#((to not do so; to put them through all that heartache and then NOT give them that happiness after all that?))

[eowynstwin]

clawing at the door

ghoap x reader. jealousy. bisexual soap. bisexual ghost. emotionally constipated ghost. manipulative soap. ghost likes em thick. lightly explicit. MDNI. ao3

When Ghost first sees you and Soap together, his jealousy is hard to parse. He doesn't quite understand what he's feeling.

On the one hand, Occam's Razor. Simple explanations usually prove the truest. Soap is his boy, has been since Las Almas, and you are an interloper in their hard-won dynamic. Ghost does not absorb others into his life lightly, even less so then he allows them to strongarm themselves beneath the mask. He doesn't particularly like people, isn't really fond of their tendency toward abject mortality.

Soap's strong arms are a rare exception. And Ghost has nearly died too many times not to admire a nice round ass when he sees one—the kind that glistens and quivers beneath the weak spray of a communal shower. Some part of him has always kind of supposed the sergeant had been showing off specifically for him, too, when he dropped trousers and moaned like a whore when the hot water started flowing.

The boy certainly dogs his steps like that's the case.

Then, you: showing up on base one day, Soap's hand spread wide and possessive on the small of your back. Jewel-bright eyes following your every move. Blush high and feverish on his boy's cheekbones every time you throw half a smile his way.

So it's envy. So it's a crush, unrequited.

Simple problem, simple solution. Getting over by getting under and all that. There are apps for every heartache, and plenty of hard-bodied gym rats out there tripping over themselves to bottom for a brute like him, who can actually throw them around.

Not two minutes after making his profile (military, six-five, top), likely candidates start filing themselves into his inbox. Some part of his ego is gratified, at least. The influx of taint pics certainly confirms for him that his vanity, in fact, is justified, even if the last thing he wants to see is some random stranger's asshole.

He messages a jacked brunette with brown eyes and dimples, who led instead with a comparatively tame "hey big guy," and lets him pick the bar where they'll meet up.

And it's...fine.

The guy is fine. Equally as attractive in person as on camera, with curly hair and short stubble. He's there before Ghost, and directs an easygoing smile at him when he drops onto a stool at the bar beside him.

He doesn't even question the mask, though his eyes linger on it, half-lidded, the kind of way that suggests he's figuring something out about himself that he hadn't considered before. Not the first time it's happened for Ghost.

The problem with fine is that Ghost can't work up even much of a chub talking to him. The guy has a nasally voice and a friendly attitude that makes Ghost's teeth go numb from the sweetness. When they sequester in the dingy pub bathroom, the guy goes to his knees like an angel, and Ghost's cock actually softens more, thoroughly bored already with the notion of this random guy’s mouth on it.

The problem is, Soap would bust Ghost's balls for this.

Sure, Ghost could get him on his knees. Soap is a good boy, he'll take an order if he's given one. But he's also a fucking brat, and the moment Ghost pulled his cock out Soap would immediately start complaining about it.

Too big, too ugly, not hard enough, and when was the last time Ghost washed that fucking thing? How romantic, LT, making him suck Ghost off in a pub bathroom, hasn't he ever heard of good old-fashioned wooing?

He'd complain, Ghost knows, because he'd want, more than anything, for Ghost to just cut through the bullshit and shove straight down his throat. He'd run his mouth because the only thing he wants Ghost to do is shut him the fuck up, for once, and make him actually work for the praise they both know he's so desperate for.

And Ghost would give it. If Soap earned it. The fight isn't about winning.

This guy isn't putting up a fight. He tries nicely, licks all over the limp-hanging head and pale glans, but Ghost ends up making some excuse—Dad has cancer, Mom died, the usual—and leaving him there still on his knees.

He deletes the apps. He can invest in a fleshlight, and find some porn star another with enough of a resemblance to be functional.

Less of a hassle for everyone involved.

Problem solved.

And then he encounters you again.

You're walking out of the supermarket one night, with two huge bags over your shoulders, digging through your purse out in front of you. He has to stop you with one hand on your shoulder to keep you from running into him.

The evening is warm; your shirt is a thin camisole with little elastic straps. His palm meets your bare skin, and finds it soft and dewy with a little sweat.

You look up, startled, blinking as if caught in a bright light.

"Oh," you say, "Ghost, hello!"

"Bird," he grunts, wondering why he's surprised that you recognize him.

He pulls his hand away, and still feels the imprint of your body heat in its grooves.

"Sorry, I should have been looking," you say, smiling. It's a friendly expression, open and innocent—a daisy's petals spread on a clear day. "Johnny's making beef wellington tonight when he's off duty, so I went and got everything."

Ghost frowns. What kind of boyfriend lets his girl do so much heavy lifting?

He helps you carry the bags to your car. He's jealous, not an asshole. You thank him with a breezy laugh when he closes the hatchback—

"I'm sure Johnny wouldn't mind if you stopped by for dinner," you say, folding your arms across your ribcage. It presses your tits together as you cup your elbows in your hands, pronouncing the line of your cleavage with an uncomfortable eloquence.

"Busy," Ghost says immediately, staring very hard into your eyes. "Thanks."

You shrug, unperturbed. "Anytime. Good night!"

He stands in the carpark for a full five minutes after you drive away. He thinks he can feel his own heartbeat throbbing through the palm he touched you with.

Well, then.

Bereft of any opportunity to get to know you—as if it would even be appropriate—Ghost stalks social media until he finds you through Soap's Instagram. Your account is private, so he sends a follow request, expectations very low that you'd allow someone with a blank sky for a profile picture and only one post on their feed to follow you, "sghostriley" notwithstanding.

But—you do. And suddenly he has a decade of material to peruse, beginning with your last year of secondary school and leading all the way up to present, the most recent photo one of you and Soap at the top of some mountain, grinning at the camera in your hiking gear.

You don't post very many pictures of yourself, he finds. Instead you document interesting food you eat or make, crafts you're working on, nice scenery you caption with variations of "saw this on my walk today :)". It's all very domestic, sweet in a way without being saccharine.

Soft, really. Totally separated from the hard edges of the world he and Soap routinely throw themselves along.

And yet, honest in a way that makes your version of the world feel more like the real one, and his and Soap’s the nightmare.

Ghost hasn't been with a girl—let alone been interested in one—in years. It isn't that the attraction had ever died, exactly. Rather, it simply became so complex, so twisted in on itself and trapped beneath years of grown-over scar tissue, that he'd made an unconscious decision never to confront it. He ignored Price’s stories about his wife’s antics at home, Gaz’s perennial heartbreak after strings of failed dates—

Soap’s lurid bragging about the women he’s taken home from various pubs.

(Were you one of those pub girls?)

So, here it is now, confronting him instead. Reminding him, in a pretty camisole, just how very much it exists.

In the carpark, there’d been a bead of sweat slipping down your neck as you’d waved him goodbye. He finds himself wondering how long it would’ve taken to slide all the way down to the slope of your breast, if he didn’t catch it with his tongue first.

He continues through your Instagram. The majority of your selfies show up, he guesses, after the beginning of your relationship with Soap.

Earlier pictures of you make your discomfort obvious. You don't like the way you look, and it shows in the tension on your face when confronted with a camera lens. But later on, you gain confidence. Your expressions are softer as you show off a new haircut or glasses.

And when the first picture of you with Soap shows up, it's like seeing someone glowing from the inside.

Your head is tucked into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The smile on your face is soft, small and lovely in how little you're clearly thinking about it.

You're happy.

It floors him. A happy girl, settled into the embrace of a man who’s made her feel that way.

Piece of work, he is. Could ogle another man's ass without shame, but present him with that man’s girl and suddenly it upends his entire sense of self.

Some old cunt psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing him.

Ghost skips the apps and, following in Soap’s footsteps, heads back to the pubs.

It’s worse.

Not that he doesn’t have options sidling up to him, that is. It seems like all he has to do is sit at the bar and wait, and women circle their way into his orbit, not really talking to him but letting him know, simply by hovering, that they’d love for him to talk to them. Batting their lashes, laughing near him seemingly at nothing.

Up to him to make the first move then. It seems to him like the rules haven't changed over his long absence from the dating pool.

Therein lay the snag—Ghost doesn't know how to talk to women. Not that way, the way one says without saying it that he'd like to take her home and bend her over the back of his couch. Say that to a man at the right bar and that was his evening sorted, but Ghost has a feeling that won't play as well among people with cat-shaped brass knuckles on their keychains.

He's not much of a talker, period. Soap yaps enough to fill in his side of the conversation whenever they're in the field. And you...well, he doesn't know about you. Ghost has the uncomfortable feeling that he'd try for you, and fail miserably.

The bartender slides a drink in front of him, distracting him from his agonizing. When Ghost gives him a questioning look, he nods in the direction of a table behind him.

One of the barflies has made the first move.

She winks at him when he raises the glass at her. She’s pretty—her dark makeup makes her eyes look angular and mysterious, and her red dress is tight, thin, and low-cut. Her exposed chest shimmers, as if she dusted some sort of powder across her collarbones before making her way here.

Sparkly and colorful, like a lure on a line. Ready to hook something and pull it in.

(Your camisole had been threadbare and lined with cheap, fraying lace. A favorite of yours, probably, something you wore when you wanted to be comfortable, and didn’t care who thought what about it.)

Ghost notices other men are eyeing the woman, and a couple of them send nasty glares his way. That is, they do before promptly averting their gazes once they see what he looks like.

He can have this, then, if he wants it. He just has to reach out and take it.

He feels your warmth in the palm of his hand again. The breeze of your laugh brushes his cheek with a soft touch.

He sends the woman one of her own drink, drops forty quid on the bar, and leaves without looking back.

Another dinner invite comes his way, this time courtesy of Soap himself.

“She told me she met you at the store,” Soap says, one afternoon when they’re in the changing room. “Really nice of you to help her out, LT.”

“You weren’t there to do it,” Ghost grumbles. Soap has been prancing around shirtless for fifteen minutes, faffing about while Ghost waits for him to leave so he can adjust his erection.

“I didn’t tell her to get everything!” the sergeant protests. “She just went and did it herself.” Then Soap’s eyes go all dreamy and stupid. “She’s grand, isn’t she.”

Ghost grumbles again, something noncommittal.

“Anyway, dinner’s at seven, and I’ll send you the address,” says Soap, pulling a thin t-shirt over his head. Ghosts watches him yank the hem down over his pecs, covering the toned plane of his abs.

Soap winks at him. “See you there, Ghost.”

Ghost grunts.

Soap does, in fact, see him there.

He goes out of resignation. Or maybe with some notion that seeing Soap and you together again will finally vanquish whatever sits on his chest so heavily whenever he thinks of the two of you.

Soap’s the one to answer the door. “There he is, the braw wee bastard!”

“Soap.”

From the looks of it, it’s your flat. It’s nicely decorated without being too over-designed, something warm and comfortable and welcoming. When Ghost steps inside, he’s hit immediately with the smell of seared pancetta and garlic.

The sergeant leads him through the flat. Ghost has a bottle of wine under one arm, having remembered at the last minute he should probably bring something along. You’re in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

“Hi, Ghost!” you chirp when you look over your shoulder. “Ooh, good, that’s drinks settled. Hope you like bolognese. It’s all I know how to make.”

“S’fine,” Ghost says, which he would say even if bolognese made him violently ill.

“Ach, you can make more than that,” Soap says, retrieving three long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet. “Pour a nice glass of water.”

You snatch the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and give it a snap in the general direction of Soap’s ass. He laughs and dances out of the way.

“There’s a bottle opener in the island drawer, Ghost,” you say cheerfully. You're pretty tonight, in a loose t-shirt and soft-looking joggers. Casual, like you don't have a guest over at all.

Like it's just a night in with your boyfriend.

Ghost pops the cork as Soap sets the glasses down. After he pours, the sergeant delivers a glass to his girlfriend, and there’s a brief moment of quiet as everyone sips and the sauce on the stove bubbles.

It’s all so nice and normal as to make Ghost’s hackles raise just in anticipation, although he knows there’s no reason for it. Truthfully, he almost hadn’t come. The thought of you and Soap, and Soap and you, in the same room, together, a unit, had made his stomach clench up so tight that he though he might not be able to get any food down.

But some part of him needed to come, and see this. Test out Pavlov’s theory, to see if enough negative reinforcement could break him of this borderline manic fixation. If he could associate Soap and you with romantic nausea, and nothing more, maybe he could finally stop jerking off every night to no satisfaction.

Because he had, in fact, found a porn star who looked like Soap. More tattoos, and a buzz cut rather than a mohawk, but Ghost couldn’t be picky.

The real shock had been to find that this proxy often partnered with a girl who looked enough like you to be uncanny. Too skinny, definitely, but in the one video Ghost had watched of them together, he could have sworn, as the lookalike reamed her from behind—

That it was you looking at him over your shoulder.

Looking at Soap. Or, looking at Ghost, behind him.

At that moment in the playback Ghost had come so hard, cock blazing red and raw in his hand, that the notion had liquified a little. So he couldn’t be sure what the thought had originally meant.

He hadn’t been brave enough to watch another.

“This isn’t bad,” Soap says after tasting the wine. “Nothin’ on a good whisky, mind.”

“Don’t neg your lieutenant, Johnny,” you say. “This is good, Ghost, thank you.”

Hearing Johnny fall from your lips so casually threads something uncomfortable between Ghost’s intestines. Uncomfortable, because he likes it.

Had Soap told you to call him that? Or had you decided on it all on your own? Did Soap think of Ghost whenever you said his name? Did he think of you whenever Ghost did?

“Simon’s fine,” he replies.

It escapes him before he even thinks about it. The same way he’d taken his mask off in Las Almas and looked directly at Soap, wondering in some hidden part of himself if the sergeant was impressed.

“That’s a nice name,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass. You take another sip, closing your eyes to savor it, and then, tilting your head like a little bird in thought, you pour a stream of it from the glass into your pasta sauce.

“Suits him, aye?” Soap says, side-eyeing Ghost with amusement. “Right posh name he’s got for a big scary bugger. Hidden depths, him.”

“Yeah, unlike you,” you snark, stirring.

Soap slaps a big hand over his heart. “Ach, lass, you wound me always.”

“Someone has to keep you humble,” you say, grinning. There’s a charming twinkle in your eyes.

“You gonna let ‘er get away with that, sergeant?”

He surprises himself by saying it. But something in the way you and Soap bicker—absent of the usual sugary drivel, as if the two of you have skipped over the honeymoon phase and stuck the landing right into stable commitment—invites him in.

It's magnetic, almost. It seizes the spinning needle in his brain, draws it to a standstill. Evens out the landscape, so he knows where he can go.

“You’re absolutely right, LT,” says Soap, who smacks his lips, sets his wineglass aside, and bum-rushes you.

You shriek as he captures you in both arms, lifting you off the floor and whirling you around—both the spoon in one hand and the glass in the other fling drops of red and white absolutely everywhere. And then you’re giggling as Soap wedges his face between your neck and shoulder and shakes his head like a dog, probably biting down.

Soap growls; a big smile takes over your face, eyes squeezed shut as you laugh breathlessly. The sergeant’s broad, brown forearms have yours pinned up against your chest, pressing your breasts together.

“Not fair, Ghost!” you exclaim as Soap’s growling noises turn into obnoxiously loud kisses. “No pulling rank in my house!”

“Two against one, hen, you’re outnumbered,” Soap counters. “What should we do with this one, eh, LT?”

“See if I ever cook for you two again, is what!” you protest, still grinning with delight. You kick your legs to no effect.

Soap, also grinning, slots his face back into your neck. You giggle again, complaining that it tickles.

Some incomplete circuit finally connects.

Order given. Girlfriend “punished.”

Soap making you laugh because Ghost told him to.

Not one. Not the other. Both.

“Think we can let ‘er off the hook this time,” he says, feeling dazed.

The pictures on your Instagram, with you and Soap together. The both of you, smiling together, wrapped around each other, standing at the top of a mountain and grinning what the two of you get to share.

Soap's hand spread on your back.

“Aye, sir,” Soap says, setting you down. You’re still laughing a little as you go to check the sauce, and Soap finds a towel to clean up the mess he made. Ghost reels in the meanwhile.

There’s an imprint of Soap’s teeth on your neck.

They wouldn’t be there if Ghost hadn’t sicced Soap on you.

He’s still reeling as you begin plating dinner, and Soap sets out the silverware. When everyone sits down to eat, the sergeant tops up everyone’s drinks.

“I hope you like it,” you say to Ghost, setting his plate in front of him. There's a shyness to you, a verity to your concern for his opinion.

“Oh, he will,” Soap says, grinning.

He trails the tips of his fingers along the back of your arm as he directs that jewel-blue gaze at Ghost. It's sharper than Ghost has ever noticed before—

“The LT has good taste. Don’t you, Ghost?”

And with his other hand, he raises his glass to the knowing smirk on his lips.

a/n: I can't use arse, I know it would be more accurate but I just can't I'm sorry

[heyjudeb]

I'm proud of you - Jude Bellingham

Summary: Comforting sad and defeated Jude after England's loss. Warning: Sad moment, comforting Words: <1k

The referee blows the final whistle.

It was over. England lost. It all happened too quickly. Spain scoring in the last minutes didn't even give us time to process the situation.

I was sitting in the stands with Jude's family. We all shed a tear once the Spanish players started celebrating. Seeing Jude go off to the bench and kick something was a heartbreaking yet scary sight for me. Instantly, I knew that was going to be a sight for the media.

He's not like that at all. He just really wanted this win. With people being all over him, critiquing him, he really wanted to prove them wrong, to make England proud. I couldn't be more proud of him, though. He achieved amazing things in this competition.

As I watched him from afar, I wished I could just run down and hold him, tell him it was okay. I knew how much he had invested in this tournament, how much he had sacrificed. His dedication and his passio were the qualities that made him extraordinary. Those were the reasons why I fell in love with him.

Feeling an overwhelming urge to be closer to him, I excused myself from his family and made my way down to the lower stands, closer to the field. As I approached the edge, I saw Jude pacing back and forth, his frustration evident in every step. When he finally noticed me, our eyes locked. He hesitated for a moment, then walked over.

With his help, I crossed the barrier and immediately fell into his arms, holding his head tightly into my neck. I could feel him shaking from all the emotions he was going through.

"I messed up," he muttered, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

"No, you didn't," I said firmly, my hand gently running through his hair. "You were incredible, baby. You gave it your all." He pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with tears. "It wasn't enough. It wasn't fucking enough." "Hey," I cupped his face gently, putting my forehead against his. "Listen to me. You were amazing out there. You fought so hard, and everyone saw it."

He didn't know what to say. I could see he wanted to let go of everything he was feeling, but the words wouldn't come.

"Just stay calm, baby," I tried to comfort him, reminding him that losing is part of the game and keeping his composure is important. "You can use this to come back even stronger."

