#Too Much and i lash out at anything i can because it all goes spilling outward.

[revelboo]

I just finished reading the latest starscream chapter, and all I can think its the MC going "boys boys, you are both pretty, you don't need to fight over me." It's just something funny that popped in my head

I love the writing, it's fantastic, it saves me from during dead hours at work

Everything is Alright Pt 45

Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Fully aware of how much his presence is aggravating Soundwave, Starscream props his chin on a fist, wings flared out as far as he can to take up as much space as possible. And he smiles. As amusing as it is to antagonize the communication’s officer, the fact that the other mech has his servos curled around you, your little hands on him is driving Starscream crazy. Making it hard to be still and not just lunge to get to you, because you belong with him. Only him. The sight of you being held by someone else is clawing through his spark.

• Soundwave is making that low, rumbling noise that puts you in mind of a giant, powered on speaker humming through you where his servos are touching you. He’s angry, you realize in surprise. He’s always so in control, so this little show of temper locks your breath in your lungs. Swallowing, you glance from him to Starscream, seeing that sly smirk on your Seeker’s face. The same smile he has whenever he talks about himself, sure and cocky. Deliberately needling Soundwave for some reason. Was he that worried about you or just jealous of the other mech? You’re betting on the latter, knowing how unpredictable he can be when provoked. Especially as you notice the faint tremor of his wings and your heart aches for him. He’s on edge, more upset than he’s letting on.

• Servos flexing as your worried thoughts spill through him, he wants to pull you closer. Soothe away that anxiety beginning to build inside you, but knows trying to do so will only tip Starscream over the edge. As calm as the Seeker is pretending to be, it’s too easy to pick up on that growing instability quickly approaching a boiling point. To realize that any wrong move and the Seeker might lash out to try and take you. And end up hurting you in the process without meaning to. Venting softly, Soundwave picks you up and turns to gently set you on your feet on the floor, reluctantly nudging you toward the Seeker with a servo. You look back at him over your shoulder, your expression easing some. Understanding. “Go, little one,” he says, spark aching. Wanting to pull you back to him. To safety.

• As soon as you’re on the ground, Starscream goes still. Not even looking at Soundwave as you walk to him, head tipping up to smile at him. “Come,” he growls, kneeling to offer you a hand. Satisfaction warming him as you settle yourself in his palm willingly. Lifting you to cradle to his chassis where you belong, he finally lifts his optics to smirk at the communications officer, but Soundwave is watching you. He won, but it doesn’t quite feel like a victory somehow. “Let’s go home.”

• Why does leaving Soundwave hurt? Feel so much like leaving a part of yourself behind? Starscream’s servos tighten around you, warm as he presses you against him so you can feel the thrum of his spark. That sensation calming you as you let your cheek rest against him, because this feeling is home, not his quarters. But Soundwave feels this way, too. Not quite the same, but something you need just as bad. Missing one when you’re with the other. Always torn between them.

• Tension draining away with the feel of you in his servos, he lifts you higher to brush his lips against your shoulder and cheek. Sees your eyes widen in surprise as you lay a little hand on his chin, your face reddening. But not protesting the contact. Not trying to push him away. Tempting him to demand more when you’re both safely inside his quarters. Replace the scent on you with his, feel you in his arms. He can push just a bit, a taste, a touch, won’t ruin anything between you. He needs to believe that. Needs more.

Previous

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[artdcnaldson]

alright alright alright, so watching wimbledon right. (i dont know that much about tennis tbh so bear with me, but this is very much just scenes from the movie but re-written, lol)

im sitting here thinking, about art, as usual. thinking about art post 2019 US open, thinking about art finally finally retiring after winning said open and completing his career grand slam. and finally allowing himself to step away. thinking that after giving up his tennis career, tashi divorces him (because truly what is art to her if hes not playing tennis). but anyway, he has a rough patch trying to figure out what to do with his life now. but ultimately he has to admit to himself that his only real skill in life might just be hitting a ball with a racket. he still watches all the major tournaments and even goes to see a few in person, so there he's sitting at the australian open, he decided to just go by himself and try to hold a low profile. its not really working but he tries anyway. but hes watching a bunch of matches, theyre good but nothing is really impressing him very much (he def thinks he could still beat them all).

suddenly hes sitting at your match as youre about to start, hes never seen you play before, but hes heard of you. so he decided to check out your game. and oh boy does he check you out. he really shouldnt, he tries to tell himself not to. hes too old for that, and youre too young for him to be looking the way he is. but he cant help it, hes not strong, hes a weak man. so he gives in, hes watching you the whole match, at first he tries to hide it and pretend to watch the other girl too, but by the end hes just looking pathetically at you, mouth slightly open, drool surely just about to spill out. hes totally mesmerized by you. when you win, hes very thankful he brought an extra jacket which he can drape across his lap to save himself a lot of embarrassment.

he has to talk to you, he thinks he might die if he doesnt. before he was trying to keep low profile, but he decides to use, one might say abuse, his fame to make sure he can catch you after the game. he manages to get ahold of your team and mention that he would love to congratulate you. little does he know that he is your biggest tennis idol. he didnt know before, but the second your eyes meet his, he knows. you look beyond starstruck, its really very adorable he thinks, almost like a puppy looking at their owner. fuck he needs to stop thinking like that or he'll get hard again. youre practically bouncing on your feet as he compliments your game, telling you how good your form is... blushing cheeks, biting your lip and fluttering your lashes. fuck. he cant help himself, he invites you to dinner, you say yes, practically yell it.

its not anything fancy when he takes you out, hes trying to keep his cool and not overwhelm you, hes keeping it together pretty well. leading the conversation and focusing on your game, trying not to get too personal. he can tell how much his attention means to you and, as much as he might like to, he cant let himself take advantage of that power. he makes an offhand comment about your backhand and it being good but needing a little work so you can get more power. you look at him with big eyes and absorb his tips like a sponge. its his turn to blush when you start telling him about how he's the reason you started playing seriously, and that you modeled your serve after his, placing the ball in the neck of the racket. the more you're praising him, the harder his cock is getting under the table. you keep leaning over the table and giving him the most delicious view straight down your top, you know what you're doing, he knows what youre doing. you both know that the other knows...

ok i need help deciding which direction this should go in, cuz im SO ready to continue either way and make it smutty smut. but i cannot for the life of me decide if it should be

A: you beg beg beg him to be your coach now that he's retired, teach you his ways and help you win at wimbledon. hes hesitant, he only just got out of tennis, hes not sure hes ready to dive back in. you insist that you'll do anything ANYTHING if he'll just say yes. and well, how can he resist that...

OOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRR

B: art gets so overwhelmed by your praise and adoration, he needs to have you, he cant stop himself from taking advantage of your adoration. he tries his best to keep his composure and keep you at a distance, but he needs to have you, he needs to ruin you, he needs to make you his, the way he knows you want to be...

let me know babez!! smoochie

-🐞

GODDDDD this is sooo yummy <3

God I really need him to be the coach though, bc I think it’s so fun. Like I need tabloid articles about Art moving on with a hot, young player after his divorce. I need messy employees at the courts you practice at to leak to the press his “unusual training techniques” and how he keeps you motivated with sex.

And maybe he does take advantage of your adoration, but it’s nothing you’re not offering willingly. Art Donaldson is a tennis legend, you’re lucky to have a bit of his light shining on you. And when he says you can stay in his guest house and use his personal court, you still both pretend it’s all just for the sport.

It’s not because you always wind up in his bed, keeping him pleased in all the ways he asks you to. It’s not because he actually enjoys your company, because he feels useless and boring without you to push all his energy into. It makes him understand Tashi a lot better.

[walnutcookie]

whats your opinion on glisten and toodles’ dynamic?

i love them so much. oh my god . That one pic of glisten doign her makeup that goes eith their in-game dialogue drives me INSANE ....

i think that toodles really really adores glisten, she thinks hes super fun to hang out with :] but like obviously shes a bit oblivious to all of his issues LOL . i think she knows that he isnt as perfect as he says he is but its still a bit confusing for her to understand, especially considering what she knows from rodger. like augh okay i need to elaborate in another post i havent rlly talked about it yet but shes the only one that rodgers comfortable being himself around which means that toodles knows EVERYTHING. im sure she can make the connection between rodger and glisten but i dont think she would really know what to do with it... shes confused about how glisten acts when shes heard him cry about some stuff, she wants to help but she really doesnt know how. none of her efforts to make rodger feel better ever work so shes kind of clueless on how to cheer glisten up too, which makes her feel pretty useless. glisten seems to be happy when she hangs out with him though so if that makes him happy she'll make sure to keep him company :)

i think glisten does genuinely love toodles its just that his patience can grow a liiittle thin at times. He knows toodles is a kid so shes gonna be a little more blunt which Scares him and i think he can get annoyed with her at times but he knows that she isnt trying to hurt him or anything so he just tries to ignore all of that ,, still hard to keep himself from getting frustrated or upset but i dont think hed like lash out at her itd be more saying kind things through gritted teeth. Nevertheless he tries to include her as much as he can because he knows that she feels left out from a lot of the other toons being so young,,, its not that he hates or even dislikes her he just doesnt always have the capacity to talk with a kid GSVHDBFJD i also think that hes confused as hell about the stuff that she says about rodger because a lot of it seems too weird to be true (cough again ill talk about it more in another post) but then again theres little tidbits she'll spill that hes delighted to tease him about. oh? oh rodger? oh toodles says youre TICKLISH? how silly...

THANK U SO MUCH FOR THE ASK BTW i rlly rlly appreciate it 🥹

[givehimthemedicine]

🛹🛼

lots of talk about why Mike reacted so negatively to this when he reacted so positively to this:

can we talk about how the Rinkomania reaction started in between those two things? right here:

at mid-season-2, all the times Mike has seen El use force against people have been super justified because there were lives at stake (or at very least, like in the case of tossing Lucas in the junkyard, she thought there were)

then Max wipes out, and goes "ooh it was like a magnet pulled on my board" and instead of taking that the way anyone would - that this annoying girl fell due to lack of skill and is trying to save face with a stupid excuse - INSTANTLY Mike suspects El. El, who's currently dead or lost in another dimension or whatever, must actually be lurking around here with nothing better to do than trip Max.

ok 100% accurate but I'm offended nonetheless

why did he jump to that conclusion?

the last time some inexplicable, physical but nonlethal hijinks befell someone he was talking to, he turned around and saw who was responsible:

so when Max fell, in that same gym btw, of course his brain goes turn around, look at what you seee

this was Mike learning that, oh, El isn't Superman and doesn't reserve her powers only for perfectly morally justified situations, but can in fact lash out about anything that bothers her, like the disturbed child she is.

BUT I don't think he actually processed that at that moment. he wasn't thinking about how Max did absolutely nothing that could be misinterpreted as a threat, and didn't deserve this. at that moment, any thought of justice for Max, or scrutiny of El's motives, was easily and completely drowned out by excitement that El might be there.

so later Mike sees Angela screaming on the ground with El standing over her, and remembers he has already seen El respond to a non-life-threatening situation with a level of force that didn't make sense to him.

plus he has that whole protection thing and I think seeing anyone get hurt is paladin catnip to him (see him rushing to Max's aid two seconds after telling her she's annoying). he has that instinct to support whoever's been knocked down undeservedly - yeah he knows Angela is an asshole, but El's response seems overboard to him, so while he doesn't go as far as rushing to Angela's side, he doesn't rush to El's side either.

he keeps distance between himself and El at the rink and leaves her sitting alone in the most literal demonstration of not wanting to take her side. he seems irritated in the car and downright pissed at the dinner table. I think it's true that he was overwhelmed in the moment and scared not of El but of the situation, but I don't think that's all of it, because then why would he be pissed.

maybe he's seeing patterns and thinking back on how Max didn't deserve that at all, and how neither of these things were very Superman of El and he's a bit disillusioned that she doesn't live up to the flawless superhero moral code he assigns her in his mind.

while the Angela thing seems WAY harsher than the Max thing, can I also say that a lot of that is due to circumstances?

Angela's pouring blood, wailing, an ambulance has to come, there's lots of witnesses. it looks baaaad. Max isn't injured, isn't too bothered, and there are no witnesses or real consequences. shrug. but it easily could've gone down much more like Angela. you can absolutely break a bone or get a concussion from a spill like Max's.

Max isn't hurt, so Mike just leaves the room, and nothing ever comes of it. compare to Mike watching an inevitably-to-be-arrested El sit stewing in the aftermath as dozens of Angela's sympathizers watch her get checked for brain damage by EMTs.

it's little wonder Mike has such a different reaction in the moment, even though El's actions in these two scenes actually isn't totally night and day.

El's force was more deliberately focused on Angela, and I think El did intend to hurt Angela in a way she didn't intend to hurt Max (El yoinked the skateboard rather than bodily targeting Max herself, but her intent was still to make Max fall, and she could have been comparably injured as a result).

like, up til the point of "El gets mad and lashes out" these are similar - the way the aftermath unfolds just happens to take the best and worst possible paths, respectively.

and before you want to point out that the Angela thing was a reaction of anger and the Max was just about puppy love jealousy, no, that was anger. Max is literally the first thing El thinks of when Kali says to think of something that angers her.

tldr; rinkomania is just a nightmare remix of the gym scene to Mike

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Soldier, Poet, King

Part 12

[Beginning] [Previous]

[AO3] [Masterpost]

I asked and y'all unanimously voted for shorter chapters of individual POV's for the next few updates so I am delivering ♥ Have almost 6k words of emotional bonding as a treat (before shit hits the fan lol)

--//--

Nie Mingjue is completely exhausted both mentally and physically, which is why he’s sleeping so deeply he doesn’t even hear Jin Guangyao returning to their quarters until his partner is already climbing into bed with him and Lan Xichen.

“Ow, A-Yao, fuck!” he grunts when a particularly sharp jab from his lover’s tiny (read: bony) elbow lands squarely in the soft patch between two of his ribs.

Lan Xichen makes some garbled noise beside him that sounds vaguely like, “Gonna break the bed, ge.” (Though whether he’s awake and talking about all three of them piling into it together or else dreaming and talking in his sleep about the…enthusiastic sex the two of them had before passing out, Nie Mingjue isn’t sure.)

Jin Guangyao ignores both of them anyway and continues worming his way in between them with a liberal application of shoving and elbowing and kicking that Nie Mingjue would very much like him to stop. In the interest of making that happen he huffs a sigh and scooches back as far as he can until he’s practically fused with the wall behind the bunk to give Jin Guangyao space between him and Lan Xichen, who also turns on his side, his back to the rest of the room, to accommodate their partner.

“Need those big beds, ge,” Lan Xichen mumbles, and he’s definitely awake this time so Nie Mingjue makes sure to roll his eyes at him before he turns his attention to Jin Guangyao getting settled.

There’s a hint of impatience feathering the edges of his voice when he asks, “Are you comfortable, dianxia?” but then Jin Guangyao looks up at him and he looks two seconds away from dissolving into hysterics, his lashes already clumped together with tears and his eyes shining in the low light. Nie Mingjue’s irritation vanishes like it never was.

“A-Yao?”

“Can we all share? Just for a bit?” he asks, and it’s slurred with the alcohol Nie Mingjue can catch the faintest whiff of on his breath under his toothpaste – but it’s also so wet and fragile that Nie Mingjue’s heart cracks wide open.

“Of course. What’s wrong — what happened?”

He’ll never say it, but he can’t stand it when Jin Guangyao goes out. He’s not thrilled about Nie Huaisang going out either, he gets into far too much trouble and his typical escape plan seems to be ‘look and act pathetic enough that no one will want to hurt me’ which is not an effective strategy, but that is a battle Nie Mingjue refuses to lose again. Jin Guangyao doesn’t usually want to go out, but of course sometimes it’s necessary, and Nie Mingjue is well aware that this was one such time.

That being said, just because he understands it doesn’t mean he likes it. Jin Guangyao isn’t someone the average Shanghai citizen would recognize, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t people who do know who he is lurking out there waiting to do any damage they possibly can to the workings of the shatterdome. People who know that if anything happens to Jin Guangyao it’s not an exaggeration to fear that things in the ‘dome would grind to a crawl within the week.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” Jin Guangyao whimpers. Lan Xichen suddenly looks wide awake on the other side of the tiny bed, his arms already snaking around Jin Guangyao’s waist properly while Nie Mingjue tries to lean back far enough to look his partner over for injuries.

