#and then (having just combed the small dog) I was searching around the kitchen for the lint roller

[brontes]

.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Hi! i remember asking on your other account about chubby!titus and him kidnapping his favourite barista.

Perhaps you could write something about chubby!titus having a bad day and him coming home and getting spoilt by his barista.

(i’m sorry if this is bad writing, i really suck at explaining things)

Dog Days

PAIRING: Chubby!Titus x fem!Barista!Reader

WORDS: 2,476.

WARNINGS: mentions of kidnapping/hostage, reference to Stockholm syndrome, swearing, thigh riding, female receiving (fingering), oral male receiving (cock sucking), soft feedism, praise kink, some teasing.

A/N - thank you for sending this request in, love the idea and not at all bad writing! poor bby deserves the world. hope you enjoy this xx

credit for the amazing edit of Titus just as a slightly bigger boy - @bnb-atnite 🤍

It was never a struggle to know when Titus was in a “mood.” His entire attitude that would normally be affectionate and happy, would turn silent and distant, fury seething beneath the surface. Occasionally, his quick temper would make an appearance with a quick snap or slamming of his hands against a wooden surface, although never towards you.

He would rather hurt himself, than to ever lay a single finger on you.

How you met Titus, was one story… Almost a fairytale-esque scenario. Although, how Titus secured you in his life was a plot out of a nightmare. It had been 1 solid year now, or so you roughly estimated, since Titus had lured and kidnapped you. The first few months had been excruciating: the separation and absence from your family, friends and life, you had only heard of such terrible stories from news outlets, never for a single moment did you fathom it would happen to you. As the long, desolate days ached by, you had grown exhaustedly worrisome, succumbing to the icy truth that you would never be found, or that if there ever was a search, it had ultimately come to a shattering end. You were fearful of Titus, of what he could've been capable of, the haunting things that scorched your mind, dreadful scenarios of all the things he wanted to do to you... You were imprisoned to these dark thoughts every hour of the day, confined in a small corner, shackles tied firmly around each ankle and hand, its grip bruising your fragile joints, in some dingy, cold basement.

As the months dulled on, time became a blur. And yet, Titus remained prudent, showing no ounce of threat [besides the many, failed attempts of escaping on your behalf, did he accidentally knock you out once or twice]. He would however, show immediate remorse, promptly and gently tending to your wounds, profusely apologising beneath his timid breath: never touching nor forcing himself on you, unless he asked first.

He was different... Not at all like the monsters in those nightmarish stories.

If you were being brutally honest, he treated you with a kindness no man had ever shown to you: he was willing in his actions, nurturing you, feeding you, bathing you, comforting you. He wanted to help you, make you feel better, make you feel at home…

And so he did.

Eventually, you began to trust Titus. Your days felt vastly better knowing his sole presence was around: when you could vividly hear his heavy footsteps above the wooden floorboards first thing in the morning. The sight of him bursting down stairs with a tray full of breakfast goodness, and that sweet, sweet smile across his handsome face. He always made himself look presentable, the way he combed his luscious locks, clean shave although he kept a neat, subtle stubble, clean clothes.

As you began to open your odds up to him, he saw the difference in you, and reciprocated. And before you knew it, normalcy had found you once again.

“Baby what’s wrong? Why the glum face, baby boy?” You tenderly insisted, as you wiped clean the icing off your finger against your kitchen apron.

“W-Well I was craving those cinnamon donuts from the cafe, only to find out that they stopped making it s-since you left. A-And some girl by t-the counter touched my hand and gave me this smile. B-But I don’t want her, I only love you. A-And some jerk cut me off on the r-road, called me a fat prick and other things, just speeding off... I could’ve been in a serious accident. I just— Today is not my day.”

Slowly, as his mouth fell silent, Titus found himself waddling to the living room, as he defeatedly sat himself down on the couch, turning the television on. Following his heavy footsteps, you find him sullen, as he rubs his forehead, combing his fingers through his hair as though to soothe a throbbing headache.

“Now-Now, my love—” You calmly utter, as you closely seat yourself beside him: his growing figure evident of your now reciprocated affections. You had come to realise food was a way to Titus’ heart, he deeply relished in how you would cook for him, hand feeding him yourself. The domesticity was a cosy, reassuring feeling for him. With that, his handsome face remained handsome, though features had slightly expanded with the evident chub and softness, plump cheeks and blurred jawline. His tits had doubled in size, larger than yours, he loved how sensitive they felt against your touch and how his shirts now accentuated his perky chest. His portly, round gut hung greatly over his waistline: rolls of flesh and adipose swallowing his figure, his hips now widened and love handles tempting. Not to mention his ass had grown in mass, elevating him whenever he sat, and his thighs stocky and sturdy, now ever so comfortable to seat yourself upon. Your hand instinctively fell atop of his bloated gut, gently rubbing circles, feeling how plush and how empty it felt beneath your touch.

“—You know I was actually the one making those doughnuts… If you told me so that you reminisced them, I would’ve made them for you already! And I know you love me, silly! Look at everything you’ve given me, all that you do for me… And I’m glad you came back in one piece. I want you to be as careful as you can, okay?”

“B-But have I really become fat? Perhaps the reality is I am no longer decent enough for you, Y/N… I never was, even so that I had to snatch you up all to myself. Maybe I am greedy… As greedy as the hog that I have become.”

You were taken aback by a magnitude from Titus' harsh words. The reality is, who knows what would have happened if he had approached you like any normal person would, if he had rather asked you out on a date, and had taken the time to know each other on a rather mundane and more acceptable level. Regardless, you were here now, this was your reality.

"Titus-Baby, please don't ever think that. You know how much I have grown to love you, to cherish you. Do you still not trust me enough? That this is all some kind of rouse? Yes, perhaps that is it-" You softly chuckle, mildly poking at his belly as you tease your lover.

"You've outed me. My plan all along was to fatten you up, so that I may buy myself some time to escape. I mean how can you chase me with this big, ole belly in the way, hmm?

"Y/N-"

"I'm kidding, my love. As harsh as it was the first few months, I am okay now. I know I will be with you by my side. And besides, I rather do adore all of this-" Your hands firmly grip and tug at his fleshy rolls, squeezing the tub beneath your fingers, causing him to chuckle naturally.

"More of you for me to hold, to touch, to love... To fuck."

Without even so much as an exchange of words, only a fleeting second of a gaze of approval, did Titus pull you in, lifting you without so much as a strain on his face, as you comfortably straddle his wide, sprawled lap.

"Got your attention now, huh, big boy? Gotten so big for me, this is all my undoing isn't it? Are you not proud of my work?" You whisper ever so closely into his attentive ear, hastily pulling up your dress [that Titus himself, carefully selected for you].

"Of-Of course I am-" It made your heart all cosily fuzzy when he stuttered during the intimate moments: you noticed, especially in the early days how often he would struggle to even so much as peck you on the cheek.

"These tits, my goodness, have grown so tremendously for me, this stomach getting bigger by the day-" You utter in between breaths, as you leave a wet beeline of kisses against his thick skin down his neckline to his soft jaw. Having pulled up his white shirt, his clothes only fit just enough but ever so tightly against his massive frame. Kneading at his tits, feeling how plush, how much of a handful they have become, strewed across with raw, red stretch-marks, your thumb teasingly flicking at his sensitive nipples.

"A-All for you, angel... A-Anything for you. I-I can grow even more."

The friction between your inner thighs feels coarse and rough against his black trousers: rutting your eager, throbbing cunt against his lower mass, you hazily glimpse at the stain beneath of your ooze beginning to drizzle through from excitement.

"That's right, handsome. Gonna make you my teddy bear, Titus. Gonna be the perfect, little housewife for you, baby... Isn't that what you've wanted from the start?"

As you finish your remarks, you find your lips crashing against his own, catching his breath in a passionate, longing kiss before breaking free for him to speak. Left to stutter incoherently, as he aimlessly catches his breath, you sense his cock beneath poking against the restrictive fabric, aching to spring into action.

"F-Fuck! Y-Yes, baby. Make you my p-pretty wife, th-that's all I saw th-the first time. Th-The first time I s-saw you. Just kn-knew I had to m-make you all m-mine."

Your hands found their way making a mess across his body, one gripping at his thick, broad shoulder, nails clawing against his adipose, fair skin, leaving vibrant, scarlet marks. The other found its way in his locks, the once neatly combed hair now tugged and pulled at, unkempt and a mess.

His lips found their way to your exposed cleavage, the dress accentuating your breasts as they peaked through... Seemingly, Titus had an excellent taste in your style.

"Big boy wants something it seems... Want to suck on something? Always need to keep that mouth full, huh, handsome?" You breathlessly moan, as your hand that clawed at his shoulder and back, released, leaving him to sigh, as you carefully unlace the front, pulling out your breast, as your other hand guides Titus' hungry mouth to latch on.

"Ahh- Such a good, good boy. My baby deserves it all. Look at how well he cares for me-ahh- provides for me. I-I must be the luckiest of them all."

He was indeed ravenous for you, it seemed. With the rate of his vigorous suckling, you were certain milk would seep through your tit any time soon. His large, pudgy hands that had remained rested: one your backside, firmly planted on your cheek, and the other steadily supporting your back, shoving your feeble body closer against his, pressing you deeper into his stocky mass. As the one that remained supporting your jerking frame, the other snaked its way beneath your evening dress, and soon, in between your grinding motions, you felt his thick digits grazing at your wet folds, before two plunged themselves in, pumping in and out with such speed and ferocity. HIs motions sent a surge of electricity throughout your vessels, as you suddenly burst into a fit of cries and pleas for him. Such raw, sensual sounds and curses from your mouth, made him growl like some wild beast in heat.

"M-My Titus is a-always so h-hungry. D-Do I not feed you enough, big boy? L-Look at you so eager for me?"

Although, with no warning, the hand that remained gripping at his short, blonde strands, guided him further, pulling his head back, as he hesitantly let go, pulling at your nipple momentarily. The abruptness of your actions, halting him, granted you a fair, few seconds to compose.

"My turn-"

With a swift motion, you crept down off his lap, kneeling before him between this trunk-like, as your fingers fiddle with his zipper: he knew precisely what you were lurking for.

As his eager cock sprung forward, slowly engulfed by his surrounding pouch of fat, its size no longer looked as menacing. Although, its girth remained astounding. Your tongue began to tease, lapping at the reddened, oozing tip, before swallowing more and more of him. Soon the entirety, or more so, as much as your mouth could take of his length, filled your capacity, your head began to bob subtly, picking up gradual pace, as Titus' head fell back against the couch. With a struggle, his hands found their way atop your head, his thick digits entwining against your mottled hair, as he gently attempted to plunge your head deeper between his thighs.

"Th-That's it, angel-M-My perfect girl. Kn-Knows how to make me feel s-so good."

You could feel the length of his pulsating cock inside your warm mouth, his hot, fresh seed spilling as it filled your piece. From time to time you would thickly swallow, trying to maintain rhythm and breaths simultaneously.

"S-See? That pretty m-mouth of yours, w-was made j-just for me. A-All fucking mine."

"Sweetheart! The doughnuts are ready, but let them cool for a little while, okay?" You sternly declare, as you rest the hot, baked goodies atop the stove: the fresh, strong scent and smoke filling your nose.

"They look just as incredible as they did in the cafe, baby. Thank you for this."

You pull out the wooden seat, politely gesturing to Titus to take his seat, as you readied his plate and beverage. The feeble chair creaked against his heavy mass, admiring how his bigger frame now engulfed the delicate looking seat, unable to see the back of the wooden frame beyond him.

"Looks like we might need to invest in some new furniture, big boy. Any day now, that chair won't be able to hold you, baby. Maybe I should take a break from the treats, huh?"

"NO! I-I will go out tomorrow, sweetheart, I-I promise- Y-You know I love your cooking. I've loved it since the day I met you, it seems."

"And my coffee? Have I lost my touch?"

As you cautiously rest the hot mug of coffee beside his full plate of cinnamon doughnuts, his familiar grip pulls you from the wrist, guiding you to take a seat on his lap.

"Absolutely not. I rather think your touch has become even more incredible. Because now you see, you're doing it all for me, and only me."

You helplessly beam at Titus, the grandest smile against your face, as you cup his plump cheek, lightly stroking his stubble. Planting a soft peck against his forehead, before resting your own against it, you inhale his musky cologne, how reassuring the familiar scent has become, almost intoxicating.

"Only for you, Titus. I couldn't nor would I see my life in any other way, than how it is now. You were right from the beginning... I was made just for you."

TGC-verse Taglist - @chompchompluke @melinskis @connorsui

credit for divider - @/firefly-graphics

[earlgreydream]

quiet.

| bucky x reader | fluff |

being saved by the winter soldier

“It’s just in here. I have a dog, her name is Lucy. She’s a little big, but she is very gentle. You don’t need to be afraid of her,” Bucky explained as you followed him up the stairs to his apartment.

You gave a slight nod and his lips turned up. He walked to a red door and put the key in, turning it as the lock clicked.

You’d been saved from a Hydra testing facility that the avengers infiltrated a few weeks ago. Bucky had found you, barely alive, deep in a lab. You’d been chained to an exam table, bruised and hollow.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. I’m going to get you out of here.” Bucky had promised.

You had been taken to Banner’s lab to recover, Bucky staying with you the entire time. It was like a private hospital, and Banner and his staff took incredible care of you. They’d promised Bucky you were in safe hands, but he didn’t want to leave you.

Even when he got up to grab something, he’d see the fear spark through your eyes as you weakly reached out to him.

You didn’t answer any of the million questions you were suffocated with, opting to silently look away from the doctors and agents. The only thing Bucky had been able to coax out of you was your name, one late night when you couldn’t fall asleep.

“Do you like books? I can read to you.”

Bucky did his best to keep you entertained, and he’d already manage to read you several books from the harry potter series. Peter Parker had insisted everyone in your generation liked them, and he’d considered them a safe bet.

Bucky read you the stories of magic and boarding school and friendship, staying by your bedside and entertaining you. After you finished each book, he convinced Banner to let you use the lab screens to watch the films.

Once you were finally recovered enough to be stable, Bucky had convinced them to let you come stay with him at his apartment in Brooklyn. Stark Tower was cold, huge, and noisy. He thought it would be much better for your recovery to be in a calmer and more cozy environment.

Bucky unlocked the door to his apartment, letting you inside first. You tensed a bit as the large golden retriever waddled up to you.

“It’s alright. Lucy, this is Y/N. She’s our new friends that’s going to be staying here. You gotta protect her too, she’s a little nervous,” Bucky spoke to his dog as if she were a human, amusing you a bit.

Lucy sniffed your hands, and you giggled softly when she licked your fingers.

Bucky had never heard you laugh, and it made his heart soften. The quiet sound was so sweet, and he wanted to be the source of your laughter, and hear it for the rest of his life. 

He gave you a short tour of his home, a small apartment in Brooklyn. It was  cozy and intimate, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold metallics of Banner’s lab where you had spent the last two weeks. 

You followed him to the second bedroom, the walls painted a pale lavender. Bucky set down your bag of clothes and personal items that Nat had provided you with Stark’s credit card. 

“I didn’t know what color you liked, but Wanda said that this color was a safe bet,” he said apologetically, and you nodded, the corners of your lips turning up slightly.

You were slightly nervous when Bucky left you to unpack and settle, but you smiled as Lucy hopped on top of the white duvet cover. You peeked your head out of the door, looking into the living room when you heard music. Bucky laid a vinyl record on the player in the corner, old music floating through the small apartment. 

“I was going to make dinner. Are you up for eating?” 

You nodded, and he lightly touched your hip as he walked by, to the open kitchen. You slipped the clothes into the closet and the drawers, setting the phone and laptop on the little desk in the room before going to join Bucky in the main part of his home. You wrapped in the cashmere blanket that was on the end of the bed, comforted by being swaddled in the soft fabric.

“I got that for you, I thought you’d like it,” Bucky smiled at you, nodding at the blanket. You sat up at the island, across from where he was slicing vegetables. You smiled back at him, and he leaned forward and held out a piece of red pepper to you. 

Your smaller fingers took it from his metal hand, biting into the sweet vegetable he gave you. 

“I thought we could watch the Deathly Hallows tonight, it’s the last one we have left.”

You agreed and ate as much of the salad he made as you could. Before Bucky could get up, you grabbed his bowl and slipped away from the island, doing the dishes for the two of you. Bucky laughed as you spun around with the music, and you reached out your hands, inviting him to dance with you. 

His arm went around your waist, and your fingers slipped in his. His chin rested on top of your head, and you felt his heartbeat thrum against your cheek as you slowly swayed to the music. He quietly sang along to the song from a 40′s artist, a peace settling over the two of you. 

The music stopped as the needle slipped to the middle of the record, and Bucky’s arm tightened around your waist. You hugged him, feeling safe and secure in his arms.

You reached into a bowl and grabbed a piece of chocolate before following him to the couch, where he was turning on your movie. You curled up on the end of the couch, draping your blanket over you. You watched the movie, Bucky’s hand resting on your ankle, his fingertips occasionally moving over your skin. 

His careful touch was welcomed, soothing your remaining nerves from being in the new environment. You jumped when the snake in the movie lunged forward, a soft gasp escaping your lips. 

“Oh, no, it’s alright, doll,” Bucky gently squeezed your ankle. You sat up and moved to lean against his side. He draped his arm over your body, keeping you safe from the magical snake in the movie. 

You dreaded going to bed, and Bucky could sense your nerves. Since you’d been rescued from Hydra, Bucky had slept a few feet from you, holding your hand. 

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’m just in the next room if you need.”

You twisted your hair between your fingers, patting Lucy’s head before crawling into bed. 

After hours of lying awake, your body finally succumbed to exhaustion. Dreams twisted into nightmares, making your heart seize and trapping the oxygen in your lungs. A cold sweat broke out all over your body, and you shot up, gasping for breath as memories of Hydra’s experiments and torture flashed through your mind.

You rubbed your eyes and held your blanket to your chest, trying to fight off the nightmares. The shadows in the corners seemed to move and grab at you like claws, the terror bubbling higher in your throat. You knew you were safe in Bucky’s apartment, but your heart couldn’t quite catch up with your mind. 

Finally, you gave up trying to calm yourself down and you threw yourself out of the bed, running quietly into Bucky’s room. 

“Bucky... Bucky, wake up, please!” you desperately gasped out, hot tears rolling down your face. 

“Y/N, I’m here, it’s okay.” He sat up and moved over on the mattress, making room.

Your voice immediately snapped him out of his sleepy daze, so unused to hearing you speak. 

“I’m sorry,” you hiccuped, and he shook his head, snuggling your body against his under the blankets.You buried your face in his chest, letting him wrap you tightly in his arms. His dog tags were cold against your skin, tears soaking through his thin t-shirt.

“No, it’s okay. Go back to sleep, doll. I promise I’m going to keep you safe.”

Metal fingers combed through your hair as his other hand rubbed your shaking back. Bucky kissed the top of your head, soothing you back to sleep. He understood your fear, only recently freed from Hydra’s nightmares himself. Having you sleeping beside him comforted him as much as you, and he didn’t mind you crawling under his covers at two am. 

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the soft light pouring through white curtains. Bucky was lying next to you, and Lucy was curled up at your feet on the end of the mattress. You were halfway on top of him, your head on his chest and one leg draped between his. His metal arm was around your waist, resting just under the hem of your shirt, tracing small shapes on your skin.

Your head felt heavy from crying the night before, and your arms were weak as you tried to push yourself to sit up. 

“You okay?”

“Fine enough,” you whispered, Lucy’s ears perking up. 

Steel eyes searched your face, and his fingers slid to the small of your back as you sat up over him.

“I love hearing your voice,” Bucky smiled up at you, and you bit your lower lip as you smiled back.

You started giggling as Lucy licked your face, and before Bucky could gently push her off of you, you wrapped your arms around the dog and kissed the side of her furry head. Bucky sat up and pet Lucy before gently cupping your jaw. You looked at him, blushing as he briefly kissed you. 

He pulled back and gauged your reaction, anxiety sweeping over him when your eyes widened.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I just-”

You leaned forward and kissed him back, your arms wrapping around his neck as you shifted onto his lap. Passion poured through the two of you, and he held you tightly as your lips moved together.

“Don’t be sorry, kiss me again,” you whispered against his lips. He grinned before fulfilling your request, giving you exactly what you wanted. 

[kazoo5480]

Killian tiptoed out of their bed quietly, checking that Billy opened up on time, and Killian turned his phone on vibrate. Emma looked so warm and soft in their bed. He slid back in beside her, and Emma instinctively curled into him.

"Too early Jones" she mumbled and burrowed her cheek against his chest hair. He smoothed her curls back until she began breathing soft and even, fast asleep.

His phone buzzed, and he grabbed it, August said 9 am. He quickly set an alarm for 8:20 and drifted back to sleep.

Emma woke up too warm, and thirsty. God, she was thirsty, and walked to the kitchen, feeling slightly sore, and popped some Advil, guzzling down two glasses of cold water. She grabbed a glass for Killian, setting it on his nightstand.

She cleaned herself up and slid back into bed. She brushed the hair back off his forehead and a small smirk pulled at his lips. He rolled over her and buried his face in her neck. Emma laughed, "Too heavy Jones" she whined and grumbled not moving.

"I'll hold you hostage" he mumbled and Emma smiled, running her hands up and down his back.

Killian's brain came online again and he rolled off of Emma, drinking down the water. He grabbed his cell, not seeing anything new come in, and got up to clean up.

Emma sat against the headboard with a small smile, the sheet pulled over her. Killian sat down next to her and scratched behind his ear.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Last night...I taped it. All of it" he said, and Emma gaped at him.

"What? Like all of it, like the sex too?" She asked her face curiously.

Killian nodded, blushing. "I didn’t intend to, but I wanted to see it. Us. For me, when you're gone is what crossed my mind, but if you aren’t comfortable with it, we won’t watch it ever, we can delete it together so you know it’s gone, phone cloud, everywhere" he said peeking at her.

Emma got nervous, she had never allowed anyone to do something like that or without her permission, he did ask and she did okay it. She bit her lip, what would it look like? She thought.

"Can we watch it now, and if I am uncomfortable, then we delete it?" She asked and Killian nodded.

"But I think we should wait to watch it," he said eyeing the clock.

"What? Why!?" She squealed.

Killian leaned forward and smirked. "Because your brother will be here in an hour, and if we watch that, I won’t be letting you leave our bed," he said pulling the sheet down and rubbed her soft nipple with his thumb.

It puckered, and Emma sighed. He leaned in to kiss her softly and stroked the other one, Emma’s hands sifting into his hair, deepening the kiss.

Killian lifted the sheet and pulled her flat in her back, and she winced. Killian noticed right away.

"You’re hurt?" He asked softly, and Emma shook her head.

"Just a little sore babe," she said and he nodded.

He lifted the sheet pulling it over himself and gently began placing kisses up her inner thighs and nuzzled the soft hair on her mound.

Emma gasped at the soft contact, and he pulled the sheet back looking up at her concerned.

"Swan?" He asked, worried filling his face.

"I'm fine, just soft, ok?" She says with a small smile, and Killian leans up kissing her quickly. He lays next to her and brings her to his chest, and just rubs her back. Emma looks up at him, curious as to why he stopped.

Killian smiles at her, tracing the apple of her cheek with his thumb, "I can love you just as much, just like this. Just let me hold you" he murmurs and kisses her hair.

Emma snuggles in and she thinks of the video. Maybe she should watch it alone, what if she looks fat, or it's completely terrible? She bites her lip.

"Em, I can hear you thinking love. Say it" he says.

"I am just curious about the video. Can I ask why you taped the whole thing?" She asks.

Killian sighs, "Well we were pretty drunk and lost in the moment, but mainly because it crossed my mind I wouldn't have to just settle for photos and my imagination when you are away from me, so if you are not okay with this at all, we won't even watch it. Ok?" He says tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

Emma swallows and nods, his blue eyes searching hers.

"I love you, that doesn't change because we did something in the privacy of our bed and you aren't comfortable with it Emma. It changes nothing" he says quietly, his blue eyes still searching hers.

"Promise" she whispers.

Killian gazes at her, seeing the insecurity and trepidation all over her face. "How do you know that I won't look completely dashing in it? Or completely terrible. We can have a good laugh and get rid of it, aye?" Emma smirks and nods.

He kisses her once more and climbs out of bed, heading down the hallway. August and Scott should be by in a bit for their breakfast dance party, so he pops bacon on sheet pans into the oven, and heads back where Emma is dressing in one of her oversized button-downs. She is untangling her curls with a comb, as he hugs her from behind.

She smiles at him in the mirror. "I love you," she says softly, and Killian nods, his chin resting on her shoulder as he watches her. He kisses her neck and hears the door buzzer rang.

Emma grabs her phone and makes sure her shirt covers her butt, heading toward the kitchen. Killian opens their front door, and Emma hears Scott’s booming voice say hello, then he just breezes past them all to grab a coffee mug and a K cup.

"Want some juice, or hair of the dog?" Emma teases him. Scott glares at her, as August hugs her from behind, picks her up, and swings her around, earning him a groan from Emma.

“What's the matter duckling? Not feeling so hot yourself this morning?” August teased her.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I feel fucking terrible,” Scott says, as he guzzled the hot coffee down. Killian laughed, he had yet to see the large man ever look to be in such a fragile state.  August smiled and leaned in to kiss his partner on the cheek.

“Maybe you shouldn't have had those pink umbrella drinks, and the champagne” Killian teased Scott, and the large man sent him a middle finger and a wink.

Emma rolled her eyes as August set her down, “Obviously you did not partake nearly as hard in the celebration of Ruby” Emma says to her brother, and he laughs shaking his head.

“I think we need some music,” August says, grabbing his phone, and Killian hears the Bose radio connect. Cyndi Lauper's “Time After Time” came crooning out, and Emma smiled, as August grabbed her by the hand pulling her to his chest.

Killian grabbed his mug and seated himself beside Scott at the island. They smirked at each other as they quietly sipped their coffee watching August spin Emma around the kitchen, and sway with her singing to her slowly.

Killian smiled, and Scott leaned his head against Killian’s shoulder. “They are the strangest humans I have ever met,” he said laughing.

Killian nodded, “that they are. How they picked us mate, I have no clue,” he said and Scott nodded. “Oi, no falling asleep on me,” Killian said and Scott’s deep chuckle came out low in Killian’s ear.

Michael Jackson began playing and they both began swaying to “the way you make me feel”, the tempo filling the kitchen with smiles as August shook his hips as he grabbed everything out of their fridge.

