#*shakes fist at god (the langs)*

[starlight-theater]

i wanted to test their colors and drew some tiny fuckers...

[cranberrymoons]

same old lang syne

prompt: snow (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 1,000 rated: t tags: angst, open ending, post-breakup (like years and years) – aka the existentialism of running into your ex in the grocery store at christmas notes: title from earth's saddest christmas song – same old lang syne

welcome to Day 21 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

He’s standing in front of the avocado display, contemplating life and guacamole when he feels a hand land on his shoulder from behind.

“Steve?” 

He jumps, sucking in a sharp breath as he turns around, blinking at the face of the man standing a few feet away, who’s staring at him with wide eyes and a little smile. It’s so unexpected that he almost doesn’t recognize him, which is insane, because –

“Eddie,” he says. He shakes his head, letting out a little laugh. “Oh my god.”

Eddie’s face relaxes into a smile, and he holds out an arm for a hug. Steve returns it, feels his hand settle over his back in that place where he always used to hold him, slotting together warm and solid and familiar in spite of how long it’s been. 

They’ve always fit like this, together. Without even trying, they just fit.

“How are you?” he asks, pulling away before his throat can get too tight. “What are you doing here?”

There’s a lingering whiff of Eddie’s cologne clinging to his collar, and he tries not to focus on it too much. Tries not to let it draw his attention away from the way Eddie’s eyes are raking over him, his hair as wild as ever where it’s pulled back from his face. The trim cut of his leather jacket and the shine of his shoes, the soft hint of lines around his mouth.

“Just visiting,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder at nothing. “Christmas. Wayne.” He holds up the thing in his hand, which is a block of butter. “Baking cookies.”

Steve lets out a little laugh. “Nice,” he says. He holds up his basket. “Um. Same – just, parents, you know.”

And it’s been… how long? Almost ten years since they’ve seen each other. It feels a little awkward, a little weird, a little – something, but Eddie’s smile is still there on his face same as ever, and Steve’s heart gives a wet little thwump in his chest.

“Hey, uh –” Eddie clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck. “You want to grab a drink or something? Catch up?”

---

It’s Hawkins, Indiana, at 8 PM on Christmas Eve, so they predictably don’t find an open bar, but they head back to the store for a six pack and sit with it in Steve’s rental car.

It’s snowing outside, big soft flakes falling from the sky and gathering on the windshield, but he doesn’t turn on the wipers to clear it away, and neither of them comments on the fact that it was snowing like this back then too, the last time they saw each other. 

Steve’s thinking about it, though. He thinks Eddie probably is too, judging by the faraway look in his eye as he stares out the window and takes a sip of his beer. The radio is playing softly in the background, a cheery Christmas song that makes Steve feel a little like sticking his fist through the whole stereo system. The snow makes everything else outside the car feel muted and gentle, like the whole world is holding them close. 

“So how’s the–”

“What’ve you been–”

They both speak at the same time, then break off with matching embarrassed laughs. It seems to unwind some of the tension between them though, and Eddie smiles at him in the glow coming from the lights of the grocery store parking lot.

“How have you been?” he asks, turning so his back is pressed to the door, facing Steve as much as he can in the tight little space. “Where are you living now?”

“Yeah, good,” Steve says. He feels the corner of his mouth twist down. “For a while, you know. Chicago, sort of. I got married?”

“Oh, that’s–” Eddie’s eyes go a little wide, darting down to stare at his ring finger, which is empty. “Great?”

Steve lets out a quiet little sound, tilting his head to the side. “It was for a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “Was he – or…”

“She,” Steve says. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Just– you know. Deserved better than me.”

A little line appears between Eddie’s eyebrows, and one of his hands reaches out then stops an inch away from landing on top of Steve’s. He hesitates there for a minute, like he’s not sure if it’s okay, and Steve’s eyes drop away from his face to stare down at it. 

He lifts one of his fingers, just enough that it grazes against the underside of Eddie’s palm, warm and soft, tracing a little pattern there until he draws Eddie’s hand down into his. His throat is tight, eyes hot and pricking at the corners, and he blinks a few times to clear it, eyes lifting back to Eddie’s face.

“And you?” he asks as Eddie’s hand settles in his. It feels safe there, like it’s never left. “Are you…”

“For a while,” Eddie says. “Not– you know, not married or anything, but just… seeing people. Dating. And then touring a lot and just– you know how it goes.”

And Steve doesn’t really, but he nods anyway, a little smile playing out over his face. 

“That’s right,” he says. “The band’s– I mean, congrats. You guys are doing really well.”

“The band is doing really well,” Eddie says, nodding slowly. His eyes are shining a little, and he sniffs, blinking back to Steve’s face. “I miss you.”

Steve lets out a little sound. “Don’t.”

“I do,” Eddie says. He shakes his head again, and Steve can feel it too, vision going blurry with it. “Every day. I fucked up.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” he says. “I never should’ve let you go.”

“It was the right–” 

But Steve cuts himself off, because he was going to say the right choice, which is what he’s been telling himself ever since it happened. But he doesn’t actually believe that. He never has. 

He takes a breath.

“I miss you too.”

[also on ao3]

[metaphorical-goblin]

How about #2 with nrmt

“Phoenix?!”

His head shoots up, his shoulders strain from the officer’s grasp. “Miles!” He screams it, tugging against his cuffs, as he watches Miles fly down the courthouse stairs, Gumshoe’s coat wrapped around his shoulders and billowing all around him. Miles nearly crashes into him, sending them both careening against the squad car (and they would have, if this blonde jackass wasn’t holding on to Phoenix like he was actually going to try and run away). The man’s grip on his shoulders tightens, even as Miles’ hands scrabble for purchase on his suit jacket.

“Oh, God,” he whispers, knotting his fingers in Phoenix’s hair. “Oh God, oh God, I thought you died.” It stings, the way he pulls, but it’s good because he’s here and he knows Miles is alive, knows his fingers are real and his arms are real and that this is all real. “I thought you were dead.” His voice shakes with every trembling breath, and Phoenix just wants to scoop him up and carry him home.

“Edgeworth.” The cop’s voice is tense, terse, but somehow almost regretful. 

Miles doesn’t remove his arms. “A moment, Lang,” he spits, hot and furious, his nails digging into Phoenix’s back like claws. “Give me a single damn moment.”

And he sighs, irritated, but he relents. Phoenix feels his cuffed hands fall slack behind him, and he leans against Miles, legs trembling. “Miles,” he croaks, voice weak. He nudges Miles’ head aside as gently as he can and dips his head, pressing a single, soft kiss to his lips, no longer than a heartbeat or two. Miles draws back, silent, simply staring at him, mouth ever-so-slightly open. 

Phoenix leans forward, then, pressing their clammy foreheads together. “I thought I lost you,” he says, lips barely moving. 

That body, in his office—Miles’ office—wearing his coat, slumped over his desk.

His fingerprints were all over the scene. The victim’s blood, all over his hands.

Who could blame him?

There’re fingers curled around the nape of his neck, again, fingers curled in the front of his shirt, and Miles is kissing him, hard, first a gentle press of the lips and then a nip, a bite, an invasion of tongue as he drinks Phoenix down. Phoenix runs his tongue along Miles’ lower lip, groans at the way Miles goes limp against him, at the way he presses their bodies impossibly closer—

It’s all over before he can even open his eyes. “Edgeworth, come on.” The cop—Lang, apparently—interrupts, eyes averted but his hand now firmly clasped between Phoenix’s shoulder blades.

Miles pulls away, pupils blown, hands fisted in the front of Phoenix’s shirt. “I’ll figure this out,” he whispers. “I’ll— Gumshoe’s here, we’ll investigate right now, we’ll figure this whole thing out, and you’ll be out of there before they can even finish checking you in, I promise.”

“Don’t you dare go back in there, Miles. It’s not safe, who knows what—”

One hand lays soft on his cheek; the other tightens on his shoulder, gripping to the point of painful. 

“I’ll figure it out,” Miles says again, pulling his other hand close to his chest. “I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

His back hits the ancient seats of the police cruiser, the door slams behind him, and all he can do is watch in horror as Miles stands on the sidewalk, coat billowing in the wind. The flames swallowing the prosecutors’ office lick ever higher, and the sound of approaching fire department sirens are Phoenix’s only comfort as Miles turns and marches himself back up those marble stairs as the sea of fleeing people parted around him.

---

Feel free to ask for another prompt from this list!

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Any record of ragnarok characters react that male reader has Foul Legacy form

Male reader Foul Legacy form is 12 feet tall(366 cm)

Here's some information about Foul Legacy

https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Foul_Legacy_Transformation

https://twitter.com/yuckshas/status/1348977553692758016?lang=en

-There were many who didn’t know about you, seeing your name on the roster for Ragnarok, fighting for humanity, many had to question other people to try to find out who you were.

-There were many who did know you, and knew what you were capable of, knowing that’s the reason why Brunnhilde sought you out to fight.

-However, Brunnhilde was the only one who knew your secret ability, one that nobody else knew of, as most only knew of your combat skills, knowing that you were a skilled warrior.

-You told Brunnhilde as you prepared for your fight, that you were only going to use your special skill as a last resort, which she agreed to, knowing what it does to your body.

-You inhaled deeply before sighing slowly, calming yourself as you entered the arena. The crowd was cheering loudly for you as you walked out, smiling and waving up at the fans, grinning at the girls that were cheering for you.

-Your opponent was an old god, Chernabog, a deity of evil and darkness, one who was excited for the destruction of humanity, having already made some exciting plans.

-You were toned and very agile, proving that you were stronger than you looked, as many had underestimated you, and you were quick to prove them and Chernabog wrong, easily being able to push him back.

-Chernabog then roared, shaking the arena as he began to grow in size, bigger and bigger until he cast a shadow down over most of the arena, “You humans will fall!”

-You clicked your tongue before you smirked, inhaling deeply, “You’re not the only one who has a flashy transformation!!”

-Everyone is in awe as you grew as well, growing to stand more than twelve feet fall, donned in black and purple armor, a menacing aura surrounding you.

-Jaws of gods and humans were on the floor, gawking in shock, seeing this, as they had no idea you could do something like this, because if they did, they would know your name.

-The battle was just as intense as the first half, both of you pushing yourselves to the limits as both sides were watching on bated breath, unable to cheer, only watch.

-As you hit the final blow and Chernabog disappeared, you fell back to the earth, landing in a superhero pose before slowly standing, your cape fluttering in the wind as the dust slowly settled.

-The stadium erupted into cheers on both sides, as the fight was so amazing, it was breathtaking and so entertaining, they had never seen anything like it before.

-You lifted your fist to the sky in victory before you reverted back to your normal body, shrinking down and revealing your now bare chest, covered in bruises and wounds that Chernabog was able to earn.

-Brunnhilde, your partner, appeared beside you, catching you as you collapsed, completely drained as you felt so weak but you couldn’t help but grin up at her, “We did it!”

-She was exasperated with you, seeing you look so cheerful while you were so banged up, before she gave a smile, “We did- it’s done.”

-Zeus and Odin visited you in the infirmary, as they were so moved by your determination and seeing how hard you fought for humanity, and since it was your fight that was won humanity their freedom, they both agreed to grant you one wish.

-They told you that you could have anything, beautiful women, riches, anything you wanted and it would be yours.

-You couldn’t help but grin brightly, “Then bring everyone who died in Ragnarok back to life! Every single one of them!” They both paused before they agreed, seeing that not all humanity was bad, and that they would need to do better as gods.

-You were happy, seeing everyone reunite as you were still laid up in the hospital, but you received many visitors, both with thanks for you for everything and with gifts, like food, which you loved.

-You became quite popular due to your skills, with your ability to change your size and form, using multiple powers at the same time, as there were many fighters, fellow human warriors and fighters on the god’s side, that wanted to fight you, wanting to rest your skills.

-Brunnhilde was very strict however, keeping you on bedrest and if you even thought about it, she whacked you and whoever asked you, on the head, leaving matching lumps and told you that you couldn’t fight until your body was completely healed and that using Foul Legacy put too much of a strain on your body to use it all the time unless if you wanted to risk killing yourself.

-Brunnhilde stomped out several minutes later, her fists steaming while you were pouting, looking like a child, as you had flirted with her, “I knew you cared about me~~”

-However, you knew it was true, she did care, in her own way, not wanting to see anything bad happen to the humans she fought so hard to save. She didn’t mind an occasional headache dealing with people like you, it was worth it.

[arachnixe]

What Gods Demand

(Part 6 of The New Goddess - Previous: How Could I Ever Forget You?)

Collared. Chained. Dressed in finery, given the finest meals, housed in opulence. Even these chains are gold. That girl keeps me like a pet. No, not even like a dog, which can be trained for some valued purpose, but something lower: a pitiful, pampered, useless bauble of a prisoner.

There is no way to fall any further, and I have had plenty of time to reflect on the fact that my predicament is wholly my own fault. The moment it all went wrong plays in my mind’s eye on constant loop, offering ample opportunity to remember each and every mistake that led me here.

First, the gloating. I was so eager to savor the moment of my victory, to draw it out as long as I could, blissfully unaware that the girl was forming and strengthening a bond with the Godsblood from across the cavern. Not even consciously, either! She was simply too naïve to have shielded her mind against intrusion as I did, and the will of that dead blasted god, unable to influence me, seduced her instead. Finding a willing host, it claimed her. If I had simply grasped the damned thing immediately, I would have had it.

Or the insult of calling me small-minded. I should have ignored and punished her insolence, but my pride demanded I hear her explanation. The worst thing? She was right. I was too blinded by my lust for revenge to see the bigger picture. I just had never given much thought to gods at all—their power has never meant more to me than the means to an end—and what I always sought was recognition.

Ha! “Recognition.” How did a girl so much younger than me manage to throw in my face the truth that my own ambitions were so utterly childish?

Then, to add insult to injury, she claimed I could have easily achieved my goals by allying with her from the beginning. “You could have courted me and poisoned my father!” Perhaps there is something to that. I didn’t put all the pieces together until it was too late, but her “bad luck” leading to four deaths in less than a year’s span?

The first was a healer preparing the body of that poor fool Lange who warmed the seat of my position before I insisted he take an early retirement. Nobody even bothered to connect this death to the other three, so that healer must have been much less important or her death otherwise unsurprising. I thought little of it myself until I received a tidy note slipped under my door, saying only “your secret is safe with me.”

Did you have any idea, Princess, how that note would drive me into a furious search for its writer? I never suspected you.

Then two of your suitors. Two! Each within weeks of meeting you! If anyone had thought to bring this to my attention at the time, I might have realized, but I spent as little of my time as possible thinking about the affairs of the girl who routinely contrived excuses to interrupt me with her presence, stealing too much of my attention already.

Then another healer met you, had some tragic accident the first time he took you out gathering herbs, and your father decided to ask me to cleanse you of curses. Of course the curse wasn’t a spell, it was the girl herself the whole time—a bloody-minded princess who imagined herself my secret ally.

I came to pity you. Your father never saw his daughter for who you were, did he? Even with all the evidence in front of him, His Indolent Majesty could not see past the role he expected you to fulfill. And if your little indiscretions weren’t so ham-fisted, immature, and sloppy, maybe I would never have had to intervene.

By then you were gone, of course, but how I wanted to shake some sense into you! “Look!” I’d say to myself as though you could hear me. “Murder is not always the answer! A duke starts sniffing around suspicious about the murder of his heir? Watch how I don’t get my hands dirty ending him. Better to disgrace the poor bastard, cast him as a part of the rebellion, discredit his claims as lies, have his family stripped of their lands and titles.”

Of course there were still the rumors. I could—and should—have let them fester in those years you were gone. How bad would it have gotten, I wonder? Your father might even have been forced to disown you and make a new heir for himself.

But then there was that blasted pity reminding me of my own ineptitude when I was young and had more ambition than sense. Much harder to evade notice when you’re offing young nobles or members of the royal court, though. That’s not a hobby for amateurs, Princess. I dealt with the rumors for you. You’re welcome for that, by the way. I’m sure with your pristine reputation intact, you were welcomed home with warm smiles and glad hearts.

Of course, I can’t know for sure. I had been replaced and ejected from my position within the court. Your father could never appreciate the long game, and he grew impatient that I didn’t supply magical solutions that were quick, easy, and wrong, like his buddy Lange preferred to.

Perhaps had things gone differently I could have forged an alliance with you. I could have taught you much about patience and subtlety. Yes, we could have poisoned your father, and I would have shown you how to evade suspicion, but courted you, child? You were an insipid girl of some seventeen years mooning over a sorceress of nearly thirty. I did eventually realize you harbored some fascination for me, but only because your repeated advances were distractingly clumsy and obnoxious. What on earth do you think a girl that age could have to interest a woman twelve years her senior?

“Oh, how my younger self would have wept in despair to see just how completely devoid of romantic interest she was from your perspective.”

Without transition, without warning, I am no longer alone in this room. How easy it is to forget that Natalia reads minds now, and my thoughts may never again be solely my own. Simply think about her enough, and that might as well be a summons.

“Or a prayer.”

I lift my head from its despondent slump and bare my teeth toward my jailer. “Enjoying the show? Does it amuse Her Highness to watch me relive the greatest mistakes of my life?”

