#;;movies: something burns inside of me / anger eats me alive

[eupheme]

— from eden

old man logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 5k

tags: Logan timeline, sorta divergent/fix-it fic, angst, hurt/comfort, everyone is going through it, wound tending, dark thoughts/references to violence/death (aligning with themes in the movie), neurodegenerative disorders (Charles), multiple pov, established relationship, shower sex, oral sex, PiV, feelings

a/n: still on my druid!mutant kick - reader absorbs the sun via photosynthesis and can transfer that energy to grow plants. no features described but small details & a codename are noted in reference to her mutation.

Every day you wish you could do more. More for Charles. More for him. But the harsh sun eats away at you. You weren’t built for this heat.

You were meant for gardens. For Eden.

But you think… as your fingers trail through the earth, your life force flowing down into the greenery below - if something can grow here, in the desert - then maybe, so can hope.

Logan finds you in the garden.

It's generous to call it that. Carved out with old bits of metal, used like a spade. Scraping through dirt, packed and hard from the burning sun. Dust swirling around you - catching under your nails that are as tough as bark.

The only bit of green for a couple miles, at least. Incongruous to the climate - all you can see is desert around you.

It's only you that keeps it alive.

Your hands pass over each stalk and stem. The low thrum that used to come so easily, siphoning your life force to the roots below, comes slowly now.

Used to be able to make things bloom, just by feeling.

A garden had sprouted your first night together. Blooming lush - vines twining around the bookshelves. Wildflowers in your hair. Moss spreading out across the wooden floor, out and into the mansion.

Everyone had known you were in love.

It feels so long ago now. Another lifetime.

Now you can only tend them. You’re at your strongest in the rain, but it’s day twenty-three of sunny, blue skies. No more than a wisp of a cloud on the horizon.

It leaves you wilting. A half-broken lawn chair, dragged to face the packed-dirt road. Watching for him, as your face tips up to the sky. A slowly-recharging battery, one that hasn't been full in years.

But the sun is unforgiving. The tips of your fingers and toes darken - it's too much.

And not enough.

An eye cracks open, with the slam of a car door. There's a limp to his gait - a hand braced against the limo. Something you notice immediately. The way it takes him longer than usual to reach you.

That severe frown softening at the edges, but still holding a weight he's carried for years. A brown bag held out silently, the top crumpled from his fist.

Your fingers brush his, and you know he can see the burn. The mark between his eyebrows deepens.

"Don't push too hard, blossom," Logan rasps, "'Bout time to go in."

It makes your jaw grit, as you bristle.

You want to protest. Ask him "well, what in the hell do you think you're doing/?" He's the last person that should be lecturing you, as he shifts - a crimson glint of red near his collar.

But you don't. He doesn't mean it that way.

It comes out wrong, you've learned that by now. Misplaced anger - seeping into your roots like poison. Loving him so fiercely that it aches, to see him this way.

The Logan you knew and loved changed that day at the mansion.

"I will." You tamp the feelings down, burying them with the rest, "Let me get these started, and I'll be in."

He lingers, for a long moment.

You rip the seed packets open, scattering them across the earth you've prepared. Essentials, fit to feed Charles.

Carrots, beans, tomatoes, onions. Kale and fresh berries.

A packet of wildflowers.

There's a lump, lodged in your throat. You look over your shoulder, just as he disappears inside.

An inhaled breath, as you begin.

He knows you hate it, all the dust. The heat.

Knows you stay, for him.

Logan always was your sun.

"He's bleedin' again." It's muttered out, in greeting.

Caliban's eyes flick towards the back door, "Don't know if I've got enough peroxide to get it out."

Your smile is weary, "We'll figure it out. Always do."

A fine pair the two of you make. Only the mornings and evenings spent together, in your slow rotation of work-Charles-eat-sleep, and always just out of sync.

He tends to the smelting plant. An attempt at keeping things in place, keeping things running. Something simmering on the makeshift stove, as you empty your apron into the sink.

Outside is your domain - days spent with wind-whipped skin. The desert heat surrounding you.

"Could use some potatoes," Caliban offers, without thinking.

Peeling back the husk and silk on an ear of corn, fished out. Peering down at the kernels beneath - still hesitating, even though it's clean.

Your arms cross over your chest, head tilting, "Well, you're welcome to ask him."

It all comes out hushed, even though you know Logan is out with Charles. He gives shoots a reproachful look your way - he's already taken an earful. Doesn't need another from you.

He's been with you both for a year now. A second set of hands, as the seizures worses. You hadn’t wanted to admit you needed help - but Logan had saw right through you.

Charles’s space feels like a tomb.

Each minute you spend in that dome makes you crave another five outside. Too much for you to handle alone - something that still eats away at you.

Never felt like you were doing enough.

Carried the others with you, as he did. The shame of feeling like you should've done more. That you should have been there with them.

Buried beneath the rose bush that bloomed, when you had first told Logan you loved him.

You had thought that he had been. Had spent two years adrift, so certain he had been lost. That adamantium had not been enough to suppress the force of the seizures - that it ripped through the metal and took him from you.

It's why you cling now. Worried. Seeing how each day changes him, like it does you.

It's why you grow the vegetables for them. Even then, it's not enough. The suppressants they released still worked its way into the water and soil. You'd already ingested enough food to have it affect you.

Used to eat for fun, for pleasure. Haven't had a bite in two years now. Haven't needed to, haven't wanted to. Looking to the sun instead, even if it burns.

Now, you're just maintaining. Trying not to worsen, trying your best to keep them afloat, even if it costs you.

"Sorry." You mutter.

Easing into the routine of ladling out bowls. Chunks of half-stale bread, from the last time he baked. Hadn't harvested as much wheat this season as you would have liked. Pests chewing up a portion before you noticed.

The drought makes you hazy. Running on fumes for a while now. Same as all the rest.

Two bowls set on a plastic tray. A glass of tepid water in a chipped mason jar tucked in the crook of your arm. Fingers swirling in the liquid to cool them, before you're tilting it back - taking a swallow. Just managing to ease your parched throat.

"How is he?" You ask.

Caliban's eyes are slow to meet yours. He looks at you like he knows something you don't. Few secrets between you, except ones like these that he keeps deep. It always sends a twist in your belly.

Curling vines, weaving between your ribs.

"Logan or Charles, dearest?"

"Both." You sigh, "Either."

“Logan is… well. You saw him.” Caliban mutters. His nose twitches. A breath - as if he means to say something.

He falls silent instead, pivoting, “And Charles still thinks he's in Macbeth."

It makes your heart lurch, how so kind and sound a mind had changed. Not his fault and it only makes you love him more, after everything.

“Been asking about someone named Erik lately, too.”

You and Logan had agreed. It was better that Charles didn’t know, if he didn’t have to. That the two of you would bear it - shielding him like he had shielded so many for years.

But it never made the memories any easier.

His head inclines towards the trays, "You want me to take those out?"

Caliban knows you hate it.

You know the sun is still setting, sitting golden on the horizon.

A shake of your head, as the tray tucks under your arm.

“Thanks, Cal. I've got it."

The music comes first - 60s-era jazz, floating through the opened door. Voices come after, as you step into the shadows.

“-sorrow words, the grief that does not speak," Charles's reciting pitches louder, as his chair wheels in front of you, "Knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break-”

Logan stalks after, reaching for the controls.

"Enough."

"Thrice the brinded cat-"

The tray clatters on the top of an old desk. You step in front of them, arms spread wide, "Charles."

The chair halts, going still.

Something scrapes at your brain, when his hazy eyes meet yours. Fingers sifting through files. A dealer skillful hands, l shuffling through cards - snapping them back into place.

Plucking old memories from you like weeds. Dragging them to the surface, long buried.

He doesn’t mean to.

Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Your breath coming in a ragged gasp, eyes meeting Logan's. He doesn't need Charles powers to know what you're thinking.

Afraid that he'll see. What he’ll remember.

"Come on." Logan is hoisting him out of his chair. A grunt as he struggles, near dead-weight in his arms, “Enough poking around.”

Depositing Charles in his hospital bed, the last golden rays of sun streaking across the worn blankets. Logan just starts to move away, when a hand fists in his dark tie, dragging him close.

"You're not listening to me. No one listens to me." The words almost seem lucid, with how sharp his eyes suddenly shine, "Liberty, Logan. They're waiting for you. Eden-“

"No one is waiting for me." It's barked out.

Uneasy, tipping towards harsh.

Logan's patience has always ran thinner than a knife’s blade. It's love that keeps him here, you know that as well as you know your own name.

You have to step between them to break the connection. Hand wrapping around Charles' wrists - soothing, easing them down into his lap - as Logan fishes a bottle out of his pocket.

Slipping a needle into his arm. It's fluid, how you move together. Easier to help him together, then when you're alone.

It soothes the seizures. Thoughts slipping between his fingers, as he settles. The anger with it, as you bring dinner over to them. Your hand extended to take the pills that Logan shakes from a bottle.

"Take these, Professor." You coax, handing over a stained mug from the attached tray.

The chalky pills disappear, with the tilt of his head and a swallow of weak tea. Only then does it feel like you breathe. Letting your fingers drift across the makeshift herb garden he has sitting on the desk, something you tend together.

Eyes closing, as you concentrate. Pink petals blooming, plucked from the stem, and placed in Charles' open palm.

Logan's gaze a heavy weight - too tired from the day - you could already hear it in his voice. In the slow shift of his weight, as he eats.

"Only one?" The wizened fingers close like a cage around the flower, "You’ll have to work harder, Crescere."

The name is one that you haven't heard in years. It ricochets through you like a bullet, threatening to rip you open. You must show it in your face - a hand reaches to smooth down your back.

It soothes you, until an edge creeps into Charles's voice.

"If you cannot do more, how will you ever survive without soil?"

Logan goes stiff at the words. Breaking contact as if he'd been burned. A rough tilt of his head, as he pushes himself up.

“I’ll be inside.” It’s gritted out, through clenched teeth.

Leaving you alone, perched on the edge of Charles’s bed.

His mood already shifting, as it often did. The anger and confusion flaring. Melding with the medication that slows his tongue, dulls his thoughts.

“Crescere,” His eyes fix on you, while you watch the door creak shut. The moonlight has just started to stream in now, and it's just dark enough to imagine a breeze, “Have I told you about Eden?”

You tuck him in. The worn quilt tugged up high against his chest. A fingers smooth down to wrap in his - his hands frail with age, but his grip is still strong.

Tears prick your eyes, but you smile - your hand gently squeezing.

“Tell me again.”

His fingers fumble with the buttons. The black tie tugged loose, hanging against his chest. A hiss of breath, as sore shoulders roll. The dress shirt caught against his bicep, the sleeves still pushed up around his elbows.

There’s a hand against his shoulder. Your fingers slipping beneath the fabric, easing it down his arms.

“You gonna stop running from me?”

It’s soft, in the room that you share. A far cry from the mansion - all cozy, stained wood. Home.

Here, it’s sheet metal. Car batteries running a broken coffee maker, blankets stained with sweat. An industrial fan, slowly spinning where it’s mounted into the wall.

Wasn’t trying to run.

Just couldn’t shoulder your hurt, knowing he caused it himself. Knows that the heat eats away at you. Has watched how you struggle, though you hide it so well.

And the open seas - the sun and the salt water - would it be enough? Could you ever be happy, away in a place like that?

You’ve told him all you need is him. But pretty thing like you should be somewhere else.

Somewhere safe.

Knew he was too old for you, even back at the mansion - and that was when his hair was just starting to grey at the temples.

Now, he wishes he could convince you to go. Even if he couldn’t live without you.

But he knows your answer. That set of your jaw. Rooting you in place, unmoving.

It flickers in you here, as your arms wrap around him. Nose buried against the nape of his neck, as he exhales a breath that he’s held all day.

His muscles going lax as he leans into your embrace - letting you move him. Touch gentle as you guide him towards the bathroom. Fitting between spread thighs as he leans against the cracked counter, your fingers tracing the red-stained rips on the white tank beneath.

A cloth, wrapped tightly around his fist.

“Running to you,” Logan husks, “Just lost my way.”

You soften before his eyes.

Unwinding the wrappings to check the wound across his palm. Your lips pressed against scar tissue. Moving to backs of his knuckles, between the angry red slits.

Something in his chest lurches. Calming the beast, as his palm cups your cheek. Letting you lead him into the old ceramic tub, even though the space was narrow.

Lets you strip him down, knowing your eyes flicker over each scar. Looking for ones you missed, though you know them all.

Already knows what you’re going to say, when your gaze catches on the still-healing wound - a bullet beneath his collarbone. In his chest, through his bicep.

“Can’t keep taking hits, baby.” You fingers trace just shy of the wounds. Blood flaking, where he hadn’t washed well enough - two days spent in a shitty motel, each one thinking of you.

Need to shield yourself. Pick your battles.

He’s heard it all before.

Tried to earlier - wanted to gut the Alkali-Transigen fucker who had climbed into his limo. He is trying, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

All he got was a business card burning a hole in his pocket. A lie of omission like a lead weight in his belly.

Another tucked against his chest - the bullet nestled in the pocket of his shirt. Resting against his heart while he drives. Hidden, when he returns home.

It’s insurance - but it would still crush you to find it.

“I’ll ease up when you do.” He counters, though his voice softens, “Pushing too hard, sweetheart. We could stand to eat less, if you need a break.”

You sigh, as you lean into him. Face muffled against his chest, and he only just catches the words.

“When I used to imagine playing house with you,” You breathe, “I always thought it would be a little different.”

It makes his heart jolt.

Something tearing inside him, as his mouth presses against yours. A hand searching to turn the handle - the water stale. A weak spray that only reaches room temperature.

But it’s enough.

You wash the red from him. Swirling down the drain as you coat the washcloth with a sliver of soap. Careful in your movements, as your hair dampens.

As his hands catch at your hips, looking for an anchor.

A little huff when you fingers twirl - when he has to let go, to turn around. Soaping up his back, fingers raking through his hair.

The stress of the day sluices from him. Melts away as your lips press against his back, trailing across his shoulders. Nails tracing against his abdomen, as he leans into your touch.

It’s always been softer than he deserved.

And when your hand drifts lower, swirling soap against the dark trail of hair that leads down, he guides your hand the rest of the way.

A throb, at the soft inhale of your breath. Fingers that close around him, coaxing him to full hardness. His own scrape against the tile, as he props himself up.

Eyes half-lidded, as you nuzzle against his scars. Fist working him from root to tip - he can’t resist bucking into your touch.

His own hand wandering. Hesitant.

Afraid he won’t find you the same.

Reaching behind him, feeling the stretch of healing muscle and sinew as he cups the curve of your ass. A held breath loosened, when he hears the needy sound you make, when his fingers slip to trace between.

Teasing, drifting down to where you’re slick. Honeyed.

Always for him. Only for him.

His eyes fully shut now, as his fingers work inside you. Feeling the clench, the way your hand stutters.

Your breathing turning harsh, panting. His name whined out as your hand dips to cup him - the pressure coiling low in his belly. Hips nudging against his as he pets at your clit, smearing your skin with your need.

Turning, when he isn’t able to take it any longer. Always would be strong enough to do this - to hitch your thigh around his hip.

Lifting you enough to rub his flushed cock against your folds. Your nails biting red marks into his shoulders as he lines himself up-

The water cuts off.

The evenings rations depleted.

Your laugh is more of a whine than anything, but it’s still a sound he treasures.

His own lips curving, and it feels like the first time in days.

The words rasps out, coated with need.

“Let me take you to bed, honey.”

His skin is still damp when he lays you down.

Nestling you against the pillows - ignoring your soft protests of needing to take care of him, as he seeks out the honey between your thigh. Hands tracing up your leg, calf to knee. Up against smooth skin, until he can hitch one over his shoulder.

Letting him bury himself deeper. Tonguing at your clit. Down to dip inside you, a rough groan against your skin as his hips rut into the mattress.

He had you close already. You always unfurled for him, and that hadn’t lessened with his age. Automatic, in the way his fingers fit inside you, finding the spot that has your back arching as you cry out.

Stroking against it again and again, a groan caught in his throat as your fingers twist into his hair and tug.

Logan’s name a soft cry as he tastes you sweeten against his tongue. The tight pulse around his fingers, echoing where his lips shift to suck against your clit.

It’s only when you reach for his wrist does he stop, content to spent the night right here if you’d let him - make up for the time spent away.

Only then does he relent. His arm stretching out behind the pillows as he finally lays back, the tug of a smile as he watches you.

There’s a sweetness about you - all limp-limbed as your thigh lifts across his waist. Straddling him, as you lean - tugging supplies out of the end table.

Squirming, as his head lifts - unable to help mouthing at your breasts. A heady throb down low when he can feel your heart kick up a notch.

Always doing things out of order.

Each shift of your hips rubs your pussy against his cock. Slick and wet and warm, and he catches the curve of your lips.

The slow rhythm, as you pack padding against his wounds. Affixing tape to his skin, a kiss placed against one - as if it would help them heal faster.

His look heated, and he knows you feel it too. The hitch of your hips. The pressure when you grind down - your eyes blown dark when you look at him from beneath your lashes.

He can give you what you need.

A grunt, as a hand grasps at your hips. The loose supplies slipping from his abdomen, as he coaxes you into your knees.

His other hand wrapping around the base of his cock, tilting his hard length up to rest against your belly.

“Need you.” It’s gritted out.

On another day he might have swallowed it down. Let you come to him.

But right now, he can’t take any more teasing, wrapped in your soft touch. He’s already resisting the urge to drive into you, as you angle him against your opening.

The slightest pressure, as you start to give around him - opening up. And when you finally sink down flush against him, he forgets himself.

It’s now and it’s six years ago - all those evenings spent, entwined.

Fitting together, watching the way your brow still pinches as your body makes room to take him - the stretch as your hands curl into fists against his chest.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” It slips from him, when your hips fully meet his.

It only makes you squeeze more tightly around him, his breath caught in a low rumble in his chest.

Your own admission, as you dip down to kiss him, “Missed you more.”

Finding himself transfixed, in spite of the weariness. The ache in his bones that are now a part of him are forgotten in the way you watch him.

Eyes half-lidded, as you find your balance. Starting a slow grind of your hips, a look thrown his way when you feel his muscles string tight beneath you.

The lightest pressure of your palms against his chest, careful of his wounds.

“Want to make you feel good.” It’s a command, tinged with permission. It’s woven with love, and the thought of taking matters into his own hands ebbs.

“Always do, sweetheart,” Logan husks, “Every fucking time.”

Letting himself settle back against the mattress. Losing himself in the tight grip of your pussy. Your soft curves, as his hands wander.

Squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, urging you to ride him harder. Slipping up to tease at your tits, an upward flex of his hips when you cry out his name.

You once told him that you wanted him the first moment you met him. Now, he wishes he had met you sooner.

A year. A day. Even a minute.

The thought pulses in his chest, in time with his heart. Fingers skating over skin as you ride him. A flash of white when he thumbs against your clit, giving you something to grind against.

You’re molten around him. Soft and sweet and it’s all he can do to match the way you bounce on his cock. Feet planting against the bed to help can meet you, urging himself just that little bit deeper.

Melting just a little bit further, when you can’t help but lean down - needing his mouth against yours.

Flattening yourself against his chest, as your rhythm goes needy. Sloppy grinds instead of the sharp slap, taking him deep and keeping him there.

His thumb swirls, and your ragged moan breaks the kiss. Head dipping as you lean back - hips chasing your pleasure, rocking into his familiar touch.

Can smell how much you need it. How you drip around his cock, the coarse hairs matted with your desire.

Teeth clenching, and it only makes him fuck to harder into you, to loosen your tongue.

“Logan, fuck-” It’s whimpered, in that pretty tone that he loves, “Think I’m gonna come-”

The leash he grasps onto slipping between his fingers. A low heat in his belly burning brighter, a pressure ticking down with each slap of his hips.