Killian grabbed Emma’s hand spinning her into him as he started singing to her. “Hey, pretty baby with the high heels on, You give me fever like I've never, ever known, You're just a product of loveliness, I like the groove of your walk, Your talk, your dress, I feel your fever From miles around, I'll pick you up in my car And we'll paint the town, Just kiss me baby, And tell me twice That you're the one for me” he sang.

Emma’s head tipped back as she laughed and Killian surprised her by dipping her back and setting her back on her feet kissing her. August and Scott laughed at them, and Scot swayed next to August as they chopped everything up for omelets.

Their family meals, as Scott began calling them some time back, ended up with August and Scott snuggled together in a heap of pillows on the floor, while Emma and Killian took the couch, and spent the day watching John Hughes greatest hits.

“So Em, what do you think about getting a new car?” August said not turning around to see her face. She went stock still in Killian’s arms, and Killian got nervous.

“I knew it!” She jumped up and shouted at them pointing. “I knew you three were ambushing me!” she yelled at August who shrugged at her. “And you!” She pointed at Scott, and the man blushed, his chocolate cheeks turning a shade darker as he tried to pull the blanket over himself hiding. Emma snatched it away from him, and Scott blew her a kiss.

“Swan, It’s just about your safety love, we care about you. You need a more reliable car” Killian said.

“Emma you're being difficult,” August said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “Your flair for the dramatic hasn't lessened in your advanced age,” he said and Emma lunged at him on the floor, Scott rolling out of the way quickly.

Killian jumped off the couch and Emma was sitting atop August’s back with his hands pinned. “Take it back Auggie” she said and Killian could see August smirking.

“Never,” August said laughing. “You are just as temperamental now, as when you got your first period duckling. Jones, my condolences” he said and Emma grabbed his hair pulling.

“Ow Em, what the fuck, not the hair” August yelped. She kept his arms pinned and pinched the backs of his arms.

“NO! Not the arms, god” and he surprised them all and got up on his knees tipping Emma flat on her back, quickly sitting atop her.

“You are being a brat,” August said glaring at her, and Emma glared at him. “And don't use my moves against me, I taught you better than that” he continued.

Killian heard August clear his throat, and Emma’s eyes went wide.

“You wouldn't fucking dare. Don't you even try the loogie, I will hurt you, seriously August Wayne Booth!” She screamed as August kept her pinned.

Killian and Scott stood there watching the two go at each other like it was American Gladiators, and both were equally skilled. Killian watched them fascinated, a memory of Liam and him doing something similar breezed through his mind making him smile.

Scott was shaking with laughter as August loomed over Emma, a wad of spit began hanging out of his mouth, which he sucked back in and dropped out again, Emma shrieked.

Killian rolled his eyes and was about to step in and pull him off of her when Scott held his arm back. “Emma, honey we just want what’s best. Even I worry about you breaking down heading all over Maine sweetie” Scott piped in, his deep voice soft.

Emma shook her head and looked up and over at Killian. “I can’t believe you guys,” she said and hit August in the nuts, and he squawked, rolling off of her, coughing.

Emma stalked off towards their bedroom to grab her laptop.

August looked at Killian and shrugged, Killian, hit him in the face with a pillow. “Bloody subtle aren't you? I didn't mean to ambush her Aug, I just wanted you guys here to support me” Killian sighed, shaking his head.

Emma strolled back in, and opened her laptop, and turned it to face them. “You guys are assholes, all three of you. I already picked one out, Killian didn't need you as muscle, I would have decided on my own. But I think you are all a bag of dicks” she said, snapping the laptop shut.

Killian stayed quiet, he should have just let her come to it on her own. He berated himself internally, he shouldn't have had August intervene.

“Love, can you just calm down?” Killian asked her, and she huffed, dropping onto the couch unceremoniously.

“Whatever. I will handle it myself, and you three should sit down so I can finish the movie” she said, rolling her eyes at them.

Killian sat next to August on the floor and they finished pretty in pink in silence. Killian spared glances at her every few minutes, trying to get her to acknowledge them but she was mad, and he was kind of grateful for the buffer that her brother offered by being there.

When Five rolled around, Scott stood stretching and motioned to the clock, “It's time to head back” he said.

Emma got up and walked into his big arms, and he picked her up in a hug. “I know you weren't the brains of this one,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. Scott chuckled and set her down on her feet.

She glared at her brother, August raising an eyebrow at her, and he started laughing, and of course, she couldn't keep her laugh inside despite how pissed she was. She loved him, she knew they all just tried to do something they thought was right.

Killian and Scott walked down the steps, and out to the car, agreeing that Killian and Emma would visit them next, in a few weeks to see their new apartment. Emma and August were whispering back and forth conspiratorially and Killian eyed Scott who shrugged.

August stood in front of him, “Beware JOnes. You may receive the brunt of it” and hugged him, pecking his cheek.

“I appreciate it. Thank you both for coming, as always it was entertaining” Killian said as August and Scott climbed into their car.

Emma stood next to Killian waving and spun as soon as they left the lot heading inside. Killian checked in with Billy, nothing big for the week, a few drop-offs, but he could handle it himself. He locked up, heading toward the loft, and saw Emma walking down the hall toward their room.

He stayed on the couch, putting a soccer match on, giving her some space.

Emma laid on their bed and kept scrolling through cars. She knew Killian was giving her some space, and she appreciated that but they had to talk at some point. She called in a pizza and headed toward the living room to tell Killian.

He looked up at her and eyed her cautiously.

“I am not going to get my hair pulled, or my arms pinched am I?” he asked with a small smirk.

Emma shook her head at him, “only August gets that” she said. “I called for pizza” and she headed toward the kitchen to load the dishwasher. She sat looking at her emails on her phone, and she spotted a new email from her boss. She looked at the file and the job.

She would have to head out this week for a day or two, but now wasn’t the time to discuss it, she thought. She waited for the pizza and when Killian reappeared, he was dressed in clean pajamas, and he took his plate from her and settled back on the couch.

Emma grabbed her laptop, and her plate sitting beside him.

“Show me what you picked out Swan,” Killian said between chews, and she clicked on the page showing him.

He smiled, “I almost picked the explorer too,” he said. Emma smiled and shook her head.

“You don't need to call my brother and Scott as reinforcements, I told you I would think about it, and I did. I didn't need the ambush, it was overkill babe” she said.

Killian nodded, “I’m sorry, I made the call right after we talked, and mainly it was because I didn't want you to feel like I was asking you to give up anything,” he said. “I thought August would help, not get his arse kicked” he smirked.

Emma nudged his shoulder and laughed. “You’re dumb, all three of you,” she said.

They finished eating, and Emma went to shower, while Killian cleaned up. When he came into their room, Emma was against the headboard, holding his phone in her hand. Killian looked at her curiously.

“Looking for something love?” he asked.

Emma patted his pillow. Killian climbed in beside her and eyed her. “You’re sure you want to watch this?” he asked her.

Emma nodded, “Yah. let’s see if it looks as terrible as I spent all day making it out to be in my head,” she said.

Killian slipped his arm around her pulling her in and pulled it up hitting play. Emma tucked her face into his chest, and he laughed. “Swan, it is just us, in our bed, making love, it isn't something to be embarrassed about '' he reassured her.

Emma groaned as he hit play and it was her on their bed, she didn't look terrible, but it was something she had ever seen. She had never watched herself masturbate before, and she could hear Killian’s breathing hitch as he held the phone.

Killian gulped, god she was gorgeous, he began murmuring it into her hair as they watched the small screen, dimly lit but she was perfect. Emma traced her nails absentmindedly over his chest as they watched until Killian had set the phone down.

Emma felt like a voyeur in her own life. Watching Killian kneel behind her, kissing up her legs, her ass, his murmuring into her hair as they continued watching as Killian dragged her to the edge of their bed, the view unobstructed.

Emma felt arousal begin tingling through her core, as she watched Killian taking her from behind, and she felt him stiffen under her arm. She slipped her hand beneath the sheet and rubbed over his cock, and Killian nearly dropped the phone. He looked at her, and she kept going, encouraging him to continue watching.

She laid her head on his chest as she slid her hand beneath his waistband, and Killian moaned as her hand fisted him, up and down as he watched himself fuck her on the screen.

Emma was going to rile him up, she swiped her thumb over the bead of cum leaking out of him, and he groaned, his hand gripping her waist harder. She brought her thumb up to his lips, and he sucked it into his mouth. Killian moved his hand from around her waist and slid it between them, and up her nightgown to find her bare beneath it.

He groaned as she continued stroking him and he lightly rubbed at her clit. Emma bit her lip, watching them fuck on screen, working each other up as they watched themselves. Killian could hardly hold the phone up, Emma’s small hand pumping him, and the wetness between her thighs increasing. He was gentle, remembering her wince earlier and his hips pumped into her hand.

On the screen, Emma arched when he fingered her ass and cried out his name. “You're bloody perfect,” he said and Emma slid her hands lower, cupping his sac.

Killian panted, watching them on the screen, “Gods, look at how fucking gorgeous you are Swan, you’re mine” he growled, sliding a single finger inside of her, and Emma teased the seam of his lips with her tongue.

“Better keep watching,” she said and continued her movements driving him insane. She sucked one of his nipples into her mouth as she caressed him. Killian continued his gentle plunges in and out of her core, spreading the moisture around her folds. Emma sighed, and her free hand gripped the sheets.

Killian watched Emma fall on the screen, her cries, her orgasm tearing through her, and then himself spilling deep inside of her. His cock swelled, and Emma pulled her hand away from him, and he dropped the phone pushing her onto her back slipping the straps of her nightgown down.

He licked over her puckered nipples, gently sucking them, as her hips bucked into his hand. “Tell me what you need Em” he whispered.

“I need you, slow” she crooned out as his thumb swiped over her clit.

“As you wish,” he said, pulling away for a moment, and shucking his pants. He got down between her legs, his hands spreading her thighs wider, and he began licking at her folds softly. Emma moaned at the contact, and he slid his tongue inside her core, the softness of her folds brushing his lips.

Emma ran her hand down through his hair, holding him to her, and she felt like he was setting her skin slowly on fire, her skin feeling flushed and his gentleness almost too much. When he slid a single finger in her opening her further for his tongue she arched, and cried his name, gripping his hair. Killian continued lapping at her, swallowing down her arousal, letting it coat the inside of his throat. He moaned against her and was rewarded with another gush, and he could feel her walls begin pulsing around his tongue.

He slid his finger out, and began teasing at her pearl, and slowly licked a stripe up her folds with the flat of his tongue. Emma cried out again, and he reached one hand up to roll her nipple softly, tugging at each one as he continued devouring her. Emma’s legs thrashed, and he knew she was getting close. He gently inserted his index finger curling it and sucked her nub softly and Emma began trembling as her orgasm rolled through her in slow motion. He pulled back to watch and he smirked, watching her fall apart beneath him, from him.

Emma’s green eyes opened, and they were glassy. She locked her gaze on him and pulled him up and over her. Kissing him deeply, her tongue massaging his, and he groaned, tangling his hand in her curls.

“Love I don't want to hurt you,” he said against her lips.

“Killian I need you. Please” she begged him, and he arched his hips, rutting his cock over her slick, warm folds. She moaned as he rubbed against her again.

“Inside me” she panted.

Killian leaned back on his heels and pulled her onto his lap. “Slow,” he said as he guided her hips above him, and gently guided her as her hands clasped his shoulders for support. Killian’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head, as she enveloped him. Emma bit down on his neck and shoulder as he stretched her sensitive tissues, and when he was fully inside of her she felt a sheen of sweat coat her chest. Killian tangled his hand in her curls, and the other on her ass, guiding her slowly up and down.

Emma licked and sucked at the sweat pooling at the base of his throat, and Killian groaned as he felt her tongue lap at his skin. She slid up and down him slowly, their eyes now locked on each other, unable to look away.

“You're so fucking tight Emma. So beautiful, mine. You are mine” he bit out, her warm tight heat squeezing him so tight, and Emma nodded and him, her heart clenching at his words, his words owning her.

“Babe I am going to come if you keep going” she moaned, and he bit her bottom lip, sucking it softly into his mouth, his tongue soothing over the bite, and he rubbed over her clit where they were joined softly, staying buried deep inside her, hardly moving.

Emma clenched down and he grabbed her chin, “Eyes on me” he commanded.

Emma’s orgasm rippled through her, causing her hips to jerk and Killian groaned letting his release go. Emma sighed as she gazed into his eyes, as she felt his hot lashes of cum fill her up. Killian couldn't tear his gaze from hers, watching her fall, squeezing his cock so tight. He finally buried his face in her neck, riding out the aftershocks.

Emma finally lifted herself off of him and used her nightgown to clean them both. They lay in each other’s arms, a tangled mess of limbs and soft kisses.

The next morning Emma woke up early, and checked her email, reviewing any new pieces sent in. She was tying her running shoes on when Killian came out dressed for work. “Going for a run?” he asked and she nodded.

She sat and stretched, and kissed Killian on her way out of the shop. She made it to the lake when a call came through, her boss. She let it go to voicemail, making her way back home. She pulled up the voicemail as she walked back into the lot, stopping and listening.

“Hey. I think we have a lead, but I need you on a flight to New York in like five hours, I just sent the ticketing and hotel info to you. Look at the details. Shouldn't take you long, the guy seems like an amateur. Call me back when you get this.”

Killian saw her in the lot, looking confused but it seemed like she was listening to something. She walked in and up to the loft and removed her earbuds.

She looked at him, “I have to head out of town” she said and moved around him toward the closet for a suitcase.

Killian felt a flare of anxiety rise up, “What? Why?” he asked as he sat beside her. She spun the laptop and showed him the file.

“I have a skip, I gotta go,” she said, scrolling and looked over at him. “I won't be long, maybe I can get him in a day,'' she said, and he didn't say a word.

“Where do you have to go?” he asked, his jaw ticking.

“New York,” she said, and Killian rubbed his hands over his face.

“You just got back,” he said quietly and sat on the bed. Emma worked swiftly around him, shoes, a dress, and her basics, mostly black and grays.

“Emma, talk to me,” he said, and she finally stopped moving, and sat on his lap.

“Flight leaves in 4 hours out of Portland, they took care of everything, but I will forward you all of it, so you have it. I will be ok on the subway and taxis” she said, stroking his hair. He nodded.

“Come home in one piece ok?” he said, feeling his stomach clenching, it did it whenever she had to leave unexpectedly.  

She leaned forward and placed her forehead against his. “I would have you come with me, but it’s the beginning of the week for you” she whispered and kissed him, hugging him. He squeezed her tightly back.

“Alright, I will leave you to it. I will be in the shop, I will text August” he said and she nodded.

Killian shot the text off, and checked Emma’s car real quick, everything seemed ok, he filled the air a little in the back tire and made sure her jumper box was in the trunk. He ran up and she was showered and dressed, heading down the hall toward him. He grabbed her coat and carried her bag down.

“I love you, come home to me,” he said and hugged her, Emma nodding against him. She cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

“I am sorry,” she said, and he shook his head.

“Just go get this done, and come home,” he said, and she nodded.

Emma spent the drive thinking about a lot of things. She had 30 minutes to kill so naturally she agonized over Graham's offer, and that it would actually stop her from needing to leave town. But it would also cripple her ability to travel as she wanted, and it isn't like Storybrooke had crime.

She saw August's text flash to send flight info, and she quickly shot it off to all three of the men in her life. She parked and took the shuttle into the airport, and the flight was nearly packed so she grabbed a seat near a charger and began working until boarding.

Killian finished his day, and he saw her flight info come through. He closed everything up, and texted Dave and Graham, asking them to grab a beer or come over for one. They agreed to go shoot pool at the Rabbit Hole tomorrow night, so he showered, and sat down on Emma’s side of the bed, hating the feeling of her being gone.

He popped on the princess bride, and for some reason, he began looking at the local animal shelter. Maybe they needed a pet, someone to keep him company when she was gone. Perhaps he would surprise her next time she went out of town, but he didn't know if she had allergies.

He watched the whole movie, and finally, her facetime popped up on his screen and he accepted it.

“Hi love, all settled?” he asked.

Emma nodded, looking sad. “I am sorry, it caught me off guard to just leave like that so quickly. What are you doing?” she asked.

“Eh, I just watched the Princess Bride and am heading to bed. Going to grab beers tomorrow night with Dave and Graham at the hole” he said.

Emma nodded, smiling softly. “I am going to crash, I love you. Call you in the morning” she said.

Emma swallowed back the tears she felt seeing how sad Killian looked on the screen. “I love you more than anything, come back in one piece, aye?” he asked.

She nodded, “night babe.” Emma cried herself to sleep that night feeling completely torn about her line of work, and whether it even made her happy anymore. But she got up early and tailed the skip the moment he walked out of the shithole hideout in Harlem.

She tagged him and had him dropped off by noon. She looked up flights and smiled when she realized that she could catch the one heading out in three hours, so she bought the ticket, and hoped Killian would be happy she was back so fast. They needed to have a serious talk when she got home, tomorrow.

She hailed a cab and made her way to JFK.

When Killian walked into the bar, he spotted Dave and saw Graham already getting a pool table ready. He also saw M’s and Ruby sitting at the opposite side of the bar and greeted each of his friends with a kiss. He let his friends distract him, and when he finally had to break to take a piss, he was startled when he realized who was waiting for him outside of the bathroom. He looked her over, she looked the same, and the feeling in his gut churned.

“Killian” she purred, dragging her nails across his chest.

“Milah. Get your claws off of me” he bit out and pushed her hands away from his chest.

“Aww baby don't be like that,” she said, stepping closer to him. Her fingers moved up into his hair and he just looked at her, stunned, frozen.

“What the fuck do you want?” He said harshly.

Her blue eyes glittered at him, and she smiled. “I miss you, I thought perhaps a roll in the hay for old times sake, '' she said and leaned in, kissing him.

Killian was about to push her off of him when he heard a thud to his left. He pushed her back forcefully and looked over at the cause of the noise.

His heart sank.

Emma was standing there, hurt etched all over her face, and she strode past him, and clocked Milah right in the face, Milah hitting the ground like a stone, with a split lip.

Emma did not even spare him a glance as she grabbed her bag off the floor, running out. Ruby and M’s got in his way, giving Emma a clear shot to get away.

“Emma! Swan!” He screamed and the door swung shut behind her.

“Leave her alone Jones,” Ruby said maliciously and M’s shook her head at him.

“You are an asshole Jones, what the fuck were you thinking!” Ruby yelled.

“Red, move or I will move you,” he said in a clipped tone.

Ruby rolled her eyes, “I will kick your ass for this if you don't fix this Jonesy” and she sidestepped him and M’s followed her out of the bar. Dave blocked the door behind them.

“Get out of my way Nolan. Now!��� Kilian barked at his friend, fury building inside of him. Dave shook his head pushing Killian back.

“Let them try to find her first. And wipe that shit off your lips, you look like you ate a stripper” he said disgustedly looking at the heap that was Milah still out cold on the floor, the bartender looking over her.

Killian wiped the glossy sticky mess off of his lips, and he knew it, Emma was going to run. He thought of the cash he had found in the closet, her grab-and-go cash she said as an explanation.

“Fuck” he yelled and ran out the back door, and toward the loft.

The gate was open, and Emma’s car was gone. He ran upstairs calling for her, the bedroom nearly untouched, but he checked, the cash was gone.

 She was gone.

@holdingoutforapiratehero  @hookedmom @xsajx @kymbersmith-90 @kmomof4 @katie-dub @ohmightydevviepuu @lassluna @pirateherokillian @teamhook @stahlop @elizabeethan @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @killianswannn @stories-enchanted @eleveneitherway @girl-in-a-tiny-box @withheartfulloflove @kday426 @lyssapup27 @swanlovato @kaoslikesstuff @djlbg @kristi555 @laschatzi @xarandomdreamx @lkles08 @wyntereyez @bubblegum1425 @xhookswenchx @yasbio2015 @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @wefoundloveunderthelight @hollyethecurious @let-it-raines @jonesfandomfanatic @searchingwardrobes @dreamingdreamsalways @oncechicagolove @andiirivera @vvbooklady1256 @gingerchangeling @everything-person @klynn-stormz @qualitycoffeethings @vampcoffeegyrl23 @enchanted-swans @cassy1511 @ohmakemeahercules @donteattheappleshook @bluewildcatfanatic @the-darkdragonfly @demisexualemmaswan @lavenderbudd @grimmswan @spartanguard @flslp87 @ultraluckycatnd @sarahpaq08 @thisonesatellite @captainswan21 @zaharadessert @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @xouatxcs @kiwistreetswan @batana54 @nadine200179 @probalicious17 @courtorderedcake @julesep3026 @jackieorioncat @whatthehell102082 @xemmaloveskillianx @jarienn972 @sthonour @linda8084 @carpedzem @pirateprincesslena @daxx04 @winterbythesea @artistic-writer @scientificapricot @cocohook38 @wisfan3000 @chrisilybrooke @pcrcabcth @captainswan4life85 @molly958 @kingofmyheart14 @badwolfreturns @itsfridaysomewhere @mcakers @chamomileandmint @fallingforthecaptain @lovethelifeyoulive1106 @onceratheart18 @strangestarlighttree @omgmarvelous @justanother-unluckysoul @anothersworld @purplehawkcaptain @jennjenn615 @sailtoafarawayland @superchocovian​

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

New Fic: You Are Of Their Ilk

A sequel to my fic where Wangxian meet as children in Yunmeng ('You Need Tending' on Ao3) that immediately follows the events of the first.

I genuinely had no intentions to write a sequel but then I started having feelings about Lan Qiren in this situation and I came up with some bullet points that I think I can make a full fic out of so uhhh..Here we go!

Part 1

[Masterpost]

--

When Lan Qiren wakes the morning of their departure back to Gusu, for the first time since he was a boy he has to force himself to stay still and meditate. His first instinct, of course, is to gather up the children and leave immediately as soon as there’s light to see by. Quite frankly, the only thing that gives him enough pause to go about his typical morning routine is the fresh memory from the night before of little Wei Ying sagging into his hold like a sack of rice to sleep on his chest while he walked, the boy’s exhaustion and relief in feeling safe enough to sleep out in the open like that far too palpable for his liking.

For his meditation, he decides it’s time to work through the guilt that had slammed into his chest the evening prior upon realizing that he had been in a position to help Wei Ying two years ago, and he hadn’t. Looking back on that experience with the clarity afforded by the future, Lan Qiren can’t help but berate himself for not looking closer to see the truth of Wei Ying’s living situation. Of course there are plenty of reasons and excuses he could provide as to why he hadn’t cottoned on, but they all feel so flimsy in the face of Wei Ying’s uncertainty and loneliness, in the hunger that hangs off his too-prominent bones like the rags of his clothing.

His guilt, though, will help no one now. He can’t go back in time and urge his younger self to ask little Wei Ying the proper questions to have figured out that he hadn’t seen his parents in who knew how long. He can’t return to that day and urge Wei Ying to return to Lotus Pier with them, to have put him in a place where he would have been recognized by Jiang Fengmian and provided shelter so much sooner. What’s done (or not) is done, and the past is in its place. What matters now is that he knows, and he can help. He will help.

Lan Qiren allows the guilt to ebb and fade as he breathes, tucks it away from the front of his mind so it will continue to fade naturally under the repetitive wearing away of time. Its purpose served, there’s no point in hanging onto it any longer and allowing it to cloud his judgement. He stirs from his meditation when he can feel the heat of the sun on his back through the window and he dresses for the day to fetch Xichen from his room next door, the boy already dressed and ready for the day as well.

“You have a question,” Lan Qiren observes as he leads Xichen slowly through Lotus Pier to the kitchens for breakfast.

“Yes Uncle,” the boy says quietly, but he says nothing further. Lan Qiren pauses and turns to face him, one eyebrow raised.

“Xichen?”

“I apologize, Uncle. It’s difficult to order my thoughts this morning.”

Unsurprising, Lan Qiren thinks to himself. Yesterday had been strange. When Wangji had asserted a few days prior in no uncertain terms that he would not willingly leave Yunmeng until they found the boy who had rescued him, Lan Qiren hadn’t..quite been prepared for how seriously he meant it.

Not that Wangji ever did anything lightly nor without intense deliberation beforehand, but he had thought, perhaps foolishly, that Wangji’s desire to find the child would fade after a day of fruitless searching. Instead, Wangji had doggedly led him and Xichen to comb through the city as thoroughly as if they were searching for a single ant in an entire pasture. For three days they had searched, scouring every alley, every street, every possible hiding place a wayward child could be. Lan Qiren’s admonishments that the child was likely gone or returned to his parents had fallen on deaf ears. Xichen’s timid attempts at comforting Wangji and coaxing him away from his searching had been similarly ignored. Neither of them had been at all convinced that Wangji would find the boy he was looking for, but then, all of the sudden, there he was, just as Wangji had described him when he had written out everything he knew could aid them in their search.

Small, filthy, cheerful, his clothes poorly made and in tatters, his shoes falling apart, his hair matted. His eyes like silver, and full of laughter. It had been practically surreal to see him there trailing along with his nephews; particularly when he had looked closer upon the boy’s cry of his name to realize just precisely who he was.

“Why does A-Ying know who you are?” Xichen finally asks, though Lan Qiren can tell instantly that that’s not the question burning at the tip of his tongue.

“He is the same boy Wangji saved from dogs two years ago. I treated his wounds then and so he remembers me now.” Lan Qiren watches recognition light up Xichen’s clever eyes.

“Oh! Right, of course, I remember now..” Lan Qiren waits patiently as he watches Xichen try to work through another thought. “Uncle...last night, before we left the infirmary..”

It would seem there’s a fresh guilt for Lan Qiren to work through at the appropriate time.

Xichen looks so hesitant to even allude to the fact that Lan Qiren had hugged them, almost as if he’s afraid of what his reaction will be, and Lan Qiren had never meant for his nephews to fear him so much. He hadn’t even realized that they do, not until he had been confronted with Wei Ying’s unself-conscious affections - as soon as he realized Lan Qiren remembered him and would help him, he had thrown himself into his arms like he was coming home. It had been a long time since either Wangji or Xichen had attempted such a thing and Lan Qiren had, perhaps foolishly, ascribed it to nothing more than a healthy amount respect and obedience. But it had still taken seeing the raw longing in Wangji’s expression the previous night when he had hugged Wei Ying goodnight to realize that perhaps it wasn’t because they no longer wanted it - perhaps, he had realized, the boys were simply afraid to ask him for it.

“Yes?” he prompts now, doing his best not to sound too curt.