“Yes.” The girl kneels, looking at me eye-to-eye as I slump against the wall. “Although there are a great many more amusing things I imagine doing with you once you’re properly trained.” She still wears a crown made of the same god-bone material as the seamless collar around my neck, flaunting her claim to me. But she does not claim my mind. I will defy her until the end. My pride demands it. My mind remains my own.

“It’s true that I will not take your mind by force,” the godlet replies infuriatingly to words I do not speak aloud. “Few things are more boring than a puppet show for which one must act as both performer and audience, after all.”

I offer her another psychic show, vividly imagining a scene of my magic tearing her to pieces. She can’t take this, at least, away from me.

“‘Can’t?’ No, kitten, there is a vast gulf between ‘will not’ and ‘cannot.’ I will demonstrate.”

I brace for whatever She plans to do to me. The Goddess says nothing, and I feel unchanged, but I hope Her plan works. I would hate to continue being so pointlessly petulant in resisting Her. Maybe that picklock is right, that I will be freed of my chains once I learn to love Her too.

And what’s stopping me? Must I cling foolishly to my first impression of Her as nothing more than a teenage girl? That She grew into a fine woman is the least among the traits I have refused to see. She mastered a magical discipline no less formidable than my own. She led Her friends in a quest to stop me and kept up with me no matter my attempts to stop or slow Her down. As a mortal woman She surpassed me. Now as Goddess She surpasses all.

It would be within Her right to destroy me for all I did to Her, and for rejecting Her divinity, but instead She shows me kindness. She sees my worth, even now. Oh, Goddess, I do love You. Please, give me the chance to show You how well my magic can serve You!

The chains dissolve and fall away, turned to ash by my internal admission of love toward the beautiful Goddess before me. Her face is so close. Would She permit me a blessing, now that I understand the inherent truth of worship? I lean forward, lips parted. Goddess, may I have a—?

What in all the hells am I doing?

I flinch back before making contact. The chains reappear.

“I trust this has been educational? I will not repeat the lesson.” The princess speaks with such an insufferably gentle voice. “‘Princess,’ ah, you should know that I have gifted that title to another. I shall introduce you to her very soon, but in the meantime do find a more accurate way of thinking of me.”

The monster in human skin—how’s that for accurate?—vanishes. Brief as that “demonstration” was, I’ve never felt more violated. It’s like I was someone else, but… it didn’t feel like someone else. I really loved her.

I now have this memory squatting in my mind, one of loving my own captor, one of hunger toward her. My stomach turns, sending me into a coughing, retching, dry-heaving mess on my hands and knees. I can’t scrub this memory away. I permanently know what it’s like to feel so disgustingly submissive. And to enjoy it! To know what it’s like to be satisfied—to have my lifelong ache for any damn recognition for my brilliance and talents satisfied—by the attention of a girl who lucked into winning power that should rightfully be mine.

Horror’s icy fingers tighten their grip the more I dwell on it. She could choose to inflict this on me with a snap of her fingers, and I am shielded only by the paper-thin protection that she would find it boring to simply write obedience directly into my mind. Boredom is the only reason I’m not already a docile sycophant crawling on her hands and knees, drooling for permission to kiss that girl’s feet, at peace only when fulfilling my role as her useless pet, begging to lay in her lap and feel her stroke my head, whimpering pathetically when another pet occupies her attention, barking on command, eating from her hand…

My heart pounds in fear. My dress clings to skin grown sticky with sweat. My imagination conjures scenario after scenario, each more demeaning than the last. If I ever start to bore her, will she force that fate on me anyway? After all, better boring and compliant than boring and willful, right?

I have to find a way out of this trap. I will not have my personality tampered with again.

---

The rules of my captivity are simple enough. The more I struggle to break free, the shorter my leash. When I spend the day sinking corrosive magic into my restraints, my only reward is getting pinned helplessly to the wall, unable to do so much as reach for the food or drink supplied to me. Yet even then, the girl insists on making a show of her “benevolence.” The moment I hunger or thirst, she appears in a flash of light. No admonishing word passes lips that offer me a sympathetic smile as though she were not the one responsible for my helplessness.

She limits herself instead to tiny cruelties: pouring wine down my throat too fast to swallow so that it spills from down my chin onto my clothes or pushing one dainty morsel of food at a time into my mouth, cooing praises each time I chew and swallow.

When her fingers slip too far into my mouth, I bite as hard as I can, to no effect. It isn’t as though I expect there to be, but the act of defiance still matters. I expect punishment—maybe temporary starvation—but her venomous mind is capable of worse cruelties than my own imagination can conjure. Natalia begins chewing my food for me, prying my mouth open to spit each pre-chewed bite onto my tongue, then holding my mouth and nose closed until I swallow.

The punishment achieves its intended outcome. I can’t bear a repeat of that indignity, and I stop trying to escape.

The less I struggle, the more freedom I am permitted. I earn a reprieve from the taunting visits of my captor. My chains slacken with each day, and I am granted my first visit from someone other than that girl. Fool that I am, I assume anyone else here must also be a prisoner, and I quickly learn that no, I am special. I alone am uniquely gifted with enough pride and self-worth to not immediately domesticate myself to the first person who offers me food and shelter.

Against my own will, however, I learn to behave enough for my world to expand. The chains gradually allow me enough length to sleep in the bed, then to explore more of the rooms that comprise my enclosure.

By the time Natalia visits me again, it’s been a long enough while that she catches me off guard.

“I hope you’re ready to be tamed,” she says, and her voice carries an unsettling quality that opens a pit in my stomach. Is it my imagination, or is something in her eyes sharper than before?

I hate you. I think the words as loudly as I can. Read my mind all you like.

“I know, kitten. For a feral thing like you, it’s a scary process, isn’t it? But you’re doing very well for me so far, and I think you’re ready for the next steps.”

An escalation, then. What new nightmare does she have in store for me?

“Yes, you can think of it as a dream, if you’d like. I told you before that I will not puppet you, nor even write your lines, but I do enjoy setting a stage.” The more she talks, the more off she seems. “Oh, and to help you get into character, I may fudge your memories just a bit, but I do want you in full possession of your own history at the moment you decide to accept me in your heart.”

I barely register the threats, too distracted am I by the changes I sense. There is something wrong with her, something at the edge of my perception, a sickness blooming in her soul that wasn’t there before. Natalia diminishes inside herself as something else—

---

“…new personal attendant and housemaid.”

Her Royal Highness, Princess Canina Rosadeus Lillian Ruten, offers me a polite nod of recognition. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Velle.” Unexpectedly, the princess seems to hesitate for a moment as if unsure how to proceed, but only for a moment, before extending her hand.

I know the Rutennian rituals of fealty, and I smoothly take her hand in mine to place the appropriate kiss on her fingers. “It will be my greatest pleasure to serve you, Princess.”

[koshmarr]

XL’s fixation with HC’s hair

Brought over the only thread fic i did on twitter and cleaned up-enjoy

Note: There are some mature elements at the end

---

When Xie Lian meets San Lang, he's fascinated with the way his hair is messily gathered and drapes along his neck, it's disheveled, boyish, cute, and he discovers for a matter of fact it is as soft as it looks when he threads his fingers through it. He can't help but wish he could push his hand further into the thick but soft strands. Letting them flow over his fingers like ink spilled on paper.

As Xie Lian gets to know San Lang, he finds himself fixated on him, how could he not? He’s a vision. But his eyes always themselves lingering on his silky hair. Like when it fanned out like a halo around his head when they laid in the shrine or when it was adorned with little trinkets and bobbles that reflected the red lights in ghost city.

But Xie Lian especially remembers when it’s pulled up, swaying lazily behind him, displaying San Lang's milky neck that he can't help but admire.

There are times when Hua Cheng’s gaze is so intense it lights a fire inside of him, but it disappears in but a moment as Hua Cheng seems to realize his own starring. It frustrates Xie Lian to no end. Whenever Hua Cheng hesitates, whenever he begins to leave, to laugh it off, all Xie Lian wants to do is grab him by the ponytail, spin him around and claim his lips. He wants to make Hua Cheng gasp in his mouth as he pulls on his hair, sinking his fingers into the base, controlling the ghost king like a puppet, making him keen and gasp in pain and in pleasure when Xie Lian tilts his head back to mark his neck.

Its after when they reunite that Xie Lian does exactly this, tired of his husband's teasing and quick wit, he makes quick work of shutting him up.

Hua Cheng takes to wearing his hair up more often after that. 

Almost daily.

After putting his hair up becomes a habit for Hua Cheng, Xie Lian takes note (of course) and notices that even the act of Hua Cheng putting his hair up for the day turns his husband on, so naturally Xie Lian offers to put up his beloved's hair. Hua Cheng agrees immediately, though did not realize how intense of a reaction he'd have.

The simple act of his god raking his fingers through Hua Cheng’s scalp, unwinding tangled strands, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, sends sparks of electricity down his spine. After a moment, Xie Lian gathers his husband's hair with a soft but purposeful tug that makes Hua Cheng sink his fingers into the sheets.

Xie lian can’t help but smile at the reaction. 

Xie Lian knows what he's doing, and to see his husband turn into putty at but a simple gesture warms his heart, knowing that only he can elicit such a reaction from his San Lang. 

He finishes putting Hua Cheng’s hair up petting it lightly, seeing his husband shake lightly, he leans down and whispers, 

"My San Lang looks so handsome, but oh, whats this?"

And Xie Lian combs his fingers from the base of Hua Cheng's neck to the top of the ponytail, turning his husband's head towards him, 

"Ah it seems like there's a few bumps, so sorry San Lang, this gege will have to start all over again,"

And Xie Lian redoes his husband’s hair at least two more times before taking pity on him, who at this point has torn through the sheets with his white knuckled grip and is letting out uneven, and unnecessary, breaths.

Xie Lian pulls Hua Cheng down on their bed, his hand is still fisted in his hair, kissing down the side of his neck. Hua Cheng can hardly speak or breathe for that matter, the only thoughts in his head are how his robes need to come off now, and that he never wants Xie Lian’s hand to leave him.

Xie Lian rides Hua Cheng with his hand still holding onto the remnants of his ponytail that remain. Afterwards Hua Cheng takes to wearing long ribbons holding up his hair in hopes his husband will pull on them (to give his scalp a break). 

Xie Lian of course could never neglect his husband.

[pagesfromthevoid]

False God | m.m. | 1

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Language, therapy, talks of emotional distress sort of

Author’s Note: I had to stop because it was a bit long and my plot didn’t make sense if I kept going in one place. Sorry???

Series Masterlist

“This is a joke, right?” She demanded, leaning forward on the table, handcuffs clinking against the metal. “I don’t need a lawyer.”

She absolutely needed a lawyer, in all actuality.

Ever since Sokovia, her life had been nothing but chaos. And with her stupid decision to help Steve fight for Bucky, life only got worse. You’d think being an Avenger would have cut her some slack, but since she ran…well, governments weren’t exactly nice. She knew it was a only matter of time; they had caught Scott Lang before they caught her. He probably ratted her out on accident.

“You definitely need a lawyer, miss,” Matt countered as Foggy opened her file. “You understand you’re considered an international terrorist, right?”

“It’s not my fault Stark built a robot that destroyed a country —“

“You also helped Sergeant Barnes escape —“

“He’s an innocent man —“

“And so are you.”

She knew he couldn’t see her staring him down, but god she hoped he could feel it. Hoped it burned a hole in his stupid, pretty face. Foggy was looking between the two, waiting for one of them to act; but she wasn’t going to hit a blind man. Not yet, anyway.

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Honestly, you’d be our biggest case yet. It would do us wonders,” Foggy explained, folding his hands on the table in front of them. She narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists, resisting the urge to flick him off.

Matt adjusted his glasses though, a light smirk on his lips. She wanted to wipe it off his face. “And I’m Catholic; I have a thing for lost causes.”

“You’re both assholes.” The lawyers in front of her shrugged half heartedly, clearly not insulted by her. “You realize I’m a former SHIELD operative, right? And an Avenger? Both of which can get me out of this.”

“‘Former’ is the key word,” Matt pointed out, resting his hands on the table now, folding the them neatly over each other. “SHIELD fell in 2014; you should know. You were there for that too.”

“Okay but Fury —“

“Is not here to help you. Nor do I see Mr. Stark or Captain Rogers.” Matt leaned forward some and she could see his jaw tighten. She was getting under his skin; good. “Though I don’t think the former would help you regardless.”

“You can’t see anything so you don’t know whose here or not,” she countered, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“Are you making fun of a blind man, miss?”

“I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

Foggy ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “We’re just trying to help you.”

“No, you’re using me for good press. But I hate to break it to you,” she leaned in once more, narrowing her eyes. “Not only am I not going to pay you for shit, but I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s not like I got paid to be a superhero.”

“We work pro bono,” Matt explained, his demeanor relaxing once more.

“They wanna offer you a plea deal and we think you should take it.”

“If I’m innocent —“

“By the extent of the law, Miss, you’re not. You have harbored a fugitive, run from the government, and caused massive amounts of damage across the world,” Matt explained, sliding her file over the table. She peered over it, frowning as she read ‘DANGEROUS: DO NOT APPROACH’ in red, bold letters. “While your actions might be justified, in the eyes of the court…”

She reached out and took her file, thumbing through the pages. A lot of the information was redacted —how she came to work for SHIELD, how she joined the Avengers. Her addresses and family members were redacted, as well an entire blacked out page about her medical history.

That she was thankful for. No one needed to know that.

However, her various missions with the Avengers —ranging from 2012 up until recently were free to read. As well as several of her missions through SHIELD prior to joining the team. She was considered dangerous, and a threat to society if not under someone’s thumb. What a sad life to live, honestly.

“I’m a criminal,” she finished for him, closing the file and looking up at him. “What’s the deal?”

“If you plead guilty, we have negotiated to have you placed on house arrest like Mr. Lang. Yours would be more lenient; you’d be able to go to the grocery store on the corner, to parts of your apartment building, as well as your court mandated therapy sessions —“

“Fuck therapy, I’m not criminally insane —“

Matt continued, simply ignoring her. “And it would only be for the year. Since you have no prior record, as well as the positive work you’ve done for the country as a SHIELD operative, the UN’s general assembly and security council is willing to skip a trial if you accept this.”

She pushed the file across the table, and Matt caught it without issue. She watched him carefully, considering her options. Plead guilty and be trapped inside for a year —and barely, for that matter. Scott was stuck for two years minimum and couldn’t go anywhere. She could go to the store, at least. And therapy. She’d have to go therapy. Did she really hate the idea of therapy so much that she was willing to go to prison over it?

The correct answer should be no, she didn’t hate it. But she was really considering it.

“There’s like two more things though,” Foggy quickly continued, watching her closely. She frowned. “You can’t break the Sokovia Accords again; if you do, you will arrested and will be sentenced to two to three years in prison. However…if you tell us where Captain Rogers or Sergeant Barnes are —“

“No,” she snapped at him. “Even if I knew where they were, I wouldn’t give them up. But they dipped and I haven’t seen them since.”

It wasn’t a lie; there was no need to lie. Steve knew better than to put the rest of his team at risk any further. When they were released from the Raft, that was the last she had seen of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. For now, at least.

“I believe you,” Matt responded, his tone light and calmer than it had been their entire meeting. “If you don’t know, you don’t know. But your options are limited now.”

Be a hero or be a government tool. That’s what her options were.

She sure as hell wasn’t going to let someone like Ross have any control over what she did.

“Fine,” she finally caved, running her hands over her face. “Fine, yeah. I’ll accept the fucking deal.”

“This is the best decision you could have made,” Matt offered as reassurance.

She watched him carefully, eyes narrowed some. “Whatever. Just get me out of these cuffs so I can go home.”

Matt stood, adjusting his cane to ensure his stability, then laughed some. “You should be a bit nicer to the people who just got you off.”

“Maybe if it had been in the fun way, I would be.”

Matt opened his mouth to retort but Foggy made a gagging sound. “Don’t you respond to that, Murdock. I swear to god,” Foggy pushed Matt out the door before any other comments could be made.

*****

House arrest wasn’t necessarily the worst thing in the world, she decided a month or so into her sentence.

Following all the protocols was annoying. She had to call Jimmy Woo every time she wanted to go to the store. And every Thursday when she went to therapy. Sometimes, she’d have an escort when they felt she was going out too much (“How many boxes of tampons does one woman need?” “Do you understand that I have to use like two a day, right? And that like, with all the medical stuff, sometimes my cycle will last like three —“ “Please stop it’s fine. Let’s just go.”).

But otherwise, she was okay. Her bookshelf was finally getting a dent in it. And she had forced Woo to go buy her paint so she was painting various rooms. She was considering starting an online degree; something to fill the time. After all, if she was being forced to retire, she’d need to enter the workforce somehow. But she spent a lot of time in the apartment gym, and on the roof. And at the pool. Things were okay. She was okay. She could do a year of this.

Therapy wasn’t okay. And a year of that might kill her.

She wondered if she would ever actually enjoy talking to her therapist. Every time she went, all she wanted to do was stuff cotton in her ears. It was all coping mechanisms and trying to get her to admit she was filling a void somehow with vigilantism. They kept saying they wanted to help; that if they could diagnose her with PTSD or anxiety or something —that could explain her behaviors.