“Know you’re close. Let go, baby. So fucking good for me-”

Something rasped out, as you flutter around his cock. Taking him deep, spearing him into your belly.

“Fuck, I can feel you coming on my cock.” It comes out ragged, his breath catching, “Gonna make me come, too-”

Your gaze is dark. Hands pressing harder against his chest as you find yourself again, riding him harder. Panting through it, as it tips towards too much - your orgasm still burning brightly.

He's surrounded by you, and he only wants more. Fingers pinching into your hips, driving himself into you.

“Wanna make you come,” You breathe, “Want to feel you tomorrow-”

It’s enough that he forgets himself. A hands tight against your hip, a sharp tug that pulls you flush. The other curls around the back of your neck as he flips you beneath him.

Your gasping laugh pairs with his snarl. An arm hooking under your knee - pushing, opening you up as he holds you in place.

Watching how your eyes glaze. Following the tug of your fingers, bringing his mouth down to yours. Your pulse thundering beneath his thumb, as his tongue licks into your mouth.

He tastes like you, as his eyes slip shut. You linger on his lips, smeared across his beard. A ragged moan as your hips lift to meet the sharp smack-smack-smack of his hips, and then his vision is going hazy.

Your name snarled out, twining with soft sentiments. Hilting himself just as the pressure reaches its peak, his cock throbbing as he spills with a growl inside you.

The tension easing with each flex of his hips, fucking himself empty into your warmth. Into your embrace, your arms wrapping around and keeping him close. The scruff of his beard scrapes your cheek, but you only hitch a thigh around his hips - nudging him deeper.

Logan would stay here forever, buried in you, if he could. It slips from him, then - rasped low into your ear.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He should tell you more often. Would tell you every day, if not for the guilt that twists in his guts each time you say it back.

But tonight, he can only lean into it. The soft whisper, as your lips drag against his cheek. You say it just like you used to. It still comes just as easily.

“I love you too, Logan.”

And when his breathing settles and his eyes open - his chest catches.

You're adorned with your devotion - hair dotted with alyssum. Forget-me-nots and primrose dappled across your shoulders, yarrow and heather blooming around your curves.

Had learned the names of them, long ago. They come back, as his fingers trace over each bloom.

You’re beautiful.

But you always have been.

Prettiest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

He bites harder, when he’s wounded.

No more than a cornered animal. But the anger - it takes a hold on him. Leaving him to soften, when there’s a hand he knows.

Making words slip from him that he’d tuck inside, on a different day.

“I do it for you, blossom.” It comes out quiet, in the darkened room, “You know that right?”

You shift against his shoulder. Head cradled against his chest, ear pressed to his heart.

“We do it for Charles,” You breathe, half-asleep. Fingers splaying across his sternum, tracing against the dark whorls of hair.

His own brush over petals. Used to help pluck them from you, after stolen moments during missions. Would love the way your face screwed up - a soft veil of embarrassment washing over you. His own lips pulled in a smug smile, as he had tucked one behind you ear.

Logan huffs, the sound low. Almost a laugh.

“I keep going for you.”

His heart would keep beating for a long time, but he thinks it would stop if yours did.

You press yourself tighter against him. It’s mumbled against his skin, “Keep going for you, too.”

There’s salt against his skin, tears you can’t afford to shed. Silent, as the stars creep higher in the sky above you.

Should be out driving, right now. Can’t bring himself to leave.

So he holds you, until your breathing slows. Until the tension eases once again, sleep taking you.

You never were afraid of him. Only for him.

Never hesitated to crawl into bed beside him, even with his nightmares. Can still remember your insisting.

Clip the stem of the flower, and the bloom will fade. Skewer it though, and it will grow around it - oozing golden ichor until it heals.

It's supposed to be a comfort.

But Logan doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s afraid that he plucked you from the earth, long ago.

You just haven’t realized it yet.

Logan finds you in the garden.

Charles is out with you today. Tucked beneath the afternoon shadows of the smelting plant. He would laugh - does laugh - at your excuse of a garden. It pales in comparison to the mansion. The old ivy that crawled up the walls, across the sprawling grounds.

You laugh with him, because - what else is there to be done?

The sound dies, as the limo comes back early. A hand shades your eyes, as he steps out.

Still weary, though not as much as yesterday. Worry set in the lines around his eyes the grit of his jaw.

The reason revealed, when he steps to the side. A girl, stumbling out of the back seat of the limo.

Her eyes are feral, and there’s something so familiar about her that it steals your breath.

“Crescere.” Charles breathes - more lucid than you’ve seen him in days, “That is Laura. She’s the mutant I told you about. The one we have to help get to Eden.”

And for a moment, he’s the Charles he was a decade ago. The one you would have followed to the end.

Something blooms in your chest, at the sight of the girl.

The mutant, when there hasn’t been a new one in so long. A tight knot unfurling inside you, and it feels like a new beginning.

It feels like hope.

and then they all left to find Eden together and nothing bad ever happened again! 😌💖 I'm heading back to Trouble Will Find Me and Come On And Show Me after this, just was struck with this idea and wanted to explore it! thanks so much for reading!!

[emiko-matsui]

Can't you hear that scratching? There's something at the door. The wind has picked us up now and we're hanging in the air as you grip me like an animal that you're about to spear. "Be good to me," I whisper. You say "What?" and I say "Nothing, dear." // I make shipwrecks out of my dress and the door below it splinters and the creature creeps inside. We fall into each other and the scratching grows so loud because that unwanted animal wants nothing more than to get out.

I've never seen a diamond in the flesh, I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies, and I'm not proud of my address, in this torn up town there's no postcode envy. But every song is like gold teeth, grey goose, tripping in the bathroom, blood stains, ball gowns, trashing the hotel rooms.

Take me away into the night, out of the hum of the streetlights and into the forest. I'll do whatever you say to me in the dark, scared I'll be torn apart by a wolf in a mask of a familiar name.

If you go out beyond those trees your palms will sweat, you'll nock your knees, and the creatures you'll encounter there will gobble you up for good. There's dangers lurking just outside, but no need to be terrified, this simple advice can be applied: never go into the woods! Wolves and bears will eat you there—they'll drag you to their den.

This town is dying—why are they like this? God keeps on lying and they try to hide it. They're setting fire to the churches tonight, the shadows dance on the wall waiting for the answers to their call.

I ate dinner with beasts, crinkled hands, and red cheeks looking at my body like it's food. // Burn the witch alive, drink our dirty water, be prepared for the Mississippi slaughter.

Blood was spilt along this road and you cannot wash it white with snow. Everything here is built on bones. // Visions you don't want to see, hide your face from prophecy. A soldier not from woman born will come for you, you have been warned.

To all things housed in her silence nature offers a violence. The bear that keeps to his own line, the wolf that seeks his own kind. // The ground walked here is a wonder. It never ceases to hunger. All things nature has given she takes back from the living.

Come and get some, skinning the children for a war drum put in the front of the table selling bombs and guns. It's quicker and easier to eat your young. // It's a kindness, highness, crumbs enough for everyone. Old and young are welcome to the meal. Honey, I'm making sure the table's done.

Now I'm considered ugly from every angle, you're the only beauty I don't want to strangle. Can't you hear me crying out for guidance? // There's no sympathetic victims anywhere. There's blood in my hair.

Oh, girl, your story's all wrong and your dream will be a nightmare before too long. // When the sirens wailed and the bombs fell we ran from the schoolyard and into hell, and what we could've been time will never tell.

You with the dark curls, you with the watercolour eyes, you who bares all your teeth in every smile. He says, "I can always hear you sing, I wanna hear you speak to me," while a stranger braids my hair back out on the streets. // As sharp and serious as a pistol in the eye, my heart is full of swords.

Marrow made a wife of Eve, but no one gave up a rib for me or mine. My heart did expose to the elements calloused and untouched by man's design. Oh, my ugly organs... // The dark doesn't frighten me, I chose to close my eyes. It is mine, it is mine.

Embarrassed by her anger she slept amidst the rocks and as dreamland came to take her it seemed the moon began to talk. It said, "Oh, my little nothing, I am jealous of your voice for though the tides obey my orders, know my orders aren't my choice."

I don't want your half-baked sympathy. When did it save those in need? Still, I thought that angels did exist, but now I hope they plan to end it quick because Friday is black for me. Only my ashes will see the sea.

Which wolf wins? I guess it really depends, you just gotta wait and see which one's appetite is the biggest. Turns out I'm living in a horror film where I'm both the killer and the final girl. // Everyone is a bad guy and there's no way to know who's the worst. Karma's gonna come for all of us and I hope, I hope, I just hope she comes for you first.

You know how folks are afraid of the wolf? If you really stop and think, throughout time, between a wolf and a shepherd, who do you think has killed more sheep?

Please picture me in the weeds before I learned civility, I used to scream ferociously any time I wanted. // Though I can't recall your face I've still got love for you. Pack your dolls and a sweater, we'll move to India forever. Passed down like folk songs, our love lasts so long...

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. I know it's true that visions are seldom what they seem, but if I know you I know what you'll do—you'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.

Once I was lost in the woods. I saw a girl in a hood and she told me I should stick to the path, wolves will plot behind your back. // Soon she was out of my sight, her red hood a phantom in the night, and that's when I saw the wolves appear (but they filled me with ease and not with fear). So I went into the night shedding the skin of my old life as I got deeper and deeper within (and I howled at the moon and at the wind).

ylfa snorgelsson | farewell wanderlust, the amazing devil // royals, lorde // candles, daughter // never go into the woods, the cog is dead // everyone's dying (grandma's drunk again), roe kapara // us and pigs, isella // built on bones, emily scott robinson // blood in the snow, hozier // eat your young, hozier // we will commit wolf murder, of montreal // grandmother song, vienna teng // dear arkansas daughter, lady lamb // ribs, the crane wives // oh my little nothing, kyle stibbs // black friday, angela giarratana // you first, paramore // the saint of lost causes, justin townes earle // seven, taylor swift // once upon a dream, lana del rey // lost in the woods, honey magpie

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

Find the Word Tag

Rules:  It's simple, see if the words exist somewhere in your writing and  share a snippet. WIPs, published works, heck I even count author's notes  sometimes. IMHO, variations on the words are allowed (shook instead of  shake, cloudy instead of clouds and the like), and even synonyms (storm  instead of thunder) if you really can't find something. Just share your  snippets with your friends, tag some people and give them some new words ��to look for if they want to take up the challenge!

I decided to take part after seeing @loudlooks’s post. The words are: mirror, ball, blood, movie, hot

If anyone else wants to play: river, morning, tear, chair, warm

mirror - “Tender Curiosity” wip (I lie to myself about this one and say I’ll someday continue beyond the chapter and change I’ve had for it since like 2013)

Hands braced on the edge of the counter, Tony fought off his own wave of nausea, sucking in breaths, shallow and short. Each exhale scrambled his mind of unwanted images, each inhale swelled his exasperation. Heat seethed through his veins. It was misplaced, yet it took more effort to stave off than it would have to embrace, explode from the room, and leave the ex-Mossad assassin to her secrets, just the way she wanted it.  If this was what came with their relat--friendship these days, maybe he didn’t want it after all. 

A chance look in the mirror brought into view the tremble of her chin. Her eyes darted to the ceiling, fending off another round of waterworks. “Though I cannot say that this was…” She paused to swallow the sob in her voice. “Planned.”

The tears she refused to shed in his company extinguished the burn of his anger to smoldering coals. He never could stay mad at her. Irritated?  Sure, they drove each other crazy.  Real anger?  No.  It was a weakness, Tony knew. Getting close clouded judgment. Probably why Gibbs had a rule about it. Getting close was a risk. 

It just didn’t feel like those things as he eliminated the distance between them, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. This felt right.

ball - “The Buttercup Theory” idea/wip 

You really hadn’t lived until you experienced Ziva David meeting a puppy. It was like watching a hulking WWE wrestler cuddle up with a teacup kitten.

Okay. Maybe not that drastic. It was pretty freaky, though.

Freaky enough that Tony’s insistence that they leave, that Gibbs would be expecting them back far sooner than later, lost momentum. He couldn’t look away as she crouched to her knees in front of the small crate, an incongruous fixture in the sterile kitchen of his bachelor pad. 

“Oh my goodness, look at you,” Ziva cooed at the ball of fluff huddled inside the metal contraption. Literally cooed. His partner for a pigeon. 

“Who did you just become?”

The brunette glanced up, her gaze shining from beneath the visor of her NCIS cap. “You did not tell me you were thinking of getting a puppy.”

“Because I wasn’t.”

“It is not exactly the best timing, Tony.”

“Agreed.”

“Yet now you have a puppy.”

“I don’t have a puppy.” 

The sparkle dimmed in Ziva’s eyes.

blood - “New Year Normal” wip (trying desperately to get this done rn)

“You are cranky, Tony.”

“You are blunt as ever, Ziva.” His crossed arms mirrored the knot of his grimace. “And I’m not cranky because I’m not a 3-year-old who missed his nap.”

“Then you are jet lagged.”

“After 15 hours at 30,000 feet? No, you think?”

She ignored his sarcasm while inspecting the underside of an end-table drawer. Clear. “You should eat something. Your blood sugar is low.”

“What do you know about my blood sugar?” 

“I know when it is low, you are cranky.” Ziva tossed him an apple from the complimentary bowl of fruit. “Eat, or one of us will not leave this room alive.” 

Tony caught it on a fumble. “Well argued, my ninja, but I’ll take my chances.”

He set the apple aside and scrubbed his hand from forehead to nape, ironing his sandy locks this unkempt way and that, not seeming to notice or care that his hair looked a mess in the end. It matched the shadowy scruff ringing his jaw, the puffy half-moons of fatigue beneath hazel eyes. 

The breakdown of his normally fastidious appearance—his armor—left no doubt. Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. was out of sorts.

movie - “Land I Grew” wip

Leaning back against the counter, Tony dragged so hard on the bottle that the plastic crinkled and caved in on itself. 

“Where’s your TV?” he asked after swallowing hard. 

“I do not have one.”

“That’s cold.”  

“I am not you. My life does not revolve around movies—”

“Ziva.” He lifted the half-empty bottle to eye level. “I meant refreshing.”

“Oh.” She crossed her arms.

Tony guzzled, stray droplets splashing onto the day’s growth of stubble around his mouth. His pink tongue flashed out from between parched lips, like a cat unwilling to waste a drop of precious milk. Or: a man never satisfied. 

She would be thirsty as well, if she had run from his apartment to hers. They were clear across the city from each other now.

“When did you start running?”

“Like, 20 minutes ago. It’s not my best time, but--”

“Tony.”

“I had a lot of stress to burn off this summer.” His answer hovered between nonchalance and restraint. “No couch?”

hot - “Contaminate My Heart” (aka my tiva shower fic that I drafted during covid lockdown but then had a crisis of confidence and so it’s sat ever since)

Any rebuttal she might have formed evaporated in the blast of heated rain, striking her just right, dabbling neck and shoulders and arms, coursing rivers in the thin gaps separating their chests. A chill born of the time spent between showers rocketed outward from her belly button, spreading and vibrating off her skin. Her eyelids drooped. 

“Good?” He knew it was. She did not care, draping her arms around him. 

“Yes, my shower went out before I had a chance to finish.”

“Huh, usually you’re the first one done.”

Only then did Ziva break the trance of sensation. Tony’s grin greeted her, smug and goading. 

“I did not realize we could lie, mon petit pois.” 

His grin widened, or it seemed that way as he leaned forward, blurring at the edges of her vision. Hot breath exhaled across her forehead, a masquerade of delayed laughter. Or desire. 

“You can do whatever you want…to me, sweetcheeks.”

[yourghastlycloseness]

feel kind of seen in the video on BPD i was watching: https://youtu.be/6TS4d-zqRFA?feature=shared

i’ve been thinking about my emotional turbulence and lack of emotional regulation. the smallest things make me want to die. i just lose my shit all the time. one cup gets stuck inside another and i burn myself with hot water and hit myself in the face because how stupid must i be to allow something like that to happen? but im high functioning and i set the cup outside in hot water so that it expands and fill the cup inside with iced water so that it contracts and i manage to separate the two cups in the end. im high functioning but the cracks are there. people who see it can feel something’s off. i lose it at objects and at strangers. i try to exercise more control with the people in my life such that talking to people makes me feel like dying because whatever they’re getting isn’t who i am at all. i hate all my friends. i see the good in them. i’d rather be without them. but then what if i die of loneliness? fuck that, if there’s one thing i can take, it’s loneliness. i set up “tests” to see how much people want me in their lives. when they pass, i think they’re lying. when they fail, i think, good riddance. i don’t give a shit what anyone says but then one day im at the grocery store and i catch sight of my awful appearance in the mirror and i think about what that one friend said 20 years ago and how i’m probably the most incompetent person alive and i would shoot myself there and then

the point is i think the doctor misdiagnosed me a few years back with bipolar II. i had suggested to him that what i have is likely BPD, but he insisted that it was a mild bipolar (he did acknowledge that it was possible i had both) and proceeded to prescribe me a whole chunk of meds, some of them in the photo below. another one prescribed me 6 months worth of lexapro and an appointment just as much later bcos i had been in high spirits when i saw him and said i probably recovered—that’s just me talking out of my ass on a “good” day—the next day i crashed and burned and wanted to die again

im sick of the ups and downs. it’s exhausting

another therapist i had said a diagnosis. but im here watching all this content and while im by no means qualified to self-diagnose, i do think putting a name to what you have (accurately) makes it seem like there’s hope, things can be resolved

if you ever see those demonic possession horror movies, the first thing the priest does is to name the demon or whatever, and from there, they’re able to strategise the exorcism. in those scenes where the exorcism doesn’t go well, it’s usually revealed that the priest or the exorcist named the wrong demon. naming something correctly is so impt

with the ppl who don’t have mental illness, i think they just want me to “get over it”. with the ppl who understand that mental illness might be a thing, they think just going to a doctor or a therapist magically cures everything. to the mental health professional, i’m just another woman in my 20s crying for help, seeking validation, and riding the waves of the mental health awareness movement. yknow, just being trendy ✨

i don’t want to live anymore because every single fucking thing hurts. nobody cares about me. nobody chooses me. someone talked about watching an animal get killed and then eating it and i just couldn’t stop crying. yet i would probably stab a stranger on the streets with no regrets. it’s not even that i want to kill or hurt someone: i just need confirmation that the world i’m living in is real. maybe get beat up and murdered in prison or executed by law, whatever. put an end to this. i dont know what i feel anymore all i know is that i have no energy for any of it and if i feel anything it’s just false joy, then pain and anger

[sithroyal]

     @rabid-cur-hux​

     He didn’t know the last time he’d been this fucking sick in his entire life. Kylo had long since thrown up everything in his stomach. Shaking and dry heaving was doing little good but he wiped his mouth and flopped onto his back on the floor. It was told and uneven, poorly made, but he could see Hux through the bars of his cell. 

The Resistance had gotten them. He didn’t recall how, but at that moment, he truly didn’t have the brain power for critical thinking.

Groaning softly, the threw an arm over his sweaty brow and soaked hair, trying his hardest to ignore the biting pain and shaking limbs. Out of all of it, the damn Force inhibiting collar was the worst. Did they test it on Rey to find out what it did or did Skywalker hand it over to them? A question for the ages really. 

As he turned over to get a better look through the bars, Kylo huffed. “Bet you’re enjoying this. Obviously not the captivity but getting to see me suffer. Was this part of your plan?” They were truly in for it now and he’d yet to see hide or hair of his mother. Surely she wouldn’t give out the order to actually torture either of them. 

...Right?

[devildomdisaster]

Idk if you read Lore Olympus but chapter 129 gave me an angsty request idea.

So Persephone, who’s the goddess of spring, goes into a hibernation-like state and when her emotions go out of control, she ends up growing her hair really long and her body sprouts a lot of plants from her; to the point of covering her and whatever area she’s in with her plants.

