i need to see writing about bumskiftery dancing in the rain because im still not over that! (wallflower au)
I adore these three ☹️
Ship: Bumswiftery
Era: Modern
Genre: Fluff/wholesomeness?
No Content Warnings Apply.
Dancing In The Rain - Bumswiftery
“It’s raining.” Skittery says softly, gazing at the droplets trickling down his window.
The house is quiet, other than Blink playing music in the next room over. Specs took Tumble-Boy out to the toy shop and Dutchie and Spike went out on a date. Elmer’s with Albert. The house is mostly empty.
Bumlets hums in acknowledgment and looks up from his phone, following Skit’s gaze to the rain. In his lap, Swifty snuggles closer, arms looping around his waist.
Skittery turns to his lovers. “Can we go outside?”
Swifty mumbles something incoherent and Bumlets looks momentarily confused, barely getting out the ‘What?’ before Swifty lifts his head. His hair’s a mess and he looks sleepy.
“We’ll get drenched,” He stifles a yawn and sits up. Bumlets giggles and reaches up to fix his hair.
Skittery frowns a little. “Please?”
“Why d’you wanna go outside?” Bumlets asks, brow furrowed as he focuses on Swifty’s hair. Swifty bats his hands away playfully, rolling off Skit’s bed and going over to the mirror to fix it himself.
Shifting slightly where he’s sitting, Skittery looks away, unsure whether or not to blatantly say why he wants to go outside. It’s cringe. They might laugh at him.
“I like the rain.” He bites out.
The other two boys exchange glances and Skittery sighs, maybe a little dramatically before staring at his hands. “I wanna dance in the rain with you guys.” He mumbles.
Bumlets’ face lights up and he’s on his feet instantly, taking Skittery’s hands in his and pulling him to his feet.
“OhmyGod- You’re so cute, I- That’s adorable. C’mon- Pitters, you coming?”
Swifty turns to them, smiling. “Sure.”
Bumlets all but drags them downstairs and out the back door into the back garden. The rain isn’t too heavy and the scent of it hangs in the air as Bumlets tilts his head back to catch raindrops on his tongue before doing a little twirl and grinning at his boyfriends.
Skittery swears he feels butterflies. Even after almost a year together he still gets butterflies. He still acts like he has a crush.
It’s embarrassing.
Swifty’s hand is in his suddenly, pulling him closer, his other hand resting on Skittery’s waist and Skittery feels his face flush.
“What-“
“You wanted to dance.” Swifty smiles softly before twirling them both across the grass then dipping Skittery and leaning in to give him a quick, chaste kiss. He pulls back and Skittery is bright red.
Arms loop around his waist and Swifty picks Skittery up, spinning in a circle, grinning like an idiot when Skittery starts laughing.
Bumlets comes bouncing over to them, grinning like an idiot as Swifty puts Skittery down and steps back.
“No fair, I want a kiss too.” He huffs dramatically “You two clearly hate me.”
Scoffing, Swifty leans down to kiss him softly and when he pulls back Bumlets is giggling, rain dripping off his hair.
Bumlets goes on his tip-toes and slips his arms around Skittery’s shoulders, giving him a quick kiss before bursting into helpless giggles and burying his face in Skittery’s chest.
Humming a little, Skittery rocks them back and forth as he plants a kiss on the top of Bumlets’ head.
They stay like that for a while, swaying in the rain together, Swifty nearby, holding Skit’s free hand, head tilted back against the rain.
At some point- they lose track of time -Bumlets starts to complain about being cold and they head back inside.
Skittery and Swifty lay on Skits’ bed as Bumlets showers. Swifty’s playing with Skittery’s hair and it’s starting to send him to sleep.
“Tired, Skits?”
“….no.”
“Yeah, you are.” Swifty says fondly.
Groaning, Skitery curls against Swifty more, burying his face in his shoulder. “I’m not that tired-“
Bumlets appears and crawls onto the bed. He smells like coconuts as he snuggles up next to them and yawns obnoxiously, mumbling something about being sleepy.
He falls asleep instantly and Skittery huffs, knowing he’s not far behind. Swifty’s warm and he and Bumlets both smell nice.
Skittery nuzzles more into Swifty, closing his eyes as he finally lets himself drop off into a peaceful sleep.
“Kid, I’m gonna need to to tell me your name.” The police officer taps his pen against his clipboard, eyeing Hot-Shot.
Hot-Shot shifts in the uncomfortable plastic seat, sneakers squeaking against the lenoleum floors. He crosses his arms and huffs slightly, blowing his hair out of his eyes.
The cop purses his lips. “How old are you?”
Hot-Shot stares him down, adamant in not answering.
“Can you tell me the names of those boys you were with?”
Hot-Shot turns his gaze to the clock, pointedly avoiding eye contact.
Tick
Tick..
Tick…
There’s an irritated sigh. “Son, I can do this all day…”
Perfect. So can he.
“…Or you could make this easier for both of us and tell me who you robbed that store with.” He prompts, sounding more impatient by the minute.
An uncomfortable silence falls over them before the officer sighs heavily and pushes his glasses to the top of his head. Hot-Shot can see the indents on the his nose.
“Look, kid. You’re in here every other week and it’s always because the same boys screwed you over and left you behind. I know you have some code or- whatever you want to call it, but is that really worth your future? Why don’t you just tell me your name.”
“Shouldn’t it be in your files or some shit? Considering I’m here so much.”
“So you can talk.”
“Yeah. But why would I talk to a fuckin’ pig like you.”
There’s no way he’s ratting out his friends. His old man and mama taught him better than that.
Deny. Deny. Deny.
“Did you rob that store last night.” The cop ignores the insult.
“I don’t know. Did you see me rob it.”