Of course she had PTSD though. She actively worked in a field where she watched people die. Where she let people die. Where she killed people. And she’s had diagnosed anxiety since she was 16; she tried explaining that and the therapist didn’t seem to listen. She knew exactly why she did the things she did; there wasn’t a need for some government appointed therapist to tell her.

“Could it be related to your…abilities?” The therapist had asked her today.

“Could what be?”

“Your anxiety.”

“I mean when you’re forcibly experimented on from ages 10 to 16, probably.”

That was an admission though. She had finally admitted something that the therapist didn’t know. And she cursed under her breath when she realized it. The therapist seemed thrilled that she finally got something from her though.

“Can you elaborate on that?” They asked.

“I’d rather not.”

The therapist glanced at the clock and sighed, taking off his glasses. “Next week then. Maybe write it down; it could help.”

She gave him a clearly faked smile and stood, exiting without a word. Jimmy sat outside, waiting for her like he always did. Coffee in hand, he held it out to her as he stood up.

“Your lawyer is outside.”

“Which one? Weird name or blind guy?”

“Blind guy.”

“Phenomenal.”

She took her coffee from him, following close behind as they exited the building. Jimmy wasn’t lying (not that she thought he was, but she had kind of hoped he was), as Matt was leaning against the wall, cane resting against his shoulder.

“Agent Woo, thank you for letting me wait for her,” he offered with a polite smile, extending his hand.

“How did you —“

“Lucky guess; I’ve tried it on a few people so far.”

She watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, frowning some as the men shook hands. Jimmy explained that Matt had requested a meeting and with given permission from the courts, she was left in his watch. Jimmy was relieved to be given a break, but warned that she was to be taken straight back to her apartment. Matt promised and they were off.

“Two things,” she started, standing there for a second. “We don’t have a car, so we have to walk. And also, how can I be under your watch if you can’t see me?”

Matt laughed, shaking his head. “May I?” He asked, touching her arm lightly. She hesitated then nodded. “If you nodded —“

“Fuck, sorry. Yeah go ahead.”

He laughed again, and she hated that she was starting to like the sound of it. Relaxing, she let him hold her arm and they began to walk down the street. His grip was sure but gentle, and she couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling.

“I don’t need to see you to keep watch over you,” he explained, allowing her to take the lead. His cane was resting against his chest again, just enough to not be in the way of them walking but enough for him to use it if needed. “And what are you gonna do? Hit a blind man?”

“I’m tempted every time we meet, Murdock.”

“I’ll pray for you then.”

She laughed this time, unable to help herself. “What do you want?” She finally asked, looking at him as they stopped at a cross walk. “You did your job and if you’re trying to bill me —“

He shook his head, smiling as he instinctively looked down. “No, no I’m not here to bill you. Much to Foggy’s dismay.” She watched him, taking in the bruises that seemed to be healing over, but noted the others that were just forming over his cheeks and neck. “I honestly just wanted to check on you. House arrest isn’t easy on anyone.”

“House arrest isn’t bad. Take half a step to your right.” She nudged him over some, stepping over someone’s leg that was sitting out in the walkway, someone asking for money that she didn’t have. She moved back towards the center of the sidewalk. “It’s the therapy that’s probably gonna kill me.”

He thanked her for avoiding the person, then chuckled at her dislike of therapy. “It can’t be that bad. Have you actually opened up?”

“If you think I’m gonna tell you anything I’ve told them, you’re blind and stupid.”

“You really could stand to be nicer, you know.”

“I’m walking my lawyer to my apartment, after he lied to my court appointed babysitter to talk to me. Why should I be nice?”

“Because I lied to your court appointed babysitter and now you have a friend to talk to.”

She scoffed, elbowing him in the side. “I thought it was a sin to lie.”

“I’ve been to church a lot since I met you.”

Something about his tone shifted when he said that, and her heartbeat picked up as she flushed. Unbeknownst to her, Matt picked up on her reaction immediately, feeling her pulse quicken in his grasp on her arm. Hearing her heartbeat faster. Whatever the implication there was, she wasn’t sure what to do with it; what was she supposed to say? Sorry you’re going to hell because of me? That seemed cross, even for her.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” was what she managed to say.

Jesus Christ.

———

Series Masterlist | Request are OPEN

———

Taglist: @thebisexual-disaster @chims-kookies @bigdinosaur0 @ferxaniti @heybabyshae @notalxx

[soupernatural]

a thesis statement regarding dean winchester’s sexuality

                                                    {x} boys keep swinging - david bowie

when you’re a boy / you can wear a uniform when you’re a boy / other boys check you out you get a girl / these are your favorite things

shake the disease - depeche mode

here is a plea from my heart to you nobody knows me as well as you do you know how hard it is for me to shake the disease that takes hold of my tongue in situations like these

verbatim - mother mother

what defines a straight man's straight? is it the boxer in the briefs or a 12 ounce steak? i tell you what a women loves most it's a man who can slap but can also stroke

sexuality - kd lang

shed the skin that’s held you in held you far too long now how bad could it be if you should fall in love with me

pretty boys and pretty girls - book of love

your warm body / is what i'm without i just close my eyes / and i dream about pretty boys and pretty girls

andrew in drag - the magnetic fields

i've always been a ladies' man and i don't have to brag but i become a momma's boy for andrew in drag

the bidding - tally hall

i've been to every continent broken all the hearts in every hemisphere and if i'm not the type of guy you like to circumvent just remember not to love me when i disa-

coin operated boy - the dresden dolls

can you extract me from my plastic fantasy i didn't think so but i'm still convincible oh will you persist even after i bet you a million dollars that i'll never love you and will you persist even after i kiss you goodbye for the last time will you be trying / to prove it I'm dying

damaged goods - gang of four

damaged goods / send ‘em back i can’t work, i can’t achieve send me back / open the till give me the change you said would do me good

fem in a black leather jacket - pansy division

i don't like macho, put it away doesn't appeal to me, straight or gay but i know a boy who catches my eye he don't act tough, why should he try?

i know what boys like - the waitresses

i know what guys like / i see them looking i make them want me / i like to tease them they want to touch me / i never let them

i wanna be a toy - dead or alive

i gotta bite my bottom lip / and clench my fist because a plaything’s what i must be i wanna be a toy i can’t be treated like no ordinary boy

i wanna be your slave - måneskin

i wanna be your sin / i wanna be a preacher i wanna make you love me then i wanna leave ya 'cause baby I'm your david / and you're my goliath

hit me like a man - the pretty reckless

hit me like a man, love me like a woman i am strong / love is evil it’s a version of perversion that is only for the lucky people take your time and do with me what you will

pretty on the inside - hole

is she ugly on the inside, baby? ugly, ugly from the back? there is no power / like my pretty power my pretty power / my ugly

bark like a god - sloppy jane

fixed my hair, lace underwear, i love the tie he's got on and amen to my friends for always keepin' it raw baby let's get down i wanna bark like a god

bite my hip - bauhaus

mine lives here, this is so hard you know i enjoy feeling pain, i enjoy feeling low you just nibble from my calf right down to my toe just as long as you get up and bite my hip

you drive me wild - the runaways

you know when you're close you really turn me on that's why i want you so bad when your gone, yeah come on, come on and take me home please stay with me and don't you leave me alone

[tetsvhoe]

AFRAID | HAIKYUU FILO SMAU

MASTERLIST | PREV | FIN.

#25 i almost love you

– oh ayan onting backstory chaka redemption arc kay aiko baka may maka relate

– omg finally chapter di ko na to hahabaan basta thank you so much for the support and the laughs! this was my first ever smau and series i hope you all enjoyed and i hope to see you in my future works!

– wag niyo kalimutan si anak ni imelda at anak ng mafia boss, ha? :(( <3

taglist | anitwt

@mirakeul @erinoikawa @haji-bby @seijohoe @szeonn @banananaa4 @stffychn @vvvselfindulgence @devilgirlcrybabiey @knmsapplepi @duhsies @littlemochi @mikeystomanjacket @noitsmrleorio @agasheeee @roanniee @softsakusas @your-girl-mj @hello0i @crustycookiebestie @shanthesamurai @naviation-xx @sciophobia @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @bakugouswh0r3 @aizameow

iwaizumi shuts his phone off with a faint click, throws his head back against the headrest and shuts his eyes. he feels lightheaded, hands clam around his phone and the steering wheel subconsciously. was he always this nervous to talk to you? he can’t remember the last time he’s seen your face, the last time since he’s heard your voice. he misses it so much it makes his heart clench.

he lets out a long shaky breath as he wills himself to open his eyes, peer out the window. the club lights pulse faintly in the darkness of the night, he hears the faint music and clamor of club goers. the team’s last reply was from roughly an hour ago. he shivers thinking how he managed to cut the drive time in half and thanks the heavens for the mostly barren roads he drove through.

he can only imagine how everyone must be hammered by now. the “demonic hour” as they collectively dubbed 3:00am, is nearing. the demonic hour is when ushijima starts speaking in english considerably louder than his usual stern yet soft spoken voice. bokuto slouched against his seat, arms over his chest, passed out and snoring steadily. atsumu and sakusa may start swapping personalities soon, osamu and suna are talking about extraterrestrial life, and hinata is probably stumbling on the dancefloor holding in the urge to puke. iwaizumi also fondly recalls your friends, how kiyoko would be sleeping on top of the table, god forbid someone tries to wake her. alisa would be flirting with someone’s girlfriend, and tendou making everyone take “shots” of water, nearly falling off as he laughs at their muscle memory reactions as if they are still taking a slug of alcohol.

and of course, his mind wanders to you. how you slur your words and swear you’re not that drunk. you gauge each miniscule action and word carefully in an attempt to prove to everyone you’re sober, but it only gives you away so much more because you’re moving in x0.75 playback speed. he catches himself smiling at the mere thought and blushes though he’s alone in his car. the demonic hour turns you to an angel, quite ironically. you’re poutier than usual and throw a hissy fit at iwaizumi when he refuses to get you lugaw or mamiin the middle of the night out, not like he can resist your pleads for long anyway. you can’t keep up with the usual playful banter anymore and flirt terribly.

the thought of some other man finding you during your demonic hour flings iwaizumi out of the driver’s seat and he’s marching into the club before he knows it. it doesn’t take long for him to weave his way in and navigate your group, and the scene he finds is exactly as he imagines, but where are you?

“ten, ten, saan siya?” he shakes tendou into sobriety. he peers up at him with dazed eyes before grinning widely upon recognizing iwaizumi.

“oy, tangina mo! ano ginagawa mo dito?” the red head laughs. “‘di ko sure lumabas daw siya saglet.”

the rest of the group slowly registers iwaizumi’s presence, greeting him with clumsy high fives and fist bumps and “ba’t andito ka, kupal?”, “late na late na ba’t humabol ka pa?”, “akala namin di ka pwede ngayon?” and he returns each greeting half-heartedly as he constantly searches for your shadow in the crowd.

suna teases iwaizumi’s panicked state before pointing out you might have gone outside for a smoke. a sour feeling brews in his stomach; how could they have let you gone alone, why weren’t they sure where you went? but he saves the frustration in favor of finding you as soon as possible.

he all but runs outside through a back door near the bar which leads to a terrace overlooking the parking lot. his whole body stills as he sees your back turned to him, the heavy metal door creaks to a close, letting the loud pounding of the club music fade. he half expects to see you barely able to hold your weight with your own legs or with another guy, probably why he was so worked up in the first place, but you were alone. you seemed sober enough. it scared him even more.

as if feeling his presence, you look over your shoulder. iwaizumi debates turning on his heel and making a bee line for the exit, back to his car, and driving another hour or so to manila, but he’s frozen in his place.

you offer him a small smile, motioning for him to join you. “hayop ka anong ginagawa mo dito, ha? nag-drive ka pa, eh late na late na.”

iwaizumi is hit with the realization that in all that time he was driving alone with his thoughts, he didn’t even think of all the things he wanted to say to you. his head was simultaneously full and empty, there was just you.

“ikaw kasi kani-kanino ka nagpapa-picture. akala ko pag-papalit mo na ‘ko,” he manages to blurt out, yet you don’t miss the way his remark lacks the usual sass and playfulness.

“tama naman. ayoko na sa’yo eh,” you laugh, glancing over your shoulder to catch his scowl and an ad-libbed curse. your features soften when you notice the seriousness in his features as he stares into the nothingness ahead. you’re about to ask him if something was wrong when he sucks in a sharp breath.

“ako gusto ko sa’yo,” he says matter-of-factly, eyes meeting yours.

“what?” you laugh nervously, suddenly hyper aware of the way your heart hammers against your chest, of how you get a whiff of his usual perfume because you’re so close, the dark circles under his eyes, the distraught etched on his furrowed brows.

“i said i like you,” he repeats louder and firmer.

“i know what you said, i’m not sure i understand—”

“i like you, fuck i… i don’t know why it took me this long to say it to your face, but if i’m being honest, i was just afraid. i still am, but between being afraid of my own emotions and being afraid of fucking this up, i am actually quite fucking terrified of losing you more than anything else,” he rambles in one breath, words trembling but intense. it knocks the air out of your lungs, and you don’t know why tears start lining your eyes. “i might… even be falling in love with you fuck—”

“haji…” you whisper, body turning towards him like a magnet. he lets out a breath he didn’t know you were holding, oh how he missed you calling him that so soft and endearingly. “you have no idea how long i’ve waited for you to finally grow the balls to say that,” you chuckle, almost bitterly. “but i don’t know how to go about with this anymore.”

“let me set things right. i know we did things out of order, but i want to make us work,” he pleads, rough hands coming up to softly stroke your cheek with his knuckles.

your lips form a tight-lipped smile. he knows you’re about to ramble and finds it adorable. “i’m… i’m not so sure anymore, this is more complicated than i initially thought. w-what about the distance? haji, i’m not built for long distance i—”

iwaizumi grabs your wrist and pulls you against his chest. a strong arm wraps around your waist, his other hand holds the back of your head. you can feel both your hearts beating harshly against your chests, your cheeks heating up while you relish his embrace.

he places soft kisses onto your temple, whispering. “don’t worry that pretty little head of yours too much, there’s no rush. i’ll wait for you for as long as it takes. maghihintay ako.”

your eyes flutter open, light seeps through your vision and iwaizumi’s blurred figure slowly becomes clearer. he’s sat on an office chair, pulled right next to your bed. he watches over you with a soft smile.

“good morning, tomador.”

“tangina mong manyak, kanina mo pa ako pinapanood matulog?” you yawn, stretching your arms and limbs. did he not sleep at all? If he did, that shabby office chair couldn’t have been comfortable in the least. “akala ko ba babalik ka rin agad sa manila, akala ko umalis ka na kagabi.” you sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. the clock reads 6:07am.

iwaizumi tilts his head to the side as he eyes you, a small smile tugs at his lips while you glare at him. “cute mo pala pag bagong gising,” he remarks. “gusto ko lang siguraduhin natatandaan mo pa ‘yung kagabi.” he stands up, pushing the chair back and walks over to cup your cheeks.

“oo naman, tanga. ‘di naman ako lasing kagabi—”

“ano sinabi ko?”

you blink back, stunned. you know what he means, but suddenly can’t get the words out of your mouth.

“hm? akala ko ba natatandaan mo, anong sinabi ko sayo kagabi?” he smirks, squishing your cheeks together in his hand.

“uh… s-sabi mo ano, gusto mo ako.”

“gusto lang?”

“baka… sabi mo baka mahal mo na rin ako,” your ears burn up as the words leave your mouth, you attempt to look away but iwaizumi jerks your face to look at him smirking menacingly at your flushed state. “chaka ano pa?”

“sabi mo mag hihintay ka, ‘yan okay na! tangina mo,”you pry his hands off and attempt to close in on yourself by hiding behind the strands of hair that fall over your face.

“good girl,” he chuckles. “una na ‘ko, ha? tawagan nalang kita mamaya, tulog ka ulit maaga pa.”

you nod wordlessly, still avoiding his gaze. you watch his retreating figure, but he halts right in front of the door. he looks over his shoulder, “bye, i almost love you,” and winks.

summer didn’t last a hundred and four days, not this time. iwaizumi came to visit you a few times over the course of barely a month and a half of vacation. you managed to make it work for until then. he was even more busy tending to documents and requirements for his fourth year on top of helping his mom and grandmother, but he made time for you. he always did.

you both made adjustments to accommodate the distance. regular phone calls, curt text updates, movie marathons on discord, sometimes with your squammy group of friends. some things stayed the same, the regular cussing each other out, the snide remarks, the usual roasts. except this time, days end on an “i almost love you” note.

as you’re running late for your first day of third year, you realize barely anything has changed. and when you run out of the house, hopping on one foot as you tried to stuff the other into your shoe, you see iwaizumi parked outside of your house, leaning against his car, and twirling his keys on his finger, he manages to make your world come to a standstill once again.

“good morning, anak ng mafia boss. late na po tayo, bilisan mo na dyan.”

just like that, you’ve come full circle.