So I would like to request head cannons of the Brothers reacting to an MC who gets really sad whenever the brothers insult or threaten them and after several weeks of being berated by demons it causes MC to shut down and go to their room but mistakes a comfort spell with a plant curse that causes their hair and plants to grow continuously long. The plants fill up MC’s room and while they would normally be surprised at the mistake, they don’t care any more. They allow the plants to to grow, even wrap around their neck and body, and hopes the curse kills them off before the brothers notice as they go in the “hibernation” stage of the curse (The curse causes the victim to grow a lot of plants and vines from their body until they die, which can take a few days).

I’m sorry for being so long and descriptive, I just wanna see the Bros panic and feel guilty that MC felt pushed to do this to themselves but I understand if you don’t want to do it

I don't read Lore Olympus but you described the situation really well so I hope this is something close to what you wanted.

Comfort spell gone wrong

Lately, nothing seemed to be good enough for the demons. No matter what you did one of them would find something to berate you for.

“Mc, your grades are subpar even for an exchange student. You’ll have to try harder in order to not be a disappointment to Diavolo and myself.” Lucifer warned over breakfast.

“Mc, you burned dinner. You should learn to be a better cook.” Beel grumbled. As if you had ever seen any of these ingredients before ending up in the Devildom.

Even Mammon seemed to be in a particularly unpleasant mood. A never-ending string of complaints about how hard it is to protect an ordinary human. “Geez, you’re such a hassle human.”

Taking refuge in the library to study and to give Mammon a break from you proved disastrous and nearly deadly. Somehow you’d managed to spill your cup of tea all over an old somewhat rare text after Asmo had barged in and startled you. Your string of bad luck continued when Satan rounded the corner and saw the soggy tea-stained pages you’d been trying to decipher. In his fit of rage, he’d called you several unpleasant names and asked if you were “capable of doing anything right or if all humans are as stupid as you?” You’d left as quickly as you were able to avoid any more of his wrath.

No matter where you went you kept walking in on Belphie napping and without fail he’d say something nasty to you, that would make tears burn the backs of your eyes.

Levi had angrily called you a “useless normie,” who he wished would “never come back.” and had pushed you from his room with a slam of his door.

Even Asmo who usually just ignored you when he was upset found every reason imaginable to critique your every aspect. Physical and personality. Not a single one of which made you feel any more than worthless.

So was it any wonder when at the end of a long week you’d locked yourself in your room and decided to try that comfort spell you’d heard Solomon talking about? It seemed simple enough. But then your tears had blurred your vision as you’d recited the words and your Latin was still shaky at best. But it was just a few lines! And there was no way you were going to go to one of the brothers for comfort when they had seemed perfectly happy to make you miserable for the last few weeks.

You’d read the spell aloud and curled up hoping that the spell would kick in and you’d feel even just the slightest bit better. The blinding green light and sudden drop in energy was the first and only warning the spell had gone wrong. But being new to magic meant it still sapped your energy, so you didn’t stop to think something might be wrong. By the time you realized what was happening, everything was out of control. Plants had begun to sprout from your skin and the floor around you, growing and growing. With each inch they grew you felt your exhaustion creep up and consume you. You were just so tired. Your eyes fluttered closed. This was wrong! You forced your eyes open again. You need to fix this. The spell! But a short nap wouldn’t hurt, would it? You’d have more energy after you woke up. Then you could go get one of the brothers. Satan would know how to fix this. Or Lucifer! He’d clean the spell up easily. Yes, after you woke up…

Lucifer hadn’t seen you all weekend. He figures you’re most likely studying. But you don’t show up for meals and none of his brothers have seen you either… and oh Diavolo! He can feel the spell from the dining room. How did he not notice sooner? The cold pulling sensation of the spell, like it was sucking the warmth and life from its surroundings.

When Lucifer reaches your door Mammon is already there. Knocking and shouting for you, but there's no answer. He all but breaks your door down, his brothers behind him, and finds you at the center of the spell. Unresponsive and covered in the plants using your energy to grow. The plants had begun climbing up the walls and twisting through your hair, sending out snow-white flowers.

“Beel! Don’t!” Lucifer warns as Beel reaches out to pull a handful of plants from you. “We don’t know what did this and what will happen to Mc if we just rip the spell off like that.”

“Lucifer, Mc did this to themself,” Satan points to the open spellbook. “It looks like they got a comfort spell mixed up.”

Fortunately, your last tired thoughts were correct and Lucifer is able to break the spell quickly. You wake surrounded by the brothers.

Lucifer:

All this happened for a comfort spell? Because you didn’t feel like you could come to him, to any of them?

He’s so sorry Mc. Enough that as he leans down to pick you up out of the mess of withering plants you can feel tears fall onto your face.

“Nothing I did was good enough for you Lucifer. Any of you. I just wanted to feel… I just wanted-”

His heart breaks when he realizes this is his brother’s fault, his fault. “You are always good enough, Mc. Much more than I could ever ask you to be, and if I ever made you feel like you weren't. No, the fact that I made you feel like you weren’t, means I have been truly terrible.”

You’re choking back your own tears now and you curl further into his arms as he carries you down the hall. “You said I was a disappointment.”

“My dear Mc, you have never been, nor could you ever be a disappointment to me. Forgive me for ever making you feel as if you were.”

Lucifer takes you to his bathroom and draws you a bath to wash away the last of the plant matter from your body.

Afterward, he’ll bring you anything you ask for. He wants to wrap you in his arms but doesn’t want to push you, so he asks softly if he can hold you.

He’ll spend weeks trying to make this up to you, even after you forgive him, he’ll be sure to tell you how much he loves you more often than he did before.

Mammon:

Shit human! Why didn’t you come to him? He loves you so much and oh. He made you feel like a burden.

How could he be so stupid when he knows how his brothers make him feel?

Mammon begs for your forgiveness in front of all his brothers.

“Please can ya forgive me? I never meant to make ya feel like a burden. You're the only human I- I want to protect you Mc. I’m so sorry.”

Mammon helps you up and since your room is covered in plants he offers to let you sleep in his room for the night.

He wraps you in blankets and brushes the hair from your face with trembling fingertips.

There are still a few stubborn leaves sticking to your face and in your hair so Mammon takes a warm washcloth and wipes them from your face before gently untangling the plants from your hair.

You’ll be getting little gifts and tokens of mammon’s affections for the foreseeable future.

Levi:

He threw you out of his room when you came to him for comfort and the guilt at seeing you almost die because of it is eating him alive.

He feels frozen

Maybe you would be better off without an otaku shut-in like him. He starts avoiding you like the plague.

You start to think that Levi is so disgusted with the fact that you did that spell that he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

Despite this Levi still checks up on you. He wants to know that you are ok, he just does it without you knowing.

He’ll ask his brothers about you and discreetly glance at you during meals to make sure you’re eating enough and look healthy.

A few days later when your favorite and manga anime start showing up outside your door you confront Levi. “Are you mad at me? Do you just not want to be around me after what happened? Levi, I miss you!”

He is shook, and he can’t believe he messed up so badly.

He’s happy that he can invite you to hang out again, and he makes sure to spend long nights gaming or watching movies with you until you fall asleep against him. He’ll even stutter out how much he treasures his time with you, blushing fiercely all the while.

Satan:

Satan feels anger swell up inside him. How could he have let this happen? How could no one have seen how upset you were?

Once the spell has been dissolved he is at your side instantly. Brushing vines from your skin. His fingers are shaking in anger but his touch is so gentle.

When both you and your room are cleaned up Satan sits at your bedside, book in hand, reading to you.

He just wants to be close to you now. He wants you to know how much he cares about you but is still too worked up to get his thoughts out properly.

Eventually, his thoughts calm and he stops reading in the middle of a sentence. “Mc, I am so sorry. I never meant to make you feel unwanted. Every day I spend with you is infinitely better than a day without you. I know the spell was a mistake but… we almost lost you. I almost lost you.”

He wants to talk about what pushed you to do this. He won’t push but he really does think that he will be better able to help you if he understands.

Satan makes sure to spend more time with you from now on. He makes a conscious effort to check his temper at the door and be with you when you need him.

Sometimes he’ll just read to you until one of you confides in the other in quiet voices.

Asmo:

As you blink your eyes open Asmo gently brushes some plants from your cheek.

You are so pale and his heart breaks as you flinch away from him. You feel like a mess and you know you must look like one too so curl your body away from him trying to hide. Trying to avoid his critical gaze.

This is the moment Asmo knows he screwed up.

He draws his hand back, for a moment, before reaching out to you again. Cupping your cheek and wiping your tears away with perfectly manicured hands.

Lucifer has him take you to his bathroom to clean up while the rest of the brothers work to clear the plants from your room.

Asmo is quiet for a long while as he untangles plants from your hair.

“You’re so loved, Mc,” he says softly. “You are.” he insists when you shake your head no.

“More than you could ever know, and it’s our fault for not telling you. My fault for not making you feel worthy.”

After this incident, Asmo wants to make sure you know how beautiful you are. He starts self-care days once a week that soon turn into whole family affairs. Each week different combinations of his brother attend and you all work to pamper each other.

Asmo makes sure nothing like this happens again, he never wants to be part of the reason you feel unloved ever again.

Beel:

At first, Beel thinks you did this on purpose. Once the brothers realize you messed up the spell he is less angry but no less distraught.

Once you wake up, he wants to take you to get desserts. He’s heard humans eat Chocolate/ other sweets to feel better. And this makes sense to him, food does make everything better.

But you don’t want to go to Madam Screams or the kitchen to make your own. You’re still so tired. Not to mention embarrassed that you screwed the spell up this bad.

And now they are all staring at you like they care so much when none of them had any time to notice how they were making you feel before.

When you become unresponsive to the brother’s questions and apologies Beel scoops you up in his arms and walks away with you.

Something about the way he holds you close to his chest and his warmth causes you to finally let go.

You bury your face in his shirt to muffle your crying.

“I just… I felt so alone! And… I...but no one” you gasp out shakily between sobs.

Beel soothes you with soft murmuring as he gently cards his fingers through your hair and strokes down your back.

Once your crying quiets he starts to speak “Don’t do that again. You can always come to me Mc. I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t”

Belphie:

Belphie thinks it’s a joke at first. “Man, how could they mess up this bad?”

Then he sees Lucifer’s panicked expression and it hits him how serious this is.

Belphie is immediately by your side. Hands frantically feeling your wrist for a pulse.

After Lucifer breaks the spell and your eyes flutter open Belphie is filled with relief until a wave of guilt washes through him.

He can’t believe he fucked up so badly again. Sure this time he didn’t directly cause you physical harm, but he did play a role in causing you to almost die again.

“I am so very sorry Mc, I never meant to hurt you.”

He does everything he can think of to make it up to you. Anything you ask him for, as long as it’s within his power, is yours. No questions asked.

He asks permission just to hold your hand for weeks afterward as if he thinks you’ll come to your senses and decide you don’t want anything to do with him.

He wants to comfort you so bad.

To make sure you don’t feel like this again Belphie pulls you away to nap with him as often as he can get away with it. Most likely only a few times a week (much less often than he would like). Sometimes he uses this time just to talk with you. Others you really do nap, and Belphie curls himself around you. Occasionally he enters your dreams while you nap together to make sure no nightmares can touch you.

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf

Word Count: 1800

Summary: The calm before the storm

A/n hello, and thanks again @sillyrabbit81 for reading and editing for me :)

Chapter 11

Henry was angry. It was truly the first time he had allowed himself to feel such anger in almost fifteen years. Everything that was happening, all the pieces coming together to paint a picture of that night, it didn’t bring healing like it should, instead, it just bought more pain. All the locked away feelings he had tried so hard to forget from the past kept coming up, especially when he saw Tom’s face. Everything in him wanted to go full wolf, ignore human laws and decimate his friend’s abusers. If he had not felt a strong need to comfort Tom, to help heal some of his wounds then he would have snuck out right there and then.

But Jessie had different ideas, even after the boys left, she insisted he stay by her side. It was as if she knew what he was thinking, knew he would be reckless. When they arrived at the house, he did a quick sniff of the perimeter before feeling secure that there were no new smells. He found Jessie in the kitchen making a coffee. What he wouldn’t give to taste the magic brew again, it had been so long since his last sip. Wondering if she would understand him, he padded over to her and bumped her leg, put his nose in the air, sniffed at the cup she had finished pouring and then yipped. For the first time in a few days she smiled, a genuine large smile. “Did you want some coffee, Henry?” He yipped again, this time emphasising it with his tongue panting.

She found a small ceramic bowl and poured some coffee into it, she picked it up and placed it on the coffee table in the living room. It was the perfect height for him to first sniff the delectable scent, then hesitantly dip his tongue in. It was perfect, she had made it smooth, bold, and milky. He turned his head to her and almost laughed at the look on her face as she watched with anticipation. “Is it ok? I can change it if you don’t like it that milky.” Her nervousness was real, and he wanted to show her how much he liked it, so instead he turned around and lapped the whole bowl up before jumping on the couch and giving her a series of long sloppy kisses on the cheek. Giggling Jessie squealed, “Henry! Stop! If that’s a yes you liked it then great. But if that’s just a reaction to the coffee then no more for you mister.” He stopped immediately not wanting the coffee to stop.

Henry curled up next to her on the couch laying his head in her lap. It was the only intimate thing that he could do whilst he was still in wolf form. He wanted her to know she was safe. Her fingers began to caress his fur, threading through massaging his skin. The tension and anger melted, all that mattered at that moment was his mate.

She softly cleared her throat, “Henry, I need to let you know about something important. Please yip if you are understanding me.” It had been a while since her voice had not made sense, another sign he hoped that he was closer to the surface. “Yip” was his reply. Her body sagged a bit. “Good, I have insisted Tom come to live here for a while until he is safe to go home. But that might be a long while. I learned something this morning and I need to tell you, but I don’t want you to overreact, ok?”

Overreact, what was she talking about? Henry listened intently a soft growl intimating he heard but was not happy. “Tom, well Tom is my secret admirer.” At that comment, Henry leapt up sitting his full height on the couch. His eyes bored into Jessies, looking to see if what she said was true and not a horrible joke. But the seriousness on her face confirmed her words. Both her hands came up and cradled his muzzle, keeping his eyes on hers as she spoke with authority. “Now listen to me Henry, I know you have been jealous and I appreciate you trying to protect me from Boyd. But you know Tom, he is sweet, caring, and young. You have nothing to be jealous of. I see him as more of a younger brother, heck even as a son. So, you have nothing to fear, I want you to continue to care for him just as you have been. He needs our love and affection right now, not more rejection. Ok?”

Not sure how he felt about it, on top of everything else, he flopped back down in her lap. Not willing yet to acknowledge what she was asking of him. She didn’t know how much it hurt to see her with another, to know outside of a dream he could not hold her. He settled enjoying her hands once again scratching behind his ear and smoothing his fur. They stayed like that until the sound of multiple footsteps sounded at the front door, Henry jumped up and ran to the door his fur heckled and a low growl sending out a warning. “Hey Jessie, Wolfy, it’s just us.” Jessie walked past him and opened the door showing a mountain of bags hiding the two boys behind.

Henry’s heckles stayed up as he watched the wall of bags shuffle into the room. It wasn’t till the bags had been placed down, and Tom’s face was shown again, that his fur smoothed down, at that moment he made his mind up. No matter how painful it was seeing someone else fawn over his mate, he would treat Tom as family. He walked up to Tom, rubbing his body up against him then gave his hand a quick lick. Tom’s hand rested on his head-scratching behind his ear. “Thanks, Wolfy. I missed you too buddy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jessie with a soft smile on her face.

Joe stayed for dinner, the foursome enjoyed steak and veggies, with ice cream for dessert. After dinner, Joe tried to convince the party too, “Have a fashion parade.” A chorus of no’s including a growl from Henry had him lifting his hands in surrender,.“Oh, you guys are no fun. At least let us get dressed in our pj’s.” Jessie frowned at this comment, causing Joe to explain, “We thought with everything going on it might be a good idea to have a slumber party. You know an extra body in case you know who decides to turn up.” Henry was surprised at Joe’s gesture. As excitable as the boy was he was a true friend to Jessie. Jessie, he could see, was struggling and if he guessed her problem, it was accepting help. She had been independent for so long, had to be strong for herself, work everything out for herself. He could only guess if she was anything like himself that she would try to back out of this extra support.

Before she had a chance to speak, he pushed towards her, growling low making her look at him. He put as much feeling behind his eyes as he could trying harder than ever to push towards the surface. The message he wished to convey was one of “please, accept their help.”

She looked at him, her head cocked to one side before her ridged stance melted and her soft voice yielded. “As long as Dillon is ok with it, Joe that’s fine. Heaven knows this house has enough rooms to have 3 separate guests so I’m ok with you having a ‘slumber party.” Joe whooped at that and ran to ring his boyfriend.

Henry had to snigger, here she was surrounded by boys, Tom was 19, and Joe 22 they had gone and changed into PJ’s that had caused Jessie to giggle, the Pokémon images outlined on the two-piece top and pants make them look like overgrown children. Confirmed by them pulling the cushions of the chairs and creating a fort with blankets for them to sit in and eat popcorn as they watched movies. It truly was a sight to see but Henry could tell she was slightly uncomfortable with the interaction. But with his body surrounding hers, she began to relax and enjoy the constant chatter of Joe and Tom.

As the clock chimed 11pm, the party began to go quiet, and eventually, Jessie put on her boss hat. “All right boys. Time for teeth, toilet, and bed, and I want this room set to rights before you head upstairs.” Yawns and tired agreements grumbled as Henry got up and yipped to Jessie. “You need to go out Henry?” It was the first time she had addressed him with his full name in front of the others.

Joe was the only one who made any note of it as he was picking up the last cushion. “I like that name, Jessie. It suits him.” She smiled at Henry, then let him out.

When he was back inside, they locked up the doors and walked silently upstairs. She poked her head in both rooms saying the good night before moving to her own room. After looking after her own needs Jessie snuggled under the covers. Henry positioned himself so he was stretched out next to her ready to hold her in his arms he shut his eyes pleading for sleep to come fast.

Trees, trees, and more trees, the more he pushed the thicker they grew as if they were alive and deliberately holding him back. Henry began to grow angry again, how dare they stop him from seeing his mate. His anger hit a point causing him to turn into his wolf while in the dream state. This allowed him to duck under the branches until he finally broke free into the clearing. There was Jessie, patiently waiting for her man but the look of shock on her face when wolf Henry broke through into the clearing was evident.

“Henry? Are you, ok?” He looked up at her, the anger still burning hot in his eyes. She stilled for a moment then sat patting her lap in an invitation for him to join her. He passed back and forth for a moment before his heart rate began to settle, then he walked forward, and laid down beside her. His head in her lap she gently caressed his fur before he was fully calm. At that moment his desire for her pulled to the front so much so that he began to shift, she stilled as his body creaked and popped until Henry’s head laid in her lap his naked body stretched out for all to see.

Chapter 12

[danascully77]

#10 angst and/or #10 general from the prompt list :)

#10 angst “How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?” and/or #10 general “You want to play pretend? Well two can play at that game.” from the prompt list :)

I picked the first one, but tried to work in the second. Hope you like it! <3 

Mulder’s been back from the dead for a few weeks now and things are tense. He’s barely spoken to Scully and tries to avoid looking at her pregnant stomach when they are forced to be in the same room. His eyes will flutter down before snapping up to hers with a sad, detached look in his eyes.

The interaction breaks her heart every time.

Sighing, Scully knocks on the door to his apartment and waits. It feels foreign, this formality. Before his disappearance and subsequent death, she would knock once and then let herself in. It didn’t matter if she was there for work or a casual hangout (or toward the end, for sex). And then after he was gone, she would key into his place to spend the night in his bed. Even though it was lonely and her heart broke for a man she thought she’d never see again, it felt natural to claim ownership of his space.

Now she feels like an intruder even after he opens the door and lets her inside.

She wants to scream, to holler at him, to slap him when he glances down at her stomach before turning away with the same broken expression. He hasn’t even asked her about her pregnancy and it makes her want to throw-up. Why isn’t he happy? Does he regret getting her pregnant? Does he wish she had left him dead?

