#bro i have visible cheek bones again

[backwardblackbyrd]

you know those videos of folks during osteopathic therapy where the doctor like, aligns a few bones and then the person just starts weeping???

that literally just happened to me with my jaw omg

WELL i had been really stiff around my shoulders and neck for the past like, 4 days so i was doing some deep stretches and then suddenly my jaw just.......shifted into place. like where it was actually supposed to be. my teeth still fit together and everything :')

so i had all four wisdom teeth taken out a week ago and, all of which, for context, have been impacted for...almost.....hm. a decade? between a period of no insurance and just flat out not being able to afford the care, it got Very! Bad! like, literally none of my teeth actually fit together anymore because they had been crowded so bad. the rest of my teeth were literally being crushed. i had a root canal earlier this year because the crown had been pushed out because of the pressure.

so i start crying! and keep stretching! and i'm not joking. my whole posture shifted, all the tension in my body is gone, my muscles relaxed litcherally so much that my whole right side realigned. and friend!!!! when i tell you. i'm Confident this is why i broke my ankle while skating. my hips and shit were misaligned. my sinus pressure adjusted, i felt my ear canals shift my guy

and like!!! fuck dude!! my TMJ was so drastically but so gradually stretched and inflamed that i've been licherally disassociating from my body progressively more and more for! a! decade! wild!!!!! i had no idea i had so much tension. i didn't even realize i was in so much pain in so many places like.

the normal amount of pain is Actually Zero. unheard of, a statistical anomaly,

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 6-Atsushi/Fyodor w/ kinks restraints and blinfods(also vampire au)

Notes: rarepare, yes, i know. Also I'm literally obsessed with Fyodor's dead apple outfit. Like did they all go to the mall to try on matching suites?? Where they all like, ‘bro, those jackets are too long.’ or, ‘Fyodor you should wear two fancy coats over your normal clothes,’ or ‘Dazai that looks bad on you try this one.’? I'm literally obsessed you don't understand 

It was freezing in the mountains. A bitter cold chill seeped into his bones and froze him from the inside out, even as the tiger did its best to fight the frostbite away. Atsushi pulled his fur lined cloak closer around his body and trudged on through the snowstorm. The wind abused his face raw, and as quickly as the pain hit it receded, healed by the tiger inside of him. For once in his life Atsushi truly thanked the tiger. For with its strength he was this year's trader, a great honor in his village, as well as one of the members strong enough to make the trek up the mountains and across the snow tundra below them to the neighboring town, to trade. 

The snowy mountain ranges blocking Atsushi’s small village from the neighboring village were truly a blessing sometimes. Legend had it that the mountains had risen from the ground after the bloody battle that split Yokohama City, the capital of Yokohama island in half, forever separating the warring factions. The Northern village, run primarily by the Mafia Guild, and the Southern Village, Atsushi’s home, run by the Armed Detective Guild. The villages never interacted, the inhabitants far too volatile or just plain violent to have calm relations, except for one day out of the year, when one person from each village would cross the snowy mountains and trade with the other village. There was an unspoken truce these days, ‘you kill our resident and we kill yours’, and of course, as the least volatile of the Armed Detective Guild, Atsushi was saddled with the honor of making his way across the forever snowing mountains. 

(Last year's trader, Atsushi’s mentor Dazai almost incited all out war between the two villages, and had subsequently been banned from ever doing it again. Since then the traders have been chosen with greater care, and the entire job holds a strange reverence about it.) Atsushi didn't mind the job, not really. It was interesting to visit the other village, and most of the Mafia Guild were pleasant, if a little strange. The bloody war was almost two decades ago, and only the oldest Guild members could even remember a time when the villages were one. And so, it was a unique opportunity to meet people he wouldn't usually see, and maybe get some delicacies for the long months to come. The problem, this year, was the snow, and the strange things that had been happening in the mountains lately. 

It always snowed in the mountains, no matter the season. The snow piled higher and higher until it fell, rolling down the slopes in big balls and melting at the bottom, creating the lakes that littered the island. But it was usually a peaceful kind of snow. No wind ever disturbed the peaceful atmosphere. At least, that was how it had been. Now, fearsome winds battered the snowflakes against Atsushi’s face, rubbing his cheeks red raw. The trees, formerly covered in fluffy white, shrieked with the wind, their bare dead blanches scratching his face and hands. The mountain was as barren of life as ever, but ever so often Atsushi had the strange sensation that someone was watching him.

The other change, and the most noticeable was the large gothic castle that had materialized in the mountains, right at the top. Its large arches and dark marble walls were visible even from the ground. It appeared dead of life in the daytime, but as soon as evening hit, lights poured out from the large windows, and occasionally music could be heard. None of the Guild Members had ever seen anyone leave or enter the place, and yet it didn't worry them at all.

“This is Yokohama island, strange things are commonplace.” Was all Kunikida, the Guilds vice President had told him when he asked about it.

Atsushi was kind of worried though. Castles did not just pop out of the ground for no reason, and as he was the one trekking across the mountains this year, he was a little worried. He hoped to steer clear of the place and make it across the snow without any major problems.

As if god had heard his problems, and then proceeded to laugh in his face, the snow began pelting him faster and faster, the trees bare arms seemed to reach for him, to scratch his arms and pull at his fur lined cloak, pulling it from his shoulders with a yank. Atsushi watched in disappointment as it flew away, the black velvet outside disappearing in the snow storm. He almost felt like crying. That cloak had been a gift from his mentor Dazai when he had first joined the guild, and was one of his most treasured possessions. He was left in only his button down shirt and vest, warm but still thin black pants and snow boots. Without the coat, Atsushi knew he could not make it across the mountain without freezing to death, and so, with a resigned sigh he made his way towards the winking lights of the gothic castle in the distance. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The castle was huge up close, golden light spilled out of the large windows, the black glass spires spearing the sky. It was beautiful, and at the same time cold, not unlike the queen of winter herself. Hesitantly, Atsushi raised his hand and knocked. The sound echoed off the walls and then faded into the snowstorm, whirling away with the wind. The large black marble arched doorway is clearly decorative, and a much smaller door opens slowly with a creak.