I knew my words might not have a big impact on him in that moment. It was all still raw and fresh for him, so I simply held him tighter in my arms. He pulled back slightly, his eyes still glistening. "I have to go, baby. They're going to do the ceremony."

"I know," I said softly. He kissed my forehead.

"I'll meet you afterwards," I told him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He nodded, giving me one last look before turning and walking towards his teammates. As I walked up the stands to where his family was, I felt a mix of pride and heartache.

After England had their moment, Jude walked up to us and hugged his family. They all expressed how proud they were of him, trying not to show any sadness in front of him.

He sat down with his head low. I gently lifted his chin, earning a small, faint smile from him.

"I'm sorry for disappointing you guys," he managed to say to them.

I sat on his lap, holding him close to my chest. It pained me to see him like this, unable to erase his sadness.

"You never disappoint us, Jude," his mom reassured him, holding his hand tightly.

I arrived at my hotel room feeling exhausted and heartbroken for Jude. He had to return to the hotel with the team. There was nothing I wanted more than to have him in my arms and try to ease his sadness, even just a little. I was about to get into bed after finishing my nighttime routine when I heard a faint knock on the door. I opened it to find Jude standing there, his shoulders slumped and a tired look on his face. "They told me it's okay," he said quickly, grabbing my hand and leading me to the bed.

He took off his shirt and sweatpants and collapsed onto the bed, pulling me with him. His head immediately rested on my chest as he hugged me tightly.

"It's going to be okay, baby," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his head and kissing his forehead repeatedly. "These bad feelings will pass, trust me."

I ran my fingers through his hair, knowing it helped him relax and fall asleep. I kept kissing his forehead and cuddling him until I felt his grip around my waist loosen slightly, indicating he had fallen asleep.

"You'll always be my champion, baby," I whispered softly." I love you so much, Jude Bellingham."

[un-creativename]

Yule Ball

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

It was the year 1994, almost four months from that dreadful day at the Quidditch World Cup. Almost four months since she broke things off with Fred after one too many comments from his mother about her and her family.

“What a coincidence seeing you here, Malfoy.”

Clearly, Fred Weasley did not get the memo.

“Coincidence?” She repeats as she raises an eyebrow in a mix of annoyance and suspicion. “The castle has seven stories and yet I’m expected to believe our meetings are pure coincidence?”

“Like I said, coincidence.”

The cocky smirk on his face should’ve aggravated her but after a year of their secret little tryst, she’d reluctantly grown fond of it. But she wasn’t naive by any means, Fred was as cunning as a Slytherin most times—a statement that he very quickly feigned offensive to when she mentioned it. There was no way he kept finding her on accident.

“How do you keep finding me, Weasley?”

“I have my ways,” He grins with a shrug. “But that’s besides the point, what’s this I hear about you hanging out with Pucey? I thought you didn’t socialize with your former affairs.”

Now that piece of information she wasn’t surprised he’d known about, not when most eyes were on her due to the Yule ball being just weeks away. “I’m speaking to you, aren’t I?” She mutters as she attempts to move past Fred.

As she tries to walk away, Fred swiftly blocks her path with a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. “Oh come on now, you know I’m different from him,” he teases as he moves to stand in front of her. “You actually love me.”

As they stood in front of each other, she felt a mix of frustration and longing wash over her. Fred seemed to have a skill at getting under her skin, despite how hard she fought to keep herself in check. She’d taken the plunge into a relationship with him early in their fifth year, something she didn’t or rather couldn’t find in her to regret.

“I loved Pucey.”

Fred's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. He knew her well enough to sense when she was putting up walls. “Right,” he drawls, not at all convinced by her response. “Is that why you broke up with him after three months of being together? Because if we do that math, love, we were together for almost seven months more than you and Pucey. Wonder what that must mean?”

She rolls her eyes, trying to mask the way her heart skips at the reminder of their secret rendezvous. “It means you’re insufferable and persistent, Weasley. But now that’s over, so it’s high time we move on, don’t you think?”

Fred's jaw tightens at her words, his usual playful demeanor slipping for just a moment. "Move on?" he echoes, taking a step closer until she can feel the warmth radiating from him. "Tell me honestly, Malfoy, have you managed that yet? Because I haven't.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and she finds herself unable to look away from his eyes. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that she hasn’t seen since they broke up the day after the World Cup. She’s desperate to ignore the heartache that passes through her. “The Yule Ball is weeks away, it’s the perfect chance to move on. For the both of us…”

Fred's expression hardens at her words, his hands clenching at his sides. "Right, because that's exactly what you want, isn't it? To watch me take some other witch to the ball while you go with someone daddy dearest picked out for you.”

She flinches at his words, the truth in them stinging more than she'd care to admit. "That's not fair and you know it," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, what’s not fair is that you broke up with me without even giving me a chance to defend you against my mum’s accusations.”

Her breath catches in her throat at the raw pain in his voice. She wants to tell him that it wasn't just his mother's words that drove her away, but the crushing realization of how doomed their relationship really was. The thought of watching him defend her against his own mother, potentially fracturing his family relationships, had been too much to bear.

She closes her eyes briefly, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. "I couldn't watch you lose your family over me. We both know how this story ends – a Malfoy and a Weasley, it's like some tragic tale waiting to happen. We would’ve broken up eventually…”

Fred's hand suddenly shoots out to grasp her wrist, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "So you're telling me you'd rather live with 'what-ifs' than fight for us? That's not the fierce witch I fell in love with." His words hang in the air between them, heavy with unspoken emotions and possibilities.

“Yeah well, that witch you fell in love with has a family filled with blood supremacists. So forgive me if I didn’t think we’d last for much longer anyway. So, please—and you know I don’t say that often—just let me go.”

The silence between them stretches, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, “If that’s what you want, fine—but don’t expect me to pretend I don’t still love you when I see you at the ball with whoever your dad chose.”

୨ ✦ ୧

The Great Hall was decorated in its finest Christmas splendor, ice sculptures glistening under the enchanted ceiling. Her burgundy dress robes swished softly against the floor as she danced with Robert Hoglund, a Durmstrang student her father had chosen for her. She couldn’t help but scan the crowd, inevitably landing on a head of ginger hair. Fred was dancing with Angelina Johnson, his usual cheerful smile in place, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. When their eyes met across the dance floor, she looked away quickly, tightening her grip on Hoglund’s shoulder. The music swelled around them, but she barely heard it over the thundering of her own heart. As Hoglund led her through another turn, she caught a glimpse of Fred whispering something in Johnson’s ear, making her laugh.

She forced herself to look away, reminding herself that this was how things had to be. The weight of her family name felt heavier than ever on her shoulders as she continued to dance with Hoglund, mechanically following the steps she’d been taught since childhood. Each twirl seemed to move her further away from what her heart wanted, but closer to what was expected of a Malfoy.

“Miss Malfoy?” Hoglund called in his thick accent, pulling her from her thoughts. “Would you like to take a step outside? You seem…distracted.”

She forces a polite smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Fresh air would be lovely, yes,” she responds, allowing him to lead her towards the entrance. As they walk, she can’t help but feel Fred’s gaze burning into her back, and she silently curses herself for still being so aware of his presence.

The cool night air hits her face as they step out into the courtyard, providing temporary relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. She takes a deep breath, trying to clear her mind of the ginger haired twin. Hoglund stands beside her, maintaining a respectful distance that annoyingly makes her miss Fred’s casual invasions of personal space even more.

Hoglund clears his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “You know,” he starts with hesitation, his accent thick with uncertainty. “I can tell your heart isn’t in this. Perhaps we should call it a night?” The suggestion, though politely delivered, carries a layer of understanding that makes her relax.

She nods, feeling a mix of relief and shame at his perceptiveness. “Thank you for understanding,” she manages, her voice barely above a whisper. As Hoglund bows and turns to leave, she catches a flash of movement near the entrance to the Viaduct courtyard, and she hates the way her heart stutters when she recognizes that familiar silhouette lingering in the shadows.

Fred steps out of the shadows, the moonlight catching his features in way that makes her unable to look away from him. His dress robes are slightly disheveled, his bow tie loose around his neck. “You had me worried for a second there, Malfoy. What’s a bloke too think when the witch he loves leaves a ball with another guy?”

She stares at him, her heart racing at his sudden appearance. “You should be with your date,” she whispers. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making it harder for her to maintain her resolve as she takes another step towards her.

“She’s more interested in George, which is great for me, I’m more interested in blond Slytherin witches anyway.”

She hates the way her heart flutters at his words, once again putting her mind and heart at war. “Must you be so persistent?" she asks, wrapping her shawl tighter when a cold breeze blew past, trying her best to feign annoyance though she’s sure he doesn’t believe her.

“You love me for it,” Fred replies, taking another step closer until they’re merely inches apart. His fingers brush against her arm, and she can’t help but shiver–though whether from the cold or his touch, she’s not entirely sure.

Her gaze flickers down to his lips before she can stop herself, fully aware of the twitch of a smile he does when he notices. “Freddie,” she whispers, his name a warning and a plea all at once, but he’s already leaning in, his forehead resting against hers. In this moment, with the distant sounds of the ball fading into the background noise, she finds her carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble a lot faster than she would’ve hoped. “Why’re you so hard to get rid of?”

“Because you’re impossible to forget,” he murmurs against her lips, his hands coming up to her face. “And clearly you don’t want to get rid of me yet, you would’ve hexed me by now if you did.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her resolve weakening with every passing second. The familiar warmth of his touch, the sound of his voice so close to her–it was all becoming too much to resist. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s tilting her head up, closing the gap between them as their lips meet in a kiss that feels like coming home.

Time seems to stand still in this moment, the world around them fading into nothing but background noise. His hands thread through her hair, careful not to disturb the intricate updo she'd spent hours perfecting, while her fingers grip the lapels of his dress robes. When they finally break apart, both slightly breathless, she can see the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

“Fancy a trip to the Room of Requirement? Because personally, I think a certain Princess owes me a dance.”

She can’t help but laugh, the sound mixing with distant echoes of the ball. “Contrary to Draco’s behavior, Malfoys aren't really royalty,” she says, but she’s already reaching for his outstretched hand.

Fred’s grin widens as he tugs her closer. “Well you’re royalty to me,” he says, pressing a quick lingering kiss to her temple. “Now come on, I’m owed a dance after bravely watching you dance with some Durmstrang git for over an hour.”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

©un-creativename : All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

Don’t forget to reblog and like

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

[slxtarchive]

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ... after the night of the grammy’s, billie comes to you for consolation — and of course — you offer that and much more.

꩜ … you had finally opened the door to your and billie’s LA home, feeling the warmth of the house wrapping around you instantly. because you haven’t been able to check your phone, you wanted to catch up with billie asap about the night she had because you knew it was a big deal to her.

you kicked off your shoes setting them aside and removing your coat. you then made your way upstairs and toward your bedroom and found billie sitting on the bed with her back up against the headboard.

you approached her slowly sensing something was off, “hey bils.” you greeted her while putting your bags to the side and immediately heading to sit beside her.

she huffed, “hey.” she said with a sad tone. she tossed her phone to the side and looked up at you.

your eyes and eyebrows immediately furrowed. “hey what’s up? did… did tonight not go as planned?”

her eyes watered as those words left your mouth. “i…i didn’t win any.” her voice wavered. “i put my heart and soul into that album and… i didn’t win any. i probably sound stupid.”

you shook your head placing your hand on her thigh. “hey it is not stupid. i know how hard you worked on that album baby.”

she bit her lip slightly, her eyes trailing off as she got stuck in her mind. you felt your heartache. you hated when she was in pain like that. emotional pain that you couldn’t console — well…

you thought about how you’d try to cheer her up long and hard and hoped she’d be up for what you were thinking.

you scooted closer tilting her head to look at you. “m’sorry baby, let me help you cheer up, yeah?” your voice had a lace of what billie loved to hear. you leaned even closer, your lips parting as you looked at billie’s face.

she watched as he moved closer and closer, her skin erupting with chills.

when you had finally been just inches away you spoke up again, “just let me take care of you.” you whispered lightly against her lips before moving forward and capturing them in a kiss.

billie hummed slightly in response. slid your tongue inside her mouth immediately moving the kiss more toward the passionate side.

as you made out you thought of how to go about everything before just sitting down in front of her. you loved her thighs apart wanting to insinuate what you had been thinking of doing.

you decided to break the kiss with a strong need to taste her. “don’t worry… gonna make you feel good baby. gonna make you forget about tonight.”

you spoke through the dark room, nothing but a soft glow from the candles she lit illuminating your face.

billie shifted so she was comfortable, her insides twisting and turning as she saw the hungry look on your face. you looked up making eye contact with her as your hands smoothed up her thighs and toward her sleep shorts. then you made a move to tug those and her underwear down in one fell swoop.

she moved her legs so that it was easier for the shorts to come off her legs. you tossed them aside and nudged her knees apart revealing her pretty pussy.

you scooted forward before you were face to face with it, licking your lips. you moved to kitten lick her first, trying to feel her out.

as soon as your tongue made contact with her, she jolted letting out a whine. you grinned loving the ways he squirmed under your touch. “just taste so good baby.” you praised, giving her another lick before taking her clit in your mouth and sucking on it lightly.

you gave her clit the most attention, swirling your tongue harshly on it before applying lots of pressure in a flicking motion. her hands clenched and her thighs closer around your head.

you tugged moving her thighs apart with your hands and keeping them still before diving back in. you shoved your tongue inside her swirling it in her entrance, licking up some of her arousal. then you smeared it and spit on her slit before licking and sucking all over.

it was sooner than later when you felt her thighs jerk and shake. “fuck — yn, feels so good. gonna make me fucking cum…” she moaned her hands making their way to your hair and attempting to push your head away.

you only laughed up which caused a vibration up against her pussy. she squirmed and thrashed when she was on the brink of orgasm. “shit — oh fuck, i’m cumming yn. i’m fucking cumming. yes yes…” she nodded, her back became arched and her neck was thrown back as that wave of pleasure coursed through her.

she jerked back and forth, her thighs still trying to close around your head as you didn’t put a halt to your actions. you wanted to overstimulate her. ride her out of her orgasm until she was tearing up at another. she whined at the overwhelming amount of pleasure you were bringing her and as if she didn’t just have one — another orgasm made its way to her faster than ever. before she knew it, she was cumming or — actually — squirting all over your face.

you took your mouth off her clit and opened your mouth with your tongue out feeling the liquid squirt everywhere. you let out a hearty laugh as you licked up her release before sucking on her folds and clit one last time.

her chest was moving up and down, her body limp in front of you. you licked your lips before crawling up to see her face. dry tears were on her cheeks and she looked adorable with them.

you had a guilty smile on your face. “hope i made you feel better my love.” you said as you pecked her lips.

© 𝐬𝐥𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞

[dekariosclan]

Imagine Gale as a talented and impressive young man, able to compose the Weave at will, skilled in a way that few can match, and favored by the Goddess of Magic herself. Imagine that because of these accomplishments, he’s caught the eye of a few up-and-coming magic adepts, and he falls in love with one of them—his first real love. Gale isn’t one to toss the ‘L’ word around lightly, so when he tells them he loves them, he means it; he gives himself over to them completely.

And in return, they love him for his potential. For his status. For the magic he can command. They love the wizard they see on the surface, but not the man underneath. They are attracted to his power, but not to him.

So of course the relationship fails, after the thrill of his magic wears off. But because Gale is a resilient young man and he’s caught the eye of so many, he soon falls in love with another.

And then it happens again. And again.

And each time Gale’s heart is ravaged, his ambition to become a better wizard grows, because he’s being shown time and time again that his magic ability is all that matters.

So much so that, by the time Mystra decides to elevate him from Favored to Chosen to Lover, he welcomes her with eager, desperate arms. Because if all his worth is in his magic, and that’s all he has to offer, and that’s all anyone wants from him, who better to love him than the Goddess of Magic herself?

Except…there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that whispers she doesn’t really love him. There’s anxiety in his heart as time passes, and he reaches both the limit of what his talents can do and what Mystra will allow him to do. And most troubling of all: a growing panic that, just like his other lovers, she will soon grow tired of him and discard him if he can’t improve his magic any further.

He tries pouting, and pleading, and begging her to let him take more power, to let him be more for her, but she refuses. Smiles patronizingly. Tells him to be patient. But Gale can’t be patient when his power is tied so closely to his self-worth; he can’t be patient when doing so in the past has only ever lead to heartache.

So he does what he believes will be a Grand Romantic Gesture, one that will finally put him on equal footing with the woman he loves. Instead, it turns out to be a folly that dooms him and destroys his talents. And just as he’d always feared, Mystra tosses him aside the moment his magical gifts are gone—because what’s left of him holds no value for her.

————

Imagine Gale in his tower, alone, afraid, the ever-hungry orb in his chest, with only his tressym there to help him. No other friends to speak of. His colleagues forced to keep away for their own safety. His magical talents utterly stripped down, so that even when he does try and distract himself with illusions, he’s bitterly reminded of what he used to be capable of. Waking every morning wondering if it will be his last, ending every day full of loneliness and disappointment.

…and then he meets Tav.

At the lowest point in his life, at his most vulnerable, when he knows he’s going to be considered a burden, he meets this stranger and their group. So he does what he can to be useful—assigning himself to be camp cook, offering up his (now meager) magic skills, turning the charm up to 11—as he desperately hopes this will somehow work out. He’s pleasantly surprised when, after providing only minor details of his condition, Tav agrees to help him. He’s even more surprised when they actually follow through.

Imagine how Gale feels as Tav treats him kindly. As he grows to trust Tav, and then grows to like them. Imagine his surprise as he opens up and shows them more and more of himself, and they don’t turn him away.

But then his condition worsens. And he has to reveal everything: the foolish mistakes he’s made, and how dangerous he is as a result. He clings to Tav’s hand as he shows them his folly. He’s at their mercy now, and he knows this might be the last time he’ll ever feel the touch of another being, if they decide—and Gods, why wouldn’t they decide?—to cast him out.

…but they don’t. They don’t. Instead, they tell him to stay.

Imagine the relief Gale feels. The gratitude. And perhaps…just a hint of something more. Something that he dare not name, but that flares to life every time he thinks of how warm their hand was in his. Something that feels dangerously close to jealousy, when he’s had too much to drink and sees Tav smiling at another…

But he knows these are all foolish thoughts, because he has nothing to offer Tav. They are wonderful just as they are, but he…he is an empty shell of a man, a discarded husk of a wizard, and while they might tolerate him, he could never believe they might actually want him.

And besides, he still thinks of Mystra. He still longs for Mystra. She who cast him out, but to whom he still feels tethered. Sometimes he needs to cocoon himself in the weave, just to try and calm his fears and bring some joy back to his life, because magic is his life. And sometimes he just needs to see her face, even though that hurts as much as it heals.