“Okay, answers please,” Nie Mingjue says, tightly controlled, when he can’t see anything immediately concerning so he ducks in to kiss Jin Guangyao’s forehead instead. “More than one syllable at a time, you’re worrying me.”

Jin Guangyao sniffles and whimpers under his breath as his tears finally well up and spill over, his lips trembling as he manages to say, “I…I – I really love you,” through his attempts not to blubber. All the anxious tension slides right back out of Nie Mingjue in a rush as he lets out a tired sigh.

“Fucking Huaisang,” he hisses.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen is murmuring in between tiny kisses to their partner’s face, his arms still tight around him. “What’s wrong with loving us, hm?”

Nie Mingjue snorts before Jin Guangyao can hiccup his way through an answer. “What’s wrong is that A-Sang must have given him tequila. A-Yao’s a maudlin drunk on anything, but especially tequila shots.” He’s even less inclined than before to coddle his lover when Jin Guangyao flails over in a flurry of limbs to smash himself fully into Lan Xichen’s chest and hide there as he cries, kicking and hitting Nie Mingjue more than once in the process.

Lan Xichen looks up to meet his eyes with a smile as he hums, “Mm. I think it’s sweet, A-Yao never lets himself be soft.”

“Fine, then he can cry and smear snot all over your shirt,” Nie Mingjue huffs. Lan Xichen is nice enough not to call him out on the fact that he still hasn’t gotten out of bed to go to the empty one in the other room that should have been Jin Guangyao’s for the night.

“Don’t wanna lose you,” Jin Guangyao mumbles, heartbroken as he looks like he’s trying to burrow inside Lan Xichen and never emerge again. “Stay with me.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Lan Xichen tells him, soft and sure as he starts carding his fingers slowly through his hair where it’s getting a bit longer than usual on top. Nie Mingjue settles again as much as he can on roughly 6 inches of mattress and readjusts his free arm to sling it around both Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen’s waists to attempt to find a bit of extra room for his limbs. 

“Good thing we’ve got a rest day tomorrow,” he grumbles while Jin Guangyao sniffles and mumbles incoherently into Lan Xichen’s chest. “None of us are going to be able to sleep like this.”

“Mm. Should one of us move to the other bed once he’s asleep?”

The ‘yes, obviously’ is right on the tip of his tongue, but Nie Mingjue meets Lan Xichen’s tired eyes in the semi-dark, and he tangles his ankles together with Jin Guangyao’s to get him to stop shuffling his feet, and he thinks about how it felt to be tied to them down to his very soul even for the brief moments they’d gotten during the experiment, and he just…

“No,” he murmurs, though it’s not low enough to hide how ragged he suddenly sounds. “We can deal with one night of shitty sleep. Let’s just..just stay.”

Lan Xichen smiles like he can see right through him, but of course he’s too nice to call Nie Mingjue out on it directly. Instead, he simply leans in as much as he can with Jin Guangyao still sandwiched half-between and half-on top of them to kiss him goodnight. It’s an awkward angle, more of a bump of the corners of their mouths against each other more than anything, but it helps him feel like he’s not quite so alone in his skin so it’s perfect.

Lan Xichen hums softly in the back of his throat, amused as he whispers, “Hold me so I don’t fall off?”

Nie Mingjue obliges and hitches him closer, ignoring Jin Guangyao’s whine that he’s getting squished. He can’t help but think that it’ll be nearly impossible to fall asleep again with at least two different limbs going numb and Jin Guangyao’s hair tickling his sweat-tacky throat, his undershirt already sticking to his chest and back from all three of them pressed together far too tightly.

He falls asleep surprisingly quickly.

It feels like roughly five minutes later when there’s a fresh jab between his ribs and Nie Mingjue growls low in the back of his throat, thoroughly pissed now. “Meng Yao I swear to god if you elbow me one more time–!!”

“Don’t ‘Meng Yao’ me, stop snapping and just let me up,” his partner hisses as if he hadn’t been the one to glue himself between them in the first place.

Nie Mingjue tightens his arm around Jin Guangyao’s waist and forces his dry, aching eyes open to try to figure out what’s going on now. Jin Guangyao is attempting to glare at him while twisted around from where he’s still laying on his side, his cheek creased with rumpled lines from Lan Xichen’s t-shirt.

“I can’t let you up, I’m holding Xichen so he doesn’t fall off.”

“What??” Nie Mingjue stays still as Jin Guangyao wriggles one arm free to pat his palm down the length of his arm from shoulder to wrist, right down to where his hand is tucked under Lan Xichen’s waist to keep him looped safely in his grip with Jin Guangyao.

“See?”

“No, I can’t see anything, I’m too busy suffocating in Huan-ge’s tits.”

“And whose fault is that?!”

“My loves, I adore you. I will destroy you both if you don’t stop arguing right in my ear before sunrise.”

“Huan-ge, please let me up,” Jin Guangyao says perfectly politely and with no jamming of elbows into Lan Xichen’s soft tissues. Nie Mingjue leans in to bite his ear in irritation for the unfair treatment before Lan Xichen groans and rolls off the edge of the bed (relatively gracefully). The release of pressure when Jin Guangyao pops to his feet after him feels like heaven and Nie Mingjue happily flumps down face first into the blessedly empty bed the very second he can, his limbs starfished as much as they can be on the twin mattress.

“Where are you going?” Lan Xichen asks around a jaw-cracking yawn as he rubs blearily at one eye.

“To sleep in the other bed.”

“Why?”

“You two are making my skin crawl,” Jin Guangyao mutters with a shudder. Nie Mingjue flips him off without lifting his face out of the pillow, more than used to his boyfriend’s posturing, but Lan Xichen makes a quiet noise of distress.

Nie Mingjue turns his head just enough to be able to speak legibly. “Don’t listen to him, A-Huan. He’s embarrassed he cried on us so he’s being a bitch. Go sleep in the other bed with him, he still wants to be held.”

Jin Guangyao swats at the back of his head a little too sharply for it to be fully playful, so Nie Mingjue reaches out blindly to smack his ass, also definitely too hard to not be at least a little serious. Lan Xichen knocks his hand away with his hip when he steps in between them to keep them from retaliating any further.

“Stop it, both of you. A-Yao just..stay here for a moment, I will be right back.”

Silence descends again as Lan Xichen slips out of their room into the hallway and Nie Mingjue lets himself drift fuzzily in and out of semi-consciousness, still reveling in the unexpected space that okay, yes, he understands why Jin Guangyao wants as well. He loves his partners, he really really does, but now that some of the fragility from their Drift has worn off he wants to breathe.

“I told A-Sang not to give me tequila,” Jin Guangyao eventually grumbles — it’s as much of a concession as he’s likely to give, so Nie Mingjue grunts his acknowledgement and reaches out to brush his fingertips against the outside of Jin Guangyao’s thigh, just catching a glancing brush against his pajama bottoms before he lets his hand flop down to hang off the edge of the bed again, knuckles brushing the floor.

“D’it go ‘kay?”

“Mm. It went how it went. Did you and Huan-ge talk about the Drift?”

Nie Mingjue sucks in a deep breath through his nose and turns his head a bit more to crack one eye open and look up at Jin Guangyao standing next to the bed, arms crossed over his chest and his gaze trained on their door still open just a crack, enough to light him up with a narrow strip of the red nighttime lights from the hall.

“No, waitin’ for you. Rest day today, ‘member? Fucked really good about it, though.”

Jin Guangyao snorts at that and finally looks down at him, one eyebrow raised and the little smirk that Nie Mingjue finds particularly devastating hiding in the corner of his mouth. “Well that explains why you both reek, at least.”

Nie Mingjue swats at Jin Guangyao again, though this time there’s absolutely no power behind the gesture and he ends up just curling his hand around his partner’s calf to jostle him in slow-motion instead. “Not like we were expecting you to come try to sleep with us.”

“Would you have showered after if you had been?”

“Nope. Too tired.”

Jin Guangyao wrinkles his nose at him but Nie Mingjue just shrugs and turns his head to smush his face into his pillow again, the angle required to look up at Jin Guangyao a bit too strenuous on his neck if he wants to avoid a headache when he wakes up for real in a few hours. They linger there in comfortable, companionable quiet as Nie Mingjue’s breathing slows again and he’s just hovering on the edge of sleep when there’s a sudden clang out in the hallway, immediately followed by their door sliding fully open again only slightly more quietly.

“Huan-ge what in the world-”

“My very polite and formal complaints about the bed issue in this ‘dome have gone unheeded, so I am taking matters into my own hands,” Lan Xichen reports blithely, despite the fact that — as Nie Mingjue sees when he sits up and gives up on sleeping anytime soon — he’s lugging a mattress into their room through the doorway that’s only barely big enough to accommodate such a thing.

“Xichen,” he sighs and scrubs his hands against his eyes and then through his hair. Lan Xichen’s jaw is set mulishly so Nie Mingjue doesn’t bother arguing with him, he just flops back down onto his back and throws an arm over his eyes to pretend like this isn’t happening at fucking 5 in the morning after they were up half the night anyway.

“Hush, Mingjue. Get up, I’m fixing this right now.”

“Mmm. I like you stubborn,” Jin Guangyao purrs, clearly enjoying anything that contributes to Nie Mingjue being inconvenienced. “Mingjue look at him, he’s the avenging angel of DIY king size beds.”

“He could look like the patron saint of goddamn porn stars and I couldn’t care less right now. I want to sleep!”

“Wanyin’s bed is free. The sheets are fresh, go across the hall if you want.”

Nie Mingjue stays stubbornly where he is for a beat until he hears Lan Xichen take a threatening step forward and then he rolls to his feet with a groan. He snags the pillow and top sheet with one hand and Lan Xichen’s jaw with the other to hold him still for a bruising kiss. “You are a menace,” he grumbles around Lan Xichen’s bottom lip between his teeth. He breaks away to grab Jin Guangyao the same way, leaning down to nip at his lips just as hard as he adds, “And you are a snake. I love you both, but I’m going to go sleep.”

“Have a good rest, love,” Lan Xichen replies like he isn’t an absolute terror. Nie Mingjue grunts at him and shoulders his way out into the hall, straight across to what was once the Lan brothers’ room and is now Jiang Wanyin’s alone. As promised, it’s currently empty, and Nie Mingjue doesn’t bother wondering where Jiang Wanyin is instead as he tumbles into the other man’s bed and promptly passes out.

–/–

When he wakes again it is, at least, on Nie Mingjue’s own terms. Sort of. It’s clear that Jiang Wanyin is at least trying to be quiet as he moves around the room (it’s not his fault Nie Mingjue is a light sleeper when sleeping somewhere strange). Besides, judging by the quality of light coming in under the door from the hallway it’s definitely around mid-morning, the artificial lights out in the hallway meant to mimic sunlight to try to keep them all from going nuts in here. He should wake up anyway.

“Hey,” he grunts at Jiang Wanyin’s back as the man fiddles with something at his ‘nightstand’ (i.e. the standard issue ‘large crate someone found somewhere’ that they all have).

“Morning, Chifeng-Zun. Trouble in paradise?”

“Watch it, Jiang.” Nie Mingjue doesn’t exactly invite his pilots to be overly casual with him, mostly because he’s not exactly a casual sort of person (with anyone save his brother and his partners), but of all the pilots in the ‘dome he feels like he understands Jiang Wanyin on a level he doesn’t necessarily get the others. Nie Huaisang would probably laugh and say it’s because they’re both ill-tempered and too stubborn for their own good, and he’d most likely be right about that.

“Seriously — need me to tell A-Xian to tell Wangji to kick Xichen’s ass or something? Not much I can do to your Jin Guangyao though if it’s his fault, unless you want me to sic A-Sang on him or something.”

Nie Mingjue’s retort is lost in the surprise of hearing Jiang Wanyin refer to his brother so casually and he raises an eyebrow at the other man. There’s a beat of silence before he seems to register what he’d just said and he turns to face Nie Mingjue, sitting up on the edge of his bed now and more than alert enough to wonder more seriously just where Jiang Wanyin has been all night. Nie Mingjue has to fight not to snort at the way he dips hastily into an apologetic bow.

“Stop, don’t worry about it. You keep your nose out of my business, and I’ll keep mine out of yours…and my brother’s,” he says, feeling generous. At least if Nie Huaisang is interested in someone in the shatterdome — a respectable pilot, to boot — it’ll mean fewer trips out to the clubs that ring the seedier districts around the shatterdome where he likes to do a bit too much thrill seeking for Nie Mingjue’s tastes.

“Uh…yes. Okay. Thank you.”

“Sure. Thanks for the bed,” he replies with a shrug and a hard clap to Jiang Wanyin’s shoulder that makes the pilot wince a little as he passes him on his way out, pillow and sheet once again in hand. He plans to step into their quarters just long enough to grab a spare set of clothes and head off for the shower Jin Guangyao was correct in saying he definitely needs, but the sight that greets him when he steps through the door is enough to make him reconsider.

He should have known that anything Lan Xichen is so determined to fix would be fixed, but somehow what he’s done still manages to draw Nie Mingjue up short.

“Morning, da-ge,” Jin Guangyao hums from the middle of the veritable ocean of a bed that takes up over 75% of the already-cramped room. He’s lying on the thing sprawled out comfortably with Lan Xichen equally sprawled out with him, an arm thrown over his waist and his face currently buried in Jin Guangyao’s neck, though he’s clearly not sleeping there.

“What the hell did you do?” he asks, more bemused than anything as he tosses his stolen linens onto the bed and climbs in with his partners — and he has to actually make an effort to get in close enough to run a hand through Jin Guangyao’s hair and lean in to kiss Lan Xichen’s exposed cheek (a silent apology for snapping at them earlier; he knows already that they’ll understand).

“Huan-ge pilfered.”

“No one was using my old bed, it was wasted sitting there empty in Wanyin’s room. And it’s hardly as if any of us enjoy splitting up every night to sleep two-and-one, so I brought the other bed in here as well then simply pushed them all together, with some spare nightstand crates for support in the middle. It is not pilfering, I simply…combined our households.”

“He stole,” Jin Guangyao stage-whispers, clearly gleeful about the whole thing (or perhaps just a little sex-giddy. Nie Mingjue thinks it’s safe to assume his partners have made very thorough use of their newly expanded bed already once or twice this morning judging by the incredible ‘cat that ate the canary’ energy they’re both exuding and the fresh hickeys ringing Jin Guangyao’s throat and chest like a necklace).

“You’re both ridiculous,” he mutters and lays down properly on Jin Guangyao’s free side to take his hand and kiss his knuckles. “But thank you, Xichen.”

“Mm my pleasure, believe me.”

They lapse into cozy silence. Domestic. Nie Mingjue gets comfortable and figures out how he wants to fit himself up against the twosome his partners make together. He winds up on his side, head propped up on his fist and his free hand roaming slowly over Jin Guangyao’s warm, smooth skin as he watches Lan Xichen kiss him silly, taking him apart with as much skill as he does everything else in his life.

When Jin Guangyao’s expression is relaxed and cracked open as wide as they’ll probably be able to get it today, Nie Mingjue leans in to capture his lips and his attention with a firm, punctuating kiss to his reddened lips.

“We need to talk about the Drift,” he says. Lan Xichen rewards him with a little kiss of his own for reading his cue correctly.

“Ugh. I suddenly regret allowing you two to combine forces,” Jin Guangyao grumbles, but he doesn’t push either of them away so their efforts to relax him have apparently been deemed good enough.

“Logistics or feelings first?” Nie Mingjue is fairly sure both he and Jin Guangyao would much rather talk about logistics than feelings any day of the week, but he’s also sure that Lan Xichen won't let them off the hook that easily and it’s likely better to just give into the inevitable now than fight him on it later.

“Logistics,” Lan Xichen replies anyway with the sort of self-satisfied smile that says he knows exactly how surprised Nie Mingjue is by the concession. “Though I admit it is difficult to decide which logistical issue is the most pressing.”