The man who steps out is a strange man, about a head taller than Atsushi, and very pale. He's wrapped up in a white outfit, a fuzzy white hat over his dark, purple black hair. He seems to be wearing two coats, a long one on the inside with a golden design on the bottom, and a shorter overcoat, with a fur lining. He looks very cozy, but he still shivers slightly, pale cheeks painted with a slight bit of pink. His dark eyes scan Atsushi questioningly, and Atsushi shivers. The man is so pale he looks almost sickly. His eyes are underlined with bags that give him an alluring, mysterious vibe.

“What can I help you with?” The man's voice is slightly accented, something Atsushi has never heard on the island. The whole man has a foreign air about him, from his fuzzy hat to his smooth accent. It's not weird, in fact Atsushi feels slightly mesmerized, as he replies. 

“Um, I was wondering if I could stay the night. I can't make it across the mountain tonight.” Atsushi draws his arms around himself, trying to keep himself warm. The man stares at him for a moment longer. “Where are you coming from, little one?” He says. His accent is so foreign, Atsushi just can't place it.

“Oh, I'm coming from the village down the mountains.” Atsushi says quickly. “I'm heading over to the other village to trade for this year.” The man nods. “I see.” He stands back, opening the door wider and allowing Atsushi to enter. “You are welcome to stay the night.” Atsushi thanks him gratefully as he steps into the warmth of the building, the door closing with a resounding slam behind him. 

The inside of the castle is as grand as the outside. The walls are a dark purple, with white and silver accents. White candlelight floods the long hallway and Atsushi can't help staring around in awe as the man leads him down the hallway and into a warm and cozy living room. The ceilings are high, so high that Atsushi can barely make them out, and shadows dance happily in the corners where the light doesn't reach. The whole building has a lonely feel about it, like a beautiful princess stuck in her solitary tower, looking desperately for some company. 

The man chuckles, as he slowly sheds a layer as the fireplace roared with white hot flames. “It's beautiful, isn't it?” His thin pale fingers undo the claspes of his first jacket, draping it gracefully over a large armchair. Atsushi nods. “Oh yes, I've never seen such a large castle in my life.” He turns to the man. “Thank you so much for letting me stay Mr…” 

“Fyodor, little one.” 

“Mr Fyodor. I don't think I would have been able to make it across the mountain tonight. It was really kind of you to let me stay.” Atsushi fidgets with his hands nervously as Fyodor looks at him, blinking his eyes slowly. “Yes, as you can see I have plenty of space.” Fyodor says, smiling a small little smile. “Now Atsushi, would you like something to eat?” Atsushi nods happily, and honestly he's too hungry to even notice that Fydor said his name. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The dining room is huge, the floors carpeted in a silver and purple rug, a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, spilling silver candlelight all over the room. The table was long, and one side was set for two, completely covered in different dishes Atsushi had never seen before. It all smelled delicious, and Atsushi’s mouth watered as he stared at the spread of dishes. Fyodor chuckled next to him, his gloved hands leading Atsushi to a seat and pulling it out for him. 

“You're hungry, enjoy.” The man took a seat across from him, and Atsushi dug in. The first thing he reached for was a meat skewer, the meat dripping and tender and he tore into it. He let out a little groan of happiness. It’s delicious, the flavors melting into his mouth delightfully. The dishes are things he’s never seen before but he’s so curious to try them all. Fyodor sits across from him, sipping delicately on what looks like wine, not touching the food. 

“Are you not hungry?” Atsushi says, teeth sinking into a flaky pastry filled with meat and potatoes. “I'll have my dinner later, little one.” Fyodor chuckles. “Now tell me, why are you venturing out on a night such as this one? It's far too dangerous for a pretty boy like you to be out in the snow.” Atsushi flushes at the compliment, sipping at some red soup that warms his insides, whipping the residue with the silk napkins he was given. “Well, every year someone has to travel across the mountains to trade with the other village.” He takes another few bites, this time of the meat skewers again. “It's usually pretty easy, the weather was especially bad this time.” 

“I see, and why are you the one trekking across these dangerous mountains?” Fyodor takes another sip of his dark red wine, swirling delicately in the crystal stem glass. Atsushi leans back, patting his belly with a small groan. “Well, last year they sent another guy. My mentor Dazai.” Fyodor’s small smile falls, his face unreadable. 

“Dazai, you say?” he says, his voice blank. 

“Yeah, Dazai.” Atsushi frowns. “Do you know him?” 

The silence that descends for a moment is excruciating. Atsushi begins twisting his hands again and again, resisting the urge to backpedal and apologize. Finally, Fyodor smiles again. “No, the name just sounded familiar.” He stands, and Atsushi jumps to his feet, in a hurry to please. Fyodor has that small little smile curving his lips again, as he leads Atsushi out of the dining room, and up a large winding staircase. 

The castle is huge. Their footsteps echo off the walls, before Fyodor leads him into a carpeted section of the house. Atsushi pasess door after door, corridor after corridor before Fyodor finally stops outside of a small door, with a silver door handle. The knocker is silver two, and made in the shape of a roaring tiger. The tiger almost looks alive, and its brilliant yellow eyes sparkle, almost seeming to follow his every move. Fyodor coughs, dragging Atsushi’s eyes away from the sparkling yellow eyes. He hands him a small pile of folded clothes with a smirk. Atsushi thanks him gratefully, but he simply chuckles and waves it off.