“I..No one has..since Mother..” Xichen says, and Lan Qiren can’t find it in his heart to scold him for not speaking clearly when the boy looks so...confused, and upset. Instead, he sighs softly and, though the gesture still feels unfamiliar and strange, holds his arms open in an invitation that Xichen takes instantly. The boy practically trips over his own feet throwing himself into his arms to burrow into his robes. In response, Lan Qiren wraps his arms around Xichen’s narrow shoulders, holding him tightly right then and there in a breezeway in the middle of Lotus Pier.

“We need to go fetch Wangji and A-Ying,” Lan Qiren says after a few long moments. Xichen immediately nods and begins to withdraw. Lan Qiren holds his shoulders to urge him into meeting his eyes as he adds, “It will not always be appropriate to request this, Xichen, but you may always do so in private.” Lan Qiren is again momentarily guilty in response to the startled look on Xichen’s face, but the boy nods his understanding after a moment and Lan Qiren returns it before they continue on their way to the kitchens.

Once loaded up with a basket of breakfast for the four of them, Lan Qiren and Xichen make their way to the healers’ pavilion. All is quiet inside as they let themselves in and Lan Qiren frowns a bit in confusion as he leads Xichen to the room where they had left Wei Ying and Wangji. Upon pushing aside the curtain that partitions the doorway, Lan Qiren takes in the sight in front of him. Wei Ying has been bathed and clothed and is still currently fast asleep curled up in the smallest ball possible on his side, turned towards the bed’s other occupant. Wangji is lying beside him properly on his back, his hands still resting on his chest though his eyes are open as he looks up at a beam of sunlight on the ceiling. At their entrance, he turns his head enough to spot them in the doorway before he raises a finger to his lips, his little face the perfect picture of stern admonishment as he makes sure to remind them to be silent.

Lan Qiren raises an admonishing eyebrow right back but Wangji is unswayed, and when Lan Qiren looks to Wei Ying again he can understand why. His feet are tucked under the blanket but for the most part he’s not covered at all, and there’s something about the sight of his tiny, malnourished, bony frame curled up so so tightly in clothes that are a size or two too big for him that makes him seem more vulnerable than ever. His back and outward shoulder rise and fall as he breathes. With each inhale Lan Qiren can see the protrusions of his spine pressing against the linen shirt drawn tightly around him and he feels another piece of ice around his heart crack away to fall to the pit of his churning stomach.

He nods his acquiescence at his younger nephew after a long moment and gestures for Xichen to take the basket and sit down at a low table on the other side of the room to wait for their new charge to wake on his own. As the older boy does so, Lan Qiren turns to go find a healer.

They’re thankfully easy to locate, working quietly on the other end of the pavilion.

“Grandmaster Lan,” one of them greets in an undertone so Lan Qiren turns to her.

“Who should I discuss the child’s recovery with?” he asks after a moment.

“Healer Xingfu has put herself in charge of the boy,” the woman replies with a smile, voice still low. “I will take you to her.”

He follows the healer through a few more spaces before they enter what seems to be a personal workroom. The medicinal scent of various ointments and herbs tickles his nose but he does his best not to let it show as he offers a salute to a woman who can only be the head healer from what he can tell.

“Grandmaster Lan,” she greets as she stands from her desk. “Are you here to take away my favorite new patient?”

“As soon as he wakes and eats I will be taking him to Cloud Recesses.”

“Well he’ll certainly survive the journey, particularly with such a dedicated little caregiver,” she replies with a fond smile that Lan Qiren has to imagine is meant for Wangji. “Second Young Master Lan is very attentive, he would make a good healer one day if he chose it. He hasn’t left the boy’s side once, and he refuses to let anyone talk when they step into the room so that the little one can sleep.”

“My nephew is not typically so rude,” Lan Qiren starts but he stops when his statement is met only with a quiet laugh.

“Oh no, Grandmaster, no one is offended. We all find the pair of them quite charming, actually, and they’re both wonderful to have here. Besides, it’s reassuring to see that my instruction that A-Ying be allowed to rest as much as he needs while he recovers will be so thoroughly enforced!”

Lan Qiren clears his throat at that, unsure of what to say, but healer Xingfu takes pity on him and schools her features back into something a bit more professional and less..indulgent.

“As far as traveling goes, I understand the journey from here to Gusu is a relatively easy one, but it will be important that A-Ying not be pushed beyond his limits, which will likely be considerably less than either of your nephews can manage. He’s severely malnourished, dehydrated, and currently recovering from what looks like a sound beating judging by the bruises we found when we bathed him. We’ve treated his injuries as well as we can and he’ll heal with time.

“For now, it’s important that he get to sleep whenever he needs it, and that he is allowed to eat as much as he would like of good, healthy foods without making himself sick.” She gets a shrewd look in her eye as she meets Lan Qiren’s steady gaze. “I have a cousin who is one of your outer disciples, and I know from her letters that there is a rule against eating more than three bowls in a meal. If A-Ying wants more than the proscription allows, you will give him more until the day he has gained enough weight that he no longer looks years younger than he is. That boy needs all the food and rest that his little body can stand.”

“I understand,” Lan Qiren acknowledges with a nod, deciding to overlook the method of delivery for such information and instead just be grateful that he is in a position to utilize it. “Thank you for your instruction.”

Healer Xingfu watches him for another moment or two with that calculating gaze before she nods in apparent satisfaction and steps around her desk to open a small chest and withdraw a bundle of cloth.

“We washed his clothes as carefully as we could, though they are nearly ready to fall apart entirely. He had a few things tucked into his pockets, however, and we felt it would be cruel to him to take away his only possessions without warning. They’re wrapped in the clothing.”

Lan Qiren accepts the bundle of clean but ragged fabric, brushes the pad of his thumb along the frayed edges of a hole bigger than his fist in the shirt.

“What possessions?” he asks quietly as he studies the coarse fabric.

“Some scraps of food, a woven grass butterfly that has seen better days, a few smooth pebbles, the feather of a water bird..” Healer Xingfu trails off and Lan Qiren glances back up and finds himself startled to realize her eyes are a bit misty as she looks at the bundle of clothing in his arms. “Grandmaster, may I speak frankly?”

“Yes.”

“I am unsure how long exactly it will take A-Ying to physically recover from this, it may be a few months, it may be longer. But..while I admit that pains of the mind are not my area of expertise, I can say with some certainty that A-Ying’s recovery in that respect will likely be years in the making. Sect Leader Jiang has already been here to share with me what he knows of the boy’s history, and if he has been on his own like this since his parents’ demise...It’s likely he knows nothing but how to survive on the scraps the world has allowed him. He will not think or behave like other children his age who have not shared his experiences, nor should he be expected to.” She takes a deep breath in and gestures to A-Ying’s belongings again. “A boy who keeps dirt covered melon rinds in his pockets to gnaw on when he’s hungry has likely already learned to expect cruelty where he should have been shown kindness.”

Lan Qiren’s breath catches in his chest as he reflects again on the first time they had found A-Ying, the little boy who had been attacked by four dogs all bigger than he just for trying to pilfer a dumpling to eat. “Yes, I agree,” he says quietly. “I will be sure to bear it in mind.”

“Good,” Healer Xingfu says with a smile. “Then shall we go see if he’s up and ready to eat? I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Her eyes are glittering in a way that abruptly makes him sure that the..hugging incident has already been spread around at least among the healers. He refuses to feel embarrassed for it, though, and so he simply nods and follows the head healer out of her office and back through the pavilion to where the children are waiting.

When they enter the room A-Ying is sitting up in bed rubbing at his eyes with his fists while Wangji and Xichen set out breakfast for the four of them.

“Good morning xiao-Ying,” Healer Xingfu greets with an easy warmth that the boy immediately responds to, looking up from studying his new shirt with a cautious sort of hope in his eyes. “I am Healer Zhou. Are you feeling better this morning?”

Lan Qiren’s attention is pulled from the scene in front of him by Jiang Fengmian’s typically soft voice behind him.

“Master Lan, could I speak with you for a moment?” he asks and Lan Qiren very seriously considers telling him no. Despite how much he knows he would scold either of his nephews for behaving as pettily as he wishes to, he’s still having a hard time keeping himself from blaming Jiang Fengmian for all of this. It’s so much easier to lay the blame at his feet, and it’s not unfounded either.

Wei Ying is the son of his former myrmidon, and Lan Qiren knows for a fact that the two of them kept in communication after his elopement with Cangse Sanren, and the birth of their son. Their last known location was close enough to Lotus Pier that their toddler had been able to wander his way here most likely unaided, and yet he still hadn’t been found. And, most damning of all, when he had informed the Master and Mistress of Lotus Pier of just who he had found, Madame Yu had needed absolutely no explanation whatsoever before she had accurately understood the situation and, in the next breath, began criticizing both the child himself and Jiang Fengmian for his obvious desire to keep him.

Yes. It’s very easy to lay the years of Wei Ying’s hardship at Jiang Fengmian’s feet.

He follows the man from the room anyway, expression set in stern lines of disapproval. It’s familiar and comfortable on his face, and while in the future he’ll be trying to soften it for his nephews’ sake, he owes no such concessions to the man in front of him.

“We will be leaving shortly,” he says to the unspoken question in Jiang Fengmian’s eyes. “As soon as A-Ying has eaten his fill, which will likely happen quickly.”

“I...yes, of course. As much as he wants. Qiren-“

“You do not have that right,” Lan Qiren snaps, suddenly furious. They were once classmates, yes. All of them. He hasn’t stayed close enough to any member of their generation to give them the impression that they can use his name, and certainly no one of their generation who’s still alive would usually dare. (The only one who had ever had the bravery and lack of decorum to ignore his preference died years ago, and left behind her beloved son.)

“..Master Lan. For A-Ying.”

Lan Qiren unbends his stiff neck enough to see that he’s being handed a bundle of letters written on all sorts of paper, the handwriting on the outside of each packet a jumbled mixture - some neat, others hardly legible.

“What is this?”

“The letters I’ve received from his parents over the years, down to the last before the news of their deaths.”

“I see.”

“They had just decided on a courtesy name to give him when he grew older when they wrote me last,” Jiang Fengmian continues, looking slightly pained and Lan Qiren reaches out to take the offered parcel, tied neatly with cord. “Wuxian. 'To have no envy'. I won’t...I can’t tell you what to do with him, how to raise him, or anything but..if he were to stay with me I would give it to him.”

“Their wishes will be honored,” Lan Qiren says stiffly with a nod of thanks. He hates the concession in the face of his anger with the man in front of him, but he’s not going to deprive Wei Ying of his last real tie to his parents just because of his anger. The boy deserves the name his parents chose for him, and Lan Qiren is already sure that he’s going to grow into it well. “Is there anything else? I need to eat as well before we depart.”

“No. I...I don’t want him to become a stranger to Yunmeng, this is his first home, and the children would be good friends for him. But I leave that decision and all others for him in your hands.”

Lan Qiren tucks the letters into his sleeve and offers Jiang Fengmian a parting salute that’s only barely polite. He says nothing as he turns on his heel to retreat into the healing pavilion where the children are waiting for him to take them home.

[writingmorsels]

Prompt: Missing

You suddenly disappeared on the journey between your workplace and your home.

Alex, your current fiancé, is informed about this and wants to be involved with the search. Sullins gets him off the case almost immediately when foul play is presumed, considering Mahone one of the first suspects because of his (lately rocky) relationship with you.

Eaten by the thought of you dead, Mahone launches himself in a private investigation to try and find you.

Based off the song “Where’s My Love” by SYML

It had been Lang, that saint woman, who told Alex the news: you were gone and no-one knew where.

After leaving the administration building next to Alex’s office, you didn’t come home. People noticed only because you didn’t show up at work the next day and the interviewed doorkeeper of your apartment building confirmed never seeing you that night.

It had been also Lang, who kept him in the loop. The first days of your disappearance Alex had been shaking with adrenaline, sifting every video, every photo, every interrogation transcript Felicia gave him after Sullins took him off the case.

“I know that look,” Felicia spoke softly as her hands went to grab his ones. “You were out of State, it’s not your fault.”

Was it not?

The both of you didn’t stop fighting about anything, in the last days before her disappearing. Sullins thought it was obvious proof of Mahone’s culpability and Alex couldn’t but agree with his superior, just on a different note.

It was his fault.

He pushed you, pushed against your love and your presence because it was too good, too warm. You were too good for him and he broke you.

How many times he snapped at you? How many times has he let his work take priority over you?

Did he see the signals and didn’t care?

Or was he so blind he didn’t even notice?

Did you just… run away from him? Or were you in danger?

“How many hours, now?” Alex asked, his voice a whispery, ragged strand of what originally was.

Lang sighed, seeing his friend with his head hung forward and shoulders slouched down. He didn’t even try to hide the lack of sleep and food, at that point. “Alex…” “how many hours...days…?” his voice didn’t stop breaking from time to time, hardly keeping emotions where they had to stay.

Felicia remained silent, thinking about the last time she saw you, waving as you came out of your small little office. “Five days, more or less.” she confessed. “We searched along the road she usually takes, but nothing came up.”

Alex didn’t move, but his brain churned. “Have you checked-” “Looked at the CCTVs, in the park near her home, around the neighborhood...we even asked for security footage from civilians. I went out there myself and found nothing,” Lang exhaled, shifting on her side of the sofa, uncomfortable.

“Search dogs?”

“It had been raining since she disappeared. They can’t find a lead.”

“Interviewed coworkers? Someone that fancied her? Hated her? Or me?”

“He asked everybody, twice. Nothing came up beside office gossip. Listen, Alex, I know you know your stuff, but we know too. God’s know how much I want to find her, but you need to listen to me.”

Mahone went silent again, for a few seconds.

“Have you… looked where I told you to-” “...Alex,” Felicia's voice grew stern. “We looked. Every. Where… You need to start thinking that...maybe... she might be-” “DON’T-...Don’t say it. Please Felicia...just...let me...” and with that Lang couldn’t speak more.

Her chest tightened as she saw Alex curl up, hands gripping his own hair and tremble in what little tears he still had left.

With a small, weak “I’ll see myself out” she walked out of Alex’s living room, leaving the man to be with his sorrows with just a soft pat on his shoulder.

They didn’t search enough, Alex thought as he jumped up from the sofa, starting to pace around. He looked at your face peppering the place with various photos, smiling memories he still could feel, trapped underneath the surface of that agony.

They didn’t search well enough…! She had to be somewhere! If only Richard would listen to him!

She could die!

She could…

She is…

Anger came over him in a wave and Alex let out a pained roar, as he kicked over the coffee table, sending all its nicknacks flying.

A glass vase shattered, papers and flyers and documents flew around, the small piece of furniture rolled to the other side of the room.

You weren’t dead… you were just out of reach of anybody else.

That was it.

Fuck Sullin’s suspects, fuck everybody’s incompetence.

You were somewhere out there and if Alex found killers, rapists and even former military, he would find the love of his life.

He exited his house like a hurricane, not even grabbing his heavy coat to fight the cold of mid-autumn.

He had to check that place again. Even if his colleagues assured him the place was empty when they looked, Mahone had a feeling.

Because if you weren’t there...then you really just up and left him without a trace.

Five Day Earlier:

“What?!” you snapped, pressing your phone against your ear. You barely heard Alex through it, the sound of chatter and keyboards muffling his voice. “But we had plans...you know we had plans!” you whined, making some coworkers turn their heads.

You huffed, storming out of the office and on the emergency stairs, just so you could chew him a new one in peace.

“We found a new lead for the Ragman case-” “Like I care! You’re not the whole fucking Bureau, Alex! Let someone else handle it!” you barked, your free hand grabbing the railing.

It was that or it was crossing the street, up to his office and smacking him to kingdom come.

He sounded angry just like you, his voice cold and strained. “I can’t just step down! I’ve been following this case for weeks, you know it!” “I know that I’m planning this fucking dinner since EASTER, Alex! It’s not even the real Thanksgiving because you ALREADY HAVE that day filled, but no! No, you HAVE to be on the other side of the fucking Nation even tho you assured meー no, SWORE me you WOULD BE FREE!” you found yourself basically screaming into the phone.

It was like a dam exploded and now days and months of pushing down emotions kept pouring out.

It wasn’t only for a missed dinner, it was for the rest. The feeling of being less than his job, being unimportant. Not being enough for him.

Those thoughts gnawed at you for quite some time and now they came back in full force. “You know what?? Fine! Go be a superhero! Go hunt your next bone, good doggy! While you’re there, marry your fucking job too!”.

With that you slammed the phone shut without even listening to his voice anymore.

One after another, his promises kept missing...and you were at your wit’s ends. There was some talking to do, for sure, but before that you absolutely had to cool down or you would totally wreck what was left between you two.

So, after finishing your boring day at work you went out and, instead of going back to your shared home, you got on a bus and straight to your favourite place.

The park was nice even when the summer was just a memory, a thick fog rising from the browny waters of the lagoon.

You walked down a wooden path, feeling the wet earth beneath it shift slightly, and you breathed a long, long sigh; you didn’t need to be so mean, but you were so tired. Tired of battling for every inch of attention. Tired of tiptoeing around Mahone’s always full agenda.

You didn’t mind his line of work, being a federal was a very dangerous and busy occupation, but Alex seemed to always do more of what was expected of him. No one ordered him to travel and manually grab the killer of choice to bring back. No one ordered him to stay afterhours for days on end, leaving you to wait up until midnight with an empty plate in the kitchen.

He was the one going the extra mile for his job...but lately, you wanted him to take some, not all! But some of that mileage and invest it in his relationship with you.

Especially now that he proposed.

You chuckled a sob, remembering the day.

Was it just so you wouldn’t run away? Did he really love you?

Or did he love the cooking, the cleaning, the company?

You stopped in the middle of the wooden road and looked left, seeing a faint path in the tall grass.

That small, invisible trail led you to the best place of the park, where you played cop and thief with your friends.

It was a small, round clearing among the trees, with one L-shaped stone covered in moss you called ‘The Couch’.

You hopped on The Couch and groaned your anger away, laying down on the soft greenery.

You didn’t know what to do anymore...

Mahone stopped his car inches away from the main gate of the park, leaving the engine on as he got off.

He grabbed a torch from the glove box and ran inside, moving the light around like a blade cutting the darkness. His eyes swallowed every little detail as he walked, combing with his gaze through the trees, the grass, the waters.

Frantically he moved along the main path, flashing the wooden boards now dark and soaking wet.

The recent rain erased any single footprint that would have existed, but Mahone knew your favourite place.

You showed him once, making him find a basket full of good food, a blanket and some wine. “Twenty steps from the crooked tree… thirtyfive to the left,” he mumbled to himself, finding the faint trail almost immediately.

He walked like a pirate in search of a treasure, careful to never stray from the path.

“Y/n! Y/n honey!” he shouted.

Alex had this foolish thought, this little movie in his head that, once he overcame the underbrush and pierced the thick veil of trees, he would find you.

Maybe angry, maybe scared, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to hug you tight, to never let go.

As he walked up into the clearing, his already broken heart shattered.

Everything was as he remembered: the long, thin trunks of the ashes, the big green rock, the blades of grass.

Even the smell was the same, humid and woody.

But you weren’t there.

You weren’t sitting on that strange rock or maybe laying in the grass. Not you or your body or any kind of hint you were ever there.

Alex’s hand trembled, the light of the torch vibrating. “No...no no no…” he sobbed. “Y/N! HONEY!” he started to shout, “Y/N PLEASE! Y/N!” his eyes darted left and right as the realization started to really hit him. “Y/N I’M SORRY! PLEASE! DON’T...Don’t...p-please come back...” his voice crumbled as did his body, overexerted by the long days without respite.

The flashlight flew from his fingers in a fit of desperate rage and Mahone wept alone in the woods, almost wheezing in the constricting pain holding his heart.

Tears streamed down his face as his palms pressed against his temples, nails digging into his scalp.

It was his fault, all his fault...if he just said no to Sullins, if he sent Wheeler instead...if he listened to Felicia…

You would be home with him.

Eating a warm, good dinner together and then crashing into bed, holding each other until morning.

Now you were gone and his heart was, too.

c l a c k c l a c k c l a c k s p l a s h

Amongst the sobbing and the sounds of the night, Alex’s ears picked up on something. A sound that seemed to come almost from underneath him, faint and muffled.

Then, raising his head, Mahone noticed he was in complete darkness. His torch was nowhere to be found.

No, there was something: a few strands of grass seemed to shine, but the light was too feeble to be his flashlight...or was it?

He moved slowly, furrowing his eyebrows for a moment...and then his eyes shot open wide, for what he saw there, at the foot of the big green rock.

You lingered in that place for at least a couple of hours, watching the sky turning from grey to black as the night progressed. Your phone pinged a couple of times with messages from Alex, asking you to answer his calls, to stop being childish, to please reply. The last one was a defeated ‘we’ll talk when I’ll be back. Write when you’re home. Love you’ that made you melt a litte. You sighed, closing the phone with a little clack and laying it on your forehead, thinking. Now that you were calmer and level-headed, what had happened seemed a little excessive. Sure you’ll speak to Alex about your insecurities, about how you felt being always brushed aside, but at the same time you had to make peace with the fact that you still loved him, so very much. He had that job before you came into his life, it was one of the things that made you fall in love with him: his stubbornness, his logic, his courage. It was a new point in your life and it just needed adjusting, that’s all… “ehh...fuck me…” you whisper with a strange, sweet tone in it, as you took your phone and started to slowly type ‘Going home. Love you too’ to him. As you hit send, the phone froze for a second before giving you a small error message. “No signal? Where am I, Narnia?” you grumbled as you jumped off The Couch, lifting your cellphone at arm-high in search of signals. You stumbled around in the clearing, eyes transfixed on the little screen above your head. “C’mon, now that I wasn’t that angry anymo-” your voice yelped as your heel sank into rotten wood. Something behind you, on the ground, gave away and your entire weight dragged you down, down deep into the earth. You dropped like a stone, your fingers trying to grab the wet, rough walls as you plummeted down. Then a splash, cold water enveloping you with its sharp claws, but it didn't stop gravity enough for your bones not to break. You heard a snap and suddenly a jolt of electrifying pain shot all along your right leg. You cried in agony, scraping your nails against the rocks like running away from the hurt. After a few minutes of intense panic, your eyes started to watch around, to assess your position after the fall. You recognized it, between tears. It was a well. An old well hidden from everyone's eyes but nature, still filled with a couple of feet of freezing water. “Oh no...oh--ffffuck…!” you wailed as you tried to stand up, letting out another cry as you immediately fell down again, your own body too shocked to manage to stand up. The sandy bottom felt grimy underneath your hands, your phone dead in the water where it fell right after you. “HELP! SOMEBODY!” You passed all night screaming for help, watching the mouth of the well light up with the cloudy sky of the morning after. If you squinted enough, its form could be mistaken for a full moon in the middle of a dark sky. Unable to stand on your remaining leg for more than a few seconds, you leaned against the stone walls around you, trying to stay as far as possible from the water. It was too cold to sit in it without freezing to death and you surely didn’t want to die. You screamed and screamed until your throat felt raw and your voice cracked. Your thirst found solace with the same water threatening your life and you drank it with small sips, feeling its coolness fight your body temperature as you gulped it down. Another night came and went. The light grey sky became black again. It rained, water trickling down the walls and slowly pooling at the base of the well, around her legs. You drank your hunger away, using the rain to quench your thirst now that your small reserve of water got, alas, corrupted by your bodily function. Your voice carried less far away, tired but still trying. Third day and leaning against the wall with just one leg had been unbearable. Your knee buckled from time to time, sending you into the water now one feet higher. You convened with your body that sitting down, even if in freezing water, could be done for a couple of minutes at the time. You tried to scream for help again, but your voice croaked pitifully

and never reached the edge of the well, hidden among the grass. Surely someone noticed your disappearance. Surely there was police involved already...it had to be. You secretly hoped he noticed, too. Would he care, after what you screamed at him? You could not feel your leg anymore and looking at its bent shape made you nauseous. Or was it the hunger? "Please….! Someone…" Fourth day. You could not stand anymore. Water reached your chest now and the only moments of warmth is when your bladder empties itself. Rain stopped flowing down that night and you waved goodbye at your only source of clean water. He wasn't there. No one was. Death was. Fifth. Cold. Light. Alex…?

Mahone carefully palmed the edges of the well, double the size of a manhole.

He looked down, the light of his torch now reverberating along stone walls, impressing on them the dance of water. And his heart sank down the same moment he saw you.

You were sitting down with water lapping at your collarbones, your skin so pale you looked like a ghost.

His voice hiccuped a second, before coming out in full force. “Y/N!” he cried, but you didn’t move.

Only a slit of your beautiful, beautiful eyes was open. So were your lips, turned a dangerous shade of blue.

Quickly, Alex grabbed his phone and dialed Lang’s number, knowing full well she would still be in the office. She was leading the search, despite her pessimistic view about it.

The woman replied almost immediately, her voice tense. “Yes?” “I found her!” he hissed, panicked. “Send me the firefighter, now! And paramedics! Please she’s unresponsive I can’t reach-” “Alex, breathe! I’ll send you a backup, but you need to calm down! Where are you?”.

Mahone breathed in, tensing his jaw, before moving his head to search for something to try and pull you out. “She fell into an abandoned well,” his voice was colder, professional. “There’s no time, just track my phone. I’m going down…!” “Alex wait-!”

With that, Mahone closed the call and safely left his phone a couple of feet away from the mouth of the well.

Without a second thought, the man slid one leg into the hole, then the other, slowly lowering himself inside with his feet searching for pursuit on the smooth stones. His fingers found cracks in between the rocks and slowly started his descent. Alex slipped a couple of times, holding on just enough for his shoes to find a ledge again.

The journey you made in a few seconds five days prior, took Alex at least one solid minute of intense climbing. When only a couple of feet separated the both of you, Mahone let go of the wall and fell down into the freezing water, feeling it gnaw at his legs. “Y/n…! Oh God honey...please answer me…!” he panted as he reached you, kneeling down into the stagnant water. His hot hands cupped your frozen face, thumb caressing your cold lips and your damp cheekbones.

For a moment there was nothing. No movements, no reactions but only the sloshing of water around your bodies.

Slowly, then, you came up from the dark, fuzzy place where you were drowning, your eyelashes trembled, stuck, unable to open.

Resuscitated by his warm touch, his presence. “A...lex…” your voice was barely a raspy whisper, but that was enough for Mahone.

He exhaled a deep breath, a smile cracking his tense expression as he lowered his head to kiss your damp forehead. “I’m here love… I’m here.”