[hualianff]

How To Piss Off Your Boss II 《I》

When HC places the dishes in front of a group of esteemed guests, foreigners and wealthy business people by appearance, he’s roped into a brief conversation in English. Not that he minds too much. HC has had many opportunities to practice different languages in the kitchens he’s worked in, mainly consisting of English, Spanish, Italian, and Japanese. Most of the phrases HC retained were curse words too. Go figure.

Once the CEO wraps up the small talk session, he spins on his heel and speeds back to the kitchen. As he power walks through the various tables, HC takes note of which guests have seemingly ordered yet still only have drinks on their tables. He’s not sure what his employees were yammering about to delay their service up to fifteen minutes, but it could certainly wait until after the dinner rush, for god’s sake.

A blur of white completely stops HC in his tracks. His neck suffers from a violent double-take when he catches sight of a familiar white turtleneck, worn by a figure with a familiar smile. HC’s mouth gapes open slightly, nearly tripping in his haste to veer off towards the two-person table secluded by the window.

XL cutely waves as he finally gets a glimpse of his husband tonight.  

“Gege!?” HC breathily asks, confused. XL sets his flute of wine down, amber eyes shining with mirth. 

“Surprise!”

HC immediately shoots a glare back to the kitchens where he sees his employees peeking through the pair of windows on the doors. His lips curl into an angry snarl, like a tiger provoked by its own streak. He makes a move to steamroll into his kitchen and rip them a new one. Except a hand grasps onto his wrist before he can make it past one table.

“San Lang, don’t mind them. It’s no big deal,” XL pleads, tugging on HC’s hand. The taller man willingly turns around, rolling his wrist so he can be the one to hold XL’s hands instead. 

“Gege, how long have you been waiting?” HC asks in a tight voice. XL frowns, not wanting to answer, but he knows HC won’t let it go.

“Just under thirty minutes.“

“Thirty minutes!?” HC exclaims. “The fact that no one told me you were here for nearly half an hour is unacceptable. Oh my god, I’m going to fire them all.“

“No, you’re not. San Lang, calm down. I didn’t tell you I was coming, so you couldn’t have known. I don’t think the server who showed me to my seat even knew who I was,” XL reasons.

He subconsciously pulls HC closer to sitting down at the table. 

“Someone should’ve told them because you’re not just any customer, gege. You’re my HUSBAND. You’re important to me, and I would like my workers to let me know if you’re here regardless if I knew beforehand. I don’t want you to have to wait that long for me to come out and join you.“

“They said you were busy! Plus, thirty minutes is hardly a long time.“ XL tries again. HC insistently shakes his head, gingerly squeezing XL’s hands. 

“Darling, your time is too precious to be wasted like that,” HC says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on XL’s forehead. XL hums as he finally pushes HC down into the chair opposite of his own. 

“Well, you’re here now, right? Why don’t we enjoy a lovely dinner together? My treat!” XL says happily.

Seconds later, two massive dishes of finely-boiled squid and glass noodles, along with spicy wonton soup are placed in front of the two men. It’s the new cook who bows while stuttering out an apology, repeating “I didn’t know- Hua Lao Ban, Xie-xiansheng- I didn’t know- please forgive me.”

XL, being the angel he is, claims there is nothing to forgive. Across from him, HC silently churns in strong disagreement. It takes three servers to make sure everything was up to standard, watching their boss’ expression carefully for any hint of dissatisfaction. They leave in a hurry, the abundance of food making XL’s face light up like a Christmas tree.

“I love you, San Lang,” XL cheers, tapping his chopsticks together excitedly.

HC’s face softens, endeared by his husband’s antics. The incident is far from being forgotten in his mind. After all, from the stories XL has told about the times he was truly struggling in life after the pitfall of his parents, HC has a very good idea of what circumstances XL has had to endure—way worse than waiting thirty minutes for his food and husband to show up. 

XL probably didn’t even expect to see HC tonight. And that is still absolutely inexcusable. XL is HC’s number one priority, even above all of his businesses.

But for now, HC supposes he can put it off to share a wonderful meal with his husband.

“I love you too, Gege,” he responds, shoulders relaxing.

However, an offending, black, leather folder captures HC’s attention. It’s tucked into a corner on XL’s side of the table, unopened. HC already knows what it is without having to look closer.

“Gege…”

“Hmm?” XL looks up with his mouth full of noodles.

“Did they charge you for the meal?” HC asks slowly, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. His eye pins the flutes of his favorite drink he hasn’t touched. “And the wine?”

XL chews methodically, cheeks puffing from how stuffed they are. If anyone who cared about eating etiquette were watching him, they no doubt would be utmost appalled at such a messy display. HC would curse them to hell if they dared said or did anything.

XL finally swallows, licking his lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with charging me,” XL says. HC’s nails dig into his skin as his hands clench into balled fists. “What if I just want to support my husband?”

HC inhales deeply, then exhales heavily.

“Gege does that enough by being married to me. Look, I’ll be right back-“ HC abruptly stands up. He swoops in to kiss XL on the lips, pecking three more times which makes XL giggle. HC then quickly blows cool air on the spoon XL holds mid-air with his hot soup. 

Without another word, HC storms back towards the kitchens. The other cooks actively avoid their boss, bowing profusely if they happen to cross paths with him. HC doesn’t say anything to acknowledge their remorseful actions. For the next ten minutes, he continues instructing the team as if the mishap hadn’t even happened. 

Apologizing won’t be enough, they all know this. They kept not only XL waiting for thirty minutes but also the other customers that entered after him. However, XL had been waiting for the longest as he was a walk-in customer, which made it all the more displeasing for HC to find out his husband had not received the special treatment he deserved. 

The orders have slowed down enough for HC to snap his fingers as a signal for everyone to line up. When all the cooks are appropriately assembled, HC doesn’t hesitate to hurl the folder with the check onto the main island in front of them. 

“Who was it?” HC asks icily. No one utters a sound. The CEO reaches over to yank out the white paper filled with prices. He points to it, eyeing every single one of his employees. “Tell me. Who gave this to him? Who charged him for his meal when I have specified numerous times to never–and I mean NEVER–bill him.”

It’s so quiet in the kitchen, the guests closest to the kitchen doors can probably hear HC scolding his cooks, beyond livid. HC couldn’t care less, as long as XL was outside of hearing range and slurping down his soup with a content tummy. He’ll have to make it up to XL on his own accords, first by taking his husband home to have uninterrupted one-on-one discussion.

The newer cook who HC has distinguished as Hai Ye shuffles uncomfortably, looking like a child guilty of disobeying their parents’ order. Someone has yet to speak up to confess or snitch, meaning they would rather face punishment collectively than risk one person receiving full blame. While HC is one thread away from blowing his top off, he buries the nasty curses down inside his chest. He knows what it’s like to receive unfair consequences for things he didn’t knowingly do wrong. 

Instead, HC forces his temper to cool down. 

“Seeing as these were a series of mistakes that everyone here has contributed to, I’m canceling janitorial services and assigning all of you cleaning duty,” HC declares, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what else it will take, but this must not happen again. With Xie Lian or with the backed-up orders. We are better than that, understood?”

“Yes, Hua Lao Ban,” the cooks recite resolutely. HC grunts with a tone of finality. He quickly snatches his long coat, taking out his wallet and stacking the amount of money needed to cover XL’s check. 

“Good. We can move on from that. Finish the night on a reasonable note. Additionally, can someone fetch me a to-go box and cup?” HC asks as he unbuttons his chef blouse and throws it into the hamper off to the side. HY is the closest to the to-go boxes, so he instantly abides by HC’s request. The CEO offers HY a nod of gratitude. Then, he’s out of the kitchen, long coat thrown loosely over his lanky frame. 

Between the few orders they have to complete, HY witnesses HC personally box up his and his husband’s food. XL eagerly holds HC’s hand when he’s done, pulling the taller man towards the front door to go home. Before leaving, HC gives the head chef, HX, a menacing glare as if to say, “You better have things under control.”

The CEO of Crimson Embers walks out of his restaurant with a gentle hand resting on his husband’s lower back. They disappear through the front glass doors, subtly leaning into each other’s space, content to be together after a long day apart. 

Bonus:

When the other branches hear about the incident, they hang up a framed picture of XL with HC, making sure to point to XL’s face for new employees saying, “If this man enters the restaurant, show him to his seat and then tell Hua Lao Ban immediately. Get him everything he asks for. NEVER charge him for his orders.”

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Five

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3601

Warnings: ANGST, Bucky most definitely needs a hug halfway through this, bad language words

A/N: I’m flattered and frankly overwhelmed with the love and support everyone is showing for this little story. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🥰

A/N 2: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

In case you missed the update, I will try to publish a new chapter every Saturday from here on out. 🤞

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

Whistles and sirens were blaring inside Bucky’s head as he stared at Peter’s neighbor. Everything within him was screaming at him to run away. His anxiety ticked up. Could this really be (Y/N)? 

He would have recognized her voice anywhere. God only knew how many times he’d listened and relistened to her voicemail. He wasn’t obsessive; he just liked the dips-the peaks and valleys-in her voice and the self-deprecating laugh she’d made. And with his super soldier hearing- he’d learned a knack for these things.

Bucky stood unmoving and breathless while shaking (Y/N)’s hand in front of her door. All he could do was stare at her. He had never imagined in a million years meeting her face-to-face. It was like a dream. A weird but wonderful dream. 

He was stunned by her beauty as he gazed into her smiling face. Not that he’d ever pictured her being unattractive.

No siree.

It was a shock to have her here now, but to have her looking the way she did? (Y/N) was gorgeous. Her eyes sparkled with giddiness, and pink tinged the apples of her cheeks.

He must have finally died and gone to heaven. That was the only explanation he could think of right now.

Because there (Y/N) was, in front of him and in the flesh, still shaking his hand.

Still.

Bucky’s stomach swooped with the feeling of embarrassment. He could feel the skin of his face warming quickly. He was just like Lang meeting Steve at the airport in Germany. An overeager puppy. 

God, he was an idiot.

He caught an uncomfortable look flash across (Y/N)’s face but continued pumping her arm. Peter cleared his throat beside him, and (Y/N) grinned wider in response. 

A dazzling smile.

“Gonna need my hand back to unlock the door,” she said with a soft chuckle. 

Bucky dropped it like he’d been burned. He could see Peter giving him a goofy look out of the corner of his eye. Like that kid wasn’t awkward as fuck around girls. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand. 

What was he thinking, shaking her hand so long?

Bucky clumsily followed (Y/N) and Peter into her apartment after the deadbolt was unlocked and nearly dumped her grocery bags on the floor. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her. Peter threw him another weird look.

“Please excuse my friend,” Peter quipped, patting Bucky on the shoulder.  “Apparently, he just learned to walk yesterday.”

(Y/N) laughed politely at the joke, and Bucky blushed furiously. 

From the stories Steve had told him about their past and “sweeping dames off their feet,” why was this so hard? It should be like taking candy from a baby. He had a rapport with her, not that she knew, but it should be more comfortable than it was. His shoulders slumped.

“S-sorry,” Bucky stuttered out. (Y/N) smiled sweetly at the apology, and his chest constricted.

“Don’t worry about it,” (Y/N) reasoned, “I just had the floors waxed.” She winked at him as she grabbed a bag from his arms.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. She winked. She fucking winked!  

Was (Y/N) flirting? Did he flirt back? Did he even remember how? He would have known what to do if they were texting instead. Their whole relationship was easier when they weren’t face-to-face. When he couldn’t see how the light in the kitchen made her hair shine or how her eyes twinkled when she laughed, he was a lot smoother. 

Smooth like creamy peanut butter. 

It was so frustrating only remembering bits and snatches of his old memories. This situation was nothing like the girl at the coffee shop he sometimes visited or the corner market’s cashier. This was (Y/N). This was someone he’d reciprocate the advances from- given half a chance. Someone he definitely didn’t have feelings for, though.

Nope. Not at all. 

From somewhere hidden deep inside, the darkness crept in. You think she’s flirting with you? You think she wants someone like you? She pities you, his inner voice said—pity for a sad, broken man. 

The breath previously stuck inside him rushed out in a sob.  His stomach plunged to his feet again, but not in embarrassment this time. This time, it was for actually believing he might have a chance with (Y/N). Thinking she’d settle for someone like him. 

He was dangerous. He was a murderer.

(Y/N)’s face filled with concern, eyebrows pinching together, and she edged closer. She raised a hand to touch him but thought twice. “You okay?”

Bucky shook his head to dispel the bleak thoughts. “Ye-yeah, sorry.” The room kept spinning. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Would you like some water?” (Y/N) asked, rushing to the cupboard to pull down a glass to fill.

Peter stepped closer to his side. “You don’t look too good, man. Yer not havin’ one of your flashbacks, are ya?”

Bucky looked at Peter for a moment, puzzled. Flashback? His grapefruit was too scrambled to conjure up any of the horrors he experienced at night during the day. “No, kid. I’m fine,” he lied. 

Peter inched back slightly, but still within reach if the worst should happen. 

Bucky saw (Y/N) watching him expectantly, tilting the glass in his direction. “No, thank you, ma’am. Water won’t be necessary.”

He observed (Y/N)’s eyes slowly widen in shock.  

“Ma’am?” (Y/N) asked in mock offense. “Ma’am?”

Peter started laughing as Bucky’s mouth popped open in a horrified “O.” He tried to protest, but nothing would come out. 

(Y/N) turned to Peter, who was now gasping in laughter. “It’s the cardigan, huh?” she questioned jokingly. “It makes me look like a crazy cat lady, doesn’t it?”

Bucky’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not…” he argued, the end of his sentence coming out as a groan instead. 

How had this night and their meeting gone downhill so quickly? He couldn’t do anything right around (Y/N), it seemed.

How could he win her heart if he was just some bumbling fool? 

Oh, god! Was he actively trying to win (Y/N) over?

Bucky’s pulse hammered underneath his skin. He’d finally met the girl he was falling for, and he was mucking up the whole thing. The instinct to flee suddenly kicked into high gear. 

He took one last look at Peter, hunched over in laughter and holding his stomach. Bucky narrowed his eyes at the kid. He had some nerve! He slid his eyes over to where (Y/N) stood. Her expression was rapidly morphing from good-humored to regret. 

Bucky placed the final bag he held on the counter and huffed a sigh before walking past (Y/N) and Peter out of the kitchen, heading for the door. (Y/N) caught the nook of his elbow as he passed, stopping him.

He looked down at the delicate fingers wrapped around his arm, and his heart lurched. She wasn’t afraid, he thought. She knew who he was- what he was- and she wasn’t afraid. He brought his gaze back up to hers. He could easily break every finger of her hand, but there was no fear in her eyes—just remorse.

“I apologize,” (Y/N) assured. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Her hand skimmed down his forearm to his wrist and left behind the fleeting feeling of her touch.

“It’s fine,” Bucky said gruffly. “I was leaving anyway.” He nodded at Peter, who had managed to pull himself together from his laughing fit, and gave (Y/N) a thin-lipped smile. He made his way to the door. 

(Y/N)’s face dropped as he walked away. “Oh. Well, thank you for your help with my groceries,” she called.

Bucky’s step faltered as he walked through the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder at (Y/N) for a moment and shut the door.

He had had no desire to leave the radiant presence of (Y/N), but if he didn't, the fluttering he felt inside would have turned into a full-blown panic attack while thinking about every misstep he’d taken. 

Reaching the sidewalk outside (Y/N) and Peter’s building, Bucky expelled a huge exhale. 

“Well, that was a fucking disaster,” he grumbled to himself. 

He stomped down the sidewalk to where he’d parked the car he’d borrowed from the compound. He wrenched the driver-side door open in frustration, nearly ripping the thing off. He slid inside and stared out the windshield. Was there a way back from this? Or was he destined to spend eternity in the friend zone?

Bucky wrung his hands around the steering wheel and let out a moan of exasperation. He started the ignition and gave one last glance to (Y/N)’s building. He tucked away any hope he thought he might’ve had with her in the far recesses of his mind and drove away. 

Bucky was trembling by the time he returned to the compound. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he strode down one of the many halls leading to his quarters. He had worked himself into a frenzy on the drive home. 

It was her, he thought, gliding his gloved hand through the hair that had come loose from the earlier knot he’d tied. It was definitely (Y/N).

There was no mistaking it was her, now. Bucky was absolutely sure. (Y/N)’s voicemail had played over and over in his mind on the ride upstate.

Bucky stalked down the hallway, cursing himself again for blowing any modicum of a chance he had with (Y/N).

What was he saying? Did he stand a real chance with her? He was The Winter fucking Solider. The Asset. Soldat. 

Of course not.

He growled as he moved closer to his apartment, his sanctuary. It was the only place he could find any real solace nowadays.

Struggling with his internal conflict, focusing too much on the what-ifs, he didn’t see the solid wall of muscle until it was too late.

“Whoa, Buck! Easy there,” Steve said as he steadied his dazed best friend. “Where’s the fire?”

Bucky glimpsed into Steve’s eyes, his own shimmering with sadness. Steve thought the world of him. He could do no wrong, according to Steve. What would he think after this? 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, voice full of worry. 

“I fucked up, Stevie,” Bucky lamented, eyes now downcast to the floor.

“What happened?” Steve asked, grabbing hold of Bucky’s shoulder.  “What did you do?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked back up to Steve’s face, and he watched fear crawl across it.