“It is no problem at all. But Atsushi, I need you to promise me something.” Fyodor says, gripping Atsushi’s shoulders and meeting his eyes. Atsushi has to look up at him, and he feels his face heat up for some reason, his heart pounding slightly in his chest. Fyodor continues, voice serious. “You must not come downstairs after nine o’clock. No matter what noises you hear.” It's a strange request, to be sure. But it's Fyodor’s house, and this whole situation is strange. Atsushi ignores his blushing cheeks and nods. “I promise.” 

Fyodor simply looks at him for a moment. His dark eyes scan Atsushi’s face and Atsushi tries vainly to keep the blushing in control. The man is close to him, and Atsushi can take in every feature on his face. He’s pale, so so pale, with only a slight amount of pink on those cheeks. Dark circles highlight his dark eyes, effectively giving him a sickly appearance. It's strange how that face makes Atsushi’s body heat up. ‘I want him to come closer.’ Atsushi slaps the stray traitorous thought away. 

He feels for a moment that the taller man will lean close, and maybe press those pale lips against Atsushi’s own. But finally, he steps away, and with a wave he turns the corner, leaving Atsushi alone in the carpeted hallway, a pile of clothes clutched in his hands. He shakes himself out of his stupor and twists the door handle, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. 

The clothes Fyodor gave him are simple, just a thin cotton button down and pants. The fabric is soft however, and strangely warm. Atsushi takes care to fold his clothes and place them on the small table by the fireplace. He should ask Fyodor for a coat tomorrow morning, before he leaves. The room is large, and very luxurious, with a white carpet covering the entire floor. The bed is large as well, and covered with a purple covering that shines strangely in the light. It even has an attached bath that Atsushi used happily. He now sits, warm and comfortable on the side of his bed, just letting the day wash over.

What a strange man the owner of the castle was. Quiet and handsome, and dressed completely in white. He was a nice man too, feeding Atsushi delicious food and letting him stay the night. His instructions were a little odd though. ‘Not to go downstairs, no matter what.’ But whatever, Atsushi had a nice place to sleep and a full tummy, he was very happy indeed. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

He’s almost asleep when he hears it. Piercing the silence of the darkness, the faint strains of a waltz. How strange. But Atsushi remembers the words from earlier, and does his best to tune it out and go to sleep. But for the strangest reason, he can't. The music gets louder, filled with laughter and joy and the tapping of heels and Atsushi can't resist. He steps down the carpeted hallway, following the strains of a waltz. ‘I want to go downstairs.’ he thinks, almost involuntarily. ‘I need to go downstairs.’

The music leads him on, begging him to continue, pleading him to follow, teasing him with delight. It leads him through twisting hallways lined with portraits, through large empty rooms, until finally he stops, in the entrance to a ballroom. Hesitantly, hoping no one sees him, he peaks around the entrance, mesmerized by the lights.

The ballroom is alight with music, full of people, full of laughter. The lights and colors mesmerize him speechless. The whirling skirts of the pretty women and the suites of the men, the ballroom is full of life. The dancers move perfectly, each move graceful, begging his eyes to stay, pulling him in, begging him to join. The music seems to come from all over, and Atsushi can't seem to pinpoint an exact source, but it swells and dips and crescendos and someone is telling him to go, to join the festivities and be happy. To feel the joy that they must be feeling, to join in the celebratory mood of the party. Atsushi stumbles forward, begging for the light, longing for the happiness…

Suddenly, it's all gone. Atsushi feels a slight stinging on his neck, and reaches up involuntarily. His hand comes away bloody. The culprit is a crystal light fixture, pointed sharply and dangerously. Atsushi feels strange. He doesn't quite know why he wanted to join the dancers, it seemed fun, sure, but kind of illogical. It almost felt like someone was telling him to do that, to join the dancers and dance to the music. And then, Atsushi notices something strange. The music, that joyful waltz, has come to a halt.

He looks up, and freezes with fear. The entire ballroom has come to a halt. The dancers are standing still on the dancefloor, and the people scattered across the room have stopped their conversations as well. Every eye in the room is turned on him. Atsushi feels a cold sensation run down the length of his body, because their stares, they aren't stars of disappointment, or even accusation. ‘No, these stars are hungry.’ He thinks, mentally calculating an escape route. One of the men on the ballroom floor steps forward.

“Well, what are you doing here, little human?” He says, advancing slowly on Atsushi. Atsushi has the urge to step back.

“I'm sorry for bothering your party, I'll leave now.” He says, slowly starting to back away. Atsushi feels like he needs to leave. He doesn't know why, but all his instincts are screaming at him to get away. The man vanishes, and suddenly he reappears, grabbing Atsushi’s arm and with supernatural strength, pulling him to an abrupt stop. 

“Not so fast, human.” The man grins, revealing white teeth, his canines sharpened to dangerous points. In a heartbeat, Atsushi realizes what these people are. ‘Vampires, they have to be.’ He thinks to himself. 

He’s surrounded by dangerous creatures of night and he needs to get away. He tries to shake his arm free, but to no avail. The strength the tiger has granted him is useless against this man, and Atsushi stumbles back again, trying to at least shake him off. He trips, crashing back and abruptly hitting another person. The words flash through his head, embarrassingly. ‘I'm scared. I don't want to die.’

A hand falls over his eyes, and abruptly, the man's hand is yanked from his arm. Atsushi is enveloped in the smell of lilies and apples, and a familiar voice speaks by his ear. 

“What are you doing down here, little lost kitten.” Fyodor. Atsushi immediately relaxes into his hold, sinking into the comfort of it. He knows this man at least, will not hurt him. The silver door knobs on the room Atsushi was given, reflect that in startling clarity. Fyodor is speaking over him, in a language Atsushi cannot understand. 