One night he’s lost in thought, having conjured Mysta’s image after settling down at camp. Thinking that even if she hadn’t ‘loved’ him—certainly not in the way he’d loved her—she’d given him enough otherwise, hadn’t she? She’d amused him and been amused by him, they’d shared countless pleasures, why hadn’t he been satisfied with that?

Gale is so lost in thought he doesn’t realize Tav has come up behind him. Until they ask a question, startling him out of his trance. He’s a bit shaken, so he tries to turn the conversation from Mystra to the weave itself. And then a wonderful idea occurs to him, something that he’d been toying with already: what if they were to conjure the weave together?

He can show Tav how important magic is to him, let them experience what he does, perhaps even impress them a bit. But most importantly, share a moment with them. As friends would do…

He’s elated when Tav agrees. He leads them through the steps effortlessly, and they’re a surprisingly good student, following his instructions correctly (if a bit clumsily). He’s as excited as they are—perhaps even more so!—when they succeed in channeling the weave.

It’s such a pleasant, familiar feeling for him, like coming home to his tower in Waterdeep. Even as the weave connects him with Tav and makes them one, he’s easily able to hide his innermost thoughts, because he’s done it so many times before.

…but he’s forgotten that Tav has not.

————

Imagine Gale knowing every romantic partner he ever had only wanted him because of how he could raise their status, or how he could amuse them, or how he could command magic for them. And, each time, he was happy to oblige them, even desperate to oblige them, because if that was the price of their love, then he was sure it would be worth it.

But it still all came to nothing.

Now imagine Gale connected in an intimate way with someone he likes very, very much—while being what he considers his lowest, most worthless, and most humbled self. As far from the powerful, impressive wizard he once was as he could ever be. And suddenly a vision enters his mind from the lovely creature standing next to him. Only, to his complete and utter shock, it isn’t one where he is providing them with a service, or wowing them with his magical ability, or granting them some kind of power from one of the spells he commands.

Instead, when he sees their desire laid bare before him, it’s a vision of kissing him. Of holding his hand. The two most basic forms of affection and physical connection. The two things that he would still be able to offer them even if every last ounce of his remaining magical abilities were stripped from him. The two things he could share with them even if he was no longer Gale of Waterdeep, and just plain old Gale Dekarios instead.

Imagine the embarrassment and trepidation he feels at first, because surely he is mistaken?…and then the elation when he realizes that he is not. So much elation that his concentration is broken, the weave dissipating as he forgets about channeling it, as he forgets about Mystra. Because all that matters to him now is the image before him—the most pleasant and welcome image he’s seen in a very, very long time.

Imagine how that would feel…and how besotted, enamored and completely devoted he’d be to Tav afterwards. To know that someone finally—finally—just wants him.

Just imagine.

[wannabeschyulersister]

lovelorn and nobody knows

Sometimes it felt like you had the words “I’m in love with my boss” written on your forehead in big capital letters.

As much as you tried to hide it, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. He was truly amazing at his craft and seeing him so passionate made you want to do it as well.

There were times that he acted a little like a jerk but he’d redeemed himself recently. Thanks to Sydney.

And to Claire.

You were surprised when you learned he was seeing someone. He brought Claire around when the restaurant was practically falling apart. It was such a weird moment. You physically could feel the awkwardness in the air.

She seemed really nice but part of you still disliked her just because she could call Carmy hers.

You avoided being around them as much as possible. It hurt just looking at the way he smiled at her.

Every part of your being wished that were you.

You wished you were the one he confided in after a long day at the Bear. You wished that you were the one he walked around the city with hand in hand. You wished you were the one that had his heart.

You felt like a lovesick fool.

Instead of subjecting yourself to seeing the happy couple, you started to back out of any group activities unless it was absolutely necessary.

The group would often go and get drinks at a nearby bar at least once a week. You stopped going as soon as you heard Claire was a regular now. People would ask if you were going and you always had a lie ready to go.

As much as you loved working at The Bear, you knew that it would probably be best if you removed yourself from the situation. It hurt every time you had to be around Carmen and Claire. You didn’t want to constantly put yourself in heartache.

There was a popular Italian restaurant across town that needed a sous. You had a friend of a friend that recommended you. It was the fresh start that you needed.

When you got the job, it was bittersweet. You should’ve been happier than you were.

So, you drafted up a letter of resignation, took a deep breath, and walked into Carmen’s office after closing. He was busy looking at an invoice when you knocked softly on the doorframe to make yourself known.

He looked at you and smiled a little, “Hey, stranger. We missed you last night.”

“Yeah, sorry I missed it. I uh- have something to give you.” You wanted to get this part over with.

“Yeah? What’s that?” He reached over and grabbed the letter that you handed him. You hoped he didn’t notice the slight shakiness of your hand.

You didn’t answer him because you didn’t trust your voice in that moment. Carmen quickly read through your letter and you watched the expression change on his face.

“What the hell is this? You’re leavin’?” Carmen stood up from his seat and placed your letter down.

“I got a job opportunity that I couldn’t say no too. I’m sorry that this puts you in a situation where you are short staffed but I’m giving you a two weeks notice.” You explained to him.

“I don’t understand. You’re happy here, aren’t you? D-did something happen’ that I’m not aware of?” Carmen questioned.

Yeah, you fell in love with someone else.

You shook your head, “No, nothing happened. I just think I’m ready for a new challenge.”

Carmen didn’t look like he bought your lie. “(Y/n), you don’t think that I’ve noticed that you’re distant and-and you haven’t been coming out with all of us?”

Shit.

You’d hoped that maybe he was so busy with Claire that he hadn’t noticed you slipping away from the group at all.

“I’ve just been busy with other things.” You lied again.

“What’s going on?” He questioned.

“Nothing is going on, Carmen.”

He crossed his arms against his chest and it took everything in you not to stare and drool. Even when you tried to be strong, his biceps made you feel weak.

“I don’t believe you.” He stated.

“That’s fine. I just wanted to do the respectable thing and give you an adequate notice.”

Carmen stared at you and it made you feel like he could read your mind. Like he knew the exact reason on why you were leaving.

“I don’t want you to leave, (Y/n). I think you’re amazing and- and you have a bright future in this industry. I think it’s a mistake.”

Your chest ached at his kind words. “I’m just ready for something new.”

He sighed and looked away from you as someone knocked on the door. You turned and saw Claire holding a takeout bag, “Thought I’d surprise you with dinner.”

“Now isn’t a good time, Claire.” Carmen told her.

She looked disappointed, “Am I interrupting something?”

You quickly shook your head, “No, the conversation is over. Have a good night.”

“(Y/n), wait!” Carmen called out to you but you left his office without another look back.

Even thought it killed you to walk away from him, you had to put yourself first.

[typing-catastrophe]

jealous!ford x reader headcanons

pre relationship:

depending on his current mood and state of mind, his reaction to someone showing romantic interest in you ranges from:

1) heartache,

feels like he doesn't deserve you, that he isn't good enough for you, he's not your type and also he is too old for you

self-esteem on the floor, feels like a kicked puppy seeing you flirt with someone else

over 2) mild annoyance; 'what's so interesting about them?'

what could they possible give you? why are you even talking to them, you already said you aren't interested in them

to 3) almost hostile towards the other person

all in all just one big mess of feelings

he's not good with them okay

confused and frustrated by his emotions; spends a lot of time overthinking them, in order to rationalise and understand them

too insecure and doubtful to tell you about his feelings, but too easily agitated to not be jealous when someone comes up to ask for your number

tells himself he has no right to feel that way, and yet...

in relationship:

protective and maybe a little possessive. maybe a bit more than a little. okay, a lot

definitely a lot more than he shows

(related to the first points pre-rls) very rare reaction: amused. god complex activated. who do they think they are? do they really think you would be interested in them? tch, please.

when he sees a guy flirting with you, he will come up behind you, put his arm around your waist and stare the guy down

the scene where he intimidates the bus driver, just to any shady guy who won't leave you alone.

insecurities, so soo many of them

'You could have anyone you want. Why would you wanna be with me?' *

that man was bullied his entire youth, never had a proper relationship and holds so much trauma and shame - it's the glue that holds him together at this point

ford is deeply afraid to loose you

through something supernatural or otherwise dangerous yes, but also trough some stupid mistake on his side and interpersonal problems

he is afraid he will mess up one day. then you will start seeing him as someone not worthy of your love and find someone better

it is one constant battle between his low self-worth and his god complex/admittedly somewhat inflated ego

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

a/n: longer piece with this trope will follow soon(ish), stay tuned :P poor ford, doesn't know how to feel his feelings appropriately (same dude, same) * 'jealous' by eyedress

[earlysunshines]

strawberry-flavored kisses

danielle marsh x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: it's valentines day so you and your amazing beautiful awesome lovely girlfriend bake cookies for your friends and loved ones (while also sharing sweet kisses in between)

warnings: noneeee pure fluff lolz ; established relationship ; they're so in love it PAINS me; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: happy valentines day!! (same y/n and dani from sunshine girl but also you don't have to read it first LOL it doesn't rly matter k bye enjoy!)

working on valentines day–especially as a barista—is like willingly walking through the gates of hell. the sheer number of couples waltzing in with their fingers intertwined, muttering sweet nothings while ordering the cherry blossom latte special is enough to send any single person in a spiral. 

unfortunately for your coworker soobin, today that barista is him.

he’s been stuck taking orders during the afternoon rush, forcing a polite smile each time a customer leans over to press kisses to their partners temple, hand, cheek, or even lips (which earns the most noticeable reaction from the guy). it happens more times than you can count on both hands, and each occurrence earns a subtle, annoyed scrunch of his nose.

you’re more than grateful that you work with your girlfriend, danielle, because if you didn’t—you’d probably be on the floor dying from heartache one hour in.

you and danielle share a knowing glance each time since you’re stuck together making all the drinks and serving the pastries in the display, both of you stifling laughter with each look. danielle is much sweeter than you are, so she tries to be subtle about her amusement. you, on the other hand, are not as merciful, watching soobin’s growing misery with shameless amusement.

soobin slides down the last receipt after the line of four couples is tended to, giving you a glare. “you guys are evil and i hate you both so much.” he groans before reaching over to grab a piece of strawberry tiramisu for another order. 

“it’s not my fault love is in the air~” you tease as you tamp down grinded beans, nudging danielle with your elbow.

danielle grins, lingering against you. “yeah, soobin. maybe you should try being happy for them! look at how cute they all are.”

soobin gives you both a deadpan look before calling out an order, and once he’s done, he says through gritted teeth, “easy for you lovebirds to say.”

just as you’re about to respond, another couple walks through the door, giggling as they gasp in awe at the pastries laid out. soobin sighs, putting on his customer service demeanor, and bracing himself while you and danielle bite down your laughter.

“i feel bad for him, y/n.” danielle mutters as she pours steamed milk into a cup, making a beautiful heart design. “he looks like he’s in actual, physical pain…” she adds, looking over to see the couple in front of the register sharing a quick peck before scanning the menu again.

“i think he’s going to pass out, or air out the place.” you murmur, watching as his fingers claw at the counter.

danielle looks around, then leans closer, her breath warm against your ear. you shiver at the proximity, feeling her lips brush against you just barely as she says, “maybe we should order the cherry blossom latte and hold hands while doing it. you know, just to mess with him.”

“i like the way you think.” you chuckle, smiling down at the shot you’ve just pulled. “maybe a kiss too?”

“you just want an excuse to kiss me, don’t you?”

“i don’t need one. after we clock out i’m gonna kiss you soooo much. just wanted to let you know.” you shrug, moving back to the other side of the espresso machine to weigh out coffee grinds. “my valentine’s day special.”

danielle rolls her eyes but smiles at you, biting her lip at your bold remark.

—

all three of you clock out at the same time when the other three evening shift workers clock in. you all head to the back, and soobin dramatically leans against the wall with his heart shaped doughnut that he stole from the display. you and danielle giggle, earning a defeated look from your poor coworker. 

danielle kisses your cheek in front of soobin before you two head out, earning another groan from him. even if he’s in lots of emotional pain, the tips from the dreadful shift were wonderful. you and danielle know how lovely the tips are on holidays, so you two made a plan prior to bake cookies for your friends, which is why you’re immediately on the way to the grocery store to spend your combined cash tips.

(you make sure to let soobin know that you’ll save some of your treats for him, telling him he can come by your place anytime he wants. it’s only fair considering he was on register duty most of the shift.

plus, it’s valentine’s day! it’s only fair to spread the love you two have for your loved ones.)

the grocery store is also filled with a handful of last-minute valentine’s day shoppers, but you and danielle still manage to fill your basket without much waiting or trouble. she sings along to can’t take my eyes off of you—which is playing louder than usual on the speakers—with a packet of chocolates in her hand as the microphone. you laugh, taking a video of her when she skips down the aisle singing happily. 

by the time you get back to your house, the kitchen smells like butter and sugar, and the speakers are playing your carefully curated valentines playlist. can i call you rose? starts playing and you suddenly stop stirring the strawberries you’ve been boiling on low, gasping dramatically, “this is my song.”

danielle giggles at your antics and squeaks when you pull her away from the counter suddenly to serenade her lovingly.

“can i call you rose?” you sing, before twirling her around. “cause you’re sweeeeet like a flowerrrr in bloooom~”

“you’re so cheesy,” danielle giggles, twirling you around right after she says it. “you’re going to burn the jam!”

“soobin’s disease spread to you,” you joke.

“and what disease would that be?”

“being single.”

she rolls her eyes at your response before leaning in to kiss your nose. “i’m immune to that because of you, silly.”

not so long after you sway side to side playfully, you return to your baking duties. she mixes the wet ingredients while you finish up the jam, and you steal loving glances at her when she’s too focused to notice.

both of you are side by side again once you bring out the finished jam, placing it on the counter she’s now rolling the dough on. she hands you golfball-sized piece for you to shape, laughing at how carefully you work with it.

“you’re putting extra effort into these, huh?” danielle teases, watching as you carefully press your thumb into the dough.

“i have to. hyein will insult me like crazy if they’re ugly.”

she laughs, bumping her shoulder against yours. “true. minji and hanni will definitely do the same if they turn out deformed…”

you snicker, then continue to perfect your first cookie out of many. 

you and danielle work silently as the music in the background hums. you glance at danielle, who’s sleeves are rolled up as she pours jam into the small, heart-shaped dent in the cookie. there’s flour on he cheek, and when you reach over to brush it off, she scrunches her nose at the ticklish feeling.

“you have some on your sweater too.” she teases, pointing at the flour on your clothes.

“yeah, yeah.” 

the two of you fall into an easy rhythm, shaping the cookies together and pressing small hearts into the center for jam. you’re focused on the start of your seventh cookie when you catch danielle sneaking a spoonful of jam in the corner of your eye.

“that’s for the cookies!” you scold, nudging her playfully. 

“i had to make sure it’s good!” she argues, licking jam off the corner of her lip. 

“oh, so you don’t trust me? wow…” you huff.

“i just needed to make sure!”

“there’s only a limited amount of—” before you can finish your sentence, danielle suddenly leans in, using her fingers to tilt your chin down before kissing you softly. you get a taste of the jam, it’s almost as sweet as the person kissing you—literally. you hum, feeling your shoulders relax as her fingers sneak to the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

she pulls away and grins like she’s just gotten away with something. “there,” she murmurs against your lips. “good, right?”

your brain short-circuits for a moment before you blink at her, your face heating up. “you’re so—”

“amazing? yes, i know. now stop distracting me! we have to finish these cookies…”

“you’re the one who—” she cuts you off again, kissing you a little longer than last time before parting fully. you giggle at her antics, nudging her. “do you like the jam or did you just want to kiss me?” you question with feigned annoyance.

she hums thoughtfully, tapping her chin with her finger like a cartoon character. “all of the above.” she says while flashing a cheeky smile.

and just like that she gets back to work, leaving you flustered and giddy. you angle yourself weirdly to press a kiss to her cheek, earning a giggle before she tells you to finish up your cookie.

—

once you finish making a little over three dozen cookies, you and danielle are beat.

you both clean up a bit before washing your hands, set a timer, and then danielle flops onto the couch. you follow after, sitting next to her and leaning your head against hers. she shifts and puts her arm around you, pinching your cheek with two fingers.

“tired?” she asks.

“yes…” you respond. “but not too tired to kiss you…?” you add, turning your head to stare at her lips.

she leans closer, pecking your lips quickly before responding, “wow, cupid must’ve hit bullseye on your heart.”

“now look who’s so cheesy.” you giggle, nose brushing against hers. 

“yes because i love you, my valentine.”

“i love you too.” you say before meeting her lips in a tender, loving kiss.

your playful exchange of kisses lasts a few minutes, and you plan to continue until the timer rings. what you didn’t take into consideration was the fact that your younger cousin—hyein—would be back home so soon. 

and so, when you hear a dramatic groan along with the door closing, you two pull apart with flushed faces.

“oh my god, gross…” you hear from the entrance, turning around to see hyein with a half-disgusted and half-amused look on her face. “just because it’s valentines day doesn’t mean you get to be all lovey-dovey on my couch.”

“but we made cookies to share…” you respond defeatedly.

“were you guys being lovey-dovey while making them?” you open your mouth to reply, but pause, and hyein takes that opportunity to groan even louder. “gross…”

“oh shut up, i know you’re gonna devour like five of them in the same minute.”

“hey!” 

danielle giggles at the banter, and then all of you turn your heads toward the oven when the timer rings. 

“i promise the cookies are good. please take some as an apology?” danielle suggests, “there’s strawberry jam on them, and it’s really good.” she adds as she pinches your forearm, reminding you of the strawberry-flavored kisses from earlier. you blush.

hyein laughs, then happily sets her bag down before rushing over to the oven. you give danielle a look and she gives you the same one back before kissing you quick enough so hyein doesn’t notice.

“happy valentines day. i love you.” she says, tugging at your hand. “let’s go eat these cookies… we might need to make another batch if they’re too good.”

you laugh, following her to the kitchen island. “yeah, i was thinking that too. maybe being considerate wasn’t the best idea.” you joke, then kiss her forehead before muttering, “happy valentines day. i love you more.”

you hear hyein groan once more.

“i’ve seen enough couples at school today and i do not need to see another show of pda in the comfort of my own home.” hyein says loudly. “can you take the cookies out now?”

you scoff playfully before finding the oven mitts, smacking hyein on the head with them before you open up the oven to take out the first tray. the scent of the cookies fill the house with a sweet, irresistible aroma.

(but not as sweet or irresistible as your lovely valentine.

nothing can beat her at that.)