Jin Guangyao clears his throat delicately before he says, eyes trained steadily up at the low ceiling overhead, “First: We do not have a Jaeger, and modifications to accommodate three are both expensive and lengthy, particularly if the Jaeger must be refashioned into a less humanoid shape such as Lotus Spider to accommodate three minds, three fighting styles. Second: Mingjue and I are both traumatized in different ways that make it extremely unclear if we’re able to face a Kaiju in battle even if we can get out there. We’ll need to find time in our schedules to test ourselves safely first before we even think about going out to fight. Third: Xichen must still make runs with Wangji unless we plan to end this war within the next two battles, which is highly unlikely as we’re not much closer to a permanent solution than we were six months ago. This leaves him vulnerable and more likely to sustain injury or to…Well. He’s simply at higher risk than Mingjue and I are in here. Fourth: –”

“Stop, that’s enough. Don’t go down the rabbit hole,” Mingjue chides with a kiss to Jin Guangyao’s cheek to (gently) drag him back out.

“Mm. I agree with A-Yao’s ranking, I believe finding a Jaeger for us is the first priority as it will take the longest to acquire, and the others can be handled in the interim. I believe I can confidently say that an entirely new Jaeger is out of the question, both financially and in terms of how long they take to construct even in an emergency, which leaves us the option of finding an existing Jaeger no longer in flight rotation that can withstand extensive modification.”

“Tall order,” Nie Mingjue grunts, though he knows his partners are right. He forces himself to breathe through the way even thinking about facing a Kaiju again directly makes him want to hide in a deep cave and never come out again; forces himself to think about it in a more clinical way. Acquiring a Jaeger doesn’t automatically translate to fighting Kaijus in active duty. He can address the problem of a Jaeger without having to immediately link it to going out to fight again, himself. Definitely.

“But not impossible. An older mech would be best,” Jin Guangyao says without missing a beat as he takes hold of Nie Mingjue’s free hand on his chest to kiss his fingertips in silent acknowledgement of the knot of complicated emotions in his chest. “Mach 3, I’d say. Outdated so it’ll be easy enough to get, but not so out of mode that it’ll take special engineers to repair, as Immortal Mountain does. We’ll likely have to ask Wei Wuxian to oversee the three-way Drift modifications himself, but I doubt he’ll be opposed to having a new tinkering project.”

“Should we put him on the scent to look for one, then?” Nie Mingjue wonders, viscerally hating the idea of adding anything else to Jin Guangyao’s plate (or their brothers’, for that matter) if he doesn’t have to.

“Mm, that’s a good idea, ge. I can assist him as well,” Lan Xichen murmurs between kisses to Jin Guangyao’s bare shoulder. “There isn’t much for me to do besides help down in research, but I don’t believe they need me for anything pressing at the moment now that A-Sang has the information he needs about mine and Wangji’s fighting style and what to do with updating Jade Dragon. Perhaps I could help Wuxian hunt down something that will suit our needs?”

“Sure, if you want to. Two heads are better than one.”

Jin Guangyao snorts a little and stretches, languid and liquid as a particularly contented cat. “What else will we decide from the comfort of our bed, hm?” he explains when Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen both look at him in question. “Now that Huan-ge’s made it so nice for us should we just conduct all the important business of saving the world from here?”

“We can do whatever you’d like, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen hums, as indulgent as ever. Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes, resigns himself to no more shop talk if those two are going to be sharing lovesick looks like that, and flops down onto his back with a soul-deep sigh of contentment that he can finally spread out somewhat and still hold hands with Jin Guangyao beside him.

Despite knowing that there’s still a conversation they still need to have, Nie Mingjue finds himself dozing off again to the sound of his lovers talking quietly in between trading kisses like they have all the time in the world to enjoy each other. Falling asleep is easier than thinking about how much he wishes their life could be just like this, that they weren’t in danger, that they weren’t fighting for their lives, that they could love each other just like this; that their conversations about logistics could be arguments about whether to plant tomatoes in the front yard or the back. The back will get more sun, but the front will appeal to Lan Xichen, he thinks, who will want to be able to chat with the neighbors who pass by while he carefully weeds and tends to their garden. 

Falling asleep is preferable to remembering that auntie’s words from so long ago, that the Nie family is cursed by the blood they shed, so he drifts and doesn’t think about anything at all except for how nice it feels to be loved.

“What are you crying for, ge, hm?”

Nie Mingjue doesn’t open his eyes as Lan Xichen brushes a soft fingertip through a tear track he hadn’t even known was there, damp and cool between the corner of his eye and his temple. He clears his throat and finds suddenly that he isn’t sure he can even open his mouth to speak without losing his composure (alright, so maybe sleeping instead of facing his issues isn’t his best coping mechanism after all).

“Mingjue and I are more likely to have emotional fluctuations after a successful Drift,” Jin Guangyao says with a tiny hint of distaste in the back of his throat, though he still sounds a little fragile himself, feathered and raspy around the edges.

“Mm,” Lan Xichen hums, soft with understanding. He settles in on top of Nie Mingjue, stretching out all the long lines of himself to pin Nie Mingjue down and keep him steady as he continues the tender stroking of a single fingertip along the contours of his face. Nie Mingjue doesn’t dare open his eyes to look up at him — he’s pretty sure if he looks at Lan Xichen like this, so gentle, so tender, so kind in the middle of the hell they live in, he’ll lose control of himself entirely.

“We all hold so much in all the time, and we never really let it go,” Lan Xichen continues after a few long moments. He’s barely speaking above a murmur, and Nie Mingjue is glad for it. As he is, a single loud noise might just shatter him. “I believe we are now all intimately aware of that fact. I don’t believe it is a habit we should continue when we are alone together.”

“I don’t think we’ll have much of a choice, Huan-ge.”

Nie Mingjue sucks in a shuddering breath and slings his arms around Lan Xichen’s slender waist to squeeze him so tightly he squeaks a little in the back of his throat. He drags in another breath and manages to rasp, “A-Yao asked us last night not to leave him. You just said we can do whatever we want. But we can’t. We can’t promise anything, we can’t just do whatever we please.” Nie Mingjue manages to open his eyes, finally, only to find he still has to blink a few times to see Lan Xichen clearly where he’s perched over him and stroking his hair back from his forehead with gentle hands.

“We have duties. Responsibilities. We’re in danger, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Do you know what I really want?”

He does, they all do after their Drift, but Lan Xichen still shakes his head ‘no’, probably sensing how badly Nie Mingjue needs to put his desires into words at least once. If he says it, maybe it won’t feel like such a dirty secret.

“I want to live a peaceful life — with both of you. I want a family I don’t have to send into battle or push to keep working long past their endurance limits because humanity hangs in the balance. I want to be the end of the Nie curse, but I think in the end I’ll die just as violently as all the rest of them do.”

Lan Xichen tuts softly in protest and presses the pad of his thumb to his temple to catch a fresh tear rolling down towards his hair.

“I’ve told you before, I broke your curse,” Jin Guangyao sighs and lays his head down on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. Nie Mingjue turns his head to press a kiss to his hair since his arms are still occupied with holding Lan Xichen close so he can’t reel him in just as tightly. “You died out there with Lao Nie, and what came back was not you anymore. You had the madness that your aunt said always comes for your family, and I pulled you back out of it.”

“Mmm A-Yao has a point,” Lan Xichen hums, taps his thumb softly against Nie Mingjue’s cheek as he thinks. “And when this is all over, and we find somewhere far away to go — because I will not allow more helplessness, we will get through this — we’ll find a way to really live. None of us has ever been allowed to be. But we will, I have no doubt.”

Silence reigns as Nie Mingjue processes such a confident assurance, Jin Guangyao clearly doing the same at his side if the restless tapping of his fingertip on Nie Mingjue’s arm is any indication.

“Why aren’t you an emotional mess?” Jin Guangyao finally grouses, breaking some of the tension, and Lan Xichen’s delighted laughter is a perfect balm for many of Nie Mingjue’s frayed edges.

“My love, I believe if you both left me to my own devices for longer than 30 seconds you would find that I am similarly affected.”

“He’s fawning, is what he means,” Nie Mingjue attempts to tease, to push through the melancholy scraping gory blood-soaked fingers through his diaphragm. “Because A-Huan takes care of others to hide that he also needs to be cared for.”

“Oh dear.” Lan Xichen at least has the sense to look a little abashed. “Nonsensical as it is, I suddenly find myself wishing I could ask you two to forget what you’ve seen in the Drift. It’s a bit…disconcerting to be seen through so easily.”

“Didn’t need the Drift to see that, gege, don’t worry.” Jin Guangyao sighs, a punctuation, and rolls over to the edge of the bed to stand and stretch luxuriously. Nie Mingjue unashamedly watches him, breathing through the ache (a good one) that sometimes hits him at unexpected moments to see Jin Guangyao so comfortable in his own skin. He’d been so nervous, so eager to please when they were younger. He’d been terrified during his brief stint working under Wen Ruohan in Tokyo, and horribly in pain and slighted every day he lived under Jin Guangshan’s roof with no one to help him. If Jin Guangyao really did cure him of the Nie curse, such as it might be, then he hopes that he’s helped Jin Guangyao just as much in return.

“Now — this has been wonderful and necessary and all, but I would very much like to scrub my skin off if at all possible, and you two may either join me or not but when I get back I will not share this bed with you if you aren’t clean. Choice is yours.”

Nie Mingjue laughs at that, at the adorable way Jin Guangyao’s nose crinkles in disgust and Lan Xichen’s hangdog expression at the thought of being an unacceptable bedmate because of something so silly as a bit of lingering sex funk that is absolutely (mostly) his fault, and he loves these men more than life itself. It chases away the worst of the lingering fear and melancholy, replaces it with a feverish desire to do everything within his power to protect them long enough to see Lan Xichen’s predictions of their peaceful future made real.

He bullies Lan Xichen up and off him so they can make themselves decent enough to follow Jin Guangyao down to the bathrooms, and he keeps his partners close for the rest of the day and into the night. And he thinks maybe they really will be alright, in the end.

[ccaptain]

@dupliciti: ❝  you are a better person than i.  ❞ ( meme source. )

   the best thing about being in bed with your handsome traveling partner are definitely the cuddles.

   plastered at Sampo's side, his lashes are just about fluttering with a certaint sort of sleepiness as they have been out and about all day. proof of their travels, a bag of precious stones has been spilled over old papers and intel on the table, laying safe and secure until they are both much better rested to admire the glimmering of those.

   whatever talking they have been doing up until now has comfortably phased into pre-sleep silence- but Kaeya has been thinking about the last thing Sampo has told him, and he can't simply answer it with a sleepy murmur as he did a few minutes ago. ' no 'm not, ' his tongue curls around a word, holding it in his mouth. 

   ' I've done some pretty bad things, ' he continues, moving his head and having a small yawn stopping him. his chin is now prepped against Sampo's collarbone, studying him with wonder. ' pretty heinous, terrible ones and with intent to hurt- I could tell you about those, one day. ' he thinks about it for a small while, a finger tracing nonsense spirals over where undershirt meets warm skin. ' I bet you've done some pretty bone-chilling stuff, too. In fact, I don't think that anyone in this bed at the moment is a good person- except maybe the plushie that you accidentally kicked down a few minutes ago- yes, I saw that. ' Kaeya gestures a vague direction over the side of the bed, with nothing escaping his sights.

but to swerve the conversation into serious territory, there must be something that hit the mercenary in their talk. if anything, it brings forth a pang of concern. ' I don't think I'm better than you- you shouldn't think that either. ' there's a lazy stretch that presses Kaeya further against him. ' I've met a lot of people during my travels, and you're pretty okay just as you are- you have motivations for doing what you do, and the same goes for me. so, I guess we can both be bad-but-kinda-okay-to-eachother together. at least we have fun. '

and then there's a pause, with Kaeya now fully awake. there's a little grin on his face that makes white teeth gleam a side of playful.

   ' but... today I have done something truly rotten and despicable. '

Kaeya's voice drops into a dangerous whisper.

' another heinous deed to add to my list of terrible deeds. I must confess, because- '

   fingers move around the waistband of his pants, push those down past exposed sides into an hidden pocket, and-

   a little, shiny and pale green stone appears and is carefully balanced right over Sampo's pectoral, perfectly polished and standing out from the grey and black of his undershirt.

   ' -I stole this right under the merchant's nose, and just because I felt like it and it reminded me of your eyes. I bet you didn't realized I did, either- I was pretty quick. but now that you know, you're my unwitting accomplice- the keeper of the stone. '

   there's a smug smile on Kaeya's sleepy face that wants to stay evil, but it seems that he's having a pretty goofy time with it, a little chuckle bubbling in his throat. ' this makes me the evilest person in the room right now, ' he concludes, clearly being proud of himself and his thieving techniques. ' so, for a night you can feel like the slightly better person for not knowing just how terrible I acted. you can tell me how it feels in the morning! well... unless you out-thieve me. '

   whatever thoughts could have bordered on a little too serious are simply peeled away like a bandaid where soft lips rest for a moment against Sampo's cheekbone for a moment, a small hum following before they part. there's a small noise of contentment as he settles back down on a warm and inviting conman, bare ankle brushing up against his.

   ' if despicable people give the best cuddles, 'm fine with that. '

[tbob-enthusiast]

Oh my god man

Hilda WOULD get the skull. In fact, as soon as he finds out Hilda collects skulls she will be gifted with bones at completely random moments of the day. "It's dangerous to go alone. Take this (hands her an extremely well preserved skeleton of a pollen fairy)"

Ooohhhuuufhfhsbdja but he's so so torn on the morgue thing. So much so that he'd probably excuse himself (cough, bullshit) and run off the first time it happens 😭. And he'll start pacing.

(oh... unplanned, but: SH mentions ahead!)

"... But she's too young for this!" He'd pace. "She's already - almost- desensitized to it !! To death! How could they do this to a little kid?"

"But if she wasn't, then she'd be afraid of me." He'd pace. "I hate it but it's the reason why she's not afraid of me, but she should be afraid of me, right? Anyone would! Anyone should!" (dog dog dog King's attack dog, Queen's lapdog. Rabid feral thing bites bites bites. It'd devour you like the god of beasts with its horde of undead. No wonder it is their leader; he gives them a good example!)

God. I think he'd get distressed enough about it to SH :( . He wouldn't try to jump off the big cliff of Gravity Falls ( ... again ) because Pacifica's not here to mend his broken bones, but he's still distressed enough for his hair to cling to his face like bindings he can't control, no matter how suffocating, no matter how tightly, no matter how much his arms sting as he digs his nails into his skin. He's upset and doesn't know how else to describe the feeling other than upset which in turn just makes him MORE upset and HGHTNGG5HTBFBFRBRBBGFHHBGGG

War is horrible. He fucking hates it and hates all in it.

But.

It's a decent enough stress reliever. I mean, you can just turn off your brain and focus on nothing more than running, dodging, tearing apart anything that's in your way, and trying to not get hurt enough to the point of being immobile.

And this place is free of it! No battlefield, no war! No annoying Pines to aim his gun at your face and dance with you as you dodge his bullets and he, your blade !! No horde of peons to remove from your land !!! Nothing !!!

It's awful and he HATES IT GRGAVRHRHRR

It all simmers and over spills as soon as he sees a zombie get up for the first time. One he didn't summon- in fact, nobody summoned that one at all. And it shocked him, really, because he'd never seen any of the undead just pop on on their own!!

The fact that the whole family treated it- him, it was a man, a rotting middle-aged man! Like he was comparable to a rat infesting their trashcan or a weed growing by their garden? He would've probably lashed out. Wouldn't have hurt them, no, but he would've grown— would've become a thing that's dripping in black goo like tar and melted flesh, whose teeth are bared and whose eyes are red and white like some fucked up kind of vulture. Whose entire stance screams GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY and whose voice no longer speaks any word, but whose message is imprinted into their brains regardless.

You know that saying that goes "if you stare too long at the void, eventually it will stare back at you?" Yeah. That's what it felt like. Like a midday sun was suddenly overtaken by darkness beyond an eclipse. Pressure like descending in an elevator to the depths of the ocean.