Too many thoughts burn in her mind. She’s trying to give him space. Coming back from the dead after an abduction can’t be easy (she knows about the latter) and doesn’t want to rush him. Yet, his complete lack of questioning hurts. She longed for him for months and now to have him back as a shell of himself is hard to take.

“I brought Chinese.” Scully says, awkwardly holding up the bag of take-out.

“Thanks.” Mulder takes it from her and settles them on the couch to eat the feast she brought. Scully catches him watching her out of the corner of his eye as she slowly brings herself down to the couch, grunting silently as the weight of her stomach pinches her spine before she rests against the cushions.

“Need another pillow?” Mulder offers, sliding it behind her back before she can nod in affirmation.

The question and action stun her. It’s the closest he has come to acknowledging her pregnancy.

“Thanks.” She whispers. It’s silent then, for the next few minutes as they both pick at their food. Neither are very hungry, but chewing gives them a distraction from talking. Mulder’s tv is on in the background and they both stare at the poorly written sci-fi movie playing out on the screen.

Scully tries to subtly study him from the corner of her eye as she eats. He seems tense and rigid, his lanky limbs coiled as if to spring to action at any moment. She knows his forced vacation/firing is hard on him, making his re-animation even more painful, but there seems to be something else upsetting him. Scully wishes he would speak with her, but can’t find the words to ask him about his feelings.

They were stunted in that department before the abduction. Now it’s even worse.

As a sigh draws from his lips, his food discarded on the coffee table, she knows she’s been caught studying him. She sets her own food to the side and turns to stare at him directly. “Can we talk?”

“About?” His response is smooth, but she catches the slightly annoyed undertone.

“Us.”

“Us?”

“Yes.”

“What is there to say?” This time his tone is less subtle and Scully bites her bottom lip at the irritation in his voice.

“How are you feeling?” It’s a weak question, a cop-out. They both know it. On a normal day, Mulder might let her get away with it, but not tonight.

“Scully, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Check on me.” Mulder waves his hands in front of him. “Hang out like we used to.”

“Why not?” Scully’s nervous. Does he not like her anymore? Does he blame her for not saving him?

“You must have more… important things to do now.” His eyes glance purposefully down at her stomach.

“Oh.” Scully breathes, looking down at her own body. “I’m fine. My doctor said I’m still okay to be active.” Her eyes glance back up at him to find that his jaw is tight and his fists are locked at his sides.

“I didn’t mean that you should stay home.” The low, dark quality of his voice scares her slightly. Scully can tell he is pissed, but isn’t sure why. At her confused expression, Mulder sighs again. “I just meant that you must have someone else to be with now.”

Scully’s confusion turns to utter shock. He doesn’t realize I’m pregnant with his kid. The realization slams into her like a ton of bricks. It all makes sense now. Mulder would have no reason to assume this pregnancy is because of their few nights together. She was sterile. He doesn’t know that they got their miracle.

Her jaw opens and closes twice before she reaches for one of his closed fists. “Mulder, look at me.”

“Scully, I can’t do this.” Mulder shakes his head, anger leaking out of every pore. She tries to cut him off, but he stands suddenly to pace the apartment. “How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?”

The heartbreak in his voice draws tears to her eyes. “Mulder.” She tries again, but she can’t get off the couch quickly because of her large stomach and fumbles as he continues to pace.

“You haven’t even mentioned his name. Am I that much of an embarrassment that you don’t want me to know who he is?”

“Mulder, you’re wrong. Let me explain.” She’s desperate now, trying to get off the couch but the old cushions are too soft and she keeps sinking back as she tries to stand.

“I get it, Scully. You thought I was dead, but it’s only been a few months. Months. Am I that easy to get over?”

“Mulder.”

“I should have stayed dead. You should have left me in the ground.”

The moment he switches to self-deprecation in the form of suicide, Scully loses her patience. “Mulder!” His name is a loud shout and it finally draws his attention. “Get me off the fucking couch.”

The annoyance and anger in her tone surprises him and he moves quickly to assist her in standing. He sees her tears forming and mistakes them for frustration. When she’s finally vertical, Mulder’s eyes drop to the floor, deflated now that the anger is gone. “If you want to go back to just being friends, I can pretend that I’m okay with it. I’ll pretend for you, Scully.”

“Mulder, I don’t want you to pretend.”

“Oh.” Mulder nods, tears prickling his own eyes. It’s the first time since being back alive that he has felt any other emotion other than anger and betrayal. “I understand. Thanks for coming to say goodbye.”

“What? No, Mulder. You’re not giving me time to explain.” Scully grabs his hands and holds firm when he tries to pull away. “Look at me.”

“Scully.” “Mulder, shut up and look at me.”

His eyes lock with hers and he stops trying to pull his hands free. His taller frame bends slightly toward her out of an unconscious impulse to be closer and they take a few seconds to breathe. The emotions in the room feel like electricity and both of their bodies have goosebumps from the adrenaline.

“Ask me.” Scully whispers.

It takes him a second to understand, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Ask me.” Scully prompts, blue eyes shining up into his with unshed tears.

Mulder gulps and glances at her stomach before meeting her gaze once more. “Whose child…” His voice breaks for a second. “How did you meet…” Mulder sighs. “Is it someone I know?”

Scully smiles a small smirk and drags his hands to touch her stomach. He flinches and tries to withdraw, but she holds steady and tries to ignore the pain in her heart as he attempts to jerk away.

“It’s yours.” Her voice comes out shaky and an octave too high, her fear evident in the quiet of his living room.

Mulder stutters for a second, his eyes rapidly moving up and down from his hands on her stomach to her face. “What?” It’s a breathless question when he is finally able to form words.

“I found out the day you went missing.”

“How? You were sterile. I thought the in vitro fertilization failed?”

Scully shivers as she feels his hands grip her stomach, no longer trying to rip away from her. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t realize he is actively holding her now. “The in vitro did fail.” Scully confirms. “But we had sex…” The word makes her blush despite everything they’ve gone through. “… and…” She breaks off, nervous about saying the word they used to promise to one another.

Mulder’s eyes widen and a tear falls down his cheek. “You got your miracle.”

Scully holds back tears at his wording, reaching up to swipe his from his cheek. “We got our miracle.” Scully holds her breath then. This is the moment. The one that’s been a long time coming. They are either in this together or Scully is about to become a single mother.

The baby kicks before Mulder can respond and he jumps back an inch, staring in wonder at her stomach. Her shirt moves a bit as the baby presses against her, flipping in the womb. Mulder’s mouth opens in shock, looking back at her face in wonder. “Does that hurt?”

“Not really. Sometimes the baby rests on my spine, which is painful, but otherwise it just feels… different. But good different.”

Mulder nods, listening to every word. His hand, which was pulled away from her when he jumped in surprise moves slowly back toward her body. “May I?”

“Of course.” Scully confirms, lacing their fingers before pressing his palm flat on her stomach. “If you hold here sometimes you can feel a kick or two.”

A few seconds later, Scully is proven correct as if the baby in her stomach was waiting for a performance cue. A foot kicks out against her stomach lining and Mulder huffs a pleased laugh in surprise.

“Oh, Scully.” Mulder whispers in breathless awe. The baby kicks again and Mulder pulls Scully into a tight embrace. It’s a bit awkward because of her protruding stomach, but he makes up for it by folding his taller frame around her. “We’re having a baby.”

The moment Mulder takes ownership of their child, Scully’s unshed tears burn down her cheeks. A sob breaks from her lips and she clings to him, fingers digging into his back through his t-shirt. “I’ve missed you so much, Mulder. I… oh god… I thought I was going to raise our child alone.”

Mulder pulls back to cup her face, stroking her wet cheeks. “Scully.” Her whispered name conveys all the emotions they are feeling. She cries openly, watching as Mulder does the same. He opens his mouth to say more, but a kick against his abdomen draws his attention and they both laugh instead. “Our child.” Mulder whispers with a broad smile.

Scully nods and gasps quietly as Mulder drops to his knees. Her hands land in his hair, fluffy from the few weeks he has been back without a haircut, and she strokes his scalp as he slowly lifts her shirt.

“Oh.” A startled gasp breaks from her mouth as his lips land on her bare stomach. The feeling of his pouty lower lip touching her skin makes her body tingle and her fingers dig lightly into his scalp. Emotions pull in her chest and she sobs when he kisses all across her stomach.

“I can’t wait to meet you.” Mulder whispers to the baby after he is done with his kissing exploration.

The words break Scully’s barely withheld resolve and she lets out a loud sob. Bending down, Scully tugs on his hair and slams her lips to his with a wild desperation. Her tears mix with his on his cheeks as she devours his lips. The kiss is messy and sloppy and uncoordinated. Too many emotions make it frantic, but neither of them seem to care. The fact that they are kissing again overshadows finesse.

They pull back as Scully whimpers a sob against his lips. “Scully.” He breathes, standing to pull her back to his chest.

“Please, Mulder.” She whines, not entirely sure what’s she’s asking for but knowing she can’t stand to be without him for a second longer.

As if understanding, Mulder laces their hands and leads her to his bedroom. It’s clean and organized, a sign that Scully was living there during the months that he was missing, but his worn clothes litter the floor. The sight makes another sob pull from her chest and Mulder is quick to remove her shirt, discarding it among his own clothing.

Scully turns slightly, suddenly bashful about the state of her larger body, but Mulder catches her by her arms, holding her steady. “You’re still so beautiful, Scully. I’ve missed your body.”

“Mulder.” She whispers. She realizes that she hasn’t said his name this many times since his disappearance and it feels heavy and reverent on her lips.

Mulder runs his hands across her hips, catching the band of her leggings. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, her pants are peeled from her legs and she is left standing in her bra and panties. Mulder moans softly, tracing his fingertips up her thighs. They are slightly larger from the extra weight she is carrying and he smiles as they tremble under his hands.

“Gorgeous.” Mulder praises, kissing her hip right where it meets leg.

“Oh my god.” Scully moans, emotions raging wild alongside arousal.

“Is it okay if we…?” Mulder trails off with a slightly embarrassed flush.

Scully giggles and the reprieve makes her feel lighter. The emotional break good for both of them. “Yes. We can have sex while I’m pregnant.”

“I have so much research to catch up on.” Mulder smiles from his position on his knees.

The statement makes Scully’s heart lurch. He is going to research how to be a father. The thought makes her reach for him, bringing him back to his feet. “Can we skip the foreplay? I need you inside of me.” She’s slightly embarrassed at being so blunt about their first time back together, but she doesn’t care.

Mulder must not mind because he nods and kisses her once before stripping off his own shirt and pants. The sight of his bare torso makes her reach for him, stroking up his chest with flat hands.

“Please.” She breathes again.

“How do you want to do this?” Mulder responses.

Scully bites her lip. She wants to be able to see him while they reconnect, but she also knows that doggy-style would be easier with her pregnancy. “I’ll start on top.” She decides. It won’t be for long, but she needs to look at him as she takes him inside her body.

Mulder nods and quickly drops his boxers before sliding onto his bed. He watches with admiration as she slips out of her panties and sheds her bra before straddling him on the bed. It takes a few moments and Mulder’s assistance to get her there, but once she is in place they hold hands on top of her stomach for a few beats of their hearts.

“Ready?” Scully whispers.

“Ready.” Mulder nods.

Their moans join as they cry out into the bedroom, the first few inches of his shaft slipping into her sex. When he is buried inside of her, pelvis to pelvis, they pause and stare at one another. Neither can believe they are here, like this. It’s breathtaking and surreal.

Slowly, Scully begins to bounce up and down. Her movements are small, unable to lift completely with her added weight, but they don’t mind. It keeps him incredibly deep and strokes against her g-spot almost immediately. Scully gasps in surprise at the sudden intense pleasure, stunned that they still fit together so perfectly.

Mulder unlaces their hands to hold her hips, a grin spreading over his features at her slightly wider hips. “Pregnancy looks good on you.”

Scully blushes. Her breasts are larger and swollen as well and sway heavily as she rocks on his hips. Her hands cup them when the swaying starts to ache and smirks a small grin when he moans in response.

After a few more minutes, her breathing gets heavy and her thighs sink against his legs. “Mulder, I can’t…” She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. He rolls them gently over so that she’s propped against some pillows on her back. It takes them a few minutes to get things just right for her back, but it doesn’t kill the mood. Mulder slips back inside of her still just as hard as he was.

With her stomach in the way, Mulder can’t hover above her and settles for pulling her legs over his hips as he rocks into her at a ninety-degree angle to her body. Scully re-cups her breasts as they bounce on her chest and Mulder groans softly at not being able to suck on her nipples.

“Another time.” Scully gasps, catching his longing stare.

He smirks and nods, keeping his thrusts steady in and out of her. Her wetness coats his shaft and he moans at the sight of their arousals joining between their thighs.

“Scully.” Mulder moans. “I’m not going to last much longer.” He sounds apologetic, but Scully shakes her head to dismiss his embarrassment. He just came back from the dead after all. He can’t be expected to have stamina. Not when the love of his life just told him that the baby in her belly is his.

“It’s okay.” Scully promises, reaching for one of his hands again.

“Are you close?”

“No.” Scully admits with no malice in her voice. “But the pregnancy makes orgasming tough sometimes.”

“I can wait until…”

Scully cuts him off with a shake of her head. “I don’t care if I don’t orgasm tonight. I just want to feel you come in me.”

The bluntness makes Mulder groan and he squeezes her hand. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Scully nods with a smile.

They had only slept together a few times before he went missing, but she learned quickly that he was a very thoughtful lover. She never went without an orgasm, often coming multiple times in a session. Scully knows it’s not in his nature to come first, but moans as he lets himself go just this once, confident that she is telling him the truth about her desires.

His hips piston a bit harder and quicker inside of her, stroking himself along her slippery walls before tipping over the ledge of pleasure. He cries out her name, fucking her through his orgasm as he empties inside of her.

The action makes them both think about the child in her belly and after he spurts the last of his orgasm into her core he falls next to her, collecting her in his arms. Her ass meets his softening cock, their arousals smearing on her lower back, but neither mind the mess. His arms keep her close and they breath in unison for a long time.

“I’m going to be a father.”

“I’m going to be a mother.”

Mulder holds her stomach, feeling the baby wiggling around in her stomach and Scully’s hands join his on her body.

There are a lot of unknowns left to figure out. Their relationship, the x-files, if they will co-parent while living together, etc. but for right now they are back together and that’s all that matters. Scully’s in his bed with him and she isn’t alone anymore.

Turning onto her back, she kisses him deeply before settling back to be the little spoon. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, Scully?” “You do know I love you, right?”

Mulder hugs her tighter to him. “I do now. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“I should have explained the pregnancy the moment you woke up.”

Mulder kisses her shoulder. “Let’s talk about this later. I just want to hold you and our baby for a while.” Scully smiles as his thumbs brush her belly back and forth. It’s quiet for a second longer. “I love you too, Scully.”

[emperor-palpaminty]

Killing Time

Because nothing can kill a relationship like lies.

A modern AU where crosshair is a hitman and you're his loyal girlfriend who happens to be in the bodyguard business, but neither one of you know the other's careers

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, making oit and allusions to smut, also this is in no way accurate to real life and it's just dramatic, please don't hurt me lol

children you have full permission to run away and not come here, in fact please run away

Very few things phased you. The only things that brought you to your precipice of agitation was burning pasta, your phone charger not working, and showing up to your shift only to realize someone had been killing all your clients.

Who said keeping people alive was easy? No one, that was who, and if anyone said it they were wrong or had no experience working with others whatsoever. Making sure others lived to see their next day was deadly business, for the people that were trying to live, at least.

“Charles!” You barked, feet hitting the floor of the bull pen. “What the hell happened?” You slammed your files on your desk, face warm, head just about collapsing with pressure. Your fingers pressed to your temples, hoping that they would grip it, hold it together. “Burke was alive when I left last night.”

“Doesn't matter now." Your coworker dropped his sandwich onto his desk. "Burke is fucking dead now. As dead as a doorknob." He swallowed his bite. "Luckily, you weren't on shift when it happened, so you aren't gonna catch any fire for it."

"Shit, Charles, a man is dead." You collapsed in your chair, a gentle "oomph" escaping your mouth. Your lips pressed together in agitation and you moaned to yourself. "This is the third one in two months. Sure, I'll get a couple cold bodies, but-"

"But this is a lot." Charles sunk into his own chair, grabbing for his sandwich again.

You stared at him, disbelief coating your gaze. "One is a lot, Charles," You snarled, grabbing at the folder on your desk. "Any leads?"

"Oh, yeah. But they're all at Burke's mansion." Charles tossed the crust of his lunch into the trash can. "I can drive ya."

"No, I'll take my car," You grumbled. You swiped the keys from your desk and stood, stalking back towards the elevator, anger eating away at you.

If one more of your clients- YOUR own clients- got killed, you would have to start pulling full shifts again.

___

Your shoes, practical, did little more than tap against the marble floor as you ducked under the Police tape. You skimmed the scene, frowning, eyes gracing past a particularly nasty chunk of gore on the wall. "Shot from above," You mumbled, glancing at the shattered window.

The mansion was huge. You'd been coming here for nearly a year now to keep an eye on Burke, and it still shocked you when you saw the absolute volume of the home. How much house would one man need, exactly?

In your years as a bodyguard you'd watched out for a lot of people- spoiled celebrities, prideful and arrogant politicians, and a particularly interesting Chef who had an unusual desire to cook everything with some kind of caffeine in it. That was probably your favorite client.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice broke the mumble in the next room, probably of detectives or cops sweeping the house for evidence. "You shouldn't-"

"I was Burke's bodyguard." You tugged your badge out or your pocket, allowing the interrupting police officer to take it and examine it. “You can verify with my assistant, Charles. Make sure you tell him he’s my assistant and not the other way around, though, he can be a dick.”

The cop hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “Well, we’re still cleaning up the scene.” His hands offered your badge back, and you slid it into your back pocket, satisfaction deflating. “You can come by later after it’s clean. Ballistics is running comparisons right now.” He paused and glanced at the shattered window. “Looks like the shot came from the garage. It’s the only side with no motion sensors or alarms.” The cop’s brows raised in interest. “Know why?”

“No.” You said, calmly, turning towards the front door. “I assume I can go there?” You heard no objection as you stepped outside, tugging your sunglasses back on over your eyes. The sun was unforgiving and you gave an involuntary hiss as the bright rays hit your eyes just right to temporarily give your vision black spots. You blinked strongly and hurried towards the garage. 

In truth, Burke had alarms everywhere except the garage because he had so many people and cars coming and going. For any new technology the billionaire was releasing, the man had drugs and other forms of entertainment coming in and out, and it was all stuff that would probably bring him down. That nondisclosure form was still somewhere in the house in some obscure filing cabinet and you really, really, really didn’t feel like having a lawsuit lurking over your shoulders. Life was too good- well, everything outside of people you were being paid to keep alive was good. 

Death really killed the whole “survival” business.

You clamored your way to the roof of the garage, noting the ladder was the same one that the gardener used around the several acres Burke owned. The police had to have put it here- the gardener only came in the mornings.

So who the hell climbed up here without a ladder? Most people didn’t want to put in the effort to scale this freehand or wedge between the wall of the garage and the fence to shimmy up. That someone had to be either very determined to kill Burke, for personal motive or financial motive.

You brushed off you pants and glanced around, looking down at the surface of the roof. Nothing- not even a bullet casing- had been left behind. You frowned and raked a hand through your hair, skimming your scalp as you examined the roof, walking to the edge closest to the window.

You stared in, at the shattered glass, pondering. Burke was heading to bed when he'd been shot, you assumed, so the assassian would have had to know his routine. Your mind ran through possibilities again, but you could come up with none that were motivated personally enough or fit enough to climb without much assistance. You trailed along the surface, frowning, unable to find anything, but paused at a smudge of black paint, small, on the corner of the roof.