For a moment you thought about wrapping your arms around him, searching for more of that scalding sensation against the skin. As you tried, a new explosion of pure agony rebounded in your body.

You couldn't move, almost frozen solid in that curled position. Your stone-cold body started to shake visibly, like a broken machine trying to power on. “h-h-he...reー” you whined under your breath, one hand fighting against the cramping muscles to reach his shirt.

You gripped on him with all the strength you had left, eyes rolling behind the eyelids from time to time.

Mahone immediately wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in his body warmth. “Yes Y/n I’m here. I’ll take you out darling...I’m here, I’m not leaving…” he whispered hurriedly in your ear, a big lump forming in his throat.

You yelped softly when he touched your broken leg, your only functioning hand pulling at his clothes in pain and Mahone furrowed his brows, watching down in the muddy water.

He saw your injury but didn’t say anything about it, only shifting his body to be able to hold you without causing any pain.

Cuddled into his arm, you let yourself mold into him, your heavy head resting on his shoulder and face searching the hot angle of his throat. “I’ll not let you die…” he sweetly spoke onto your wet hair. “You will not...leave me like this.”

You sighed against his skin, your trembling starting to subdue. Oh you were so tired, the weight of entire oceans on you… but you could not stand losing his voice into the fog. “h--urts-…” you let out a soft noise, desperate and scared.

Your eyes finally managed to unglue, lashes thawed and gaze glassy, but you watched his face, crossed by the undulating lights the torch created from the bottom of the water. If you died there, at least you managed to see the summer skies in his eyes one last time. “I let you down so many times darling…” Alex hushed, his voice low and closed in his throat. His hand never stopped caressing your face, brushing away locks of hair and heating up your skin with his palm. “But I’ll get you out of here...this is a promise I’m going to keep...you just...you just have to keep holding on.”

You wanted to speak, to reply to his sweet, sweet words. Transform your groan into words of love and pureness, but your hand felt heavier than ever before and your aching fingers lost grip on his shirt.

It had been difficult to even remain conscient at that moment, focusing on the beating of his heart in his throat. Focusing on your body now split in two: freezing death on one side, burning pain on the other.

“Stay awake Y/n, don’t sleep…! C’mon honey you have to stay with me now. Please..!” you heard Alex as if he spoke to you from the other side of a glass, the voice you always loved now muffled.

As your mind started to drift off again, a thought came into your mind.

You never managed to reply to his message.

You never said that to him. “ ーove... you…” your tired, hoarse voice managed to claw out of your mouth before passing out again.

Red and blue lights pierced through the trees and seconds after a group of men in uniform came rustling into the clearing.

Guiding them was Felicia Lang, her phone in her hand trying to reach out for Mahone without success. “Where are you, you dumbー !” her mumbling stopped as her eyes saw light coming through the earth, then a little mmmmhz-mmmmhz of Mahone’s vibrating cell phone.

“HERE! HERE!” she shouted, waving her arm. Both police and firemen crowded around the well for a moment, assessing the situation.

There was a man on the bottom of the well, standing in water up to his knees. He was holding a woman in his arms, trying to keep her as close to him as possible. “WE’RE COMING DOWN! STAND BACK!” one of the policemen yelled, as one of the firemen wore a harness.

Alex made one step back, watching intently at the man being lowered into the well by his colleagues. “C’mon…! C’mon!” he hissed under his breath, his body trembling with adrenaline while time slowed down to a crawl.

As soon as the fireman reached them, Alex neared him. “She’s hypothermic, unresponsive...I can’t find a pulse but I see her breathing…!” he spoke quickly, agitated and the fireman nodded. “Paramedics are on the surface, sir, don’t worry.”

You didn’t even make a sound as your frozen body passed from Alex’s determined hold to the arms of the unknown man.

Slowly, you were brought up and out of the moist hell you fell five days prior, and while the fireman carried you towards the on-coming stretcher, Alex was given a rope to use as a way to climb up right behind rescue.

He didn’t even feel the pain in his arms as training and fear both pushed him to move quickly, grasping at the edge of the well with one hand and the other being grasped by Lang. “She’s there, go…!” she whispered to him as soon as he came out.

Mahone neared the stretcher the same time the paramedics put it down for you to be laid on and start first aid.

They couldn’t find a pulse for a good thirty seconds, before one of them confirmed that yes, heart beats were present but slow.

“Shallow breathing. Have you temp?”

“25 degrees. She’s gonna collapse, wrap her!”

“On three. One, two, three-up!”

“Gently!”.

Alex walked near the stretcher, watching you being wrapped up in insulation blankets and with one of the paramedics pumping air into your lungs through a mask.

He never left your side, as the little procession sped through the park, towards the exit and into the back of an ambulance.

On the ride to the hospital, Alex never left your hand.

Your fingers never left his, too.

[oftenderweapons]

Hold Me Close – Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Genre: fluff, dating!AU, idol!AU

Rating: GP (general public)

Hello, my squirrels ✨ Welcome to your comforting bedtime story. I’ll be very brief since no warnings apply for this fic. Hoseok comes home after posting those adorable selcas of him wearing the teddy bear sweater. Giggles is eager to claim her special cuddle session. As they comfort each other physically, they also manage to heal each other from some negative thoughts and experiences (Giggles is a vet and one of the animals she was assisting passed from old age).

Unfortunately, my voice is not at its finest — I caught a cold because of the glacial temperatures that we’re having these days. I promise the audio version will come as soon as I’m okay 🥰💖

Also, let me dedicate this drabble to @hobisbeautifulass​, since she’s been tortured lately (I’m hissing at you @joheun-saram​) and poor sunshine Bella most definitely deserves some cuddles.

If you want more fics like these, check out the event’s Masterlist over here!

Now enjoy and sweet dreams ✨

You ran to the hall, almost dashing through the apartment, throwing yourself at Hoseok, who had just come home.

“Lemme see! I want to see it!” You exclaimed, almost ripping his coat off.

His first reaction was alarm, as usual, but shortly after he was suddenly hit by a revelation and his face lit up in joy.

“Oh, Giggles!” He cooed as you rubbed your face against the teddy bear stitched to his sweater.

“So cute…” You swooned, closing your eyes and smiling adorably. “I didn't see it this morning,” you reminded him, your morning shift making you leave way before he even needed to get dressed.

He pressed his mouth to the crown of your head, curling his arms around your body. “Shall we move to the living room, it's sort of cold here.” He said, at which you took hold of his hand, intertwining your fingers together and tugging at his arm, dragging him toward the sofa.

“God, you’re eager, I should wear this sweater more often.” He mumbled teasingly.

“Shut up, gimme the plushie.” You said, making him stand with his back to the seat and pushing him down by the shoulders, his body falling easily on top of the pillows.

You straddled him immediately, almost body slamming onto him, your upper limbs comfortably anchoring yourself to his shoulders while your legs bent on each side of him, your face pressed to his neck before you sat on his legs and parted from him, freeing your hands so that you could toy with the bear.

“The pics you posted are so cute.” You said with a pout as his hands rubbed down your back, trying to warm up from the cold weather outside. “I can’t believe you actually got this sweater. It’s so damn adorable.”

He smiled and pressed his palm against your cheek, making you flinch away from the coldness of it.

“You are so damn adorable.” He replied, his gaze so tender and enamoured. Sometimes he could be so silent about his affection only to completely drown you in compliments and affection a moment later.

“Sorry I jumped you.” You mumbled, trying to part yourself from him once you realised you couldn’t quite read his mood.

He placed his hands, delicate but steady, around your waist. “It’s nice. You’re not always this affectionate. I was just surprised. Startled, a little, maybe.” He admitted with a confused chuckle. “I like you here. Stay.” He reassured you, making your chest adhere to his.

You fixed your position, sitting with your legs across his lap, your head against his shoulder, an arm draped around his neck while your other hand stayed busy with the toy’s limbs and scarf.

“Is it soft enough?” He asked, rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

You simply nodded, staying quiet and breathing him in. The sweater was still unworn, and it still held the scent of the shop, even though you could sniff Hoseok’s cologne. It somehow reminded you of baby shampoo and sun cream.

Maybe that was his face lotion.

It didn’t matter much.

“How was your day, dove?” He asked, touching your hair, enjoying how soft it felt under his fingers.

You toyed with the plushie’s scarf.

“Mh… we had to say goodbye to a very old dog.” You told him, trying not to get too emotional. “He was supposed to undergo surgery soon, but in the night he got too sick and when I arrived this morning there was nothing left to do. We called the owner. It was… tough.”

Hoseok held you tighter, kissing your forehead a couple times before kissing your nose.

You closed your eyes and offered him your lips, a small snicker anticipating the feeling of the toy’s paw pressed to your lips.

You opened your eyes, playfully confused.

“I think Teddy is jealous.” He commented with a cartoonish voice.

Heart significantly lifted, you cocked your head curiously. “He doesn’t want me to kiss you?” You questioned, batting your lashes.

He realised you reminded him of the female bunny in Bambi.

“He doesn’t want me to kiss you.” He corrected, cuddling your face with the bear’s arm. “He fell in love with you at first sight. I don’t blame him, though. Who wouldn’t?” He flattered you.

You pouted, completely endeared. “You have absolutely no right to be this sweet.” You scolded him, blushing to your ears.

“I feel like I never tell you that enough.” He admitted. “I can be so bad to you when I get mad at work.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay, I’m here for the good and the bad parts.” You reassured him, slapping away the plushie and bringing his hand to your face, basking in his affection — and his considerably warmer skin.

“You know that I love you, right?” He asked, bending down to let his lips hover over yours, his breath fanning over your mouth.

You bobbed your head. “I do.”

“I’ll have to wear this sweater more often. I like getting jumped on the very entryway.” He cackled, finally placing his lips against yours, his tongue immediately searching for the seam of your lips, licking it gently before letting the kiss return to a more innocent puzzle of your mouth and his.

“Teddy bear is no longer jealous?” You taunted him.

“He knows you’re mine. Our love is too strong for him to compete.” He replied stoically.

You brought your hands to your chest, acting love struck. “Sweetness overload.” You groaned.

He laughed and shook his head. “Even more adorable.”

Staring at his plump cheek contracted in a full-face smile, you stretched to bite it gently, trying to spell something that sounded like ‘shark attack’ as you nibbled his soft flesh.

His devilish fingers dug into your sides, tickling you viciously. “Counterattack.” He squealed.

Your laugh was immediate, causing you to release his cheek. “No, no! I surrender!” You replied, breathless, trying to grab his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

He let you go as your body laid breathless on the sofa. “Smart Giggles. Lovely Giggles.” He fondled you, patting your head, letting you catch your breath. “What about dinner? I’d like to order in some soup or broth.”

“Oh, I can cook those. We have some stuff in the house. I think I put some in the freezer, I can defrost it in the microwave and prepare some side dishes.” You said, sitting up and dipping your fingers into his soft, fluffy hair, slightly curled by the humid, cold weather outside.

He nodded.

You stood up with a small bounce, turning around and spreading a blanket over him. “You should defrost too in the meantime.” You suggested, heading to the kitchen.

Making dinner took you maybe twenty minutes, the most of the task being cutting up some meat to add flavour to the soup, letting it cook in the boiling liquid.

When the meal was finally ready, the table laid, you went back to the living room, only to find Hoseok balled up, laying on his side, soundly asleep.

You decided to let him sleep, bringing your bowl of soup to the living room, switching on the tv and setting the volume very low, reading the scrolling news tickers rather than actually listening.

Using your spoon with one hand, the other one combed Hoseok’s hair. There was no better way to spend a cold winter night.

[maevesdarling]

Take me home tonight

Sooo, I decided to post chapter 1 of the story @unicorn-cloud and I have been cooking up for a while. This plays post series in an alternative universe. There’s mentions of gore and canon typical violence in both this and the second chapter, basically Walt is not dealing with things as good as he thought... I’m not sure how many chapters this story will have, probably around 3 to 4, also please be kind to me it’s been a long time since I uploaded my works to Tumblr, thx!  

Chapter 1: The Call

Later, after he put his gun and badge down and moves further away from the border, Walt gets a call from an unknown number. He contemplates not picking up. It's been years since Kiki's death and operation Leyenda. He thinks, for a moment, that it could be Miguel Angel, calling him from his jail cell to taunt him, but no, he's not important enough to that man and besides, Miguel Angel doesn't wield as much power as he used to.

There are others. New players in this fucked up game, Walt knows that. He saw them rising on the horizon like a looming thunderstorm, ready to destroy the earth in it's path. But for now, he decided to enjoy his peace. His back's been bothering him more as of lately and he's got a few more grey hairs. He quit smoking about a year ago, after his doctor told him to do so. He's had a few setbacks since then, a half finished pack is always hidden underneath his kitchen sink, just in case he needs a fix. But overall, he's trying to stay away from the cigarettes and eat more healthy, even though the microwavable dinners at the supermarket look damn tempting, especially since it's only himself he's cooking for.

He's up in Colorado these days. The DEA was kind enough to leave him with a nice sum of retirement money, probably to shut him up after all the shit he pulled of during his career and to be fair he doesn't blame them.

He buys a nice enough house on the outskirts of town, with some additional property, a rundown barn and an old apple tree orchard that he has no plan on using. The weather's less hot, and there's a few lakes where he can fish, but otherwise, it's pretty much like any other town he's lived in. The dark red sandstones dotting the farmland remind him of Mexico. Of sitting in the hot sun and watching a small airfield in the distance, with a pair of binoculars in his hand. Sal's voice next to him asking about their next move. It's nostalgic in a way.

The first day, after he finished dropping off his stuff in the small, rundown house, he sets off to drive around, get familiar with the place. He finds a shabby bar, a small supermarket, a post office, a family owned diner and a few farms, with cows and hundreds of chickens roaming the surrounding fields, that sell local products. Over time, he ventures out further and discovers some more bars, supermarkets and, to his surprise, a gay club.

It's well hidden, two cities over, wedged between an antique bookstore and a barbershop. It looks nothing like a club from outside, and from the inside, it's hardly distinguishable from any other bar Walt has ever set foot in. But he knows where to look, it's something you learn over time.

The first time he orders a drink, his eyes fall on a guy sitting on the other end of the bar. Dark hair and dark eyes, with a bristly moustache. He's wearing a black cowboy hat and a jeans jacket, it's not what he would have worn. Plus he only looks a slight bit like Sal, his face is much older, more weathered from years of hard work in the sun, but it's enough for Walt to give in to his yearning.

He buys Not-Sal a drink and they fall into an easy chatter. Two hours later, Walt is driving him back to his house. Not-Sal is more experienced than Walt had thought when he starts undressing him with steady hands, his fingers touching in all the right places, he's already prepared, as if he'd been expecting this to happen, and doesn't mind it when Walt accidentally let's Sal's name slip at the height of his pleasure.

They lie together afterwards, sharing a cigarette between them, neither of them ready to leave yet. Walt is slowly falling asleep to the feeling of another person combing their hands through his hair. When he wakes up the next morning, the house is empty. There's a note on his kitchen table, a short thank you message, that's it. Next time he's at the club, Not-Sal is gone. He finds someone else. A different man, with dark hair, dark eyes and a friendly face, and then another and another. Some of the men he brings over are kind, they'll stay the night and sometimes even the morning, to share a quick meal with him before they move on, others leave almost immediately after they finish. Some of them yell out Walt's name as they come, others don't. And some yell out another man's name, but that's okay because so is Walt.

He's careful with the company he keeps. Always making sure that no one sees him leaving the club with another man, driving different routes back home and of course he's always stocking up on enough condoms because he's not stupid, he knows how important protection is.

Even though he's had a few men over, none of them return for longer than a couple of times. Its fun, to fill the mornings with senseless chatter, and to fall asleep in another person's arms. But they're not Sal.

He's longing for him. Even after all those years he's still longing for him. It's been three, almost four years since he last heard from Sal. He was moving to San Francisco. The DEA wanted someone new up there and Sal was growing tired of the shit hole they had placed him in after Mexico. They had called each other almost everyday, sometimes they would even meet each other, for a quick chat and an even quicker fuck. There was never enough time.

Sal wanted to call him back, he promised, once he was in San Francisco, to call him every day. Write a postcard. But nothing came. The telephone was silent for two whole months and Walt was desperate. First, he checked the newspapers for any missing or recently deceased people, when that search came up empty, he started to search the phone book for Sal's new address but of course that came up empty as well. He kept buying new phone books, just in case and by now, there was a small bookcase filled with old phone books in his house, and not a single one held an address for Sal Orozco. It was almost like he never exited. Only Walt's memory kept him from going insane. The fading photos on his wall, the one he kept in his wallet, next to a picture of Greg and his family. One of Sal's shirts he forgot in Walt's apartment in Texas, it had long stopped smelling of him, but nevertheless, Walt would pick it up and inhale deeply, thinking that the ghost of Sal's smell was still there, etched into the fabric. He slept with the shirt, on those nights when he woke up drenched in sweat, screaming and with a thundering heart. He wrenched his eyes open but he saw them anyway, Amat, Ossie, Danilo, sometimes even Kiki. He saw them die, he saw their bodies, bruised, burned, riddled with bullets, standing in front of his bed, he could hear them calling out his name. "You killed us, Walt." They'd point at him, blood dripping from their fingertips onto his bedsheets. Those nights were the worst. Sometimes they could only be stopped with an entire bottle of whiskey.

The dreams had gotten better since he found the dog. The dog didn't have a name. He was a stray, with dark, golden fur and dirty white paws. He picked him up on his way home from an unsuccessful night at the club, the dog was covered in ticks and fleas, one eye had been badly bruised and he was tied to a tree by the side of the road. Clearly abandoned. He expected the dog to bark at him, or worse, bite him, when he kneeled down beside him to untie him, but instead, it sat down in front of Walt and started wagging it's tail, as if he'd known Walt all his life. He took the dog in and gave it a bath, making sure that no ticks or fleas survived, before driving him to the vet the next morning to check out his eye. The vet couldn't save it and so Walt decided to take him in, just another broken thing keeping his company.

He put a collar on the dog and called him his, they slept in the same bed and sat on the couch together, watching football games and stupid action movies. The dog went fishing on the lake with him, even though he was no big help in catching the fish, he also liked to run around the orchard and sit on the front porch to sleep, and Walt liked to sit beside him and think, scratching behind his fluffy ears. Sometimes he wondered if Sal liked dogs. What he'd say if he met his dog.

The other animals were intentional. Walt bought a couple of chickens to sell their eggs at the local farm, and to keep himself busy. Then he renovated the old barn as best as he could and bought three goats to sell their meat, but once he saw them in their pen, he decided they weren't going to the slaughter house and kept them for their milk instead. He also fixed up the orchard as best as he could and started collecting the apples. Soon the onslaught of apples was too much for him to handle and so he collected them in a few boxes, along with the chicken eggs and sold them to the nearest farm. Surprisingly, the people around town started knowing him once he started visiting the farm more frequently. He would have regular conversations with some of them and at some point, even started looking forward to see them. He didn't go to the town hall meetings, or to Sunday mass, and the people had been weary of him, but once they saw him with his dog and the boxes of apples in his trunk, they warmed up to him.

He enjoyed his new life. It wasn't luxurious, but that wasn't what he wanted for himself anyway. He was no Miguel Angel. He didn't need a fleet of private planes and a couple of hotels to be happy.

The phone rang again and reminded him of his current situation. The dog had stopped wagging it's tail on the couch beside him and was looking at him with his one eye, almost as if he was saying "what are you waiting for?"

And so Walt picked up the phone, fully expecting Jamie or Ed or someone else from the DEA to yell at him to get his ass back to Mexico.

"Hello... is this Walt Breslin?" The phone slipped from his grasp and fell, he caught it in his suddenly sweaty palms, pressing the shell back against his ear. Three years silence could not erase the memory of that voice. Hushed conversations between them, hiding behind a parked car as they watched over a suspect, a gasp and then a low moan, while Walt kept hitting that one spot inside him, that set Sal's body on fire, a chatty conversation over two mugs of steaming coffee in a diner that ended with both of them laughing hysterically. Walt had enough memories for an entire lifetime with that voice, he would recognize it anywhere.

"Sal-" He breathed, rearranging the phone against his ear.

"Is- Walt is that you? Oh my god- fuck- I found you!" There was a short pause on the other end of the phone and for a moment Walt thought he was imagining things, then Sal's voice returned. "I- I'm sorry, Walt. I'm so sorry-" He sobbed, apologizing over and over.

"Sal- How did you find me? Wh- Are you alright? Is- do you need help?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Walt. I am. I just- fuck- I missed you so much. Where are you? I called you're old address so many times- I thought something happened to you…"

"Shh, I'm okay. I'm in Colorado. Small town near Denver. I'll give you the address… That is… If you want me to…"

"Yes! I mean... yes I want- I want to see you. If that's okay. I need to- need to know you're okay."

He contemplated with himself wether to ask this or not, but in the end, Walt did it anyways. "It's been three years, Sal. Why did you never call? What's changed?" Another sobb from the other end of the line. "I'll tell you. In person. Friday? Is that okay for you?" Walt squinted at his calendar. Friday was in two days, he needed to clean the house, buy some groceries and pack the car for Sunday's apple delivery.

"Yeah, Friday works."

"Alright. I'll see you on Friday… Walt… I missed you."

"… Missed you too Sal."

He put the phone down slowly, feeling like he was still in a dream. The dog had noticed something was off about his behavior and was staring at him in concern. " 's alright bud, I'm just… surprised, is all. We'll meet a friend of mine on Friday. I hope you'll like him…"

Lost in his thoughts, Walt began his evening routine, closing the chicken pen, checking on the goats and refilling the dogs food in case he got hungry during the night, only when the brown cibbles hit the kitchen tiles did he notice his thoughts slipping off. The only thing on his mind was Sal. Sal with his kind face and the warm, dark brown eyes, Sal wrapping an arm around his hips and pulling him closer, Sal whispering into Walt's ear. A hushed love confession neither of them dared to talk about. So, so many memories they shared between them, how was he supposed to wait any longer to see him again?

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: some language, excessive sun exposure, nudity (but no smut)

Word count: 5.4k (why am i like this)

A/N: This fic is very self-indulgent - it’s short on plot and long on summer vibes. Also, this is a reader insert fic, but I hate writing Y/N and using second person narration, so reader has been given an ‘Avenger alias’. Hope you like it. :) Basically, Bucky deserves this, and we deserve for summer to never end. <3 I hope you all enjoy it, and as always let me know what you think!!

P.S. here’s the playlist inspired by this fic

“Geronimo!”

Sam’s battle cry is the only warning before he takes the plunge; Bucky scrambles from his place on the boat deck, shielding his book with his towel and his hands in a last ditch effort to save the pages from water-logged ruin. He scowls as Sam resurfaces, breaching the water with a laugh and blinking to clear his eyes.

“Hey - watch it, bird brain.” Thankfully, his copy of Ender’s Game remains safe and dry, despite Sam’s carelessness. Wiggling his hips, Bucky scoots further back on his towel, away from the edge of the boat and hopefully out of the splash zone.

“You’re the one complaining about getting wet at the lake, Barnes,” Sam quips back, lazily swimming towards the ladder. “I’m not to blame here.”

“Doesn’t mean I want my book getting wet,” Bucky mutters. A bead of sweat slides down his neck - several beads actually; he can feel how flushed his face is in the dog day heat of a July afternoon. As he lays on his belly, pineapple printed beach towel spread underneath him; his sunglasses slowly slide down the bridge of his nose, his face too slick with sweat to hold them up properly.

“C’mon, guys,” Steve sighs. He couldn’t look less concerned if he tried - long limbs sprawled in the water, his star-spangled ass wedged firmly in a neon blue floatie, a can of beer in one hand. A pink patch of color has bloomed on his chest and spreads across his shoulders with each passing hour, despite regular reapplication of his sunscreen. “Can we not do this all weekend?”

“Mm, I’m with Steve,” a voice pipes up, languid and sleepy, from the sun deck along the top of the boat. “I don’t wanna listen to you two bickering for the next three days.”

Bucky’s mouth goes even dryer and his cheeks burn with a different kind of heat, tongue thick in his mouth at the sound of her voice. Embarrassment creeps up in him - why does he always let Sam’s ribbing get to him, damn it?

“Hey - he started it, Angel,” Sam holds up his hands in surrender, his own towel draped across damp shoulders. There’s a crystal droplet of water on the tip of his nose. “I’m just trying to have a good time.”

She peeks over the ledge from her coveted sunbathing spot, pushing her oversized sunglasses up on her head so she can fix him with a skeptical pout. Bucky rolls a couple inches sideways, leaning on one elbow to lift his gaze up to her. The sun blazes behind her, casting a vivid white corona of heat; the baby blue lurex of her bikini glitters against her skin, her limbs shining with coconut oil and sweat. She’s gathered her hair up on top of her head, but a few adorable baby hairs have escaped at the nape of her neck and her temples, curling sweetly in the humid, hazy air.

She’s only been with the team for a few months - new to the Avengers, and to superhero-ing in general. Operating alone for years, and cleverly flying under the radar, she’d found Tony Stark waiting for her in a refugee camp on the coast of Greece with a disturbingly complete dossier on her, as well as a job offer. Within moments of meeting her, the team dubbed her “Angel” - in slight awe at the way her glowing fingers healed Clint’s broken ones during their brief introductory handshake. From then on, she’s been their undisputed MVP, saving their accident-prone skins so many times they’ve already lost count.

“You know - that smells like bullshit, Sam.” The barest hint of a smirk tugs at her mouth, and even squinting in the sun her eyes are bright.

Sam sputters, playing at mock offense.

“Excuse me?” he says, a hand pressed to his heart.

“Just leave Bucky alone,” Angel rolls her eyes, letting her sunglasses drop back to shield her from the glare off the water. “And Steve? You might want to use a higher SPF, or you’ll need me to heal that later.”

Satisfied, she stretches back on her towel up on the sun deck, one arm long and lazy above her head, the other reaching for her phone - restarting one of her podcasts, Bucky thinks. Tiny wireless headphones tucked in her ears, she’s always listening to them; there’s a true crime one that she loves, but he can’t remember the name. Looking down at his chest, Steve seems to just notice the ripening sunburn on his skin. With a sigh, he flips himself out of the inner tube and into the water, swimming the short distance to the boat and pulling himself up the ladder in search of sunscreen.