He'll hiss at you and his form will change, from tar to quills to feathers, but either way he's just very worked up and upset.

He'll stay in the graveyard for a while. The zombie is there with him. He doesn't let him walk out of the graveyard, and occasionally breaks down in ugly tears that leave dark splotches of hot tar that kill the grass it touches. He holds the man's face gently and cries because it's not alive-warm, but it's not empty-cold either. He doesn't want him to "live" in a limbo between life and death, but he doesn't want to let go, but doesn't want him to stay. He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

I don't think his form will go back to "normal", honestly, but in the end, when he held the dead man in an embrace that essentially killed both of them again, he'll look humanoid; he just looks like a freakishly tall and lanky cloaked figure, weeping over a dead body. Some sort of grieving figure who clung to a sack of bones like a lifeline, and could be heard mumbling apologies from time to time.

May the lizard have you. May you be reborn in a better world. May you have a life worth living. May you live again. May you live again ...

He will absolutely lose track of time in that state. He could stay there for a few hours or two weeks and at this point the hunger will just mix in with all the other overwhelming "feelings" he's got going on and will be numbed down to... just another thing going on.

I'm not even kidding. If you left him alone, he'd probably stay still long enough for moss to start growing on him 😭

What's it like to have a little sister?

pain.

[purple-babygirl]

hi im not sure if you’re taking requests so you can ignore this if you’d like, but i really liked your mafia bucky fic !! and i was wondering if you could do one where maybe someone breaks into the house and the reader has to force themselves to be big for a little bit just so they can fight them off and then she runs to the little safe room and goes little there and Bucky finds her there and comforts her and it’s just all fluffy? sorry if this is so specific i just loved the last fic sm 😅

Pairing: Mafia!Daddy!Bucky Barnes x f!little!reader

Word count: 1,958

Warnings: reader gets attacked (includes harassment and mentions of violence, cursing, guns), reader gets hurt, mentions of killing, Bucky's softness (yes it's a warning), ddlg dynamics.

A/N: I've been holding onto this one for forever now I'm really sorry for taking so long, dear nonnie🥺 it means the world to me that you liked mafia!daddy!bucky and i hope i delivered with this one and that you like it as much, love. Please enjoy ily xx💜

~

safe

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. You can do this.

It all happened too fast. She woke up to guns shooting, Bucky’s men yelling at each other before all the voices suddenly stopped and the door to their bedroom was violently kicked open.

She didn’t even have time to scream before she was dragged from under the large bed by her ankle.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. Just like Daddy taught you.

“Let go! You don’t wanna do this!” she shrieked, warning the person trying to snatch her off the floor, her leg kicking as she struggled to flee his vice-like hold.

She’d suddenly forgotten every single self-defense move Bucky has ever taught her and was thrashing in panic.

“Oh, I don’t?” the man laughed, his grip painful on her limb as he tried to get on top of her.

She screamed when he dug his fingernails in the flesh of her shin, forcing her legs apart.

“Such a delicate little thing.” He licked his lips when he drew blood, running his gun up her bare leg, pressing down when it reached her inner thigh, “beg me to let you go.”

The words infuriated her big self. If Bucky had taught her one thing that she could never forget it was how dear and precious she was.

“Do you know who my man is?” Her free foot collided with the intruder’s chin, hitting him just right for his teeth to slam together, making him groan and loosen his grasp.

“I beg no one for nothing.” She spat, clumsily standing up, rushing inside Bucky’s large walk-in closet.

“You’re gonna regret that, you little bitch!” The masked man threatened, banging his fist on the door, “I’m gonna make that man of yours weep blood over your dead slut body!”

Her breath was coming out in puffs as tears blurred her vision. With trembling fingers, she moved Bucky’s hung-up suits to the side, revealing the metal door to the panic room.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. Just a bit longer.

She could hear the man take a few steps back and she knew he was going to shoot the closet open. Her shaky fingers pushed the buttons and typed the number code, the date of the day Bucky had asked her to be his.

I feel safe knowing I have you, angel, so it’s only fit that we make it the safe room code, he'd told her with a playful shrug.

She slid inside as soon as the door moved, pushing her back against the concrete wall, trying to take her breath. The door clicked shut right before the wooden one to the closet was thrown open.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. You got this.

She let out a relieved sigh that broke into a sob as she tiredly slid down the wall, still hearing the scary man curse, bang and shoot on the safe room door.

Where was Bucky? She couldn’t hold on any longer. This wasn’t a situation she wanted to be present in. Her body started folding up, taking fetal position as her mind led her to the safer side against her better will. Even her fists closed upon themselves, tears leaving her eyes and traveling down the bridge of her nose. She was losing consciousness of her present surroundings, pictures of Bucky’s eyes spreading in her vision instead of the dull, grey walls of the room.

She was crying too loudly to hear the firing of Bucky’s gun right outside the door or the peeping of the door as it slid open once again.

“Angel!” Bucky’s voice sounded so distant. She felt like she was drowning with how muffled his calls were to her ears.

Seeing her body shake with sobs on the floor like that made Bucky want to walk out and shoot the man’s dead body again and again until he couldn’t be identified.

How dare they send someone here? How dare they violate the sanctity of his home? They were certainly not going to live another day to repeat or repent from their sins.

“Angel, are you hurt?” He kneeled beside her, gently untangling her limbs to check if she was wounded anywhere.

Aside from a couple of nasty scratches by her ankle, she was physically okay and Bucky could breathe a little better as his body sagged on the floor.

He swallowed and lifted her on his lap, signaling his men to leave when they stepped in the room to check if they were needed after ‘cleaning up’.

“Get me water.” Was all he said and they were running to the nearest fridge.

“I’m sorry, my angel. I’m here now. You’re okay.” Bucky mumbled, lips hovering over her temple.

“Dada.” Her body leaned into his warmth but her cries didn’t stop and Bucky could only hold her closer as he tried not to let guilt rip him apart.

She was like that now because of him. Had he been a normal man with a normal life, she would’ve been safer. She didn’t deserve to be startled awake only to be chased by a criminal in the middle of the night. She didn’t deserve any of the bullshit that hit her because she was with Bucky.

He kept planting kiss after kiss to her head, wishing he could go back and be there to protect her.

“Shh, you’re okay, my angel. You’re safe,” he kept telling her as he supported himself up with her in his arms.

Her cries were dying down and she was getting comfier in Bucky’s protective hold, fingers digging in his shoulders afraid he would leave again.

“Please, calm down, baby. I’m here. No one can hurt you, angel.” Bucky took her out and to the bathroom so he could take a look at her leg.

“Baby, are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked after sitting her down on the cold counter.

Instead of answering, she pressed her forehead to his chest and kept sniveling, hands clutching Bucky’s jacket. She wasn’t ready for him to let her go yet. She may be too far gone but her body knew it needed to be close to Bucky’s.

“Baby, please come back to me,” Bucky begged, tears threatening to spill from his once hard, cold eyes.

“Angel,” his thumb brushed her cheek and she finally looked up to him.

“Dada, I was so scared.” She sobbed, shaking at the memory.

“I’m sorry, my angel.” Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead, “I’m here with you, baby. No need to be scared anymore.”

“That man- he-” she hiccupped.

“You’re okay, angel. Breathe.” Bucky stroked her back warmly as she buried her face in his chest again.

He took the bottle of water from one of his men, waving him out of the bathroom.

“Here, baby, drink some water.”

She wouldn’t move. She just wanted to be close to Daddy. She was scared and Bucky was safety. He was home.

“For me, baby. Just a tiny sip.” Bucky twisted the bottle cap open, gently cupping her cheek to coax her away from his body.

His heart swelled when she leaned her damp cheek on his palm, enjoying the warmth. Her smaller hand cupped his and her eyes closed, her face further pressed into Bucky’s hand as a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Bucky bit his lip, holding back the waterworks. He should’ve been here; should’ve prevented it all from happening. His thumb brushed her chin and she opened her eyes.

“Drink a little, angel.” Bucky offered a kind smile.

She nodded, sitting up straighter, her lashes wet with tears as she looked up to Bucky, her gaze holding no blame.

He brought the bottle to her lips and she gulped down, the chilled water soothing her sore throat.

“Better?” Bucky cocked his head to the side and she nodded, sniffing.

Bucky bowed, holding his forehead against hers. He just wanted to feel her breathe soundly; wanted to make his mind stop telling him he almost lost her forever.

“Dada.”

“Yes, my angel.” Bucky pecked her lips.

“My leg hurts.” Her voice was awfully small as she pointed to the burning scratches ruining her beautiful skin. Bucky wished he could hide her between his ribs in place of his heart.

“Daddy’s got you, angel.”

Bucky cleaned her wound, apologizing with a kiss to her cheek every time she hissed. He had her tell him what happened to distract her and it worked. She wanted him to be proud so much she eagerly told him all about kicking the bad man. Tears gathered in her eyes once again when he applied ointment but she continued with her story, Bucky’s smile keeping her calm.

“Angel, you were so brave! I’m so proud of you, baby.” Bucky kissed her bandaged leg, “how did you do that?!”

“Kept thinkin’ dada thoughts.” She hugged Bucky again.

Bucky was a puddle on the bathroom floor. She was telling him she was brave like that because she was thinking of him through it all. He adored her so much he didn’t know who he was if not her man.

“I promise this is the last time you would ever have to go through anything like that,” Bucky assured, chuckling lovingly when she squeezed him harder and nodded.

She believed Bucky. She knew he could keep her safe. This wasn’t a usual occurrence, Bucky’s always made sure she was protected. She had no doubt anything would change. She trusted her Daddy with all her heart.

Bucky knew that and it scared him to death. He was scared one day he might not be up to the trust she’d put in him. He feared disappointing her; not being there for her in time. He was terrified a day would come where he might let her down.

“Never again. You’re safe, my angel. You’re always safe with me.”

Bucky’s soft lips placed a languishing kiss to her forehead. Her eyes were next, Bucky kissed her eyelids and under her eyes. Then he left wet kisses on both cheeks before pecking her nose. She smiled shyly when he pressed his mouth to the corner of hers.

“I love you, angel,” Bucky whispered against her lips before kissing her.

~

Bucky carried her back to their bed. The room was organized again, nothing was out of place and she was in Daddy’s arms. She was safe once more.

Bucky held her to his chest all night, his mind too loud to let him fall asleep. She went back to bed almost immediately though. Bucky’s presence was all it really took for her to feel peaceful enough to close her eyes and dream again.

When she moved out of his embrace in her sleep, Bucky carefully left the room and went to his office to review the security cameras footage. He knew watching the attack would make his blood boil again but he had to see what happened and how the unlucky asshole got inside his mansion.

While she already told him she’d defended herself, Bucky was the proudest seeing it unfold on the screen.

“Do you know who my man is?... I beg no one.”

The words brought the largest smile to Bucky’s lips. He was so proud of his angel; so amazed by her courage. He thought he couldn’t love her any more than he already did and he was wrong. His heart has picked the right girl and for that he was grateful. Bucky took one last look at the shining ring in his top drawer before shutting it and walking back to continue cuddling his precious sweetheart.

~~

Tags: @harrysthiccthighss, @tinystudentfirepurse, @lavendercitizen

[asmutwriter]

Stranger Things Have Happened (Part 1)

Yes that title it the most inventive I can think of at the moment and no I am not sorry for it. 

Steve x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2430

Next / Master List

WARNINGS: swearing, bullying, absent parents, absent siblings

DISCLAIMERS

-  This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand 

“I’m not wrong. You are a bit... free spirited when it comes to going to parties and who you go with”

“Did you just call me a whore?”

“No. I merely implied it. No judgment. I’m just stating it” you role your eyes, your friend chuckling at you. 

“Go fuck yourself” you playfully say to your friend, giving them the middle finger as you continue to eat your lunch. You know they actually don’t care about your sex life and that they just like to mock you. You feel someone sit next to you, you turn and see a girl with her hair done up all nicely. She smiles and bats her eyelids at you, innocently looking at you. God you hated her. 

“How’s your meal today?”

“Its fine thank you” 

“Oh I’m sure it can be better than just fine. Here, let me go and buy you a drink” she stands up and walks over to the cafeteria, making you turn to watch her as she walks away. Coming back again with a full glass in hand. She ‘accidently’ trips and spills the drink down your front. Making you gasp out at its coldness. 

“Fuck that’s cold” you stand up, pulling the wet fabric from you. She pretend frowns at you

“I’m so sorry. Here let me help” she grabs a napkin, wiping your front. Ketchup smearing down your front. You bite the inside of you cheek as to stop yourself from lashing out, be it physically or verbally. “Oh my goodness” she lets out a small chuckle and covers her mouth. Your friend stands up

“Jess, let’s go to the bathroom” your friend stands up and links atoms with you, leading you to the bathroom. You take the front of your dress and run it under the tap, scrubbing in hopes to redeem your shirt. The bell goes, indicating the end of lunch. You look at your friend as she anxiously watches you, itching to get off to her class so she isn’t late but not wanting to leave you. You smile at her

“I’ll be ok. You go to class. I’m going to go and see if they have any shifts at work this afternoon” she nods slightly as she pulls you into a hug. You try and pull away “You’ll get shit on you to”

“I don’t care. You’re more important” you nod and hug her back. She pulls away and holds your face in her hands. Smiling at you “I’m seeing you tomorrow anyway aren’t I?” you nod

“Yes. Movie night. I can rent out a few videos from work. I reckon a horror” she smiles

“Sounds perfect. You’re coming to mine right?” you nod and smile “I’ll see you then” she waves to you as she leaves the bathroom. You run a hand through your hair. Sighing as you pick up your bag and walk out the bathroom, sneakily going through the corridors and school grounds until you are out the gates. You walk to your work. Walking in you see Robin standing behind the desk. You smile at her. You’ve only known them a short while but you felt like you would soon become great friends.

“Need any help today?” she motions to a corner of the shop

“Dingus is helping me today”

“I heard my name” you hear Steve call from around the corner. You laugh slightly as he pokes his head round a stack of videos. You smile at him.

“Shouldn’t you be in school anyway? And what happened to your shirt?”

“Yes I should be in school but I don’t care about school because bitches like to ruin my day and make me not be able to focus on work”

“You should go back to school”

“I’m not going back. Not until Monday”

“You can’t miss out on your last year”

“I’m already 18! They can’t force me to do shit if I don’t want to”

“Robins right. You should go back to school”

“No. The girl there is horrible”

“Why does she hate you so much? You weren’t bullied this much last year right?”

“I mean the popular people have never liked me. I’m too weird for them apparently. But it defiantly got worse when I- I umm...” you scratch the back of your neck. 

“What happened?” Steve folds his arms as he looks at you

“I went to a party a few months ago and her boyfriend and I shared a bed... She walked in on us sleeping in the bed... But we didn’t have sex! We were so drunk I don’t think we could’ve done it even if we wanted to”

“But she thinks you slept with him?” you nod

“I mean I understand why she thinks it, but I feel like that is a conversation she needs to have with him. Not one to keep silent and just harass me”

“He must’ve told her the truth”

“Yeah but everyone thinks I’m the school slut. They thought that before this incident so no one believes him. They all think he’s being kind to me and saying that we didn’t sleep together” you bite the nail of your thumb “Anyway. Can I help please?”

“Yes. You can go over there in the corner and do your homework” you roll your eyes

“You guys are such losers” you smile at them and go and help stack some shelves. About an hour passes and you pick up a film. You look at the cover and then read the description. Looks like a good watch so you pick it up and put it to one side.

“Ooh is someone having a movie date?” Steve teases you. You laugh

“No. Amanda and I are having a girl’s night in tomorrow. Watching a horror, I thought this one looked quite good”

“Oh cool. Cause nothing screams ‘girly night in’ like watching a horror film” you hit his arm playfully “Is she going to yours or have you learnt to drive and going to hers?”

“I’m going to hers and no I can’t drive. Cars are expensive”

“I can vouch for that. They are a lot of money” Robin calls out from the back. 

“So how are you getting there?”

“I’m walking”

“What time are you going there?”

