guess not." Sam turned back out to the cityscape around them. She and Tucker came up here every night that Danny was on patrol; they could see half the town from this particular corner of the roof, and make sure things didn't get too out-of-hand. "Slow, though. You didn't find anything running around last night, either." "No, and it's starting to worry me," said Danny, "Having a quiet night is one thing - but it's been so empty lately I'm starting to find little guys like this that aren't even worth my time." He held up the thermos, giving it a little rattle to illustrate his point, and sighed. "I kinda hate to say it but I'm starting to hope for a decent fight, you know?"

The sun fell slowly. Danny sat in his room, watching the shadows on the street get longer and longer; the street-lamps all flickered on at the same time, even though it wasn't fully dark yet, and last rays of sunlight disappeared from the pavement at a little after seven. He wondered if he'd even go out tonight. Things have been too slow. Maybe I shouldn't bother? With a glance to his desk, he changed his mind. Patrol first. Homework later. Besides, maybe he'd get lucky and things might be interesting tonight. One could hope, right? He shot Sam and Tucker a text - see you guys in ten - and transformed. He left the door to his room closed; he'd told his mother that he'd be very busy with homework tonight, and could she not bother him please and thanks. He hoped that she'd listen. She did most of the time, as long as he mentioned the homework. One of these days, he told himself, he'd pull his grades up. He told himself that a lot. Unseen, he landed behind the Nasty Burger where Sam and Tucker were waiting. It was almost exactly between their houses, which made it a good go-between; Danny lived an extra six blocks further, but the fact that he flew most evenings negated any inconvenience. "Hey," he greeted, appearing before them in the air, "You guys ready?" "Ready to be bored again? Can't wait," said Sam flatly, "You know, it probably wouldn't kill you to stay home for once. If something's out there, so what? You'll catch it tomorrow." Danny grumbled. "Yeah, and if Halloween wasn't coming up, I'd be all over that in a second. You think I want to let something slip through the cracks and have to deal with it on the most exhausting night of my life? I'm keeping on top of it this year and I've still got a bad feeling there's something I don't know about yet." "Danny, look," said Tucker, exchanging a glance with Sam, "I know you've been really on-edge this whole month. I get it. Halloween, craziest night of the year for keeping a lid on the ghost stuff. But, dude. You haven't caught anything all week. Maybe just - I don't know - chill for a little bit?" Danny loosened. "Yeah, I guess maybe I keep getting kinda worked-up over some stuff. Tell you what. If we don't catch anything tonight, I'll take the whole weekend off. We'll go see that new Terminatrix movie that came out. Sam, I know you've been itching to see that one." "Yeah, kinda," she admitted, "I heard this time she chops a guy's arm off and beats him over the head with it. Sounds promising." "What about you, Tuck?" Tucker hesitated, but then nodded anyway. "Yeah. Guess it's back to the roof for us, then." "Hey," Danny frowned, "You think you get bored up there? I'm by myself most of the time, you know. At least you guys get to sit and talk." "Heard that one before," said Sam, "But whatever. Let's just go." Danny kept his mouth shut. He took each of them by one hand and flew off, up to the roof of the apartment complex. When they landed he threw an arm around both of their shoulders. "I'll make it quick, okay? Promise." He disappeared, and Sam plopped down on the roof. Making herself comfortable, she pulled a notebook and light-up clicky pen from her backpack. "You really think he'll catch anything tonight?" "You mean apart from those little leggy guys he keeps finding?" Tucker asked, "Those don't count." "Oh I know they don't," said Sam, only somewhat passive-aggressively, "This weekend's gonna be fun, though. Actual quality time with all three of us? When's the last time we even went to see a movie, anyway?" Tucker thought about it for a minute. "The summer, I think. You wanted to see the zombie outbreak one but we ended up seeing the space alien one instead." "Wait, was that really the last time?" Tucker nodded. "You said it was the worst godawful CGI you'd seen since Vampires vs. Werewolves III." "Oh yeah, I remember that one," said Sam with a chuckle, "Those vampires were such a let-down." Tucker just shrugged; he'd dipped out early that day. - - - Danny floated quickly through the first half of his route. He did feel a little bit guilty about dragging Sam and Tucker out here again, but he told himself that it was because he was staying ahead. He remembered last Halloween - it had been a nightmare, and the last thing he wanted was to repeat it. Things were a little slow lately - so what? He knew they'd pick up again, even before the end of the month. He was just keeping on top of things for once. He thought about the upcoming weekend too. He really did want to go and see that new movie with Sam, although he had a feeling that Tucker would be less interested. Monster movies weren't really up Tucker's alley. Maybe he'd press for a double, and they'd go and see something else afterward. That would be a good time, he thought to himself, if it weren't for the patrols. He realized that part of him wanted to catch something tonight, and not just because it would alleviate his boredom. If he had a fight, even a quick one, he'd have an excuse to keep his nightly streak going over the weekend. He paused, frowning. Why was that? He always had a blast when he'd go out with Tucker and Sam. He wouldn't really rather stay home the whole weekend, would he? Maybe Halloween was starting to get to him already. Thinking about it beyond just yeah-it's-coming-up or I'll-be-ready-for-it-this-time made him anxious, and it was still two weeks out. He knew it was going to be crazy, no matter if he kept up on his patrols or not, and part of him wanted to forget all about it. Sounds like a problem for future Danny, it reasoned, you've got plenty of time to worry about it later. He'd ignored it as diligently as he could so far. It seemed to be working; he hadn't missed any of his patrols since the beginning of the month, and he admitted he was somewhat proud of himself for it. He was increasingly certain that if he skipped out for the weekend, he'd lose the momentum he had going for him, and he'd skip out on the more important ones later in the month. Still - doesn't a hardworking ghost like you deserve a break? He squashed the temptation down. Yeah, I do - the night after Halloween. - - - "Well," said Sam, setting her pen down and turning over to sprawl on her back across the roof. "That didn't take long. I'm bored now." Tucker looked over at her. "You and me both. We kinda knew it was gonna be a slow night. Wish I woulda remembered my Gameboy, though - found that old thing a couple of weeks ago and restarted Red." "Yeah?" said Sam, not wholly listening. Tucker closed his mouth. After a beat: "You think he's gonna try and rope us into this over the weekend?" "I'd bet money on it," Sam groused, "He's been really worked up about it since the beginning of the month. Like, on one hand - okay, it's probably gonna be insane, because duh, of course it will, but on the other hand - we're gonna be there to back him up, so I really don't think it's going to be as bad as he thinks it will. Try telling him that, though? Watch him get all freaky-outty about it? Ugh." Tucker slid her a look. "If he does try and bail on us - you think we're allowed to put him in the thermos for a time-out?" Sam snorted into laughter. "Do it. That'll show him." Tucker smiled, glad that he'd made Sam laugh for once, and turned to try and spot Danny below. He grabbed their shared pair of binoculars, tracing along the most visible side streets, but then paused. Adjusting the focus, he groaned. "Um, Sam? You wanna take a quick peek?" "What? Nah, I'm good," Sam replied from partway across the roof, "Same boring view as always." Tucker held out the binoculars anyway, turning and giving her a quick shake of his head. "I'm serious, man." "What, like an actual ghost? Finally?" Sam pulled herself up to her feet, taking the binoculars and following Tucker's pointing finger. "Oh. Yeah that might be a problem." The binoculars, now in focus, were trained on the vacant pet supply shop beyond the park. She could see the truck bay on the side of the building; one of the doors had crumpled inwards, like an angry giant had given it a solid one-two punch, and something inside cast an ethereal green glow. Tucker turned to her and shrugged. "You think we should tell Danny about it? I mean - that can't be a good sign, but - " " - and guarantee he'll skip out on the whole weekend and keep dragging us out here for all this extra ghost stuff?" Sam crossed her arms, setting the binoculars back down on the roof, "Hey, wait a second - did you see this last night too? And you just didn't say anything about it?" Tucker nodded. "Yeah. Didn't look bad last night, though. I kinda thought Danny would have found it on his own. He didn't, and I guess I forgot about it." "You think it'll be an issue?" Sam asked, "Before the weekend, I mean. He's been scouring the town for two weeks straight - if it was bad news, or even was shaping up to be, he'd have found out about it already, you think?" Tucker frowned. "Wait, we're really not telling him about this?" Sam took another look through the binoculars. "Not until at least Saturday. Doesn't even look like there's any ghosts there. Place looks empty to me. Just kinda spooky." - - - So far, Danny had caught nothing. This was the slowest week he'd had in a long time - especially for mid-October - and he finally relented. Take the weekend, he told himself at last, de-stress a little. He slowed to a halt in the street, took a final look around, and transformed. Stress always got to him more when his heart beat; he didn't miss it, but he'd have to live with himself until Monday. How hard could that be, he told himself, movie night with Sam and Tuck? It'll be fun. He turned and started down the streets to go and meet up with them. He knew they'd be glad he cut his patrol tonight short; he'd had a feeling they hadn't even wanted to come out here tonight at all, and thought with a twinge of guilt that he'd roped them into it anyway. Ugh, good going. He hoped they wouldn't be too cross with him - Sam, in particular, was the one to remember things. She wouldn't always hold a grudge, but she never forgot anything that he or Tucker said, even if it was an off-hand comment at the time. The wind shifted, making Danny pause. He turned, hoping for another whiff of hayrides and nostalgia, but what hit him instead was a pit-in-your-stomach wave of dread that sucker-punched him out of left field. He felt his mouth run cold all at once, and his nostrils froze before he could even let any of it out. "Oh, hell," he said out loud, pressing his palm on the bridge of his nose in the hopes that he wouldn't give himself brain-freeze on top of all that. He'd never gotten such a strong reaction from his ghost sense before; why would it all of a sudden flare up like that? He turned and stared down the empty streets; two pairs of little black eyes stared back at him from behind a shopside trash can. He knew what that meant: he didn't even have to bother transforming again, which was a plus. He should have known those little mimicking ghosts would be out again. This really was too easy, though. Point, click, capture. It almost didn't even count, he supposed - although he might tease Sam and Tucker about it later. He noticed a second one clinging partway up the drain pipe, and a third - wait, is that one bigger? - and a handful more appeared from the inside of the shop. He realized that was probably what had made his ghost sense react so badly - he'd sensed them all at once - and he turned the open end of his thermos to them. They didn't seem to know what was coming, but he concluded that he should probably investigate a little further anyway. He wondered what they were doing in town like this. Sentient ghosts often lurked in empty buildings or alleys; less form-constricted ones were rarely seen within the city limits. Was there something here that they wanted? He phased through the locked shop and took a look around the inside, keeping out of sight in case any security cameras were still active. He didn't think so, though; it appeared to have, once, been a pet store. Empty fish tanks and displays of puppy toys lined the shelves, and one on a line of hamster wheels still spun. He could count at least eleven inside, and floated still for a moment to see if he could spot more. This must be where they're coming from, he thought, although he still didn't know why. They certainly didn't look like they were out to destroy anything. They scurried in and out of visibility on a whim, and one of them ran right under his feet and skittered under a dusty shelf. It turned, peering out at him. It wasn't until Danny uncapped the thermos that he realized exactly how many of them had noticed him. He'd counted eleven at first glance but, taking a second look around, he saw that number double, then triple. He saw, too, that he'd only been catching the small ones; several that appeared from behind the puppy display were at least puppy-sized, and one that could have mimicked a retriever stared out from atop the empty register. They stared, deathly still and unblinking, as if waiting for him to make a move. Danny did. Six of them were sucked up into the thermos at once; the remaining ones all leapt at him; he backpedaled out of the shop, transforming as he turned to run; they screeched and gave chase; several larger ones clambered up from the storm drains by the curb; he ascended higher and began taking potshots at the closer ones. The front door of the shop flew open, and out crawled the biggest one by far. It was at least twice Danny's size, and it muscled its way out onto the streets one or two legs at a time. It faced him, and he realized he had made a horrible mistake. At least fifty of the mimicking spirits had him surrounded. They all attacked him at once, and in a panic he fled higher. He could hear their angry screeching behind him, directed by the lower roars of the one he guessed was the mother. He ducked through the second-story window of another building, hoping