“Этот мой, тронь его и я тебя убью.” The language is smooth and strange, but somehow very pretty to Atsushi’s ears. The man says something back, in the same language. 

“Не портите вечеринку, поделитесь человеческим мальчиком с другими.” His voice is pleading, but with another word from Fyodor Atsushi hears a crack, and his voice dissolves into a scream. He doesn't really want to know what happened. Fyodor escorts him away, and removes the hand over his eyes as the man's screams fade in the background.

Atsushi feels an anxious mix of fear and the urge to apologize to Fyodor for disobeying his command, and after all the man had done for him. But he remains quiet, until they enter Atsushi’s room and Fyodor closes the door behind him. 

“I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me. And i know you told be not to go down and you were so nice to me and fed me yummy food and i just—”

Fyodor holds up a hand, and Atsushi comes to a flustered stop, wringing his hands anxiously. 

“It's all right, Vampire music tends to have that effect on people.” Fyodor says, seating himself on the couch across from the fire. Atsushi sits down next to him, still a little nervous. It's strange, but to Atsushi’s eyes, Fyodor doesn't really look surprised. He looks more resigned as he leans back against the fine cloth of the couch. Everything about this man is strange, and Atsushi really shouldn't be surprised that he has ties to the supernatural. ‘I mean, he can't be a vampire…right?’ Atsushi thinks to himself, fiddling with his hands again. ‘Im still bleeding and he has no reaction.’ 

“Um, Fyodor? Are you a vampire too?” it occurs to Atsushi a second to late that he doesn't know if that's a rude question, but Fyodor answers before he can apologize. “So, you figured it out? Yes, I am.” The surprise must show on his face, because Fyodor chuckles. “Why, are you surprised? Was it not obvious?” Atsushi shakes his head, a little embarrassed. “I just thought…well, because you're not affected by my blood…” Fyodor chuckles again, and in an instant, erases any distance between their bodies.

Fyodor’s breath tickles his neck, and his voice is thick with something hot when he speaks. “Oh, is that what you think?” Atsushi shivers, as hot breath hits his ear. 

And in an instant, the man before him has fallen apart. His eyes burn, tracing every contour of Atsushi’s face as he speaks. “Every time you move i smell it. The aroma of your blood, teasing my tastebuds, dancing a dangerous tango with arousal.” 

All pretenses of put togetherness are gone now, as Atsushi’s back hits the arm of the couch, Fyodor’s thin body cornering him against the hard edge. Thin fingers tangle in his hair, the long strand framing his face, twisting the silver strands around his fingers. Another hand traces his jawbone, gathering the remaining blood of his neck in a delicate swipe. Fyodor makes sinful eye contact as his tongue darts out, licking the blood of his finger. 

Every nerve ending in Atsushi’s body is at war, caught between a rock and a hard place, a small silver tiger, cornered by a creature of myths, a creature draped in darkness and danger. He wants to run, but he also wants to submit, to let his head fall back against the couch, to allow this creature, this man, to take him any way he wished. It was an odd feeling, but not terribly unpleasant. 

“Tell me little one.” Fyodor’s mouth curves into a smile, his fangs flashing in the light. “Will you allow me a taste of your blood?” Every part of his brain screems at him that this is a bad idea. He could be seriously injured, or worse, die. But every other part of his body is telling him to give in, to consent and give this man permission to do waht he wished. And Atsushi feels more inclined to go with those feelings. He nods, squeaking out an answer. “Yes, you can do what you want.” It's probably a dangerous response, but Fyodor seems pleased as he pulls two thick black ribbons out of his pocket. “Hold out your hands, little one.” 

The ribbon is silk, soft on his skin, and dramatically black against his pale skin. It feels strange to have his hands tied like this, and even though he could easily rip the ribbon apart, he would rather enjoy the feeling. Fyodor comes closer, and leans forward, securing the other ribbon over his eyes. The world goes black, one of his senses taken away. It only serves to heighten the excitement, because now without sight, all his other senses are sharpened. He can hear the rustling of clothes as Fyodor undoes his button down, feel the coldness of his skin stroking Atsushi’s bare chest, the thin trails of cold tickling his waistband, stroking him over the thin fabric of his pants. The man yanks his pants down slightly, just far enough that Atsushi’s dick is set free. 

He bucks up involuntarily, the cold pressure of Fyodor’s hand both a relief and a tease for his hard on. The man above him chuckles, his voice gradually coming closer. “Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit.” His voice is right by Atsushi’s ear, and he shivers with anticipation. “In fact, I think you’ll enjoy it.” And then, teeth puncture his skin. 

The pain only lasts for a second. It's a meager prick of pain, the pain of skin being broken, and it's swiftly overwhelmed by pleasure. A heat, a blinding heat is running through his veins, tainting his soul with pleasure. Pleasure, running from the bite of his neck, through his body, driving his crazy. He knows he must be letting obscene moans leak through, but he can't even bring himself to care. His dick twitches, shooting ropes of cum all over his stomach as Fyodor gulps hungrily at his neck, little groans of pleasure occasionally leaking through the obscene sounds Atsushi can faintly hear himself making.

It's like nothing he has ever experienced before. He’s still twitching slightly, coming down from his abrupt orgasm when he feels Fyodor draw away from his neck panting. Then cold hands are on his waist, flipping him over effortlessly, pulling his pants all the way off. Atsushi’s hands fall forward, tied wrists hitting the hard arm of the couch, head falling forward onto the soft cushions. He’s on his knees, hands still tied, eyes still covered, dick dripping cum onto the couch cushions, back arched ass up, for the man behind him. The position is embarrassing, even in his post orgasm haze, but the embarrassment doesn't last long, as Atsushi hears a cap open, and then cold, wet fingers are working his hole open. 