“Probably about 7 or 8. Her parents are going out for an evening meal so I imagine I’m getting there for when they plan on leaving”. He nods and chuckles as you continue to work. 

As the late shift finishes you grab your jacket and both your co-workers head to his car as you start to walk. You hear the male call after you “Hey let me give you a lift” you turn to look at him. You are about to deny his offer just as you feel a spit of rain hit your nose. ‘Great’ you think to yourself. You go over and get in the back seat of his car. “We’ll go to Robins first as she’s only round the corner then I’ll drop you off at yours” you nod

“You don’t have to”

“It’s ok. It’s going to chuck it down anyway” he smiles and starts driving. Turning the radio up loudly as a song starts playing. They both enthusiastically dancing in the front as you laugh and watch them. You get to Robins house, watching her dart in from the rain. Waving at you from the front door you climb into the front seat.

“Thank you again” you say as he starts driving and you direct him where to go.

“It’s ok” he glances at you and smiles. Although you had known him for a few months now you’d never been with him outside of the workplace. You didn’t have the same kind of friendship as him and Robin, they were work friends to you rather then proper friends. You bite the nail of your thumb. “You shouldn’t do that. It’ll make your thumb sore”

“God you sound like my mother” he chuckles

“Well she does have a point. You should stop biting your nails” you sigh and drop your hand onto your lap.

“How long have you and Robin known each other?”

“Oh god. Probably about a year I reckon. Maybe a little over” he glances at you “how long have you worked at the video shop?”

“Probably about two and a half years now” 

“Do you enjoy working there?”

“Enjoy is a strong word. It’s gotten better since you guys came. Before that my previous work colleagues weren’t as fun to be around. You guys make work a lot more enjoyable” he nods as he turns. “I should probably warn you that my house is a... I don’t own a house. I live in a caravan”

“Ok and?”

“That doesn’t surprise you?”

“No why should it?”

“I just. I didn’t want you to be shocked when you saw my home for the first time. Most guys are horrified when they come round” he nods as he turns into the caravan park, you point to your house as he pulls up. 

“For the record. Those guys sound like a complete waste of time” you chuckle and put your hair behind your ear 

“You’re telling me” you look out at the rain still pouring. Hoping it’ll die down so you can run to your house

“No lights are on. Are you going to be home alone?”

“Why does that matter?”

“I just- be careful”

“I will”

“Do you want me to give you a lift tomorrow?”

“What?”

“A lift to Amanda’s house. Saves you walking”

“Oh you don’t have to if it’s a problem”

“Not a problem at all” he smiles at you “I’d be happy to drive you” you nod and smile.

“That’d be really appreciated. Thank you”

“I’ll pick you up from here then” he smiles at you as you grab your bag and leave the car. You wave at him before unlocking your door and turning the light on. Closing it behind you and locking it, you go over to your cupboard. Pulling out a tin of food you grab a pan and start cooking. You grab a book from your shelf and sit down with your now cooked food and begin reading. You eventually finish eating and get dressed for bed, climbing underneath the warm duvet.

You wake up to the sun shining through a crack in your curtains. You grunt and cover your eyes. After a few minutes you feel yourself become more awake and head into the kitchen to make yourself a coffee. The day goes past like any other day. You catch up on your homework, you count out how much money you’ve earned that week, so on and so on. You are in the bathroom brushing your teeth when the there’s a knock on the door. You spit out the toothpaste and quickly wipe your mouth, seeing its 5:43. You open the door as Steve is waiting for you. He smiles at you “Good afternoon”

“You’re early”

“Yeah, it was quicker to get here then I thought it would be” you nod and motion for him to come in. He looks around as you go over and do some last minute washing up. 

“Is anyone else at home?”

“Why would they be?”

“I assumed you lived with your mum considering you talk about her so much” you shake your head

“Nope. It’s just me here” he nods “I’m going to go and get dressed quickly” you go and change speedily. Coming back out wearing more ‘going out’ clothes. He’s looking at the postcards and pictures you have on your fridge. He points at a picture. 

“Is this your mum?” you go over and nod

“That’s my mum and dad plus my older brother and then my little sister. I think it’s the only picture I have of all five of us together. That picture must’ve been taken about 6 years ago”

“Do they all live with your mum then?” you shake your head

“You don’t want to hear about that. It’s not the funniest of stories” he looks at you and holds your hand for comfort “Long story short, my dad and my brother aren’t around anymore. My mum is dealing with her own problems and my sister is in foster care” you squeeze his hand to signal you’re ok, he smiles at you as you drop it, going over and folding up the blanket you were using earlier. An awkward silence fills the air. You turn and face him “Shall we go?” he nods. You go and turn off the lights in your house, grabbing your house keys and locking up before getting in his car. “Do you have any siblings?” you ask once you’re both in the car

“No. No I’m an only child” you nod

“What about your parents?”

“They are still together. My dad is a dick most of the time and my mum is nice enough. Both very strict though which kind of sucks. I can’t wait to be able to get my own place and get away from them to be honest” you nod. A few more moments of silence fills the car. He clears his throat “How old is your sister?”

“8″ he nods “I get to see her soon. In a couple of weeks I get to go see her for the first time in a while”

“How come you’ve not seen her recently?”

“I had to have an adult’s permission so when I was underage I couldn’t get permission from either of my parents. My birthday was a few months ago and I’ve finally been allowed to see her without their permission. Lots of legal stuff and shit like that” he nods slightly. “But I’m an adult now so yay, adulthood” you point at a house “This is me”. He pulls up the car “Thank you for the lift” you smile at him as he shrugs and smiles at you

“No problem. I’m always happy to give you a lift whenever or wherever you need” you chuckle slightly

“Yeah, you don’t want to tell me that. You’ll be getting me ringing you at 4am on Tuesdays asking for a ride home” he chuckles slightly

“Well, I’m here for you if you need it. Have fun with...?” he looks at you as he’s searching for the name. Clicking his fingers slightly as if to click it into existence

“Amanda”

“That’s the name” you chuckle

“I will. See you at work” you smile as you grab your bag from the foot well and get out the car.

[charnelhouse]

won't you let me go down in my dreams

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader, Will Miller x F!Reader (Past) Rating: 18+ Mature  Wordcount: +3K Summary: You get shot on a mission. Some real truths hit Frankie where it hurts.  Warnings: Violence/Gore, Insecure Frankie. Depression. PTSD. A/N: title from James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James. This was supposed to be a drabble lol. But this character - the whole dynamic of the group is interesting. This is post-film.

“This is so fucking embarrassing,” you hiss through clenched teeth. 

Frankie would laugh - he really would - if he wasn’t so god damn scared for you and the precious life that is now spilling into his hands and staining his clothes. 

He watches you breathe through the burn of it, watches your fingers clamp down over the slit in your shirt that is now blooming dark and wet. A perfect, fucking shot that had managed to get past the vulnerable space between bullet-proof vest and your smooth flesh. 

Pope is yelling orders as Frankie tries to carry you somewhere more comfortable - more forgiving than the tile floor. 

It’s too much - your blood sheeting down your side - pooling to a syrup drizzle over his boots. Benny is searching for something to stem the gush of it. Will is shouting about duct tape - towels - fucking anything - while keeping his hands pressed firmly to the soaked patch beneath your ribs. 

“Of course,” you slur as your head lolls to Frankie’s shoulder. Your body is going boneless - dead weight in his arms. Pope shoves his palm over your brow, nestles his fingers against the pulse in your throat.

“Cold,” you whine as you swat at his hand.

“Fuck,” Pope’s voice is anxious - edged in concern.  “Keep her awake.”

Franke angles his head down to look at you - nearly shudders at how glassy your eyes are. The color in your face is draining fast. “Of course?” he asks. “What do you mean ‘of course’, sweetheart?”

You grimace as he jostles you in his arms. “That I get shot. The only girl. Of fucking course. Embarrassing.”

Your words are muddled - glued together and difficult to parse. But - Frankie knows how hard you exert yourself - how desperately you work to prove that you’re better - you’re stronger than the rest despite the fact that they all fucking know that already. 

You don’t get it, Cat. I have to work that much harder. I have to push and push until it’s not a question. I have to be able to do everything because one failed mission, one fucking tear out of my eyes means i’m less than - i’m not cut out for a man’s job and that’s just the way it is.

You groan - shuddering as blood keeps leaking between Will’s fingers. “I’m better than this.”

Frankie feels something crumble in his gut - feels his insides go to jelly. His spine losing its sturdiness. “You’re better than any of us. All of us combined.”

Will’s eyes soften as he touches your chin - tipping your face to meet his. “Each of us have been shot already, remember? More than you. You’re just earning your stripes, yeah?”

You make a disgruntled noise - a deep, vibrating hum before you curve yourself deeper into Frankie’s arms - rest your cheek against his chest. 

Will glances back up at Frankie, his expression now lacking the solace - the calm - he so easily used to comfort you. It is nothing but terrified.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Will growls before turning toward the open doorway. “Benny where the fuck are you?”

“Not to state the obvious, but we also really need to get out of here,” Pope interjects as he scans outside. “Their backup will be here any minute.”

“Yeah - well - we can’t leave until we get this covered up or she’ll bleed out before we even get to the vehicle.”

You manage to scowl - even as your lip goes white between your teeth - even as your lashes flutter - black strokes of charcoal across the apples of your cheeks. “I can make it.”

Frankie readjusts his grip and noses at your hair - the burst of floral perfume beneath the sweat and the artillery smoke and the blood. There’s so much fucking blood he can taste it. “No - you really can’t, sweet girl.”

“I’ll be fine,” Your hand hangs limply over Frankie’s shoulder. “Just-t...car... go to the car. I can’t - I don’t want you guys to get - to get hurt.”

Jesus Christ.

You and your self-sacrifice. Your martyrdom. As if your death wouldn’t kill him on the spot - as if any of them would let you just fucking fade to save their own asses.

“Dream on, babe,” Benny crows as he rushes back into the room. “We’re patching you up first.”

Frankie knows that you’d bristle if anyone else called you “babe”, but Benny is different - Benny is young and reckless and you hold a soft spot for him.

And then Benny is tossing Will a roll of duct tape and paper towels and rags. 

“We should put her on that kitchen island - better access.”

Frankie carries you - his ears ringing to deafness.

**

The Night Before 

Frankie watches you across the table. They’re at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Guanajuato - ramshackled and strung with pink lights. The tile floor is sticky with spilled tequila and beer. There is the warm pump of Norteño music - vibrant and almost too loud.

It allows them to bury their conversation - let them dissolve within the crowded bar.

It had been a bitch to find - the irregular streets of the city split by small alleyways, plazas, and steep staircases. So much color here - so much old, decorative architecture. It’s beautiful - vaguely European in its make-up.

You lean back on your stool - the red-hued lamps glinting off your skin - dyeing the white crescent of your smile. You haven’t changed - not at all. Still smooth. Still beautiful in an almost untouchable way. Your cool eyes are still shadowed by an ache - a craving for danger that you have never been able to sate. Even overseas - even in the thick of gunfire - those eyes still burned with something unintelligible - a desperation for anything that the fight could never give you. 

Will had once said that you were too lost - that you were looking for meaning through violence - through pain and the end of a gun. He had called you a beautiful fucking disaster.

But - of course - that had been when they were fucking - when Will couldn’t stop going out of his way to save you like you were asking for it. Instead - you shut him out - you built up impenetrable walls and told him that he was a hypocrite and that each of them - the whole fucking squad - found comfort in the violence they doled out or the way they craved the rush of self-immolation.

You should all just fucking diagnose yourselves, asshole.

Benny with his cage matches. Pope with his career chasing down cartels. Will and his grocery store drag outs that had happened more than once. Tom and his drinking. 

And him and the coke and the other quiet ways he had tried to ruin the good things he had going for him.

Despite it all - Pope had dragged you back into this. It was good work. It was dangerous work and you were the best choice - the only choice with how well you functioned with each of them. Tom’s death had struck some match - set them alight - set them all off hurtling into this newfound territory where they ran amok bringing down cartels - handling hostage situations - killing under a questionable banner of legality. 

You were in. No questions asked.

You had seen some shit - caused some shit - the best fucking shot out of all of them and had earned their respect and their absolute trust tenfold. 

They loved you. 

And a lot of it had initially been because you were fucking hot. But the years bled into the next and with them: the missions and the loss and the grief. All of that appreciation had mutated into the truest kind of infatuation.

Frankie watches the way your throat bobs as you take a sip of your drink. He thinks of all the things he’s wanted to say - all of the things he’s wanted to do to you.

This is a gift really - he should treat it as such - to have you back with him. They’re working together again after years apart. You’re no longer dating Will. You’re no longer anyone’s at all and when you smile at him beneath the bottleneck of a beer, his heart fucking leaps.

It’s fairy tale shit. 

It makes no fucking sense. 

Pope is relaying their strategy for the day ahead: Infiltrate at 21:00. Secure the perimeter.  Burn. Intel. Recon. 

Frankie is just staring - following your movements - digesting the way you grab Benny’s arm as you laugh. 

He startles when he hears his name - nearly tipping his water over.

You’re pinning him to his seat - those cold eyes appraising him with something meaningful.

“Frankie,” you say - soft, sweet. “How’s my best guy?”

He fucking burns.

** He kicks a boot up against the adobe wall of the bar. The alleyway is dim lit and narrow - not exactly safe, but he needed to get out and have a moment - a breath. It’s quiet - the streets close to empty. His cigarette tastes bitter - makes his mouth dry and scratchy.

Suddenly, you appear next to him - your hair a little out of place. A few too many drinks due to Benny’s insistence. He hates you for glowing - for looking like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth when they’re potentially going to their deaths tomorrow on yet another fool’s mission.

“So,” you remark - slow as honey. “Cocaine?”

He frowns before scraping his palm over his face. “Yeah - I had a rough couple of years.”

You nod - fingers brushing up against his - causing him to exhale sharply - as you snatch his cigarette and stick it in your mouth. The cherry at its end flickering in the impenetrable blue shadows of twilight.

“We all have our ways of dealing with our shit.”

He gives you a sideways glance. Of course - you give him bare bones - you give him that sort of brute, blunt care. We all have our ways of dealing with our shit. 

The corners of his mouth creep up. “Yeah I guess so. What are your ways then?”

You pause - biting your lip in a way that makes you alarmingly endearing - almost innocent. “I don’t know,” you shrug. “I drink a lot. I bury a lot. Will always said I handle my issues the worst out of all of us.”

Will. 

It hits him like a bullet. His name slipping from your mouth - the connection you shared to him - the fact that Will knew you in a way he’d never get to - never understand or comprehend. 

He’s jealous. Still - years later - he’s fucking jealous. The words leave his tongue before he can stop them:

“Speaking of Will, you’re not going off with him tonight?” 

As soon as he sees your eyebrows rise dramatically, he knows he’s fucked up - put himself and his feelings a little too out there. He had aimed for casual, but his tone is close to bitter. 

It’s also a stupid question because he knows the answer (kind of). He’s aware that you and Will ended years ago. Will had told him. But - Will still treated you like something precious - still walked next to you as if he was acting as a solid barrier between you and the rest of the world. 

That had been your problem with him to begin with. He was too protective and you were simply too wild - too sky high for Will’s relaxed, easy temperament. 

“Will?” you furrow your brow. “No - I’m not going off with Will.”

“Sorry,” he replies. “That- that came out wrong.”

You appraise him for an uncomfortable amount of time - your fingertips tapping his cigarette over the cobblestone. 

“I think it came out the way you meant it too.”

There’s humor - a smidge - pale on your tongue as you stare at him with those stupidly gorgeous eyes. Did they have history? Yes - to a certain degree. They were entangled because they had shared experiences no normal human could really relate to: death, trauma, killing. 

How many nights had he pressed himself against you as they huddled in a dingy hideout? How many times had he wrapped himself around you - shoving your face against his chest because he’d thought you’d nearly died and he was overcome with relief? They had shared things.

And he had just never had the conviction or the guts to take it further.

“Cat?” you grip his wrist - rubbing your thumb over the thrum of his pulse. He tastes dew - the turn of the new sun bursting through the naked morning hours. 