they'd lose him. It appeared that they did. He ducked back under the window so that they wouldn't see him, and checked the space in his thermos. He knew that, in theory, there was a limit to how many ghosts he could cram inside the thing, but he'd never reached it. Most of those mimics were pretty small. He'd be fine. He floated out again, hoping to catch at least another dozen of them before they noticed him. He could see them up on the roof of an old office building, and he flew up after them. One of them spotted him and sounded the alarm; a dozen of the smaller ones dive-bombed him, keeping his attention so that the monstrous one could headbutt him from the side and knock him out of the air. He fell, instantly set upon by dozens of underlings, and the thermos went skittering across the pavement and came to a stop against the grate of one of the storm drains. Danny made a grab for it, missed, and flew up again. He shook off most of the gremlins that were clinging onto him, grabbing onto one that was particularly stubborn and hurling it away, and refocused. Apart from being caught off-guard by their numbers, he remembered he really had wanted a fight tonight. He spotted his thermos, debated for only a second whether or not to make it a quick fight, and decided that he'd grab it when he was done so that he could mop up. Ectoplasmic sparks danced between his fingers, and he turned to the swarm with a grin. Let's do it. - - - "Looks like he's gonna bail," said Tucker, watching events unfold from the roof. "Yep. There he goes." Sam groaned. "I knew we should have put him in a time-out. Wonder if we can at least drag him out to go see Terminatrix. Maybe a matinee or something?" "Don't count on it, dude. Looks like he's - oh, nevermind, they're ganging up on him." "Lemme see," Sam grabbed the binoculars without waiting for a response, giving them a brief focus adjustment and then frowning. "You think we should go and help him? Looks like there's kind of a lot - wait, no, I think you're right. He left his thermos behind. He's enjoying this." "Told you." Sam watched Danny fly around for a minute, hands ablaze with ghostly energy, and sighed. "Yeah. There goes the weekend. Guess it's just gonna be the two of us." "Two of us?" Tucker asked, "I'm only gonna sit through Terminatrix if you sit through Star Quest first." Sam thought about it for a moment, noting with some distaste that the aliens in the Star Quest franchise weren't horribly scary - usually, just humans with antennae or pointed ears glued on - but then nodded anyway. "Yeah. Sounds fair. Hey, check it out," she handed the binoculars back over to him. "I think he lost track of a couple of them. Maybe he's having too good of a time? You think we should tell him to wrap it up?" Tucker gave the fight below a glance. "Yeah. Probably. If he spreads 'em too thin I bet he'll miss some when he's done. Plus, that big one looks kinda mean and I don't want him to be on the wrong end of those teeth. He's come close a couple of times already." "On it," said Sam, reaching into her backpack for her walkie. It was connected to the wireless earphones that Danny wore, and she hit the button on one side with her thumb. "Danny. Looks like you're having a blast down there but could you maybe keep it contained a little? You're spreading it out more than you think you are." "Sam?" Danny responded, floating up a little so that he had a second to answer her. "I mean, you're right about how much fun I'm having - this is the first fight I've had all week! It's like instant stress relief! Hey, listen, I've been doing some thinking - it's about this weekend - " Sam knew what was coming, but hearing him say it brought her temper immediately to a boil. "Yeah, I'll bet it is," she snapped, "I've heard it all before, Danny, and we're done trailing along behind you every night for this. Go on as many patrols as you want. Fill up that stupid thermos as many times as you think is good enough. Just do it by yourself. We'll have your back on Halloween, but until then you're on your own. Maybe if you get really lucky, we'll let you catch up with us on Monday." There was a brief silence as Danny processed all that. He'd known that Sam and Tucker had gotten the short end of the stick for nearly two weeks; he really had wanted to make it up to them, but hearing Sam lose her cool about it was like a punch in the gut. Not only had she not wanted to come out here tonight - she and Tucker both had expected him to bail on them, he realized. That was probably what stung the most. When he finally found the words, he knew it wasn't going to be enough. "Sam, I - I was gonna say we could go and catch - " One of the mimics blindsided him. He spiraled out of the air, descending through the asphalt of the street below and catching himself in a tangle of sewage pipes, and reappeared a moment later. He turned his attention to the swarm of spirits around him, but part of him still couldn't focus. Are they really going to ditch me? He knew that it was time to wrap the fight up. He still had to bring Sam and Tucker home afterwards; he'd talk to them about it then. He could see them up on that rooftop - maybe I should have kept this fight a little closer together - and he knew they were watching him. He'd lost track of the thermos, he realized, and floated higher in an attempt to spot it. He didn't, and the swarm was beginning to converge on him now that he was up in plain sight. Now serious, he aimed more carefully. Most of the mischievous spirits weren't terribly robust, and fell with one or two shots; it was the leader he was becoming worried about. He must have hit it at least half a dozen times, and it just seemed to make it angrier. It roared, clawing its way up the side of a building, and leapt at him. One of its jointed legs swatted at him, and it climbed up higher to keep up with him. He hit it once, glancing briefly at the underlings below him, and it tackled him across the empty space over the street. They both flew in a tangle of limbs into the side of the building on the opposite side, breaking through the bricks and snapping one of the old wooden supports clean in two, and he extricated himself after it nearly bit his head off. He disappeared, splitting his attention as best he could between it and its horde of minions, and finally spotted the thermos by a storm drain two blocks down. He swooped, grabbing ahold of it before any of the other spirits could catch him, and turned to finish the fight off. The smaller ones were caught first, and he turned his full attention back to the leader. The gremlin hissed at him, turned, and crawled upwards. Its claws left hard scratches in the bricks as it went, and put out one of the windows about halfway up the structure. Danny flew after it, thermos in hand. He realized as it made its way up the side of the building that Sam and Tucker were up on the roof, and a wave of dread hit him. "Guys, heads-up, you better get out of there - !" The monstrous mimic clambered up the last floor and hoisted itself over the corner of the roof, scraping a handful of bricks out of place and baring the wooden beam that held up the corner of the building. Under the monster's weight, it held for the moment but creaked unhappily. Danny could hear Sam and Tucker both scream, and threw an energy blast to get its attention if nothing else. It lurched forward, hit but not horribly injured, but wouldn't turn to face him. Danny reached the corner of the roof just in time to see it collapse onto the top floor. Bricks, wooden supports, and debris crumpled inwards, settling into a pile of rubble in the space below, and the spidery gremlin toppled down along with the rest. He could see Sam on the other side of the roof, having scrambled away from the damage. What about Tucker? He panicked, blasting the giant mimic with a two-handed attack to get it out of the way, and dove into the rubble. "Tucker?" The ghost came at him again, and his control lapsed. He turned with an inhuman cry, both his hands bursting into a crackling blaze, and the second he locked onto his target he let loose with something he didn't know he had. The next thing he knew, the mimic had been utterly obliterated, and he'd taken out the rest of the corner of the roof too. The dizziness of overexertion clouded his head, but he shoved it aside and turned back to the pile of rubble before him. Without a second thought, he dove down and sifted through it as quickly as he could. Hold on Tuck oh dear god please don't let him be dead - He found Tucker under a splintered wooden beam. He looked like he'd been half-crushed; one of his arms was bent the wrong way, and a piece of the split beam had lodged itself in his shoulder. Fragments of bricks and debris had closed him in. A wide splatter of blood covered almost half of his face; his nose had been broken, and he only barely appeared to be breathing. "Tucker!" Danny cried, pulling the beam away from him in a blind panic. He'd gone almost entirely numb, and hesitated even to touch him. He knew this was his fault - still having fun, are we? - and the knot of dread in his stomach sharpened into a spear of guilt. "Tuck, I - I'm so sorry - " "Danny?" Sam's head appeared over the edge of the destroyed roof, "The hell was that? I've never seen you go ham like that before - " Danny turned up to her, pale and tear-stained. "Sam, I - " Sam's eyes widened as she realized what had happened. "Oh my god is he okay - ?" Danny, without words, shook his head. Sam jumped down without hesitation, scrambling over the fallen debris and kicking pieces of the former roof out of her way. Seeing him up close, one hand came up over her mouth. She stiffened. "Is he - is he breathing?" "Yeah," Danny whispered, unable to manage anything other than that, "But - " "We gotta get help," said Sam, her mind already racing for the least damaging solution. Her eyes flicked to Danny, and her voice was suddenly sharp; she'd just assumed control, since she knew Danny couldn't take charge. "Overshadow him." "What - ?" "You heard me!" Sam barked, "Keep his head up, if you can - but don't you dare twist him around - I'm calling the hospital - let them know he's coming - " Danny turned back to Tucker. He hadn't wanted to even touch him - dear god, he was just so fragile - but he did as Sam instructed. He slid carefully into Tucker's body, and the pain hit him all at once. Tucker had blacked out, but Danny felt it all. It paralyzed him as his mind grappled to keep his focus; for a second, he pulled himself away, but he knew that Sam was right. He forced himself to keep control, and slowly the pair levitated upwards. He was aware that Sam was making a phone call - anything beyond that was incomprehensible. He could feel exactly how close Tucker was to the edge; overshadowing him in this state was almost like trying to overshadow another ghost, and he didn't dare make his body twitch in case it would sway him over completely. "Come on," said Sam, and it took Danny a moment to realize that it had been directed at him, "I told them we'll be there in five - it's just down the block, but - dear god, that's so much blood..." Everything that happened over the next hour blurred together. Danny kept Tucker together, but only barely; he fell out of him the second the medics took over, exhausted and reeling, and only re-materialized after he'd caught his breath. He and Sam waited for almost three hours for the emergency night surgeon to come out, and not a word was said between them the whole time. He'd been in tears the entire time. This was because of him - Tucker might be dead because of you - and despite any and all efforts, he could think of nothing else. It was unbearable. Finally the surgeon met with them, and gave them the run-down on the damage: broken arm, displaced shoulder, three fractured ribs, cranial bruising - he got lucky his skull hadn't caved, he'd said - and anemic blood loss. He asked, of course, how it had happened. Neither Sam nor Danny answered that one. He asked them if there had been any hard drugs involved, just so that he could keep Tucker medicated; they said there hadn't. He asked if their parents knew about any of this, and they just exchanged looks. He said he'd be making some phone calls, and that no one would be in any trouble if he could help it. It's a miracle you got him here in one piece, he said. Wonder how you managed to keep him together all this way. I tell you - by all means, the base of his skull should have caved under its own weight. Tucker's parents were devastated. This had come seemingly out of nowhere - and in the middle of the night, no less! They had both been prepared to blame Danny and Sam wholeheartedly for the incident - until the surgeon told them that it was because of them that he'd made it in at all. They didn't tell me what happened, the surgeon said, but as far as I can tell, they knew exactly what to do about it. They arrived ten minutes later, and Sam's parents arrived not long after that, but it wasn't until the Fenton RV pulled in that anyone got a coherent story. Danny just sat, numb, for the entirety of the visit; it was Sam that ended up telling it. She told them that they'd gone out hoping to find a ghost - it had been her idea, she said, and she'd convinced Danny to bring a Fenton thermos with him in case anything went wrong. She'd admitted that they didn't really know what they were getting into, and she knew they should have been more careful, and that it really was stupid of them to go out like that. Jack had been about to ground Danny forever on the spot; Maddie took the thermos, about to agree with him, but had changed her mind when she had a closer look at it. It wasn't empty - far from it, in fact - and she realized just how long they must have been out there before the incident. Jack, she'd said, grabbing his arm and giving it a tug, Jack, look - this thing isn't empty! She concluded at once that they'd gotten in over their heads, but the fact that all three of them had survived was a feat in and of itself. They'd barely escaped - but they had escaped, and caught nearly two dozen spirits in the process. Still, Danny was forbidden from pulling a stunt like that ever again, and Sam's parents grounded her on the spot. Danny found he didn't care. Even after he was taken home, he didn't get any sleep. The incident played over in his mind - I should have been faster, I should have paid more attention, I should have kept it closer together, I should have sucked them all up when I had the chance. This is my fault. Is Tuck ever going to forgive me?