The officer looks exhasperated and sits back, pinching this bridge of his nose and muttering what sounds like a prayer before standing up abruptly.
Hot-Shot flinches at the sudden movement.
“I’m not doing this. I can’t-“ He walks off, probably to find a co-worker or some shit.
Hot-Shot watches the cop talk to a coworker. They keep glancing over at him and whispering to each other. He turns his gaze to the officer’s desk, studying his belongings.
The station doors slide open and he looks around only to see a very irritated looking Graves walk in.
Oh, shit.
Graves marches past him, raising a hand in a ‘don’t’ motion before Hot-Shot can get a word out, as he approaches the officers and decends into a heated conversation.
—
He’ll never understand how Graves does it. He was sure he was fucked this time, but then Graves swoops in and saves his ass.
Again.
“…Graves-“ He starts to say after they’ve been sat in the car in silence for maybe ten minutes.
Graves lifts his head from where he’d been resting it against the steering wheel.
“You told me you were done with this shit, mate- I thought after you left home you’d leave them too.”
“It was just one job.” Hot-Shot mutters.
“You say that every time. ‘Just one job.’ ‘One more job.’ ‘This is the last one, Graves.’ It never is- The whole point of you leaving was to escape that shit. But you keep going back to those fucking low-life-“
“They’re my friends-“ Hot-Shot interrupts, turning to meet Graves’ gaze.
“I’m your friend. They’re gang members. There’s difference, Forest.”
“Is there??”
“Friends don’t leave friends behind.”
Hot-Shot shuts his mouth and turns his gaze away, slumping down in his seat. He refuses to admit Graves is right.
“Don’t start sulking because I’m right.”
“Fuck you, man.” He bites out.
“Why, for caring?” Graves sounds tired. Maybe Hot-Shot’s been pushing too much...
“Look.” Graves says eventually. “I- I know you think they’re your friends, Shot, but one of these days- Sooner or later, they’re going to leave you bleeding somewhere. And I know you know that, deep down.”
Hot-Shot doesn’t answer. Maybe he does know that. Those guys have never done anything for him or to help him. Despite how much he’s done for them. How much he’s risked. How he bends over backwards for them-
Graves reaches out and ruffles his hair but Hot-Shot ducks away. He’s not in the mood.
Graves retracts his hand. “Let’s just go home,” He mutters, starting the car.
A little Wallflower AU thing I wrote. It’s sort of hurt/comfort ? I don’t know, I found it in my docs and edited it a bit.
This is set a couple years before Wallflower AU Canon and Pre-Graves’ accident.
Hot-Shot is fourteen, Graves is fifteen.
CW for implied injury.
“Hot-Shot?” Graves knocks lightly on the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there for a while- are you alright?”
There’s a metallic clink, followed by a soft curse and the sound of water running. A pause, then shuffling.
“Just a minute-!” Hot-Shot’s voice calls back. Then: “Shit-“
Graves hesitates. “Buddy, I’m coming in-“ Hot-Shot hasn’t locked the door so Graves can just push it open.
The younger boy scrambles to hide the scissors, turning to face Graves, a look of panic crossing his face and Graves freezes in place, taking in the scene. For a moment, he’s concerned before he realises what’s happening.
Hot-Shot is standing in front of the sink, arms tucked behind his back. He’s in nothing but his shorts and tank. (They’re not even his, they’re Graves’) He’s twitching slightly and his face is streaked with tears, red and puffy. He’s definitely been crying.
His hair- His hair is a mess. Cut poorly. The right side is only half done. His fringe falls unevenly and there’s locks of hair scattered around his feet on the carpet.
Graves blinks. “Shot, what-“ He starts to say.
“I just wanted to cut my hair, I was gonna clean up, I’m sorry-“ Hot-Shot backs away, fear flashing in his eyes briefly. He’s still scared of Graves.
Graves approaches him, reaching behind him and taking the scissors. Hot-Shot makes a distressed noise and grabs for them but Graves catches his wrist. “You’re doing a shit job. Sit down”
“Wha-“
Graves sighs and guides Hot-Shot over to sit on the edge of the bath, practically forcing him to sit. He runs a hand through Hot-Shot’s hair, making the boy protest and duck his head. Lightly tilting the other boy's head up, Graves inspects him.
“I can fix this. Just stay still.” He murmurs as he gets to work.
——
“Well? What do you think?” Graves prompts, standing behind Hot-Shot in front of the bathroom mirror.
Hot-Shot stares at his reflection. His hair’s far shorter than it was. Graves did a good job cleaning up the mess he’d made- You can actually see his face now.
He stares at himself for along moment and Graves begins to think he fucked up when Hot-Shot’s face lights up.
“I love it,” He whispers, turning to face Graves. “Thank you- For…. For everything.” He visibly hesitates before hugging Graves and burying his face in his chest.
Graves wraps an arm around him, hugging him close. He can feel Hot-Shot trembling but he chooses not to comment. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here to help you, Forest. You’re my brother and I love you. You… You know you can talk to me. About anything-“
Hot-Shot pulls away from the hug, averting his gaze to the bathroom floor. There are tears glistening in his eyes.
“…if you want to tell me what happened?” Graves prompts but Hot-Shot shakes his head, rubbing at the bruises on his knuckles, hand trailing up to rub his wrists- an anxious habit Graves has noticed he had.
“No- I… Right now, I’d rather just forget… I just… Can we just hang out?” He mumbles.
Graves sighs a little. Hot-Shot will come to him when he’s ready. “You can tell me in your own time. Want to watch a movie?”
Hot-Shot nods and together they make their way into Graves’ lounge, collapsing on the couch together and putting on some dumb kids film.
About half an hour into the film, Hot-Shot yawns and drops his head against Graves’ shoulder. Before Graves can say a word, Hot-Shot has fallen asleep.