“Yeah?” he coughs - choked - as if his voice is rough with disuse. 

“I’m really glad you came.” And then as if you were outright kissing him, you murmur. “I did miss you.”

**

It’s his nightmare.

It’s a rush of sudden, unstoppable violence and it stuns him.

You’re keeping watch at the window of the compound. Your gun slung over your shoulder - your booted feet kicked up onto some storage boxes when a door flies open - a moment - just a fucking moment - and one of the cartel’s bodyguards shoots you dead on.

He notices the spray of red - the way it paints the wall in a fine mist behind you.

Your body jerks - just once - and you slowly skate your palm down your torso - down all that kevlar that looks so fucking good on you and you press down - firmly - before you gasp - a short, sharp whine of pain.

“Fuck,” you rasp before you collapse to your knees. Frankie - without a thought, without a word - charges toward the guard who is blindly trying to unjam his gun and blows his head off. 

His mind is swirling - there is a ding - an alarm going off between his ears and he can’t see straight. He stumbles toward you - his arms outstretched - his skin cold. 

The singular, wringing panic of NO.

***

“Get her shirt off,” Will orders and Frankie does it - unclipping your vest and unzipping your jacket. His hands tremble minutely - not enough for anyone to notice - but enough for him to.

Get your fucking shit together, man.

She needs you. 

He gets you down to your bra and there’s all that soft skin marred by the tiny, wisp of a bullet hole. It’s streaming blood and Frankie carefully lifts you up to give your back a once-over. “I think - I think it was a clean hit - went right through.”

Will nods before yanking the duct tape and ripping it with his teeth. “Help me wrap her.” His voice dilutes to something tender as he warns you: “This is gonna hurt. I’m sorry.”

You don’t seem to follow him. Your breathing is irregular as if your ribs are shuttering inside the hull of your flesh. Frankie touches your face and sees your dilated pupils - your clammy brow - damp and muggy like a vapor. 

“She’s in shock.”

“Good,” Will mutters. “Then maybe she won’t feel it.”

He sits you up gently and starts to dress you - pressing the iron-shine duct tape around your middle - he pulls it tight - tight enough that your breath hitches and your throat bobs. Frankie wonders if you’re going to throw up - if you’re going to faint. There is so much blood.

“How’s she doing?” Pope asks from the window. 

“Not great,” Will grunts as he keeps binding you - swathes and swathes of tape. Finally, he tosses the roll - rubs his palm over your stomach. “Okay - that’s all we can do. Get her to the car, Fish.”

He picks you up - hauls you against his chest. As he quickly descends down the stairs to the front entrance - he presses his mouth to your temple and inexplicably - out of nowhere - maybe because he’s desperate -  or maybe because he regrets not having said it the night before - he finds himself confessing how much he had missed you, too.

***

Your teeth chatter in your mouth - eyes rolling back as Frankie holds your hand in a vice - nearly getting sick at the limpness of it. Your strength was you - your foundation - your identity. He had never seen you this weak before.

“We’re almost to the safehouse,” Pope barks from the front seat. 

Benny reaches over  from the far back -combing your wet hair off your forehead. “Hear that? You’re gonna be good,” he soothes - the brief hint of anxiousness muddled somewhere in between. “We’ll patch you up in no time.”

“Ss’fine,” you sigh. “Doesn’t even hurt really.”

Will’s head whirls back to look at you. His expression grim.

That’s not good. 

“Remember that time we - we got so fucked up in Amarillo,” you cough - your breath coming out in short, hot bursts. “The first - the first time we ever hung out stateside?”

Frankie recalls with stark clarity that time back on easy ground - back in Texas with the ache of long grass and summer-drenched fireflies and crickets. The sky endless - dripping blue and sparked in stars and just plains of dirt going nowhere.

It’s why he liked Texas - he liked the vastness - the clarity of the horizon - the lack of places to hide.

You had shown up in a sundress - a white frothy number that shamelessly floated around your thighs. They had never seen you out of fatigues - out of kevlar. You were beautiful in a new way - your face breaking out into something joyous - the truth of your real, gentle laugh. It wasn’t the forced one - laced with dryness - the grim humor you used to get through the fucking day back during missions.

At that point - Frankie had known he loved you and not just in a confused sort of way because they were always in dire, mortal peril situations - not because he trusted you with his life or he’d die for yours. He was in love with you - passionately, confusedly, brokenly in love with you and all of your chilly exteriors - your feline grace - your fucked up head. 

He wanted it all.

That was it, though. That realization had simply been the perfunctory end to that longing.

He never made a move - found himself unable to do it - unable to get the courage or the conviction to even try. There had been Will who was so forthright - courageous and empathetic - who spent his days coaching kids with their same scars. He seemed good for someone like you. Clean cut. American golden boy. 

That night you had found Frankie sitting alone at a picnic table - his fingertips tracing a beer bottle as he tried to keep out of your way. Not like it worked.

“You gonna settle down, Cat?” you had asked - leaning your bare arm against his shoulder - hand brushing up against his wrist. 

He had chuckled. “I’d need a girl for that first.”

You had given him a long, sideways glance. Your features blurred in the lamp light of Tom’s backyard. His buzz was hitting the full tilt of a drunk. The silence was uncomfortable and deafening as if you were just waiting for him and in retrospect it had become quite obvious that you were - that he had thought so low of himself that you coming onto him was just...unthinkable.

He had rubbed the back of his neck - the sweat dampening the curls of his hair. The heat unforgiving - cloying - oppressive. He fixed his cap before taking another panicked sip of beer as you just regarded him. 

That was your way, though. You simply stayed silent when you wanted answers - waiting for the other person to crack under the pressure of their awkwardness until they needed to fill the blanks you had left.

“Got any girls for me?” he finally asked - lamely. 

You had blinked - your brow furrowing before your pretty lips split into a too-bright smile. “Yeah, Frank,” you replied - stony and deadpan. “I have chicks for you.”

You had gotten up - left him there to stew in his own idiocy. Later  - he watched Will drag you back to his car - his hands all over you - his mouth in your hair as he made you laugh.

It had sounded like bells.

**

Your skull bounces on the car door as they hit a pothole and he curses - trying to maneuver you into something more comfortable. 

But then he hears his name - subdued - almost mute and he stiffens when he realizes it’s you. 

Your eyes are alarmingly bright as they fall on him - as they stare him down with a new alertness - the shock and confusion melting down to a thin gloss. 

Your fingers tighten around his hand that’s threaded through yours. There is the glimmer of a tear - the streak of red in your eyes and Frankie thinks that if you cry right now, he will lose it. He will literally break.

“Frankie,” you repeat - with meaning - with purpose. “Frankie - remember that night.”

Something in him gets it - things fall into place - blocks descending into order to build that memory with a new accuracy - a sincerity - that he’d been avoiding since it happened.  

It is a shock - it turns him inside out - it leaves him open.

“You gonna settle down, Frankie?” As you touched him - as you rubbed your arm against his bicep and peered up at him with that lip caught between your teeth and your eyes wide with a question - the only time he had ever seen you remotely uncertain - scared. 

It’s like he’s reliving it - it’s like he is seeing exactly what you had meant and what he had lost by listening through the plug of his own insecurity. 

“You gonna settle down, Frankie?” 

The whole of it - the truth to it:

“Are you gonna settle down with me?”

***

Part Two

[justlightlysedated]

you’ve used up all your coupons and all you’ve got left is me (a 3x08 coda)

dedicated especially to @bestillmyslashyheart @michaels-blackhat and @bisexualalienblast 🖤🖤🖤❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖

Alex wakes up suddenly, breathing in sharply, eyes opening wide, heart struggling to leap out of his chest. He breathes in deeply and holds it for a few seconds before exhaling slowly and doing it all over again. 

He barely remembers the dream he'd just been having, the images foggy and fading, leaving behind a sense of urgency, but after being more open with Michael than he's ever been since they were teenagers, he knew that he'd be having nightmares.

Once he feels like he’s not about to hyperventilate, he turns towards the left side of the bed, and finds a smile spreading across his face.

Michael is lying down on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other on his side, pinning the sheet down across his chest. His hair is a frizzy, curly mess, and his mouth is slightly open as he breathes, snoring slightly, still deeply asleep.

Alex turns completely to face him, leaning his head on his arm instead of the pillow, and just stares as the sun starts to rise, spilling gently through the slit of the closed curtains hanging in front of his windows.

Alex hadn’t been expecting it when Michael had kissed him, but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t wanted it with all of his heart. He had just thought that it was something that he would never get to have again, but from the moment Michael stood up and took his hat off his head and moved in close, fingers settling across the back of his neck, Alex had felt something break apart in his chest, like the walls that he'd been trying to build around his heart to stop this from happening again, just fell down at the touch of Michael's lips.

The kiss in itself wasn't what Alex had been expecting either. He'd pushed against Michael, wanting to deepen the kiss, to let the heat that had burst into existence in the pit of his stomach, explode into flames that would drown them both in desire, but Michael had kept it soft and sweet and almost chaste. Kissing him like Alex was something precious and fragile that he'd needed to be careful with, and it was that more than anything that had sent Alex's heart racing, his blood pumping sluggishly through his veins, as though all of it had been replaced with syrup.

When he'd separated their mouths, it was all Alex could do not to push in close and kiss him once again.

After, Michael had taken Alex home, and Alex had spent the entire time letting the anticipation and anxiety of what could happen twist him up into knots so tightly that when Michael had put his hand on Alex's arm he'd jumped.

Michael had been worried, and Alex had thought about just brushing it off, and kissing him to get them back to their usual track, but he'd looked at Michael's face, and Michael’s eyes were large and concerned, and he knew that this was different, could feel it deep down, so he’d taken a deep breath and just let it go.

He’d asked Michael if he wanted to stay, just to sleep, and Michael had looked at him for a long moment, eyes dark and serious, before he nodded his head and had gotten out of the car.

After that everything had been easy, almost too easy if Alex was being honest, the only time he tripped over something was when Michael had stripped down to his underwear, unselfconscious and unaware.

He’d looked at Alex who had been sitting on the edge of his bed, and snorted at the look on Alex’s face, stating that he couldn’t sleep with clothes on, it was always too hot.

Alex had compensated by putting the AC lower and leaving the ceiling fan on, even if that meant that he had to wrap himself up in all of the sheets that he had inside of his closet.

Sometime during the night he’d kicked most of them off, probably because of the furnace that was still sleeping next to him.

Alex stares at Michael, unable to look away, and watching the rise and fall of his chest, itching with the urge to inch closer and put his mouth on Michael’s collarbone, but he contains himself, curling his fingers into the sheet, to stop himself from reaching out.

A shaft of sunlight hits Michael’s face, and he wrinkles his nose, closing his mouth, and turning his face away from the light, moving so that he’s on his side, pulling the sheet tighter and tugging it away from Alex.

Alex grins at the way Michael's face is still scrunched up, and how his curls tumble across his forehead and to his nose.

His smile goes soft and sappy and utterly embarrassing if someone was around to see it, but there is no one to witness it in the dim light, in his bedroom.

He reaches out with one hand, and pushes Michael's hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear, only for it to fall back across his forehead, making Alex snicker.

The sound wakes Michael up. His eyes blink open, lashes fanning his cheeks, and he takes a moment to realize where he is and who he's with.

A smile, sweet and so loving, tugs the corners of Michael's mouth, something small, but so happy that it makes something in Alex's stomach flutter.

"You stayed," Alex says, eyes on Michael's mouth like they're magnetized, but he can still see the amusement that crosses his face.

"I was tired and it was late," Michael responds, trying for seriousness, but his grin goes even wider.

"Sure," Alex drawls, mocking the way that Michael had said the words, inching a little closer. "That's why you stayed."

Michael just laughs, and it sounds so delighted and free, that Alex can't help but lean even closer.

Michael slides closer too, meeting him halfway, and settling his hand on the side of Alex's face, thumb rubbing gently against his skin, as he presses a soft kiss to Alex's mouth, close lipped and chaste.

Alex's eyes fall shut, as the kiss punches him in the stomach and knocks the air out of his lungs, making him inhale sharply.

Michael pulls away after a second, and Alex tries not to whine, but the sound still crawls up his throat, whiny and embarrassing.

Michael's smile is wide and too bright, almost rivaling the sun, and he keeps his hand on Alex's face as he leans in again, brushing their noses together.

"Morning," Alex says, when it becomes apparent that Michael isn't going to kiss him again right this second.

"A very good morning," Michael responds, sliding his hand down Alex's face and to his neck, making him feel warm and tingly all over.

Alex just closes his eyes, and relaxes into the touch, smiling, pleased and happy, when Michael rubs his thumb across Alex's collarbone.

"You hungry?" Michael asks, voice a low rumble, breath warm and humid across Alex's mouth. "I make a mean veggie omelette."

Alex hums thoughtfully, pretending that he's not completely into the idea of watching Michael putter around in his kitchen making him breakfast while he sits on one of the stools that surround the island counter drinking his coffee, but there is one problem with that.

"I haven't been home for an extended period of time, so I'm pretty sure that there is nothing in my fridge but beer and leftover take out boxes."

Michael gives him a highly judgemental look, like he's wondering how Alex even survived to make it to thirty.

"Okay, fine," Michael responds. "I can make a quick trip to the store, buy some stuff."

He moves, like he's going to roll out of the bed, moving his hand away from Alex.

Alex grabs on to him immediately, wrapping one hand around his wrist and tugging Michael's hand back to his face.

Michael turns back to face him, still leaning up halfway, raising one eyebrow.

"How about instead, we put in an order on instacart and have the groceries delivered?"

Michael lifts both eyebrows, looking surprised, "You can do that?"

Alex rolls his eyes, "Yes, with the power of technology."

Michael scoffs and pulls his hand out of Alex's hold only to grab the pillow he'd been lying on and uses it to hit Alex right in the face.

Alex sits up trying to defend himself but Michael tugs his pillow towards himself before Alex can get his hands on it, using telekinesis while still attacking Alex.

"You're not fighting fair!" Alex says, laughter coloring his tone.

Michael manages to push him down on his back and moves, knees sinking down into the bed on either side of Alex's waist as he leans over him with a wicked smile, hair messy and perfect.

"All's fair in love and war," he says, and moves to hit Alex again.

Alex grabs the pillow before it hits him again, and uses the hold to tug Michael so that he's closer, the pillow crushed between their chests.

Michael is smiling, a dopey, silly, happy, grin, and Alex feels his heart bursting inside of his chest with so much love that he can barely contain it.

"I do, you know," he says, eyes darting all over Michael's face.

"Do what?" Michael asks, voice soft.

"Love you," Alex says, barely hesitating, the words just as soft as Michael's.

Michael inhales sharply, like he hadn't been expecting that, and a look of wonderment crosses his face, making his eyes look sweet and soft.

He leans down, crushing their noses together and stays close, lips just barely brushing Alex's.

"I love you too," he says, and it sounds like a revelation.

Alex closes his eyes and Michael kisses him again.

And later they'll order some groceries and Michael will make him breakfast and Alex will sit and watch him and feel happy and warm at how easily Michael moves around his kitchen. And even more later, they'll check up on everyone and worry about Kyle and Max.

But right now, Alex tugs the pillow out from between their bodies, and settles his hand to the side of Michael's neck, fingers brushing against the back of his ears, and he'll kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until their mouths are red and wet and swollen, and he's aching with it.

There is no other place, he'd rather be.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Ok so, idk if i asked this before or I'm just thinking i did but didn't send?

But like from your au, I'm genuinely curious, and idk if you alreday did answer it before, but like how would mike have reacted with finding out about not only ness being his kid (again u think that was answered before but again i don't really remember 😅) but also being controlled by his dad to do his dirty deeds?