His body practically crumpled inwardly. “It was her,” Bucky said. “She was right in front of me.”

“Her who?” Steve questioned. The look of fear slipped into one of misunderstanding once he realized no immediate threat or harm was coming to Bucky.

Bucky chuckled. “(Y/N).” His focus wasn’t on Steve anymore, but just over his right shoulder. His eyes were wistful. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “She was so...God, she was just so beautiful.”

Bucky proceeded when Steve continued to stare at him blankly. “She was a breath of fresh air after you’ve run at full-speed for what seems, like, forever.”

“A breath of fresh air?”

“Yes!”

“I’m still not exactly sure who we’re talkin’ about,” Steve confessed.

“God, punk! Pay attention,” Bucky groused, swiping both hands through his hair.

“Who’s (Y/N) again?”

“She’s the girl,” Bucky explained.

“The girl?” Steve asked, still not quite understanding.

“The girl,” Bucky emphasized.

A look of realization finally dawned on Steve’s face. “(Y/N)? The girl you’ve been texting?”

“YES!” Bucky exclaimed emphatically. “For a smart guy, you can be pretty dense.”

“Wait, how?”

“I was helping Parker with some schoolwork, and she’s his neighbor, apparently,” Bucky answered.

“She’s Peter’s neighbor? In Queens?” 

“Did you have a stroke or somethin’?” Bucky wondered. “Yes, in Queens. Next door to Parker.” 

“You didn’t tell me she was in New York,” Steve said, a hint of hurt in his voice.

“I didn’t think it mattered at the time,” Bucky admitted. “It wasn’t like I ever planned to meet her in person.”

“So, what now? Did you ask her on a date?” 

“What?!” Bucky asked in disbelief. He goggled at his best friend like he’d grown a second head. “What part of ‘I fucked up’ didn’t you understand?”

“It couldn’t’ve been that bad,” Steve soothed. “What exactly happened?”

Bucky recounted the whole bungled interaction, down to every gory detail.

“And you just stood there, staring at her?” Steve asked, slightly wincing in secondhand discomfort.

“With my mouth open and everything. Like I was a goddamn fish out of water,” Bucky stated candidly. He scuffed a foot across the linoleum floor. He could feel the anxiety building inside him again.

“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think?” 

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed to the messaging app. “Parker said, and I quote, ‘Way to make it weird with Miss (Y/L/N).’”

Steve looked nonplussed. “H-how?”

Bucky threw up his arms in defeat. His hands landed atop his head, and his fingers snaked into his hair, pulling at the roots. “I dunno what happened! I realized I was actually talking to (Y/N), and my insides turned to jelly!” 

Steve stepped forward and guided Bucky’s hands from his hair. Empathy and compassion filled his crystalline eyes.

“How...how do I fix this, Stevie?” Bucky whimpered softly.

Steve sighed. “I don’t know if it can be fixed, but you need to talk to her.”

Bucky blanched at the thought. “I-I-I can’t,” he stammered.

“Why?”

“I like what we have,” Bucky explained. “I like that I’m just James from Brooklyn with her.”

His mouth thinned as he picked at his flesh hand’s thumbnail. “Plus, if I tell (Y/N) who I really am, she’ll judge everything going forward on today’s meeting.”

“You really like her, huh?” Steve queried.

“Well, yeah,” Bucky answered, blushing a bit. “She’s pretty great.”

A smirk lifted at the corners of Steve’s mouth. “No, I mean, you really like her.”

Bucky’s blush deepened. “I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, faintly shaking his head. He held up his hands in mock surrender. He took a step closer to his best friend. “Whatever you decide to do- whether it’s to tell her the truth or just suss out the situation- just talk to her.” He placed a hand on Bucky’s right shoulder and squeezed gently. “Don’t wait too long, though, and miss your opportunity. You’ll be kickin’ yourself.”

Bucky nodded his head in agreement. “I know.”

“Everyone deserves good things to come to them. You most of all, Buck.” Steve squeezed one more time before dropping his hand to his side.

Bucky blinked rapidly at the sentiment, trying his best to keep the emotion out of his eyes. He smiled. “Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

After a long shower to help himself unwind and wash away all the stress of the day, Bucky was sprawled out on his bed in a t-shirt and loose-fitting sweats. His phone was in the palm of his hand, and his heart was doing flip flops in his chest. His anxiety was gradually spiking, undoing the purpose of the earlier shower. It had been nearly two hours since he charged out of (Y/N)’s apartment. Why hadn’t she texted him? 

Before he could overthink it more than he already had, he punched in a text and initiated the conversation.

Bucky Hey, doll. How was your day?

He stared at the screen of his phone, willing (Y/N) to reply. 

He watched the words go in and out of focus as he continued to observe the unchanging text thread. His right palm was beginning to sweat.

Several minutes passed before Bucky gave up and threw the phone to the bed. He tapped his fingers in a rhythm against his thighs to keep them occupied, only to find himself crossing his arms across his chest moments later. Seconds afterward, he uncrossed his arms, balling his hands into fists. He reached for the book on the nightstand, hoping for a distraction from the silence of his phone. 

He was inevitably waiting for a text he knew wasn’t coming. 

Bucky consciously tried to read the words on the page, but his mind kept drifting. (Y/N) was smart. She had obviously put two and two together, and she was currently composing a polite yet firm text dismissing him.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was maddening!

He shoved the bookmark back in the book, tossed it on the nightstand roughly, and got up from the bed to start pacing. Periodically, his hands would find their way into his wet locks, tugging ever so slightly.

After what seemed like the twentieth circuit around the bedroom, a soft buzzing came from the mattress top. Bucky rushed toward the bed and retrieved the device. He clutched it to his heaving chest before exhaling loudly.

Moment of truth, he thought.

He raised the phone to see the screen.

(Y/N) Hey, sorry! I must’ve dozed off while taking my bath. 

(Y/N) Didn’t mean to leave you hanging!

A weight lifted from Bucky’s shoulders. She hadn’t purposely meant to ignore his text. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Bucky Don’t worry about it.

(Y/N) I guess I was more tired than I thought. 

Bucky Should I let you go?

(Y/N) No, no...I can chat.

Bucky So, how was your day?

(Y/N) It was good. The subway was on time this morning. Timmons wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass, even though we are in the middle of putting together a huge, new account. 

(Y/N) I had dinner with Robyn at Penelope to discuss centerpieces for the wedding. 

Bucky held his breath as he watched the ellipses blink on his phone. This is it. This is where (Y/N) let him down easy.

(Y/N) Then, I came home to a hot bath and a bottle of wine.

Bucky reread the last text three times before it sank in that (Y/N) hadn’t mentioned anything about running into him. Maybe it really was okay.

(Y/N) Oh, and I met my first Avenger today.

There it was. That’s what Bucky had been waiting for. Butterflies erupted in his stomach and flapped slowly up to his chest. His thumbs gracelessly typed out his message.

Bucky Oh, yeah? Who’d you meet?

Bucky tried to calm his breathing as he anticipated (Y/N)’s reply.

(Y/N) It is was something like Bunky or Borky. The one with the metal arm.

Borky?!

Bucky You mean Bucky?

(Y/N) Yup. Thats the one!

Bucky Well…???

(Y/N) He was absolutely adorkable! 

Bucky Adorkable? 🤔

What the hell does that even mean? Bucky wondered, gripping his phone a little tighter.

(Y/N) You know, adorable but dorky. Adorkable!

Bucky Oh.

(Y/N) He wouldn’t stop shaking my hand when my neighbor introduced us and he was just staring. he almost dropped my groceries all over the kitchen because he wouldn’t stop staring. 

Bucky Wait, your neighbor knows an Avenger?

(Y/N) Pssh! Im pretty sure hes an avenger too!

Bucky What?!?! 😳 Which one???

Bucky’s heart started galloping as he read (Y/N)’s words. Did she know about Parker?

(Y/N) hes obviously spiderman

Oh, shit! She did. 

Bucky How do you figure?

(Y/N) same height/build...ive listened to interviews with spiderman...sounds just like peter...he has an “internship” at stark industries...and i saw peter climbing up the side of our building once in the spiderman costume

(Y/N) spiderman is peter parker

(Y/N) dont tell anyone i told you though...its a secret

Bucky How much wine have you had, doll?

(Y/N) 1 or 2 glasses y?

Bucky chuckled at (Y/N)’s obliviousness. She was quite “adorkable” when she was drinking.

Bucky Your grammar has gone to shit, and you think your neighbor is Spider-Man.

(Y/N) grammar schwammer and he is

Bucky threw his head back in a full laugh. He was suddenly glad he took Steve’s advice and texted (Y/N). She really wasn’t bothered he’d made a fool of himself earlier. At least, not with a little wine in her.

(Y/N) Like borky, you should have seen borky barnes! he turned red as a tomato when he almost dropped my stuff...i think someone was smitten

Bucky’s stomach rolled when he noticed the subject change. She wasn’t going to let it go.

Bucky Can you blame him? I bet you’re cute as a button.

(Y/N) well obvi...i feel bad though...i kinda gave him a hard time for calling me ma’am...i regretted it the sec it happened...he kinda stormed out...i know i hurt his feelings

(Y/N) he was just being polite cuz you know- manners

Bucky What would you do if you saw him again?

Now was his chance to see where he stood. To know if he even had a fighting chance.

(Y/N) probably apologize profusely then ask him out for a cup of coffee

Bucky You’d ask him out for a cup of coffee?

(Y/N) y not? hes easy on the eyes and when those baby blues are locked on you-its hypnotizing

And just like that, Bucky knew he was back in the game.

10:37 pm- later that night

Bucky Hey, dipshit. (Y/N) knows you’re Spider-Man.

Parker

Chapter Four | Chapter Six (Part 1)

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[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 22

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year!”

Auld Lang Syne erupts from the speakers at the Gunmen’s, everyone finding someone, or something, to kiss. Scully smiles at the sight of Missy and Byers, snuggled in the corner of the couch smirking around a series of small pecks, whispering something to each other meant only for their ears.

“Sorry, poorly timed bathroom break,” Mulder says as he approaches, putting one hand at the small of her back and the other across her shoulders as he dips like he’s a sailor returning from sea. She squeals, then kisses him in earnest with her hands cradling his face, stopping only when Frohike suggests they get a room. They straighten up, her palms on his chest as his rest just above her tailbone. She beams up at him, optimistic and excited to embark on 1998 as a team. What a difference a year makes, she thinks to herself.

“Happy New Year, Scully,” he says with an affectionate smile.

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

———

“Ugh, do we have to go?” she whines, curled up on the couch under a blanket.

“Do we have to go to your birthday party? I’m thinking yes,” he says, crouching down next to her.

“I’m sleepy,” she says, tugging on his hand, “let’s take a nap.”

He sighs. “That sounds very enticing, but you already took a nap today and we have to be at your mom’s in forty-five minutes.”

She makes a face. “Fine, but she better have coffee made.”

“She always does,” he replies, pulling her to her feet. “But drinking coffee at 6:00 pm is probably why you’re so tired in the first place. You’re not sleeping well at night.”

She gives him a deadpan expression. “I totally missed you getting your doctorate in medicine, Mulder. You hid it so well.”

He gives her a playful slap on the butt. “Get going, little lady, we’re gonna be late.”

There’s dinner, cake, and a small set of gifts. Missy and Byer’s give her a very fancy set of bubble bath and bath salts, while Charlie opts for a VHS of Weekend at Bernies, which she begrudgingly admits is one of her favorites. Mom gives her two tickets to see Chicago live on Broadway, and insists that she won’t be upset if Dana takes Mulder instead of her. She opens Mulder’s gift last, having already warned him that if it were something inappropriate to open in front of her family, she would punish him profusely. He insisted it was totally safe, so she accepts the large flat rectangular package from him with only a hint of skepticism. She tears the paper away to find a large frame, nearly the size of a poster, with a dark blue circle occupying most of the framed area. Within the circle is a series of white dots and lines of varying sizes. Beneath it is a date and set of coordinates.

May 29, 1996

38.5313718, -77.4456233

She feels her throat constrict with emotion and bites her lip to try and stave off the tears.

“What does it mean?” Missy asks.

“It’s a constellation map,” Byers answers, “it shows the night sky on a specific date and at a specific location. Those are coordinates.”

“For where?” Missy inquires further.

“Quantico,” Scully answers tightly, standing to thread her arms around Mulder’s neck. “Thank you,” she whispers, and he gives her a little squeeze.

“It was written in the stars, Scully,” he whispers back, then holds her while her mother clears the dishes and everyone retreats to the living room.

An hour later, Mulder and Maggie stand at the kitchen sink, washing and drying the dishes while Scully sips a cup of coffee at the counter, her chin resting on her fist.

“Can we go soon, Mulder? I’m exhausted,” she says with drooping eyelids.

“Of course, whatever the birthday girl wishes is my command,” he replies, running a dish towel around the perimeter of a plate.

“Are you okay sweetie, you getting sick?” Maggie asks with a concerned furrow of her brow.

“No, Mom, I’m fine. I’ve just been exhausted lately, no matter how much sleep I get.”

Maggie cocks her head at her daughter. “When’s the last time you had your period, Dana?”

“I don’t get a period, pleasant side effect of my birth control,” she says with a hint of annoyance.

“And you haven’t missed a pill, or whatever?” Maggie clarifies.

“It’s a shot, and I got one in December, I’m not due to get another until next month,” she replies, resting her forehead on the counter.

There is a long silence. Long enough that she lifts her head to see what’s causing it. Mulder is staring at her with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open, and Maggie is staring at Mulder like she’s just come to some kind of realization.

“What?” Scully asks, “you’re freaking me out.”

“I was supposed to remind you to reschedule your appointment in December,” he says softly, his breathing very shallow.

She sits up straighter. “No, Mulder, I got my shot right before we went to California for Christmas.” Even as she tries to convince them all that it’s not what Maggie is suggesting, her face is contorting into one of fear.

“You had an emergency autopsy,” he says quietly, “Trudy was out. You missed it.”

“Oh god,” she says, her mind reeling. “Oh my god.”

“I’m going to give you two some privacy,” Maggie says, exciting the kitchen.

Mulder comes around to her side of the counter, placing a palm in the middle of her back. “Scully?” he asks, though he’s not sure what the question is.

“We need to go to the store,” she says flatly, shifting into problem-solving mode. “We need to pick up a pregnancy test.”

———

They are perched on the edge of the bathtub, the test sitting face-down on the counter next to the sink.

“How long has it been?” she asks, and Mulder checks his watch again.

“Four minutes,” he answers, squeezing her hand.

She pulls in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“What if it’s positive?” she asks quietly.

“Then...we have a baby,” he answers.

She looks at him and he gives her a small smile. She tries to smile back but her chin puckers and turns it into a grimace.

“Okay,” she finally responds.

Mulder checks his watch again.

“It’s been five minutes,” he says, “do you want to look, or do you want me to?”

She closes her eyes.

“You look. One line is negative, two lines is positive. Even if the second line is very faint, it’s positive if there are two.”

“Okay,” he says, moving to the counter.

She opens her eyes to watch him as he picks up the test and turns it over. His face is unreadable as he places it back on the counter and walks over to the tub, kneeling on the floor between her knees. He brings his hands to her hips and looks up at her with a gentle expression, then leans forward and presses his lips to her belly.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes.

He pulls back and takes her hands in his.

“It’s okay, Scully. Maybe it’s not perfect timing, but I love you and I’m excited to have a baby with you.”

She looks at him incredulously. “You are?”

He smiles at her. “Of course. I’ve thought about us having kids someday hundreds of times. I just always figured it would be a little further in the future.”

She gives him a pained smile through her tears, draping her arms around his neck.

“We’re going to have a baby,” she says out loud for the first time.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he repeats.

That night in bed, she lies awake for a long time, the shock of the news overriding her fatigue.

“I can feel you thinking,” Mulder grumbles from behind her.

“Sorry,” she answers over her shoulder.

He pushes his chin into the crook of her neck, his arm slinging over her waist.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly.

“Just the future. What’s going to happen next. Where the hell we’re going to fit a baby and all it’s crap in this apartment.”

“We might have to move,” Mulder offers.

“Even if we do, should we rent someplace bigger? Should we buy a house? Would your name or mine be on the deed? Speaking of names, will the baby have your last name or mine? I can picture my mother’s church friends gossiping about the poor bastard child with a different last name than his mother,” she rambles.

Mulder is quiet for a moment.

“We could get married,” he says with the same casualness as suggesting pizza for dinner.

She freezes. “No, Mulder,” she says coldly.

“Why not?” he asks, pulling away and gently rolling her onto her back so he can see her face.

She shakes her head glumly. “I got married for the wrong reasons once. I’m not going to do it again.”

“What’s the wrong reason?” he asks sincerely.

“Getting married because you’re pregnant is about the most standard wrong reason to get married I can think of, Mulder.”

“I don’t want to marry you because you’re pregnant, Scully,” he implores, resting his hand on her stomach. “I want to marry you because I love you.”

“The timing of the question suggests otherwise,” she counters, and his face contorts into a wounded expression. “Mulder, I’m not saying no forever, I’m just saying not right now. We’re about to go through a lot, I’m going to be insane with hormones, and then give birth and feel fat and awful with a crying newborn and will probably resent you-“

“Well with that attitude,” he cuts her off, though his tone is lighthearted.