[squaloropera]

My favourite thing about the Xianle trio is just how sickeningly codependent close they are. Like, what do you mean you haven’t been friends in 800 years, your friend group fell out in the most painful and traumatic way it possibly could have, and you all have the absolute most reason to hate each other- but in The Cave Of 10,000 gods Mu Qing and Feng Xin were absolutely appalled at the disrespect to their prince. They were fiercely protective, refusing to let Xie Lian bear witness to what they thought was an incredibly perverted insult to his honour. They went toe-to-toe with one of the most terrifying ghosts who ever lived, all in defence of him, and did so without ever thinking twice. They dragged him through that cave system with desperately protective determination, caring for him fiercely despite being misinformed about the situation, and even though they had no obligation to. I’m biting people. Mu Qing and Feng Xin never stopped caring about Xie Lian. He’s no longer their prince, he’s no longer their employer nor even their friend, but they would still put their lives in peril for him. Even when they thought he was a violent criminal (Lang Qianqiu ily but pls kys) they visited his palace to give him medicine for his arm (something about Mu Qing brushing off his injury and saying it isn’t that bad cause all martial gods get injured, then being the first in line to go heal him is so sickening and vile I love him) and make sure he’s alright, then physically fought over the implications from each other about the other having been a bad friend. All of the bullshit trauma, all of the heartache, all of the reason they could have to not give a shit about him, and they were throwing hands over who was a better friend. I hate them. (I love them.)

[pileofboneswrites]

IN THE WIND.

SUMMARY — loosely inspired by the song cheyenne by ian munsick. every year he never asks anything from you, resigned to the routine you've created; you pull into the yellowstone, park your trailer, and spend all your time with him, and then when august rolls around you pack it all in, and leave. this year, instead of dancing around the heartache, he [and a few others] ask you to stay.

PAIRING — fem!reader x lee dutton

WORD COUNT — 4.1k

WARNINGS — established friends with benefits type relationship, lee has been in love with reader since they met, pinning, allusions to smut, lee watches reader get dressed – reader puts on a show, no use of y/n — everyone calls her honey as a nickname, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of murder (not overly graphic), mentions of past abuse, angst

MASTERLIST | YELLOWSTONE

you put your truck in park, tucked along the side of the house like you always do. you open the trailer up, lead you horse peaches out into the fenced off area out front, and then wander up the front steps and into the house. you kick off your boots, and pad through the hallway, taking in the view from the living room windows. you enter the open concept kitchen, grabbing a beer and setting to work on tidying up. you start with the dishes, there aren't as many as there were last time.

next, you sweep, the build up of dirt he's tracked into the house has you frowning. after, you throw laundry in — your own clothes first of course. next is vacuuming, followed by grabbing the load of groceries from your cold box in your truck. lastly, you step into the shower, watching the setting sun as you deep condition your hair and shave your legs. when you wrap yourself in your towel you hear the front door open, a pair of boots falling heavily on the hardwood floor.

"honey," lee breathes out, a wide smile on his face as he steps into the warm room, and enveloping you in his arms, his lips latching onto your own.

"hi," you giggle, through pecks to your lips, followed by him slipping his tongue into your mouth.

you allow it for a few moments, relishing in his closeness. you untangle yourself from him, making him frown cutely at you. you give him a teasing smile, and peck him on the lips once more.

"i just swept, and washed those floors of yours, lee dutton. i'm not impressed," you slip past him in your bath towel, tsking at him as you go.

"i'm sorry honey, allow me to make it up to you," he says, a devious smile on his lips, as he follows you into his bedroom.

he catches you by the end of the bed, arms circling your waist as he pulls you flush with his chest. you look up at him throughout your eye lashes, and he bites his lip looking down into your eyes. he dips his head, resting his forehead on your shoulders, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. you want so badly to give in, but you have plans tonight.

"sorry cowboy," you murmur, pushing him away, turning towards his closet—where you keep a sizable amount of your clothes. "you need to shower, and get dressed."

"dressed? for what?" he groans dropping onto the end of the bed, slipping off his boots.

"the carnival? you promised tate last summer we'd be there to ride on the rollercoaster with him?" you say, glancing at him over your shoulder.

"you remember that?" he asks, rasing an eyebrow at you.

you giggle, dropping your towel to put on your underwear. lee moans quietly at the view of your naked body. you slowly pull them up, bending over to give him a full view of your bum. he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes never leaving your skin as you tease him.

you nod, "i do, and he's only text me about it everyday since – so y'know, it'd be hard to forget."

"yeah..." he agrees with you absentmindedly, eyes clinging to your chest as you twist your bra around your chest pulling it up. "hard to– hard to forget."

you make a show of putting your arms through the straps, and pulling the cups up. lee hangs off your every move, his fascination with your body not ending even with your boobs covered. his eyes rake up and down your figure, his eyes dark, and his bottom lip betweeen his teeth as he works through something silently. you feel smug with satisfaction as you step closer, slinging one leg over either side of his hips. you sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, bringing his attention back up to your face.

"baby," you whisper, lips ghosting over his.

"mhmm," he hums, hands landing on your hips.

"you promised,"

he nods, "i did,"

"but?"

his grip on your hips tightens, briefly, then retract.

"nothing, honey, i can wait." he leans in closer to your ear, "but tonight, i'm not going to be able to stop myself."

a shiver goes up your spine, goosebumps exploding over your arms. you missed that. he easily lifts you off his lap, setting you beside him. he stands, heading into the bathroom to shower, the door clicking closed calmly behind him. you sit there, surprised by his show of restraint. he doesn't normally do that, normally he would have had your face pressed into the mattress in a seconds notice. after taking a second to collect yourself, you stand up, and walk back over to the closet.

you pick out a dark green summer dress, a pair of brown cowboy boots in better shape than the ones you'd worn here. you grab a cardigan, and a cowboy hat that matches your boots. you then go back into the kitchen, and grab your cellphone from where you'd left it charging. two missed messages from monica dutton long.

hi aunt honey it's tate! excited to see you and uncle lee tonight rollercoster here we come!

hey, it's monica, just wanted to let you and lee know we'll be by the ticket booth. tate's very excited, see you at 9.

ten minutes pass, and lee is walking down the hallway. he's wearing a button that coincidentally matches your dress, his good hat and his best boots. he looks refreshed, the stress of the day washed away, and a easy smile on his face.

"well don't you look handsome," you smile, stepping into his embrace.

he kisses you deeply, your knees go weak, his arm sliding around your back steadying you. he smirks into your lips, and you pull back rolling your eyes playfully at him. you forgot how much you enjoyed being here, being with him.

"honey, you are the most beautiful woman i have ever met; dressed up like this, or covered in sweat and dirt from a long day."

your heartaches at his confession; it's temporary, you'll be gone again come the end of august. then the cycle continues. you smile, enjoy it now. lee's always been your favourite, it's why you keep coming back. he always knows what to say to make your knees weak, and how to break your heart.

"we'd better go," you say, ignoring the disappointment in his eyes as you walk away.

you're always walking away.

"i had so much fun!" tate yells, hoisting the matching bear to yours over his head.

"and now he's going to take forever to get to sleep tonight," monica laughs, "thanks for the sugar rush, aunt honey."

"pshhh, he'll crash the minute you get him in the truck." you reply, "and no problem, i live for these moments,"

"it was good seeing you, honey." monica says, pulling you into a hug.

"you too mon, we need to get coffee before i leave." you tell her, giving her a light squeeze.

"why don't you stay?" she asks, watching as tate makes a beeline for the truck, climbing into the backseat as kayce follows behind him, chatting with lee.

"i can't," you can't tear your eyes away from lee's back as he talks with his youngest sibling, which doesn't go unnoticed by his sister-in-law.

"why not? you and lee act like a married couple and besides; you're perfect for each other." her tone is gentle, like she's talking to an easily spooked animal.

"because..." you debate telling her the truth, the real reason you run every year, and your heart wins out over your rational thinking. "i know that he'll always be there this way, i don't think he'd want me if he had me fulltime."

"how could you possibly think that? lee looks at you like you personally hung the moon, sun and stars. he's so in love with you," she says, smiling softly at you. "you have to know that by now. he turns into a completely different person when you're gone."

"i know he is, i see it in the way he looks at me. i just– i'm terrified of ruining what we have. i'm not an easy person to love, i've been told that my whole life; i'm impulsive, stubborn, bossy, rude, selfish.... he doesn't deserve someone like that. he deserves someone who's sweet, and kind, and... good." you say, "someone like him."

"i don't know... the way you describe yourself; that's not the person i see. i see someone so full of love, and life, someone that helps others no matter what, honey, i've literally seen you give someone the shirt off your back. whoever's pumped your head full of that hate, was trying to convince you you're evil, when you're not. you're none of those things."

"i appreciate that, i'm not sure you're entirely right, but thank you." you shoot her a half smile, and squeeze her shoulder before you break away, walking towards lee's truck.

he meets you halfway, entwining your fingers, and pulling you closer.

he smiles at you, "that was fun,"

"i knew you'd have a good time,"

"thank you for making me come tonight,"

"thank you for winning me a big ass teddy bear," you reply, holding the giant black bear. "i love him, and i'm going to call him dusty,"

"dusty, eh?" he qestions, pulling your door open for you.

"do you have any better ideas?" you quiry, sliding into your seat.

he leans against the passenger door, his head tilted to the side as he thinks. after a few seconds he shakes his head, ducking down to kiss you once. twice. three times before closing the door and walking around to the drivers side.

"wanna grab a pizza on the way?" he asks, and you nod excitedly. "barneys?"

"barneys!" you say it at the same time, and he laughs, patting your left thigh.

three weeks later, you're sitting in one of the muskoka chairs up by the main house, a blanket over your legs as you and tate roast marshmallows.

"yours is burning!" tate says, pointing to your marshmallow.

"i love them burnt!" you reply, watching as it catches fire.

"that's weird," tate makes a face, "burnt ones are gross,"

"nuh-huh, they're the best!"

"no! golden ones are!"

"ewwww," comes lee's voice from behind the two of you, "marshmallows? gross!"

"i agree with you there," kayce says, from his chair across the fire pit.

"i second it, too sweet." john adds from beside kacey, and tate looks shocked.

"grandpa! you don't like marshmallows?"

john shakes his head, a disgusted look on his face.

"that's devastating," tate says, and monica lets out a snort of laughter.

"who taught you that word?" she asks, trying to keep a straight face as he stares her down.

"aunt honey, she says it a lot." tate shrugs, turning back to the fire.

monica gives you a quizzical look, as lee sits down beside you, between your chair and hers on your right side. so i don't say fuck in front of your kid, you mouth at her, and she nods in understanding.

"cause i'm trying not to corrupt you," you add, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to give him a quick hug.

"yeah, besides, his dad does a good enough job on his own." lee chuckles making kayce roll his eyes, and flip his brother off while tate's looking away.

"how long are you down for now?" john asks, when the conversation dies down.

your eyes snap to lee, who's looking staight ahead into the darkness. monica and kayce exchange a look before they both take turns glancing at you, and lee.

"uh, 'm not sure just yet," you say awkwardly, your shoulders tensing automatically.

you feel like a dear caught in the headlights. john nods, his attention being stolen by rip who materializes next to him. feeling like john just smacked you, you excuse yourself, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, and making your way to lee's house. you sit out on the steps, thinking about what you were doing. i'm not good for lee. staying would be a mistake, it would ruin what we have. then i'd be all alone again. you're not sure how long you'd been sat alone, staring off into the dark when you hear lee's boots crunching gravel.

"you okay?" you ask him, and his eyebrows pull together in confusion.

"i'm fine, are you, okay?"

you force yourself to nod, "of course,"

he reaches out for your hand, and you immediately give it to him, allowing him to guide you up into the house. you shed your uggs, blanket, jacket, sweatpants and sweater, when you enter his bedroom. you crawl into bed, pulling the blankets up and waiting for him to crawl in next to you. he does, turning the lights off, and shimmying close to you. you rest your head on his chest, and even after you hear his soft snoring, you can't fall alseep. you lay there, eyes closed trying to sleep, but then the first ray of light speaks into the room.

before you know it, it's six am, and lee's softly shifting you over so he can go shower. you stare up at the ceiling, unmoving. the room is still dark, and when he steps out of the bathroom, towel around his hips, and his hair dripping wet. you pretend to be sleeping when he leans over the bed to give your temple a quick kiss, before he heads down to the bunkhouse. you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind racing. you met lee at a bar in town when you were eighteen, you'd been passing through, on your way to your next race, when he'd caught your eye.

you ended up spending the month curled up in his sheets, praying that it would never end. but like all good things in your life, it did. you'd had a blow out fight about something ridiculous, and after he fell asleep that night you left. you found yourself passing through the following summer, part of you praying you'd see him again. and you did. he sat perched on a bar stool, chatting with rip and two other hands from the ranch. rip saw you first, a knowing smile on his lips, then the other two—who you later came to know as colby and ryan—their conversation fizzled out quickly.

lee had stood, ready to leave for the night, but when he twisted around on that bar stool, he saw you standing there. a smile broke out on his face, and the next thing you knew, you were face down on his mattress, and all was forgotten. it was a cycle that repeated itself for years, this being your tenth summer returning to yellowstone. you couldn't help yourself, there was just something so magnetic about him. you couldn't stay away even if you tried. you show up, play house, counting down the days until a fight breaks out and then you disappear like leaves in the wind.

this time something was different though. everyone around you seemed to be trying to get you to stay. you'd had conversations with kayce, beth, tate, monica and even rip. that was the one you kept rolling over the most. you'd had a similar childhood as he did, but instead of you ending things, your father took your mother and two younger sister's lives then his own. you were seventeen. the only things you had left after that, was your horse, peaches, your truck and trailer. other than some clothes, that was all. you were a traveller, rarely staying in one spot long enough to form any meaningful connections.

lee and the dutton's were an anomaly to that. maybe that was why you always came back, but you couldn't be sure. rip had intercepted you just before supper one night, and despite never having had a much of a real conversation (besides small talk) in your ten years as acquaintances, you sat and listened to what he had to say. rip being a man of few words, had talked to–well more like at you–for twenty minutes. in that time, he'd managed to make you really wonder if running was the best option. you can only run for so long, eventually you'll be too old too, and then what? what would you have to show for it?

you phone goes off on the nightstand, and you sigh, forcing yourself to sit up. monica dutton long. you hit answer, and greet her.

"sorry, were you sleeping?"

"no, no, you're fine. what can i do for you?"

"tate was hoping you'd be up for a ride, i've packed a picnic, and kayce and lee said they'd meet us for lunch."

"sure, that sounds fun," you smile softly, your head screaming, see? you'd miss this if you left. you always do. "i'll get peaches ready, and meet you down at the barn,"

"awesome, tate's already excited. see you down there,"

you hang up, and slide out of bed. your feet hit the hard wood floor, and you go through your routine. you brush your teeth, put on a ballcap, and then throw on a t-shirt, jeans and your boots. you grab a bag of the cookies you bakes yesterday, and jump onto the four wheeler lee leaves for you so you can get around the far without using your truck. over the years, you've noticed that lee gets weird about your truck. it's probably because anytime you go near it, you're usually hauling ass out of yellowstone. you blink away the thought, and head down towards the barn.

lloyd is standing in the bunkhouse doorway when you park the four wheeler, "coffee?"

"oh, yes please." you nod, and he disappears inside returning moments later with a mug for you. "thanks, lloyd."

"you're welcome sweetheart," he smiles at you, and the pair of you stand in a comfortable silence, enjoying your coffee. "y'know, it's nice seeing you around here again,"

the guilt you've felt since you stepped into lee's house flairs back to life, and you nod, forcing a small smile. you go to walk towards the stall's, and he catches your elbow pulling you back.

"i know you've heard it a lot since you got back," he says, staring you down, "but everytime you leave; it's like lee loses part of him... you know that saying, "behind every good man, there's a great woman"? lee needs his great woman around. he needs you around,"

your eyes fill with tears, and you're sobbing before you have much of a chance to try and keep yourself together. lloyd's eyes go wide, and if you weren't losing your mind, you'd have laughed. he guides you into the bunkhouse, closing the door behind him. you plop down at the table, and try to calm yourself. lloyd stares at you, waiting patiently.

"i'm sorry," you mumble, using the shoulder of your shirt to wipe your eyes. "i don't know why that happened,"

"i didn't mean to push you," lloyd tells you, a look of guilt in his eyes.

"no, oh god no, please don't. this isn't your fault. i just..." you trail off looking at your feet. "can i vent for a minute?"

he nods, pulling out a chair and sitting beside you, "please,"

"i come from a pretty fucked up family," you start, lee doesn't even know about what happened to your family. you liked it that way, because every time you give someone an insight into your background, their perspective changed and they started treating you like glass. "i mean, who's isn't? mine... well, mine is a different kind of fucked up. my dad snapped one night, murdered my mom, two baby sisters, and then killed himself. no one's really sure why he did it; he was abusive as shit, sure, but that– that was a kind of rage he never displayed before. he didn't leave a note, he just did it, and then shot himself in the head. go figure the old bastard went the easy way,"

you sigh leaning forward resting your head in your hands, "i started running that night. i'd snuck out to see a boy, and came home to find them all dead. i just took off. had i not snuck out, i would be just like them. i don't have friends, i don't have any family, i've tried to keep to myself but when i met lee... my desire to be isolated changed. i just wanted to be with him. when i'm not here, all i can think about is whether he's safe or not. he's all i think about, but... my dad made it incredibly clear to me growing up that i was a burdern, unlovable, worthless, a waste of space... that kind of thing is difficult to just forget. he told me that everyday, for seventeen years. the scariest part of it all, is that i have my father's rage. i don't want to be like him, but i'm terrified that if i'm too close, i won't see it and it'll be too late."

you look up at lloyd, tears in your eyes, "he told me i wasn't worth loving, and i believe him. i hate leaving, i'm tired of it, but i'm terrified."

someone clears their throat from the doorway, the pair of you jumping at the noise. you turn your head, and see lee standing there, clutching the doorknob so tightly his fingers turn white. lloyd clears his throat, and stands, leaning down only to give your hand a light squeeze. lloyd leaves, and lee closes the door. it takes four long strides before lee is pulling you to your feet by your elbow, and crashing his lips to yours. you're surprised by the action, but melt into his touch. when the pair of you pull apart, breathing heavily, he rests his forehead against yours.

"i love you," he breaths, "you are worthy of love, you deserve happiness, and you are good."

your eyes water, again.

"how do you know i'm not a monster?" you whisper.

"because i know you. you bake cookies when you can't sleep, you pick up spiders and take them outside instead of killing them despite the fact that you're terrified of them, you close your eyes every time you see roadkill because it makes you sad that an animal died, you'd sooner adopt every animal than see them suffer, cute animals excite you, you're scared of thunder but always put on a brave face for tate because you don't want him to freak out, you hold doors open for everyone, and pay for peoples groceries or meal if they can't afford it. you are light, you are warmth, you are so damn good."

you bury your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably as he holds you tightly. never in the ten years that lee has known you, has he ever seen your eyes water, let alone see you cry. someone knocks softly on the door, and then monica pokes her head in.