Danny skipped class to go and see him. The receptionist pointed him in the right direction, but warned him: ten minutes only - he's still under a lot of medication. Danny said that was alright. He just needed to see him. He understood why Tucker hated places like this; the too-white walls were nearly blinding, and the polished floors were almost insufferably bare. He gave the door a little knock, but opened it anyway. "Tuck?" Tucker, only half-coherent, brightened. "Danny, s'that you...?" "Yeah, it's me. Look," said Danny, letting himself in and finding an uncomfortable spot in one of the two chairs by the window table. "Tuck, I needed to see you - " "S'okay," said Tucker, with half a smile, "I missed you too." Danny had to keep himself from tears. "Tuck, I'm so sorry - I let things get out of hand, and - this is all my fault - " "Danny," said Tucker, focusing as best he could given all the painkillers he was on. He propped himself up on his good elbow, changed his mind about it, and leaned back down again. "S'fine. I'm not mad." Danny fell quiet. He refused to meet Tucker's eyes, and one hand clamped over the other in an effort to focus on anything that wasn't crying. "You're just saying that," he said finally, "How can you not be mad, Tuck? I almost got you killed - !" "Dude," said Tucker, as forcefully as he could manage, "I swear. Just...you gotta do something for me, okay?" "Anything," said Danny, meeting Tucker's gaze. Tucker's smile broadened. "Save me some candy from Halloween, okay?"