Bucky ducks his head back down to his book. He tries to read, focus his eyes on the words in front of him - but, surprisingly, he’s almost too relaxed. He feels heavy, lazy, down to his bones; his eyelids droop and the words on the page run together. It’s not unpleasant, though - the heat has soaked right through his muscles, and for the first time in ages he finds that he’s not sore, not aching. Just a little tired, like a cat in the sun. Stretching and settling on his towel, he tucks his head in the nest of his folded arms and closes his eyes.

When Angel had proposed a lake weekend, inviting the team out to her family’s place in the woods, everyone had leapt at the idea. A few days spent in pure laziness, hours wiled away on the water or with a book, with no one to rescue and no battles to fight - it sounded too good to be true. Pure summer paradise.

Beneath him, the boat rocks dully on small waves. He feels himself lulled into a trance as his body sways gently in the same rhythm, back and forth. Paradise, Bucky thinks as he drifts off.

**********

That night, the sun lingering late in the sky, cicadas humming in the trees, the guys grill out on the deck at the cabin. It smells like heaven, fresh corn and burgers and mushrooms; inside the house, Wanda slices tomatoes and Angel stirs caramelized onions on the stove. At the island, Natasha patiently mashes avocados for her famous guacamole - made famous by the fact that it’s frequently her only contribution to family dinners.

“Wow, Nat, I think you actually got a tan,” Wanda smirks. “Right there, on your arm?”

“That’s just a freckle,” Nat scowls. “Which is why I use high SPF and don’t lay in the sun for hours.”

“Hey, at least you won’t get skin cancer,” Angel laughs, not looking up from her onions. Their smell wafts through the kitchen, mouth-watering and tangy sweet, mixed with the fresh and smoky air from the open window to the deck. Outside, the laughter around the grill bursts in a loud crescendo, Sam slapping Clint’s back as he doubles over in a fit of giggles.

“Sounds like they’re having fun out there.” Nat raises a sarcastic eyebrow as she glances out the window. Angel turns to look, too, her eyes pulled to the soft glow of the porch under the string lights overhead, the setting sun just beginning to burn red and gold through the trees.

Sliding off her barstool, Wanda skips over to the sliding screen door that leads out to the deck, pulling it open just enough to stick her head through.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, nearly shouting to be heard over the boys’ loud hoots of laughter. None of them answer, still caught in the flush of whatever hilarity had set them all going. Rolling her eyes, Wanda tries again. “Hey! Are we at least ready to eat? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, yeah, kid, we’re pulling ‘em off the grill right now,” Clint sighs, wiping his eyes. Even from her place by the stove, Angel notices Bucky’s bright open smile, so rarely seen it makes her do a double take. His color his high, his tanned cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink; his hair is still wet from the shower, combed back from his forehead in a way that’s almost boyish, the tips just beginning to dry in soft brown curls.

Swallowing thickly, Angel drags her eyes back down to the onions and turns the burner off.

They gather around the long picnic table on the deck, sliding and shuffling around each other, a veritable summer feast laid out in front of them. The boys at the grill didn’t disappoint: Sam proudly slides a platter of corn on the cob next to the kebabs he made, while Clint carries a tray piled high with fresh burgers (and turkey burgers, at Nat’s request). Toppings and sides come single file from the kitchen - fresh sliced tomatoes, crisp lettuce, fried plantains and guacamole. Bucky’s mouth waters with each new dish that arrives at the table, his knees jammed underneath the table next to Steve.

“This spot taken?”

Angel smiles as she slides into the seat across from him; she had washed her face when they got in from the lake, fresh and clean, and pulled an old college t-shirt over her swimsuit. The scent of her coconut lotion drifts across the table. Bucky clears his throat.

“N-no. Go ahead.” He wishes his smiles were half as warm as hers, half as easy and sweet.

Her nose scrunches as she beams a little wider at him and stretches her legs underneath the table, her ankle resting against his calf. The brush of their skin sets Bucky’s nerves on fire, and he keeps expecting her to move, to flinch away. But her leg stays where it is, resting against his, as they laugh and eat with their friends; and every so often when her eyes catch his he wonders if he’s imagining the spark in them.

**********

If it’s possible to get a concussion from tubing, Sam will have one by the end of the day.

Bucky’s head is already swimming and dizzy from being thrown from the inner tube half a dozen times, skipping across the surface of the lake like a stone - he’d always thought Steve was a wild driver on a bike, but in a boat, with two of his friends pulled behind and gripping the handles of a rubber tube? Steve is an absolute maniac.

Inside the boat, Angel leans against Steve’s seat and grips the railing to keep her balance, watching the boys behind them on their wild ride from hell.

“Are you sure you should be going this fast?” she speaks up, a little nervous. “Do you even have a boating license?”

“Don’t need one - I was born before the cutoff date, got grandfathered in,” Steve yells back over the engine and the rush of the waves underneath them. Glancing back and seeing Bucky and Sam still hanging on, he cuts the wheel sharply, the boat arcing through the water in a donut that sends them cutting over their own wake. From the boat, it’s a mild discomfort, the deck bouncing on each wave; from the tube, it’s game over.

She winces as it happens - the two of them go completely airborne on the tube, and with a final scream Sam loses his grip and tumbles sideways, knocking Bucky off into the water with him. Without their weight, the tube sways in the wind for a moment before it drops back to the water, upside down and empty.

“They’re down!” Wanda laughs, and Steve cuts the throttle down, idling slowly back to where the bright blue and green of life jackets bobs in the water a hundred feet away.

As they pull up alongside Sam and Bucky, Wanda drops the ladder and Angel makes her way to the back of the boat, pulling the rope to bring the tube back up to the boat.

“Oof,” Sam huffs as he hauls himself up the ladder, immediately unsnapping the buckles on his lifejacket. “I think I’m done - yeah. Yeah, I’m definitely done.” He shrugs the lifejacket off his shoulders and drops onto a seat at the front of the boat. “Hey, why don’t you get out there and let me drive, Steve?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Steve smiles innocently behind his sunglasses, his hair windblown and spiky. “I think I’m just getting the hang of driving this thing.”

“I think you need a little more practice, punk,” Bucky groans from the ladder. “But not with me back there. I thought Hydra scrambled my brains enough but-” he grabs a towel and scrubs the side of his head, trying to shake the water from his ears. “-you’ve got me mixed up like a fruit salad up here. Jesus.”

There’s always a downbeat, an awkward breath, when he makes jokes about Hydra. Steve winces a little, and Sam purses his lips; Wanda looks away, pushing her hair behind her ears. Bucky feels his cheeks flush, frustrated and embarrassed.

“It’s probably just early-onset Alzheimer’s,” Angel giggles, breaking the silence. “I mean, you’re pushing 102? 103?”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Bucky narrows his eyes at her.

“I don’t look a day over 30, you know,” he huffs, feigning offense as he hip checks her on his way to the cooler for a beer.

“Ok, boomer,” she sighs. She’s wearing a necklace today, a single cowrie shell nestled at her collarbone, and she’s changed out the blue bikini for a tie-dye one that makes him thinks of cotton candy. With his metal hand, he snaps the cap off his beer and takes a swig, raising a brow towards her in question. Angel shakes her head. “I’m good - but I’ll take a water.”

They pass around the bottles of water, and a couple of snacks; it’s only early afternoon, and they’re loathe to waste any of the beautiful day, all of them sprawled across the boat, sunning themselves liberally. Wanda wonders aloud what they should do, if everyone is done getting roughed up on the tube.

“Well, we could drive around to the waterfall - maybe go cliff jumping,” Angel suggests, wiping watermelon juice from her chin. The huge Tupperware bowl of fruit they brought has gone down swinging between her and Steve, Sam picking through to find the strawberries.

“There’s a waterfall?” Steve sits up, a slice of cantaloupe in his hand. Angel nods, picking a seed from her teeth.

“Yeah, it’s around that way - not too far from here,” she turns and points around a bend in the shoreline, towards the north end of the lake. “We could at least just take a drive over there - the breeze would be nice.”

They all agree on that - it’s a cloudless day, brilliant and sweltering without the slightest wind to stir up the air across the water. Sam swipes his brow, more damp with sweat now than water, and takes a swig of his beer.

“Let’s go, Angel.” He raises his bottle in salute. “Before we all die of heatstroke.”

It’s a small waterfall, just a stream coming down from the hills surrounding the lake, and running faster today because of the last week’s rain; but the cove is lush and blooming with trees overhead, humming with the lazy buzz of insects and busy calls of birds. Angel kills the engine near the entrance and lets Steve drop the anchor - the water here is clean and deep, and the cliff face rises stark and bright out of the water, the rocks stained with age.

“Oh, wow - it’s so pretty,” Wanda smiles, snapping a picture of the waterfall with her phone.

“And quiet,” Bucky observes. He can’t hear the sounds of other boats on the water, the cries of other swimmers on the lake.

“Yeah, nobody ever comes back here,” Angel shrugs. “It’s kind of a secret little place - my family are always the only people here.”

One by one, they peel off their shirts and tug their lifejackets on, diving into the sun-warmed water. Angel leads the way towards the waterfall, showing them all a small break in the rocks with a natural set of steps and handholds she found with her brothers, and they climb up the rocks bit by bit, happily exploring.

“You ever climb all the way up there?” Sam asks, pointing to the top of the waterfall, where an outcropping of the rock juts out over the water.

“Yeah, a couple of times,” she nods, looking up. “We used to jump from the top. I never liked it much - I’m a little scared of heights.”

“Race you Tin Man,” Sam punches Bucky’s arm, and without waiting for confirmation, takes a running head start at the cliff wall, jumping up to the first handhold he sees and working his way up bit by bit. Bucky scowls, but not one to ignore a challenge, he follows close behind, overtaking Sam in a matter of minutes as he scales the wall with just his hands.

Hauling himself up over the edge, he stands above the waterfall, looking out over the lake. It’s still only mid-afternoon, and the glare of the sun on the water is nearly blinding. Far away, tiny boats circle and weave across the surface, their paths leaving figure 8’s in the waves. Below, he hears Wanda and Steve and Angel talking, cheering Sam on as he climbs the last few feet to the top.

“I win,” Bucky smiles as Sam’s huffing and sweaty face appears over the edge of the rock.

“I hate you,” Sam pants, but he takes the hand Bucky offers and scrambles up to stand beside him.

“Hell of a view.”

Sam props an arm on Bucky’s shoulder, an endlessly annoying habit he has, but Bucky refrains from smacking his hand away. They stare out at the water as Sam catches his breath.

“Yeah, it is.”

**********

When they finally make their way back to the boat, the sun has crept along the horizon towards the late afternoon angle, and their arms and legs ache from climbing the cliff walls over and over. Wanda massages her shoulders, slicking her hair into a little wet bun on top of her head. Angel follows behind her, dropping her lifejacket on her seat and wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

Last one up the ladder is Bucky, his arms heavy in the water, eyes stinging, but happily tired from a long day spent doing nothing important. He can’t remember the last time he got to do something like this - just be, just have fun, nothing hanging over his head and no thoughts of tomorrow. He pulls up the ladder after him, folding it onto the deck, and perches on the edge of a seat next to Angel, wondering where his towel has gone.

“Oh - oh, Bucky, you’re hurt,” Angel sits up and leans closer to him. He holds his breath, her face inches from his own - but her eyes are down on his hand.

His flesh hand, which is currently bleeding all over his bright blue swim trunks.

Shit. He hadn’t even noticed - hadn’t felt it at all, but he must have cut it on the climb. The cut runs cleanly through the pink flesh of his palm, welling blood that trickles down his wrist, mingling with the water that still clings to his skin. It triggers something, makes his brain stumble, the bright stain on his thigh - his shorts are probably ruined. He opens his mouth and starts to say something, but the sound sticks in his throat.

Smooth, soft fingers slide over his as Angel grabs his hand. Covering his palm with her own, she frowns down at the wound, as her hand starts to shimmer and glow. He feels the heat of her power soaking into his skin, brighter than the sunlight overhead. It starts to flow down his wrist, and he wants more of it - he wants to bask in it.

Too soon, though, it’s over. The cut wasn’t all that bad, and it only takes a moment to heal. But her hand lingers, palm brushing his, the tips of her fingers tracing his pulse on the delicate underside of his wrist, where the pale pink stain of blood lingers.

“Better?” she asks, looking up at him, long lashes shading her eyes. Tentatively, he allows his own fingers to trace her wrist.

“Yeah. Thank you,” he smiles.

“Any time.”

**********

That night, as the sun sinks down and the fireflies float lazily up from the warm ground, they gather around the fire pit in front of the house. Spread out in canvas lawn chairs, they toast their marshmallows on wire coat hangers, squishing them between graham crackers and chocolate squares. Steve is suspicious of the treat at first, unsure about the pairing and perpetually wary of sweets.

“Just try it,” Wanda rolls her eyes. “It’s the perfect treat, trust us.”

Skeptical, he sinks his perfect American teeth into the crackers, through the gooey marshmallow chocolate layer, the melted treat sticking to his lips as he pulls away. He chews thoughtfully, quietly, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb as he considers. The rest of the group awaits his verdict, nestled in their chairs with their own s’mores.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agrees, shoving the rest of the dessert into his mouth. He licks his lips appreciatively. “You’ve got a point there.”

“You know, I think you would’ve had to give up being Captain America if you didn’t like them,” Clint smirks, one cheek stuffed full. “I mean, who doesn’t like s’mores?”

“Yeah, but is that technically an American thing?” Sam wonders, reaching for the package of graham crackers.

“Well I’ve never had them anywhere else,” Wanda counters. She’s nursing her second pineapple ale of the evening - a drink she discovered when they stopped into a grocery store for supplies, and insisted on buying 2 packs to bring to the cabin with them.

Bucky isn’t paying attention to the Great S’mores Debate, not even a little bit. He can hardly hear them talking; he stares across the fire, warm sparks drifting like the fireflies above, as Angel licks chocolate from her fingers. The bright pink tip of her tongue darts out against her fingertips, savoring what’s left of the treat; he finds that his own mouth is parched and dry, a curious kind of hunger growling low in his belly, despite having had his own fill of dinner and s’mores. As she slips her pinky finger into her mouth, her eyes catch his from the other side of the flames, the firelight dancing in her eyes as she holds his gaze. The corner of her mouth twitches up just slightly, and she winks.

She winks.

Then, as the conversation takes another twist towards some kind of dessert or another, she quietly slips from her chair and walks away unnoticed, picking her way down the familiar trail to the dock in the dark.

Bucky glances around the group, and gauging that their conversation should serve as enough of a distraction, mutters some kind of excuse about needing the bathroom before getting up to follow.

Seconds later, Natasha turns to look at them - Angel’s form just visible between the trees and Bucky trailing along behind. She smiles widely over her beer, before settling back into her chair with a sigh.

“Finally,” she huffs, taking a sip. “Took them long enough.”

“Oh my god, right?” Sam raises his hands in exasperation. “I thought I’d hit my 100th birthday before that dickhead made a move-”

**********

She’s sitting at the edge of the dock, past where the boats are moored for the night, one knee tucked up under her chin as her other leg dangles with her toe in the water. She must hear him coming, his footsteps intentional and loud to his own ears on the wooden planks, but she doesn’t turn around. The lake is soft and still, wearing moonlight like a a silk robe, rippling reflected light across the surface. Above them the sky is cloudless and star-filled, cooled to a rich deep blue after the blazing bright day.

“Sometimes I would come down here at night with my dad,” she says, when he stands right behind her, unsure if he’s allowed to sit, if he should ask. She tips her head up over her shoulder. “We’d fish a little - threw them all back, though.”

“You didn’t keep ‘em?” Bucky asks, settling down beside her on the dock, letting his legs hang over the edge.

“No,” she shakes her head, scrunching her nose. “I felt sorry for them. Didn’t wanna hurt them, you know?”

He just watches her, the soft line of her profile in starlight, a smile blooming in his heart.

“Always been an angel, huh.” He doesn’t mean to say it, at least not out loud, but once it’s out he finds himself glad.

She looks at him then, not answering, but searching out his gaze with her eyes - they flit between his own, pupils wide in the dark. He licks his lips, wonders what she’s looking for, what she sees.

“Have you ever been night-swimming?”

Her question comes out of the blue, catching him off guard. He blinks - her mischievous eyes never leave his face.

“Um. I-I don’t remember,” he fumbles. “I think so. Way back, during the war. Not so much for leisure though,” he smiles ruefully. “I just knew I smelled awful and didn’t wanna risk being caught with my pants down, literally, in broad day.”

It startles a laugh out of her, a loud one, and his pride swells, inflating in his chest. The smile stays fixed on his face as he looks back out at the lake.

“Wouldn’t mind sometime, though,” he hints. “It’s beautiful out there at night.”

“Let’s go then,” she grins, using her hands to push herself up to stand above him. He blinks up, dumb at the flash of her smile.

“But, well…” he falters. “I should run back up to the house, I don’t have my trunks-”

“So?” she interrupts with a careless shrug. There’s something in her smile, and he doesn’t quite understand what she means until she reaches for the hem of her t-shirt and-

Oh. Oh.

Easy as that, smooth as a wave, she peels her shirt over her head, tossing it to the side. Her soft cotton bralette comes next, unhooked and slid down her arms, dropped onto the pile with her shirt. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he swears, but he can’t bring himself to lower his gaze. She turns away with a little smile as she shimmies her shorts down, kicking them behind her to join the rest of her clothes, and he thinks he might combust if, oh god, there go her panties-

The cool splash of water as she jumps in jolts him back to himself, wakes him from the trance he fell into at the display of her body, her sweet summer skin, still smelling of coconut and watermelon. Her head bobs up a couple of yards past the dock, treading water.

“You coming or what?” she dares, feeling less bold now, but what the hell - she made her move.  The water has cooled since the sun went down, and a little shiver runs through her. Yes, she certainly made a move. She bites her lip and watches him, waiting, hoping.

When he stands, she holds her breath - will he leave? Will he turn her down? Will he still be her friend? Then he reaches a hand behind his back and tugs his shirt up over his head, throwing it down onto the dock next to hers.

He’s every bit as beautiful by moonlight as he is in broad day - she’s always thought so, but kept it to herself, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Now though…she admires him, as she allowed him to admire her; watches closely every long line of his body revealed to her as he undresses, the golden tan he’s earned the last few days on the lake, the course hair covering his chest, the sliding shadows of muscle beneath his skin…

Before he can second guess himself, Bucky dives in and joins her, popping up out of the water just a few feet away and slicking his hair back from his face. She smiles, playfully backing away; he grins right back as he gives chase, following slow but determined.

“See? Fun, right?” Angel giggles, feeling her heart beat a wild rhythm and hoping he can’t hear it. Bucky chuckles back, not answering, swimming just a few inches closer. The outline of her body glows in the moonlight, though he tries not to stare beneath the water.

“You’ve definitely convinced me,” he agrees. They drift out a little further - still not too far from the dock or the shore, but their little game of cat and mouse leads them out several yards. “You bring all the boys out here? Is it gonna be Sam’s turn tomorrow?”

“Hm…I haven’t decided yet,” she muses, pretending to consider it. “I think I’d ask Steve first - unless you think he wouldn’t be game for it.”

“Trust me, I know Steve Rogers,” Bucky laughs. “He’d die of embarrassment.”

“You’re probably right,” Angel grins. “Then maybe it is Sam’s turn.”

“Aw, you’re breaking’ my heart, Angel,” Bucky pouts, giving her the full force of his baby blues, a look he only ever reserved for his mother. Angel doesn’t fall for it; instead, she rolls her eyes and splashes a handful of water right in his face.

“You’ll be fine,” she shrugs, but hides her smile by ducking her head half down, nearly concealed in the water.

“No, I won’t,” he insists. He’s barely a foot away from her now. “I’m wounded, Angel. Really. I’m real hurt - I need your help.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah - I may not survive. You gotta help me.”

“Well, I think that’s in my job description.” Her eyes are full of moonlight, her face inches from his own. “Where are you hurt?”

He grabs her hand and places her palm firmly over his heart.

“Right here, honey,” he whispers, silly grin firmly in place. “You hurt me real bad.”

On cue, her palm starts to glow, the light filtering up through the water in glittering ripples that flicker across their faces. Just over his heart, his skin warms at her touch, a surge of energy and light and life straight into him, deep and true.

“Anywhere else?” she asks, her own voice so soft, barely heard over the cicadas in the trees.

“Yeah…here.” Taking hold of her other hand, he draws her arms up around his shoulders. His smirk twitches. “Must’ve pulled something climbing those cliffs.”

“Uh huh, sure,” she rolls her eyes, but ignites her hands anyway, the healing warmth soaking into his sore muscles and the ever-tender skin surrounding his metal arm. Not one to complain, he never mentions the trouble it causes, constant weight on his shoulders and neck, often giving him tension headaches at the base of skull. But here she is, melting it all away with a touch.

Slowly, cautiously, he lets his hands slide around her waist, thumbs gently brushing her last rib. Beneath his palms he feels her breath stutter and catch, her heart picking up. Their feet accidentally kick one another as they attempt to keep treading water, and she lets him wrap one of her legs around his waist to keep from kicking her.

“Anything else?” she whispers. He traces her face with his eyes, unable to distinguish her own glow from that of the moon beaming down on them. With a slow nod, Bucky rests his forehead against hers, shares a breath.

“Here,” he says, and tilts his head the last couple of inches until his lips meet hers.

In an instant, he feels warm all over; though his eyes are closed, he can see the light behind them like sun through closed blinds. It nearly burns, hot and holy and aching sweet, and his toes curl with it. She breaks away for a moment, just to smile so blindingly, sunbeams breaking beneath her radiant skin - and dives back in, laughing into his mouth as he tightens his hold and her hands go to his hair.

Adrift in a summer-warm lake, under a swollen July moon, they kiss and laugh and touch and play.

Under a moon half as bright, they glow.

[ficsnroses]

Upset - John Wick x Reader

Word Count : 3K

Warnings : Fluff, Angst, don't think there’s anything apart from that!

Summary : John & his girlfriend, Y/N, have a bit of an argument before bed, leaving them both feeling uneasy. 

A/N : So this emerged from the idea of your S/O always kissing you goodnight without fail, even if you’re in a fight, and kinda just stemmed from there. Once again, this turned out completely different from what I imagined it would, but that’s alright! I hope you enjoy ❤️ Requests are currently open :)

It’s a cold evening in New York, you’d swore flurries may have just fell, 

had the air not been so desiccated. Shrill, arctic frost loiters each surface, each brick of the city stone, freckled with ice on all the rooftops. The leaves out the window embroider in ice sequins coats, decorated by the frigid crisp itself.

John had come home not too long ago, and you’d felt him tense just by a look his way. He’d hung his coat, sluggish on the entrance coat hanger, movement slow and weary as his limbs trudge along the hardwood floor. Dog had ran his way in a haste, tail wagging frantically as he joys at John’s feet, waiting for an abundance of praiseful pets. John doesn’t quite abide, though.

“Good Dog.” John’s low, deep voice barely manages, settling for just a stroke behind Dog’s ear, before plodding towards the kitchen. You’d heard John come in from your spot on the living room couch, browsing a novel of your choice as you’d wait for him.

You found yourself waiting for John often on days like today. Days when he’d venture out, with little to speak on his whereabouts.

You tried not to press on it much. Over the years of being John Wick’s girlfriend, you’d learned much about the way he was. John was special, for sure. There was no denying it.

John is loving, John is compassionate. John is gentle, sweet, thoughtful. He’s a great listener, trustful and respectful. He makes you laugh just when you need it most, he offers a shoulder to cry on when you need it firm.

John loves you endlessly, unconditionally, here, now, today, as you are. And he will, for as long as he can. You’ve never doubted it. He’d never let you. For John, you’d always been the one everything comes down to in the end. He’s all you’d ever wanted, and plenty more.

But even the best of us have our flaws.

John is quiet, when he feels he needs to be. John carries an unrelenting weight on his shoulders, the burden of all his demons when he feels its best. John often forgets, that he is only human.

That he is, human.

Quiet, you pad towards the kitchen, hearing John shuffle around the marble floors. You catch a glimpse of his fatigued form, expressions low, melancholy. You know he’s not feeling his best, and it hurts you to realize that.

If you had it your way, you’d take all his worries away in a heartbeat. That’s the kind of love you had – an interminable battle to keep each other safe, carefree.

“John? Are you here?” You quietly inquire, making your presence known. Dog’s ears perk up to the sound of your soft voice, as he hops over to you, stopping by your feet.

He shifts his gaze your way, with a glass of tepid water in hand. “It’s just me.” He responds, raising a hand as he sips. He offers a small smile your way, although it never quite reaches his chestnut orbs. He lets out a small cough, a wince apparent in his measure, that he tries to brush off.

As you walk his way, your heart falls heavy knowing he’s had a rough day. With your touch gentle, you wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. His hands come around your waist briefly, as he dots a kiss your lips brief, finishing with a more delicate one to your forehead.

His kisses still sent you in butterflies, no matter the countless amounts you’d shared.

“Long day?” You ask, letting go of him as he moves to wash his hands. His muscles seem tense as he moves drained, although you can tell he’s trying his best to make it not apparent to you. That’s how John was, he’d rather stomach any distresses himself, than have his love worry.

“I’m alright, sweetheart.” He replies, short, keeping his eyes fixed on the steady stream of the faucet flow. You sigh a breathy exhale, knowing he’d rather keep his guard up than let you know. You’d often wonder why John did that. He really was the man to give as much as he could to you, asking for absolutely nothing in return.

But that wasn’t how you’d preferred. For him, you wanted the same. You wanted to be there for him when he needed you, wanted to walk through plights with him, holding his hand each step of the way. You wanted to show him, that what you had was a two-way street.

He takes care of you, and you take care of him.

As you walk closer to him again, you allow your arms to wrap around his waist from behind, leaning yourself on him as he stands at the kitchen sink. With your cheek pressed against his back, you quietly press. 

“John, I can tell something is wrong. You’re not yourself today.” You frown, giving his bicep a compassionate squeeze.

You feel his tenseness subside a little as you touch him. With your chest pressed to his back, you soothe up and down his arms, trying your best to get it out of him. If not much, you’d just love if he’d let you talk him through it.

As he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, his frame moves to the kitchen towel, drying the droplets of water off his skin. “It’s okay, I’m alright.” He quietly protests, moving to the living room couch. You trail behind him, refusing to let him wallow alone. As he takes place by the fireplace, Dog runs rush at his feet, padding a few twirls on his paws before plopping comfortable. You trail behind, feeling more uneasy by the second. John doesn’t seem to budge today.

For your own sanity, you need him to be okay.

Silence dawns the room as you try to find the right words. Stood at the doorframe, you watch John rub his worn-out eyes, yawning as he clears his throat. There seems to be no right way to approach him, so you settle for just asking him again.