Atsushi moans again, loud and obscene as his dick twitches, leaking onto the couch. Fyodor chuckles behind him. “I wish you could see yourself right now, all tied up and pretty.” Atsushi’s dick twitches at the praise, even as he heats up with pleasure. Fyodor continues, his accent thickening slightly. “I know you’ll look even prettier screaming around my cock.”

Atsushi feels a pressure against his asshole, and then something big is stretching him open. It hurts just a little, but Atsushi feels himself bucking backwards, begging the man to move faster. And he does. In one fluid stroke Fyodor buries himself deep in Atsushi, hands gripping his waist like an ice cold brand. Atsushi screams a moan as he moves, setting a deep brutal pace. It hurts slightly, Fyodor is big, but only in the best way, and Atsushi lets out more obscene noises as the slaps of skin fill the air. 

What an odd day this has been. He would have never guessed he would end the day, bent over a couch and blindfolded by a vampire, a vampire who is now leaning down, breath teasing Atsushi’s neck again, cooing compliments in his ear.

“So pretty.” an especially hard thrust hit a spot inside Atsushi that makes his eyes white behind the blindfold. “So obedient. You like a bit of pain, don't you?” A moaned yes, then a scrap of teeth followed by a hot tongue. Fyodor’s smug chuckle is slightly huskier, a sign of his slipping composure. “Do you want me to bite you again?” Fyodor says, tone full of mocking. “You liked that last time didn't you.” 

Atsushi can imagine it, the overwhelming pleasure, the forced orgasm. He wants to feel that all over gain. “God, yes please!” He sounds embarrassingly needy, but he can't bring it in himself to care. Fyodor rams that spot again, and Atsushi’s back arches. “Oh, you want me to bite you again.” Fyodor says, all smug. “Then beg, pretty boy.” Atsushi is too far gone to even care. He would gladly beg for the pleasure again, no matter how humiliating it was. “Please Fyodor, please bite me again!” His voice is breathy and tight, full of pleasure and pleading. Fyodor grunts, cold hands still gripping Atsushi’s waist. 

“You're such a dirty boy aren't you.” Atsushi nods frantically, begging, pleading the man above him to sink those sharp fangs into him once more. Fyodor sighs mockingly. “Very well, since you begged so nicely, I'll do as you wish.” Atsushi moans in joy and agreement, back arching as he feels the fabric of Fyodor’s shirt scraping his bare back, and feels the tickling of his shoulder length hair on the nape of Atsushi’s neck. He can't help but moan in anticipation, and Fyodor just seems more pleased as he leans closer, whispering in Atsushi’s ear.

“You're such an obedient pet, maybe I should keep you here for all eternity. My little fucking doll, you’d like that wouldnt you.” Atsushi clenches involuntarily at the thought, his dick dripping more and more precum onto the couch. Fyodor huffs a small laugh. “You naughty boy, and over such a depraved thought.” Atsushi can feel an orgasm building, winding pretty little knots of pleasure tangling in his gut, and at that picture, he almost falls apart. The thought of spending eternity here with this man, getting fucked ruthlessly by his big dick and fed delisous food, sounded honestly like a dream. It was a dirty thought, to leave all his responsibilities behind, but in the heat of the moment, it was all he could think of.

Fyodor’s tongue teased his ear, hot breath tickling the soft skin, as he trailed kisses down his jaw, teeth scraping his neck in anticipation. Atsushi fears he’ll cum early, and as those teeth puncture his neck, he does. It's embarrassing how he cums at the shot of pain that precedes the pleasure, but he does, spraying ropes of cum all over the couch beneath him. And then, the pleasure hits and he cums again, moaning out an obscene garbled mix of Fyodor’s name, as his asshole clenches down on the large protrusion lodge inside of him. 

And just when he thinks he cant cum anymore, Fyodor hits that spot inside him for the last time, and Atsushi’s spent dick twitches to life again, leaving more trails of cum all across the poor couch. Fyodor’s teeth are still lodged in his throat, and his dick twitches inside Atsushi as he releases hot ropes of cum inside him. The pleasure is so great he almost blacks out, his dick twitching limply against his thighs. 

Hes hazy when he comes down, and when Fyodor unties his hands, pulling the blindfold away from his eyes he blinks sharply, his eyes adjusting to the light. And hes tired, so, so tired. Fyodor seems to sense his mood, because he doesn't say much as he cleans Atsushi off, and pulls a blanket over his spent body. With a snap of his pale fingers, the candles are out and with one last little smile, Fyodor bids him goodnight, and Atsushi drifts off into dreamland.

End Notes: the russian is google translated. Fyodor says: ‘This one is mine, touch him and I will kill you.’ and then the man says: ‘Don't spoil the party, share the human boy with others.’ And then Fyodor breaks his arm. His red flags are big but so is his dick…

Taglist:@mulit05ho3st4n

[feathers-in-the-night]

Okay apparently im unable to not post something every once in a while if im really pleased with it, so here part of a little moment in the latest chapter

(I was a good girl and wrote two pages on my exam tonight, so im sharing this is a treat)

“Do you want to talk about it?” his voice was soft and unassuming – he feared she’d clam up if he pressed her too much.

Morgan shrugged and got out of her blankets, sitting with crossed legs on top of her covers. “I’m not sure there’s anything to talk about. The nightmare is very predictable.. the worst part is the effect it’s having on my sleep. I – I can’t fall back asleep when it happens, so I just...”

”Don’t sleep?”

She huffed out a breath that failed to sound like a laugh, one corner of her mouth quirking upwards. “Yeah.”