"oh, sorry– i was just going to ask if you guys were ready, but if now doesn't work–"

"no, now's good," you say, pulling your face away from his chest. "we were just–"

"she's staying," lee cuts you off, and she lets out an excited squeal.

"i have to tell kayce and tate!" she says, quickly disappearing.

you look up at him through red, swollen eyes, a teasing smile on your lips.

"i'm staying am i?" you ask wrapping your arms around his back. "'cause last i checked, you're the only one who hasn't asked me to stay."

"hasn't?" he echoes, an embarrassed look on his face as he looks down at you.

"oh yeah, your family was on me the minute i pulled in. you just happened to catch me in the aftermath of lloyd asking me."

"even rip?"

you nod, "especially rip. i think he had me convinced, but i wanted to hear it from you before i made my final decision."

he looks into your eyes, a serious look you've never seen before sliding over his features, "stay, please."

"okay," you whisper, not breaking eye contact, as his lips twitch up.

"marry me?" he says next, "please."

despite how badly he's caught you off guard, you find yourself immediately nodding, a wide smile crossing your face as he grabs you and spins you. you giggle, and he laughs, the pair of you hugging each other tightly.

"i love you," you tell him, "i love you so damn much, and i'm sorry for not you telling you sooner."

"it's ok, because we know now. that's good enough for me."

you nod, "me too."

[foli-vora]

run to you: chapter eight

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: it's here. Finally. Don't look at me. Can't believe we only have 4 chapters to go after this one! I have such a deep fond love for this little universe and I'm so damn thankful for all of your comments, reblogs and asks! Your kind words make my bloody year! Hope you enjoy angels x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and ‘You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 4.7k-ish

Warnings: angsttttt, swearing, general heartache and bittersweet goodbyes, a break in, these two make me want to listen to a heartbreak playlist all day and just cry

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

The words play in your mind as you make a beeline to the public bathrooms, a relentless cycle over and over and over. Your conversation with the consultant had been mind achingly frustrating, and yet, despite knowing his little tricks and various mental hoops he gets his chosen victims to jump through, you can’t help it—you give in.

You find yourself jumping through those damn hoops, letting his words drive you borderline insane.

Jane has it all wrong—so wrong—so why can’t you stop thinking about what he said? What would give him the impression that Marcus has feelings for you? Feelings that extend beyond the expected responsibility of a leading agent, and mere guilt lingering from their shared history.

Does he see something you can’t? Has he heard something? Found something?

The bitter tang of resentment builds in the back of your throat as your mind goes down more paths, creating more questions with no answers in sight. This is what he wants.

Jane wants you to be overwhelmed with questions and what ifs and a desperation for the truth, so you’ll go to him for the answers. So he can spin words, play and pick your brain some more. It’s a cycle, one that obviously works well for him. This is how he plays, and it’s vicious and cruel, and—

—and yet you still let his words confuse you, still mull over them in your head.

You keep fucking falling for it. 

Your hands shake as they deposit your bag beside the sink, the cold water splashing over your skin doing nothing to divert your thoughts or distract you.

Of course there are no feelings anywhere.

Maybe this is just a ploy to hurt or embarrass Marcus—surely there’d be some bad energy there, given the history between them both. Maybe Jane’s not finding enough entertainment within the investigation and is instead making his own.

You don’t know. What you do know is that you refuse to waste one more fucking second wondering what is going on in that man’s head, and what his ploy is.

It hits you as you stare back at your reflection in the mirror, the obvious internal war written across your face with creases of stress and watery eyes—you can’t do this. You’re not cut out for this rollercoaster of drama. You’ve had enough. 

Jane, the case, Marcus, the FBI—you’ve had enough of all of it. You’ve done enough, and Marcus has always said to tell him when you decide you’re done. He’s always said that you’re under no obligation to do anything you don’t want to do, that you could back out at any point. Or maybe that was just another lie.

The bitter part of you churns to life, still angry, still holding onto the aching resentment from the past. Vicious thoughts and memories tainted by heartbreak flood your mind, but it doesn’t seem to cut as deep as it usually would. He didn’t lie about that. 

He said you were in control, he gave you his word—and you took it. You trust it.

Would he be disappointed?

You did tell him that you’d help, that you’d do what the FBI asked of you and get them the information they need, but at what cost? Your mental health was already taking hits, an array of emotions continuously assaulting you from merely being around Marcus again, let alone being bombarded and interrogated by some wanna-be mentalist freak from California.

No. He’d understand.

You dry up, blotting the paper towel across your throat and willing your heart to slow down as you look over your frame in the reflection. The wire’s still perfectly hidden, tucked deeply away under your jacket from where Marcus had pinned it, but the mere thought of it sitting there has a cold dread creeping along your veins.

That whole conversation with Jane had been recorded.

Marcus is going to listen to it. His team is going to listen to it. You can’t deal with the fallout of that. You can’t be humiliated like that. What would he do? What would he say?

Though of course you know the truth and that the idea of Marcus having any type of romantic inclination towards you is fucking ridiculous, you’re still not exactly fond of the idea of sitting there and listening to him explain why he does not, and would not, ever have feelings for you.

Maybe—maybe you could get ahead of it.

Surely if you just tell him, ask him, that the recording be discarded as you’re backing out. There’s nothing on there, there’s no need for it. Just delete it, forget about it and move on. 

You grab your things and leave the safety of the bathroom, clutching your bag like a lifeline as you begin to make your way towards the exit, but then you see him. He’s a good distance away from the path you’re taking, and you wouldn’t have noticed him at all if you weren’t suddenly highly aware of every person milling about the building.

Edward Thomas.

Someone who had played a big part in your life before everything went to shit. He’d been involved with some of your replicas, their creations and the deals around them once they were complete. You weren’t aware of his exact place in all of it, but you know damn well it was much higher on the food chain than you.

He looks the same, despite everything. Did nothing happen to him when it all fell apart? Was he not arrested along with everyone else?

Probably not. He had money—serious money. He had connections. He had the network you had ensured to keep out of. Perhaps you would’ve been better following his footsteps, kissing asses and sucking up to the underground elites of the world, making more of a name for yourself behind closed doors. You would've been untouchable, invincible. 

Where would you be now? Back in your penthouse, mostly unscathed and living life as normal.

There’s no use dwelling on it. It’s a can of worms you could continue to open and close for the rest of your life, wondering what if until it drove you mad.

Doing what Edward Thomas did, does—it’s not you. It wasn’t you back then, and it wouldn’t be you now. You just wanted to paint, you weren’t in it for the money. Although, admittedly, it did help.

You want to move towards him, to hover in the background beyond the group of smartly dressed people surrounding him, enough for him to see you, to peak his interest. This could be what Marcus, the FBI, needs. This could, potentially, help the investigation, if he is still doing dealings under the table. 

But then what? You’d be stuck having to go further. There’d be no backing out. There’d be more drama, more headaches, more mind games, more lies. You can’t do it.

This has developed into something you don’t think you have the nerve for. The idea of it all seemed so easy when Marcus came to you, but the reality of it? You don’t have the mentality for it all. You’re not an agent. You’re not trained for this. You don’t have people behind you, covering for you and protecting you.

You turn away.

Rigsby lingers by the bathroom you had exited from, nose in a pamphlet showcasing the must sees of the museum, but his eyes flick to you as if to check on your movements. You swallow, give a barely there shake of your head and then continue on your way out, leaving him to alert Marcus that you had left.

—

You’re only a mere few feet away, but he can feel the distance that now stretches in between you. Distance that could never be removed or forgotten. The thick sheen of glass hides him from your gaze, but that doesn’t stop him from flinching when your eyes glance at the mirror upon entry.

He’s a coward. A fucking coward. He intentionally sat out on the move today, refused to be a part of the team bringing you in, all because he was scared of seeing your face and the look of betrayal in your eyes. Shit, he’s still scared now. Maybe that;s why he stays behind the glass, refusing to be a part of the interrogation.

You’re holding on so fucking strong, he’s damn near proud.

Jenner throws everything at you. He does all that he can, but when you don’t budge, he throws an apologetic glance towards the mirror that you thankfully don’t catch. It’s time to pull out the ace card, to let you know they had more on you than you think, and it makes him fucking sick.

He can’t move.

You’re confused when you hear the mention of his name, his real name, and why wouldn’t you be? You have no idea who he is, who he really is.

Sweat slicks his palm as he pulls at the door to the interrogation room, builds on the back of his neck under the crisp collar of his shirt as he takes a seat. He can’t look at you. He can’t look at you because he’s a piece of shit coward, unable to confront all the shit he’s done.

Bile stings at his throat.

It takes every fucking bit of him to keep it together.

The file is heavy in his hand as he slides it across the table before he finally manages to meet your gaze. It cuts him to the very core. He feels the hit of it deep in his chest. His jaw starts to ache from the pressure of keeping his teeth clenched tightly together, forcefully swallowing down every flicker of pain and guilt and self fucking loathing until he’s nothing but a blank slate.

Tears start to build rapidly in your eyes and he knows then and there that he’ll never forget that look of pure and utter heartbreak creasing your face. The face he had stroked so softly, kissed so lovingly.

“Special Agent Pike,” you rasp softly, almost choking on the words.

It’s a viciously harsh blow to the system and he falters almost immediately.

I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry—

You don’t look at him anymore, and he’s almost glad for it. You’d see how he starts to crumble, how his tongue darts out to wet his lips in a panic and how Jenner makes a small gesture for him to take a deep breath and cool it before he says something that’ll end him in deep shit.

“I want a lawyer.”

—

“I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. Any of it.”

He seems to be expecting the words, taking them in with nothing but a small reassuring smile and a simple, “Okay.”

Honestly, you were expecting a little more. Maybe a few questions fired as to why you couldn’t do it when you seemed so intent on following through with it all originally, but when he says nothing else, you deflate. You wet your lips, wondering if there’s some sort of catch, but Marcus remains silent, watching the flutter of emotions pass over your face.

“That’s it?”

“When I told you that you’re in control of this, I meant it. If you’re done, then you’re done.”

Hearing him confirm it brings such a sweet relief to your mind, you can practically feel the weight of it all start to seep from your shoulders, but despite that guilt still sits in the pit of your stomach, uncomfortable and relentless. It falls from your mouth before you can even think to stop it—

“I’m sorry. I thought—I don’t know. I guess I just thought it would feel different, or be easier than it actually is. I think I’m just… tired. Of everything. I want—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he cuts in quietly, giving a small reassuring smile when you glance at him. “We asked a lot of you, and I understand that. It’s okay—really.”

Your conversation with Jane plays back through your mind, almost tauntingly. A small part of you wants to tell Marcus about it, he should know Jane’s off parading about on his own path without a care for the plans or rules or whatever it is that gets set in place during an investigation, but then what?

He’d want to know what he said, and you don’t have it in you to look him in the eyes and tell him. You don’t want to open yourself up to that embarrassment. Of course what Jane said is all bullshit, it’s ridiculous to even think about yourself, but to have Marcus bluntly tell you so would be a bit of a slap across the face.

“The recording,” you start with the creepings of hesitation, tongue rolling along your lips in an effort to bring the words out smoother, “what happens to it?”

 A flutter of a frown creases his brows as he eyes you from across your kitchen before he gives a noncommittal shrug, finding no harm in your curiosity.

“It gets put in with the rest of the evidence.”

“Even if there’s nothing on it?”

“It would need to be cleared by an agent first, but if there’s nothing of use on it then it just gets discarded.”

“If—if I asked you to delete it now, without listening to it, is that… would you?”

The frown immediately deepens.

He seems to stand straighter, something seeping into his expression as your question lingers in the air, and you watch, waiting for the suspicion that doesn’t seem to come. He just seems concerned, whether on your behalf or his investigation you don’t know. He doesn’t seem to know that Jane had jumped on you at the museum, surely that would’ve been something he would address immediately upon seeing you after the last time,  so you’re positive he’s unaware of what’s on it.

“I—” he stops, tongue running along his lips, “I can’t risk the case—”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you. There’s nothing worthwhile on it, but if I wanted you to forget about it and delete it, would you?”

Would you trust me?

It goes unspoken, but it lingers behind your words. Despite the anxiety churning in your stomach and the panic building in your chest from how he’ll take your request and what he’ll think of it, you’re curious. He has no reason to trust you whatsoever, especially given your history, but some sort of shaky foundation had been built between you over your time working with him—how far did it go?

His concern grows, and he takes a careful step towards you. “Has something happened?”

Should you tell him? No. Just be done with it all.

“Just answer the question.”

“What happened?”

“Marcus.”

The frown remains steady between his brows, his eyes unwavering as they focus on yours and study your features, but eventually, after a few moments of searching your expression, he gives a small careful nod. You can’t help but recoil slightly in surprise, not expecting the answer. You don’t even know what you were expecting.

Your first response is to call him out, because surely he wouldn’t, but as you watch him and the way he starts to shift almost nervously, you start to believe him.

“You would?” You question softly, brows pulling together. “Why?”

“Because you asked me to.”

That’s it? That’s all it would take?

He swallows, eyes falling to the floor as his hands find his hips. “Are—are you asking me to?”

“Maybe.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“No.”

It’s not an answer he wants, but he seems to accept it. His frown stays on you, his eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as he attempts to work out whatever you may be thinking. You see the conflict play across his face, the urge to push for more answers, the want to understand.

Something seems to click behind his eyes and you don’t know what to brace for in the seconds that follow. Anger? Accusations? 

He strides towards the kitchen counter, takes the little device in hand and holds a small button along the side until it gives a small beep followed by a clear confirmation of ‘recording deleted’. It’s over and done with within the span of thirty seconds and you’re left reeling.

Holy shit. He did it. You stare, wide eyed as he tosses it back down and runs a hand over his mouth, before turning and pacing the small width of your apartment. 

You watch him go.

There was nothing on it other than your little spat with Jane, but he didn’t know that. You could be hiding anything. You could’ve turned on him, evaded Rigsby’s watchful eye, found someone in your old circle and told them everything you and the FBI have been doing. Anything could’ve been on it, and yet he listened to you.

He trusted you.

“You could’ve just deleted evidence,” you breathe, still stuck in disbelief.

He knows it wasn’t. He fully believes you would never ask that of him, but at that very moment, he couldn’t have cared less if it was evidence. He would’ve dealt with it, like before. Technology isn’t always reliable, and issues almost always arise during cases with something tech-related. No one would know. No one would need to know.

“Yes,” he states plainly, and you’re so perplexed by the word and how he seemingly shrugs off his actions that you need to take another moment to process it.

“Just like that.”

He finally stops pacing, turning to face you fully.

“Just like that,” he echoes quietly.

This was a bad idea.

Not just the erasure of potential evidence and his apparent nonchalance regarding it and the risk to the position he had gruellingly earned over the years, but the whole thing.

The whole fucking thing.

He should never have bought you into this. He should never have knocked on your door. He’s right back to where he was back then, stuck and doing some very questionable shit he would easily lose his job over all because he’s an idiot.

You don’t hide away from his gaze, and he doesn’t shy away from yours. You’re still trying to work out his thought process, the logic behind his actions, and you keep coming up with nothing. There’s no reason why he would do something like this, for a nobody like you. There’s no motivation, no need on his side to do as you ask and blindly delete shit without questioning it further…  unless—

Unless, what Jane said holds some merit.

Why else would he do it?

No.

Maybe he’s just doing it as a favour, to try and make up for all of the shit he put you through. That makes more sense than him having feelings for you. He hasn’t been around you enough to justify any sort of feelings—he doesn’t know you. Or is he carrying them from your previous relationship? But it’s been ages since you were together, and that was all fake back then. There was nothing real there, it was all a lie. 

The headache is coming back.

You exhale slowly through your lips, eyes falling away from him and to the simple black device once more. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You don’t need to know any more. It’s all done. It’s over, and you can finally get back to your quiet little normal life. You can move on.

“Thank you.” And you mean it.

“Thank you,” he murmurs quietly, clearing his throat. “I know this must’ve been very hard for you, and we appreciate all of the hard work you’ve put into this investigation. I appreciate it.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” you half smile, the pull of it natural.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he huffs softly in amusement, slowly coming closer to pick up the device from the counter and tuck it away into his pocket. 

“I mean, I wasn’t thrilled to begin with, but… it turned out okay.”

He smiles fully, and it hits just like it used to. You don’t look away. There’s no harm in taking it all in one last time. You won’t see him after this. You didn’t know last time, before it all fell apart. You didn’t get a chance to enjoy all of the little things you liked. You didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

“Well, I’ll—I’ll leave you to it. Thank you again. There might be some final paperwork, but I’ll post it out.”

You nod as you follow him slowly to your door, tucking your cardigan around you and crossing your arms tightly across your chest. You ache. Somewhere deep inside your chest twists, and your throat starts to tighten. You’re not exactly sure what you’re thinking when you call out to him before he can reach for the door, and you’re left with nothing to say when he pauses and turns to you.

There’s nothing to say. He doesn’t bother filling the silence. You stand there, eyes roaming his face in an effort to picture him as he was back then, when he was Alex. He lets you. There’s something there, something hanging in the stillness surrounding you both because you can feel it start to tug and twist at your insides.

Finality.

This is goodbye—a proper one.

It’s not Marcus you want to say goodbye to.

Slowly, deliberately, you step into him and he doesn’t move a muscle. He stills under the hand you steady yourself with on his arm, breath all but hardening in his lungs when your face nears his own.

Your lips press ever so softly to his cheek, only mere millimetres from the corner of his lips, and the shaky little exhale he lets out confirms it all for you.

Jane was right, but you have no idea just how much. He was in deeper than you could have possibly ever imagined. Everything was still there, simmering right under the surface and threatening to be his entire undoing. He doesn’t speak, can’t speak, for fear of saying the wrong thing and fucking this last little moment up.

He relishes in it, in the one final tender touch of your lips that sends his pulse to a heavy hammer beneath his skin. It kills him, destroys him, but he takes it willingly with an open heart. The final punishment to close the last chapter of your story.

His eyes are closed when you pull away, but they soon flutter open to meet yours, and they swim with all the apologies and guilt he doesn’t let himself say anymore. You’re thankful for it, you don’t want to hear it. Not now. Your lips tingle, and a warmth spreads along the skin of your cheeks. 

“Bye Scribbles,” he rumbles finally, and you swear there’s a slight shine of tears in his eyes.

They mirror the ones suddenly building in yours.

Goodbye Alex.

“Goodbye Marcus,” you return softly, and then he’s gone.

—

He wants to tell you to run.

The words sit on his tongue: a beg for forgiveness, a plea to just get on the first plane out of the fucking country and disappear, and he damn near draws blood to stop himself.

Though he tidied up as much as he could, ensured there were appropriate plea deals in place and a chance for you to get out of this better than the others if you cooperated, he still dreaded the next few days.