____

You turned your car down the street, exhaling softly as you pulled into your driveway.

99. That was what the marks said. Very subtle, meant nothing, unless it was a birth year or graduating class. The cops had come back, irritated, snapped a couple of pictures, and told you off about your wild theories of a fiscally motivated assassian. Apparently, you watched too many scret agent movies, or something like that.

You opened the door of the car and climbed out, frustration making you slam it shut. You inhaled the scent of the yard- clean, fresh cut, and perhaps it could help soothe your anger before you went inside.

After fumbling on your Keychain, you unlocked the door and hurried in, locking it behind you. "Cross?"

A savory aroma wafted from the kitchen, and your mouth watered. Your toes found their way out of your shoes and you hurried to the kitchen, pausing briefly at the doorway.

Cross's lanky figure was leaning over the skillet, stirring something, pale hands moving in expertise across the stove top. "Darling, you're late." He drawled.

You sighed, fully entering the kitchen. "Yeah. Sorry." You leaned up and wrapped your arms around his waist, face pressing against his back. You sighed. The day felt a little less bad now- filled with him. "Work kept me."

"How was work?"

You grunted. "A killer. An absolute killer." The irony was not lost on you, but it was lost to your boyfriend. He thought you were an editor for some book publishing company, because cover was the most important thing. You were one of those people trying to stay alive, after all.

Lies hurt, but it was one of the necessary ones. A little lie.

"Yikes." His hands drew plates to himself. "Mine wasn't much better. Got a few new clients, a few new cases." He sighed. "The Baliff forgot to submit evidence."

You mumbled against his shirt. "Law school really paid off, huh?"

"I'll say." He turned around, adjusting your arms, slowly taking your chin and leaning down to peck you. You always melted at his kisses, knees weak and brain numb, and he seemed to know it every time. You hummed, running your hands up his chest, the irritation for the day pooling to your midsection as your fingers gripped his shirt, your lips pulling in on his.

Cross tugged away gently, and you whined, fingers stubbornly clasped. "Wow, really frustrated today."

"Yes," You mumbled.

His lips pressed towards one of their corners in a half smile, and he picked your head. "Go shower. Then we can eat and I'll take care of you."

You hummed, fingers reluctantly releasing him, and you hurried away to the bathroom. You paused at the dresser, rummaging through, grabbing an especially large t-shirt and hipster underwear. Comfort was more important at the moment.

You climbed into the shower, turning the water to as hot as you could and scrubbing yourself off, humming in pleasure as the day came off you and went down the drain. The floral scent of the soap remained, the purple bad working diligently to rid you of your grime and frustration. Lavender really is a natural relaxant. You sighed and leaned back briefly on the tile, feeling every muscle in you ease at the same time.

After toweling off and getting dressed, your padded to the kitchen where Cross was pouring a your favorite wine. You sighed happily, accepting the glass as he skimmed your fresh-showered body. "Thanks."

"Of course." Cross picked up his own glass, taking a sip, eyes still diligently stripping you on their own. You shivered slightly, setting down your glass and looking up at him. "Dinner's ready," He mumbled, leaning in, pressing a hand to the counter of either side of you, leaving your back to the counter. "But I would much rather start with dessert."

You drew in a breath as he pressed his lips to your neck, drawing out a sigh with his teeth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, humming in agreement, and he scooped you up. Your groaned as he drew your legs around his lips, shifting, the agitating heat pooling back between your legs. "That's a good idea." You mumbled, whimpering as he bucked his hips slightly. "I just showered, though."

"Then we can take another one," He hissed, lips covering yours. "You're so damn intoxicating."

You mumbled something against his lips, unable to get a coherent response out as he dropped you on the bed. You bounced briefly, giggling, and he yanked off his shirt and joined you, climbing over you and hovering. "Come here, sweetheart," His finger traced over your shirt between your breasts, running down to the hem. "Let's end the day on a good note."

You whimpered, neck straining as you leaned up for his kiss, and you felt Cross snarl against you, tugging your surrendered form up closer to him. Your body relaxed again, neck loosening and head back against the pillow as he tugged your own shirt up, eyes gleaming with a primal eagerness that made you swoon, ready to work out the agitation for the day you both had.

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal story - part 4

Look, the story has a name (hopefully I’ll come up with a better one later)! And the characters do too!

Anyways, if someone hasn’t seen the picrews (it’s here if you want to), Whumpee is now Liam Beaumont, Caretaker is Chase Raymond and Whumper is Jonah Sharpe. If you have trouble remembering: Caretaker still starts with a C no I totally didn’t give him a name that starts with a C on purpose what are you talking about and I think you’ll get very different vibes from Liam and Jonah haha

CW: electric torture, forced to watch, whumpee held hostage, hurt no comfort (for now), restraints

tagging  @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot  @sunflower1000  @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove  @boxofsilence  @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince

Part one here, continued from here

-

Twelve messages wait for Chase when he picks up his phone. All from Jonah, all demanding him to work quicker, to give in new information faster. He purses his lips and takes a deep breath, clutching the new drive he was given to fill. 

After so many betrayals, he should be used to the sting that comes along with lying and deceiving. He’s done it before, felt that guilt, drowned in it – and yet he can’t help but hesitate. Liam’s pale lips, creased brows, shallow breaths, sparkle to life in his mind, a painful reminder of what is at stake if he annoys Jonah too much. Right beside Liam’s face, though, are the ones of Chase’s team, his friends, his family, all trusting smiles and loving gazes he cannot ignore. It’s enough for him to type a message and turn off the phone.

Working on it, Chase sends and hopes it is enough to keep the man quiet for at least another day as he turns his computer on and starts erasing from the drive the most meaningful information he’s stolen.

-

When Jonah bursts into his room, Liam is almost happy to see him. Five days have passed since he’s woken up in a room instead of the cell, and all he’s had since then is loneliness and echoing silence. With the only human interaction he was given being the occasional visit from a nurse who gave him a clinical once-over and refused to so much as look him in the eye, it was no real surprise when his thoughts spiraled out of control, swirling around and sinking down between Chase’s inevitable and yet somehow unexpected betrayal, and his new status as a hostage. 

“Doing better?” Jonah asks, leaning against the doorframe. Liam’s heart pounds both in relief and terror at the sound of a voice that isn’t his own.

“Do you care?”

“Getting some rest got your tongue loose, I see.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” That’s the question that’s been eating him alive, disrupting his sleep, watering his fear into a blossoming flower of dread that grows and suffocates any hope that tries to bloom beside it. Each answer Liam’s imagined sounds worst than the last, but if there is truth in any of them, he has to know. To prepare. 

“We talked about this already, didn’t we?”

Jonah’s eyes are as cold as he remembers from their few encounters, but this time something lurking there whispers stories of anger and pain to come, and that alone is enough to raise goosebumps along his entire body. 

“What do you want to let me go?” What could he have to give a man who is already filthy rich, when Liam has nothing to offer but a cramped apartment and a lot of resentment?

“Nothing you can offer, lovely,” Jonah chuckles. “Fair try, though.”

But nothing about this is fair, in any possible way. “So you are just going to keep me here because you don’t like Chase? I have nothing to do with him, please just let me the fuck go and I won’t even tell anyone, you–“

“Liam, honey, let us clear something up. There is nothing you can do to convince me to let you go. All you can do is comply, and maybe I’ll be merciful if you do, but you are mine for the time being, and there is no one here to help you but me.”

Liam’s reply dies on his tongue, killed by the unrestricted horror the words wash him over with. It doesn’t sound real. Sounds like something he’d watch in a movie, read in a book, hear about on the news. To hear them directed at him and feel the pulsating response from the healing stab wound in his gut, makes him hold his breath and pray to just wake up from this nightmare. When did his life turn into this? Was it when he met Chase? Was it before? 

“Now that that’s out of the way, come on, we have somewhere to go today.”

Liam’s stomach drops to the ground, farther, falling and falling to the center of the Earth as he clenches the sheets in his fists and hisses, “Last time you said that, you locked me up until I got an infection.”

“Ha, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Jonah says, raising a brow. Liam doesn’t even blink at the grin playing on his lips. “Don’t worry, love, I don’t make the same mistake twice. We’re having a different kind of fun today. Up now, or I’ll call my men to do it for you.”

Gritting his teeth, Liam pushes the sheets away and slowly stands up, holding his side and fighting a groan, but on his feet without help.

They walk in silence, and neither Jonah nor the guards say anything about how slow he is, or how terribly pitiful he looks stumbling through the hallways. A thousand words speed through his brain, pleading to be heard, but he doesn’t voice any of his questions. Doesn’t think he’d get an answer if he did, anyway.

He is led into a nearly barren room, with only a camera over a tripod standing in front of a wooden chair. A wooden chair surrounded by restraints.

He takes a step back before his brain catches up with the movement, straight against a guards’ chest. Jonah giggles and tuts softly. 

Two men grab his arms and drag him to the chair, and the panic suddenly becomes so deep, so all-encompassing, it swallows down his fight. He is pushed down on the chair, the restraints are buckled around him until all Liam can move is his head, and all the while he just sits there, hyperventilating and near to tears, as still as a statue. Watching but never moving, terrified but frozen in place, petrified, and he hates himself for it, even if he knows the feeling should be directed at Jonah and Jonah alone.

“Well, I didn’t know you’d be so pliable, sweetheart,” Jonah mocks, setting the camera up. “I would’ve played with you sooner had I known.”

He parts his lips, but the words refuse to form. Fear envelops each of them before Liam can push them through gritted teeth, and all he does is stare at the guards surrounding him, at the cold stickers being placed on his arms, his shoulders, his hands. Liam shivers, but there’s no air current here.

“Why, why, why are you doing this?” he chokes out. He knows what’s about to happen, has seen it on television enough times to recognize the electrodes, the box placed next to the chair. 

“Because Chase pissed me off today,” he shrugs, and a red light blinks to life in front of the camera. Jonah walks toward him, stops in front of the chair, and smiles. Liam’s eyes are blown wide as he stares up at the man. “Has Chase ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”

The weight on his stomach is so huge that Liam can’t even find energy enough to feel outraged.

Jonah pulls out a linen scarf from his pocket as the guards plug wires to each sticker and wiggles it in front of Liam’s face. “Here, I’d bite down on this if I were you.” When he fails to open his mouth, the man rolls his eyes and grabs his cheeks, squeezing so suddenly and cruelly his mouth opens without command and the scarf is shoved inside, making him gag. “Not that well behaved, huh. No problem, we have time to get you obeying.”

When the guards take a step away, Liam finds himself wishing they didn’t. 

“Smile at the camera, love,” Jonah says, stepping to the side so Liam is the only one being recorded. He stares straight at the lens and tries to draw in a deep breath.

He knows it is coming. He prepares for it. And then Jonah flips a switch, and there’s no preparing for pain so big, for agony so deep.

The world shatters around him as electricity lights up his body, turns him inside out, upside down, and no breath could’ve ever made this any better. There’s no air to breathe, no room to writhe, no place to escape. There is only pain, boundless and searing, here and now, splitting him into thousands of shards he can never hope to piece back together.

And then it stops, and his throat is raw but he doesn’t remember screaming and his chest heaves as he fights for air and tears fall from his eyes to his chin to his chest but he doesn’t remember crying either.

“Beautiful,” Jonah sighs somewhere close. Liam coughs and chokes on his own tears, trying to beg or maybe cry out, but whatever his mouth forms gets caught on the gag before it reaches anyone’s ears.

Please please please stop, it hurts, hurts so much, so, so much, please, please–

“Let’s go again.”

Liam doesn’t have time to even be scared before his world dissolves into burning agony once more. All he can do is scream and silently plead for help he knows isn’t coming.

-

When Chase turns on the phone, his heart nearly stops at the video awaiting him.

Two hours have passed. After five days of trying to convince that despicable man to let him see Liam and failing miserably, barely sleeping, worry and guilt eating at his insides, he fell asleep. He forgot. For one hundred and twenty minutes he allowed himself to rest, and now he is paid with Liam’s frozen image staring at him, waiting on Jonah’s chat, along with one single line of text that chills him to the bone.

This is for turning off the phone.

He clicks and feels a chasm opening in his gut when Liam fills the screen, strapped to a chair, scared eyes darting around a room Chase can’t see through the video, searching for an escape that is nowhere to be found, stopping on each electrode that is stuck to his body. The fear is clear as crystal on his face. It makes Chase’s heart squeeze until his chest is so tight he places a hand there, afraid to find it as hollow as he feels. Liam doesn’t talk, doesn’t scream, doesn’t beg. He simply blinks at the men towering over him and doesn’t ask for help, and that might be what truly undoes Chase.

And then Jonah turns on the switch, and Liam’s head snaps back, body contorting against restraints so tight there’s no room for him the thrash. Even through the gag, he screams, and Chase would scream as well if he wasn’t too busy gripping the phone as if his life depended on it, trying to steady his trembling hands.

When the shock stops, Liam’s face is tear-stained and exhausted, sobs wracking his body and ripping apart Chase’s soul. 

His fault.

It is his fault. After everything, after betraying Liam into not trusting anyone, after losing the boy who might’ve been the love of his life, after being responsible for his stabbing, his kidnapping, after everything–

The switch is turned on again, and this time when Liam screams, Chase’s eyes well up with tears he has no right to cry. A kind of rotten helplessness takes over his body, its clawed fingers wrapping around his arms, his legs, his heart and squeezing, whispering and shouting his failure, his guilt, his powerlessness. His eyes plead to close, but he needs to see this. It is his fault, his burden, and if Liam was forced through it, he has to at least watch it to the end. If anything, to know he’s still alive.

It lasts longer the second time. A life. His useless life. Liam convulses and cries and howls, and if Chase could only take the pain to himself, he would. He would switch places with Liam in the blink of an eye. He is the one who deserves that pain. He is the one who betrays and hurts and destroys anything he touches, and it should be him, not the boy who smiles at the sunrise and cries over books and dreams about changing the world. 

He stares unblinking at the screen and watches in silence as electricity courses again and again through that body he had once held and thought about spending a life beside, fogging those eyes that used to engulf him in love, twisting that face he once kissed and touched and loved into one of raw despair. Each time it stops, neither of them has time to catch their breath before it starts again. After the third time, Liam doesn’t cry out anymore. His voice breaks in a ragged wail until it dies down and all that’s left are silent sobs.

When the video ends, Chase is nearly numb. The last image shows Liam’s head hanging forward as he struggles to breathe, Jonah’s fingers casually carding through his sweaty hair.

Chase is out of his house before his brain even processes what he’s doing, inside his car, driving to Jonah’s building in a blur of hatred and desperation. When he parks in front of the tower, the phone buzzes and he doesn’t hesitate to read it. Not anymore. Never again.

You lost visit privileges. Leave the drive with the guard at the door and keep in touch. 

With Liam’s screams still ringing inside his mind, forever trapped there, he doesn’t dare do anything other than what he is told. He gives the guard the flash drive, and for the first time in years, he prays. Because if anyone notices the most important files missing… he can’t bear the thought of what could be done to Liam in retribution. 

(next)

[hoaxsen]

| a/n: first time doing a fic on tumblr, heh. enjoy. :)

| word count: 1,519

| pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x reader

| tw: character death, and blood.

Curse. 

Demon. 

Abomination. 

King of Destruction. 

The Ruler of All Curses. 

He's heard it all, and has taken it in with great pride. A wicked grin on his face as he wrecked any kind of havoc he could. Most of it out of pure boredom. 

But that was centuries ago. 

Now he resides in his domain, in the mind of a young boy he's taking as a vessel. Since who else in their right mind would casually eat one of his fingers? This was certainly the best he could get, along with that. This boy, Yuuji Itadori, was probably the most compatible person he's come across. 

The rest died. 

Sitting on a throne of skull and bones, Ryomen Sukuna was lost in thought now. Taking trips back down memory lane that dates back to over five hundred years ago. Probably landing him at the age of five hundred years old, or maybe four hundred and ninety-nine years. Who knows? He doesn't care for the age, just the person that occupied his time back then. Before his fingers were scattered off to the winds, labeled as special grade curses. The most dangerous things deemed on the face of the planet. 

" Sukuna! " 

It was like he could almost hear their voice again. Playing aloud in the back of his mind, as almost if they were still with him. Vividly and clear, as if you were right behind him. 

" You did this to me! You are what they say! " 

Brows furrowing as one memory in particular started to play like a movie in his mind. His fist clenching at the thought, the leg that was crossed over the other started swaying back and forth. Black claw like fingernails rapping and tapping against his leg. He wanted to forget, but he also wanted to remember. The look of fear on your face that day, burned permanently into his mind.

It couldn't seem to ever leave him. 

_______________________

" My dear, are you going to wake up at all today? It's nearly noon! " 

A top and bottom ruby red eye opened to take in the appearance of the one disturbing his slumber. A slow sleepy like grin adorned his face once he saw, an arm reaching out to drag them down to join him in the plush sheets. Their resistance was futile, as all it took was one gentle tug in his own strength to bring them down. Four arms reaching out to cage them close to his chest. A hand in their hair, two around their waist, as the last one rested on the small of their back. The demon hummed contently, curling around his adoring lover. Their small squeaks of protest to get up was falling on deaf ears, a chuckle rumbling from the deepest pits of his chest. 

" What's the rush? Let me enjoy this. Leaving that wretched village behind, nothing is stopping me. " 

This was wrong, he was so vulnerable at this point. 

As their head popped up, with a pouting glare to meet his smirking features. Crimson red eyes clashing with e/c orbs, they had to be his favorite shade of the color. 

" Stop staring like that. It's weird. " 

" I might be a curse, but I know when to stop and appreciate things. " 

Though it seemed like he didn't stop enough to appreciate anything. His pride started to overtake his being, wanting to cause more destruction and chaos that the world has ever seen. Of course it didn't sit right with you, it never did. Never when he came back, sometimes covered head to toe in blood. Dragging in behind a new souvenir, the chaotic outbursts that came along with everything else. Tied off into some gorgeous, yet twisted bow, and handed to you like a birthday gift. 

" I can't keep doing this. " 

Stopping Sukuna dead in his tracks, a brow being arched to show his confused state. 

" Can't keep doing what? " 

" Being in love with a demon. " 

One, ouch. Two, what? Why speak up now of all times? You knew what he did, yet stayed silent with him the entire time. Like what the cursed man did was of any hindrance in this. It must be an off day, or clearly he misheard. 

Oh how he wished it was that. 

" Look at this! Look at you, yes you're a demon sent straight from the depths of hell. Yes, you do whatever it is you want. " 

Where was this going? 

" But I can't sit here and be apart of this! I was already shunned by my people for just saying ' I love you ', I've tried to ignore what you've been doing for so long. But I can't, Sukuna. I can't! You parade the innocent towns for nothing, not a drop of revenge, or anything against them. Just wake up one day and choose this sicking, maddening violence! " 

" Where is this goi--? " 

" I'm leaving. " 

It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, all four eyes he adorned started to narrow and glare harshly at your figure. As if he was searching for a hidden message behind this. 

" Say that again. " 

" I said. I'm leaving you. " 

Like hell you were that day. This might just be a phase, something you'd get over in the meantime. What the humans would call these days, ' a misunderstanding between couples. ' 

" No. " 

" What? What do you mean no? You can't make a decision like tha--! " 

" No. You're not leaving me, you are to remain here. " 

His voice was increasing, he could remember the small hunted traces of fear in your eyes as he took his steps forward. Causing you to take a few steps back, which he had no care for. 

He remembers the screaming, yelling, breaking of a few small and meaningless objects. 

Though what he vividly remembers was, once being close enough, one of his arms shot out and a hand grabbing your face. Black nails gently leaving indents prickling into your s/c skin, his harsh words that soon brought tears to the colorful eyes he used to love so. 

Out of his fit of rage and this argument going on for how long it did, Sukuna's grip did tighten. Ignoring the protests of him hurting you escaping from your lips. Something just snapped inside of Sukuna, from angered yelling and screaming, to now just seeing red. Red was somewhat of a favorite color to him, how the blood drips from a corpse. Or how it pools from under one, didn't even matter who it came from. 