“You should try to sleep,” he encouraged, grabbing her hand, and looking at her imploringly. “I see the bags under your eyes. You look exhausted all the time.”

The golden light outside had all but faded now, bathing them in the grey tones of dusk. The changed lighting made her skin look deathly pale, a grey pallor to her countenance. Usually, he thought she looked vibrant; a dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks from the sun’s kiss and her cheeks flushed with a bit of color that offset her sharp and cool eyes.

Morgan grimaced. “Look, I know I’m not exactly winning any beauty awards right now –“

“That’s not what I was saying,” he instantly denied, because he still thought she was beautiful, eyebags and all.  

She looked at him strangely, but kept going, “I would love more sleep, but I can’t. I know its childish, but I get so uneasy. I can’t close my eyes because I’m convinced he’s lurking. Every shadow looks like its him.” she brought her knees close to her chest again, but tried to shake off the fear he saw on her face. “Besides,” she looked at him with humor and he knew exactly what this was – she’d admitted a weakness and now she was trying to cover the vulnerability with a joke. “I did just spend all of last night in a dank-ass cave on the ocean floor.”

He clenched her hand tighter at the reminder, and he saw how her eyes flickered towards their intertwined fingers. He didn’t care – she could withdraw her hand if she minded the touch, but he was done pretending he didn’t crave her nearness. He wanted her to go back to sleep – he was sure a good night’s rest would give her the energy she needed. But he also understood that she was afraid. He understood why. It wasn’t about the nightmares so much as it was the constant reminder of where she was heading. It was the inability to tell herself that the nightmare wasn’t real - because it was. And the longer they took to fix this, the closer she got to that fate.

“Sleep with me.”

She looked at him with wide eyes and finally withdrew her hand. “Bro, what?”

He shook his head. “No, wait, that’s not what I meant – I,” he let out a small groan at his blunder, feeling his ears redden. “I meant, try to sleep. I’ll stay here so you feel safe.”

Her sharp eyes roved over his face for a long time, the doubt on her face visible. He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“I’m don’t think that’s..” she trailed off. The words came out like a whisper, sounding tantalizingly private and close. He felt the urge to inch closer, entranced by the way her mouth moved at her whispered words, and the way her lips stayed slightly open, almost breathless, as she looked up at him.  

“Why not?” he asked, his voice low. “We’re friends, right?”

He almost felt bad for speaking the words he knew would get her to agree – he was well aware of his own manipulation. But she was exhausted. He could see it seeping into her very bones. He would’ve said anything to get her to go back to sleep. He would’ve said anything if it allowed him to stay close to her for a bit.

“I.. – Fine.”  she relented; fingers clenched into her blankets. How was it he knew how powerful she was, how ferocious she could be, and yet right now she looked tiny, igniting in him every urge to protect her and shield her?

He lay down on top of her blankets as she busied herself with crawling back under them. Her movements were stiff and awkward, and he tried to look completely at easy to help her. Once she was back under her covers, she haltingly shuffled closer, nestling her face against his shoulder. He quickly moved his arm, allowing her to fall into the crook of it. Her hands and arms were pressed between them, preventing her body from laying flush against his, and he was unsure if it was a measure to keep him at bay, or to stop herself. He was glad that she lay on his right side with her head resting on his shoulder, because, surely, if she’d been on the left side, she would’ve heard how loudly his heart was beating. But maybe that wouldn’t matter – from where she lay against him, he could feel that her pulse was just as fast.

[toxic77340106]

more headcanons I have for Jason Todd (former red hood/second robin)

this does include nsfw topics or things that could be triggering for some people. if you're not good with that, please leave and do not sue me. jay is 20+ when it comes to nsfw, just to clarify.

• Jay has freckles and they're adorable. they scatter across the bridge of his nose, cheek bones and shoulder blades

• he's claustrophobic as fuck, again, ptsd.

• (NSFW) breastfeeding k!nk, another idk why. he enjoys feeling like he has something to hold onto

• my boy has central heterochromia. 1, dark blue and 2, more of a dark green-ish hue

• he has a whole wardobe full of Wonder Woman merch and he's not ashamed about it.

• naturally really sharp teeth, he likes showing them off too 🤭

• he's given himself tattoos before but when he died most of them disappeared

• (my fav one) his favorite flowers are daisy's. he loves them because they're simple yet underrated. he finds them beautiful and they surround his grave stone

• he has those pretty-boy long eyelashes. people definitely notice them, and yk what they say about long eyelashes 🌚

• (NSFW) Jay's a switch. there's nothing more to say

• when he was a kid he had really fluffy and curly hair. when he came back, he started straightening it until the point where it just stayed that way.

• tbh he loves Cheetos, just not puffs.

• bro can JUMP. when I say that, I mean it. his legs are made of pure muscle and beauty, the amount of times he's jumped building to building over 100 feet in the air

• (NSFW) ^ he's into thigh riding. AGAIN, his legs are made of pure muscle and beauty.

• he doesn't like the "J" scarred on his cheek, it gives him bad memories whenever he sees himself so he chooses to cover it up with makeup. sometimes it's still visible on it's own or when sweat washes the foundation off.

• he smells like rain, gunpowder and ash 💪

[waywardimpalawriter]

Could you do a Bucky/Reader fic for 16 on the smut prompts?

The intimacy of shaving

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader

Bucky Bingo Square: New haircut square

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Sarah Wilson

Setting: three months after the end of Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Rating: M (Mature), E (explicit), NSFW, +18 only please

Warnings: fluff, angst, bickering, smut, oral female receiving, yearning, pining, unrequited love, smutty dreams, broken bones, mention of torture, Bucky’s old memories,

Word count: 10,800

Summary: Frustrated with being left behind, worry taking hold after finding out just a fraction of how bad your boys are. Making you start to search your feeling's for both men. Especially with the intimacy of giving Bucky a hair cut and shave. Unexpected emotions surface on all parts.