You have no idea.

No idea that your world’s essentially going to shatter and come down around you, and it’s all his fault.

Your kisses feel like a punishment. Each one threatens to cut through his restraint, and when you whisper those three sweet words in his ear he wants to vomit.

He wants to tell you everything. He wants to explain that this fake persona you had given yourself to so fully was still him—it was all him, just under a different name. 

He doesn’t.

He lets the guilt eat away at him, lets the heartache practically tear him apart from the inside out until he feels raw. There’d be no salvaging this. There’d be no walking away from this with you still on his side, and rightly so. This will fucking break you, and he’ll carry that for the rest of his life.

He sits up long after you fall asleep, studying each dip and curve of your face and committing it all to memory. He traces over your skin, attempts to smile when you sleepily wake from his touch and hides the presence of his tears by scooping you into his arms for the last time. 

—

It’s surprisingly easy to return to life as it was before he knocked on your door. A weight had been lifted free from your shoulders, a promise of new beginnings born from finally gaining closure. Was it what you expected? No, but it was no less welcome. 

You managed to get your old job back at the diner, and spent days sketching aimlessly in the park.

It was normal, until it suddenly wasn’t.

The door’s pried open when you return from a late night shift, the obvious signs of a forced entry with the wooden edges of the door chipped and the frame split from pressure. Your hand shakes as you push it open, stomach turning as it gives way to the utter chaos that is your little apartment. Your home.

Your things are everywhere, drawers are opened and the contents spilled out onto the floor, furniture upturned and tossed carelessly to the side. Someone had been looking for something, but you know you have nothing of worth. Not anymore. They wouldn’t have walked away with anything of significance but still, there’s a bitter sting of loss, of intrusion that seems to rattle you to the core.

Heart beating heavily in your throat, you carefully step over the mess and further into your small apartment, and beyond the thunder of your pulse you hear nothing else out of the ordinary. Whoever had been here was long gone, leaving nothing but destruction and questions in their wake. Who the hell did this?

He’s the first and only person that comes to the forefront of your mind, and when you shakily reach for your phone and find his name still saved in your small list of contacts, he answers after the second ring despite it being so late. You almost feel guilty for bothering him, but something about the way he seems so immediately concerned placates any doubt.

“Hi, I—I’m sorry, I don’t… someone broke into my apartment—”

There’s a sudden flurry of movement on his end that crackles down the phone. 

“Get out of there,” Marcus demands, before you can even finish working out the right words to say.

He doesn’t tell you to call the cops, he doesn’t tell you it’s not his problem and that you’re on your own now. You feel a slight wave of relief, but facing the disaster of your apartment has a wave of vulnerability hitting you and your eyes start to burn. 

“There’s no one here,” you mumble around the sudden dryness of your throat, “they’re gone. Can you—”

“I’m on my way. Listen to me, I need you out of there, do you understand? Do not touch anything, leave everything as it is.”

You nod, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to see it, and step back out into the quiet corridor of your floor.

There’s no one around.

Your skin prickles with worry, your nerves working into overdrive to stay vigilant. Every quiet shuffle and bump beyond the walls of neighbouring apartments rattles your senses, and the hand holding your phone starts to shake. He must sense your panic, hear the way your breathing starts to pick up as your chest starts to tighten.

“It’s okay, I’m coming. Stay on the phone with me.”

“Okay,” you exhale as a tear tracks down your cheek, leaving a cool trail in its wake.

Maybe this is an overreaction. Maybe it’s just some random burglary, someone out to get a quick bit of cash for whatever they need, or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s not all over as you had hoped. Has someone found you? Do they know who you are? Do they know what you did?

You feel sick.

Your voice catches in your throat, “Marcus—”

“I know. I’m coming.”

[blackkwidowed]

Imagine kissing Nats bruises and scars after a mission and just being soft and showing her so much love.

I just wanna give Nat a hug tbh

just the entire concept of nat finding it so hard to be vulnerable around anyone but you is both heartbreaking yet the softest most adorable shit ever. here's a little drabble. some darker themes here as well i guess. also, best friend bucky? you got a taste of that here as well. also haven't proofread so sorry

•

When the few team mates arrive back off a mission, there's a dark, almost sad, atmosphere among them. Natasha, Bucky, and Clint had gone together for a few days to track something down. They'd come back early, empty handed, bruised, beaten down and overall, unsuccessful.

Natasha had looked the most upset. She hadn't been crying or anything, she just looked glum. She looked like she'd seen something no one wants to see.

Immediately you say your hellos to everyone, glad that they made it back safely and in once piece- albeit a few bruises and minor injuries. Something had happened out there.

You pull Natasha into your arms and there's something about the way she relaxes and sinks against you that makes your concern skyrocket. Fingers running through her hair, you cup the base of her skull in your hand and bring the other to her cheek for her to look at you. "What happened, my love?"

She sighs, the kind of sigh that speaks for itself.

"We found a group of kids. They'd all been locked up by these asshole guys we were trying to find. They'd been brainwashed. Beaten. Taken from their families and forced into whatever the hell kind of project that's been lined up for them."

You flinch, closing your eyes and repeating Natasha's sigh from before. You understand now.

"Got jumped by some security who've had training from God knows where. Good enough to get some hits in, put it that way." She cranes her neck a little, moves her hair out the way, enough to show the budding purple mark under her ear that's making it way across her jaw. "Powerful bunch, these guys. We're gonna need some more planning before we go back in there."

You nod in agreement, tracing your finger gently across the mark and pressing a soft, barely there kiss to the skin.

"Are you okay?" It comes as a whisper, gentle and only just loud enough for her to hear it. "I mean, I know you're not okay as such just. What do you need?"

She smiles gently at you, pushing herself closer to you again and resting her nose in the crook of your neck. "This is good."

You press a kiss to the side of her head, looking up at the guys who're now sat at the breakfast bar of the kitchen, also looking on like they've seen a ghost. You can't help but feel sorry for whatever they've seen, it takes a lot to have them left feeling like this.

You send Nat to your room, telling her you'll be up there in a moment and to get changed out of her suit. Quickly, you make your way over to the boys and rest a hand on each of their shoulders. "You need anything you know where I am, alright?"

They thank you thoroughly, Bucky even slinging an arm around your waist and squeezing lightly as a thank you. "Take care of her, yeah? I think, maybe, she's reminded of everything she went through. It's hit her, this one. Just take care of her."

Bucky's smile is laced with pain, heartache. You don't see him like this often either. You nod at him. "Of course."

-

What you find in your room is enough to make you angry. Nat's got a fair few bruises, and it makes you want to track down the bastard(s) that managed to leave such a mark on her soul.

She's sat on the end of the bed, glancing over the hand shaped mark on her arm where she'd been grabbed and thrown just hours earlier. She's not even mad that she let her guard down. Normally she'd be upset with herself, but she can't think about it.

You perch at the head of the bed against the pillows, beckoning her over in a gentle tone. She settles into your side and curls an arm around you tightly, as if she's frightened you'll leave. It only makes you grip her tighter.

Peppering gentle kisses to the side of her face, she sighs in relief and sinks somehow deeper into you, nuzzling into your neck. You're warm, familiar, comforting, you're everything she needs in a time of need.

"Thank you," she whispers against your skin.

"For what, baby?"

"Being here when I need you."

You smile softly, raising a hand to her face and brushing your fingers across her cheek. You kiss her softly, slowly, so gentle she has to pull you even closer so you'll kiss her firmer. Your lips move against hers and it might just be the highlight of Natasha's day, feeling you like this.

"You don't ever have to thank me. You know that's what I'm here for." You continue stroking her cheek, down her neck, and back up. Touches like this are her favourite. It warms her heart when she remembers the bruise on the side of her face, and the fact that your touch is so gentle against her skin that the contact with the bruise doesn't bother her even a little bit. "I love you."

Natasha hums softly, moving to lay on top of you now. She kisses you again, whispering against your mouth. "I love you."

You hold her close, hands running across her hips, fingers trailing up her back. She lays on you, nuzzled in and as close as possible. You don't ever want either of you to move, this is where you're content. This is your happy place.

She's relaxed now, happier, and you know today's at the back of her mind still but for a moment, she can forget about it. She feels safe now, comforted. You're her happy place, her everything, her lifeline. To her, you make it worth it.

"Get some sleep for me okay?" You murmur into her hair.

You feel her nod against where she lays on your chest. "Only if i can stay here."

You give a soft laugh, rubbing a hand up her back and tangling into red hair. "Always."

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Back To You

John Egan X Reader

WC: 3K

Summary: John always finds his way back to you

The sun hung low over Thorpe Abbotts, casting long shadows across the airfield. The hum of aircraft engines filled the air, blending with distant laughter and the sharp calls of soldiers. For John Egan, however, the atmosphere felt dense with memories—of love, heartache, and the chasm that war had carved between him and Y/N. Once, their engagement had been a sanctuary, a promise of a future stitched together with shared dreams. But in a moment of raw vulnerability, suffocated by fear and uncertainty, he had made a choice that would haunt him.

“Y/N, I can’t do this,” he had said, his voice quaking as he faced her, the evening light dimming around them. “I can’t let you wait for something that might never come.”

Y/N’s eyes had shimmered with unshed tears, her expression a painful mix of confusion and sorrow. “You think I’ll just grow tired of waiting? You think I’ll forget you?”

“It’s not that,” he had insisted, desperation clawing at his throat. “It’s just… I don’t want either of us to suffer if something happens to me.”

He could still hear the tremor in her voice as she replied, “You think I’m weak? That I can’t handle it?” Each word was a dagger, piercing through the facade he’d built around himself.

“Y/N, please,” he had begged, his heart racing. “I’m trying to be realistic. We don’t know how long this war will last. I can’t ask you to put your life on hold for me.”

The air between them had crackled with tension, filled with unspoken love and the ache of impending loss. Finally, she had stepped back, the distance between them a stark reminder of what he was giving up. “I won’t just be some memory you tuck away. I want to be there for you. And what do you want us to do when you eventually get back? Move on without each other?”

But John had shaken his head, each refusal feeling like a knife twisting in his gut. “You’ll only be waiting in vain. I can’t live with that.”

And so he had turned away, each step feeling heavier than the last, as if the earth itself was trying to pull him back to her. He could almost hear the echoes of their laughter, the way their hands fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle that were meant to be. But now, the specter of war loomed large, casting shadows over everything they had once dreamed of—a home, children, a life built on love.

As he first landed in Thrope Abbotts the weeks dragged into months, John found himself ensnared in the rigors of military life. He navigated training exercises, early morning drills, and the relentless buzz of adrenaline that came with preparing for flight. Yet, beneath the surface, turmoil churned within him. The weight of his decision sat heavily on his shoulders, a constant reminder of the love he had pushed away. Each day, he fought not only the enemy but also the haunting memories of Y/N—her laughter, her warmth, the way her eyes sparkled with hope.

He saw his fellow soldiers embrace their families in letters, the words spilling with love and longing. It only deepened his own sense of isolation, each written sentiment a painful contrast to his own solitude. He had tried to bury the ache, focusing instead on the camaraderie around him. Yet, at night, when silence blanketed the barracks, her absence pressed down on him, an insistent weight that refused to be ignored.

Then, one fateful afternoon, as he walked through the base, a familiar voice echoed through the medical hall.

“Are you all right?” one of the nurses asked, her tone light yet concerned.

John turned instinctively, and time froze. There she was—Y/N. Clad in crisp white, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, she moved with purpose and confidence that took his breath away. His heart raced, the familiar warmth of affection flooding back, but panic gripped him, freezing him in place. He ducked behind a supply cart, praying she wouldn’t see him. The air around him crackled with unspoken words and unshed emotions, and all he could think was how desperately he wanted to run to her, to hold her tightly and never let go.

What would he say? How could he face her after all this time? Every moment they had shared replayed in his mind—each laugh, each touch, the way she had made him feel alive. But now, standing there in uniform, he felt like a shadow of himself, haunted by regret and fear.

Later that evening, the bar buzzed with life, soldiers unwinding after a long week. Laughter mingled with the sounds of glasses clinking and music playing softly in the background. Yet John found it hard to immerse himself in the revelry. His thoughts were elsewhere, orbiting around Y/N.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and she walked in. The room seemed to brighten as she entered, her laughter spilling into the space, warm and infectious. She was there with Robert Rosenthal—Rosie—a friend she had made there, and they moved with a carefree ease that John had always admired. They danced, their laughter intertwining with the music, and John’s heart sank further. Seeing her so happy, so alive, only deepened the regret gnawing at him.

John felt a strange mix of emotions—longing, jealousy, admiration. Every time their eyes met across the crowded room, it sent a jolt through him. But every time she smiled at Rosie, a shadow of despair crept in, reminding him of the choice he had made. He wanted nothing more than to walk over, to bridge the distance that had grown between them, but the fear of rejection held him back.

As the night wore on, he noticed more interactions between Y/N and Rosie—laughter, shared glances, the kind of camaraderie that hinted at something deeper. It twisted his gut with an ache he couldn’t shake. The music faded into the background as his thoughts spiraled. What had he done? What had he lost?

Finally, their eyes locked again, and this time it felt electric, charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. A mix of shock and recognition flickered between them. Time stood still, and for a brief moment, it was as if the world outside had faded away. But just as quickly, her smile faltered, sadness creeping in, and she turned her gaze away.

The evening dragged on, and Y/N slipped out of the bar, leaving John feeling hollow, the laughter around him muted. He called out her name, the sound desperate in the stillness of the night. “Y/N!”

She paused, slowly turning to face him, her expression a blend of surprise and reluctance.

“How—why are you here?” he managed to ask, his heart pounding.

A shadow crossed her face, and he could see the hurt lingering in her eyes. “After you left, I had nothing to do,” she said, her voice steady yet tinged with pain. “I was supposed to wait for you, for us to build a life together. But when that future vanished…” Her voice trailed off, revealing the weight of her heartache.

John felt a deep ache in his chest. “So you decided to become a nurse?”

“I applied to the medical program,” she replied, her tone firm. “I wanted to be useful, to help in some way. But more than that, I needed to move forward. I can’t just sit and wait for something that might never come.”

A sense of regret washed over him. “I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you.”

“By pushing me away?” she countered, her voice trembling slightly. “You thought I would just forget you? I wanted to fight for us, John.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, the weight of his confession hanging heavy between them. “I still am.”

A silence enveloped them, thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions. He searched her face for a sign that she understood, that she could forgive him. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you were gone.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her posture radiating a mix of strength and vulnerability. “John, I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt. It felt like you chose the war over me, like I was a burden you couldn’t carry.”

“No, that’s not how it was,” he said, stepping closer, his heart racing. “I was trying to protect you, but I see now that it was selfish. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was only pushing you away.”

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve started a new life, John. I’m not waiting anymore.”

His heart cracked anew at her words. “But what if we could still find a way? I don’t want to lose you again.”

Y/N looked torn, a mixture of hope and doubt crossing her features. “You’re in the war, John. You’re fighting for your life and for others. I can’t be a distraction to that.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” he pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice. “I want you in my life, Y/N. I want to fight for us. I just need to know… is there still a chance?”

Her eyes softened, yet determination shone through. “John, I don’t want to get my hopes up only to have them dashed again. It’s not fair to either of us.”

Fair?” John echoed, his heart aching with the weight of her words. “What’s fair in this mess we call life? We’ve lost so much already. Can’t we at least try?”

Y/N shook her head, frustration mingling with sadness. “You’re asking me to risk my heart again, and I don’t know if I can bear it. What if you go back to the front, and this—us—becomes just another casualty of war?”

The night air felt charged with unspoken tension, a battle of emotions unfolding between them. John took a step closer, desperate for some semblance of connection. “But what if we don’t try? I’d rather have the chance to love you and lose it than to walk away without knowing what could have been.”

Her gaze flickered, caught in the crossfire of hope and fear. “I’ve rebuilt myself, John. I can’t afford to fall apart again.”

“Rebuilding isn’t forgetting,” he urged, his voice low and earnest. “You’ve always been a part of me. You always will be. Even in this chaos, I still want you by my side.”

Y/N looked away, biting her lip as if wrestling with the turmoil inside her. “You don’t understand. Every moment I spent waiting for you felt like drowning. I can’t go back to that place.”

“Then let’s move forward together,” he said, urgency spilling from him. “Let’s fight for what we have. I can’t promise it’ll be easy, but I can promise I’ll fight for you with everything I have.”

Her expression softened slightly, the walls she had built around her heart wavering. “And what if you get taken from me again? What if this time you don’t come back?”

“Then I’ll fight like hell to make sure I do,” he vowed, his eyes locking onto hers with a fierce determination. “I’m fighting for a future, Y/N. For us. And I won’t let fear take that away from me again.”

The silence hung heavy, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Slowly, a small flicker of hope ignited in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by uncertainty. “I need to think, John.”

“Please don’t shut me out,” he pleaded, desperation flooding his voice. “Just give me a chance to show you that I’m not the same man I was before. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

Y/N hesitated, the struggle evident on her face. “And if I say yes? What does that mean for us?”

“It means we’ll navigate this together,” he replied, his voice steady, filled with conviction. “It means we’ll create our own path, no matter how uncertain it might be.”

For a long moment, she searched his eyes, weighing the possibilities. Finally, she exhaled softly, a hint of resolve breaking through the clouds of doubt. “Goodnight John. I’ll see you around”

As he stood there, watching her walk away the weight of the world still heavy upon them, John felt a flicker of hope ignite within his chest. Maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other amidst the chaos of war.

But deep down, he knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. He would have to confront not just the enemy outside but the shadows of his own fears. And as he looked at Y/N.

The next morning the sky was clear over the base, but John heard the familiar roar of engines echoed across the airfield as he prepared for his next mission yet, all he could think about was Y/N and their conversation from last night, her voice rising in frustrations and his pleads. He had left her again that night with un-known answers to them.

As the B-17 took to the skies, the weight of unresolved words hung heavy on John’s heart. He knew the risks of his job, but the thrill of flying often overshadowed his better judgment. It wasn’t until their mission went awry—caught in a storm and then attacked—that he realized how easily everything could change.

The plane was hit, and despite their best efforts, it went down behind enemy lines. He had found himself captured, his fate sealed in a grim POW camp where hope flickered like a dying candle. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the weight of isolation pressing down on him.

In the dim light of their cell, John found solace in writing. He pulled a scrap of paper from his tattered uniform and began his first letter to Y/N.

“Dear Y/N,” he wrote, his handwriting shaky, “I’m thinking of you every moment, I’m stuck in this place. I wish I could tell you better how sorry I am for everything, we both know I’ve never been good with words. You deserve to know that I love you more than words can say. There hasn’t been a day in the last 8 years since Buck introduced you to me that I haven’t thought of you. Even when I called it quits. I still pretended you were at home waiting for me to keep myself going. You don’t have to forgive me but I just needed you to know that if I dont make it out here it was a life well spent with you. Please stay strong for me.”