She rolls to her side to face him, clutching his hands to her chest.

“Ask me again later, Mulder, when we’ve survived this. When you’ve seen me huge and then deflated and unshowered and weepy. If you still think you want to marry me after seeing me at my absolute worst, ask me again.”

“Okay,” he says, planting a kiss to her forehead. “I will.”

[viltrumitesuperboy]

Race You There (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Gender neutral. Also I kinda wrote some stuff that sounds like Doctor Who sorry but yall got the same abilities. I could have made this longer but I don’t actually know how to write?

Requested by: anon Could you possibly write a Steve Rogers x Male Reader, who has the power to move through time and space, and also has decelerated aging? Maybe Steve could realise the reader seems familiar and the reader reveals that he saw Steve back in the 40s because of his power, and then lots of fluff and cute romance?

Word count: 1268

You traveled a lot. You'd seen so much in the future and the past. You learned to blend in and hide, how to take the attention away from being the center of attention. It was hard to stay in one place for too long because there was just so much to explore, and making long-term friends was difficult when they noticed you weren't ageing and knowing that you would see their death without ever having to jump in time.

You were currently in 1940's Brooklyn. It was just before they would have to fight in the Second World War. You liked New York. People ignored you in New York, so it was easier to get around. A lot of alleys meant finding secret places that would eventually become something else just as secret in the future. The mystery left you wanting more.

As you slipped into an alley to grab some clothes off of a clothesline, you heard loud footsteps running somewhat in your direction. You barely managed your way through the alley in the night.

"I don't like bullies," said the first voice. "Especially ones who do it through organised crime."

The response was laughter, probably because the first person sounded like a hero complex personified, and sounds of a fist fight got you moving without grabbing any clothing.

"Hey!" you called.

The three men turned to look at you, the smaller and shorter one still in a defensive position as he watched at the other two warily. You tried to adopt a typical 40's New York accent.

"Get outta here. Or I'll call Costello on ya."

The two men looked very afraid, but one looked a bit doubtful.

"I'm his right hand man. You want me to let him know that you're just picking on some kid instead of doing your job? Go on."

They ran off, and the smaller man looked at you with curiosity.

"Costello? Like Frank Costello, crime boss? You know him," he said, though the last question was more like a statement.

"Of course not," you scoffed, slipping back into your usual accent. "I was bluffing. Hoped it would get them away. You know, I don't really like bullies either."

He laughed and held out his hand. Something about his face was familiar. You took it and he gripped with the strength of anyone else, despite his small size.

"Steve. I'm supposed to leave with my friend, but I might have gotten into some trouble a bit earlier than I meant to," he sheepishly admitted.

"Well, don't let me hold you back. You're lucky you got out of that. Don't expect my help again," you lightly teased.

You shook his hand once and let go, walking away and ignoring his questions as you left him behind. You've interfered enough with the poor boy's situation, and you had a feeling that Costello wouldn't be too happy once word got around that someone claimed to be his right hand man.

———

You'd gone further back in time. Your existence was kind of a paradox already, but you were fixing timelines just by being there at the same time. A quick visit to Galileo explaining how to adjust his telescope allowed him to see what the rest of the world never had before. You told him to take the credit, as history marked him to have done. You took a visit to Venice, considering you were already there, taking in the sights before you had to leave again.

You took your time going to different places on Earth and even other planets, but you always came back because it just happened to be your home. Sometimes you could control your power. Other times the universe chose for you.

You were pulled ahead into New York, but this time in 2012. You narrowly missed an arrow to the face. You cursed the universe briefly. You ran towards a parking lot, where the Avengers had decided to stand in a circle, backs to one another with a crowd of aliens around them.

"My god, what kind of strategy is that?" you mumbled to yourself.

You materialised into a middle part of the crowd and using your power to create a forcefield that knocked out a few around you. You remembered a point when Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne had to deal with "Ghost," who you had only seen for a bit. You tried to fight in a similar way, appearing and disappearing in different spots. When you got knocked into the ground from a badly timed jump, you reminded yourself to find Ghost and try to learn from her.

"Get out of here!" Captain America himself shouted, throwing his shield into the Chitauri's neck.

"No!" you stubbornly responded, jumping back into the heat of battle.

He looked surprised for a second looking at you, but you had jumped away, knowing you would need to help Natasha with the portal in a moment.

The rest of the events leading up to the need for renovations in the entire city had you sitting in a shawarma place with the Avengers. You passed by the Hydra agents that were just doing their job on your way down, but you knew they'd be taken down in a few years. They were making small talk with each other now that they had finished their meals, the owners of the restaurant giving them the special treatment that they would obviously get.

Tony was fascinated by your powers, and Bruce tried to hide his excitement but he was practically shaking in his seat as well. Neither had heard much about travelling through time and space before, and in the name of science it was something they would have loved to study. You took their offer when they said they'd wanted to learn from you, since you didn't know much about it yourself. Then Captain America himself decided he had something to say about the situation.

"I know you, don't I?" Steve said from across the table. "I know I've seen you before."

"In the 40's. You're the tiny kid, right?" you confirmed. "Nice to know you're all grown up now. Took you all of 70 years."

The rest of the group laughed at your comment, but the smile on Steve's face was pleasant and not at all upset.

"Thanks for helping me out back then."

"Well, wasn't too long ago for me. I just wait to get pulled around like a puppet on a string really," you sighed. "On that note, I have someone I need to visit."

Ghost was likely active a few years ahead of now. You didn't keep around a book or anything in case of causing a problem. You stood up and left the table without a goodbye.

"Wait!"

You had just reached the curb of the sidewalk as Steve ran up to you. His hand brushed your arm before holding your hand in his.

"Will I see you again?" he asked quietly.

You paused, studying his face as you remembered the future you had seen. You had read enough books to know that you and Steve would go on adventures and share your lives together for a very long time. You smiled fondly and squeezed his hand.

"How fast is your metabolism?" you asked

"Pretty fast. Why?" he replied, his brows furrowed.

"I'll give you 10 minutes to get to your room in Stark's tower. Race you there."

You pressed a kiss to his cheek and pulled your hand away quickly. His bright smile stayed in your mind as you ran into the street, disappearing as you went.

[pesewla]

Hua Cheng taking care of an injured, exhausted or sick Xie Lian ❤

“What happened?” Hua Cheng growled. Mu Qing’s head whipped over his shoulder in surprise. His expression instantly morphed to barely-concealed disdain.

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower, you can’t just waltz into the Heavenly Capital whenever you like,” he scoffed. Feng Xin was standing at his side, and shot Mu Qing a look that clearly said, you’re fighting a losing battle. 

Hua Cheng glared at them both, then shouldered past to the cot they were looming over. Xie Lian was sprawled out on his back, his long hair fanned out in waves behind him. His features were troubled and stormy, even in slumber. 

 “What happened?” Hua Cheng repeated, his voice sharp. 

Feng Xin exhaled. “It was a stink sprite. From what he told us, he protected a few children from one’s antics, but breathed in too much of the noxious fume. It’s a slow-acting narcotic, so he didn’t fall ill until he returned to the Capital.” 

Hua Cheng’s expression was icy. “When did this happen?” 

“Yesterday.” 

“And why wasn’t I notified?” 

Mu Qing shrugged. “His Highness is the martial god of the north. We can care for him in the Heavenly Capital. Besides, it’s not like we had your private communication array password?” 

Hua Cheng’s fist tightened minutely, like he wanted to lash out at Mu Qing, and his eyes were very dark. Suddenly, his anger was wiped away. He stepped forward and carefully swept Xie Lian into his arms. 

“Hey – “ Feng Xin protested as Hua Cheng turned and began walking out of the golden palace. “…He’s always acting like he’s the only one who gives a damn about His Highness…” 

 //

It wasn’t until much later that night that Xie Lian finally stirred from his heavy sleep. He blearily opened his eyes, and was surprised to find himself in a dark jade bedroom, rather than Feng Xin’s golden palace. A feeling of panic surged over him for a moment, before realizing that there was an arm slung over his shoulder and a body pressed up against him. It was Hua Cheng. 

Hua Cheng must’ve noticed him wiggling, because he twitched too. 

“Dianxia?” Hua Cheng whispered. 

“San Lang, how did I get here?” Xie Lian asked in confusion, then winced. His head felt cloudy. The Demon King, having much better night vision than him, seemed to notice his discomfort. Smooth, cold fingers brushed his forehead, sweeping his unkempt hair to the side. Then, the lights in the room were raised on their own, and Xie Lian saw Hua Cheng’s handsome and concerned face staring at him intently. 

Xie Lian quickly schooled his expression, attempting to erase all signs of pain from his features, but Hua Cheng’s brow remained furrowed. 

“Gege was gone on official business for three days and three nights. I got lonely and went to search for him in the heavens, and good thing I did, too. Those stupid servants were hoarding you away.” 

“What happened?” Xie Lian wondered, eyebrows creasing. Even though he was laying down, the room felt like it was moving. He felt nauseous and, above all, felt a permeating sense of dread and sadness for no apparent reason. “Last thing I remember, I was talking to Pei Ming in the Heavenly Capital – ” 

“Dianxia,” Hua Cheng interrupted him, pushing himself into a sitting position. “You’re shaking.” 

Xie Lian looked at his own body in surprise, and indeed, he was trembling like he’d been caught in a snowstorm. “Huh? I…” 

Without another word, Hua Cheng gathered him up into his arms and held him tight. One hand was raised, and began stroking Xie Lian’s hair slowly and rhythmically. 

“You inhaled the fumes of a stink sprite,” Hua Cheng murmured. “It’s not lethal, it only temporarily intensifies some of your most negative emotions. For gege, that’s probably – “ 

“Regret,” Xie Lian whispered ruefully. “Now it makes sense.” 

Hua Cheng tightened his hold on him, and Xie Lian allowed himself to melt in the embrace. They sat in silence for a few beats, and Xie Lian allowed himself to wallow in waves of guilt and fear. It was a familiar feeling. 

Xie Lian’s feelings must’ve showed on his face, because Hua Cheng’s expression tightened. “Gege…” Hua Cheng said, almost as if he wanted to break Xie Lian out of his thoughts. “You don’t have to have territory. I can give you spiritual energy, I can give you anything you need.” 

He hoisted Xie Lian up again so that he was sitting in his lap, rubbing small circles on the small of his back and kissing the hollow of his collarbone. Xie Lian, however, shook his head. 

“It’s not about spiritual energy,” he said slowly, eyes closing slightly when Hua Cheng’s lips pressed against his neck. “Since Pei Ming is leading the Heavenly Capital, they needed a martial god to oversee the north. Plus, I like… fulfilling my duties. Completing requests and prayers. It gives me a sense of purpose.” 

Hua Cheng nodded. “I expected you to say that.” He lifted his head to kiss Xie Lian’s forehead, and then his mouth. “I understand... but don’t be gone for so long. It drives me crazy.”

“You’ve never kissed me so gently before,” Xie Lian teased, but he was grateful for the distraction. Every time Hua Cheng peppered him with another kiss, his exhaustion, nausea, and dread were momentarily displaced from his head. 

“Because Dianxia is sick,” Hua Cheng whispered, dark eyes solemn. He rocked back, pressing Xie Lian more firmly into his chest. “Useless servants. ‘We can care for him in the Heavenly Capital,’ my ass. When only I have the medicine.”

 Xie Lian smiled as Hua Cheng kissed behind his ear, but the smile soon faded. “San Lang, it hurts…” 

Hua Cheng’s gaze shot over to meet his. “What hurts?” he questioned, sounding worried. 

“It’s like… every single feeling of remorse, every single feeling of grief over 800 years has been pulled back to me. There’s no space for happiness. All I feel is doom.” 

Hua Cheng stared at him, eyes murderous. “When you are well again, I’ll go hunt down this stink sprite.” 

“No need, it’s been dealt with,” Xie Lian said quickly. “I’ll survive, don’t worry, San Lang, it’s just… it hurts.” 

The grip on Xie Lian’s body tightened, and Hua Cheng pulled him so close that his face was buried in the other’s chest. Xie Lian shuddered even more violently, and soon his whole body was wracked with convulsions and shivering. 

Hua Cheng resumed stroking his hair with one hand, like he was a scared animal in need of comfort, and with the other hand he clasped Xie Lian’s waist tightly. 

“Dianxia…” Hua Cheng breathed, voice low. 

“Please just stay with me right now,” Xie Lian said, voice small and body still trembling.

“Nothing in the world could convince me to let go of you.”

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (3)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7.1k warnings: nightmares, angst™ 🖤series masterlist

Bucky didn’t move for nearly an hour before Steve and Natasha found him curled up against that wall. Forehead pressed the thick glass barrier that had kept you from him, stare glazed over, unblinking. His body so numb he could hardly move.

He didn’t register Steve rush at him, skidding on his knees to press his fingers  painfully to Bucky’s pulse point or the violent shake of his shoulders as his friend begged him to say something, to tell him what happened, to answer him goddamnit because the way he sat so unmoving, unresponsive, the red seep of blood upon the open wound at his stomach, Steve thought for a moment he might be dead.

He might as well have been.

Natasha paced back and forth, eyes darting down the long hallway and spotting the dirt layered handprints on the other side of the wall, the skid marks on the tile left behind by your boots.

“Steve,” she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, lips pressed tight together to hold in the cry etching through her spine as she nodded towards the end of the hall. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, catching onto the fragments you’d left behind and slumped over in realization.

“Oh God.”

***

Bucky sat at the end of a long conference table back the compound less than eight hours later and he could barely get his thoughts to form a straight line. Every image in his brain replayed the sharp realization in your eyes as you watched him so desperately try to reach you with no avail, the acceptance of what was about to happen as you placed your hands on the glass to find his eyes one last time; the complete panic that swept over you when they dragged you away, your heels digging into the concrete, arms thrashing, as you tried to resist your capture.

And still, above the worst of it, above the fear on your face seared into his memory and the unforgiving grip of the agent’s hands on your body, Bucky couldn’t let go of the last thing you had said to him. While the cadence of your voice was lost behind the barrier of the wall, Bucky couldn’t shake it from his mind, wondering what it would have sounded like aloud. He would have given everything to hear it, just once.

I love you.

I’m sorry. I love you.

He had so many questions; so much he needed to know. Why were you only telling him now that you were being taken away? How long had you known? When did you first realize?

Was it in that moment as you caught his eye through the other side of the glass barrier, tears streaming down your face as the Hydra agents approached from behind you? Was it before that? Back before he found the courage to talk to you on your silent runs in the morning? Was it somewhere in between? 

Was it the first time you dragged him to Brooklyn or the day you spent with him curled up at the foot of your bed, listening to music and showing him the new books you’d bought him?

Was it after the first time you had stayed the night in his room after a particularly grueling mission, curled up against his left side, completely unbothered, if not relieved, by the cool metal on his shoulder? Because that was when he knew.

Had it been years of silent glances and the soft curve of lips, unspoken conversations and cautious touches, loving one another from a distance?

Wasted years you could have been his.

He could have been yours.

“What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky blinked a few times, focusing his vision back on Steve as he raised an eyebrow, concerned. He stood at the far end of the room, watching Bucky under a worried stare as he leaned onto the table. Behind him, filling the monitors, were images of different Hydra bases, blue prints, schematics, and a few profiles of the Hydra agents who were present at the base where you were taken.

Bucky’s gaze caught on the monitor to the right of Steve’s shoulder, your official SHIELD identification picture set around several layers of text detailing demographic factors for the rows of agents standing behind the table who didn’t know you like the team did. Bullet points of your height, the color of your eyes, the prominent scar above your eyebrow, your various skillset.

It all felt too clinical, too impersonal, dispassionate almost for these agents to read about you like you were a target, or a mark, or anything other than the most important person in his life.

Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from your image displayed upon the screen. Your hair was up, wisps falling down to frame your face and the suit you wore was an older model, one you wore before Tony got a hold of it, though you had always said it was your favorite. It was subtle, humbling, and reminded you of the years of training it took you to get to this point. You smiled in the picture, the slight curve of your lips and a dimple in your cheeks and –

“Buck?” Steve called again, exchanging a nervous glance with Tony.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled, gaze flickering over to the agents Steve was attempting to bring up to speed.

Not even a full day had passed since you’d been taken and Steve was organizing rescues ops to every known Hydra base he could find. With the fresh wound in Bucky’s side only haphazardly stapled together by Natasha on the quinjet and a seemingly permanent ringing in his left ear, he’d been benched.

He had fought Steve on that. Begged, screamed and threw punches until the dizziness in his head started to pull his vision black. He was in no shape to raid Hydra facilities, physically or mentally. He was too vulnerable, too willing to do whatever it took to bring you home. Steve knew him better than almost anyone and he knew that given the chance, Bucky would walk openly back into Hydra’s arms if it meant securing your safety. It was too great of a risk and SHIELD couldn’t allow Hydra to get ahold of the winter soldier again.

It was for that reason Steve wouldn’t let him get within a hundred feet of a jet.

Bucky cleared his throat. “What was the question?”

Steve exhaled, incredibly patient through the sad look on his face. “You know these bases better than anyone. Just checking to see if we missed anything in their defense procedures.”