Notes: Sequel too “My own worse enemy," filling in a bingo square for #buckybingo and also an Anon request asking for smut prompt #16 “I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.” Hope you don't mind me adding Sam into the mix sweetie. Also for my head cannon Sam uses Delacroix LA for his base of operation. Wanting to help take care of his family while taking on the mantle of Captain America. Hope you enjoyed doll.

Tag list’s: Are open

@buckybingo

Forever’s: @jedi-mando @chickensarentcheap

Bucky Barnes list: @learisa @eclipses-and-moondust

Story list: @sammyissassy @feelmyroarrrr

Wearing a path from the kitchen to living room ignoring Sarah’s stare, thumb nail damn near nibbled to the bed with how much your chewing the poor abused finger. Cell phone pressed to your ear, listening to Sams deep baritone, “What’d ya mean three places Samuel? How the f-ing hell did you both managed to get so banged up?”

“Explanations will roll out once we touch down Y/N for now know at least he didn’t break his funny bone that’s still none existence,” glancing towards Bucky stretched out over the metal helo bench. Right arm in a sling snug to his body, thick plaster cast covering from mid bicep to mid palm, fingers still visible.

“I heard that and I do to have a sense of humor just not your brand of stupid jokes bird brain,” deep voice unmistakably Bucky’s catching a wobble in the cadence not there when last they spoke.

Swiping a hand over your face wanting to kill them both for leaving you behind. Plans to do just that forming in your mind while snarking, “Remind me again why exactly you chose to leave me behind?”

Staying home you could’ve possibly worked with, the unknown danced on your nerves more than you’d give credit to. Having grown even closer to both men over the last six months, always brushing those pesky feelings and thoughts away that surface during weak moments of worry or sleep.

“To dangerous and I’m not arguing with you on those semantics it’s bad enough cyborg got the shit beaten out of him,” quickly pulling the phone from his ear at the high pitched sound from down the line. Forgetting a moment your attachment to both men, “You finished?”

Low growl in answer, biting off the curses you wish to fling at both Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Don’t worry you’re in for it once you get home. ETA?” Checking the watch strapped to your left wrist, “I’ll come pick y’all up, gotta stop in town for supplies anyway.”

“No worries my trucks at base I’ll get Buck and myself home.” Glancing at his watch, “Landing in about two hours, think you can grab a couple of Miss Bridgette’s pecan pies?”

Too many years working with that man not to know what he likes, “For the shit you and Barnes pulled get your own pie man.” Soft chuckles lets you know Sarah heard you. Eyes locking with her’s for a moment seeing the worry in those warm browns matching as you knew in your own. “Just bring you asses home so Sarah and I can roast them.”

Almost feeling the deep groan from over the phone line, “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing since that’s what I got,” shaking head tips to the side picking up on Sam’s easy breathing and the helo’s engines in the back ground. “Just get home dumbass,” affection in your tone. Ending the call, slipping the cell into your front pocket to flop down into the worn out but still comfortable couch.

“They get hurt?” Anxiety tainting her voice from across the room.

Peeking through your fingers at her, dropping them to your thighs to run the length of denim covered skin, “Don’t know really, Sam sounds fine but a concussion or another type of head injury wouldn’t show it’s self right away. From what I did gather they finished up the mission a little over four hours ago, in flight for the last two.”

“What about Bucky?” Meeting your eyes having confided in her years ago about the crush harbored for a certain metal armed ex-assassin turned Cap’s left hand man. Always leaving out the other part of your secret crush. “Speaking of which you ever gonna tell them how you feel?”

“Busting chops about that again Sarah?” Exasperated sigh marches passed barely parted lips, “Something’s broke in three places that’s all Sam ‘Stubborn ass’ Wilson would say. Just not which one of them or what body part exactly.” Firmly ignoring her last question and not picking up on the fact she said them instead of him. To stand hands to hips, leaning back to stretch and possibly pop your spine. “I’m going to town you wanna come or need anything.”

“And you call Sam stubborn,” head shaking with a fond smile tipping her lips upward. Picking up the subtle shift in your demeanor as relief floods your system with knowing they're coming home at least safe. Having guessed your feelings for her older brother not long ago however, keeping that little tidbit to herself. “I’ll come with, give you company and grief along the way. The boy’s won’t come home till later anyway.”

Eyes roll you reach for the car keys on the coffee table, patting your back pocket to check for wallet and the front for cell phone. “Ready to roll?”

Hour and a half later arms loaded with grocery bags, making sure to hide Miss Bridgette’s pie’s from Sam, you and Sarah set to work putting everything away. Setting to work fixing dinner efficiently dancing around each other like a well oiled machine working together in tandem getting each task done. Back door quietly trying to open, Sam poking his head around the well loved oak wood door. Showing a face littered with cuts, a busted bottom lip and dark shadow of a black eye around his left. But his smile still widens flashing pearly whites at seeing the two of you. Entering, Sam places a large locking suit case and round leather carry case not far from the door.

Soft gasp leave’s Sarah’s lips, quickly moving towards her brother to look him over, “You were ugly before now it’s just worse bro.”

Snort existed through his nose, stepping fully into the house with a limp on his right side, accepting the hug she gives him carefully. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’m the other guy,” voice slightly strained but still light almost playful unlike the Bucky of months ago. Though seeing him coming around Sam, arm cradled close in a black cloth sling. Peeks of plaster noticeable making you groan, head shaking at the very sight of him. Assortment of bruises littered his face, his own busted lip, and a three inch cut circling just above his collarbone. Seeing the storm brewing in your eyes, “No we didn’t fight and Sam didn’t cause these wonderful souvenirs.”