For this time, of course it did. That same red from the trigger for him to kill, murder, destroy all before him. Sadly, it was you. 

Nails digging into your cheeks, your hands on his wrist trying to pry him away was not enough. Weak against him, nothing against him, futile against him. It was enough to show the signs of prey struggling to stay alive once they know that they've been cornered by their predators. As his nails dug into your skin, blood started dripping along with the mix of tears from pure fear running down the nail. Coating it this coat of red with a shining clear. 

That was taken as another sign, go in for the kill. As all signs were evident and shown, Ryomen Sukuna did. The sickening crack of a neck being broken filled the air, followed by a dead silence as he came back to his senses. The curse pulled away, as if his hand was being burned. Your body hitting the floor with a thud, the culprit standing and staring right over it. No emotion on his face, no looks of being teary eyed or angered. 

This would be the first time Ryomen Sukuna felt numb and powerless. A first in  where he didn't know what to do, a first for everything there was. 

Nudging your body with his foot, Sukuna was not ready to accept the fact that he's done this. Quick to deny it and shut it down. 

Denying how the spark left your shining eyes.

Denying how the red blood that dripped from the small cuts in your skin was of his doing. 

Denying that you were dead.

He's never disliked the color red so much before now. It took years for him to finally stop lying to himself and accept the faults. 

He killed his love, and he knows it oh so well now. 

_____________________________

Resting in his domain, still have not shed a single tear. Not even on that day, nor the next day after that, or the next day after that. Sukuna roamed around with the knowledge of him doing such a deed. 

What would it have mattered right? Your lifespan would not have lifted up to his, still. 

He had no right to take it. 

" Are you happy with yourself? King of Curses? " 

It was like he could still hear you. Taunting him, throwing him off balance. The one life he wishes that he didn't take.  Though, you can never change the past. 

With all the cursed magic running through him. 

Ryomen Sukuna sometimes wishes he could. 

[thebigqueer]

"Broken Internally." - Nico di Angelo

Summary: Nico meets Eros for the first time in his dreams.

TW: Blood (lots of it), Gore, Internalized Homophobia.

Notes: This was inspired (again lol) by this art by @rottingold

Word Count: 2840

Read on AO3

Nothingness.

Nico suffocates in the empty enclosure. His heart echoes with fear and anxiety as he faces the looming darkness before him. Nico knows this is just a dream, but that doesn’t quell the anxiety that roils in his stomach. It feels too real to be a dream. And, compared to other dreams he’s had, there’s something more dangerous lurking in this one. A sharp chill rings against his skin as he waits for something to happen.

“Hello?” he calls, his voice meek and small in the emptiness. “Is- Is anyone there?”

For a moment, only his words echo back. They ring in his ears, thrum in his head, and after a few seconds, the sound of his own voice becomes too overwhelming. A dull ache erupts at the back of his mind and he stumbles to his knees. His fingers grapple for the sides of his head, if only to ease the pain, but it does nothing to soothe him.

“Please,” he whispers desperately, “make this stop.”

After another moment, the ringing stops. Nico’s chest heaves as he tries to calm the lingering pain.

Then a sudden brightness erupts across his vision. Nico’s eyes burn at the rapid change, and he blinks quickly to try to adjust to the light. As his sight clears, Nico reaches for the sword at his side. His skin burns with anticipation. Straightening himself, he demands, “Where am I? Who’s here?”

No body shimmers to life; no voice illuminates itself. Nevertheless, Nico senses the tingle of life in his core. He feels a presence lingering somewhere around him, lurking in the darkness.

“Invisible?” he murmurs. “That’s alright. I know you’re there.”

Because he doesn’t expect anyone to answer, surprise shocks his spine when a deep, resonating voice says in amusement, “Awfully confident in yourself for a thirteen-year-old boy, aren’t you?”

Nico whips his sword out in front of him and holds it threateningly. A grimace stretches against his lips. “Who are you? Show yourself!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the voice says. “Not yet, at least. It’s a tad too early for that.”

“Or are you just afraid of showing yourself?” hisses Nico. “Alright, coward. I can fight you even if I can’t see you.”

A deep, amused laugh bounces in the whiteness. At the sound of it, Nico’s skin prickles with rage and humiliation. How dare this voice mock him? Doesn’t it know who he is? Doesn’t it know that he could kill him?

“Oh, child,” the voice purrs, “are you always so defensive? Not every problem can be solved by fighting.”

“Then what do you want with me?” demands Nico. “Why am I here?” Despite still being anxious, the demigod lowers his sword. The scowl against his features stays fixated, though.

“Calm yourself, child of Hades,” murmurs the voice. At the sound of its words, the anxiety in Nico’s blood simmers down; a new coolness pours over him, and his eyes turn heavy-lidded. His scowl turns slack. “I’m only here to talk. No need to get worked up.”

Underneath his skin, anxious energy thurms and boils in Nico’s blood, but the sound of the voice suppresses his excitement. “Talk,” he agrees dazedly.

Though he can’t see the owner of the voice, Nico can still sense the flickering smile as it speaks once more. “I have not met someone as emotional as you in a long while,” the voice notes. “It has been a while since a mortal has attracted me with such attention.”

Nico wants to ask what it means, but when he opens his mouth to speak, only silence puffs out of his chest. He stands alone and silenced in the brightness, awaiting the presence’s next words in anticipation.

“You are an interesting case, di Angelo,” hums the voice. “So full of hatred. So full of misery. Have you met Akhlys yet? She would love you.”

“Who is Akhlys?” asks Nico, whose voice has somehow returned.

The voice laughs softly. “Oh, well, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough. But that’s unimportant right now. There’s something else I want to show you.”

A fleeting sensation overcomes Nico. His chest expands and turns icy cold as a rush of air flows in. Then, suddenly, all that oxygen cuts itself off. Something falls from his chest and slips through the thin air. Panic washes over him as he realizes something’s wrong.

He isn’t breathing. But, somehow, he’s still alive.

Nico’s hand grasps for his chest as bursts of anxiety pour over him. An empty, cold sensation billows in his chest, and he can’t help but to feel as though something has been stolen from him internally.

But he is solid. His shirt stands out in the overwhelming brightness, absorbing all the light and turning into a color darker than black - darker than even Hades’ soul.

When he looks down, though, that’s when he discovers what’s wrong.

Before him floats a red, pulsing ball. Blue and purplish-red stems hang from either side of it. For a moment, Nico swims in confusion at the sight of it. What is it?

His stomach flips over on itself when he understands.

This is no ball. This is no toy.

Nico opens his mouth to say something, but with the lack of air and his own disgust overwhelming his senses, the demigod stands there choking on his silence.

The invisible being chuckles. When it speaks once more, Nico notes the amusement still lingering, but there’s a colder, sharper ring to it. Something cruel lurks within the voice.

“Your heart,” it murmurs, almost hungrily. “That is your heart.”

Goosebumps prickle against Nico’s pale skin. Tears sting his eyes as he continues to gape at the organ in front of him.

How? he mouths. His hand grapples with his T-shirt and he tugs it away from his body. When he looks inside, pale skin gleams up at him - as well as a hole right where his heart should be. The gap in his chest seethes with hot, smoking anger.

He holds a hand over his mouth in shock and disgust. Nico’s eyes spark with fear, roil with darkness, gleam with trepidation. For the first time since he’s found himself here, pure terror envelops him.

What do you want from me? he mouths. A tear blooms in the corner of his eye and trails over his pale cheek, creating a sparkling crevice against his porcelain face. He looks like an old china doll, the kind that has seen centuries of abuse and neglect in the shadows of an attic. No longer worth anything, no longer beautiful. Only a souvenir of the past.

Though the voice remains invisible and outside of Nico’s grasp, he can still sense its merriment at the demigod’s confusion when it speaks again. “I am merely here to open your eyes, my child,” it purrs. “You are writhing in your own hatred. It’s time you face the source of that hatred.”

Silence spills into the space between Nico and the presence. Anticipation sparks against the son of Hades’ skin and scorches his throat, and he wants nothing more than to fall to his knees and let this misery end. But, by some miracle, he’s still standing upright. Perhaps the presence is keeping him up with some power. If that’s the case, Nico wishes it would stop. He just wants to spill to the white ground and lay there forever. He wants to cower in this eternal brightness, away from all that pains him.

Suddenly the whiteness around him dissipates. A wave of turquoise filters around the enclosure like water bleeding into paper, and Nico stares up in awe at the beautiful color bursting around him.

As the familiar sea-green hue bleeds into the overwhelming brightness, Nico’s body goes slack. He still stands upright, but a certain daze overwhelms his senses. The scent of salty air infiltrates his nostrils, and his blood slows its pace underneath his skin. Nico’s mind wanders higher and higher, floating above some pool of water in his head, and a new intoxication comes over him. His eyes glaze over as he gives himself up to the high sensation.

It takes a moment for him to realize why that sea-green color looks so familiar.

It’s Percy’s eye.

Percy.

The heart before Nico pulses quickly, and a harsh red color bursts across his face. Hot anger rises up his throat but, as the scene around him begins to shift again, he finds that he doesn’t want to act on this rage.

Why is this happening? he wonders. What is the point of all this?

The heart pulses again, almost insistently, as if it’s waiting for Nico to come to a realization.

And deep inside, Nico knows what it’s trying to say. But he doesn’t want to admit the truth that’s eating at him. He doesn’t want to face it.

The blue-green color dissipates, and seconds later, a new scene forms before Nico’s eyes. A slow-motion movie plays across his vision of Percy, his face determined and stony, his gorgeous eyes storming with an angry energy. The demigod’s sword slashes across a row of enemy soldiers - Skeletons, Nico realizes in shock, just like the ones we fought a few hours ago. - and with each enemy down, Percy’s skin seethes with an even stronger, even more resentful energy.

He’s an angry storm, wreaking havoc amongst those who have wronged him. He’s a beautiful tornado, whirling destruction over each path he crosses.

He’s a gorgeous disaster.

Though Nico can’t breathe, his heart twitches as if he’s just gasped.

The scene dissipates again, and one more slips into place. This one is even more astonishing, even more beautiful than the one before.

Percy’s dozing in a dark room, his body slack against the black wall. Nico recognizes it as the dungeon his father forced him into just hours ago. Guilt seizes Nico’s chest like a vice at the sight of him so weary and exhausted.

My fault, he scolds himself. It’s my fault he was like this. I betrayed his trust.

Even in the darkness, Percy’s skin glows with some kind of comforting warmth. He’s breathing and alive, beautifying all that’s around him. His chest rises up and down as he sleeps. Percy’s beautiful lips part as puffs of breath escape his chest. Dark hair whispers against his eyebrows, brushes against his eyes, but he doesn’t wake up.

Nico’s heart pulses again, but this time more painfully. An angry, yearning sensation stabs the child of Hades in the chest, and, without meaning to, he extends his arm. His pale fingers brush against the other boy’s face, and for a fleeting second, Nico almost believes he can touch Percy without shame.

But the image simply ripples where the demigod brushes his face, and with a shocking realization - as well as an angry burst of embarrassment - Nico understands that he can’t touch Percy. He can’t reach him.

The scene dissolves, and Nico bleeds into the overwhelming darkness. Salty tears sting his eyes and sizzle against his pale skin. His entire body shakes with desperation and devastation, humiliation and adoration.

Percy Jackson. Beautiful, disastrous, torturous Percy Jackson.

A painful sob builds up in his chest, but Nico knows he can’t let it out. He can’t even breathe, much less allow his grief out into the open.

Silence floods through his surroundings. His heart continues pulsing, quicker and quicker with every second that passes, mimicking his fear and desperation.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

It’s a mesmerizing scene. Nico’s never seen a heart thud so quickly before. In fact, he’s never even seen a heart so naked in front of him.

It’s disgusting. But there’s a certain beauty in it, too. It’s amazing how such an organ can shift to one’s mood so quickly.

A painful curiousness comes over him, and once again, he extends his arm out. His gentle, shaking fingertips brush against the heart. Nico jumps back at first, disgust roiling in his stomach at the contact, but, as another stroke of curiosity drowns over him, he reaches out again.

Slowly, tentatively, his soft fingers brush against the pink and red muscle. In the comfort of his cool palm, the heart continues pulsing and beating, almost as though it feels at home in Nico’s gentle embrace. A cool sensation overwhelms his system at the contact. He tightens his grip on the beating heart.

Nico has never been so close to himself before. And, honestly, it’s frightening seeing himself so naked.

The presence’s voice resonates in the emptiness again. “Well,” it murmurs, “that was interesting, wasn’t it?”

Nico says nothing. He simply stares at the muscle in his hand, which thuds against his sleeve.

“At last, you understand what I am trying to show you,” the voice continues when Nico offers no response. “Now it is time to admit it.”

Nico shakes his head. Fear trickles down his spine, chilling him down to his core. Desperation sparks in his dark, misery-filled eyes.

Don’t make me do it, he wants to say. Nico’s stomach roils at the very thought of admitting to such a confession.

“Scared?” the voice asks. “Don’t be, my child. I will help you.” Though no footsteps echo, Nico realizes the presence has lingered closer to him. A malicious aura surrounds the invisible figure as it comes closer.

“Percy Jackson,” it whispers softly. “You hate him, is that what you think?”

Nico nods, swallowing thickly.

“But, my child, you are mistaken,” the voice insists. “It is not that you hate him. No, in fact, you hate how he makes you feel.”

Nico’s lips tremble as a broken sob tries - and fails - to escape him. His body quakes as though the world around him is falling apart. Nico’s fingers press the heart tighter, if only to find something to hold on to in the destruction of his dignity.

The voice makes a disapproving cluck. “You are still holding back. Listen to me, child of Hades,” it says desperately. “The only way to move on is by admitting to your feelings first. Confess, child of Hades. Admit that you are attracted to Percy Jackson.”

Nico presses his other hand against his pale, feverish face. More tears slip through the cracks between his fingers, and his eyes bloom with hot pain.

He can’t do this. He can’t be here.

The voice speaks again, this time harsher, colder, more persistent. “Nico di Angelo, you are only subjecting yourself to more pain.” The heart in Nico’s grasp lingers closer to him, pulsing brighter and hotter in his grip. Under a control that isn’t his, the son of Hades’ fingers tighten their hold over it.

“It is up to you,” warns the voice, its tone eerily dangerous. “Either you mend your heart through my help, or you break it with your own hatred. What do you choose?”

Nico gazes at the general direction of the voice. His mind seethes with anger, with grief, with humiliation and chaos. A cacophony of voices swim across his mind, voices of people he’s loved, people’s hated, people who he has no memory of. He’s a ticking bomb, ready to destroy all that is in his path; he’s a ball of chaos, prepared to melt anyone into a puddle of insanity.

He knows he can’t see the presence. But, as his fingers tighten their control over his beating muscle, he hopes his eyes meet the invisible figure.

For a moment, all is silent. Only the sound of the thudding heart echoes in the emptiness.

Nico’s fingers press into the organ. Despite the fact that the heart is no longer in his chest, he somehow still feels the hot pain. The torturous sensation encompasses him, shocks his fingers, travels up his arms. Hot tears continue pressing against his eyes, but there’s something strange about these tears - they have a thicker consistency, a metallic scent.

They aren’t tears at all. They are tracks of blood, blooming from his eyes and traveling down his skin. The red tears trail down his cheeks, leaving cracks of crimson along his porcelain face, and drip down to his chin. A bead of red explodes over the ground.

Bleeding internally. Broken internally.

Nico’s vision swims in red. Something warm oozes from the hole in his chest, and he realizes it’s more blood. His shirt blooms with sticky warmth.

“Do not do this,” urges the voice. “You are only making the process harder.”

Nico’s teeth sink into his bottom lip as his fingers press harder, harder, until they dig into the inside of the muscle. His fingers jab through; warmth seeps through his nails. Nico’s chest aches in sympathy as the pressure envelopes him.

The voice sighs. Then it laughs coldly, murmuring, “You will not hear the last of me, my child.” The air shifts; a cold draft slithers against Nico’s back. After a moment of silence, the voice breathes in his ear, “I am Eros, the god of love. I will see you again, and next time, I will not be as lenient.”

The heart bursts.

Nico jolts awake.

[muffindaddystyles]

𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃

Author note: Mention of drugs, sickness and blood (if you're not comfortable with it don't read it) . It mighty be heart warming fluffyyyyyy.

You're his kitten. No matter the consequences you're. Cause even in his anger sometimes (which's rare and it's on the silly go-to's) he still sticks to that pet name because he met you like that under the bus stop's shelter in a heavy rain offered you an umbrella (while you were huffing and puffing like a kitten annoyed with the weather), walked you home, had a tea with you and some chocolate chip cookies. Been bestfriends from that year and there isn't a red light to your guys wild adventures—but he's been having a rough time recently. Had a cruel heart shattering breakup from a relationship that he thought was a never ending dream (she brought him happiness in a weird way he couldn't put into words) indeed it tightened your chest but his happiness's most important to you. To overcome it he's been scribbling notebooks over notebooks with lyrics that screams he miss her and the sex for the most part of it. It breaks your heart.

He's usually the one to melt all over you, give you forehead kisses, cuddles you when your periods are the bitchiest, makes you brekkie if he stays a night, runs you a bath and sometimes brings you pomegranate berried candles (he lies that he got them as a gift, he's one hell of a liar). He takes care of you with so much gentleness and helps you with study after wiping your tears and reassuring you telling you how proud he's of you. It made you guilty sometimes 'cos if you'd be in camille's place. . .you'd never be able not to get jealous. She was cool with it. Fills you with another curiosity that maybe she treated it like a fling.

He was devastated. Knocking on your door feebly. Then the moment your small confused body was under his weary gaze, boom!! It crashed upon him like a pitch storm and he fell to his knees tucking his head in your armpit crying his heart out. At that moment you felt his pain radiating to you and twisting your own stomach with a dagger, it was insufferable. He gave out no-deep scrapes but not to freak your bones muttered that he lost her. Eventually his bottled up emotions seeped into hues infront of you by passing week and to your littlest of information you got to know that they didn't ended up well in some perspectives so their relationship turned out to be a downfall. So As, you do with your girlie best-friend when she have a breakup you did it with Harry too. It didn't included feral clubbing (you left that part to his mates) but watching sappy movies that could fill your ice-cream bucket once you eat it whole, doing homemade face masks, playing drunk uno and knocking on your neighbours door to run way at last, dragging his arse to museum and in all of this you ended up convincing him to adopt a kitty (she lives with you thou).

The roles have been reversed completely!

He's been living at your flat for five weeks now. It's fading his usual cheekiness and the itch to annoy you every second he gets. Instead, it's just eating, spending bits of hours with you, going out with his mates and coming back to crash at your couch padding in your room in the wee of night demanding a warm coddle from you and that his back hurts from the cruelty of that single spring popping from the leather, staying with him when he'd wrench his stomach out in the morning. He's sensitive. His heart's soft that's one of the reason he gets hurt real quick, you admire that about him and reminds him that it's one of his qualities you're totally in love with. You're gentle with him. Giving him space and time to recover. Going with him at his friend's birthday little get together not drinking at all knowing one would have to stay sober as he chugged red wine staining his hawain shirt and when he clumsily poked his pink tongue out lazily to reach for the cigarette in her hand you tugged him back into you before he'd burn his tongue with sparkles announcing it's time to head back home and he'd be a pain in arse (a beautiful one though because his antics makes you all mushy) when he pretended to steal sandwiches from the table hiding them under his shirt saying that "'m pregnant with twins and it's hard to carry them" while you dragged him outside making him wear his coat like a stubborn toddler. Making him cupcakes sometimes, playing with his fluff of curls while he reads the book she gave him. It hurts. But, it subsides down with his single amiable glance that tells you he needs you. He always had. He always will. You give him extra forehead kisses and pecks on cheek while leaving for UNI, because it's irresistible to give dust to his pouty sulk.