Bucky nodded, taking in a deep breath as he studied the monitors. They seemed to cover everything from the security monitors to the defense protocols of the agents to the boobytraps installed in some of the older buildings.

“I think you're good,” Bucky confirmed. 

He tried his best to ignore the stares of the agents gathered around the table; eyes full of pity, some with apathy, others with that prominent look of disgust they didn’t bother to hide. Not everyone was as willing as you had been to accept him as a member of this team. He was a constant source of gossip amongst the agents, even three years later, and though his team members did their best to put a stop to it, it never seemed to let up.

Everywhere he went, someone would be watching him, waiting for him to slip up or reveal his ‘true nature,’ to turn on the people who took him in because he was nothing more than what Hydra trained him to be.

Bucky looked to the empty seat on his right. Your seat. His hands clenched so hard into fists he drew blood in the palm of his right hand. He couldn't stand to be in this room any longer.

As Steve and Tony turned to address the teams, Bucky abruptly pushed his chair out from the table and shoved his way out of the room, ignoring Steve’s cautious glance and the murmurs that followed him as he stepped out into the hallway.

The door of the conference room slammed shut behind him and a relief circulated through his chest with a steady inhale of breath. It was the first time he was alone since the jet landed back on the base.

Moving to wipe a line of sweat from his brow, Bucky caught a glimpse of red on his hands. Staining the cracks in his knuckles and dried in the lines of his flesh palm. Blood. Your blood.

His hands began to shake, tremors so violent that he couldn’t begin to control them even as he curled his hands to fists by his side. Flash of grey fog and the heat of flames surrounded him, trapped in the memory, as he had cupped the sides of your face, blood trailing from your ears and onto his palms. The look on your face, the ache in your voice flooded back to him at once and he leaned against the wall for support.

Tears blurred his vision and he nearly collapsed under weak knees when suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to whip around defensively, fists held high and ready to strike.

Sam raised his arms, taking a step back. “Hey man, I’m just checking in.”

Bucky let out a sharp breath, lowering his hands with a careful nod. His heart was racing; the dangerous combination of a half-stitched wound on his stomach, the adrenaline coursing in his veins, and the emotional distress of losing you to the very people who had ripped him apart, who were featured so heavily in his nightmares, was starting to break him.

“Look, why don’t you get down to the med bay?” Sam offered, gesturing to the soot and blood coating Bucky’s skin. “I’m sure Helen will want to properly stitch up your stab wound. Though Nat did a pretty decent job with the stapler, even if you did try to toss her off of you more than once.” 

Sam chuckled lightly, hoping to draw some kind of reaction but when he was met with the solemn stare etched on Bucky’s features, he added, “Steve and Tony are heading out with their teams soon. Nat, Rhodey, and Lang are heading up units, too. They’ll find her, Barnes. No stone unturned, you got it?”

Bucky swallowed. It burned.

“There’s nothing you can do but wait,” Sam sighed and the ache in his voice reminded Bucky of his own. Worried. Afraid. Though he tried to shove it aside. It was what they did best. “Y/n will be home soon and she’s going to need you to have a hold of yourself, okay? No pity parties. Get that mess on your stomach taken care of and get a shower. Don’t wanna be looking like a fool when she comes back, right?”

Sam pressed out a grin, though it was forced, as he shoved Bucky lightly in the shoulder. Despite their history, Bucky knew that Sam was a decent guy, someone who would have his back without a second thought even with their constant bickering. He was the only person who dared to stomp on every eggshell around him since you’d been taken. Sam provided him with a sense of normalcy he so desperately craved.

So, as Sam walked down the hall, leaving Bucky to his own self-destructive devices, he tried to convince himself that Sam was right, that in a few short hours he’d meet you in the hanger as you sprinted off the ramp of the quinjet, unharmed, beaming so wide it hurt, and you’d crash into his arms. He could practically feel the curve of your back, the thin layer of your favorite t-shirt, soft waves of your hair, all under his fingertips. He could smell the sweet fragrance of your shampoo and the warmth of your body pressed against his.

He’d return the words you had spoken to him. He’d tell you that you were the reason he found himself again after decades of being trapped within his own mind and tell you he’d give his life just to see you smile again. He’d tell you that he loved you and he couldn’t stand the idea of being without you for even a second longer and maybe, just maybe, he’d kiss you like he’d been imagining for years.

Cracked lips, still gentle and soft against his own, and he’d rake his fingers through your hair not caring about the blood caked through the roots, because he just needed to be closer to you and his mouth on yours just wouldn’t be enough. He’d cry and hold onto you like an extension of himself and he wouldn’t let go for hours.

Maybe you’d hold him back and maybe you’d kiss his cheek and maybe you’d tell him that it wasn’t his fault because—God-- he needed to hear it so badly and there wasn't a single person but you he would believe it from.  

But Bucky Barnes was not a hopeful man.

He had learned over the years that this world was not a kind one and that dreams were useless fantasies meant to hold his sanity until the next blow came and he’d find himself searching again for reasons to hang on, each time getting harder and harder until he had nothing left.

He knew Hydra and he knew what they were capable of.

He knew what they would do to you. As an Avenger and as someone so clearly connected to their favorite asset. They’d destroy you.

Bucky could barely feel the agonizing ache in his chest.

***

Five nights since you were taken and still no word. Sam had taken over for Steve’s team somewhere in Russia, searching the eighth base on their list. Tony and Nat’s teams grouped up in Austria, while Scott’s team was following a far-off lead in Brazil.

Bucky tried to keep himself away from the communications center where he’d find the voices of his friends chiming in through the radio, each reporting that they had found nothing and another base was crossed off the list. He’d only find pain there and he knew it.

But Bucky Barnes was a masochist and he put himself in that room anyway, sitting at the far corner, away from the prying eyes of the analysts and listened to the chatter of Sam’s voice as it started to become more and more defeated with every abandoned base they encountered.

Even when Tony and Nat’s teams were able to infiltrate a fully operational base and burn it to the ground, Bucky couldn’t even find it in himself to feel even an ounce of satisfaction. He couldn’t focus on anything beyond the fact that they were running out of known Hydra facilities on their list and there was yet to even be a sign that you were even still alive.

He left around three in the morning when the chatter began to die down and the only sound filling the room was the constant typing. He retreated back to his room, laid on the top of the computer and began to count the cracks in the tiles on the ceiling.

His bed was too cold, too hard under the aching swell of his muscles without you.

You had spoiled him, allowed him to get used to the warmth of your body so innocently next to his under the ruse of fighting nightmares together. Something about the feel of your hand curling into his when you noticed his body start to tremor in his sleep or the soft murmur if your voice lulling him back to fonder memories, and Bucky hadn't woken screaming in months.

But the unspoken arrangement wasn’t one sided. Sometimes, there’d be nights you’d come back from a mission in tears from the horrors you’d seen; graphic, violent scenes Bucky hadn’t been able to protect you from, and he’d hold you so tight to his chest his arm would grow numb. Soft, careful kisses to the crown of your head, brushing over your hair until your breathing came back to pace and he finally eased you to sleep.

It was his only solace. Even in his worst days, he knew he could always knock on your door, no questions, and you’d wrap yourself around him until he forgot why he sought you out in the first place.

Now, he couldn’t sleep without you, couldn’t fathom facing the monsters in his dreams without you next to him, especially now that those same monsters had you within their grasp. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the memory of your face as tears streamed down your cheeks, hands pressed to the glass barrier between you, and he struggled to catch his breath.

Sleep wasn’t an option. Even with his lids falling heavy, he jerked himself awake before the darkness could pull him under. He hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours since you’d been taken.

Bucky resumed counting the cracks in the ceiling, falling somewhere in the eight-hundred range, when his head lulled to the side, lids slipping shut before he could find the energy to snap himself back to conscious.

Bucky pushed through double doors to an empty sea of darkness. In the distance, illuminated under a spotlight was the sparring ring from the gym sitting amongst a black abyss. As Bucky walked closer, a warmth filled his chest to find you standing at the center of the ring, tapping your closed fists wrapped in boxing tape, as you waited for him.

A smile beamed on your lips as he approached and you jumped a few times to get your blood circulating. Bucky hulled himself up into the ring and slipped under the ropes.

“You ready?” you asked, voice echoing airily through the emptiness around you as you stretched your arm over your chest. Bucky glanced down to his pajamas to find he was now wearing his workout gear, his hands already tapped.

“Only if you are, sweetheart,” he teased and a heat reddened on your face.

He knew those names made you flustered, which was exactly why he did it. There was nothing he found more endearing than a spy with a blush in her cheeks.

He supposed some might find it condescending, the little pet names, but not you, and he supposed it was perhaps because he sincerely meant them that they affected you so much. It was never to demean you or make you feel small or powerless. It was because he adored you and couldn’t find the words to actually tell you so it came out in terms of endearment he could easily brush off if someone started asking too many questions.

You laughed, the sound sending a nervous kind of excitement in his stomach, as you rushed him. Sparring with you was always his favorite match; even when you were winning, even when he was. Any excuse to be close to you was one he was eagerly willing to take.

His back slammed to the ground as you hovered over him and maybe he let you do that, but you didn’t seem to mind. Your full body weight on his and your hair fell down to cage his face. He reached up and tucked a strand behind your ear, chest panting from the exertion of the fight, heavy breaths warming his face.

It was so familiar, this moment, but he pushed the feeling aside as his gaze flickered down at your lips so swiftly, he thought you might not notice. When he was met with the soft hue of your iris again, he knew that you had. Your hand traced up his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake and you lowered your lips to his, so slowly, so impossibly delicate, that Bucky’s heart was pounding so fast he questioned if he would survive it. A graze of your lips, not enough to even feel it, and--

The scene changed.

You disappeared from above him and Bucky was surrounded by the ruins of a Hydra base, thick grey smoke filling the room as flames cast up in angry orange waves around him. Bucky scrambled to his feet, stumbling from the dizziness in his head.

“Y/n!” he shouted, wincing at the echo his voice produced. “Y/n! Dammit, answer me!”

Then, he spotted you trapped under a beam and rushed to you. By the time he pulled it from your body and you scrambled out from underneath, the flames had consumed the room. Bucky went to grab you to his chest but you were gone. Panic coursing through him and he spun around in search of you, only to be met with the burn of the fire.

He closed his eyes and then the heat was gone.

He opened his eyes to find you standing on the other side of the clear barrier, hand pressed to the glass, a blank expression on your face. Bucky slammed his fist to the wall, screaming out in agony as pain radiated up his arm, pain he hadn’t experienced on his left side since the fall, and he nearly collapsed to the ground.

You didn’t so much as flinch as Bucky desperately clawed at the wall, chest panting with the ache of the adrenaline in his veins.  

“Y/n!” he shouted your name like a desperate plea. Tears blurred at his vision as the crowd of Hydra agents appeared at the end of the hallway behind you. Your expression remained entirely blank, if not dismissive, and Bucky’s stomach was twisting into knots.

“Why didn’t you stop this?” your voice carried through the wall, low and detached and Bucky nearly doubled over.

A Hydra agent suddenly appeared behind you, as if from thin air, and took your hand from the glass twisting it behind your back, though you remained emotionless.

“You could have saved me. This is your fault,” you accused and Bucky nodded his head vigorously.

“I know, I know,” he cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, doll.”

He collapsed to his knees, sobs raking through his body enough to limit his intake of breath as they dragged you away. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes when he was met with deafening silence.

Then, a sudden clicking noise and he was somewhere else. He removed his hands, taking in his surroundings, and a sharp breath hitched in his lungs. He’d seen this place before, been here in his nightmares too many times to count.

The chair that took his memories from him, his free will, his dignity, sat at the center of the room. Various men and women in lab coats, some in military uniforms carrying large weapons, carried about their business, completely obvious to Bucky’s presence.

A commotion sounded to his left and he turned to find two men dragging you into the room. You were screaming, crying, fighting with every ounce of strength you had left. Blood dripped down the side of your face, the left part of your hair coated in dark red, and your leg was clearly broken.

“Get away from her!” Bucky bellowed, moving to sprint towards you when a pull tugged on his wrists. He looked down to find them cuffed together, a chain extending from the wall that hadn’t been there before. You locked eyes with him and Bucky swore his stomach had plummeted to the far center of the Earth.

“Take her to the chair,” one of the men ordered, “wipe her, and start over. It’s time we find a new fist of Hydra.”

“No!” Bucky roared, yanking hard enough on the chains to dig open wounds in his wrist. You were screaming for him, begging for him to save you, to stop this, but he couldn’t move. He was crying again, so incredibly helpless but to watch, and he couldn’t find his breath.

Bucky’s vision started to blur, finding it impossible to breathe through the thin straw in his lungs and he fell to the ground. They strapped you to the chair and time seemed to fall still.

Through the numbing in his body, the lightheadedness, and the quick, desperate breaths, Bucky caught sight of your eyes as you bored into his. A frown passed your lips, features hardening in a way he had never once seen on your face.

“You did this to me,” you spat as they pressed the buttons to turn the machine on. Electric sparks radiated from the panels. “You did this, Bucky! YOU DID THIS!”

They shoved the mouthguard to your teeth and you clamped down, glaring at him enough to stab holes straight into his heart, as the panels pressed to the sides of your face, where his hands should be, where he would brush the tears from your eyes and let his thumb so carefully run over your cheekbone, and electricity pulsed through them.

You let out a scream Bucky could only find in his nightmares and he closed his eyes.

“Bucky!”

Bucky curled up onto his side, shaking his head, too afraid to see you on the chair again, to see you strapped to the instrument that destroyed him from the inside out. His face was wet with tears, his breaths too shallow.

“Bucky! Wake up!”

Heavy hands gripped at his biceps, yanking him up and Bucky’s eyes darted open to find Steve staring at him with panic in his features. Bucky’s lips had grown numb, his brain feeling fuzzy, as he struggled to find his breath.

“I need you to breathe, Buck, come on now,” Steve urged, running his hands along Bucky’s arms. It had been nearly three years since he was the one to help Bucky through these nights, he had almost forgotten how real these dreams could feel.

Bucky nodded, hands curling into the fabric of the sheets to ground himself. He focused on the steady rise and fall of Steve’s breaths until his heart rate started to slow and his breaths came in at an even pace. He exhaled, the numbness in his face still present and his head feeling a bit dizzy, but he knew where he was, knew it had been a nightmare that brought Steve barreling into his room. It was why he had tried so hard to stay awake.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered under his breath, shifting away from Steve on the bed. He looked away, an embarrassed heat in his face.

“No, no, please don’t apologize, Buck,” Steve replied sincerely. “I know that this is hard for you. It’s... it’s hard for all of us... not knowing.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, desperately willing himself not to cry in front of Steve.

“But we’re not stopping until we bring her home,” Steve continued, offering Bucky a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He paused, letting out a deep breath. “I... I know what she means to you, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t reply, couldn’t find the strength to talk about you without completely losing it. He felt so weak, so small, so pathetic as his entire world seemed to collapse without you.

How was it that he banked his entire recovery on a single person, that you had carried his burdens and lifted the pain from his shoulders without him even realizing it? How was it that he was crumbling and falling to pieces? How was he supposed to survive without you?

He never wanted to find out. Though, now, he might not have a choice.

***

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, nursing a coffee that had long grown cold, settled in the seat he had taken all those months when you’d meet him before the sun rose, before he even so much as spoke a word to you.

It was comforting, in some way. Like he could hold onto a piece of you in this memory, a good memory, of your sweet smile as you stole quick glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking as you stretched next to the refrigerator.

He glanced over his shoulder to the spot he had seen you in so many times, folding your leg behind you as you leaned against the wall, sending him a reassuring smile, one that never asked him to step further out of his comfort zone than he was ready for but one that reminded him he was safe here, that he was home and you were intent on making him feel as such.

He was only now realizing that this compound was never home to him.

You were.

It had been nine days since he last saw you in that Hydra base and Bucky was sure his body had grown completely numb. He was barred from joining the rescue ops until his therapist cleared him for duty, which he didn't expect to happen anytime soon, so he spent most of his time behind a punching bag or running for hours on end until his legs had grown weak with use. He’d work himself to the point of exhaustion just to catch an hour of dreamless sleep because if he left himself alone with his thoughts long enough, they’d swarm in masses of guilt and images of that fear in your eyes, and he’d never survive that on his own.

He sighed, clenching his jaw, and he turned back to face the blank wall he had been staring at when the flash of the television caught his eye.

A picture of you illuminated the screen, one from a mission downtown a year back as you escorted pedestrians away from the warzone happening on Broadway. You had a small child in your hands as you handed him to a crying woman. A blonde woman in a dark blue blazer sat behind a desk to the right of the image, lips moving though the TV was muted.

The image to the anchor’s left flashed to your official SHIELD headshot, the one that had been on the monitors in the debriefing room the day after you were taken. Having made his way into the living room almost in a trance, Bucky grabbed the remote and turned on the volume.

“—just over a week since Agent Y/L/n was taken prisoner by known Hydra affiliates during a classified mission in an undisclosed location,” the woman continued, voice stern as she stared directly into the camera, “There is still no word on her whereabouts, however we have learned that the Avengers at the command of Captain Rogers, continue to lead cavalries in search of the missing agent.”