I can imagine it either being in a hurt comfort way of angsty way with this

i definitely did get this ask before, i am just Really Bad at answering things sometimes 😅 sometimes i forget about the stuff in my inbox or don’t know how to answer

but! this!!!

i have headcanons that already explain his reaction to realizing that Vanessa is his kid, but he realizes due to this instinct inside of him. he has no initial proof, but when he sees her for the first time, he just knows she’s his kid. plus, a quick scan tells him that all her health information—blood type and whatnot—matches up with his daughter’s.

he keeps it a secret for awhile. he knows what happened the last time his family interacted with animatronics, and he doesn’t want her to end up like that. he’s so scared of accidentally hurting her. so, he avoids Vanessa. he gets the others to avoid her, too. he’s going to extreme measures to make sure she isn’t harmed by one of them.

meanwhile, Vanessa just thinks the animatronics fucking hate her, which doesn’t bode well for her already-fractured mental health. every time she tries to talk to them, they stop what they’re doing, stare at her for a moment, and then walk away. sometimes they walk away without even looking at her. it’s like she’s not even there.

this goes on for about two weeks, and then something changes. Vanessa is brooding about how not even robots like her and ends up in the Daycare. somehow, the lights get turned off and she meets Moon for the first time.

and Moon scared the ever-loving shit out of Vanessa.

her resulting scream is heard all throughout the Pizzaplex. without even really realizing it, Freddy is running in that direction. Monty and Roxy try to stop him, reminding him about what he said, and he just goes, “i don’t care, i need to HELP HER!”

needless to say, he nearly mauls Moon. who knew Freddy was capable of roaring like an actual bear? Vanessa. Vanessa knows now.

sometime after that, Freddy finally spills his knowledge to Vanessa, who initially laughs and doesn’t believe him At All. but with a bit of prompting, she finds her birth mother, asks her some questions, realizes her dad is a bear, and then throws up.

in response to the second question: Mike feels awful when he finds out. he doesn’t have a stomach when he’s in Freddy, and yet it feels like he’s been stabbed directly in the gut. and it’s his child that holds the knife.

but, like some depictions of Mike towards Vanessa, he doesn’t see her any less than he already did. he understands that she’s being controlled and isn’t doing anything willingly. he’s not mad at her, he’s mad at his father.

Glitchtrap is aware of this fact and he exploits it So Much. he loves to take control of Vanessa and taunt Mike in her voice. he loves that he can do whatever he wants and Mike can’t do anything about it because lashing out would mean hurting Vanessa and you wouldn’t want to hurt your precious baby, would you?

it’s all around a bad time. Mike is caught between a rock and a hard place, while Vanessa is trapped in her grandfather’s hands with no easy way out.

also…i love making Glitchtrap absolutely fucking weird with Vanessa. and by weird i mean that he has groomer tendencies. it’s a super dark headcanon that i’ve mostly kept to myself in fear of how the fandom will react, but i do wanna write stuff with it. just because it’s So Fucked and the angst possibilities are Endless.

[starlightsearches]

Hi Star! from the not-so-SFW prompts, maybe 1 +4 please? Thank you so much my friend! 🤩💖

Hey Irma, thanks for the request!

Hux x reader (f)

Requests are open ✨ (but slow-going)

1. I’m gonna fill you up to the brim,” and 4. “don’t talk with your mouth full,” from the top/dom prompt lists

Warnings: Dom! Hux, Sub! reader, vibrator use, oral (m receiving), over-stimulation, name-calling, facial, semi-public play, I don't remember what else so let me know if I missed anything!

The muscles in your fingers ache, hands clenched so hard at your sides you think your bones may splinter. Your toes curl inside your boots, thighs shaking, and you focus on taking deep breaths—quiet as you can—the blood rushing from your head, leaving you dizzy and faint.

You've been on edge for too long. You'll lose your mind if this continues.

Across the bridge, General Hux smirks, giving the remote in his hand a subtle twist. Your lips part of their own accord, the vibrator nestled just inside your slick entrance reaching a new peak before returning to a subtle rumble and slowly growing silent.

You can feel every minute of it—this game you've decided to play—every swallowed moan and stolen chance of pleasure stored in your aching core, begging to be released.

Taking a deep breath, you glance out of the corner of your eye. If the officer beside you notices anything amiss, he doesn't let on, his expression almost bored as he monitors the empty expanses of space for non-existent threats. The vibrator is quiet, at least; you're glad you haven't spilled your little secret with a wanton sigh or trembling hand.

Maybe he'd like that. Maybe the general is waiting for the moment you break—wants everyone to see you crumble under the weight of the pleasure he gives you, wants to watch them watching you, sweat-slicked and possessed, writing in an ecstasy only he can bring. Maybe he wants them all to know that you belong to him.

It's an intriguing idea, and your cunt clenches as the vision plays out, but you know him too well.

He wants you all to himself.

You do your best to school your features as you make your approach, but it's no use. You can't help the way your face goes soft when you look at him—the admiration in your eyes, the soft parting of your lips, memories like sugar on your tongue when you think about every way he's loved you.

His eyes latch on to yours, smug, the vibrator humming with triumph, singing against your skin. You don't break your stride or his gaze.

"General Hux," you begin, your mouth dry and voice shaking, "may I speak to you for a moment in your office? It's a matter of some urgency." He pauses, reading you. Maybe he's impressed you've lasted this long.

Or maybe he's planning on teasing you for a little while longer.

Either way, he nods, gesturing for you to lead the way, following just a little too close behind to be considered appropriate.

If anyone one on the bridge notices, they don't speak until you after you're out of the room.

The door to his office closes behind you, and you let it support your weight, your muscles too sore to hold you upright any longer.

He pretends as not to notice, adjusting his gloves before turning to face you. "What did you want to speak with me about, lieutenant?"

“Please," you swallow past the lump in your throat, "I need to cum. I need it."

His shoulders drop, lips pressed together with a pitying smile, his eyes tracing your features with a scalpel's precision. “I don’t think you’ve earned it, pet.”

The vibrator rumbles, and your eyes fall closed, listening to the taps of his shoes as he stalks closer. You could end this, right now. You could let the word fall from your quivering lips and he'd drop the facade immediately, pulling you into his arms and coaxing the sweetest heights out of you, his lips pressing gentle apologies against your skin.

You lick your lips instead, putting all your focus into your next words. “What can I do?”

“I want you—" he presses in closer, the heat of his body heavy against your own but his his knuckles light as a whisper when he strokes them down the length of your cheek, his breath feathering through your hair, "—on your knees.”

Oh thank gods. You meet his gaze, his dilated pupils swallowing the color from his eyes, turning them dark behind gilded lashes. His hand stays on your cheek as you shift to the floor, and you focus on that rather than the sting of the durasteel against your skin.

“Look at you, eager little thing,” he whispers, pressing two fingers against your lips until they part, and you taste leather, gagging slightly as he slides his digits between your teeth.

He hums, disappointed, dragging his slick fingers from your mouth, encasing your jaw in his hand, pulling your chin higher so he can look in your eyes when he leans in close.

“Is that the best you can do? I had expected more.”

Your words are stolen from your throat when the vibrator sparks to life again, the intensity quickly rising until you're staring into the abyss at the back of your eyelids.

"Does that feel good?"

Your cunt drips, soaking into the fabric of your uniform. You can only hum in response, haphazardly shifting on your knees, aching for more contact, more pressure.

He shifts his grip against your jaw, smearing more of your spit over your cheek. "Are you sure? What if you could have my cock instead?"

You buck your hips forward, grateful his office is sound-proofed to the outside when you hear the desperation in your whine.

"Please."

"I'll be so good to you. I'll fill you up to the brim—" he pets his hand over your hair, gripping tight at the back of your neck, his lips almost on yours. The buzz of the vibrator fills you, overtaking every other sense, and you're there, at the peak, waiting to fall over onto the other side.

"Later."

It's all ruined. The vibrator goes still.

There must be tears on your cheeks, because he clears them away with both hands, cupping your face between his palms. You see the question in the deep green of his eyes—is this okay?—the silent worry that he might be taking this too far. You nod against his grasp.

"I'm just trying to provide some motivation," he whispers, pressing the softest kiss against your cheek. You reach for the fastener on his pants, pressing your hands tight against his body to keep your fingers from shaking.

His neck stretches to the ceiling high above you, but you still hear that gasp when you grip his cock, your feverish skin meeting his own. He's harder than you've ever seen him, his dick flushed a deep purple like a bruise. It makes your mouth water.

Your lips encompass the tip, licking a firm stripe over the slit, letting the salt of him spread through your mouth.

“Good girl,” he breathes, taking the back of your head in his hand, pulling your closer, “now choke on it.”

His dick hits the back of your throat, halting the breath in your lungs, and you gag on the excess spit that floods past your cheeks and pools at the corners of your lips.

His hand encases the back of your head and he groans. “Such a perfect little slut for me.”

Gods. He's never like this; never mean, never so demanding. You're fighting to breathe, your throat squeezing involuntarily around the head of his dick as he fucks into your mouth with harsh thrusts, moans like sin echoing off the walls.

He must be close. You can feel it in his fingers, gripping tighter in your hair, buried against your scalp, hear it in the groans he tries to keep locked behind gritted teeth. But more than anything, you know it's true when the vibrator roars back to life, blurring out every minor pain with a roaring pleasure.

You whine around his cock, the sound muffled by the weight of it. It's too much, too fast, but there are no words for what you're feeling, just sticky tears and fragmented moans.

He silences you with a soft tug at your roots. "Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Your orgasm rips through you, pouring in pleasure, leeching the strength from your limbs until he's supporting most of your weight, holding you by the back of the neck.

It only takes a few more strokes before he finishes, hot ropes of cum sticking to your skin, pooling against your lashes, melting into your hair.

You don't have the energy to stand, but he finds his way to your level, laying down beside you on his office floor. His skin sticks to yours, mouth urgent and searching.

"Thank you," he whispers, brushing his thumb over your skin, cleaning his spend from your cheek. He presses the digit against your tongue, letting you taste the tang of his pleasure. It's not just the release that he's thanking you for, but the vulnerability. The trust you placed in him. He's not saying it, but you know what he means. There's love in that trust. Love in the way he strokes a hand over your hair, the soft smile on his lips.

He loves you. The feeling is mutual. It's enough to bring tears to your eyes.

You smile, press a kiss to his cheek. "Don't mention it."

18+ Hux Tag List: @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @pradahux, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @gen,eralthirst, @tobealostwanderer, @huxxoxo, @theoriginalannoyingbird, @liceforlunch, @g3n3ralhux, @mylifeisactuallyamess, @superunkn0wn, @therealnoex, @luna-is-on-mars, @xxinvisiblexx, @fear-prism, @serenaisavillian, @a-literal-no-name

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[eleanorfenyxwrites]

WIP Wednesday

The beginning of Chapter 12 of Soldier, Poet, King

--//--

Nie Mingjue is completely exhausted in every way possible, which is why he’s sleeping so deeply he doesn’t even hear Jin Guangyao returning to their quarters until his partner is already climbing into bed with him and Lan Xichen.

“Ow, A-Yao, fuck!” he grunts when a particularly sharp jab from his lover’s tiny (read: bony) elbow lands squarely in the soft patch between two of his ribs.

Lan Xichen makes some garbled noise beside him that sounds vaguely like, “Gonna break the bed, ge.” (Though whether he’s awake and talking about all three of them piling into it together or else dreaming and talking in his sleep about the…enthusiastic sex the two of them had before lights out, Nie Mingjue isn’t sure.)

Jin Guangyao ignores both of them anyway and continues worming his way in between them with a liberal application of shoving and elbowing and kicking that Nie Mingjue would very much like him to stop. In the interest of making that happen he huffs a sigh and scooches back as far as he can until he’s practically fused with the wall behind the bunk to give Jin Guangyao space between him and Lan Xichen, who also turns on his side to accommodate their partner.

“Need those big beds, ge,” Lan Xichen mumbles, and he’s definitely awake this time so Nie Mingjue makes sure to roll his eyes at him before he turns his attention to Jin Guangyao getting settled.

There’s a hint of impatience feathering the edges of his voice when he asks, “Are you comfortable, dianxia?” but then Jin Guangyao looks up at him and he looks two seconds away from dissolving into hysterics, his lashes already clumped together with tears and his eyes shining in the low light. Nie Mingjue’s irritation vanishes like it never was.

“A-Yao?”

“Can we all share? Just for a bit?” he asks, and it’s slurred with the alcohol Nie Mingjue can catch the faintest whiff of on his breath under his toothpaste – but it’s also so wet and fragile that Nie Mingjue’s heart cracks wide open.

“Of course. What’s wrong — what happened?”

He’ll never say it, but he can’t stand it when Jin Guangyao goes out. He’s not thrilled about Nie Huaisang going out either, he gets into far too much trouble and his typical escape plan seems to be ‘look and act pathetic enough that no one will want to hurt me’ which is not an effective strategy, but that is a battle Nie Mingjue refuses to lose again. Jin Guangyao doesn’t usually want to go out, but of course sometimes it’s necessary, and Nie Mingjue is well aware that this was one such time.

That being said, just because he understands it doesn’t mean he likes it. Jin Guangyao isn’t someone the average Shanghai citizen would recognize, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t people who do know who he is lurking out there waiting to do any damage they possibly can to the workings of the shatterdome. People who know that if anything happens to Jin Guangyao it’s not an exaggeration to fear that things in the ‘dome would grind to a crawl within the week.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” Jin Guangyao whimpers. Lan Xichen suddenly looks wide awake on the other side of the tiny bed, his arms already snaking around Jin Guangyao’s waist properly while Nie Mingjue tries to lean back far enough to look his partner over for injuries.

“Okay, answers please,” Nie Mingjue says, tightly controlled, when he can’t see anything immediately concerning so he ducks in to kiss Jin Guangyao’s forehead instead. “More than one syllable at a time, you’re worrying me.”

Jin Guangyao sniffles and whimpers under his breath as his tears finally well up and spill over, his lips trembling as he manages to say, “I…I – I really love you,” through his attempts not to blubber. All the anxious tension slides right back out of Nie Mingjue in a rush as he lets out a tired sigh.

“Fucking Huaisang,” he hisses.

[yeojaa]

feed me, fight me.

pairing.  boxer!jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!).  wc. 3.5k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, always.  💖  author note.  i’m really into comfort fics rn so... 

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend?  (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out.  It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut.  It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking.  It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness.  It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space. 

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason?  When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)?  How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more? 

“Cut it out,”  he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare.  A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright.  It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension. 

“Cut what out?”  Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye. 

“What’s your problem?”  How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure.  All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab.  He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead. 

(You probably are.  You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth.  They wear you, rather than you it.  A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.” 

“Shut up.”  It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand.  He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way. 

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you?  When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion.  You’re just mad.  Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,”  you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward.  He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook. 

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg. 

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment.  It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground.  By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb. 

“Are you serious?”  You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable.  (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.)  “What’s your issue?”  He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation.  It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love.  That you hate.  That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst.  That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out.  That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary?  Unbearable?  Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.”  It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff.  It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need.  (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.)  Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.  

You’re tired.  Too tired.  Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom.  It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught).  You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room.  He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall. 

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day.  He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine.  Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening.  Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye. 

“I’m sorry.”  Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash.  “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.”  He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom.  You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.  

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy.  I’ve been stressed.”  Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly.  You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion.  “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.”  Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you.  You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me.  A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.  

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him.  Never has, likely never will.  He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away.  He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you.  Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless.  Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first.  Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you.  It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest.  Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”  

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on.  There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour.  He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,”  he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together.  “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too.  His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.  

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight.  Hates it, in fact.  It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly.  A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you.  Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook.  Push too hard, he’ll leave.  

“Couldn’t sleep without you.”  It’s true enough.  Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear.  (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up.  That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light.  “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things.  What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way.  You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up.  Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one.  He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away.  It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.  

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground.  Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”  

“You were pissed earlier.”  There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield.  You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand.  “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”  

“I shouldn’t have,”  you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt.  “But you know I hate going to bed angry.”  Of course he knows.  He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out. 

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing.  Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does.  Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next. 

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain.  (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)  

“Don’t.”

One blink.  Another.  Slow and confused - deliberately so.  Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move.  The ring might be his domain but home is yours;  it’s the one place you hold the upper hand.  “What?”  

“Don’t leave.”  It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink.  It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.  

“I need to shower.”  

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win. 

“Just wait.”  Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love.  He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh.  The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,”  he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away.  Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder.  “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.”  Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does.  (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for.  You want communication, open and honest.  You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering.  It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.  