“John,” you say, voice assertive this time. As you walk up behind him as he sits, you allow your arms to circle his shoulders, planting a kiss on his head. “Please, I know somethings bothering you and I just wanna help.” Ruffling his hair, you try to keep the mood light. “How about we get to bed early tonight? It’s freezing out, maybe we could both just use a good snuggle.” You giggle, pressing another kiss to the side of his head.

You’d always make sure John knew just how loved he is. Make sure he doesn’t forget the feeling of being touched.

He deserves it, more than anyone else.

He sighs, lips curling into a small smile at the way you’re holding him. “That sounds nice.” He replies, to the thought of having the day over with, falling asleep beside the woman he loves.

“Annnnnnnnd….you’ll tell me what’s up.” You say, quiet, but firm. When he doesn’t reply, let go of him, moving around the couch to take seat by. He’s still strained, his lips purse slight, just enough to exaggerate his tense brow. Taking hold of his hand, you lace your fingers together, rubbing the top of his palm as he stares out the window.

“John, I don’t know what’s bothering you but I know there is something. It doesn’t sit well with me that you’re upset and I don’t know why.” You sigh, as he turns to look your way. “Honey, please. Was it something from…work?” You question, never letting go of his hand. He takes in a deep breath, almost about to speak, before the words seem to get caught in his throat, never quite coming out.

Rolling your eyes, you grow impatient, slightly peeved that he won’t just tell you. “John, you’re doing that thing again. Where you shut me out.” You frown.  

He lets out an exhale, jaw tensing. “I’m not…” he frowns. “…shutting you out, Y/N. I’m just tired. Okay? You don’t need to worry.”

Groaning, you grow more annoyed. “John, why do you have to be so stubborn? I know you, and I know somethings up. You’ve been acting weird since you got home, you’ve been dry, you’re all tense and…” you bite your lip, trying not to complain. “You’re not your same...” 

Searching for the right words, you continue. “….cheery self today. You’ve barely talked to me since you got home.” With a fretful hand comb through your hair, you breathe. “Did I do something?” You ask, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“No, of course not.” He replies, giving your hand a small squeeze.

“Then tell me what’s wrong!” You say, a bit louder than intended.

He turns to lock your gaze. Calm and collected still, he speaks. “Y/N, stop pressing. Please. You’re making it worse.”

You’re making it worse. That stung.

Letting go of his hand, you straighten your back, looking down slightly. “Alright then.” You begin to stand, as he lightly grasps hold of your arm.

“Y/N, wait, I’m….” he starts, as you cut him off, a mock evident in your words.

“No. I’m making it worse, aren’t I?” You shake his hand off your arm, sighing as an anxious hand runs through your locks. “Just…leave me alone tonight, alright, John? We’ll talk in the morning when you’ve figured your shit out.” You dispute, turning on the balls of your feet to walk away.

-

John and you didn’t fight often. Even when you did, they weren’t necessarily arguments. Much like today, they would be confrontation, leaving both of you the space you needed until you’d be ready to discuss again, work things through.

Although, as the words of staying apart tonight had slipped off your lips, John felt his heart heavy, suddenly aware of how much he didn’t want that. If anything, John wanted to take you up on your offer of calling it an early night, more than ever. He knew, just how much he wanted to hold you close, rejuvenate through the night, forgetting about his taxing day. Sometimes, he just needed a little grounding. Something to pull him back to earth, reminding him that there’s more to his life, than what he had become. What he was bound to.

There was you. All things good, all things he needed to remember what he truly needs.

Solace.

Familiarity.

Normality.

All things, he got from you.

John hated when things weren’t right between you two. He didn’t have anyone else to confide in. For him, it was just you.

But John was anything but inconsiderate. He wasn’t a monster, as the world made him out to be. John understands, he knows how to give you the respect you deserve. If you wanted space, he’d give it to you, for as long as you needed.

Even if it hurt him.

Discontent, he hauls himself up, heading for the wooden stairs that led to your shared bedroom. The one that you’d fall asleep in alone tonight. This wasn’t what he wanted. Why did he always somehow manage to make things worse? He thinks wearily to himself, shaking his head as he rubs his temples, mad at himself for letting it get this way, when all you were trying to do was be there for him.

The same thing he did for you, without doubt.

-

As he glides the bedroom door open, the creak fills the air around, as the rest of the room sits rather still. He sees you tucked away on your side of the bed, the comforter pulled tight up, covering most of your face. You’d been curled up, as if shielding yourself from something unwelcome. 

He feared it was him.

As he cautiously ambles over, his orbs frown, with a grimace coat his features. His heart hopes more than anything that you hadn’t shed any tears. It would ruin him to know he did that to you, when all he wanted was the exact opposite.

As he moves closer to his side of the bed, he sighs, grabbing his fluffed white pillow that matches the one under your head.

Hopefully the guest bedroom sheets wouldn’t treat him too glum tonight.

Turning to head out the door, he kicks himself again mentally, for allowing it to go this far tonight. John wasn’t used to sleeping without you, not unless it was while he was away for a job. Tonight felt wrong. Looking your way once more, he feels himself halt in his tracks, unable to leave.

John had a habit, more of a routine, if you will. Each night, he’d kiss you goodnight, without fail. Even if he’d be away, he’d make sure his nightly phone call went your way, as he’d wish you a goodnights sleep, reminding you that he loves you. While he was home, it was always the last thing on his agenda. Finishing his day off in the way he knew best.

As he bends down, kneeling beside the bed, John observes your features. You lay still, calm, poised and present, chest rising and falling gently. He was glad you were getting rest, he was ready for this dreadful evening to be over soon as well, hopeful for the morning, when you’d wake and could talk it out.

With his hand coming down to cup your cheek softly, his lips move in, pressing a gentle, delicate kiss to your forehead. He lingers in place for a moment before pulling away, lips hovering over your face, close enough to give you another. But he’d held himself back, afraid he’d wake you up. John didn’t want to ruin your night more than he already had.

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, he reluctantly pulls himself back, pillow tucked away under his arm, giving you a final glance, before he leaves for good. The door creaks again on his way out, his foot steps audible towards the guestroom.

You’d been awake, well aware of the way he was silently regretful. But you decided it would be good to sleep separate tonight, it would give you both a chance to collect your thoughts and be alone. John was sorry for sure, but that didn’t compromise for the fact that he hadn’t reacted in the best way tonight. 

You love him with all your heart, you respect him and understand he’s a quiet man. But as his girlfriend, you felt you deserve to at least know why he’d been behaving the way he was.

If not tonight, the least you wanted was him to let you know that he’d tell you when he was ready. Not completely shut you out.

-

As the sun shines through the bedroom windows, your eyes flutter open to the remembrance of last nights past. Out of habit, you turn to hug John closer, hit with the reality that he’s not there. The spot lays cold and empty, his pillow missing and the sheets untouched on his side.

You sigh, bringing your hands to rub your tired eyes. You wished he was here, tucked away beside you, where he belongs. No matter what had happen last night, you just wanted him here, now, in this moment. You miss him, despite knowing he’s only a room away.

It doesn’t sit well with you knowing you’re in the middle of a fight.

Lifting the covers off yourself, your groggy eyes adjust to the bright morning glow channeling the room. It’s still chilly out, and you catch glimpse of the frost speckle the tree branches outside, gleaming, beaming, sparkling as a new day wakens.

Dragging your tired, bleary limbs as you walk, you hope John is already awake. You don’t want to wake him prematurely; you know he needs rest. But you can’t drag this on longer, you just need things to be alright again. 

Walking through the hallway, you smell the aroma of fresh coffee being brewed on the timer downstairs. John sets a pot for exactly 6:00AM every morning, for you both to enjoy when you’d wake up together. It had become routine at this point. Morning coffee was one of your favourite times of the day, when you’d have John all to yourself in his clumsily sleepy state, as each sip woke you both up more and more. John is a sweetheart in the morning, affectionate as he peppers you with kisses while you browse the morning paper, reading aloud the intriguing headlines for him as well, as he cooks you breakfast.

This morning, however, was a dire contrast to your routine ones.

As you sway the guestroom door open quietly, you see him lay on his back, eyes shut as the sheets bunch and pleat around him.

He’d been tossing and turning all night.

You frown at the exhaustion that paints his features, suddenly regretful that you may have been the reason for that. Perhaps you’d been a bit harsh on him. Maybe you should have just let it go, understand that he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

Slow and cautious, you make your way over to the bed, taking seat beside him. Your hand moves to softly rest on his cheek, giving the skin a few gentle strokes, hoping he was able to get a little bit of decent sleep last night. He deserved it.

“John?” You quietly speak, trying to awake him calm. “Jonathan?”

You try to shake him gently, making sure not to startle him. As you call his name again, his eyes shoot open, adjusting to the light before they set on you, heavy.

“Y/N,” John’s morning voice rasps as he sits up slightly, looking your way.

“I-..” You begin, before he cuts you off, setting a hand on your thigh.

“Wait, before you say anything, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.” He shakes his head. “I was just overwhelmed and I didn’t want you to worry. You weren’t making it worse at all, I didn’t mean what I said.” He sighs. “I’m sorry I made you upset.”

You smile, the anger of the night completely forgotten. All you wanted right now, was to be with the man you love. As you move closer to him, your arms wrap around his neck, placing a kiss to his cheek, as you finish with a rest of your head on his shoulder. His arms come around you as well, tucking his head into your neck with a sigh of relief. He holds you close, pressing sweet kisses wherever he pleases.

“I’m sorry too. I should have understood that you weren’t ready to talk about it.” You run your hands through his hair as you hold each other in an embrace, both happy to put the night behind. “I won’t press next time, I promise.” As you pull back slightly to connect your eyes, your hand comes to cup his bearded cheek. “You’re not mad at me, right?” you bite your lip.

John shakes his head, placing his hand over yours that holds his cheek, as his other stays wrapped around you. “Of course not, princess.” He plants a kiss to your wrist, letting you know he’s ready to move on as well. “ You’re not mad at me either, right?” 

“Of course not. I love you.” You reply, smiling as you stare his lips.

He brings his own in closer, hovering just above yours as a smile curls his lips as well. “I love you so much more, sweetheart.” He kisses you brief, before his lips speak again. “Always. Don’t forget it.”

As your lips connect in a heartfelt kiss again, your hands never leave each other, as your arms hold close, savouring in each other once again in the wake of the daybreak sun.

It’s a cold morning in New York, you’d swore flurries may have just fell,

had the love of your life not made,

the world around seem,

so warm.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

Taglist Posted Separately (Ask to be added or removed!) :

[harryandmolly]

fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *5*

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, NSFW (unprotected sex), The Reckoning pt. 1 (this warning brought to you by Georgie Kingston)

wc: 4.7k

------------

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. I mean… wow.”

“I know, right?”

Shawn and Lilly are sitting up in Lilly’s bed, her sheets pooled around their naked hips. Her phone sits between them, glowing the only light in the room. Her home screen is a picture of Lauren dressed as the Statue of Liberty from Halloween in college.

At first when Lilly checked the time, she was sure it said 5:04 PM. But given the time of year, it was too dark for that to be true. Shawn stirred and they inspected it together, equally bewildered. 

5:04 AM. They slept for a clean 14 hours. By the way they each stretch and groan, neither of them moved a muscle the whole time. Lilly feels like she’s at the brink of atrophy, with a comfortable soreness between her legs. 

She looks over at Shawn. He’s bleary-eyed, extra flushed from all the body heat they produce in the same bed together, with pillow marks on his cheeks and chest. Lilly has a mark across her side from the weight of his arm. It’s like they’ve been asleep for years.

Lilly lets her phone screen go dark. Dawn isn’t coming for a while. They’re alone. Their breathing syncs. Shawn yawns. Lilly follows. The quiet aches.

She reaches over to her nightstand and flicks on the lamp. The orange glow is made warmer than usual with his big brown eyes watching her. It’s different, though, than it has been. He’s not watching her like one of them is impersonating a dog in an ASPCA commercial. It’s curious and gentle, but there’s a confidence there, too. It seems she’s missed it.

“Hello there,” she sighs, coming down onto one folded arm on her side. He follows, mirroring her.

“Hi.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, looking him over. He squirms a little under her gaze.

“Thanks for shaving the gross facial hair.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “No problem. My mum made it pretty clear that she was going to ask me to shave it every time I FaceTimed her, so it was just delaying the inevitable.”

Lilly’s brows lift. “Did you like the gross facial hair?”

Shawn chuckles. “No. I guess I was just curious. I don’t really get to try shit like that most of the time. So.”

She nods, continuing her inspection, as though she hasn’t looked at him in the weeks they’ve been in Mandeville Canyon together. She doesn’t comment on his weight or the pallor of his skin. She has no business, given the way she’s been treating her own body. She internalizes it and moves on.

Timidly, she lifts her hand through his hair. His eyes flutter shut, he nuzzles into it automatically. She feels that ache between her thighs again, more prominently this time.

“But about the hair… maybe I should cut it. If you want me to.”

Shawn’s eyes brighten. “I didn’t know you could cut hair.”

“Oh, I can’t. I mean, I haven’t yet. But I’ll watch a video, we’ll be fine.”

He hesitates only for a moment, surprising her. “Ok. Yeah. It’s probably time.”

Lilly feels an odd sensation getting out of that bed and it can’t be blamed on low blood sugar or dehydration. The writer in her feels a scene ending when Shawn pulls himself up and walks into her shower, leaving the door open when he turns on the water and inspects his hair in the mirror, along with a couple of zits. The finality is an illusion, because life isn’t so neatly told like a screenplay. Even though she feels the scene is over, she has to stand up and find a clean pair of panties and think of some search terms to find a useful hair cutting tutorial on YouTube. There’s another scene and she doesn’t know what it is yet. She doesn’t even know what she wants it to be. But there’s putting the laptop down and walking away. There’s no stopping it.

Lilly wanders into the kitchen in panties and a tank top, too preoccupied to notice the utility scissors when she opens drawers looking for them. His footsteps are house-shakingly loud as they carry him from her side of the house to neutral ground. He arrives with a towel around his waist. His hair looks even more like sad limp noodles when it’s wet. He stops in the doorway, watching her. He waits until she pulls a chair into the empty space between the breakfast table and the island, under a bright cluster of lights. He takes the invitation to sit.

He even smells warm, somehow. Lilly’s urge to lick up the rivulets of tepid water coasting over the mountains and valleys of his back is disorienting.

They watch the tutorial together on her phone. It seems a small concession to make, given what he’s putting her in charge of. He doesn’t have any specific direction to give her beyond longer on top, shorter on the sides. So she goes hunting for some inspiration.

You would think she would know better than to dive into the “Shawn Mendes” tag on Tumblr. The seizing half-hiccup, half-pseudo stroke sensation she gets from accidentally coming upon a hoard of pictures of them together is back. Lilly blames a recent lack of exposure for the completely noticeable, pity-inducing reaction. Her callous has softened. After an awkward few seconds, she pivots to Google.

“I think we’re going for… like… February 2019 hair. That was really good hair,” Lilly insists, plowing ahead, gesturing to photos of him on the red carpet at the 2019 Brit Awards.

“Yeah,” Shawn replies, “That was good hair. Maybe a little longer on the sides though. I liked what I had going, like, before quarantine.”

Lilly grumbles something under her breath about googling photos of that era over her dead body. Shawn relents.

“It’s fine, you should cut it-- just cut it however. It’s fine.”

Lilly begins by balling up a little tuft from the top of his head into a teeny bun. She stands between his legs to arrange it, making sure it’s even on both sides. His eyes remain on his feet the whole time.

She starts at the back of his neck, smoothing his curls out to decide how much to trim. Her fingers are more helpful than the comb, she soon realizes, in keeping them flat enough to judge. She begins by cutting it shorter at the base of his neck so the short curls can do the sproing thing she likes. As she moves up the back of his scalp, she leaves it longer until she hits his funny little man bun. When the silence breaks, she’s so jarred she has to ask him to repeat himself.

“I…” he clears his throat, “I think it’s time that you ask me some of those questions.”

Lilly hates that she knows him so well she doesn’t have to ask which ones. She fluffs out the back of his head with her fingers and decides it’s not completely tragic, so she moves onto his left side.

There are considerations, of course. Is her stuff in a state that she could easily pack and bail in a short time frame if he reveals himself to be dumber than originally feared? Is digging up old dirt to toss it over a wound that won’t heal really necessary?

Is it a good idea to have this conversation while she’s wielding something that could easily be used as a deadly weapon?

Lilly takes a long moment to blink and sticks her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, eyeing the way his hair wraps over the tip of his ear. She brushes it with the pad of her thumb. It reddens.

There’s a preamble in her head, one that lectures him about the absolute necessity of honesty in this situation, the futility of the exercise if he’s not willing to be completely transparent. When she notes the way his knee bobs anxiously, she stops it in its frilly-worded tracks.

She pulls curls off the side of his neck, right over the freckles she likes, and snips.

“When did it start?”

Shawn doesn’t shrink or react in any noticeable way. This isn’t a surprising question.

“I started feeling it when we were in working on Senorita. We weren’t really talking much before that. We started texting a little. It was the first time I felt anything for her since you and me started.”

Lilly sections off the hair above his ear and starts to feel herself working slower. She remembers the first time she heard about the idea of the Senorita collab when he told her over the phone. He sounded tired. Lilly was enthusiastic, knowing he and Camila had been closer before Lilly was in the picture. She felt some guilt for driving some kind of wedge between them, however unintentional. The collab seemed like a nice way to reconnect with a friend.

“The music video.”

Lilly doesn’t phrase it as a question. She doesn’t need to.

“That was when things came more… into focus. She and her ex were in the process of breaking up. I didn’t know for sure then what was going to happen. But it was the first time I thought something actually might.”

Lilly focuses on the way his hair sits above his ear, debating about how short to cut it. She recalls FaceTiming with him from rehearsals. He was so excited. He was nervous about dancing. Lilly teased him. He reminded her repeatedly that he loved her. She wonders if it was more for him to hear out loud than it was for her.

“What exactly happened between you before you broke up with me?”

Shawn flinches slightly. Lilly feels the sick pleasure of it sizzling in her fingers, imagines a tick arriving with a satisfying ping in her nonexistent column.

Shawn takes a deep breath. “It was… at one of the viewing things before the final cut of the video. We got drunk.”

Lilly’s heart slams in her chest like a fish out of water. This was a mistake.

“I knew she and Matthew were done but I asked anyway. We were… we were the last ones there and just fucking around, being goofy. I kissed her.”

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Shawn doesn’t ask to look at whether she’s defacing one of his calling cards.

“Anything else?” Lilly asks coolly, wondering if a fuck might’ve actually felt like less of a soul-deep betrayal. Doesn’t matter, probably. She still lost him.

“Not until after.”

Lilly systematically strokes her fingers through his hair as she switches over, angling to determine if the sides are even. Her stomach hurts.

“Did you tell her you were going to leave me before you did?”

She watches him swallow.

“Yes.”

Lilly remembers the image she had of her sitting in the back of a dark Uber Black, hunched over her phone, waiting outside Lilly’s house for the deed to be done.

The questions are sprouting faster than Lilly can come up with a strategy for dealing with them. She takes a weed whacker to her mind unsuccessfully.

“What did she-- how did she--”

Lilly stalls out and drops her scissored hand by her side. Shawn looks over at her patiently. He doesn’t cower or turn away or guilt her out of this line of questioning with a glance.

Lilly shakes her head and waves her not-sharp hand for him to turn his head back. She gets to work evening out the sides, pinching his strawberry-scented ringlets, making a focused effort not to yank at them.

“All the pictures… the paps, whatever. Did you consider what that would do to me?”

Shawn keeps his head forward, eyes fixed on the refrigerator at the other side of the room. He wets his lips and speaks, “I… didn’t really let myself focus on it. I told myself it wasn’t really my fault, I wasn’t the one calling them and doing all that shit we did in the beginning. I told myself it wasn’t about me and Camila, it was about the single, so anything we did to promote the single was ok.”

“That was a very long-winded no.” Lilly keeps her voice even.

“There’s so much I did that I handled completely fucking wrong. We, I mean you and I, we were hitting this point, this weird, shitty point where we were both really busy and couldn’t be around each other that much. It had been over a year and the, like, giddiness wasn’t there at the time. Like, neither of us was that happy then.”

Lilly’s nostrils flare. Her lips purse and begin to part, ready to unleash hell.

“I used it as a shitty fucking excuse for something I was probably going to do anyway.”

Lilly takes a step back. She drops the scissors beside him and crosses her arms, staring expectantly. Shawn takes the scissors and fiddles with them.

“The honest, stupid fucking truth is that I had this… I dunno, this thing for her. I could never totally let go of it. That’s not to say I wasn’t happy with you, or that I was thinking about her when I was with you… that was never it. But when she started showing interest in me, when she was telling me about the shit with Matthew, I just… I think I felt like it had to happen. Like something I had to get out of my system. I romanticized it at the time; it felt like fate, maybe.”

“I’ve heard the song, Shawn,” Lilly snaps. Shawn blinks hard, but is otherwise still.

“I know. I know you, Lill, I know you’ve been through the whole catalogue, tearing it apart, deciding what was about her.”

He’s not wrong, Lilly thinks bitterly.

“I felt this weird kind of instant relief when I was sure she wanted me. It checked this old box that felt like it was going to stay unchecked forever. I felt so shitty, calling it off with you, but it felt like I was doing what I was supposed to. But it wouldn’t have felt so shitty if it were really what I was meant to do.”

“Do you realize how entitled and selfish you sound right now?”

“Yes.”

The tightness in Lilly’s face relaxes, her expression blank. She wasn’t expecting such an easy response. She wasn’t expecting a real response at all.

“I do. It’s ok if you don’t believe me, I don’t really blame you. I haven’t given you any reason to. But if we have a shot in hell, and fuck, I hope we do, I think you need to hear this. I don’t think you’ll ever stop wondering unless I really lay it all out.”

Lilly swallows a lump in her throat and releases the tuft of hair, sliding the elastic back on her wrist. As she ruffles through his damp hair, Shawn’s eyes slide closed.

“Keep talking,” Lilly whispers.

“So I did it. I ignored how fucking bad I felt after that initial relief. Like, not just bad because of our fight, just… bad. I had done the wrong thing. I made the wrong choice. I do still think it was the choice I was going to make because I’m fucking young and stupid. I just--”

His jaw tenses, the muscle in his cheek twitching. Lilly waits patiently, parting his hair.

“I might’ve always wondered. I’m a hopeless romantic idiot. But at least now she’s not the one that got away anymore. She’s the one I tried it with and realized it didn’t work.”

Lilly closes her eyes and exhales through her nose. She waits for the words to hit all the spots they did before when he tried to talk this out with her, the pain points. Spots that made her snarl and retch and wail and slash at him. Instead they feel like a rising tide around her knees.

“So… what happened?” she whispers.

“For a while we lived on the high of the single. Both our teams were so focused on it and on us. The VMAs and everything, finishing tour. By the time the Grammys came around I think we were both so fucking sick of that song. The backlash that came from all the media attention… it didn’t just go away like we hoped it would. I started laying really low on social. She was getting ready for tour and I was working on the album. Not being focused on the same thing, on promoting one song, it helped put things more into perspective I think. Pulling away started to feel… natural.

“And then the pandemic came. It felt like a time to hit reset. I went down to Miami and felt pretty stupid because everything just got so much worse every day and I was worried about not even being able to leave. But… we were on the same page, basically. It wasn’t fun, but it was… right. Neither of us wanted it. We tried it, it ended. I think… I mean, we don’t hate each other. I don’t think we’ll be like, writing friends again. But maybe eventually we’ll talk again.”

Lilly sucks at her front teeth. “You haven’t talked at all since you left?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Shawn looks thoughtful. “Not… yet. I don’t think I have anything to say that we haven’t said already. Maybe… I dunno, maybe that was part of it. I always felt like I wanted to talk to you, like I always had stuff to tell you, even stupid stuff. Me and Camila ran out of stuff.”

Lilly shifts to stand in front of him, keeping her gaze on his hair, though her eyes are not in focus. She sifts her hands through it while she thinks.

“I still have more questions. I’m just…”

She trails off. Shawn nods carefully.

“It’s ok. I’m… not going anywhere.”

Lilly’s eyes shut. “I think it’s important for you to understand that when you say things like that, my head immediately comes back with “but you did.” You did go somewhere. You didn’t come back for a long time.”

Shawn pauses, then nods again. Lilly sighs.

“I’m not saying this to punish you anymore. I don’t want that. It’s not doing anything for me. But you need to understand that I can’t just turn it back on. Even when you make me want to.”

Shawn’s expression clears. He turns his head slowly as she continues ruffling his hair, snipping odds and ends. She doesn’t look down at him.

“I do understand. I’ll wait, Lill. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“And what if I don’t know what I need?”

Shawn looks unconcerned. “Then I’ll wait for you to.”

Lilly continues sculpting his hair like a topiary. He looks older with his hair this way. She thinks it’s not a total disaster, maybe.

“I have another question,” she announces. Shawn waits expectantly.

“If the pandemic didn’t happen… when were you going to end it? When were you going to come to me?”

Shawn’s brows raise, but he looks far away again. “Truth is I almost did a few times. A bunch of times after the holidays. I had this countdown clock in my head because I knew as soon as we finished the album, I wouldn’t just be able to spontaneously come see you, not if I wanted to spend any real time with you. I just kept scaring myself out of it.”

She understands that, especially given the way their first meeting went down.

Lilly internalizes the answer, then turns back to her imaginary notes. Each question has a line through it. Nothing new materializes. She frowns.

“I don’t have any more questions.”

Shawn bobs his head, watching her closely.

“I might have more questions later,” she continues. His expression doesn’t change.

Lilly drops her hands to his shoulders. He blinks but reorients himself, slowly guiding his hands to her hips. She steps closer. His knees widen. As Lilly folds herself over him, pressing her face into his hair, he collapses into her, his forehead against her sternum. Her relief is narcotic. Her head hasn’t been this truly empty since… she can’t remember when.

He smells like her. He’s holding her. He’s breathing her air. He’s hers. Little by little, she’s starting to believe it.

Lilly steps around his legs and lowers into his lap. Their eyes are nearly level. Shawn locks his arms around her back. His nose brushes hers.

“Ok,” Lilly murmurs.

Shawn inhales and exhales deeply. “Ok.”