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 19 #team ghost

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honeyandfiregame · 5 years

Text

The ask for this got lost forever in my inbox, but the prompt was from that Day unrequited love angst I wrote a long time ago, but a different scenario. This time it’s Zenos falling in love with MC, who is with Day instead.

Under the cut for length (2.1k words)

Gods, you were adorable. Irresistible. Not without flaws, but lovely all the same.

Anyone would be lucky to have you.

Except for him. He couldn’t be so lucky, because you are not his. And you never will be...

He’s not bitter. In fact, he’s happy for you and... for the man you chose instead. He’s mature enough for that, he’s strong enough. He never told you his feelings, because why would he? You didn’t have an interest in him, did you? He could tell he was not the one in your heart, and he accepted that.

You chose Day. He doesn’t know why, but he won’t pretend to ever know why the heart does what it does. Like why his beat for yours knowing yours would never follow the same rhythm.

He accepted that, gave Day his blessing, and moved on. Or so he told himself he moved on. But when he opened the front door to see you in Day’s arms, lips locked with the man he calls a dear friend, he can’t deny the way his heart shattered.

Shaken to the core, he put on a perfect mask of nonchalance and made a teasing joke that somewhat embarrassed you before fleeing as casually, yet quickly, as he could to his office.

The slam of the door behind him freezes his spine solid, forcing a gasp past his lips. He breathes shakily, almost desperately, a hand coming up to curl around his throat as if that could relieve the feeling of it closing up. What the… hells…

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Zenos’ back slams into the door, violently startled by the sudden voice. His eyes frantically scan the room until they land on Niina at his desk, her eyes wide and hands up, just as surprised as he is.

“Wow,” she starts slowly, uncrossing her legs and standing up. “Didn’t think I’d scare you that much. Especially given you were supposed to be expecting me.”

Zenos sighs, bringing a hand up to his forehead as he tries to force the accumulated tension from his muscles. “Gods, Niina, I’m sorry. We were supposed to talk about the budget, right? It’s just… been a bit of a day.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Was it really a ghost?” She draws closer, a tentative but teasing smile on her lips. “Or… a crush, maybe?”

Ugh, he feels sick… Which seems to show on his face, because the smile fades from Niina’s.

“Sorry…” She sighs, backing up to give him some space. “Can’t believe you fell for the guy we practically picked up off the side of the road.”

“Not what happened.” He pauses, his eyes trailing the light across rows of bookshelves. A thought he’d normally never have creeps into his subconscious and he finds himself mumbling it before he can banish it from his mind. “I can’t believe he fell for the guy with the communication disorder.”

“You don’t mean that.” Niina smiles knowingly.

Zenos frowns. “Of course not… But damn, I wish I did.”

He eyes his desk, feeling jitters through his nerves down to his fingertips. The sick tension in his stomach tightens. Breathing doesn’t want to come easily. Gods, he doesn't want to do this. He can’t be the boss right now.

“Hey,” he starts, almost absentmindedly. “Do you think we can put this off for now?”

His glaze flicks to Niina’s, who straightens up a bit. His tongue swipes out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

“Mr. Kylan gifted me an expensive wine last month. Remember, when I personally played private investigator for him?”

Niina tilts her chin up a little, smoothly raising an eyebrow. The corner of Zenos’ mouth twitches upwards.

“Wanna get Dani, her not-secret liquor, and forget our problems for a bit?”

...

And that’s about all his foggy mind remembers right now.

Next thing he knows, he’s waking up horizontal, staring through bleary eyes at a dark wood ceiling. He feels like an old spirit awaking after centuries, long forgotten in a sealed tomb. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, his head pounds, his muscles are stiff, and he might be still a little drunk.

His voice cracks as he lets out a pained groan. Yeah, he’s gonna have to stop drinking so much. He picked a bad remedy for heartbreak.

Ah, but… it seems like such a good idea in the moment, when his heart hurts the most.

“Are you awake, responsible leader?”

The deadpan sarcasm is a dead giveaway to whose house he’s found himself in and, internally, he groans again. He really doesn’t feel up to that kind of guilt right now.

Zenos’ gaze slides away from the ceiling to the carmine eyes watching him, thoroughly unimpressed with the no doubt sloppy state he must be in.

“...Did I do anything to be embarrassed about?” His mouth is dry and his throat sore, making the words come out rougher than his usual honey way of speaking.

“Not particularly.” Day’s kind enough to hold a hand out, which is gladly taken, and pull Zenos into a sitting position.

He pushes a glass of water into Zenos’ hand as he continues, “You banged on my door until I opened up, invited yourself in, and started talking about… I wasn’t listening. Something about ‘horny’ and ‘stupid’, which, I admit, is not what I tend to expect from you.”

He pauses, eyes flicking around as he lets out a heavy sigh. It’s pretty obvious he doesn’t want to be talking so much, energy already seeping out of him like a leak in a dam, but he’s toughing it out. Right about now, Zenos can relate.

“Then you were really insistent on us being on the same page. You really wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I thought for a while, but… Yeah, I still don’t know what it was you wanted us to be on the same page about.”

Zenos lets out a dry laugh. The corner of Day’s lip twitches in turn.

“And… then you passed out on my floor. I mean, passed out.” He tilts his head. “Does your head hurt, by the way? I didn’t catch you.”

“Day.” Zenos rubs a hand over his face. He feels like garbage. “My head hurts for a lot of reasons. You’re fine. And yes, I know you weren’t apologizing anyway.”

Silence falls, thankfully, and Zenos concentrates on downing the water while trying furiously not to throw up from this hangover situation.

He feels like he needs a bath, but as his mind settles in on the events of the previous- or is it still the same day?- he finds he wants it for many reasons. His self-loathing floods his veins again, the painful memory of seeing you kiss Day, smearing his unrequited love in his own face like he’s a misbehaving dog, brings the pounding in his head to a crescendoing thunder.

“Oh Gods…” he whimpers under his breath, gently touching his fingers to his temple. It’s just too much. He really hopes he’s already cried too much to shed anymore tears.

“You don’t get drunk without a reason. Should I ask why this time?” Day sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully. There’s typically only one reason Zenos gets drunk. The suspicion is there, it has to be, but neither of them want to say it out loud.

“I…” Zenos’ voice cracks and he winces. Embarrassing. Why does he have to be so broken up over one guy? Why is he always so soft-hearted? Setting his jaw, Zenos lets out a huff and tries again.