He folded the letter carefully, hiding it in his jacket pocket, hoping somehow it would make its way to her. Each day, he wrote more, documenting their struggles and clinging to the memories of their time together. The letters were his lifeline, an escape from the cold, hard reality of the camp.

Meanwhile, back in Norfolk, Y/N was consumed by a mix of anger and worry. She had heard whispers of John’s capture but had received no confirmation. Her heart ached with longing as she waited for news. Till his first letter arrived in the mail informing her about his whereabouts and thoughts. Seeing this she quickly poured her feelings into letters to send back, writing to the stars, hoping they would reach him.

“Dear John,” she wrote one evening, the candlelight flickering in her small room, “I’m so angry for you constantly for what you did, but how can i be mad when I well know you were it for me and I was stubborn enough to say no when you wanted us back. But I’m more scared than anything right now because I need you John. I miss you every day and hope for your safety. Please come back to me.”

The months dragged on, with each passing day deepening the chasm of uncertainty. John’s letters became a source of strength for him. They shared stories, laughter, and dreams of freedom, the bond between them growing stronger amidst the harsh realities of their captivity.

“Remember that picnic we had by the river?” John wrote one day, reminiscing. “You made that terrible potato salad, but I loved it anyway. I can’t wait to sit by that river again with you.”

As winter settled in, the cold seeped into their bones, and hope began to wane. But every time John thought of Y/N, he felt a spark reignite. The thought of her kept him going.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, an unexpected rescue operation led to their liberation. The sound of gunfire and chaos filled the air as Allied forces stormed the camp. John’s only thoughts as he started climbing to place the American flag were of Y/N and that he was coming home to her.

When John stepped off the transport plane back at Thorpe Abbotts, his heart raced. He was alive, but a part of him felt hollow without Y/N by his side. Word had spread of his return, and as he stepped onto the airfield, he searched the crowd.

Suddenly, he saw her—Y/N stood at the edge of the tarmac, her face a mix of disbelief and joy. Time seemed to freeze as they locked eyes. Without a second thought, she broke into a run, and he met her halfway, enveloping her in his arms.

“John!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m here,” he murmured into her hair, holding her tightly as if she were the only thing anchoring him to reality. “I’m so sorry for everything honey. I never wanted to leave things the way we did.”

Y/N pulled back, looking deep into his eyes. “You scared me, John. I was so angry, but I was terrified.”

“I know,” he replied, brushing her tears away with his thumb. “I didn’t realize how much you meant to me until I was lost. You’re my home, Y/N.”

They kissed, their lips meeting with a fervor that spoke of all the unspoken words, the longing that had built up over the months apart. The kiss deepened, filled with all the love and regret they had bottled up.

As they pulled away, breathless, Buck, standing nearby, grinned and clapped John on the back. “Looks like you two have some catching up to do!”

John chuckled, pulling Y/N back into his embrace. “Let’s go home,” he said softly.

Hand in hand, they walked away from the airfield, the sun setting on the horizon, casting a golden glow over them. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them, ready to face whatever came next together.

That evening, as they sat under the stars, they shared stories and dreams, the weight of the past lifting with every word.

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” Y/N whispered, leaning against him.

“I’ll always come back to you,” John promised, kissing her forehead. “I’ll never take that for granted again.”

Their hearts were full, the air thick with unspoken words. In that moment, they knew they were finally home—together.

[typicalopposite]

tongue tied

thank you @nine-one-wanton for the title 😂🫶

BuckTommy | E (eh.. maybe M+) | 4859 words

also on ao3!

Mortification… 

That still isn’t a strong enough emotion to describe what Buck is feeling at the moment. 

He glances down at Tommy and asks if he’s still okay. All Tommy can do is blink in response; once for yes, twice for no. Pretty much any movement causes them both pain… and the humiliation is bad enough without them being overly sore as well. 

Tommy slides a gentle hand over Bucks thigh, doing his best to smile up at him. He inhales deeply through his nose and blows it back out, adjusting how he’s sitting on his legs, having to keep himself up high enough so he doesn't accidentally tug on the rings— tangled together and seemingly inseparable. 

There’s a knock at the loft’s door, and Buck hears Bobby’s voice yell out to him. He looks down at Tommy and sighs. 

This was definitely not how the team was supposed to learn they made up.

****

(Two months earlier) 

Tommy sat in a small chair, waiting his turn at the tattoo and piercing parlor. It had been years since Tommy had worn his little hoop earrings in his ears. Yet when he pushed the curved bar through the hole— thinking maybe they would be closed up and he’d have to force them— they just slipped right in. 

He considered getting a second hole, maybe. A nose ring. A belly button ring… 

Was he being dramatic— I want to feel something beyond the heartache I have caused for myself… so I’m going to go have a needle jabbed through some part of my body— maybe… He would agree, too, that maybe it was a little juvenile… a little petty even, to ultimately settle on a piercing Ev- no… Buck had shown so much interest in. He’d talked about having blowjobs from girls with tongue rings in his “Buck 1.0 days” (whatever that means); he said they were amazing. 

So now Tommy would have one, too… and he could give whoever the next guy he hooked up with amazing blow jobs. Take that memory of Buck that just wouldn’t leave! (in reality he knew he was fooling himself… He doubted there would ever be a next guy for him… Buck, however, would probably be getting plenty of better head from people way better than Tommy— whose knees don’t creak and ache after just a few short minutes on them, and who’s jaw hadn’t been shattered and wired shut in his teens so he can only hold it open for so long before it locks up.) 

He huffed angrily at the thought of someone else with Buck’s— with Evan's dick sitting heavy on their tongue; thrusting in and out, hitting the back of their throat. Someone else swallowing down every drop of his—

“Sir…” the receptionist said, thankfully interrupting his train of thought before he snapped his phone in half. “You’re up.” Tommy cleared his throat and thanked her, rubbing a hand over the heat climbing up his neck from embarrassment. 

He plopped down on the client chair and told the piercer what he wanted. He opted for the clear bar, and he had taken a (much needed) week off work; hopefully it would be healed by then. The woman gave him the instructions: sit up straight, stick out your tongue, please don’t try to grab my wrist. “People do that?” Tommy asked, around the clamp on his tongue, and she gave him an exhausted look. Sorry… he thought but didn’t say. 

He stuck his tongue out at himself in the bathroom mirror that night. It was swollen and very sore— it definitely didn’t make him feel better, but hey he’d always wanted to do something drastic. A tongue ring at forty counted… right? Yeah, it counted. He cleaned the piercing and went to bed. 

****

(One month earlier)

Buck wasn’t sure if this was just some Buck 1.0.2 phase or a very emotional based impulsive (probably stupid) decision resulting from his still broken heart. 

Still he was already there and had already put a deposit down; he might as well, right? 

He had come to the parlor alone, because… well, what would anyone he knows say about him doing something like this. Maybe if it was something simple like an ear piercing… or hell, even a tongue piercing. But this— this was not something his pseudo siblings or father figure would be on board tagging along to. Eddie was in El Paso… and he definitely wasn’t about to ask Maddie along.

The receptionist smiled at him, had him sign in, and told him to take a seat. 

He was early… Perhaps that had been a bad idea. His knee began to bounce and he fiddled with his fingers anxiously, staring around the parlor at the other clients ahead of him. Some laid back in the chairs getting tattooed— he should have just gotten another tattoo; what was he thinking— others getting any and every part of their body pierced. Most people were quiet. One lady in the back let out a scream so blood curdling Buck was about to get up and leave but—

“Sir! You're up!” 

Buck followed the piercer into one of the private rooms. The man was quiet and looked like he might bite Buck’s head off if given the chance. He instructed Buck to lower his pants, his boxers, and sit down on the pad covered seat. He did as he was told, and the seat was tilted back, putting him on full display thanks to the cold room. Why was he even doing this? Just because Tommy had said some guy he talked to before they even knew each other said he might get one? Was Buck really that shallow— that jealous?! 

“Alright, man… here we go.”

This was a bad idea. 

This was a bad idea.. 

WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE THINKING!?! 

This was so stupid! So bad! Such an impulsive idea! 

“And done!” 

Buck blinked once… twice… and looked down towards where the man was already slipping his gloves off. He pulled his dick up towards his stomach so he could see the little silver hoop hooked through his frenulum. “Oh,” he said, thanked the guy, paid and went home. 

****

(Two days earlier) 

Tommy played with the flat top of his tongue ring; he slid it back and forth over his teeth, he pushed the bar out enough to bite down on, all while he tapped on his steering wheel to the beat of a song playing on the radio. He was nervous. 

And the thing was… he shouldn’t be. 

He was a big brave grown man— capable of doing big brave grown man things… like to have drinks with an ex, whom he’s very much not over. He would be fine. 

Except the only spot available was directly beside the Jeep. 

“Fucking mother fucker.” Tommy grumbled out loud and turned into the spot hoping that maybe he wouldn’t be— 

He was still sitting in the driver seat. 

Cock sucking, bitch ass… What kind of god damned luck?!? How could he come to his senses about the meeting and run away now? 

He sighed and put the truck in park, then turned to look at him. It was the very first time he’d laid eyes on the man— beyond the pictures and videos he couldn’t bring himself to delete from his phone— since he walked out of the loft. 

Evan.

Or… Buck, since he’d decided to go that route and really drive the break up home. 

“H- Hey…” Buck said as soon as the both were out of their vehicles. “Thanks for — for the invite.” 

Tommy stuffed his hand down in his pockets, and chewed on the flat top to his tongue ring. “Of course,” he finally said. “I, uh… I felt like we really needed to talk about…”

“Everything?” Buck finished. 

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded along. “Everything.” 

“Okay… well for starters—” Buck wasted no time jumping right in. “Don’t ever call me Buck again.” He stared at Tommy so seriously before his lips twitched up a bit and he added, “please.”

“Noted,” Tommy said and there was a pause like he was waiting for— “Evan…” Tommy added and Evan fully smiled at that; he seemed relieved. “Okay, what else.” 

Evan stepped towards him. Tommy had the slightest urge to step back, but even more of one to move closer— to reach out and grab him and cling like his life depended on it. Evan reached for him first. “Don’t ever make a decision like that for me again.” Tommy waited, his eyes searching Evan’s… trying to say without saying how sorry he was. Finally Evan leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Tommy’s. “If I had needed more time to figure myself out… if I wasn’t sure about this— that you were what I wanted. I wouldn’t have just strung you along until I did… okay?” 

“Okay.” Tommy wanted to say more. He thought, maybe, he should say more… but his voice was lodged somewhere deep in his throat and all he could focus on was how his lips were tingling from that kiss. Evan, like a damn mind reader, took the moment to lean back in, deepening the kiss and wasting no time slipping his tongue into Tommy’s mouth. He noticed almost immediately. 

“You got a tongue piercing?!” 

“I— uh, yeah…” 

Evan’s eyes lit up mischievously… his breathing hitches then speeds up… he leaned in for another kiss.

****

(One hour earlier)

Buck had been very mature about the fact Tommy now had a tongue ring. In fact… he was so mature about it, that he didn’t suggest they forget the drinks, and their plans to actually talk like level headed adults do… In fact, after just one more kiss— one more quick swipe of his tongue over the flat top of the bar— he pulled away from Tommy completely; minus their hands, which Evan promptly laced together as they walked into the bar. 

And they talked. 

They actually talked.

They opened up— more than he’d expected them to.

They cried. They laughed. They left a few hours later and were officially back together.

Buck remained mature, and didn’t offer (beg, plead, or bargain) to follow Tommy back to his place, or bring him back to the loft. He allowed the night to end with them parting ways, but with the promise there would be a next time— and plenty of times after that—  So Buck was fine with going home alone. 

But when Tommy arrived at the loft, a bottle of wine in hand, his curls styled nicely, and wearing the cologne that he knew Buck loved… the maturity went out the window. He tugged him in by the collar and crashed their lips together. Buck had asked him to put a regular bar in, one with the bigger metal ball. Tommy had laughed and made a bitchy little joke but as Buck’s tongue passed over the piercing he let his lips curl up into a pleased smirk to find Tommy had done as he’d asked. 

They wasted no time; Tommy’s fingers ran along the hem of Buck’s shirt while Buck hurriedly pushed Tommy’s button-down off of his shoulders. “There’s something you should know…” Buck says as they nearly tripped over each other getting up the stairs, pieces of their outfits falling off every couple steps. He leans in close to Tommy’s ear and whispers, “I got something pierced too…” then he falls back onto the bed, pants and boxers already gone and his cock standing straight up like it’s showing it’s new accessory off. 

Tommy’s eyes widen. His brows fly all the way up to his hairline. He crawls onto the bed and takes Buck in his hand, tilting him back to look at the piercing better. “It’s healed, right?” Buck nearly gives himself whiplash nodding. Tommy leans in and flicks the tip of his tongue over the hoop— over the little piece of skin it’s going through— and Buck sucks in a sharp breath. “Good?” Tommy asks. 

“Amazing!” 

“Okay, great…” Tommy says, then goes back to licking at the piercing and around the head, and down the shaft. All the while Buck is moaning and squirming. It shouldn’t be so over-stimulative but it’s been so long… he hasn’t— not like this— not since Tommy. “Missed you; missed this…” Tommy says between licking down Buck’s cock and sucking the tip into his mouth, which only seems to make it so much more sensitive. 

Buck’s toes curl as Tommy takes him all the way down. And, God, how he has missed that. Buck whimpers and lets his hands move up into Tommy’s curls; messing them up, sure, but he doesn’t care. Tommy bobs his head, making sure to flatten his tongue and let the ball rub over Buck with every slide down and back up, and it feels just as amazing as Buck remembered— it feels even better, actually. 

Tommy moves Buck’s legs further apart so he can settle on the bed more. He flicks his eyes up to meet Buck’s and smiles around his cock, lining himself up so the ball goes over the hoop. It’s— well it’s mind blowing…

…at first. 

Tommy gets a little too into it. 

Probably due to the completely wanton noises pouring out of Buck’s mouth. He slides down all the way to the bottom, presses his tongue against the underside so the ball is pressed into the tender skin and starts to slide back up. He reaches the hoop… and somehow the ball just pops through it. 

Buck thinks he’s really just thankful Tommy caught the mishap immediately… without trying to pull off— so fucking thankful. 

“Uhh…” is all Tommy can manage. He holds himself up with one arm and brings the other up to try to get a finger in his mouth, to the where they are quite literally linked together. He can’t. 

And just like that… Buck’s pride in his size disappears. 

****

Tommy tries to move his tongue, ever so gently so he doesn't tug at the ring, but it’s useless. He wants to cry. He looks up at Evan… who is looking down at him… and looks terrified, and he can’t shake his head so he just sighs. “You have got to be joking… Tommy, what do we do?!” 

Tommy knows what they have to do… and he knows Evan knows what they have to do. 

“We can’t! Tommy, Maddie is at work! What if she takes the call?” He waits for a second like he’s expecting Tommy to answer, he can only blink back. “A- And I’m in the 118’s district… oh my god…” Now Evan looks ready to cry, and Tommy can’t even properly hold him about it. He runs his hand up Evan’s side, hoping it does something to soothe him. “Maybe if… if I can just get soft…” he suggests. Tommy shrugs, he doubts it but he doesn’t blame Evan for not wanting to call… this absolute disaster… in. 

So they wait. 

And wait.

And wait…

Drool starts to pool in Tommy’s mouth and he tries to swallow it as carefully as he can. His throat spasms, and Evan hisses, and Tommy makes a wounded noise by means of apologizing. To make matters worse, not that Evan’s erection had gone down much sitting in Tommy’s mouth… but the tightening of his throat from swallowing definitely didn’t help. They are doomed, he fears.

He looks up at Evan and tries to lighten the mood with a smile, and Evan manages to smile back, before dropping his head to his pillow and letting out a pitiful sob. 

Tommy knows they can’t sit here forever. He taps Evan’s leg and points to Evan’s pants that are the closest to the bed. Carefully they shimmy together, over to the edge, until Tommy slides off the bed, stretching out his leg to pull the pants over to him. He sits himself on his legs and pulls out the phone. Evan still seems hesitant so Tommy grunts around him and puts the phone in his hand. 

“Okay, fine.” 

Thank you, Tommy thinks and sighs. He slowly moves his tongue, still trying to find a way to pop the ball back through the hoop, but it’s just no use. He brings an arm up and uses it to prop up his head, and listens as Evan types in the dreaded numbers. 

He puts it on speaker and rests his body back on his free arm. “9-1-1 what is the location of your emergency…” Tommy watches Evan inhale deep and let out a long drawn out sigh. He gives his address, and immediately the dispatcher gasps. “Buck?” 

“Hey Josh…” 

****

“What's going on, are you okay?” Josh asks, eyes flicking up to look at Maddie who is in the middle of her own call and hasn’t yet heard her brother's name. 

“Well… define okay.” 

“Do you need medical assistance? I can send your team—”

“No!” Josh’s mouth snaps shut at the urgency in Buck’s voice. “Not— Not them… and Josh… please don’t tell Maddie you’re talking to me.” 

Josh glances back up at Maddie, and sighs. “Okay…” he says slowly; quizzically. “So what’s going on?” 

“Me and Tommy are stuck… together.” Josh waits for more, but his first panicked thought is that there has been some accident at Buck’s loft. 

“A- Are you— either of you hurt?” 

“Not… exactly. Just stuck.” 

“Like… in the elevator?” Josh pries, since Buck is giving him very little information. 

“I wish…” Buck groans, and Josh hears a muffled snort. “No, we're inside my apartment.” 

Josh tries to run through where they could be stuck in the small loft… He comes up with nothing, And Buck has gone silent. “Okay, look… I have no idea what’s going on, or how to help you, so I’m going to need you to give me a little more details beyond just ‘We’re stuck’.” 

Nothing— Nothing!!— could have prepared Josh for what Buck just blurts out next. 

“Tommy’s tongue ring is stuck through my dick ring…” 

Of course that’s the moment Maddie decides to look up at him. Her brows furrow and she mouths what’s wrong? Josh is pretty sure he resembles a deer in headlights, and he might have forgotten how to speak beyond a startled, “Oh…”

There’s a pause and Buck speedruns Josh through a quick explanation of what has happened, that Josh can only mmhmm back too, biting his lips between his teeth to stop them from curling upward and trying to figure out exactly how to word this in the notes to whoever he sends to… help. (33 and 40 year old males. No serious injuries. Unable to come to the door… prepare to be scandalized— he doesn’t add that last part)

Maddie is still just staring at him with a progressively getting more worried look. Finally she takes her earpiece off and starts towards him. Shit… he thinks, then quickly sends the 133 with a final note that an ambulance will possibly be needed. “What’s going on, Josh…” Maddie asks, looking at his screen. She immediately recognizes Buck’s address, gasps and grabs Josh's earpiece. “Buck?! Buck, are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

Josh watches the voice recorder from the call and it doesn’t move. “M- Maddie listen…” he tries, and reaches for the earpiece back; Maddie slaps his hand in return. 