It's seven in the morning when he tumbled through your door (has a key, you even brought his clothes and toothbrush from his house—he even uses your strawberry scented shampoo and body wash) his nose tip blushed matching his cheeks, eyes pooling with haze and hair poking in every direction. You were studying for a class you've in an hour. When you saw his irirses blown out you arched your brow putting the cup down beside your thick book, to mingle his sadness he's experimenting different fun wild things (told you bout it and you even called Mitch to take care of him).

"How many am I, pet?" You asked walking towards him seeing him struggle to get out of his vans and your giggles echoed into coldness when he peers down at your crouched state with his gold fish-y eyes, "dunno. . . but ye'r seem like. .like a-a sunflower floatin' in me head." His lips molding around his each word agonisingly slow drawl and his voice hoarse and scratchy. "You need rest, bambi." You got him out of his jeans and socks knowing he despises to sleep with layers on. "I'll be back with you in some hours. Hmm? Then we'll snuggle into blankets, you me and. . .salsa the pussy cat." You have to control your laugh everytime you take the kitty's name (Harry's worst at giving names you were horrified when he once joked that he loves chelsea boots so much he could name his daughter Chelsea) He whines at that nodding his head but not loosening his grip from around your wrist while you tucked him under your baby green patch work quilt. It's like his brain and heart can't decide how to choose.

On your way back you got Jeff's call asking why Harry isn't picking his phone his own voice resembling that of Harry's and you know he'd be looking shit at the time. Harry was still snoring out like a bulb in bright day on his tummy and you shook him gently at first but when he didn't woke up you had to be a bit harsher. "Harry wake up pet. . . Jeff's been calling ye for since." But, not even a hum in response so you placed your finger under his nose checking if he's even alive. Gratefully he was just sleeping like a literal corpse (he argues that he isn't that bad of a sleeper but in fact he is. Everything around him would burn down and he wouldn't even change a side).

It was seven in the evening when you were preparing for dinner when he woke up grumpy. His nose scrunched up, lips quirked up as if he tasted something yucky and his gait jello. You eyed him quietly even when he came in kitchen to drink water.

"Jeff was callin'. . ." You quipped stirring the veggies before pouring soup into a bowl and sliding it his way on the counter, "I know bombarded me phone with calls—" He gruffed spooning a mouthful and you flinched when he tried to cool it inside his mouth with "hawahhoohaha" little sounds (he knew it was hot, he's just an impatient leech).

"Stop being a gremlin. He told me ye' aren't writing, leaving everything like a cliffhanger neither you're attending the meetings he calls you at. . . I think you're done with your mourning it's time to do what you actually love and is there for you. Your music." You frown seriously trying to put some senses into his forever high brain. He drops the spoon back and dips his brows frustratedly, pinching his eyes shut.

"Fuckin' hell. Stop being my mama!" It's not the first time you guys are arguing and you're not gonna take it to heart. You stood up towering him and jabbing your finger to his chest, "you better stop filling your system with drugs before eighteen year olds come to you thinking you're a drug dealer—" He snickers at that a total mocking one (you know he's doing nothing hard it's just shrooms in the safe environment otherwise you'd have never never allowed him) but still you had to bring him back to his line so it was necessary. "Piss off." He mutters still slurping on his soup and you left him there with a loud smack on his head, "Wanker."

You care about him. Always did. Always will. He's the love of your life. Even your love has nourishment of just water and lacks sunshine from your sun it's still there into existence, how could you see him like this? Wasting his precious time and energy. It's impossible.

All you heard before going to deep slumber was the tinsy creak of your main door after that it was silent and darkness until now your phone buzzed under your pillow resonating Niall's tired words. You were a wreck havoc fumbling for your coat and wallet, covering pathway to tube with shivering legs hallucinating that everyone's eyeing your fiddly self with judgemental stare even though there're few.

You rushed to Niall's doorsteps knocking like a maniac, "where's he? Is he okay? told ye—" You pushed him aside marching inside to look for him. "He looked fine, he's a strong guy y/n they took him to hospital." You snaps your neck raising your brows.

"What the fuck, d'ya mean hospital!?" Your heart hammering in her ribcage overthinking the worst scenarios. "Take me there. right. fuckin' now." You tell him firmly not caring even if he's high too. Niall leads you to his car heating it up in the first beat taking glances of your petite body leaning against the glass with lips sucked in, eyes watered and legs constantly on bounce so placed his hand atop your knee giving you reassuring squeeze and a genial smile.

Your pink cheeks warming up with the heat of hospital radiating your way and loud growl left your chest when your blurry vision cleared to the sight of dishelved Harry sitting on the bench outside of ER, his irirses weary, mouth stuffed with cotton and has few scratches of rashes on his elbows otherwise he's fine. With each step of yours towards him something kept breaking inside you like you're walking on the nails and it's ripping you raw. He raised his head timidly hearing footsteps and when his eyes fell over your worried state panic flashed over his features and his only gaze turned you a puddling emitting heavy sobs within you before reaching towards him. The reality of situation dawning upon you because from what Niall told you in the car that they were high trying to have some fun, drove around neighbour hood and Harry jumped out of the window and bit his tongue between his teeth resulting in heavy bleeding a deep gnash (the fuckin' dumbstick he is).

"I hate you. I hate you so fuckin' much! you bastard." You tried to shout at him but the voice that came out of your mouth was that of mice as you threw harsh blows at his chest, bottom lip jutting wet and salty tears tricking down. He wraps his hand around your wrists ushering you closer down to his chest speaking muffled, "'orry." causing you to grunt angrily into the crook of his neck.

"Sorry my ass!" When you tried to pull back he tightened his hold round your neck snuggling you warmly to him with a hum. Jeff came back with medicines and when he parted his lips to speak in his defence you ignored him wiping your tears with the heel of your palms muttering a, "I hate you guys." The drive back was silent and the walk to your flat too, you passed by him to lock yourself into your room (you wouldn't because of the fact you wouldn't be able to sleep if not sure he's okay few feets away from you). When Harry attempted to roll his tongue to make some words nothing came out but a hiss making you spin, "'s okay we'll speak in the mornin'." Saying this you headed to bed and when you were bout to turn the lamp off he was lurking at the foot of your bed with a pillow in his arms smushing his face into it and squeezing it close to his chest gesticulating you that he wants a cuddle.

"Only 'cos y're adorable." You muttered moving your bum to make space for him suppressing your cooe when he grinned showing nothing but snow cotton, fuckin' hell being this cute should be illegal! He snapped his finger to call Salsa and she instantly galloped to shrink into his side while you spooned him. You woke up to the running tap and the time you were stretching under your quilt with yawns he padded out looking healed than last night.

He got a little lisp as he spoke, "can we talk?" You nodded knuckling at your sticky eyes criss-crossing your legs. "'Forgive me kitten." He continues, "sorry fo' mistreatin' ye' last night." You shake your head not realizing tears are dropping down your collarbones.

"Please. . .I don't wanna be a party-pooper in your life. you can live your life to finest but not at the sake of your life Harry– and. . . and if you're trying to invade the feelin' of sadness with all of this I don't approve it. What bout me? dunno what'll do if somethin' will happen to you, pet. S'not fair to me. is it? Just. . . love y—" your confessions cameflouging with sobs.

"Oh baby. ." He immediately cradled you in his embrace trying to soothe you with 'sorrys' and 'I'll never do somethin' like that again, promise'. Smooching slobery kisses all over your face and when you gazed up at him attracting him closer to your clean warm features all he did was peck the corner of your lips tenderly pulling away to pat your hair with a sigh.

"So. . .ye' love me." He teased you and you rolled your eyes grabbing his chin with your fingers, "show me your tongue." biting down your laugh when he retorted misheviously, "hmm. Wanna kiss it better?" Blowing him off with a remark that he's an utter pervert hiding the fact it splashed crimson to your neck.

"Mind makin' me poor self some brekkie?" He pouts and you giggled pecking the corner of his burgundy lips getting a timid smile in return, "in trade of?" He hip-checked you straddling Salsa over his shoulder and grabbing her little paws to expertise her in some dancey-dance moves.

"Mind bloggin' orgasm–ique dinner." He cackled loudly at the end when you shook your head in fake disappointment at him and he clinged by your side helping you to make some breakfast.

Think so you guys will figure it out.

[dershloop]

Title: Burning Pile

Words: 2410

Ship: Lava

Warnings: depressive episode, mentions of worthlessness. i wrote this based off od how my own depressive episodes tend to happen/come about so this might not be accurate to everyone so dont start yelling at me if its not "how depression is for you" anyone who says that will be blocked. its more of a comfort fic to get me through the last week of school.

Cole yawned, throwing his bag on the floor and rolling his shoulders, feeling them pop satisfyingly. Finally, he was home. Rubbing his eyes; cracking his neck and feeling his limbs come alive once more. He hated long car rides, they cramped his limps and make him travel sick. That’s the problem being tall and large; the back of cars wasn’t made to accommodate you. Jay kept telling him to learn to drive himself, but he didn’t have the time. Being a ninja was surprisingly hard work, with little time in between to learn to drive. He’d just have to make do.

“Oh Cole, hey dude, forgot you were coming back today,” Jay said, walking into the room, leaning against the counter, a strange look contorting his face, “How’s your dad?”

“Not too bad. Still pretty insistent on me being a good singer. Apparently, I just have to ‘dig deep. Something tells me he’s never going to back off with it,” Cole said with a laugh, Jay laughed, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, “Are you ok man? You seem… I dunno. Off,” Jay’s face fell, his mouth scrunching nervously.

“You’re gonna be so pissed I didn’t tell you but… Kai’s not ok, he-”

“Wait what? What happened, where is he?’ Cole said frantically, his face falling in panic.

“I don’t- I don’t know dude! He’s barely been leaving his room, I don’t think he’s showered all week and I’ve barely seen him eat anything. We’ve tried to give him stuff and made him drink some water but-” Jay didn’t get a chance to finish, Cole pushed past him, dashing to his boyfriend’s room. From what he could gather, this had started a week ago. When he’d left. He hadn’t had a depressive episode in months now; had him leaving been the catalyst for all this? He was sure he’d been careful, he’d texted him every day. Even if they hadn’t called, he hadn’t asked. Besides, his dad didn’t know about them yet, he didn’t want to accidentally come out because of a phone call. Either way, if Kai had been in a bad way he hadn’t seemed like it. Apart from not asking to call, he’d seemed relatively normal. No slow replies. No giving texts. Nothing.

Cole softly knocked on Kai’s bedroom door, though it seemed pointless. No matter the response, he was going in there.

“What?” A hoarse voice called from inside the room. Kai’s hoarse voice. Cole opened the door, staring in awe at the state of the room. It was… messy to say the least. Clothes were scattered across the floor, making it so you couldn't even see the carpet. Mugs and glasses and bowls and plates littered around, just extra obstacles to the already high-staked trek to Kai’s bed.

“I’ve told you guys, leave me alone!” Kai yelled pushing himself up from his flat position on the bed, twisting his head around and staring at Cole, slightly gone out. His face fell when he realised who it was, staring at him solemnly from his position in the doorway.

“You’re back,” He murmured, twisting himself around fully so he was looking at Cole. Properly this time.

“Yeah,” Cole said softly, stepping carefully around the rubble and decay scattered all over the floor, sitting down on Kai’s bed when he finally got to it, “What… What happened?”

Kai shrugged, not looking at Cole. His hair was slicked back, matted to his skull with grease. Pimples beginning to form on his face, the lack of skincare irritating his delicate skin. Cole would be lying if he said he didn’t look gross and smell just as bad, but that didn’t put him off. Obviously, something was wrong, what kind of a boyfriend would he be if he didn’t do anything.

“I just… started feeling empty. I don’t care about anything and I have no motivation to do anything but… I didn’t want to be a burden, and I knew that if you suspected anything you’d come back so I just played it cool. Half expected one of them to tell you but… I guess they didn’t want you cutting your trip short for me either,” He muttered sadly, still not making eye contact. He couldn't. Not in this state. He was disgusting. His breath stunk like he’d just eaten something that’d been dead for a while and he probably stunk like something that’d been dead for a while too. Despite barely leaving his bed, his face was gaunt, his cheekbones beginning to further protrude, this time to an unhealthy degree and his eye sagging, purple eyebags hanging down as if weighing down his entire soul.

“Oh firefly,” Cole mumbled, opening his arms and wrapping them around Kai’s shoulders and pulling him close, feeling as Kai slowly relaxed into his body, not moving his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Kai said softly into Cole’s chest.

“For what?”

“Not telling you. Lying to you.”

“I don’t care. You have nothing to be sorry for, you weren’t in the right headspace and still aren’t. But I’m home now, so I’ll help you get out of this. Have you been taking your meds?” Cole said, still speaking in hushed tones. He wasn’t 100% sure why, but it seemed to be comforting to him, so he continued doing it.

Kai shook his head slowly, knowing he was about to get lectured.

“Ok, that’d explain a lot. Let’s start with that then,” Cole said simply, standing up and looking down at Kai.

“What?” He said, confused as Cole looked down at him expectantly.

“Come on. I’m taking you to take your medication,” Cole stated, holding out his hand, “If I bring ‘em to you, you’ll not feel any better.” Kai sighed and took his hand, letting his boyfriend’s strong form pull him out of bed. He slumped over slightly, his legs barely able to keep him standing. Letting his arm hang limply, his hand barely holding Coles, they walked out of his room and to the kitchen. He wasn’t 100% sure he was even in the room with him, his mind fuzzing in and out of focus from his surroundings. One moment, he was in the kitchen with his boyfriend. Next, he was in his head, letting his thoughts run wild. The latter was less than ideal; especially without the prescribed dosage of antidepressants in his system; but he didn’t have the energy to care.

“Ok,” Cole said, putting 2 small pills down in front of Kai along with a cup of water, “Take them.” Kai nodded, letting go of Cole’s hand and picked up the tablets, sloppily placing them in his mouth and swallowing them with the cool water. It felt heavenly, rolling down his dry throat and even drier tongue, giving them a new lease of life.

“Better?” Cole said softly, taking Kai’s hand back in his own. Kai shrugged, leaning against Cole and closing his eyes.

“Don’t bother going back to sleep on my arm, there’s more,” Cole continued, firmly but lovingly. Kai knew it was for his own good but… he just wanted to get back in bed. There was an immovable weight on his chest, dragging him down and increasing the effort to keep himself upright. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could actually stay stood up.

“Ok, have you had something to eat today?” Cole asked, taking Kai’s other hand and looking at him softly. Kai nodded, looking back, but not quite meeting Cole’s eyes. His heart twisted with every beat in his chest; his stomach turning in knots. He knew he couldn’t give in and let him go back to bed- he’d never feel better while he’s in this state- but the look in his eyes. It was so… void. So tired. So… emotionless. Yet full of emotion. Twisting and turning. Hurt, anger, sadness and an utter lack of anything positive.

“Ok. In that case, only 2 more things. We’re gonna brush your teeth and shower,” Cole said, Kai’s face falling in desperation. Evidently, he didn’t want to do either of those things; but Cole knew full well that he wouldn’t do it of his own volition.

“Please, firefly. We can watch a movie or something after that. I just… want you to feel better. I’m doing this for your own good. Plus, I’ll help you. I won’t get in the shower with you, but if you need help with anything I’ll stay in the bathroom while you’re in there. Just… how about this. Just wash your hair. Then I can put some deodorant on you and wipe your face. Are you ok with that?” Kai nodded in response, eliciting a small smile from Cole.

“Good. I’m so insanely proud of you Kai, for working with me here. I know how hard it can be when you get like this so I know how much it’s taking for you to do this right now. So, I’m insanely proud of you for actually going along with me,” Cole said sincerely, raising his free hand and resting it on Kai’s cheek. Kai leant into his hand and smiled a small, but tired, smile, raising his own hand and resting it on top of Cole’s.

Walking towards the bathroom, Kai took a reluctant breath and stepped inside, Cole following soon after. Cole turned the water on, pulling the mildly disgusting shirt off of Kai and tossing it into the laundry basket, letting him take off his boxers. Slowly stepping into the shower, Kai winced as the hot water hit his skin, cascading down his body and washing any surface-level grime away. His arms were lead; his eyelids hanging heavily over his eyes. He couldn’t do this.

“Cole,” He said weakly, not moving from under the warm water, “I want to get out.”

“Come on Kai, don’t give up now,” Cole replied softly, moving towards the shower and opening the curtain, seeing the exhausted look in his eyes, “I’ll wash your hair. How about that?” Kai nodded slowly. Cole smiled, pulling his own shirt over his head and discarding it to the side, reaching around his boyfriend and grabbing the shampoo, making sure Kai’s hair was wet enough before applying any. He slowly massaged it into his skull, looking down from his hair to Kai every so often to give him a comforting smile. Kai sighed contently, feeling the first bout of comfort; and even the first sliver of joy; in days. The feeling of Cole’s fingers on his head… knowing he was here and he was ok and alive. He was alive. Cole was here. The steady scratching and rubs keeping him grounded.

Quickly washing the shampoo out of Kai’s hair and turning off the water, Cole smiled, taking Kai’s hand again and leading him out and towards the sink. Cole grabbed his robe from the back of the door, bundling Kai up in it to assure he stayed warm. Cole laughed a little, looking down at Kai’s short, thin figure wrapped in his large robe, like a baby in a teenagers coat.

“What?”

“You just look really cute. You know like when a little kid just gets out of the shower. Their hair’s all slicked back and their bathrobe is about 10 sizes too big?” Kai blushed and crinkled his brow indignantly.

“I do not look like a child, not all of us were blessed to be 6 foot you know,” He huffed, pulling the robe around himself tighter.

“Yes, you do! You’re my cute little baby boy!” Cole said enthusiastically, noticing the smallest of sparkes light up in Kai’s eyes again as he glared indignantly at his boyfriend. With a laugh, Cole grabbed Kai’s toothbrush, putting some toothpaste on it and splattering it with water.

“Open up baby boy!” Cole said with a grin. Kai rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, allowing him to quickly brush his teeth. Grabbing a face wipe from the cupboard, he gently scrubbed the grease off of his boyfriend’s face. Then, finally, he grabbed a can of deodorant and sprayed him all over, banishing any thought of odour away from their minds (and bodies). Cole grabbed his shirt from the spot on the floor where it had landed earlier and pulled it back over his head.

“Hair drying time now,” Cole said, grabbing a clean towel from the cupboard and laying it over Kai’s wet hair, gently beginning to rub it, dragging the worst of the moisture out. Kai sighed in contentment, feeling himself shake and move as Cole dried his hair, the rough towel feeling heavenly as it dragged along his scalp, massaging any worries or unnecessary emotions away. Now all he felt was a deep feeling of peace and quiet.

“Damn, I’ll rub your head more often, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” Cole said with a laugh, continuing to softly rub his head with the towel, unable to contain his laughter at the small noises of contentment coming from Kai. Eventually, he took the towel back off his head and smiled down at his boyfriend, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Now we just need to get you some clothes, then it’s dumb movie time,” Kai smiled, his lips softly curving into a smile; a real one.

“Can I wear your clothes?” he said softly, his voice still hoarse from barely speaking this last week.

“Of course firefly, it’d be rude of me not to!” Cole said lightly, taking his hand and leading him to his room, immediately grabbing his largest hoodie and sweatpants. He helped Kai put them on and stared down at him in awe.

“You. Are. So. Damn. Small!” Cole said happily, looking at his boyfriend’s small frame being taken over by his large clothing.

“No, you’re just too big,” Kai said indignantly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of the hoodie.

“You know I mean it lovingly, you just look too cute in my clothes,” Cole gleamed, his face lighting up in pure delight. Kai said nothing, just let out a small giggle, his face glowing crimson.

“Now come! My sweet little baby boy! We shall watch dumb movies made for people 10 years younger than us until you feel better!” Cole exclaimed, sweeping Kai off his feet and holding him bridal style, carrying him towards his own room where he dumped him on the bed, turning on the TV and preparing for at least a day of watching weird movies and enjoying each others company.