“What reason is it usually? I got my heart broken. That’s not something that concerns you anyway, does it?” He frowns, picking at the rips in his pants if only to not have to look Day in the eye. He forced defensiveness in his voice, but he knows it’s nowhere near as strong or convincing as what Day’s capable of.

“Not particularly, no.” Day’s lips thin into a straight line. He kneels down, though Zenos is still refusing to meet his gaze. The next question is unsure, tentative. A tone unbefitting Day, but the subject makes it understandable.

“Who?”

Who broke his heart? You know who.

Muscles tense, a dull ache settles in Zenos’ lower stomach. Each breath feels cramped in his lungs. His brow furrows in a fierce frown as if showing his abhorrence at himself would stave off the pressure behind his eyes, the hot wash of shame in his face. He’s too hungover for this.

“I’m sorry.” The apology spills from his lips before he could even realize it was coming. A shaking sets in.

“For what?”

Stop asking what you already know.

“I’m… sorry.” His voice loses all its confidence.

“I’m sorry.” It slips out again, and then again. He pulls his knees up, curling into protecting himself with his trembling arms. Tears fill his eyes. He’s such a mess. Pathetic. “I didn’t mean to.”

He didn’t mean for this to happen. He didn’t mean for it to turn out like this. He hates his stupid, fragile heart.

“What did you do, Zenos?” Day’s question twists the dagger. There’s now a steel in his tone, protectively hiding the uncertainty from earlier now that his suspicions are confirmed. He knows. He knows and it’s over.

It hurts.

“I’m so sorry, Day,” Zenos sobs, the tears finally slipping free. Maybe it’s the hangover, maybe this was just inevitable, but he can’t bottle it up anymore. He needs to say it out loud.

“I love him, Day. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His fingers dig into his arms, scratching pain in old scars. There’s a steam hammer in his head, throbbing around his eyes that’s making this unbearable.

“I’m in love with him and I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want this.” His shoulders shake with his sobbing, the humiliating salty taste of tears on his lips. “I’m sorry…!”

Day’s gaze softens, just a bit, and so does his tone when he murmurs, “You need rest.”

Zenos doesn’t protest when Day’s strong hand curls under his bicep, coaxing him to his feet. He stumbles, falling into Day’s side, the strength sapped from his legs.

With a sigh, Day slings Zenos’ arm over his shoulder and helps him towards the bedroom. Zenos hiccups, scrubbing his face.

“I love him, I love him…” he repeats, a mantra of self-torture that has Day’s grip on his waist tightening.

“I know,” he murmurs, unheard. He carefully pushes open the bedroom door and beckons a flame to light the lantern hanging by the door.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Day.” Zenos whimpers, lost in his own world of tipsy, sick self-loathing.

“I know,” Day repeats right back. Coming to a stop at the end of the bed, he lets Zenos slip from his grip to fall heavily onto the wide bed.

Day stares down at him sinking limply into the blanket, chest shakily rising with each struggling breath only to cave in as it expels in a sob. Day’s shoulders sag and he looks away, brow furrowed.

“I’m going out for a bit, but I’ll be back to kick you out later. Get some sleep while you can.”

With that, Day turns on his heel and heads for the door. Where he might have left without waiting for a reply, he instead pauses in the doorway. His hand slowly reaches out to turn the lantern down to a soft light, not painful for Zenos’ currently sensitive eyesight.

It could’ve been totally missed, a ghost of a whisper dispersed in the morning air. Unbefitting his personality so it couldn’t be real. His lips move once more before he turns his back for good and leaves.

“I’m sorry, Zenos.”

Left alone in his misery, Zenos curls in on himself, hugging himself with arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” The apologies fade to hoarse whispers, your name thrown into the mix as he shakes his head, burying his face into the soft blanket.

The tears keep coming, choking him and making his migraine so much worse. And they don’t stop until the energy has drained from his body, exhaustion too heavy to keep crying settling in and bringing him the relief of the cool, dark waves of unconsciousness sweeping over him.

He needs rest. Because when he wakes up it will be time to repress the events of the last two days. So you’ll never find out about his feelings. So you’ll still be around him. So he can look at you with Day and be reminded again and again that you can fall for men, but you can’t fall for him. Reminders everyday there must be something that makes him unlovable.

He needs to sleep. So that the cycle can start anew. Breaking him a little more each time.

#Zenos #angst #shorts #Honey and Fire #HoF #it's 2 am #so if i made any typos or grammar mistakes #i didnt catch them #welcome to Zenos crying #this is why we go poly instead of love triangle

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ollie-oxen-free · 5 years

Text

it’s not that funny

some mapleblossom mostly-hurt-some-comfort. when i went through detox it was a fucking nightmare, so i channeled and projected, as usual! that said, this is based on my own experience and so it might not be accurate for everyone, nor is it a good thing to base all experiences on

enjoy this Bull Shitte

The water was scalding hot.

Slim was what some would call an idiot, and what most others would call a dumbass, but he knew enough to understand that. His bones hurt in a way that was much different than the aches and pains that had been plaguing him the whole day. The water of the shower beat on his head, his body, from his place on the ground- and, honestly, he wasn’t really sure when he had gone from standing to sitting but fuck it if he was gonna bother to get up now.

It burned his bones. He looked up, keeping his sockets open even when the water got into his skull, letting it hit the inside and flow out because everything, everything fucking itched, everything hurt. His magic churned, threatening to empty itself again, but jokes on it because he’d already thrown up everything that he tried to eat this morning. Unfortunately, his magic was dumber than he was and didn’t get the memo that there was nothing to spare.

So here he was, dry heaving under scalding water, legs tucked up and thumbs digging into the pockmarks on his arms, right by the joints, pressing and scratching harder and harder and-

He could leave. He wanted, needed something, and it wouldn’t be doing drugs necessarily it would just be staving off this. Keeping it away, pushing it back. Basically medicine, right? If he only took enough, just a little bit, then it would be fine, it wouldn’t be anything at all and his entire being was aching for more and so he had to-

He dug his fingers into the bones of his arms, scratching and pressing, over and over again until it started to hurt, and then bleed. The pain cut through the fog, the quick breaths. He looked down and he laughed because fuck, now he was bleeding all over the place. It was a good thing he was in the shower while he was having a breakdown because otherwise there would be a really shitty mess to clean up.

Not that he would be the one to clean it up in the first place.

The thought sent a pang of guilt through his soul- funny, really, since he never used to feel guilt about anything before- and he tried to work himself into a standing position. Tried to. He was already shaking, barely able to stand on his own feet, and the ceramic bullshit that was the floor was hard to get a grip on with bone anyways. There was usually a mat on the floor of the tub, there for that very reason, but he hated the feeling of it against his bones more than he hated potentially falling and cracking his skull open on the faucet, so it was easy to choose between the two.

For a brief moment, he hated Papyrus.

And then it was gone with a laugh. He was the one who suggested this bullshit, not Papyrus, he was the one who looked at the symptoms and what would happen and dealt with the denial that no, he didn’t have a problem so there was no reason to give it up, and then got past that and signed himself up for rehab but then hated it because having so many people around him only made him want to slam his fist into a wall and so he left and thought he was capable enough to do it on his own.

He really was a dumbass, trying to shift the blame onto Papyrus.

The other didn’t even know he was trying to quit in the first place. If anyone was to blame it was himself for thinking he could do it.

Another dry heave wracked his body, forcing him to lurch to the side with a shudder. Fucking. Dammit. To get anything at this point he’d have to leave the house because in his confidence he flushed the drugs down the toilet and tossed everything else off the balcony, littering be damned. Now he wanted nothing more than to jump off the balcony himself, but there was still that little problem of not being able to stand. He’d been in pain before, he’d been physically hurt, but this was different, this pain didn’t throb and wasn’t confined to one area. It was everything, constant, every speck of charged dust that made up his body seeming to fight to stay together and he wanted nothing more than to implode.