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.  

“Do you wanna shower?”  You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together.  You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different.  He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream.  It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair. 

“Babe?”  

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes.  You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do.  When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.  

“Can you wash my hair?”  An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows.  He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you. 

It’s a sign if there ever was one. 

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands.  They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits.  He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes. 

When was the last time you’d done this?  Weeks ago?  Months, maybe?  You honestly can’t recall.  (Not that it matters now.  You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night.  Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you.  You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation. 

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands.  Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise.  He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.  

You’d give it every single day if you could.  Had, in fact. 

That’s what’d brought you here, after all. 

“‘m sorry,”  he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad. 

“For what?” 

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with.  Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.  

You want to be let in.  Need it. 

“Being out of it, I guess.”  It’s a lot for him - admitting this.  “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“  The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.  

“Forgot about me?”  You don’t mean it meanly.  It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face. 

“Yeah.  Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would.  But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller. 

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.”  Maybe more than some people.  Maybe less than others.  “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.  

“No, I know.”  

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin.  He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,”  he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his.  “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.” 

“On us,”  you correct, not at all tactful.  

“On us,”  he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space. 

“We’re a team, you know.” 

(You know he knows.  You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world.  That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.” 

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that.  He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.  

“I’m sorry,”  he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek.  “Just give me some time.”  For what, you’re not sure.  You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.  

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair.  Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.  

“Is this better?”  He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own. 

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else.  No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.  

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands.  He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven.  (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.) 

“Yes,”  you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort.  It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true.  Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind. 

In all the ways he can, he loves you.  And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out.  Not if it means more of this. 

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part 3 - zuko x fem!reader

I feel so much, I get carried away

part 2 | masterlist | part 4

a/n: enjoy the fluff in this chapter bc its not gonna last

once again for reference - this chapter takes place 2 years after the last one so y/n is 11 and zuko is 12

warning(s): eating/food, but otherwise its pure fluff

wc: 3.3k

chapter title comes from carried away by madison beer!

i ran out of kid zuko gifs so i had to make my own smh if you want something done you gotta do it yourself

The young friendship only flourished after that fateful day. Zuko and Y/N began spending almost all of their freetime together between Y/N teaching him about her culture, their usual talking in the hallways, and finding ways to hang out together outside of her schedule. She was absolutely delighted to be teaching Zuko though, so she always made sure there was time for her self proclaimed academy.

Y/N was constantly busy around the castle, so in order to hang out they had started waking up extra early — the pair had become experts at sneaking around the castle with the first rays of the sun. The gardens were a favourite because of its availability, and of course, the turtleducks. It also gave Y/N a chance to bend outside of healing, something that they began to take advantage of as they got older.

Sparring sessions became a regular between them as a way for Y/N to get some practice with martial bending, Zuko to experience fighting against a waterbender, and just another way for them to spend time together. Of course, they had to keep it as quiet as possible to avoid alerting anyone of their presence, but that became the least of their worries over time.

They each pushed each other to be better, and with Y/N’s healing skills, they were able to walk away every morning without any injuries. But after discovering a very unfair advantage that the prince held, she decided that morning sparring just wasn’t enough.

(“Firebending gets stronger in the morning,” he had told her after a particularly brutal blast resulting in some emergency bending on Y/N’s part to extinguish a tree. “My teachers always say that we rise with the sun.”

“Well,” she had said with a smile. “We rise with the moon. You just signed yourself up for some late night sparring sessions.”)

Y/N had truly started to come into her own. It had been two years since her capture, and though she had in no way made peace with her life in the Fire Nation, she was trying to take advantage of it as much as she could. Even though she despised being at the beck and call of nobles and guards, she couldn’t deny the opportunities it gave her to hone her abilities. Her healing had improved tenfold and her martial bending wasn’t too shabby either. Between all of the time spent with Zuko and practicing her bending, she was able to distract herself from her dim reality.

But the world was a cruel, cruel place, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. It didn’t treat souls like Zuko and Y/N kindly, a fact that they would soon become aware of.

In the moment though, Y/N was more focused on not getting burnt.

She twirled to the side as a small flame shot past her, just barely managing to dodge it as she bent a stream of water out from the pond and sent it at Zuko. He turned it to steam as he blocked it with his own fire, which he then sent back at her with a combination of a punch and a kick. Y/N raised her hands and bent up a large wall of water from the pond, and with a small grunt on her part, sent it flying towards Zuko. He tried to conjure up his own fire shield in an effort to extinguish the water once more, but it was too little too late and he ended up getting knocked to the ground and completely drenched.

Y/N couldn’t stop the giggle that fell from her lips as Zuko wiped water off of his face, sputtering incoherently while he pushed himself up. “Did you really have to do that?” he complained.

“You know I do.” She grinned as she walked around the pond to his side, cracking her knuckles before she began to bend the water out of his clothes. “This was in the morning, too. Admit it, I’m getting better!”

He cracked a smile of his own. “You really are. I just wish that you getting better didn’t end up in me getting soaked every time.”

She bent the water she had extracted from his clothes back into the pond and held out her hand to help him up from the ground, which he took gratefully. “That just makes it more fun.”

As she helped pull him up, Y/N found herself more than a little transfixed. The rays of the rising sun shone down on him perfectly, and the smile still on his lips made her feel flutter bats in her stomach.

Y/N didn’t know when she had started seeing Zuko in a different light than usual. When his laughs became melodious, his smile like a ray of sunshine on its own, his company coveted. While she was usually able to trade verbal jabs with him without a second thought, doing her self-assigned job of keeping him humble, something had changed in the past year.

They grew steadily closer over the years after they had met, but one event in particular all but pushed Zuko into her arms.

Ursa’s banishment.

Of course, they didn’t know that she had been banished. No one aside from Ozai knew the true nature of her disappearance — to her children and the other inhabitants of the palace, it was just that. A disappearance.

It was suspicious, yes. All in the span of a day, Princess Ursa vanished, Fire Lord Azulon mysteriously perished, and Ozai took his place, but nothing could be done. It was a somber day for every servant — Ursa showed them a kindness that couldn’t be found anywhere else in the palace, and to rub salt in the wound, a man just as cruel as Azulon had risen to the throne.

Zuko was devastated. He had always been close with his mother, and the only thing she had given him before leaving was a short goodbye and a kiss. He was angry beyond belief at the abandonment, and that anger overshadowed his grief.

Y/N tried to help him, but he lashed out at her.

“Your mother is still here and she loves you! Mine left me like I was nothing. Don’t try and say you know how I feel.”

“But my father is gone. I do know how you feel Zuko, and I want to help you, but I can’t help you if you keep pushing me away.”

“…you don’t know anything.”

It hurt, but she knew he needed space. She gave it to him, letting him brew alone and take out his anger however necessary, but let him know that the door was open when he was ready to talk.

He did — he had apologized for what he said and she accepted, and Zuko ended up spilling every emotion he had to her over the next few weeks. She listened, offered advice when she could, and made Zuko feel a little bit less alone in the scheme of it all. It was a horrible experience, but it brought them closer together, and the prince was eternally thankful that he had a friend to help him through the ordeal.

The night that he came to her room, admitting that he was hurting and asking for her help — Y/N thinks that was the moment she fell for him. She cursed herself at the time for developing feelings for her only friend in the palace, but over time she learned to cover them up. She had to remember her place.

She understood her role, but it got harder and harder to keep up with it the more time she spent with Zuko — this moment was no exception.

“Yeah, yeah. I just hold back because I don’t want to burn you.”

“Liar!” she exclaimed, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. “You forget that I can heal myself if anything goes wrong. Besides, I know you’d never burn me. I trust you.”

Zuko smiled and smoothed his clothes back down, the only sign of their sparring session now gone. “Good, because I trust you too. No matter how many times you totally drench me.”

She snorted as she started to walk back to the palace. “Like I said, that just makes it more fun. And as fun as it has been completely crushing you in combat, duty calls.”

He sighed, giving a reluctant nod as he started to follow her — then his eyes lit up, and he grabbed her arm to stop them. “Wait, how much work do you have today?”

Y/N thought for a few seconds then shrugged. “Dunno, it varies. I got stuck working with Jaysa all this morning, so that’s going to take forever, I have my usual healing lessons with Master Rika after, and then I usually just end up going around with whatever else comes my way for the rest of the day.” She grinned and lowered her voice as if the subject of the matter could somehow hear her. “I’ve been working on a dress for my mother in secret because her birthday is coming up soon, so the free time I get between my shifts that isn’t spent with you has been going towards that.”

Zuko gaped. “You’re making her a dress all on your own, with no help? How?”

She held up her hands with a proud smile. “These things are good for waterbending, sewing, and hitting best friends.”

He gave her a sideways grin at that. “I’m your best friend?”

Y/N snickered and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, dummy. You’re like, the only person that likes me in this whole nation. Of course you’re my best friend.”

“Well…” he started. “Would a best friend like to break the rules even more tonight?”

Her eyes lit up in turn, completely betraying her excitement despite her attempt to look nonchalant about it. “That depends — what d’you have in mind?”

He grinned and leaned forward, dropping his voice to a whisper as he spoke in her ear. “So, after you finish work for the night, we…”

-

It was a struggle to get through all of her work after the plan that she and Zuko had formulated — sure, they broke the rules all the time. The basis of their entire friendship was breaking the rules, but this was going farther than they ever had before. Y/N wasn’t thinking about the consequences though, she was thinking about the journey — that was her first mistake.

She had rushed through all of her chores with Jaysa, hardly paid attention in her healing lessons, and made quick work of the rest of her day until she was finally able to meet up with Zuko at one of the various servant entrances that she had shown him.

“You’re finally here!” he exclaimed, his body buzzing with nervous energy. “I thought you were never gonna come.”

“Some of us actually have work to get done, mister crown prince,” she joked as she bumped his shoulder with hers. “But that doesn’t matter — let’s get going before someone catches us! I don’t want it to get too dark either.”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Zuko reassured. “My dad is in war meetings all day, no one is going to catch us. Now come on!”

Zuko pushed open the door, grabbed her hand, and began to pull her along. A laugh fell from her lips as they ran, unable to stop herself from casting a cautionary glance behind them as they got farther from the palace. Y/N tried to push her worries out of her mind — like she had told Zuko earlier, she trusted him.

That was her second mistake.

It was surprisingly easy to sneak past the guards around the wall and just as quick to get through Royal Caldera, and before Y/N knew it, they had arrived in the city.

It was nothing like she had ever seen before.

The village she had grown up in was miniscule compared to anything in the Fire Nation, and she was especially awestruck upon entering the city. As home to more middle class citizens than anything, it was a bustling marketplace filled with workers and nobles alike — if she hadn’t been preoccupied with the stars in her eyes, she would’ve been able to see the way Zuko was absolutely beaming at her.

“Come on!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hand once again as he began to walk — at a much more moderate pace than their run here — down the streets. “There’s so much here that I wanna show you. Have you ever been out here?”

She shook her head, allowing herself to gawk at her surroundings while they went down the street. “We aren’t really allowed to leave the palace since we’re technically still prisoners, just… ones that work. My mother always had to give her money to one of the other servants so that when they went out to buy their things, they could pick some stuff up for us as well. This is all totally new.”

Once again, a frown found its way onto Zuko’s face, but only for a split second before he pointed at a stall opposite to them. “Oh— there’s a fruit stand! Come on, you have to try this.”

Y/N let Zuko pull her over to the stand, looking at the array of fruits on display while Zuko conversed with the merchant. A few silver pieces later and they were walking away with a basket of produce — miraculously, the prince hadn’t been recognized, so she figured he wouldn’t need a disguise. Third mistake.

“Here,” he said, offering her a mango from the basket. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried Fire Nation mango.”

She took the fruit from him and bit into it, her eyes immediately widening as she turned on Zuko. “Tui’s gills, this is delicious! You’re telling me that you people just have this on hand but we don’t get any of it?”

He shrugged and took a fig from the basket as Y/N wiped some juice off of her chin. “There’s a reason I’ve helped you break into the kitchens so many times. Now, where do you wanna go next?”

-

The pair spent the next couple of hours browsing the marketplace, enjoying their day on the Fire Lord’s coin. Zuko was more than happy to show Y/N parts of his culture after all she had taught him, and she was more than happy to experience it. They had been able to buy lanterns for the upcoming Festival of Szeto, purchase their own blends of tea leaves, and of course Zuko insisted on getting fire flakes and gummies.

(Y/N thought he was insane. Why in the world would the Fire Nation want to make food that hurt them on purpose? She was going to stick with her newfound love for mangoes.)

But Zuko hadn’t even brought her to the best part yet.

“Can I open my eyes now?” She asked, her anxious tone betraying her curiosity.

“Now you can.” Y/N was met with Zuko’s grin and as she focused on the stand in front of them, she had to make a conscious effort to not gape.

Zuko had brought her to a sewing stand with all the threads, fabrics, and silks that she could dream of in all kinds of colors. She immediately rushed forward, unable to stop herself from running her hands over and through each and every piece of material — she was in a seamstress’s heaven.

“I take that as a sign you like it?” Zuko asked happily.

“Oh, definitely,” she confirmed, still completely caught up in all the choices. “This is so much better than all the material we’re given to work with!”

“That’s why I brought you here. I thought you could get some stuff for yourself, and some stuff to help with the dress you’re making for your mom. I don’t really know how sewing works, but I thought that this was one way I could help.”

“That is so sweet of you!” she gushed. “Thank you so much — you should probably get around to some of the other stalls because I… I think I’m gonna be here for a while.”

Zuko laughed and fished out of a couple of golden pieces then set them in her hand. “That’s okay. I’ll meet you over by the steps; we can watch the sunset together.”

They nodded as parting gifts and each was enveloped in their tasks; Y/N beginning to ask the merchant questions about everything at their stand and Zuko off to entertain himself for a few more minutes.

Soon enough, Y/N had her own small bundle of silks and fabrics, her mind already going off in a million different ways of how she could incorporate it into the design. She found Zuko sitting on the steps and as she took her own seat next to him, he handed her another mango.

“Did you find everything you wanted?” She nodded and hummed gratefully as she accepted the fruit, taking a bite as her eyes fell on the skyline in front of them.

“I had a really great time today, Zuko. I really can’t thank you enough for taking me out here. I… I think I forgot what it was like to feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“...happy.” She paused for a second before allowing herself to meet his eyes. “All the time I spend with you in the palace… It’s one of the only times that I really do feel happy. And being out here today, getting to walk around where I wanted and buy things and just— I feel free, Zuko. And that means everything to me.”

She felt the heat rush to her cheeks and she turned away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that—“

Zuko gently reached out for her hand, drawing her attention back to him and the soft smile on his face.

“Well… I care about you. You’re nice to me, and you take time out of your day to help me which you don’t have to do. This is just me trying to pay you back for all you’ve done to help me. We can do this more often — whenever my dad’s busy.”

Her own smile grew on her lips and she nodded as she laced her fingers with his. “I care about you too. And.. I’d like that.”

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder and together, they watched the sunset over the city.

There was no place either of them would rather be.

-

Y/N and Zuko made their way back to the palace as quickly as they could after realizing how late it had gotten. Y/N was sure that she was going to get the talking-to of her life after what she had done, but she was almost giddy after what had just happened. She could deal with any of Kura’s consequences later — right now the only thought in her mind was the feeling of Zuko’s hand in hers.

The night had been nothing short of perfect. She had felt freer than ever before out there in the city with Zuko, and knowing that he reciprocated the feelings she had for him was enough to make her heart burst. She cared for him, and he cared for her.

Of course, there was that nagging question of how they would continue now that their friendship had morphed into something more, but once again — it was something she would deal with later. Her fourth and final mistake.

But as a guard turned the corner, Y/N realized she might not get the chance. She quickly let go of Zuko’s hand and tucked it under the bundle of fabric, hoping that the gesture of affection had been missed by the man.

If he had noticed, he showed no sign of it. He stopped in front of them, a gruff voice speaking from behind the mask with words that made her heart stop.

“Prince Zuko, the Fire Lord has requested an audience with you.”

-

haha OOPS

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