The screen changed to a shaky video of Steve and a dozen agents storming a warehouse, the muffled sound of gunfire reigning in the background. The chyron at the bottom indicated they were in Slovakia.

Then, a new video as the screen flashed to Stark as he flew above the tree lines with several small jets behind him. The anchor appeared on screen again. She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Targeting locations seemingly at random, it appears that the Avengers are no closer to locating Agent Y/L/n than they were the day she was abducted. With no word from Hydra, no indication of ransom demands, and no proof of life, unfortunately, we can only begin to assume—”

The screen suddenly turned black, a drop in his heart, and Bucky looked down at the remote, narrowing his eyes to find it sitting on the edge of his couch, away from his grasp.

“They don’t know shit,” Sam shot from behind him. He had his arms folded over his chest and a scowl upon his lips. A second remote sat in his left hand. “No news doesn’t mean bad news. They’re just looking to sensationalize this.”

Bucky shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the shaking in his hand. “It’s been too long, Sam, and- and she’s right! Why hasn’t Hydra made any demands for Y/n? You don’t find that strange at all? What was the point of taking her if they didn’t want something from us? She’s probably already de--”

“Stop it!” Sam snapped, shoving Bucky hard in this chest. “You don’t get to give up hope! It’s been nine days, Barnes! Don’t you dare do that to her. Don’t you fucking dare because we all know for a fact Y/n would never give up on you like this!”

“I didn’t—I, I haven’t—” Bucky fumbled over his words, something he was entirely unused to.

“Yes, you have!” Sam retorted, shoving Bucky again in the arm. “I know that going out looking for her yourself isn’t an option right now and I know how bad you wish it was. But you’re not helpless, Barnes, and she’s not dead!  Stop acting like it!”

Sam grunted, folding his arms over his chest. He waited, watching Bucky for a reaction and ready to put him back in place if needed. Cautious eyes trailed over the apprehensive clench of Bucky’s jaw as he nodded to himself.

With a steady exhale, Bucky chewed on his lip, meeting Sam’s eye. “Thank you.”

A flash of surprise cut through Sam’s features.

“You’re right. I'm no good to Y/n like this,” Bucky admitted much to Sam’s shock. He carded his fingers through his hair, tugging it away from his face. He had spent too long allowing himself to wallow in a sea of self-pity and guilt and blame that you never would have stood for. It cost him precious days he could have spent out looking for you.

With a newfound determination and a sense of purpose he had so desperately needed in your absence, Bucky said, “I need to get training again so I can be back in the field. I need to get my mind right and convince the doc to give me the all clear and I’m going to get the hell out of this compound and find Y/n myself.”

A slow smirk pulled on Sam’s lips. It was what he had been waiting for.

“You coming or what?” Bucky asked, chugging down the rest of his cold coffee and set it on the counter. He was already halfway across the room, heading to the gym, before Sam jogged to catch up with him.

***

Bucky spent every day in the gym with Sam for nearly a week. Sparring, running, lifting weights, sparring again. With Sam decked in his suit, he even agreed to let Bucky use his full strength just to make sure he was field ready before he made the round to the med bay to get the clearance from Dr. Cho.

Even his therapist was beginning to come around. With Bucky attending on a daily basis and putting more work into his mental health than he did in the three years he had been living at the compound combined, he was confident he’d get the ticket he needed to be back in the field by next week. The fact that the nightmares had started to subside, even without you next to him, didn’t slip his notice either.

It was officially two weeks since you were taken and while the endless coverage on the news wouldn’t let him forget it, Bucky kept holed himself up in the gym with Sam. They’d been at it for nearly three hours in the ring and Bucky was dripping in sweat. Sam was a more adversarial opponent than he gave him credit for, though he would never admit it aloud.

“Stop relying on your left arm!” Sam quipped as he ducked under Bucky’s shoulder and jabbed him with an electrical current at the base of his shoulder.

Bucky grunted, stumbling away as he gripped onto the dead weight in his left side, metal falling heavy and useless by his side. He glared at Sam enough to stare daggers through his head.

“I thought we said no weapons,” Bucky grumbled, trying to shake his arm back to life.

“Yeah, well Hydra is going to come at you with everything they got and knowing you, you’ll fuck something up and end up weaponless, so you can thank me later,” Sam shot back, that irritating smirk upon his lips that drove Bucky absolutely insane.

“You’re infuriating.”

“Maybe, but I’m the only one working to get your sorry ass back to field duty, so deal with it,” Sam retorted and Bucky felt a stab of guilt in his chest. Sam was right. He was the only one who stayed behind to make sure Bucky didn’t do anything stupid and with his complete disregard for Bucky’s feelings, Sam was the one person who was able to kick him out of his all-consuming self-pity.

Bucky made a mental note to explicitly not make any jabs at Sam for at least a month once they brought you home.

Bucky shook out his right shoulder, his left arm still entirely useless as Sam circled around him in the ring, getting ready to pounce again. Bucky was nearly ready to strike, when Sam stood up straight, eyes narrowing at something far over Bucky’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, turning cautiously to follow Sam’s gaze, when suddenly Sam was sprinting off the edge of the ring, hurdling over the ropes to the far corner of the gym.

Confused by Sam’s abrupt change in behavior, Bucky raced after him to find Sam desperately scrambling for the remote to the TV that hung on the wall above the cardio equipment. Heart thumping painfully in his chest, almost afraid to look, Bucky slowly glanced up at the TV to find the same blonde woman reporting from behind a desk he had seen a few days ago, a solemn look in her eyes, as an image of you was pictured to her left.

“Stupid freaking remote, come on,” Sam grumbled under his breath as he struggled to unmute the TV.

Bucky’s eyes were glued to the woman’s lips, trying to make out what she was saying because the look on her face was setting an ache in Bucky’s stomach.

Then, Sam exhaled in relief and the woman’s voice began to echo through the empty gym.

“-- received just moments ago in the mailroom of our television studio, just several floors below where we are recording this now,” the woman continued, “It remains unclear who dropped this package off as our security footage appears to be malfunctioning but rest assured authorizes have been notified. If you are just joining us, we have received what appears to be video footage of the MIA Avenger, Agent Y/n Y/L/n.”

Bucky’s breath hitched in his lungs and Sam set a hand on his shoulder. Frozen.

“Please be warned that the video we are about to show may be difficult to watch,” the woman let out a heavy sigh as she looked to someone off screen. She nodded, a slight wave of her hand, and the screen went blank.

Bucky flinched, thinking for a moment that the feed had cut out, when suddenly, the screen faded into the view of a dark room, a single folding chair illuminated under a free hanging light bulb. The scuffling of feet echoed through the video and Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest. Then, he nearly stopped breathing as you appeared on the screen, shoved into the chair by two men with masks obstructing their faces.

“Fucking hell.” Sam exhaled a harsh breath beside him as he began to pace and back forth. 

Bucky could do nothing but watch. He was paralyzed. The relief of seeing you alive overshadowed by the state of your present injuries, leaving a sharp pang in Bucky’s chest.

A deep gash ran along your cheekbone, dried blood trailing down your face, over the swollen purple bruising. It looked infected, like it had been sustained days prior without any medical treatment and your skin was flushed and covered in sweat. Dark circles sat under reddened eyes, bruising on your nose from where it had been broken, and blood caked into the split of your bottom lip. Your collarbones were more prominent than they should be and you looked weak, frail, like they hadn’t been feeding you and Bucky could only suspect as much.

Your eyes glued onto the camera, like you could see straight through it right into Bucky’s soul, and he wondered if maybe you could. You flickered your gaze for only a second off screen and a fist came barreling out of nowhere and slammed against the side of your face.

Bucky jumped, hands clenching at his side, not even realizing he had regained feeling in his left arm. You turned and spat a thick glob of blood to your left, shooting a glare at whoever hit you.

You turned your focus back to the camera. Slowly, you parted your lips.

“My name is Special Agent Y/n Y/L/n,” you spoke, your voice raspy and broken from either the lack of use or screaming and Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to wonder which. “I am an Agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, and I was abducted by Hydra two weeks ago from their base in Western Russia.”

A newspaper was thrown in front of the camera, proving today’s date. It fell away and you swallowed thickly, though you winced at the effort. Your eyes glanced down at something under the camera and Bucky realized you were reading from prompts.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam cursed, running his hands down his mouth but Bucky couldn’t focus on anything beside the trembling in your lip as you read the next cue card before you said it aloud.

You shook your head, clenching your jaw. “I’m not reading that,” you spat to someone off screen, only to be met without a second hit to your face and Bucky felt his knees lock.

Blood trailing from the corners of your mouth you turned back to the camera.

“Just read it. Come on, sweetheart. Don’t give them a reason to hurt you,” Bucky muttered under his breath, entirely unwilling to see you get hit again. You straightened your back, a hardened scowl on your lips.

“This is a warning to the people of New York,” you read, your voice flat and defiant, “The Avengers cannot protect you. They...” you took a deep breath, eyeing someone standing to the right of the camera before you continued, “They can’t even protect their own.”

Bucky’s throat ran dry and Sam’s pacing behind him ceased.

“You will hear from us again,” a man off screen said, American, deep voice, and the blatant detest on your face as you glared at him made it clear he was the man in charge. 

A heavy breath in your lungs, eyes glancing back to the camera, a new kind of softness behind the hue of your irises, like you were searching for him beyond the layers of technology. 

Then, the screen turned black and you were gone. 

--

Im... so sorry. 😬

feedback is always appreciated 💖

tags 📺 @sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @blushingbucky / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts

[pengiesama]

Hello, Nurse! (Fic, TGCF, HC/XL)

Title: Hello, Nurse! Series: Heavenly Official’s Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Pairing: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian

Summary:

While Xie Lian can’t ever manage to come back from a mission in one piece, he’s at least got a sexy nurse waiting for him at home.

(As well as the best (and rudest) medical expertise that money can buy.)

Link: AO3

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The troupe of demon bandits that Xie Lian had been asked to subdue certainly weren’t a challenge in themselves, but, well, an unlucky god was an unlucky god.

The black powder traps that the demons had set up around their camp presented Xie Lian with quite a predicament. Of course, he’d spotted and smelled them from a mile away, and moreover said traps were the oldest trick in the book. The real issue was that they were baited with human captives: any attempt to remove the captive would set off the trap, and set off a chain reaction along the line. Truthfully, it was a more clever setup than Xie Lian would have expected from a run-of-the-mill gaggle of demon bandits; if they’d only set their minds to less murderous goals, they would’ve had a much brighter future ahead of them.

(Or at least brighter than what their life path was currently leading to, which was Xie Lian’s fist shattering their skulls.)

Thus, Xie Lian was slightly delayed in what would have otherwise been a very simple pest-control operation. By the time Xie Lian had freed the last human captive and sent them running down the road to the safety of town with a protective talisman stuck to their backs, the bandits had roused themselves from their drunken sleep and rallied to attack.

Xie Lian was already finely dusted with black powder from his previous efforts; even though he dodged the barrage of flaming arrows, the heat caught the powder and set it off. The force from the powder’s ignition sent Xie Lian careening back into the bandits’ stash of booze, which only exacerbated Xie Lian’s then-current predicament. That is to say, he was set alight like a firework.

Now, this was hardly Xie Lian’s first rodeo when it came to being burned alive. Thus, despite feeling a bit embarrassed for tripping in public, and feeling more than a little agony, he was able to dispatch the demons with the blazing fury of a comet. Xie Lian was then presented with the peace and quiet needed to think and hatch a plan to put out the flames before they caused enough damage to put him out of commission for more than a few weeks.

This was where things got very silly. You see, the flames at that point had degraded Xie Lian’s vision, and thus while he was carefully searching about (not running! Xie Lian knew the rules of fire safety) for the sounds of a nearby river or body of water, he misjudged his steps and found himself tumbling ass-over-teakettle down a steep incline. Luckily, the sudden stop, drop, and rolling motion calmed the flames some, and the incline even ended with him being dumped into a river.

But, well, the river led into raging rapids, and then that’s when the landslide kicked off…

 --

 Xie Lian’s conscious swam back to him, slowly.

It was old hat, by now, getting injured and knocked out cold; as old hat as his old hat. It was so old hat, in fact, that he had already started the process of taking a mental inventory of his various injuries.

 Broken leg? Yes, times two. Felt like…probably broken in two places in the one, and five places in the other.

Broken arm? Surprisingly, only one, it seemed.

Neck and back? Well, they were still present and attached to his person. This was about the only good thing he could say about their status.

Burns? Very yes.

His sight had yet to return, but his hearing had remained intact through the incident, despite being briefly blown out by the impromptu fireworks show. This, at least, was a blessing, as it allowed him to hear the soft, soothing voice of his San Lang as he spoke to him.

“…your highness. Are you awake? I’ve called the doctor. You’re in bed and I’m holding your hand.”

Xie Lian took his word for the latter part, as he couldn’t feel much through the pain of the burns. His throat was so dry. He wished he’d managed to drink some of the river water while getting thrashed about.

“…wa…w…” Xie Lian tried to croak out a request through his battered throat.

Almost immediately, without having to finish struggling the words out, he felt cool, blessedly cool water trickling down his throat. It soothed as it went; clearly having been charged with healing energy. Xie Lian felt a twinge of guilt even as he greedily continued to drink. The only reason he was in as relatively good a state as he was, was no doubt due to Hua Cheng’s efforts. Healing injuries of this magnitude with spiritual energy alone was no small feat. He knew that his San Lang would allow him to suck him dry. Panic began to flood Xie Lian as the memories surfaced; the memories of Hua Cheng doing just that.

Hua Cheng drew back, seeming to sense Xie Lian’s distress. Xie Lian’s throat and mouth were healed enough, now, for him to feel that Hua Cheng had been feeding him the water through a kiss.

“Does…does San Lang…always treat his patients so sweetly…?” Xie Lian managed to rasp out.

After a pause, Xie Lian heard him chuckle. Then, he vaguely felt himself being arranged more comfortably on the bed.

“No,” Hua Cheng said. “Not in the least, when it’s not His Highness in my care.”

Xie Lian made a thoughtful noise, as Hua Cheng very carefully move his splinted legs. “Of course…of course. That quilt; was it yours?”

Hua Cheng paused in his movements. The memories were hazy, for Xie Lian, and the words painful to say through his throat and the squeezing of his heart.

“Back then…at the, the quarantine settlement…for those affected…that helpful little nurse with the bandaged face…when I’d fallen asleep on the outskirts, sprawled out on the grass in full martial regalia…I woke to find some kind-hearted person had tucked me in, with their own quilt. What a sight I must’ve been. So silly-looking.”

Xie Lian could feel Hua Cheng holding his hand, now. His injuries were healing quickly under the care of such an attentive nurse.

“His Highness looked beautiful, as beautiful as he always did and always does,” Hua Cheng replied quietly. “Beautiful enough to make flowers bloom beneath him to serve as his bed.”

Xie Lian thought back, a bit confused. “Did that happen? I wonder why. Maybe I’d gotten some seeds stuck in my pockets from running around…”

Hua Cheng laughed in earnest at that. Xie Lian was almost, almost healed enough to be able to pout at being teased.

He heard the door to the room open, and heard Yin Yu attempt to get out an announcement before he was overtaken.

“Lord Chengzhu, Your Highness, please forgive the intrusion; this one wishes to announce the arrival of—”

“They know who I am,” the doctor cut him off. Xie Lian heard her approach the bed with speedy, single-minded purpose, and a heavy bag of tools and tinctures. “What now, eh? Smells like you got into a fight with a drunken fire dragon…”

 --

 Despite her sharp tongue, Lord Chengzhu trusted this particular ghost doctor with all of Xie Lian’s (frequent) medical emergencies. This trust was well-warranted – after the process of examination, treatment, and prescription of various follow-up medications, salves, and a list of dos-and-don’ts for physical activity, Xie Lian was already feeling fresher and revitalized.

“…and when I say no doing that until he’s finished convalescing, I mean no doing that, eh?”

…though perhaps sometimes Xie Lian found some of her instructions a bit hard to swallow. How was he supposed to not want to do that when he had such an irresistible nurse tending to him? The medical arts were inscrutable and cruel.

“Of course, yisheng,” Hua Cheng assured. “Please allow my assistant to show you to the reception hall, where yisheng may select a treasure from my collection that is to her liking, in addition to her standard fee…”

“None of those nonsense trinkets. Send over more research material and try to instill within your husband an ounce of self-preservation. It doesn’t come naturally to certain folk.”

Hua Cheng held his tongue, and Xie Lian heard the doctor’s footsteps leave the room. The bed dipped beside him, and Xie Lian felt Hua Cheng carefully, cautiously, curl the long length of his body against his side.

“Gege’s wounds are still tender,” Hua Cheng murmured. “Please let this one know if he’s upsetting them.”

Xie Lian managed to shake his head, which was an accomplishment. “San Lang’s nearness keeps me well.”

“Then I will remain forevermore,” Hua Cheng stated. “Blessed for the opportunity to fret over and pamper His Highness while he is helpless to insist otherwise.”

“San Lang—”

“Doctor’s orders.”

Xie Lian let his head fall back and groaned.

Truly, the road to wellness would be long and filled with more such teasing. Heavens help him.