Instead he started laughing.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, the laughing, the cackles that were so loud and harsh that it hurt, that he doubled over and couldn’t breathe couldn’t thin because everything was so damn funny-

He wasn’t sure how long he laughed. Long enough that he could barely make any noise anymore, long enough that the shower water went cold and he heard the door open and heard Papyrus call his name, loud enough for tears to start forming in the corners of his sockets as the footsteps came closer and he heard the bathroom door open.

Papyrus swept the curtain aside and gasped, and it was only then that he realized that he’d been dragging his claws along his arm, that the pink tint of the water wasn’t just the filtered light from the bubbly, floral shower curtain that Papyrus had bought.

He laughed harder.

The water switched off, and he looked up long enough to see the other reaching in, arms wrapping around his back and under his legs, lifting him out of the tub without seeming bothered by the water and marrow that had to be getting on his clothes. He was such a fucking bother.

It wasn’t funny. He kept laughing.

A hand cradled his face, turning him to look at Papyrus. Concern was etched in his features, eyelights flickering over his entire form, draped over the fucking toilet, one hand reaching up to the medicine cabinet. It had been quite a while since either of them had to get out the old bandages, and the realization made him choke on a sob, pulling away and curling in on himself.

“Fuck, I’m s-sorry, I just-” he choked on another laugh, face stretched so tight he felt it might crack. “This really fucking sucks.”

Papyrus shushed him, at a loss. “It’s okay, you’re…” he trailed off. Slim almost looked up before he felt two arms wrap around him, and he was struck with the contradicting urges to burrow in closer or shove him away. Unable to do either, he shuddered. “You’re okay.”

“I’m not,” he said, because really, he wasn’t, shaking and in pain because he dumped some fucking powder down the drain, thinking he could make his way without it. He couldn’t. There was no way in hell he could do this.

“I tried to quit,” he said. His arm twitched out. He felt like hitting something. “I can’t. I have to-”

“Slim,” he said, and this time his voice was less concerned and more firm. “You can’t.” Rage built up in him. He wanted to hit Papyrus right across his pretty little face. “I know this hurts-”

Enough strength came back in his arms to shove the other away. It only pushed him back an inch, but the force made his slick bones slide off the lid of the toilet, wedging between the side of the tub and the porcelain. Either way, space between them. “You have no fucking clue,” he snarled. He had to get up, had to leave. He couldn’t get up, couldn’t let himself leave, fuck- “I’m dying.” He choked out.

He wasn’t but, damn, did it feel like he was. He started sobbing again, started laughing and apologizing, and through it all Papyrus just helped him up, wrapped him in a blanket and wrapped his arms and held him close as he suffered. He wanted to start laughing again but he was too tired to do much more than shut his sockets.

“I believe in you,” Papyrus murmured against his skull, quiet enough that he could barely hear it.

It almost seemed like a joke.

But he wasn’t laughing anymore.

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asexualshepard · 6 years

Text

Sirens Sound

Fjord x Caleb Widogast

(4100 words, SFW, Fluff, Fjord helps Caleb takes care of his blistered hands)

[ao3]

A/N: I don’t really have a lot to say about this, to be honest? It feels really good to write something this long, and I really love Caleb and Fjord, so I’m doubly glad I got to write this for them. Both @sleepyschmoop and @losebetter were really great through the whole process.

Anyways, thanks for reading! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. <3

Caleb is looking at his hands.

They’re not particularly easy to see in the dim candlelight of the inn’s common room, and his eyes aren’t as good as they once were, but the glow is enough to highlight the shiny, bright patches along the insides of his knuckles, just above his palm. He gently, carefully run the forefinger of one hand over the irritated skin of the other, over the three small bubbles lifting from the red.

Blisters are not a completely unfamiliar phenomenon. Long ago, when he first started travelling, he hadn’t bothered to spend the money on a decent pair of boots. He was younger then, of course, and more than a bit of an idiot. But he’d walked ten miles, twenty, a hundred in the cheapest pair he could find—the only pair he could afford at the time, in his defense—and the blisters had seemed near never-ending. Thankfully, upon investing in the old, cobbled brown boots now cradling his ankles, they all but vanished.

Blisters on his hands, however, are new. They shouldn’t be, he thinks, noting the fact that he throws fire around on a regular basis, but magic is tricky that way, and Caleb is skilled, even if he can’t aim worth shit.

Sadly, it would seem he’s less skilled with ropes. Particularly the act of climbing them.

“Keep makin’ that face and it’ll get stuck that way.”

Caleb jumps, slamming his hands facedown on the table in front of him in a moment of surprise. It takes less than a second for him to realize his mistake and wince hissing between clenched teeth as his swollen skin throbs angrily. He keeps his eyes closed tightly, breathes through his nose, as Fjord drops heavily onto the chair beside him, the legs groaning against the stone of the floor as Fjord drags it out.

“You were lookin’ pretty focused, there,” he says, voice soft and coaxing. “Something interesting find its way onto your hands?”

Caleb takes a final deep breath. “If you find pus and ruined skin interesting, perhaps.” His answer is a bit snappier, a bit more sarcastic than he intended, and he finally turns his head, glancing at Fjord for the first time since his sudden arrival.

His focus is on the same place Caleb’s had been moments before. “Blisters? From when you slipped?”

Caleb grumbles quietly, an irritated tone. “And then some.”

Fjord makes a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a hum, easily heard in the surprising quiet of their current lodgings at two in the morning. The Mighty Nein, recently returned, numbers most of the heads that can be counted, and even their loudest members can be found having relatively muted conversations.

“They hurt?”

Fjord’s voice is the loudest thing in Caleb’s ear even though it’s taken a soft turn. Quiet but clear, warm and unobtrusive, it makes something in Caleb’s chest shift.

“I—” Whatever moved around lodges itself in his throat, so he stops and tries again. “Um. A bit.”

Fjord nods and taps his clawed fingers against the wood of the table, looking at Caleb’s face with the same sort of intensity that Caleb assumes he must have been directing at his own hands earlier. It’s intimidating, to say the least, and Caleb is opening his mouth to ask after a reason for it when Fjord stands.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t go anywhere, alright?”

Caleb blinks as Fjord turns, processing. It took several moments, and by the time Caleb came back to his senses, slightly less shocked by Fjord’s sudden command and withdrawal, Fjord is across the room at the bar where Nott and Jester have settled themselves in with dice, a handful of ridiculous games, and a thankfully amused innkeeper. Caleb watches Fjord ruffle Nott’s already messy hair while turning his face towards the innkeeper. The words exchanged are too quiet for Caleb to hear, but the man behind the bar nods and dips to grab something out of view.

Then Fjord turns his attention to Nott, half a glance spared at Jester with a smile. Once more, whatever he says is lost on Caleb, but he figures it has something to do with him when Nott turns with a grin, her tiny, clawed hand rising in an excited little wave. Caleb waves back, squinting to follow her movements as she turns back to Fjord, reaches between the loose folds of her shirt, and hands something to him.

The innkeeper comes back into view and passes a tankard off to Fjord, and then, with a nod and what Caleb doesn’t doubt is a thank you, he turns and starts making his way back. Caleb hasn’t moved, but he does go still as Fjord sets his newly-acquired items down on the table.

The tankard is almost empty, surprisingly. There’s a small amount of clear liquid at the bottom that Caleb must lean towards just to see. A whiff of something strong catches on his nose, the aroma sharp and unpleasant. Liquor of some kind, probably more aptly contained in a miniscule shot glass and downed without thought for taste.

Next to it is a relatively clean looking rag. Next to that is a rather familiar looking wooden box.

“Is that Nott’s sewing kit?” he asks with a squint, even though he doesn’t really need to. He’s more than familiar with the wooden box’s worn-down corners, the scratches covering the sliding lid that equate to a rough estimation of what Caleb has always assumed are Nott’s initials. That sewing kit—and Nott being as surprisingly adept at putting it to good use as she is—is the only reason his coat is still alive and well.

Fjord nods. “Mighty handy little tool,” he says as he slides the lid of the box back, revealing the few spools of colorful thread Nott had amassed, mostly from the pockets of other people, and a handful of needles poking out of the chest of an old doll.