Lilly’s hands rest on his chest as he kisses her. He doesn’t come at her with fire and brimstone this time. He has nothing to prove. He knows exactly how good it feels. He seems to want to slow down and enjoy this as much as she does. He kisses her long and slow because they have the time. His hands remain mostly still. He seems to feel that she needs the stasis, despite their frenzied night.

Shawn’s kisses whisper to Lilly with each pass -- is this ok? How about this? I don’t want to push it. I care too much to push it. They’re the easiest sentiments to believe when they’re said like this.

Lilly drapes her arms around his shoulders, enjoying the breadth of them, plucking her lips away in shorter bursts until they’re pecking innocently, smiling with closed eyes between points of contact.

“Do you want to check out your hair?” Lilly offers, shifting back in his lap. He’s the most marvelous shade of pink.

“Oh,” he starts, pulling a hand up into the still damp chunky strands, “I can look later. I’m sure it’s great. It feels way lighter, actually.”

Lilly is smug. “You just want to sit here and keep kissing.” His smile is megawatt. She’s blinded.

“Can you blame me?”

Kissing him is… completely lovely. Lilly refamiliarizes herself with him in a way she didn’t yesterday. Her fingers find the tendons in his shoulders, the ridge of his adam’s apple, the little hoop in his earlobe. It’s a redundant kind of flirtation, given that she’s already in his lap, but it might be more for her than for him.

His lips skate down her neck as they break for air. He tucks kisses under her hair over marks she doesn’t remember him leaving. Lilly closes her eyes and exhales slowly, letting herself hate them a little for tearing each other to shreds. It wasn’t like them. Even when they were at their most frantic together, it wasn’t like that.

Lilly feels a lump in her throat. He must sense the change in her breathing. But instead of pulling away to check on her, Shawn pulls her closer, fills all the spaces her body leaves until she’s cradled against him, chest shuddering. He presses his nose into her hair and rocks her softly, back and forth, until he feels her tears dripping off his shoulder down his bare back.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs, the vibration from his voice tremoring through her body, “If it feels good to cry, you should cry.”

Shawn has a way of saying things to her that would bring her no relief to hear them from anyone else. Even though she believes him, and she’s pretty sure he’d sit here into the night and let her cry herself dry against him, she pulls back. He looks her over. She stares at his swollen mouth. He sweeps his thumbs beneath her eyes.

“I’m sick of crying,” she tells him with a short nod. He nods back. His eyes are clear and so warm. His hands sift back into her hair and hold it all, scrunching tumbling, escaping strands like he can’t bear to let any of her go. He kisses her breathless.

“Be gentle with me,” Lilly pleads on a sigh, releasing him only long enough to undress. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

He’s always been patient, even when she could barely stand to let herself be touched by him. He waits until every sound out of her chest is nearly a whine and her fingers curl into his freshly cut hair, cajoling him. When their bodies finally connect, he’s slow and deliberate, the tips of their noses together, their fingers clenched together against her thigh. She doesn’t thrash or force or scrape for him. He doesn’t stop until she’s melted for him, draped over his shoulder, panting with need. She clings, he gives. When she’s finished, she cups the back of his neck and whispers until he’s shaking beneath her.

They slither to the kitchen floor, exhausted, reluctant. He tosses tufts of his shorn hair at her. She pretends to put it back where she cut it off. They order from a local cafe for breakfast and kiss until the food is cold.

+

“So when do you want me to cut your hair?”

Lilly looks up from the Instacart order in progress on her phone. His arm is around her shoulders, his fingers sifting through the dry ends of her gold hair. He said it like he’s reminding her of something she had already asked of him. Her brow furrows.

“You’re not cutting my hair.”

Shawn looks down and mirrors her expression. “What?”

“I’m not letting you cut my hair, Shawn.”

He gawps. “But you just cut mine!”

“Yeah, what the fuck were you thinking? Your hair is like half the reason people like you.”

Shawn’s eyes light up. His grin is so big she thinks his face is gonna split. This time, she’s the one mirroring him.

“You seriously don’t trust me to cut your hair? It can’t be that hard, your hair is straight. I just have to keep it even.”

“But I have layers,” Lilly explains patiently, turning to pull her legs up beside her on the couch, “And my stylist uses thinning shears, which we don’t have. And also… you’re not cutting my hair, Shawn.”

He huffs and pulls away. “Maybe not when you’re awake anyway.”

Lilly looks up from her phone. He’s wearing an impish smile. She kisses it until his lips are soft and pliable against hers, and he’s making the little content sounds she likes.

Shawn gets curious and trails his kisses off down her jaw. Lilly’s eyes are shut. She’s getting ready to crawl into his lap for the third time in 24 hours when her phone buzzes with a news alert.

LA County extended shutdown to all but essential business through July.

They stare at the phone together. Shawn’s brows lift. He rubs a hand over his mouth.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

Lilly chews her lip. July?

July.

Quietly, because they’re both in their own heads, they make their way to the kitchen to continue taking stock of the groceries they have and what they need. Lilly’s head is swimming in numbers -- will the bump in unemployment continue? Is she going to have to ask for her parents’ help with rent? Could this go through the end of the summer, or even longer?

She senses him behind her even through the haze of her own anxiety. He places a hand on her hip, his thumb rubbing the worn cotton of her t-shirt.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, more as a request than a demand. Lilly turns and tucks herself into his arms. He rocks her back and forth on their bare feet, which make a soft smushing sound against the cool tile. He’s sturdy enough to rest her weight against. Her hands clamor up only as far as his shoulder blades. It feels good.

“I know it’s really, really bad,” Shawn says into her ear, “Like, really bad, if they’re shutting down through July. But… I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Lilly rolls her eyes and lifts her head as her hands drift down his back.

“Yeah, seems like your plan is working out nicely. Taking me hostage, and all.”

He seems pleased with her teasing. He nods.

“Yep, got ya right where I want ya,” he admits, shrugging.

Lilly shakes her head and dives deeper into false dramatics. “Luring me here in my vulnerable state. You’re like Dracula. This is Stockholm syndrome. I should know, there’s a One Direction song about it. You’re holding me here against my will.”

Shawn grins again, that same face-breaking grin from before. It warms Lilly through more than the afternoon sun streaming in through the kitchen windows. He presses his forehead against hers.

“Your hands are on my asscheeks right now,” he points out.

She squeezes them. He flinches and somehow smiles even wider.

“Stockholm. Syndrome,” she insists, giggling until his lips meet hers again.

----------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities​ @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn​ @infiniteshawn​ @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway​ @alone-in-madness​ @abigfatmess​ @shawnitsmutual​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @september-lace​ @sinplisticshawn​ @rollingxstone​ @randi-eve​ @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire​ @itrocksmysocks​ @parkerspicedlatte​ @simpledomain​ @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day​ @thecurlsofgod​ @magcon7280​ @bensbuttercup​ @shawnsmusical​ @paigeasourous​ @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ @softmendesss​ @searchingunderthestars​ @buggy-blogs​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @siennarossi​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @umbreakablesoul​ @sleepybesson​ @shawnsheaven @shaawnie @shawn-youth​ @graysonmendes​

[shy-poet-marvel]

Mind and Heartache

Peter Parker X Male reader

Author’s Note : Hey guys, haven't post a story in a while so here you go. 

Summary : Someone attacked Peter. You, his boyfriend with telepathic/telekinetic powers must found out who

Warning : Male!reader, angst, reader focused, mention of blood and some broken bone

Word Count : 2887

Inspired by @bigfan-fanfic​​

Gif by : @sincerelysaraahh​

*Want to request something? Just ask!*

*Constructive criticism are welcome*

One of Peter’s hand is clutching the side of his stomach while the other one is prompted against a wall, both are covered in blood. ‘How many ribs did I break?’ Peter wondered, ‘three, four, or maybe even six?’, it feels all the same to him, his whole body hurt. He limped across the dark alleyway, ‘what matter is he already send his distress signal, they will come soon’, Peter’s thought was interrupted by that cold and ruthless sound. “Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout, down came the rain and washed the spider out”

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(Y/N)’s body was backed up against the wall in front of the bed, which Peter’s body lies lifeless in. Machinery surrounds him and tubes are coming out of his mouth, the morning sun still makes him look ethereal, but now is not the kind that you admire. His brain activity was low, too low. Wanda managed to intervene and stabilize his mind, but it almost like he’s gone, like a faint whisper just out of your earshot while loud noises enveloped his soft cries.

“He got jumped on by someone, someones, the crime scene was very contaminated by other variables that aren’t important, so combing through it will take a long time. Unfortunately, all of the Avengers were on a mission, so the ones that were able to respond were standard S.H.I.E.L.D agents”, normally when Tony Stark is addressing you, you should pay close attention, but now, all you cared about is who did this to your Peter.

“No use, it’s all blurry and disoriented, I’m guessing he had a lot to process when it happened. Trust me (Y/N), I’ve tried”, Wanda said out loud before you even try reading through his mind and the thought of Wanda poking through Peter’s mind makes you sick to your stomach, but if she can’t do it, in your condition right now, you cant do it too. “We’re doing our best to keep him alive, we’ll keep you updated, now go home (Y/N). You need to rest”

“All right”, you said reluctantly. The door to Peter’s room, your mind is made up.

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“Can I have latte and that chocolate brownies?”

“Do you want to have the brownies re-heated?”

“Yes, please”, you then gave your card to pay for your order.

You sat across the window, looking at the stream of human going about their day. One are excited for their first date, while another are scared because they broke their new phone. Still not the one you’re looking for.

“Here’s your order”, the waitress sat down a vanilla latte with a love drawn on it and a warm chocolate brownies.

“Thank you”, you smiled at her and then continue searching.

This is another café you have visited in the last couple of hours. You aren't used to this amount of caffeine even though you usually like coffee. Another latte you order to drink on the go. It was a nice day out actually. The setting sun lay a golden hue to the city as you walked along its block, sipping on your coffee occasionally while walking back to Peter’s apartment. Aunt May was kind enough to let you stay at Peter’s room when he’s still in the hospital and unable to be visited. To show your gratitude for her you are the one who did all the cleaning and the chores.

After arriving at the apartment you started doing the laundry, with May’s shift and Peter at the ward no one is there to do it. While waiting for the laundry you decided to cook something, with the groceries you bought at a nearby deli. You prepped all the ingredients that you need, thinking about what you should make and decided on meatballs, macaroni, and cheese with cuts of smoked beef, a soup, and some fried rice. When all is done you eat the leftover pizza that’s on the fridge accompanied by some of the meatballs you cooked. You put all that’s left in containers and put a note on the table that states May’s dinner, breakfast, and lunch are all in the fridge and only needed to be re-heated. You spent sometime after dinner ironing and folding the clothes that are out of the dryer before you went to bed, with your nose buried in his sweater.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I need to tell the Avenger about this", Peter muttered under his breath while climbing down the side of the building he is on. He only managed a few feet of swinging before he fell. He was shot at the right side of his abdomen. His back slam against the concert of the silent part of town.

 One of Peter’s hand is clutching the side of his stomach while the other one is prompted against a wall, both are covered in blood. ‘How many ribs did I break?’ Peter wondered, ‘three, four, or maybe even six?’, it feels all the same to him, his whole body hurt. He limped across the dark alleyway, ‘what matter is he already send his distress signal, they will come soon’, Peter’s thought was interrupted by that cold and ruthless sound. “Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout, down came the rain and washed the spider out”

"You can break my bone, hurt me, beat me up, even kill me, but for the love of God and all things good, do not hurt him", Peter said as intimidating as he could.

The man stood in silence before continuing the rhyme, "out came the sun, and dried up all the rain, and the itsy-bitsy spider founded dead. The end"

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning when you woke up you have a massive headache, like every brain cell that you have is on fire and just ready to explode ‘maybe this is the side effect of over-exerting your power’, you thought, you never really use your power to this much capacity over the last few days. You barely get into the kitchen without falling, when you hear a knock on the door. Trying your best to read who it is, but failed, like someone is blocking you or because when you did it your whole body hurts. With the last bit of your power, you took one of the kitchen knives and dragged yourself to the door. Your vision was hazy so you didn’t know who it was through the peephole.

“Who is it?”, you mustered up every ounce of power that you had to sounded normal.

“It’s us”, you opened the door to Wanda and Natasha.

You let them in and you guys talked about Peter’s condition, he’s getting better, slowly but surely, his physical condition is getting stable by the day, but still can’t be visited. You sigh in relief, it was the best news you heard all week.

“You know that we are doing our best to investigate who did this to Peter”, Natasha spoked softly.

Shocked because you know that she sounded like she knew what you’ve been doing before you ready to blame Wanda on reading your mind Natasha spoked. “I was a spy for most of my life, it’s not hard to read what you’ve been doing with just a few glance”.

So you talked more about how the investigation has been going, you also told them what you already find. Before they leave Natasha spoke, “I’ve been there you know, wanting revenge, it was never the answer, never will. I’m not your mom, so I can't tell you what to do or not to do, what I can tell you is be careful and you're not in this alone”, she gave you a button and then leave.

Your grumbling stomach requests your attention before anything else, so you head to the kitchen once again. May left a thank you note on the fridge, opening it you see that May finished the soup, some of the fried rice, and brought the meatballs for her lunch. You eat what’s left of the fried rice in silence, wondering what to do. You decided on taking a shower before doing anything else. After getting out of the shower you went into Peter’s room to put on some clothes. With a black Nasa sweatshirt that you have and black sweatpants, you went out. The first couple of hours wasn’t productive because your powers were still acting up, your head still feels like it was going to explode, but not as bad as it was in the morning. Without you realized it was noon already. With some sandwiches and bottled water, you take your lunch in the near park bench. Eating alone again while watching people go about their day. After you threw away the trash in the garbage can nearby, you walked around the small park. Seeing a tree you decided to sit on it. Without realizing you drifted off.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was supposed to be just a normal patrol, maybe catch some muggers, web some burglars, and maybe, just maybe prevent a heist. But this, this is above his power, how much Peter doesn’t want it to be.

“The plans are going smoothly, I presumed”, a man in black tuxedo spoke.

“Yes, we’ve already found out his patterns, his associates, people that are close to him, and most importantly, his ties to our friendly, neighborhood spider”, a man in a hooded robe answer.

Peter was shocked, who could this group of people are. Targeting him, or the people around him. They noticed Peter was eavesdropping on the conversation.

“There he is our little spider, gracing us with his presence”, the man in the black tuxedo announced. Peter can feel guns pointing at him.

“If you do anything to me, the Avengers will know about it”, Peter shouted while pushing his distress signal.

“ The world doesn’t just revolve around you or your little Avenger friend”, the man in the black tuxedo smiled coldly.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You got woken up by the rough wind. Unlike the other day, today seemed to be a gloomy one. The clouds are rolling in heavily, it’s going to rain, hard. You were only a couple of blocks away before it rained like cats and dogs. Entering Peter’s apartment, you were soaked to the bone. To your surprise, May was home, in the middle of the day.

“Oh my god (y/n) go dry up and change into some other clothes, I’ll make some tea”, she pushed you into Peter’s room. Wearing his sweater and some short, you put the wet clothes on the dryer before you sat down in the living room, next to May.

She offered you some hot tea to warm you up. “The hospitals let me leave early, Meg cover the rest of my shift for today, fortunately, I got home before it was raining”, she looked to you while you sipping on the comforting tea.

“Before I got home I visited Peter in the hospital, maybe you were there. I was planning on taking you to an ice cream shop or something, thanking you for doing so many chores for these past few days”, sadness sipped out of her every word.

“But when I arrived at Peter’s room I didn’t find you anywhere. He’s still can’t be visited but I was hoping you were waiting outside. I was ready on looking for you in the hospital. That’s when Natasha came to me and said that you never visited Peter since the day he was admitted”, she looked at you, stared at you with tears pooling in her eyes.

“What have you been doing these past few days (y/n)?”, May asked a question you don’t dare answer.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were ecstatic, you finally find a lead on who attacked Peter. You told Natasha and here you are on an impromptu Avengers meeting.

“I didn’t get much since it was outside of my range. All I got was the named Jack O’ Riley, something about Project Liberation, and the code name ‘Sound’, you spoke to the one present, which is Tony, Wanda, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce.

“Jack O’ Riley, somehow that named seemed familiar”, Bruce spoke.

“Because it is, he worked with HYDRA before, we come across his name couple of times, we didn’t what role he play, until now”, Natasha spoked.

“Where were you when you find this out (y/)?”, Tony asked.

“I was just on the outside of Queens, maybe they’re in Brooklyn?”, you answered.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y you know what to do, let’s get to work guys, double time”, announced Tony.

“We will find those who did this to him and we will bring them to justice”, Wanda reassured you.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sneak around the abandoned warehouse, using your power to hide your presence, but you still need to walk quietly. You stepped into the abandoned warehouse through the broken window on the top and slowly glide down to the behind a container.

You wanted to sneak around but someone announced your presence, “Finally, we’ve been waiting for you”.

Knowing your cover is blown you stopped hiding your presence and got out of the backside of the container, “you must be a telepath, being able to sense my presence like that, I know I should've concealed my presence more”.

You saw a man with a black tuxedo standing there, the darkness behind him. He stood with the support of a walking cane.

“Why did you target Spiderman?”, you shouted, knowing this man right here was the one that’s behind Peter’s attack.

“Peter was never our goal”, he smiled before snapping his fingers, and you were bombarded by a barrage of bullets from all sides.

You didn’t have time to wonder how you didn’t sense any man or machine inside the warehouse expect the one in front of you right now. You created a force field with your telekinetic powers. Minutes went by and they didn’t show any sign of stopping, you mustered up some power to produce a shock wave, stopping the rain of bullets.

“Marvelous, marvelous, you’re better than we expected”, the man in the black tuxedo clapped his hands.

You were astounded, with that blast he should've been sent flying, but he’s still standing with nothing on him. A hooded figure shows up next to him, but since when you should've felt them but you got nothing like it was dead.

“Where are my manners, my name is Jack O’ Riley and this is my sweet Nathan”, you were flown back to the stack of old crates as soon as he finished talking, thanks to your telekinesis you were able to soften the blow.

You saw him leaping to you, so you throw some of the broken crates to him before you doges his attack. You rested you back to a container before you can react he already got you pinned.

“You see, Nathan here is a telepath, but his power was weak. Until we figure out a way to take the telepathic and telekinetic ability of another just like him, the price is the person that we take their ability from died. Peter was a setup, we did want to kidnap him before that damned agents storm the place, but I guess by breaking a few of his bone did well enough to bring you here”, Jack said that as he walked to you.

“The sound of his bone when it cracked, the way he practically begged to spare you life, he was pathetic. You should've seen his face”, Nathan dumped images of Peter on the ground, the pain he felt, the fear that consumed him, the readiness to die to save you.

It makes you mad, enrage, furious. All of that anger you channeled into your power, it manifests by creating a big shock wave, big enough to destroy the warehouse. You can still see Nathan and Jack still breathing, badly wounded but still breathing, maybe Nathan tried to shield them both but it was only enough to let them on the brink of death. No matter what, more fun for you.

You lifted them up and then smashed them on the ground, “Did you feel that that’s what my Peter feel when you shot him down”.

You started to break their bones, “Do you like it when it’s you bones that are being broken?”, one by one, starting from their arms you break them.

“(Y/N)! Stop this! Please, I’m begging you”, you heard his voice. A voice soft as the sunrise but now is filled with pain and hurt. ‘Who dare hurt his Peter?’ you thought before you realize that most of the Avengers are around with Peter. You saw him there, standing, healthy, safe and sound, and afraid of you. You dropped down slowly, with two of you victims that are quickly being taken care of by the medic team.

You walked slowly to Peter, your Peter, that’s here, not in a hospital bed, with machinery around him. You only manage a few steps before falling, but not to the cold, hard, ground. The soft, warm, arms of your boyfriend are the one that breaks it.

“There, there, (y/n) everything is going to be all right, no need to cry”, Peter said to your eyes, whipping away the tears you didn’t know you have. He places a comforting kiss inside of his warm hug. You felt it was only you two in this world.

[starkerforlife6969]

The Upper Hand - Starker

TW: violence, dark tony, overly protective tony, kidnapping

It’s not often that people get the upper hand on him.

In fact, it never happens. Tony wouldn’t allow it to happen. He plans everything. And it’s not that he’s a control freak and needs things just so, it’s that he expects a certain level from life. Whether that’s silk bedsheets or high-quality drains in the basement, he wants the best. 

Peter Parker is the best. The best thing that ever happened to Tony. 

He’s another reason, an important reason, the most important reason why Tony can’t afford to let people get the upper hand on him. 

The safest thing to do would be to stop. To get a handle on it. To hire a storage unit and move the cage there. And he had plans to do that, really he did, but then Peter had batted his pretty eyelashes and said in that honey-sweet tone, shy and petal-perfect: 

“Wouldn’t it be nice, if um…if you wanted, maybe we could…we could live together?” And he’d looked bare and vulnerable and hopeful, and Tony had kissed him hard on the mouth, rewarding his bravery. 

“My home is your home, sweetheart,” he’d vowed. And that had always been true. Been true the moment he’d first laid eyes on the boy. 

But it had meant, with Peter moving into the manor, that Tony hadn’t quite had the time to arrange for a storage unit. For clean up. For safety precautions. 

“You sick- you sick fuck!” Beck screams, waving the keys victoriously. Tony eyes him, going for bored. Beck is dripping with blood, cocky and stupid with his luck (and it’s luck, luck and absolutely no skill at all. He caught Tony off guard, and like he said, it’s not often that anyone- especially not pieces of shit like Beck- gets the upper hand on him). “You sick fuck!” He yells again, staggering until he’s leaning against the desk. He rummages through the drawers, presumably looking for something to staunch the bleeding. 

“Quin,” Tony murmurs, voice gentle, even as he tries the door. It won’t budge, he knows that. “Don’t do anything stupid.” 

“Or what?” Beck laughs hysterically, “you don’t have any power from where I’m standing. Look who has all the power now, bitch!”

“I have all the power.” Tony hisses, tone dark, “I always have the power.”

Beck spits at them, and then races for the stairs. 

Tony waits, listening.

The door of the basement rattles. Beck’s cries of despair grow louder. 

“Thank goodness for the sound proofing, am I right?” Tony drawls loudly, resting his forehead against the glass door of the cage he’s trapped in. His own cage. It might even serve him right if Quentin escaped. He’s been so stupid.

Beck reappears, shaking with ire. “Where are the keys to the door?” 

“Now why,” Tony wets his lips, arching an eyebrow, “would I tell you that?” 

“Because you’re down here too.” Beck whispers, “you’ll starve to death.”

Tony grins. 

Beck starts searching the drawers. More frantic this time. 

Tony really needs to think. He needs a plan now. The key for the basement door is in his pocket. If he could get Beck to open the door to the cage, take him out- maybe. He can’t get out of the cage without Beck, and Beck can’t get out of the basement without him. It looks like a stalemate then, at least for the time being. 

“Fuck!” Beck yells, kicking at the upturned desk in frustration. He’s wobbly on his legs. 

Tony offers him a sympathetic smile.

—

This, Tony thinks, watching as Beck starts to doze off from a mixture of exhaustion, dehydration and blood loss, could be a problem. He does’t want Beck to die down here, because then he’d be stuck. 

“Hey!” Tony snaps, knocking on the glass, “get over here, you piece of shit, I’ll give you the key. Just open the door.”

“Key…” Beck slurs, head dropping down onto his chest. 

Tony’s about to start jangling the key like he’s luring a dog with a treat when his heart goes cold.

The basement door unlocks and creaks open. Golden light spills down the stairs. 

Beck doesn’t even seem to notice. 

Tony can hardly breathe. 

“Hey, T?” Comes Peter’s gentle, sleep ruffled voice. It’s drowsy and around a yawn and utterly adorable. 

“Fuck,” Tony whispers to himself. 

“Are you down here? I don’t wanna disturb you, I’m just…” Peter’s voice is sweet and shy, “It’s three am and you should get some sleep.” 

“Baby…” Tony whispers. It’s all crashing. It’s crashing around him. He tries to be silent.

Beck lets out a loud, gurgling cough. 

There’s a beat. 

“Tony?” Peter calls, more worried now. And then his footsteps, as he pads barefoot down the steps. Each one a descent closer to the truth, to the depravity, there’s no way out of this. This is a new cage. A worse cage. There’s no plan for this. 

He turns, he can’t help it, he has to see- and there he is. His boy. Peter, frozen on the step. 

He’s in the satin robe Tony bought him, and an oversized tee, and his hair is ruffled and mussed from where he likes to smoosh into all the pillows. His honey eyes are wide with horror. 

They cast over the scene. Quentin, almost out cold, missing teeth and covered in blood, and Tony, pristine, trapped in the cage. 

Peter doesn’t move. He stares: frozen. 

“Peter, sweetheart,” Tony murmurs, and then his voice cracks. “I don’t know how to explain this.”

Peter trembles. His entire body shaking and Tony just wants to wrap him up in a hug. His boy looks at Beck. 

“Is that…” Peter whispers, “is he…is he dead?” There’s terror in his voice. 

“Just passed out, I think.” Tony murmurs, keeping his voice soothing. “He got the upper had on me.”

“Is that…it looks like Beck. He’s been missing for weeks, Tony, has he…oh god…”

“He hurt you, baby, I wasn’t gonna let that stand-“

“Oh my god,” Peter covers his mouth, chocking on a sob. “Tony!”

His crying stirs Beck, who seems to come back to life with a sudden flood of adrenaline. 

“Peter!” Beck yells, staggering to his feet, seeing the open basement door. 

Peter lets out a scream of terror, turning and fleeing up the stairs. Tony can only watch in horror as Beck runs after him. 

He beats at the glass, roars like a trapped animal, but there’s nothing he can do. 

He doesn’t know what’s happening up there. Beck’s probably run out- he’d know better by now, than to try to hurt Peter. He’s called the police. Or Pete’s called the police, and they’re coming. Tony sinks slowly to the ground in quiet contemplation.

He had a good run. He got everything he wanted in life. He knew love. Maybe Peter will visit him in prison. Peter’s beautifully, naively loyal like that. Tony will break out for him- as long as Peter can forgive him, and Peter will eventually.

Right? The thought that he might not makes Tony shut his eyes against the onslaught of pain. What if his boy can never look at him again, what if he’s lost it- his soulmate? 

The thoughts take him to a place of nothing. A tortured infinity. When suddenly-

There’s a horrible clattering and a thumping, and Beck’s, very much dead, body comes careening down the stairs.