[gotnofucks]

Parts of Whole

(No images are mine, but I did edit them. If anyone knows the owners, do let me know so I can credit them)

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes, Sam x Steve (platonic)

Summary: Steve would see his OTP’s ship sail, even from across the grave.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: mentions of death (nothing graphic and not very sad), language, angst + fluff

A/N: I saw the trailer for tfatws and I just had to write this. This is also my entry for the amazingly talented @sagechanoafterdark and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork challenge (pic prompts above). Thank you for hosting this and being wonderful. The beautiful dividers are made by @firefly-graphics . Huge thanks to @the-inquisitive-hobbit for beta reading and giving me her very valuable insight.

 It never felt right in his hands. It was his to wield, his to claim, and yet it never felt more foreign. The concentric red and white circles with the star embedded in the blue center glared back at him from the mirror. It had been months, but Sam had never taken this shield with him to any mission. He couldn’t.

It felt starkly cold in his hands, lifeless and materialistic. It was Steve’s symbol of strength and hope. It used to hang on his back, warmed by his body heat. Now, it seemed like the shield only existed to remind him of Steve’s absence. This shield was made for Steve. It belonged to him, it always would. How could he ever stand where he stood? How could Sam ever be the captain that Steve was, take this shield that held more power than a crown on a head?

He put it down again, covering it with a cloth before shutting the door on it, leaning heavily against it. He missed him, he missed him like a throbbing wound that refused to heal. If only he could see the sun shining on those golden locks again, have those baby blue eyes smile at him again. What wouldn’t he give for that.

He didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until a heavy hand was on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Sam didn’t open his eyes, just let the weight of it anchor him, let it bring him back from the chaos that was his mind. The cold metal hand felt like a relief against the overwhelming burden of grief that penetrated his being whenever he touched the circular shield.

“I miss him too.” Bucky said, and Sam opened his eyes. Bucky’s eyes were blue too, slightly grey where Steve’s were green. He could see himself reflected in them and he straightened, looking away, hiding his weakness.

This mantle of Steve Rogers that he was supposed to assume, this legacy he was supposed to take forward felt like cheating. His friend, his mentor, his brother was no more. How could people just expect him to move on? But they did. It didn’t matter he was emotionally compromised, it didn’t matter he wanted to drown, like Steve nearly had at the Potomac all those years ago. The world didn’t wait to create one disaster after another. They needed Captain America then, and they needed him now. Like Fury said, trouble always sticks around.

Sam cleared his throat, making sure he was collected before looking at Bucky again.

“Everything loaded in the Quinjet?” He asked and Bucky nodded. They’ll be leaving for another mission soon, and Sam was glad he’ll have the sounds of battle to drown the war in his heart.

“Sam.” Bucky said once Sam started leaving. “Take it.”

Sam looked at Bucky over his shoulder, his gaze equal parts pain and accusation. Of everyone, Bucky shouldn’t be the one telling him this.

“I’ll meet you in the jet.” He said firmly and quickly marched to his room, shutting the door behind him. He hated coming back to the compound, the lingering memories of their fallen warriors whispering in his ears every time he was here. He preferred his little house in the woods where it was only Bucky and nature with him.

He took out his tactical gear, laying it on the bed and getting out his wings when he heard it.

“You are punishing yourself Sam.” Came his voice.

It was this moment where Sam broke, sliding down the wall and letting a few tears escape. He was gone but he never left him.

“How could you have been so selfish Steve. Why?” He asked, looking up to glare at Steve. Even dead he looked so handsome, so put together with his hands on his hips. He didn’t look like the old man they had buried a month after the battle. No. He was their Steve, their young, beautiful Steve who left them behind.

Sam didn’t know why he saw him. He didn’t know if this was a ghost or a creation of his mind. To him, it was Steve. It was Steve and it was a beautiful suffering to see him again every time he reappeared.

“I am sorry.” Steve said and knelt before Sam, looking apologetic. Sam didn’t try touching him. Not when the first hundred times his hand just went through him.

“You are? What for?” Sam asked. “For leaving behind your shield and title, for leaving me behind, or for abandoning a best friend you promised to walk till the end of the line with? What are you really sorry for Captain?”

Steve didn’t answer, he never did. He let Sam take out his hurt and anger, and Sam cried. In the privacy of his walls, he cried. He was so tired of pretending to be strong, to be happy. He hid behind his jokes and smiles, fooled the world which was so ready to move on while Sam was buried somewhere with Steve in the cemetery, half dead, half alive.

“I am sorry Sam, for everything.” Steve insisted. “But you need to stop punishing yourself for mistakes you never made. You can’t live this way.”

Sam snorted a laugh for even in death Steve was a humanitarian bastard. He didn’t come back to haunt his enemies; oh no the centenarian came back to help his friends. Why didn’t people see that he could never be Steve? That Sam Wilson can never, won’t ever be the Captain that Steven Rogers was.

“I hate you so much Steve, I really do.” Sam whispered, wiping his nose and getting up. Steve watched him getting changed, no barriers of shame between them from that side of the grave.

“You always said that. I have never heard a ‘I love you’ more pronounced than I do in your hate.” Steve commented with a soft smile, it widened when Sam gave him a half-hearted glare. It was amazing how they could go from having a painful conversation to joking, but that was how it worked with Steve. He knew Sam, he knew everything that made him laugh and made him smile.

“What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have a tea party with Gandhi or some other do-gooder like you in the afterlife?” Sam grumbled, tightening the belt in his suit and attaching his wings to it. Steve chuckled, sitting on the chair and watching Sam with a relaxed smile.

“They are too uptight for me. Mother Teresa tried to adopt me the other day” Steve said, and Sam laughed. His wings were the colours of American Flag, a new change. He grabbed his weapons and fixed Steve with a look, hating and loving him for being so him.

“I’ll see you after the mission?” He asked tentatively. He would never admit it, but he feared one day Steve would disappear again. It was crazy, it was not normal to see dead people, but Sam would rather have a shadow of Steve than just a memory.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me Sam. Always.” Steve said, a sad smile on his face when he saw Sam leaving without the shield.

Sharon greeted him in the jet, talking to Bucky and the other agents over the blueprint spread before them. Sam nodded his hello, snatching the half empty pack of Cheetos from Bucky’s hand and munching on it.

“So now you want to steal the show and my food. You’re such a dick Wilson.” Bucky said, poking Sam in his shoulder and Sam poked his tongue out at him, a gap-toothed smile on his face. Their previous somber interaction would not be mentioned, filed again like so many inside the neglected corner of their minds.

“Bitch, I paid for grocery this month. This is technically mine.” Sam replied, making Bucky scowl. Sam knew there was a 70-30 chance he’ll find his bed crawling with centipedes when they got back home.

“Charming, boys.” Sharon remarked rolling her eye. “What are you guys doing for Christmas? Must be nice to have a holiday.”

Bucky shrugged, sharing a look with Sam. It was their first Christmas without Steve, a 6 feet 2-inch void always between them.

“Nothing special. Stay home, watch movies, eat a lot.” Bucky said. A lot remained unsaid, but they rarely needed words to communicate anymore. Sam bumped his shoulder in his, offering him some Cheetos to munch while he silently grieved.

“Well, I’ll leave my address here for you to deliver your presents to me.” Sharon joked and Sam laughed softly, mentally making a note to get her something.

“Alright then, and I’ll just casually remark that my phone and laptop are both in serious need for an upgrade. Just saying.” Sam said. “Hey Buck, what are you going to gift me?”

Bucky crumpled the empty chips packet before sending Sam an amused glare, flipping him off.

“A ball gag, so that I can hear something other than your stupid voice.” He snarked.

“Damn dude, at least ask me out for dinner before getting kinky.” Sam winked and Bucky swelled with indignation, pointing an accusing metal finger at Sam.

“I cook dinner 3 times a week you bastard, and I don’t even burn it!” He protested making Sam laugh louder than ever. He loved making Bucky mad, teasing him into an incensed rage that usually ended in a pillow fight or sometimes with Sam’s head in a headlock.

They straightened as they saw the incredulous looks on the new agents’ faces, baby agents as Bucky liked to call them. It was times like these, when both the battle-hardened veterans missed their lost teammates, the inside jokes that were shot around with as much precision as bullets and arrows on the battlefield.

They got to work again, discussing the mission and its details with the other agents. Sam would run point on scaling the territory and fly down to the enemy base with two agents while Bucky would guide him from up here and take out potential threats. They just needed to secure a technological innovation and it didn’t seem too like much work. As Sam poured over the briefing, his eyes subconsciously went over to Bucky who was fiddling with the equipment, making sure everything was in working condition.

If someone had told him a few years ago that Bucky would become his anchor, his solace in his darkest hours, Sam would have punched them in the face. But as it happened, they came to lean on each other, the only unchanged part of their older lives, the only person who made each feel that were still real, still alive. They were still annoyed by each other, but the arguments were more of a routine than an actual expression of resentment.

He didn’t realize he was staring until someone deliberately coughed behind him.

“He is so pretty, isn’t he?” Steve asked, though it was a rhetorical question. Bucky Barnes was a beauty, from his blue grey eyes to the new golden streaks running through his new arm. Sam tried not to notice the way Bucky’s armor clung to his muscles, his face looking almost boyish as he forgot the world and focused on his task.

“I thought you said I’ll see you after the mission.” Sam muttered, taking care that no one noticed him talking to air. He hurriedly looked away from Bucky when their eyes met, a heat rising in his cheeks that made Steve chuckle.

“I said I’ll be there when you need me. And it seems like you do.” Steve commented. He took the seat next to Sam, so near that Sam swore he could feel the heat emanating from his body.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Sam snapped, the smug look on Steve’s face making him wish he could touch him if only to be able to punch him. Stupid blonde best friends with perfect teeth and beautiful smiles and an ass that looked just as round after being dead.

“Oh, I think you do.” Steve said, shifting his gaze to Bucky. “I liked his hair longer but the shorter is going well with the new arm. Don’t you think?”

Despite himself Sam found himself nodding, admiring Bucky as he’d done a thousand times before. He liked his longer hair too, but without them falling in his face, he could see him better. And the arm. The new arm that gave Sam tingles in the most delicious ways, it had him flustered for three whole weeks after Bucky first showed up with it on him.

He didn’t know when it started, but Bucky had somehow become the most beautiful person to Sam. From the way he would make him the perfect mug of coffee to their little kitchen garden they started to keep themselves busy, he loved everything about him. Those moments where he would sense the turmoil inside Sam and silently slip his hands in Sam’s to assure him that he was there, these little moments endeared him even more.

Sam had lost count of how many times Bucky and he had woken up on the couch, sharing a blanket, both silently afraid to sleep alone. He had forgotten how many times he had spent kneeling at Bucky’s bedside, coaxing him out from a nightmare. Every moment spent in each other’s company, laughing, joking, mourning together, it brought them together in a way Sam had never imagined before.

“Tell him” Steve said, a wistful look on his face as he looked at his best friend. “He feels the same. I know.”

Sam shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Bucky with reluctance. He’d already lost so much, he wouldn’t lose Bucky too. Not because he has a minor, very minor teensy tiny crush on him.

“Man, shut the hell up.” He snapped.

“Who’re you talking to?” Bucky called out from across the jet and Sam’s head snapped up, mouth parting a little before he mumbled out a ‘no one’ and focused on the papers in his hand. Sometimes he felt guilty for keeping Steve a secret, for keeping Bucky away from his best friend. He knew Bucky cried into his pillow at nights, he knew because he’d held him then, tried his best to fill the cracks that appeared in the walls of Bucky’s heart as well as his own.

But then, Steve chose to come to him. Chose to talk to Sam. And he was afraid that telling anyone would disturb this magic, whatever this was. That he would once again have to bury Steve. So, he kept quiet. He buried this secret in the deep recesses of his mind, the initial worry of insanity long forgotten in favor of seeing his friend again.

“Do you even have a plan?” Bucky questioned, watching him prepare for the jump. Sam had a job for every agent accompanying him, but the idiot had not outlined anything for himself.

“I do.” Sam said, and when Bucky looked unconvinced, he lightly punched his shoulder. “You’re my plan, my backup. I scream, jump down and get my ass back up.”

Saying this, Sam jumped, the exasperated look on Bucky’s face imprinted behind his eyelids as his wings flared out and he floated.

Everything that could have gone wrong on this mission did, and Bucky was hysterical even before Sam’s call for backup came. He was going to kick Nick Fury’s ass, but before that he was going to bring his friend back in one-piece and chew him out for giving him a heart attack.

Sam’s wings took most of the weight of the fall, so he came back with a sprained ankle and bruises. Bucky was getting increasingly irritated when they came back home, their little secluded spot in the woods welcoming them with the smell of pine and wild grass.

“It’s not my fault Fury gave us shitty intel.” Sam groaned, “You can stop being salty now.”

Bucky remained quiet, the silent treatment going for almost the third day in row and Sam was at his wits end. It was stupid and ridiculous because Bucky almost always pulled the stupidest moves in the field, like stopping a bomb with his hand or listening to the villain’s evil monologue.

Steve was grinning as he leaned against the edge of the table, and with every suggestive wink he gave Sam, the new Captain America resisted the urge to throw a vase at him.

“He cares so much that he’s speechless.” Steve commented and Sam flipped him off. Dickhead has been giving running commentary of the thick tension in the air since they came back, and Sam was on the verge of calling for an exorcism.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky asked suddenly and Sam was so glad to hear him talk again it took him a while to understand the question.

“What?”

“This thing, looking somewhere and talking to yourself, or – I don’t know, you keep being weird.”

“You’re the one with the cyborg brain and arm and I’m weird” Sam tried deflecting. Bucky frowned, coming closer to sit near Sam, leaving abandoned Christmas decorations scattered around them. Clint had delivered it for them but neither had the heart to put them up.

“Sam.” Bucky deadpanned, and Sam sighed, resting his head back and avoiding eye contact. He looked at Steve who was still smiling, his beautiful face like a slap on the face and caress on the head at the same time.

It was more difficult than one would assume to explain. Why did Sam see Steve, and why did only Sam see Steve? Was it a hallucination, or his spirit? Would Steve go away if Sam confided in Bucky? Would Bucky be mad he didn’t tell him? There were so many questions, so many doubts, and yet as Sam looked into Bucky’s eyes, shining like sapphires, he couldn’t keep it to himself.

“Its…Its Steve.” He said, looking down and playing with the soft lint on his blanket. He didn’t hear Bucky say anything but moments later a metal hand gripped his, stopping its nervous movements.

“Steve?”

Sam gulped, the coolness of Bucky’s hand in his warming his heart, swelling it with hope and an emotion Sam was too afraid to acknowledge.

“Steve, he – he talks to me.” Sam confessed and tentatively looked at Bucky whose eyes were brimming with emotion. He expected him to call him crazy, or to get mad, but what he did not expect was Bucky to shift closer and take Sam’s other hand in his too.

“He talks to me as well.” Bucky said. Sam was breathless, both by the slight smell of cinnamon that came from Bucky and the way Bucky came even closer, close enough that he could count the flecks in his eyes.

“He does?” Sam asked and Bucky nodded.

“I don’t know how he does it with you, but whenever I need him, miss him, I feel him speak to me from here.” With this Bucky placed one of Sam’s hand on his chest, the beating heart under thumping strongly. Unconsciously, Sam’s hand caressed Bucky’s chest, mapped its muscles and the jagged scars that bulged under his left shoulder.

“I see him.” Sam admitted, unable to look away from Bucky. “I can see him”

Tears blurred his vision until they dropped on his cheeks, sliding down, and forging a river down, leaving a trail of hurt, betrayal, and loss in their wake. Bucky’s hand came up to wipe them away, staying on Sam’s cheek, playing with the soft hair on his chin.

“I see him too. In you.” Bucky said and they didn’t know who moved first, but their foreheads were touching and then their lips met in a chaste, hesitant kiss. Sam melted into his touch, molding himself to fall into Bucky’s larger frame, his arms circling his waist and pulling him closer. They kissed as if they had walked a hundred miles just to kiss each other, as if they had saved every last breath just to live this moment.

“I – I, Buck –” Sam began but Bucky shushed him, pulling him into another soul-searching kiss before pulling away.

“I know.” He murmured.

As Sam relaxed in Bucky’s warm embrace, lost himself in the blues of Bucky’s eyes, he noticed Steve from the corner of his eyes. There was sadness on his face, the pain of a goodbye in the creases around his eyes. But when he smiled, he smiled with genuine love and happiness. The two parts of his soul he’d left behind seemed to have found themselves, and with them Steve felt himself complete.

“Till the end of the line pals.” He whispered.

Sam never saw Steve again.

Their Christmas was not very festive in terms of decoration. There was still too much pain, too much suffering in their hearts. Steve and Nat’s pictures beamed at them from the walls, and Sam sent Pepper the confirmation that they’ll come over for New Years.

It was a beautiful thing about human nature, about how one rises from the ashes to become stronger. Sam and Bucky lost someone, but they found each other. In the shared grieve of their hearts, they discovered the love long buried in there, eagerly waiting to be spread and shared.

They stayed warm under the blanket, wearing oversized sweaters that they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing outside. The sweaters may or may not have been Steve's; the soldiers mutually decided to hold Steve close in this way. Sam’s heart was tripled in size, as his head rested in the crook of Bucky’s neck, the smell of chocolate and cinnamon melting together to make a little world of their own. Sam wondered if he would mind growing out his hair again.

“So, what did you get me?” Sam asked, knowing he wouldn’t mind if Bucky did get him that ball gag. Part of him almost hoping for it.

“How rude Wilson, here I’ve given you all of myself and you still thirst for more.” Bucky mocked and Sam tackled him into a hug, peppering kisses all over his face.

“Bitch, you’re lucky I lo-” Sam cut himself off, suddenly shy. The smirk on Bucky’s face melted into a smile, a hungry look in his eyes.

“Say it” Bucky ordered. And Sam did. The Captain obeyed his Sergeant without hesitation.

“I love you. I love you so freaking much! I got us the cheesiest gifts.” Sam said in excitement. He pulled away long enough to grab his gift from under the bed, giving it to Bucky to open. He watched with his bottom lip between his teeth as Bucky opened the box to pull out two chains, each dangling with a rectangular pendant.

Dog tags.

Their dog tags. Bucky raised his eyes to Sam’s, fisting his hand in Sam’s t-shirt to pull him closer into a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth and moans, hips grinding as passion merged with love and emotion.

“I love you!” Bucky growled and kissed Sam again. “And I got you chocolates that look like dicks. I didn’t know this would happen between us when I bought them, and I was going to give you a hint with them.”

Sam’s laughter echoed around their small house, the dopey smile on his face remaining intact as they ate candy and burnt sparklers into the night. In the colourful light that played on their faces, they held hands together, filling the void that was there with the warmth of each other.

“We can use the shield as a sleigh until you’re comfortable using it as a weapon.” Bucky mused and Sam smiled into his neck, thinking of a certain blond asshole who may have gone away, but will never be lost.

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[sithroyal]

     @reyjustrey​: “You don’t find it miraculous that two people like us forged any kind of bond?”

     What was she searching for? Kylo turned and frowned at the visage of Rey in his rooms. He hadn’t seen her for a while but he couldn’t say this was surprising.

“What part of it is supposed to be miraculous? Light and dark hold a connection to one another. There cannot be one without the other - an age old concept, I suppose.” He turned back to the desk and continued typing before he sighed and glanced back at her. There had to be a reason she was asking. 

Closing the datapad onto the keyboard, he turned in the chair and crossed his arms and legs. At least he was dressed this time, casually but it was still something. “Do you mean our bond in particular or what I assumed you meant? Judging by the fact that I cannot see your surroundings, I’m also thinking you’re on a planet I’ve not yet been. Go on then. Tell me about your theory on how the Force saw fight to attach you to a creature like myself.”