The previous topic of conversation having been Caleb’s skin, the doll feels a bit more foreboding than it usually does.

“Blisters hardly require stitches, my friend,” he says, breaths coming a tad bit shorter.

Thankfully, it’s apparently not noticeable, as Fjord simply smiles and plucks one of the needles from the doll, holding out his other hand with his palm up, eyes bright as they meet Caleb’s. Uncertainty crawls along Caleb’s stomach, an old companion that refuses to leave and drags up a small amount of fear with its arrival.

Fjord wiggles the fingers of his open hand, dark brows raising. It takes a moment, but something in Caleb’s chest reluctantly gives way. His shoulders still tense—he wasn’t fool enough to think they’d do otherwise, not with his breaths increasingly short and sharp as they are—but he gingerly sets one of his hands in Fjord’s palm, the other curling in his lap. He watches the hand with the needle, waiting for it to move, to stab into the meat of his hand and justify the crawling in his gut.

Instead, Fjord’s hand curls gently around his own, clawed thumb cautiously rubbing slowly over the dip of Caleb’s palm.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, Caleb.”

Caleb releases a shameful, wracked breath into the air between them. He hates it for what it is—an obvious admission of the irrational fear building blocks in his bones without his permission. But, with it, the tension in his shoulders and back begins to trickle out. Fjord doesn’t say anything as it does. Doesn’t push. He just pushes the needle back into the doll and waits, thumb a quiet, constant pressure against Caleb’s fate line.

Caleb breathes.

“I’m—” He chokes again and stops to collect himself. Clears his throat on another deep breath. “I apologize.”

“S’alright,” Fjord mumbles, low and soft like the tide. “Take your time.”

Caleb does. He breathes in through his nose, grounding himself on the smell of slightly damp wood and petrichor, on the feeling of Fjord’s fingers. And then he breathes out through his mouth. It’s likely less than a minute, but it’s more than enough for a good amount of the stress to melt out of his muscles and his rational thought to return in its stead.

Fjord’s thumb presses down, just a bit.

“You good?” he asks, just as gentle as before.

Breathing out through his nose once more, Caleb nods.

“Alright,” Fjord starts. “Sorry, probably shoulda given you some warning.”

Caleb shakes his head, lifts his free hand to wave it about. “It’s… alright.”

Fjord nods. “I’m just gonna pop the blisters. Make ‘em a little more manageable for you,” he says. “Sound like a plan?”

Caleb lifts his free hand to his face, rubbing the back of his wrist into one of his eyes in an effort to stave off the sudden weariness. “I thought you were supposed to not pop blisters.”

“You’re not wrong, but hands are a rough spot.” Fjord nots at the sewing kit on the table, but he doesn’t move towards it until Caleb nods as well. With the all clear, though, he reaches over to pull one of the needles free once more. “The little suckers are gonna pop before they’re ready no matter what. Best to do it where you can take care of ‘em.”

Caleb stares at the needle. “That… makes sense.”

“Glad you think so,” Fjord says quietly. He turns his attention to the hand in his palm and pulls it towards him a bit, leans forward as he braces Caleb’s hand against his knee.

Carefully, he sets the sharp point of the needle against the first blister.

Thankfully, the process doesn’t take long. Each prick is sharp but quick. Just enough to make Caleb flinch, but each time Fjord’s thumb is there to rub over his palm, distracting from the mild pain as the blisters begin to empty onto his irritated skin. A few moments and all of the blisters on Caleb’s left hand have been dealt with, and Fjord is leaning over to wipe the needle on the rag sitting next to the tankard before sticking it back into the doll in Nott’s sewing kit, right where its heart would have been.

“This is gonna sting a mite,” Fjord says as he takes the rag up in hand and dips it in the small amount of liquor in the tankard on the table.

Caleb clenches his jaw in preparation, and then Fjord gently brushes the wet cloth over his skin. The alcohol worming its way into his wounds does sting, but it’s hardly enough to warrant a warning. If anything, the pressure hurts more, and even that is barely an ache. Any anxiety lingering in Caleb’s breast dissipates like a drop of blood in a clear river.

With his head clear, his shoulders relaxed, he realizes that, at some point, he’d leaned forward in his chair. Closer to Fjord.

A quiet flush crawls up his neck, and he leans back as subtly as he can. “Thank you. For your help.”

Fjord smiles and lets go of Caleb’s hand for the first time since Caleb initially set it in his palm. “Don’t be thankin’ me yet,” he starts. “Still got a whole other hand to go.”

And with that he reaches across the still somewhat small amount of space between them to grab Caleb’s other hand, pulling it back down to sit on his palm, balanced on his knee. Then he twists to pull a needle free once more.

Caleb laughs quietly, awkwardly. “I have a feeling the chances of you doing something incorrect are rather miniscule,” he says, ignoring the heat gathering at the back of his neck. “I do not think my hands are the first to receive this treatment.”

“Not by a long shot,” Fjord snorts with a half-smile. He pricks the first blister on Caleb’s right hand. “New hands always end up lookin’ like this on a boat.”

Caleb hums, but otherwise bites his tongue. Fjord has only mentioned his history as a sailor a handful of times and, while Caleb is curious, he has no intention of prying. Gods know he has things he doesn’t talk about. Things he keeps to himself for a reason.

Tonight, however, Fjord apparently doesn’t seem to have the same hang-up.

“I remember, couple’a years ago,” he starts, carefully pricking at another blister, “this kid. Must’ve been about seventeen. Burned the skin on his fingers near clean off before I managed to pull him aside and fix him up a bit. Hell, and when I asked him why he hadn’t said somethin’ sooner, he—” An unfairly attractive snort of laughter bubbles up and out of his mouth. “He said he didn’t wanna look like a pansy.”

A warm smile, left behind by the laughter, sticks to his lips as he shakes his head, and Caleb lets himself admire it for a moment. Fjord often looks fond—of Jester, of Nott, sometimes Caleb even things he catches it directed at him on occasion—but this is… different. Deeper, somehow. Overwhelming.

And then Fjord’s eyes flicker up, meet Caleb’s with that smile still in place.

“Glad I caught you a bit quicker,” he says, eyes warm.

Caleb swears that something in his chest bursts.

Fjord’s head ducks back down, and, beneath the dirt and grime on his face, Caleb’s cheeks flush crimson. He feels like he’s swallowed a handful of cotton, his mouth dry, and he doesn’t quite trust himself to speak without making a fool of himself. He’d like to. He’d keep Fjord talking for years if he could, he thinks. But instead he stays quiet, patiently waiting and watching as Fjord finishes with the blisters of his right hand. It doesn’t take long—a handful of moments—and then Fjord takes up the rag once more. It finds the skin of his hand, and this time Caleb barely notices the sting or pressure of Fjord’s fingers against his aching, freshly popped blisters.

“Aw, shit, forgot somethin’ to wrap you up in,” Fjord says suddenly. Some of the warmth is gone from his voice, but Caleb only has a few moments to think about it before Fjord is lifting Caleb’s hand from his knee and pulling the other one to the rag, fingers wrapped gently around the heel of Caleb’s palm. “You wanna finish this up while I go find Jester?”

“Uh…” Caleb stumbles, jarred by the sudden shift in energy.

“Just keep dabbin’ at ‘em,” Fjord says.

Both of his hands are curled around Caleb’s smaller ones, hiding them from the world in some sort of strange imitation of a scene from one of the many romance novels Caleb had indulged in when he was younger.

Fjord stands. “Back in a tick.”

And then he’s retreating for the second time, fingers trailing over the back of Caleb’s hands, claws tickling the thin skin.

Caleb watches him go. Jester and Nott are no longer at the bar, and he wonders how they’d managed to leave the room without loudly announcing their departure, as is common. The thought leaves him as Fjord turns to climb the stairs, eyes stuck there until Fjord’s ankle disappears onto the second story. With his distraction cleared from view, he looks back down at his hands, pressing perhaps a bit too hard on his now tender skin.