Tony jerks up, gets to his feet, and watches as Peter walks down after it. Tony immediately scans him for bruises. There’s blood speckled on his cheek (it’s a very good look) and tears glistening in his eyes. He looks okay, he looks-

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Peter sniffles miserably, finally coming down the stairs and standing before Tony. The glass parts them horribly, Tony wants to reach out and touch. Peter looks small and sad. “He was gonna- he wouldn’t give me the keys. He was gonna turn you in.”

It’s starting to dawn on him. Tony can hardly believe it. “Pete…”

“I begged him,” Peter cries, with his perfect little face. “I just wanted the keys, and if he promised not to tell anyone, it would be- he could leave, but he- I had to-“ and he starts to cry.

Tony presses himself against the glass. “You’ve saved me, baby, shhh, you didn’t do anything wrong. My precious boy, my angel, it’s okay. It’s okay.” 

Peter has to take a few moments to compose himself, before he can stop shaking. And then, miraculously, Tony’s very own guardian angel (and isn’t that funny, he’d thought he was protecting Peter all this time, but he should have known) slides the key into the lock. 

Peter pulls open the door, and stands there, looking at Tony meaningfully. 

Tony gets it. 

He races to his boy, sweeps him into an embrace and peppers him with kisses. Whispers a litany of reassurance and praise. 

He carries Peter upstairs, barely suppressing anger at the state of the living room and kitchen. There’s been a struggle, Peter’s probably more hurt than Tony can see. 

He lowers his boy into a hot bath, full of bubbles and Peter’s favourite fragrance, and the boy’s starting to slump now, his honey eyed angel, adrenaline slipping out of his system. There are bruises forming on his ribs and it’s probably a good thing Beck's dead because Tony would have to make him pay. 

“Sleep, little one,” Tony whispers, kissing Peter’s damp forehead, and letting him nap in the safety of the jacuzzi bath. 

He cleans the mess of the kitchen and the living room. Then he goes to deal with the basement. Beck is dead, and Tony drags his body into the cage. He reorganises his desk and mops up the blood. 

He locks the basement door behind him. 

——

Peter’s still asleep in the bath, so Tony showers quickly, changes into fresh pyjamas, and comes to carry his boy to bed. He wraps him in a towel, dresses him in silk, and tucks him in, sliding in beside him and combing his fingers through that butter-soft hair. 

His Peter, his angel. “What did I do to deserve you?” Tony marvels aloud, “my sunshine, honey, boy. My sweetheart,”

“I love you,” Peter whispers sleepily, eyes still closed. “You should keep a spare key hidden in the cage.” 

Tony blinks. His heart bursts with love. “I adore you, Peter Parker.”

There are problems to deal with, a dead body in the basement, bruises on his boy that Tony will kiss but one more thing is in Tony’s mind. 

The only person to ever really get the upper hand on him, is Peter Parker. And Tony wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 i love you guys!

[little-diable]

Raðljóst - a crime series by little-diable Part 2

I’d appreciate it, if you’d reblog the fic, ofc only if you’re into it. This mini series is something I’m really proud of, so I hope you love it just as much. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Elvas sister had been missing for six days by now, will they ever find Silja? Will they find out what happened to the Icelandic girl and if somebody had deliberately ripped her away from her family?

Warnings: angst, disappearance of a family member, death, could be triggering

Part 1

Elva wouldn’t find any sleep that night, she’d toss and turn as the detectives would make their way down to the movie set, accompanied by a few officers and tracker dogs, gloved fingers wrapped around their torches. 

The wailing of the icy wind reverberated through the dark, snow was heavily falling from the black sky, exacerbating the search, they struggled to fight through the storm, struggled to keep themselves warm, nobody would survive for long in a bone-chilling cold like this. 

They kept on calling out Siljas name, voices getting drowned out by the wind, hopelessly combing through the empty movie set. “Korhonen”, dogs kept on barking, jumping from paw to paw, growling at the small cabin in front of them, “I think we have something here”.

The heavy wooden door creaked as it got pushed open, enabling the officers to step into the empty cabin, almost stumbling over the conglomeration of filled trash bags. “Open them”, Korhonen tried to prepare herself for the worst possible scenario, pointing her torchlight towards the blue bags, swallowing down a groan as her eyes fell upon a tuft of blonde hair. 

“Please”, a small whimper fell from her lips, “don’t let it be her”. But it seemed like her prayer went unanswered, gloved hands pulled the pale body out of the cheap trash bags, placing the bruised body down on the cold floor. 

“I’ll call the forensics team in Reykjavík, they should be here by tomorrow morning”, detective Júlíusson sighed, squeezing Korhonens forearm as he pressed himself through the small opening of the cabin, leaving the young woman behind. “I’m sorry Silja”.

12 hours after Silja was found dead

The moment her fathers ringtone echoed through the silent house Elva could tell that something was wrong, a gut-wrenching feeling inside that knocked all air out of her lungs, that made the hairs stand up at the nape of her neck. 

Tears began to leave her fathers grey eyes, he slumped his shoulders, grasping the kitchen island to stabilize his trembling frame, just about to crash down onto his knees. No words rolled off her mothers tongue, there was no need for words anyways, no need to repeat those surreal seeming sentences. She was dead, Silja was dead.

Over the past few days Elva had tried to picture the moment where they’d call, to bring the bad news upon the family, she had wondered if she’d break down in tears like her father just did, but now, where a cruel, imaginary scenario had turned into something so real she felt frozen, not able to mourn, she still couldn’t process the fact that Silja was supposed to be gone. 

“They need us to come down and confirm that it’s her”, the husky tone of her fathers voice made her jump, blinking a few times as she stammered some incoherent words, pinching herself to try to wake from the nightmare she was currently living through.

Elva squeezed her mothers side as they stepped into the cold, metallic room down at the station, another cry bubbled out of her mother as her glassy eyes fell upon the dead body of her daughter. 

Bruises were lingering on Siljas pale skin, knuckles bloody, frostbites were littering her body, she looked awful, as if she had struggled for quite some time, fighting against whoever had ended her short life. Elva didn’t pick up on the soft words the detectives spoke, only focused on the sight of her dead sister that got burned into her mind.

She’d sleep in Siljas room that night, cuddled into the blanket that still smelled like her sister, the scent of her perfume lingered in the air, made a sob crawl up Elvas throat, finally giving into a massive wave of grief that crashed upon her. 

Memories of their childhood would crawl back to Elva, reminding her of all those happy and carefree moments they got to live through, her life would never be as complete as it had once been. Her mind struggled to accept the somber truth that she’d be an only child from that day on, she’d never ever get to introduce herself as the big sister again.

The only thing Elva had picked up was that they had found the body down at the viking village, chills ran down her spine as she thought of all those days Silja had worked at the place she’d once been found dead at.

Thought after thought, memory after memory would take up Elvas mind, wondering if she had missed something, signs that could have warned her, if she could have saved her younger sister. 

Elva untangled herself from the blanket, naked feet tapping against the wooden floor as she combed through Siljas bookshelf, searching for her diary, the diary she’d kept hidden from her parents, thinking that nobody would notice how she’d lock her secrets away, in a small, black booklet. “Where is it?”, Elva desperately searched through Siljas bags, she probably had taken it to school, stored away in her backpack, the backpack that went missing the same day Silja disappeared.

Just as Elva Lilian Korhonen struggled to get any sleep, mind wandering back to all the suspects, the names she had written down, though all of them had waterproof alibis, enough to kick them off the list of suspicious people. 

“What about that boyfriend of hers?”, Korhonen was holding onto a picture of Silja and Rubin, wondering if the young boy would have any reason to do something that cruel, ending the life of his girlfriend. “He was at his grandma's house, I think she-”, Júlíusson thumbed through the file, “yeah, she lives in Reykjavík”. Korhonen ran her hands over her face, taking another deep breath, “who else do we have?”, her mind felt dampened, like it was covered by a dark veil, “the riding instructor and the owner of the movie set”.

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: pampering you 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: yukishiro azuma/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.8k words

𝐚𝐧: thank you for ordering, @sleepy-ruri​ ~ I actually used your tag game as a basis for certain parts~ anyways, I hope this was worth the wait! I was gonna go straight to the cuddle but got inspired to add some build-up.

The amount of sleep you get is a gamble between 4 hours and 20 hours, no in-between. Tonight was clearly heading towards the former, well if the caffeine swimming in your bloodstream had anything to say about it.

And that’s on coffee addiction, periodt.

It's pretty tough, on one hand, you valued your sleep. A comfy bed and a nice pillow taking you on a trip to meet the Greek god of slumber Hypnos himself was always ideal.

On the other hand, there were just too many things to do and too little time to do them. Sure, you had finished your work for the day, but you had a whole list of things you could stay up for without feeling an ounce of regret morning come.

Itaru told you that he saw a lot of potential in you ever since you opened up your wallet for that cat game everyone was playing during “The Great Sardine Search”. Was that supposed to be a compliment?

It started out with him recommending a few more casual and cute games, the usual cat and dog idle time waster games. After a few weeks, he had proclaimed it was time to “drag you into gacha hell with him,” whatever that meant.

It only started with a simple rhythm game, which not only had cute characters but was pretty free to play friendly.

Looking through the list the local gamer DMed you, you sighed in disappointment. Was it directed at Itaru for dragging you into this hellhole, or at yourself for succumbing to the joy and eternal suffering of gacha games? Who’s to say, really.

Obey Me!, three different Ikemen games, Twisted Wonderland, two Ensemble Stars games, a good amount of battle RPGs, one with handsome spirits, another with humanized swords, and a good amount of idol music games with either cute boys or girls to name just some of the titles.

Just looking at the google docs gave you a headache, they even came with little summaries and color-coded notes that made you wonder if Itaru tried out all of these at one point, even the otome ones. The very thought made you chuckle, plopping onto your bed as you decided to finally download one.

3 hours. Well, 2 hours and 48 minutes but who needs to know the finer details?

You’ve hit a new low, congratulations. Might as well have stayed up the whole time instead of going to sleep, but you ended up exhausting all your energy both in-game and otherwise. You ended up looking at gameplay guides until you inevitably passed out.

You wanted to sleep-in but there was still work to do. Trudging out of your bedroom and into the kitchen, several boys were already eating their breakfast.

“Good morning,” some of them turned to greet you, and you could see Yuki’s… disgust? Concern? Concern hidden under the guise of disgust?

“You look like a raccoon,” Yuki says bluntly as he stabs his pancake with a fork, “your shirt doesn’t even match your pants.”

You laugh, albeit tiredly, as you look down at the shirt you randomly snagged from your closet. Oh, haven’t seen this one in a while.

“That bad?”

Yuki scoffs at your question like it even needed to be asked, “you looked like you chose it blind.”

“Fufu, I’m sure there must be a reason why our dear director stayed up late,” a voice behind you says, patting down the bird’s nest on your head. It was difficult to resist his touch, even if it was just that little, and you found yourself shifting into a position where he’d have more access to pet you.

Did he say you had a good reason for staying up? If he thought so kindly of you, you’ll let it stay that way for as long as possible.

“Oh my, our director sure is affectionate today,” you didn’t realize that your eyes had closed until they fluttered open again, looking straight up at an amused Azuma.

“Sorry, having a hard time staying awake,” you muttered, still enjoying the man’s healing touch.  Ahh, no wonder he was so popular. Not only was he beautiful and a gentleman, but you could feel your stamina bar slowly filling up just by him petting you on the head.

“Agh, it’s too early in the morning for this,” Yuki grumbled, looking away to finish the rest of his meal, “you better fix yourself later.”

You were going to dig in the food Omi so helpfully served you, but Azuma’s eyes scrutinizing your face made you more conscious than usual. Sure, Yuki mentioned your eye bags but he seemed more bothered by your not-so-cute outfit choice.

With Azuma, who always did his best to maintain and improve his appearance, it was a little different.

“You poor thing, someone as cute as you doesn’t deserve to look so tired,” he tutted, letting out a thoughtful hum. It was difficult to read Azuma’s face, but gears seemed to be turning in his head as he combed through your hair.

He paused his ministrations to bring your face closer, and you quickly averted your gaze. You weren’t sure if the other boys were watching, but still!

“Azuma, can you-“

“Come to my room later, okay? If you’re going to stay up, at least let me help you take care of your skin, hmm?”

The offer was tempting. It was kind of embarrassing going to a man’s room at night, even more, embarrassing to have him look at your face closely, regardless if it was just to help you with your skin!

Then again, he was a comforting presence. Being around him rejuvenated your spirit, which was very needed after that horrible no event card, x10 summon and the migraine Sakyo’s logistics lecture gave you.

Knocking on his door, Azuma personally greeted and escorted you inside. He sat you down on his bed as he walked away to grab a whole tray of products, the different colors and sizes momentarily distracting you. You weren’t sure if you could count properly at this point, but weren’t there 10 different products?

“I think these products will work best with your skin. There are ten steps so pay close attention to me, okay?”

Something about the way he just said things were so alluring? It really wasn’t fair to you.

“Alright,” you watched as he plucked an amber-colored bottle from the tray, pushing the nozzle that released its contents onto his fingers. It looked like an oil product, shining as the pads of his fingers touched your face.

“This is an oil cleanser, it removes your make-up and draws out other oil-based impurities,” he explained, beginning to massage the cleanser in. By instinct you shut your eyes, enjoying the sound of laughter coming from Azuma.

“Don’t get sleepy yet, director~ We still need to wash your face a few times after this.”

...

After washing your face for the second time, Azuma said you could finally relax. Well, you were gonna take him up on that suggestion.

Tomorrow you’ll take note of all the different skincare products and the steps in the routine, but for now, it was hard to pay attention, what with Azuma pampering you and his silvery voice lulling you into sleep.

Surely there were a few more steps to go, right? You’ll get some shut-eye until he finishes, then.

Azuma takes notice immediately of your lack of responsiveness, not even a gentle hum to let him know you were listening. Watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, he smiles to himself as he continues. It’s not often he gets to see this side of you, so he thinks himself pretty lucky. He’ll spoil you as much as you want.

...

Your hair being played with rouses you awake and even through the haze of drowsiness and the lack of lights in the room, you can tell Azuma’s been at this for a while.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he says softly, and you were sure his playful teasing pinked your face.

“Sorry, how long was I asleep?” When you entered Azuma’s room there was still some noise outside from the rest of the boys, but now the silence made it feel like you two were the only people still up.

Of course, with someone like Itaru and maybe even Banri around, you doubted it.

“Long enough for me to finish my own nightly routine, actually.”

“Sorry for taking up your bed space. I’m sure you want your beauty sleep, too.”

You should move, but now you felt much too comfortable to even leave the bed. You knew some of the other boys have already slept over with him, Mankai’s local amnesiac being a frequent bed invader himself; would he be alright with it if you slept over?

You looked up at him, figuring out what to say or waiting for him to pitch the idea himself, but he only stared at you, patiently waiting for what you had to say for yourself.

“Could I sleep here tonight?” The corners of his eyes crinkled, lips lifted upwards. Maybe you never gave it much thought, but at that moment he gave off a warm glow, not unlike a fireplace on a cold, winter night.

“My room and bed will always have a space vacant for you, director.” His dulcet tones were like honey to your ears, sweet and loving, and like a moth to a flame you were entranced.

He carefully adjusted the pillows, lifting the blanket before snuggling beside you. He left a small space between the two of you, leaving you with the choice to come closer or not.

Scooting your body nearer, you turn around so that you faced the wall instead of him.

“Little spoon this time, then?” You don’t respond, not really finding a reason to do so. At first, he’s stroking your arm, fingertips drawing incomprehensible patterns and shapes against your skin. First on your hands, slowly moving upwards to your forearm, until he reached your shoulder where you could finally make out a shape.

Stopping him for a moment, you shift slightly to take his palm and trace back a heart.

“Oh, are you playing with me?” He murmurs, now fully encircling his arms around you, his stomach resting against your back. Your legs tangle slightly with his, as tucks his chin by your shoulder, making you two inseparable.

In the darkness, his embrace was like a small dose of heaven, and your senses were beginning to shut down once more.

He breathes in your sweet scent, and you take in the rhythmic beat of his heart as both of you finally close your eyes.

“Good night, Azuma.”

“Good night, lovely.”

When Azuma woke up, he was face to face with his precious director engulfed in his arms, still in dreamland. During the night you must have turned around to face him. He briefly considered waking you up or moving you to get up but shut the thought down just as fast. His skin care routine could wait a few minutes.

Silently, he observes your peaceful face for a little longer.

Sometimes getting up early isn’t bad at all. After all, he gets to see a cute sleeping figure beside him.

want to order again?

[allsassnoclass]

i’ll make up for all of your tears

An epilogue.

This is the third part in a series that includes “i’ll be here in pieces when you finally pull the pin” and “you’re the one thing I can’t let go (I hate that for you)”

Read on AO3

Everything that Alex imagined being in an official relationship with Jack would be like was wrong.  He likes to think that he’s decently creative, has built an entire career around twisting words and making music where before there was silence, but his imagination was leagues off when it comes to Jack Barakat.

The sunlight streaming through the window of his master bedroom doesn’t give him a halo, nor does it highlight any of the features Alex already has memorized.  Jack produces enough light by himself, and if anything, the morning sun makes him appear more ordinary.  Here is a beautiful human, reduced to a bit of drool coming from the corner of his mouth and pillow creases on his cheek.

Alex loves him so much he might burst with it, so he pulls on a pair of pants and some socks and heads downstairs to get his shoes.

It’s easier to wake up early on the farm than anywhere else.  There are animals to feed, dogs to let out, and eggs to gather, and Alex takes pride in looking over the landscape and thinking yeah, I’m taking care of this place.   He hires someone to watch it when he’s away on tour, but during breaks or songwriting he likes getting his hands dirty, satisfied with the way the chickens let him take their eggs as long as he throws down seed first.

The chickens don’t really like Jack.  It’s something he pouts about, but Alex thinks they just have to get used to each other.  Jack referring to each of them as “Little Fucker” rather than by name might have something to do with it.

Still, Jack has never complained about getting an omelet from fresh eggs in the morning.

“Hello ladies,” he coos softly, stepping into the pen and throwing some chicken feed away from the door.  They flock to it, clucking and fluffing their feathers as they get ready to fight, and he releases another handful a little ways away, spreading them out more.  Then, he heads to the roost to collect the eggs.

It’s getting chillier, summer months fading into autumn and then winter.  Maybe he should let coffee and breakfast wait when he gets back inside and snuggle up again with Jack instead.  Of course, then they might never leave the sanctuary of their bedroom.  (Their bedroom.  Alex doesn’t know if he’ll ever be used to the concept.)

It’s far too easy for Jack to convince him that being wrapped up in each other is more important than any other responsibilities.  The goats would hold it against him if they didn’t love him so much.

He feeds the horses as well, then tramps back inside to find Jack already standing at the kitchen counter, frowning blearily at the coffee maker as it warms up.

“Morning, hot stuff,” Alex says.

Jack lets himself be kissed on the cheek, then turns and drapes himself across Alex’s back as soon as the eggs are put away, grumbling incoherently.

“What was that?”

“You were gone when I woke up,” Jack repeats.  “We could be in bed right now.  We could be having the time of our lives under the covers.”

“If you want to keep me in bed all morning, you have to wake up first,” Alex says.  “You know you can talk me into anything.”

Jack grumbles more, and Alex can’t stop his smile.

Mornings on the farm tend to be quiet affairs.  They both wake themselves up over breakfast, then spend time in the bathroom getting ready to face the day.  Sometimes they share the shower, and sometimes they alternate who goes first and uses the hot water.  Then, there are always chores to be done around the farm, like mucking out the horse stalls and grooming them.

Jack really likes the horses, especially Theo.  Alex never could’ve predicted the attentive way he runs the curry comb over his flank, keeping up a constant stream of chatter that makes Theo’s ears swivel to listen, or how gently and meticulously he untangles all of the knots in his mane and tail, despite Alex’s reminders that they’re just going to get tangled again once they take the horses for a ride.

“Theo is going to be the prettiest horse you’ve ever seen,” he always replies, then gives him a million dollar smile.  It does funny things to Alex’s heart, and he’s finally been letting himself feel it.  Every day is a new exercise in handling the feelings he bottled up for over a decade, and by now they don’t throw him off anymore.  The gentle ebb and flow of his love for Jack is a constant, reassuring fixture in their life together, one that Alex can’t forgive himself for repressing for so long.

He almost didn’t have this, and it’s been going so good for long enough that he has to admit he was an absolute fucking asshole.

It hasn’t been perfect by any means.  They skipped right over the honeymoon period, and the growing pains were sometimes excruciating.  There are days when Jack needs more attention than Alex can give, or Alex needs a quiet moment to sit together that Jack is too jittery to provide.  Jack has been racking up frequent flier miles with his visits to LA, and Alex makes himself appreciate the quiet for a day before his longing for Jack aches, deep in his gut.  It’s like now that he has access to Jack 24/7, every departure takes a piece of himself on the plane.

None of that matters when he remembers all of the amazing things to come out of their new relationship.  No one understands Alex’s humor better than Jack, and he loves hearing his laughter ring out from every corner of the property.  He didn’t realize how lonely he used to get staying here by himself, but Jack’s presence pulls him out of his head and reminds him that the outside world exists.  Alex would be content to hide away, but it’s better to take the occasional day trip.  There’s never a moment of boredom or monotony, and Jack has figured out how to balance Alex’s need to relax with his need to have fun.  It’s a mess of contradictions, but it works for them.  It’s the best relationship Alex has ever had.

Jack is his best friend.  He already loved hanging out with him, and now he gets to do it even more with some kissing and sex thrown in.  They go on trail rides and dance to too-loud music and get drunk together to watch reality tv.  Jack has started plans for a goat obstacle course.  All of it is exhilarating, and Alex has never felt more at peace.

The sex is different, too.  There was an adjustment period, both of them too used to holding back for years to be able to fully bear themselves at first, but they started small.  There was a lot of unhurried making out in the beginning, taking the time to relearn each other in this new context, to really focus on how to make the other person feel good and special and loved.  The first time they slept together at the farm, Alex cried, completely overwhelmed by it.

“What’s wrong?” Jack had asked, panic coloring the edge of his words.  “Alex?  Are you hurt?”

Alex shook his head.

“I think I’m happy,” he had said, swiping uselessly at his eyes.  “Yeah, I just… I’m really fucking in love with you.  I’m happy.”

Jack had kissed him again in answer, in that all-encompassing way that only Jack Barakat has ever kissed Alex.  It told him everything he needed to hear.

Alex is the only thing that kept them from this.  He was too scared to admit that he was in love, and he didn’t trust either of them to work past the difficult bits to get to the good stuff.  He looks at Jack sometimes and wonders what possibly could have kept him coming back, when Alex would always brush off the love he had to give.  He was so cruel, taking what he could but not letting Jack do the same, and he hates himself a little more every time he remembers their nights together, destroying Jack both emotionally and physically and then not sticking around to help put him back together.

It’s not fair that he gets to have this gift now.  He doesn’t deserve the happiness he feels having Jack in his life like this, and that makes his skin crawl with the urge to break it off, but he can’t.  He might not deserve it, but Jack does, and Alex is going to give him the entire world if he can.

Jack also deserves a proper apology, one that Alex hasn’t been able to bring himself to deliver yet.

They said they’d be more open with each other.  It’s time.

“Hey Jack?” he says before he loses his nerves.  They’re in the living room, something mindless on tv.  Jack has been scrolling through his social medias, sometimes laughing and tilting his phone to show Alex, but he hasn’t been able to focus on anything besides the pit in his stomach, telling him that he shouldn't be here enjoying this.

Jack hums absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says.

“For what?” Jack asks.  “Did you eat all of the cheetos again?”

"I'm being serious," Alex says softly.  Jack turns to him and blinks, brow furrowing the longer he looks.

"What are you sorry for?" he asks.  There's that familiar nervousness there, the type that makes appearances when he thinks his feelings are about to get crushed, usually by Alex.  He's heard it a lot over the years.  He never wants to hear it again.

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you before.  It was messed up, and I'm sorry I put you through that."

Jack's eyes search the room for something else to latch on to.

"Okay," he says eventually.

"Okay?" Alex asks.  "It's not okay.  I constantly fucked you knowing that you wanted more and then refused to give you anything for years.  It's awful."

"There's nothing really to be done about that," Jack says.  "I mean--you're here now.  We're doing good, right?  I think we're doing good."

"We are."

"It really fucking sucked that you did that, but I did it to myself, too.  I'm not going to keep blaming you when it'll just make us both miserable.  I want--I just want to be happy now.  With you.  I don't want to think about being upset."

"I can't do that," Alex says.  "I don't--Jack, I don't deserve this.  You're the best part of my life, and I spent half of it pushing you away and hurting you.  I don't know how to be fully happy with what we have if I'm constantly hating myself for the path we took to get here.  None of this is your problem, either!  It's mine.  It's something that I have to work through, but I can't do that if I don't also make things up to you."

"You already are," Jack says.  "Being able to sleep in the same bed as you at night is enough.  I've already forgiven you."

"That's just because you love me," Alex says.

"Give me a little credit," Jack replies.  "I'm a big boy.  I decided to keep playing your game for all of those years.  I can't hold it against you more when I was a willing participant."

Alex makes a face.

"Do you really want to make it up to me?" Jack asks.  Alex nods.  "Take me to Amsterdam for a week.   I think we'd have fun there."

It's not much, but maybe it's a start.  If Jack won't tell Alex how to make reparations, maybe he can figure it out by himself, by simply loving Jack as much as he possibly can for the rest of their lives.

"Okay," he says.  "We'll go to Amsterdam."

"And kiss me," Jack adds.  "I think you should kiss me now."

That’s easy.  Alex leans forward, cupping a hand against Jack’s jaw to guide their lips together, and kisses him as tenderly as he knows how.  He’s been getting better at it with every day that Jack makes something uncurl inside him, and Jack sighs into it.  When they part, Alex doesn’t go far.

“I love you,” he says.

“I know,” Jack replies.  “I love you, too.”

Jack pulls him in further, tucking Alex under his arm.  Alex relaxes into him.

There should be some metaphor for this moment, something akin to the wildfires and explosions and swimming lessons that have plagued their relationship up until this point, but he can’t think of one.  Jack lies just outside the realm of poetry, something solid for Alex to grasp onto when his feelings are too large to sort out.  For all of his imagination, he’ll never be able to fully describe this moment, or a million more similar ones that they’ll share.

Maybe home, or peace.

Maybe just Jack, and the promise of a tomorrow with him.  It’s a tomorrow that won't be perfect, but Alex will try to make it as close as possible.

Maybe love, plain and simple.  There are no qualifiers necessary.