Her eyes frantically move over the screen, furrowing as she tries to decipher what the notes could mean. She comes to the unit responding, and scoffs. “Why would you send the 133, Josh… the 118 is closer!” And Josh can do no more than run a hand down his face, and continue to bite back the laugh that has been threatening to break free since Buck explained the actual situation. “Buck I’m sending the 118 to you… everything’s going to be okay.” Her mouth pulls down into a worried frown. “Are you there? Can you please say something…” 

****

“Th- Thanks Mads…” is all Buck can think to say. 

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he finds Buck's hand to hold it. 

“What’s going on…” Maddie continues to press. “Is— is Tommy with you? Is he hurt? Buck, do I need to go there?”

“Please, no!” Buck cries out. “I’m… fine. It’s fine. We’re— we’re fine. R- Right Tommy?” He squeezes his eyes shut realizing Tommy can’t agree. 

He does manage a garbled “Uh huh,” though… (To which Buck hears Josh snort then quickly clear his throat.) 

“I, uh… I’m gonna hang up now…” Buck says, then before Madie can say anything he adds, “I swear I’m— we’re really okay. I promise.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I— I’m sure…” he tells her, hangs up and throws his head back with a loud groan. Tommy sighs around him and moves the hand propping up his head and rubs at his jaw, reminding Buck of the reason Tommy never drags out his blowjobs. “Fuck! Tommy your jaw,” he says, and moves Tommy’s hand to rub over the spot himself. “A- and your knees have to be killing you!” Tommy shrugs and leans his face into Buck’s hand. “Is this at least helping,” he asks; Tommy cocks a brow, and his lips curl up into a smirk. “Oh my god… blink once for yes twice for no,” he groans, laughing only when Tommy blinks once. 

Which brings them back to the present. Bobby yells that they are coming in and the only silver lining is that Bobby has a key so they don’t have to break his door in. Something taps Buck’s leg and it’s his phone that Tommy has typed up a message on. 

pocket knife. cut off my tongue. I’ll go out the window.

That startles a laugh out of Buck… which is immediately followed by a pained hiss from them both. The front door opens and Buck groans. “Up here…” he says, and they both listen as the entire team— hell it sounds like the entire station— files in. 

Tommy whimpers when Chimney calls out, jokingly asking if Buck’s decent, and grabs the blanket to pull over his head. 

“Alright Buck what’s… going… on…” Bobby says, first to get up the stairs— his worried look melts away and is replaced by something akin to absolute horror, which Buck 100% gets. 

“What on earth…” Hen gawks as she comes up behind Bobby. 

Buck feels like his face is about to catch on fire, and Tommy hasn’t moved since covering his head— so he has either convinced himself if he doesn’t move they can’t see him… or he has died. 

“Is that Tommy?!” Chimney blurts out, looking around Hen and Bobby, who both slowly turn and look back at him.

Chimney shrugs. “What? I can appreciate nice features without it meaning anything, thank you very much.” He moves past her and gestures at Tommy’s backside. “And when you got it you got it…” Tommy makes a choked off noise— so, at least that means he’s not dead… 

“Wait so is it really Tommy?” Ravi calls from the bottom of the stairs. Buck doesn’t answer… which is enough of an answer in and of itself. 

Bobby turns back to Buck, rolling his eyes at the others. He sighs. “Okay, what exactly is going on here, Buck.” 

Before he can even think up a decent answer, Tommy twitches, stiffens and then pulls his hand up to scratch at his nose. He grunts, and takes a deep breath, and Buck watches in horror as it finally clicks what exactly Tommy is doing under the blanket. “This has got to be a prank,” Hen says, pulling off her glasses and covering her eyes. “Buck… tell me this is a prank.” 

Tommy continues to squirm and finally while holding his nose to suppress it, he sneezes. Buck yelps and Tommy mumbles incoherent apologies. The loft falls completely quiet; all eyes are now on him, waiting for an explanation. 

His phone rings first, and he expects it to be Maddie… but it’s Eddie— and he doesn’t need to deal with that— so he sends it to voicemail. 

Then Tommy’s phone starts to vibrate down stairs. “Ignore it,” Buck instructs when Ravi asks if he wants it brought up to them. 

About a second after it stops, Chimney's phone rings and he answers without hesitation, putting it on FaceTime.

“Oh… oh my god!” Eddie gasps. “You two didn’t…” he sounds like he’s crying and sucks in a breath. “You two idiots didn’t… did you?!” Buck glares at Chimney, but he is unfazed, turning the camera for Eddie to see them. “You did!” 

“I’m so lost,” Chimney says, looking at Bobby.

Hen is still covering her face and shaking her head. 

“These two—”

“Eddie…” Buck pleads— but really… What's the use in hiding details? “Whatever…” he groans and turns his eyes to the ceiling, and Eddie shares what he knows.

And apparently, he knows everything. 

So Buck wasn’t the only one who went to Eddie about his impulse body modification. Tommy had told him too— he texted Eddie after learning of his move to El Paso, and it just slid its way into the conversation. 

“How did you even find out about this?” Buck groans.

“Josh told me.” 

“Oh, but he couldn’t tell us so we knew what we were about to walk in on…” Hen says bitterly. 

“And since when do you and Josh talk?” Buck adds. 

“That is my business,” Eddie quips back. “You all  have fun with… yours.” He wiggles his fingers at them, laughs again, and ends the call. 

Chimney and Hen give each other strained looks, both clearly trying to hold it together. Bobby takes a deep breath, resting his hands on his hips and stares down at Buck. “Okay well we— we need to get you two… separated—” His lips tremble and he tries to stop the laugh but it bubbles out anyway. That's all the motive Hen and Chimney need to both double over. Even Ravi is laughing down stairs. 

Tommy makes a pained noise and Buck knows he has to be hurting from sitting like this for so long. “Yeah, yeah… laugh it up. Can we please figure out how to actually do that?” 

“Well we have to see what we’re dealing with first,” Hen says, grabbing the blanket without warning and lifting it up. “Oh my god…” she nearly chokes, and has to walk down stairs to compose herself. 

Yeah mortification was definitely not a strong enough word. 

It only takes the team five minutes to get them separated— Buck is sure it will take a lifetime to live it down. 

****

“Are you sure you don’t want to go in and get checked out?” Bobby asks; Tommy just shakes his head and puts his hand over Evan’s, where he is holding a frozen bag of peas against his jaw. “Alright,” he gives them both a smile— it looks more uncomfortable than when he was given the medal of valor at the ceremony. “You, uh— you two…” he looks between Tommy and Evan. “Well, I’m glad you… worked things out.” 

“That’s one way to describe what happened here tonight,” Chimney says, smiling smugly at the both of them.

Hen comes up beside Tommy and lays a hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s safe to say you can definitely keep up.” Tommy slowly lifts his eyes to her and she can’t hold back the laughter. “Maybe a little too well— you might wanna slow down actually.” 

“Uhm, what— what does that mean?” Evan leans in and asks; again… Tommy just shakes his head. 

Ravi hands Evan the little baggie the two rings were put in once they were removed. He doesn’t say anything, and just leaves. He pulls the door shut behind him, and then they are left alone, embarrassed, and sore in their respective affected areas. 

Evan holds the bag up and sighs. “That was… something.” 

“Yeah…” Tommy laughs, finally feeling like he can move his jaw again without it popping. “Next time, maybe we don’t go with the ball and hoop combo. 

“N- Next time?” Evan furrows his brow but his lips are already curling up at the corners. 

Tommy shrugs and grabs Evan’s hand pulling it to his lips. “If I have learned anything lately… it’s the importance of giving things another chance…” 

Evan’s smile widens. “Wow. That was— just wow...” he laughs and pulls Tommy into a kiss; he winces when just the slight movement hurts. “I’m sorry about your jaw, and your knees.” 

“I’m sorry about your… frenulum,” Tommy replies and Evan snorts. “Now I can’t finish what I started…” 

They both pout at that… for just a moment. “Yeah, b- but… my jaw doesn’t hurt,” Evan says with a suggestive smirk. “And your dick doesn’t hurt…” He bites his lip and tugs on Tommy’s hand to stand him up.

“This is true…” Tommy states. 

“So maybe we can finish what we started after all…” Evan leans in and brushes his lips over Tommy’s then turns and heads for the stairs, Tommy right behind him, and the silver hoop and tongue ring left behind on the table for next time. 

[rcmclachlan]

okay, so if you’re not writing the aquarium scene in the 118/217 scheming fix-it (god i love this) can you at least share what mishap and or shenanigan gets them banned from the aquarium?? (since you mentioned it in the tags i assume you picked one!)

The aquarium is Christopher's idea, because getting Buck and Tommy back together is the one thing he and Eddie can talk about without it devolving into shouting or week-long silences that make Eddie want to put his fist through his living room wall.

So if plotting to interfere in the open bear trap that is his idiot friends' breakup gets him an hour of uninterrupted screen time with Chris three times a week? He'll meddle in a way that would make even his abuela say, "cariño, that's a little much." He'll change his legal middle name to el metiche.

"Buck used to take me to see the otters when I was younger; they're his favorite. But the exhibit has been closed for a year because they've been redoing it," Chris says, then texts him a link to the aquarium website. "The big reopening is next week. If someone asked Buck to take Jee-Yun, he wouldn't be suspicious."

"Chris, you're a genius," Eddie says, a little awed. His entire body aches to reach through the laptop screen and across state lines to pull his kid into a hug, but all he can do is sit on his hands and hope his face shows all the love he feels.

A small, but genuine grin unfurls on Chris's face. "That's not news, dad."

Eddie decides to take the aquarium idea to what Chimney keeps calling the weekly 118-217 Shadow Summit to see if the rest of the group thinks it holds water—no pun intended—and is extremely offended when Dana gives him a slow blink and says, "That's actually not bad. Who came up with it?"

"Is it that hard to believe it was my idea?"

"Very."

Dana presses the rim of her wine glass to the sly, crimson curve of her mouth. With her victory rolls, winged eyeliner, and tattoos, she looks like the winner of a car show pinup contest. She also looks like an evil queen out of an old school Disney movie. At least five people in their general vicinity look like they'd thank her if she force-fed them a poisoned apple or turned into a giant dragon.

Eddie reaches into the bowl of popcorn by his elbow and throws a handful of it at her. She just takes a sip of her wine and serenely lets the kernels bounce off her.

"Knock it off before I put you both in a time out." Lucy drains the dregs of her beer and says to Chimney, "Having Buckley take your kid is the perfect excuse—she's, what, two? Three?"

"Five," Chim says with the heartache of a man whose baby is almost old enough to rent a car. "As long as we don't tell my wife that Jee's playing the part of the cutest MacGuffin ever in this little plot, we should be good. But how do we get Tommy there?"

"Short of planting a bomb in the penguin tank, I can't think of a reason Mr. Nature Boy himself would ever voluntarily go." Hen roots around in the popcorn bowl for the kernels with the most butter. "Actually, he might be thrilled if we did that. I don't think he likes birds very much."

Dana lifts a brow. "I smell a story."

"Does it smell like KFC?" Chim pops a pretzel in his mouth and chews loudly, grinning. "Once we've adjourned the cabal for the evening, remind me to tell you about Maurice."

Eddie doesn't know Nico very well—he can't get a read on the guy to save his life—but the smug smirk he's sporting looks entirely out of place. Nico takes the last mozzarella stick off the platter they'd ordered to share and puts it between his teeth like a cigar. He looks like the world's lamest oil baron.

Eddie looks at Dana in askance. Wordlessly, she plucks a piece of popcorn out of her hair and throws it at him. It nails him right between the eyes.

"Let me handle Kinard," Nico says. "I'll get him there, no problem."

To his credit, Nico does get Tommy to the aquarium the day of the sea otter exhibit grand reopening. And thanks to Chimney planting Chris's idea in Buck's head at the start of their next shift, Buck does take Jee-Yun.

Unfortunately, their paths never cross, because while the penguin habitat doesn't explode, the sea jelly gallery does, completely flooding the first floor. When the aquarium is forced to evacuate everyone, Buck and Jee-Yun end up at the Chili's down the street, while Tommy ends up riding in an ambulance with an old woman who gets stung by a box jellyfish.

"I don't understand how this happened!" Lucy shouts, keeping her fingers on the ankle pulse of a man in the middle of an allergic reaction to a lilliputian jelly sting as Hen and Chim pump him full of epinephrine and then start administering compressions.

Eddie would help, but he's carrying three kids—two in his arms, one on his back—through shin-deep water to safety while attempting to dodge all the bluebottles floating on the surface. Dana glides past him to get the next group of kids waiting to be rescued, not a hair out of place. She looks like a fucking mermaid. He's gonna trip her the next time they pass each other.

Annoyed, Lucy casts around and then asks, "Has anyone seen Nico?"

Just in time for the man himself to sedately walk through the pandemonium, two bewildered penguins tucked under his arms like purses. He smiles brightly. "Hey, did Kinard pass through here, by any chance? Phase two of my plan is ready to go."

Eddie stares at him. "What was phase one?"

He never does find out what exactly phase one entailed, but it's enough to get them permanently banned from the aquarium for life.

"If you ask me, the punishment so does not fit the crime," Nico says, digging an elbow into Eddie's side as he jostles for room in the back of Athena's squad car.

Eddie says nothing. He's too busy mentally composing the short-answer portion of his application for the El Paso Fire Department, although, in the end, it doesn't matter. He completely forgets everything he plans on writing when Athena slides in, glances in the rearview mirror, and shouts, "Those better not be penguins in my back seat, Edmundo Diaz!"

He and Chris spend two hours talking about it during their next call, so Eddie calls it a win.

[redwolfxx]

if you died

(Gun x reader)

TW: angst, themes of death, mentions of religion

Summary: You die, how does he react

A/N: Sorry it's been a while, running low on inspiration. Was gonna add some others but wasn't sure on how they might react so I'll save it for another time. Lmk your thoughts!

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

Gun

If it was of natural causes:

He would watch your body in the hospital bed with an eerie quiet. His features softer than normal but absent of emotion .

He'd examine your face ever peacefully sleeping in the silence of the room, no mechanical beeps from the machines, nothing. Just silence.

He'd eventually leave you and return back to his place for the night.

At first he had no plans of keeping any of you, he was, at Goo's advice, going to remove all fragments of you from his life, the clothes in his closet, the shoes by the door.

But he couldn't do that to you. So instead, he went to your apartment using the spare key you gave him a while back. He quietly rummages through your apartment, taking the ring you would always fiddle with, the stupid photos you took at every photo booth you passed, he took a few more items, before he was done.

He stood in your foyer, looking around your apartment, it was quiet, and lifeless. Your apartment was always the opposite, your cat attacking him whenever she saw him, your plants everywhere blocking walkways, your gaudy framed artwork livening up the place.

But it was empty and painfully quiet. Your plants given away to trusting friends, your cat given to your sister, and your artwork given to friends and family.

He almost felt his heartache, but that's not an emotion reserved for him. He didn't deserve to feel emotions such as that, for he was a monster, a criminal, void of such emotions.

No linger willing to withstand this feeling, he left your apartment without looking back, with the mementos he took in his passenger seat, where you should've been. He drives back to his place and places your memories around his place. Next to that plant that you gave him that won't die. Next to your brightly colored IKEA drawers you put next to his dark mahogany one.

He isn't ready to lock you in a drawer, to leave you out back. Anger swirls inside him, because how could they take you from him, you have done nothing wrong in your life, you still had so much more to give this world and they took you away.

Why was it not him, he wonders, and he will never stop wondering. He never moves on, not celibate because he's not a eunuch, but he remains loveless, his heart reserved for you and only you.

If anyone brings you up in a less than honorable way, he rips their throats out. Nobody will taint your name, not even his, so he doesn't speak your name in public, to keep your memory pure and bright.

But in the dark hours of the night, as the clock ticks and the silence of the night is all to be heard. He whispers your name. Hoping it will bring you back to him. Even if in a dream.

However, if you were killed:

As he watched your body, lifeless. He feels his fists close, and his heart burn with fury. You had died alone, and likely frightened and he was not able to protect you.

His anger grows and his face morphs into one of pure unbridled fury.

Your killer had fled the scene, he did not know their motive, but he assumed it likely had to do with revenge against Gun himself.

He doesn't sleep, doesn't rest, not until he has the one who did it in his grasp. And as they beg for mercy, he reminds him he is the Shiro Oni, and since when was he known for mercy? With that, he burns their house to the ground, he makes sure that watch as he destroys everything they've worked for, watches as everyone leaves and they are all alone in this world.

Gun was never a man of mercy. He does everything in his power to make they're life one of pain and anguish. And only once Gun is satusfied does he let them die in the gutters of the world. In an alley on a cold rainy night, alone.

Once Gun has his peace he goes to your resting site. And prays to whatever God he can that you come back to him, or even to switch places with him. He could not live knowing you had died for him in a way, all alone, waiting for him to come save you, which he never did.

He almost cries reading your name, engraved into the stone, he almost yells into the night, cursing the world. But he doesn't. He carefully gets up, leaving your favorite flowers by your stone and he leaves.

He returns to his place where a box is on his doorstep. It's in your handwriting. He carefully brings it inside and places it on a table.

He stares at the box, curious and hesitant. He doesn't open the box for a long time for fear of what might be in it. Always looking at it as he passed it, but never opening it, nor moving it.

Eventually Goo threatens to open it if he doesn't and Gun pushes him out and locks the door behind him (Not that that will actually keep him out, but it's more of a symbolic gesture).

On a late night when he misses you more than other nights, he goes to the box and opens it.

At the top lies a letter to him, a handwritten letter explaining that this was to be sent to him should something happen and a letter expressing your love for him and your hopes for him to move on. Which he won't ever.

The contents of the box are composed of photos you've taken over the time you've spent together. Some of him, some of you, some of that bastard Goo (you definitely did that to mess with him). But there was also your most treasured ring which you never took off, your favorite plants with a sheet of care instructions next to it and a threat to have him killed should it die. There were also smaller knickknacks and mementos from your escapades together.

He carefully moved them around his apartment, plant here, random gaudy I ❤️ NY sign here, etc.

Once he reorganized his place with your items intertwined it felt like home once more. It felt like the home you always talked about late at night when you told him about your dreams and hopes for your future.

He would never move on, you were the only one he could ever imagine being with and nothing would change that.

Every night he would pray to whoever in hopes for your revival and return to him. His prayers would go unanswered, but life would move on.

He would move a few times, taking all of your memories with him to the new place, asking you if you like your new home, which always went unanswered.

He would die alone, as you had, but in spirit and memory you never left his side.