His mind wanders to other things.

Namely, Fjord on a boat.

He’s wondered from time to time what kind of sailor Fjord had been. Once he’d dreamed of Fjord sailing under a black flag decorated with a skull and cross-bones, eyes lined in dark charcoal, ragged clothes pulled over his broad shoulders. Nothing could be more inaccurate, of course. Caleb has only read one or two books about pirates, but he knows Fjord is too kind, too concerned with the needs and safety of others to have been one.

No, it’s far more likely that Fjord was a simple merchant sailor. Lifting crates, sweating under the sun and seeing the world, carrying the wares of people who thought themselves more important. Fjord following the directions of another. Apparently keeping an eye on the younger crewmates.

It fits. Caleb can picture it, if he closes his eyes. People of all shapes, sizes, and races baking beneath the sun, and Fjord at his place in the middle, just a bit taller than those around him. Younger. Smiling despite the sweat dampening his shirt.

“Alright! Let’s finish patching you up.”

Caleb nearly topples over in his chair, Fjord’s voice dragging his eyes open and his heart into his throat. He gasps, mumbles a curse under his breath, and sets his chin against his chest, trying to calm his suddenly rapid heartbeat.

“You move very quietly for such a large man, my friend,” he says through quick breaths.

Fjord grins—somewhere between amused and flattered, Caleb things—and sits down again. In his hand is a roll of stark white gauze, which he starts unrolling as he shuffles his chair even closer to Caleb’s.

“Appreciate the compliment, but I think that had more to do with your head bein’ in the clouds than me actually bein’ quiet.”

Caleb hums, pushing his previous thoughts to the back of his mind, mostly to keep himself from tripping over him while the man of their focus is less than a foot away. His hand moves almost without thought, offering itself to Fjord’s larger, gentle ones. Fjord presses the end of the gauze into the skin just below Caleb’s forefinger and beings to wind it around, weaving it between Caleb’s digits.

It’s at this pint that Caleb notes they’re almost done. That, in a few moments, Fjord will have no reason to keep his hands anywhere in Caleb’s vicinity, much less curled around his palm. Something quiet frowns in Caleb’s chest, but he ignores it to the best of his ability, instead focusing on the practiced way Fjord wraps his hand, the small, secure knot he ties off at the back.

The other hand goes just as quickly, and, before Caleb is ready, Fjord pulls his hand back, wrapping up the leftover gauze and tucking it away in a pocket.

Caleb flexes his fingers, and the thing frowning in his chest shivers and sighs. “This is much better. Thank you,” he says. He keeps his eyes on his hands, admiring the intricate pattern to the wrapping, practiced and familiar. Far more organized than those he sometimes wears. Fjord is written in the precision, and it’s easier to stare at the man’s handiwork than it is to even glance at his face, it seems.

“Well, you’re welcome.” Fjord’s voice is soft, warm, and more than enough to solidify Caleb’s inability to look him in the eye. “Still not quite done yet, though.”

Despite that, however, Caleb’s eyes jump up, brow wrinkling in confusion.

Fjord’s expression is—odd. Neutral, but artificially so. The tight set to his lips sets Caleb a bit on edge. It’s not a familiar look, and he can’t place it.

“What else is there to do?” Caleb asks.

His eyes catch on Fjord’s throat bobbing as he swallows.

Caleb has seen Fjord nervous a handful of times. He can clearly remember the way Fjord’s face had contorted at the bath house on their first time in Zadash. It had been amusing, a little disquieting. Fjord was such a consistently grounded presence that seeing him nervous sent something primal in Caleb running. The face he’s making now is similar to that one, but not the same.

Caleb can’t place it.

“Here,” Fjord starts, holding out his hand in a gesture that is as familiar as breathing, at this point, “lemme show you.”

Caleb’s heart beats a peculiar rhythm as he, once more, places his hand in Fjord’s open, inviting palm. Fjord smiles—an awkward thing that pikes the tentative curiosity bubbling in Caleb’s chest—and Caleb things maybe, just maybe, that face had been one of trepidation.

Fjord pulls Caleb’s hand up to his mouth.

A kiss. Soft, barely there, but a kiss nonetheless, brushed against the fresh gauze. Fjord’s eyes are closed, brow pinched, and he doesn’t linger long, regretfully. Caleb just barely stops himself from opening his mouth to protest when Fjord lowers their hands, but his ears and cheeks burn, and he hopes—prays, even though he’s not the sort—that the dirt on his skin hides it at least a little.

When Fjord hesitantly reaches for the hand sitting in Caleb’s lap, yellow eyes flickering to meet Caleb’s blue with a silent question, somehow, without order or instruction, his hand moves into Fjord’s own, granting the permission Caleb would have been too afraid to, given the chance.

The process is no less overwhelming the second time around. If anything, it gets Caleb’s heart beating even faster, makes his head feel even lighter. It lasts longer—it must—and the tip of Fjord’s nose brushes over Caleb’s palm, his lips linger, and Caleb’s fingers twitch as a pleasant itch begins to bloom around his knuckles.

And then it’s over. Fjord leans back in his chair, trailing his fingertips over the knot of gauze on the back of Caleb’s hand. Caleb’s eyes hurry to find something, anything, to cling to, his hand limp in the space between them. The spell fades.

Fjord clears his throat, reaching up to rub his hand across the back of his neck. “Gauze, uh, probably woulda been fine,” he says, voice an uncharacteristic scratch. “But a little TLC goes a long way, so…”

“Yes, I’ve—” Caleb chokes on his words. “I’ve heard that. Yes.”

He flinches and immediately wishes he’d had the presence of mind to shove his fist in his mouth before he could speak, instead of waiting for his fucking foot to find its way there.

Fjord’s chuckle wavers as he pushes his chair back and slowly gets to his feet. Caleb bites his tongue and works up the bravery to focus on Fjord’s chin—close enough to his eyes but not on them. He’s slightly comforted by the fact that Fjord seems to be worse off, eyes bouncing between the tables around them. His hands are just as restless, one grabbing at his opposite shoulder while the other latches onto whatever part of him it can find.

“If they start giving you an issue, just let me know, alright?” Fjord says, his grappling hand settling on a gesture at Caleb’s, now curled up near his stomach. “I’ll fix you right up.”

As Fjord’s hand drops back to his side, Caleb itches to do a lot of things. He wants to reach out and explore Fjord’s hands in the same way Fjord had gotten to explore his. He wants to pull Fjord back down, to have him sit so their knees touch while he asks Fjord what kind of sailor he was. He wants Fjord to kiss a part of him that isn’t covered by rough, sterile fabric.

But all he can do is nod, keep his eyes fixed on Fjord’s chin, and continue to bite his tongue in a desperate hope to hold back the quiet noise building in his chest.

Fjord breathes, and even that feels like nearly too much to Caleb in the moment. “Okay. Good.” He takes half a step closer and then freezes, hands balled at his sides. “You, uh—” He stopes, clears his throat, and tries again, once more composed. “You sleep well, okay? Don’t stay up too late.”

Caleb nods again, tongue a dead weight in his mouth, at this point. He catches a hint of a pout on Fjord’s lips—just for a moment—and then Fjord is taking a step back, putting the chair he’d been sitting on between them.

“Alright,” he says, breathes. “Night. Sleep tight—”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Fjord stops with his hand on the back of the chair and a smile growing on his face. “Yeah. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

And then he’s turning to make his way towards the stairs he’d retreated up earlier. Caleb watches him go, eyes caught firmly on the spot between his broad shoulder blades. Once he’s out of view, back nor boots still within sight, Caleb practically falls back against his chair, tension and nerves bleeding out in a split second.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. It’s just enough time for the head at the back of his neck to die down to a manageable amount, for his legs to regain their ability to move on their own.

Then he rises, breathes, and moves to get a start on not staying up too late.

#critical role #widofjord #caleb widogast #fjord #fjordgast #caleb x fjord #fjord x caleb #caleb widogast x fjord #fjord x caleb widogast #c2 #jazmine writes things #fanfic #here it is folks #all done

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