“Stupid ass got captured, wouldn’t listen to my plan…”

“You didn’t have a plan Sam not a logistical one…”

“Oh, so you bulldozing in like a raging bull in a China shop worked so well. Who got capture?” Pressing a finger behind his ear to lift the shell listening for Bucky’s answer. “I’m sorry I can’t hear you. You’re gonna say you right Robo soldier cause that’s the correct answer.”

Exasperated with them both, “Shut it and sit down dinner’s ready. I swear the two of you fight worse than Cass and AJ.” Authority ringing through Sarah’s tone cutting eyes at both men.

“Oh sweetheart Cass and AJ have nothing on these two bone heads, more maturity in their little bodies than both of them put together.” Rubbing your temples trying to fend off the building migraine behind your eyes. “Listening to constant bickering I wanna put them in a ‘Get along shirt.'”

Scowl in place while giving them a full once over. Cataloguing the damage you could see and wondering about that which you couldn’t. Noticing the length of Bucky’s hair almost a shaggy just falling a little over his ears and brushing the collar of the black t-shirt he’s wearing. Full beard dusting his cheeks and chin reminding you of those days long gone back in Wakanda. In contrast to Sam’s neatly kept mustache and goatee, close cropped haircut smartly framing his handsome face. Looking much like the day he and Bucky left three months ago on their reconnaissance mission. Knowing better as looks deceive and clothes cover up places eyes can’t see without stripping them naked. The very thought peeking interest but pushing those thoughts back with a frown. Of course it doesn’t stop you from wanting to hug them both mindful of injures unseen that brings a scowl to your features.

“You wouldn’t?” Traces of fear slicing through those deep russet browns. “I thought you loved me Y/N?”

Speaking over Sam, “What’s a ‘Get along’ shirt?”

Caught between wanting to roll her eyes and chuckle, “It’s a big shirt we’d put the two of you in till ya stop bickering like children and actually get along.” Dishing up dinner, Sarah looks towards both men. Trying hard not to burst out laughing at the sour look on Sam’s face nor the still slightly confused one on Bucky’s.

“I see smoke coming from his ears,” snarky quip receiving a back handing smack to his arm.

Bowel’s placed at the table, “Aim for the head next time Sar.” Taking the seat on Sam’s right offering him a cheekily smile, “Might actually knock the few brain cells he has left around and jump start the hamster running the wheel.”

“You both wound me,” clutching his chest dramatically. “With friends and family like this who can you trust.”

“Dramatic’s must come with handling the shield,” cerulean eyes rolling edged with teasing tone. Glancing towards Sam first then you beside him, going to explain for Sarah’s benefit. “Steve could put on some high melodrama back in the day. Much like Samuel here.” Scratching at his chin with vibranium fingers, a low hiss only you catch sounds when the plates catch the little hairs.

Scoffing, “Only Sarah calls me that first off, second look who’s talking Mr. Bionic Staring machine scaring off everyone who comes within two feet. Dramatics run through your veins just as well. ”

“Children,” both women exclaim hands coming down to slam the table at the same. Before time digging into dinner as the back door opens with Cass and AJ storming inside with excited chatter upon seeing both Sam and Bucky.

Each asking about what happened, how’d the mission go and why exactly Bucky’s sporting a sling and cast. All questions peeking the interested of both women with brows raised and narrowed eyes.

“Settle in first and eat dinner,” Sam intones wanting to keep most of what happened from his family. “For the most part the mission went successful.”

Very unladylike snort leaves your nose hidden behind a glass of sweet tea you sip from, “At least you came back in one piece or three in someone’s case.” Eyes narrow even farther on Bucky who has the good graces to look sheepish and divert his eyes.

“But the super serum why didn’t it help like that,” AJ snapped his little fingers for emphasis on the quickness the serum should work or so he thinks.

“Doesn’t quiet work that way AJ,” Bucky starts running a hand through his longer than usual hair. Giving a short frustrated tug before returning to the topic at hand. “Yeah the serum helps speed up the healing process it’s not instantaneous and,” pausing to side eye you not wanting to admit there’s more injures than just his arm.

Scowl returning having a feeling you know why he’s paused in explaining, “Takes longer to heal when multiple injures are involved.”

Dinner finishes with other questions, skirting the full truth about the mission, discussing the coming week with work and school. Sam’s boyish smile appears when Sarah brings out the pie, cutting out slices to pass around with Reddi-whip, coffee for the adults, milk for the kids. Silence settles for a moment the enjoyment of pie more important to savor and only once done do you raise to start cleaning up.

“I’ll,” shooting Sarah a look with a shake of your head.

“You got paperwork to catch up on babe I’ve got this, besides Sam volunteered to help. Didn’t you Sam?” Shooting a look his way, clearly speaking volumes if the answer comes back no.

Brow arched in question but thought better then to ask, though he flips the script on you, “Of course, Bucky volunteer’s.” Quickly moving away from the hand threatening to land a hard punch to his right thigh. Almost toppling to the floor in his hast to move Sam tweaked his hip a twinge of pain slicing through his features.

“Serves you right Wilson,” thought a slice of regret skates across your thoughts. Head shaking you stand gathering plates as the boys excuse themselves to play video games.

“Homework first or I’m taking those games away,” Sarah yells after them looking in your direction for a second. “You got these two?” Pointing at each of them in turn with her own frown dropping her lips downward.

“Sadly yes,” exasperation clearly written in the rigidness of you stance and narrowing to slits of your eyes. “Blissfully unaware or want to know everything?”

“Unaware I’m just happy their back whole,” nodding Sarah takes her leave, heading for the home office.

Times flown, six months in fact since Karli’s death and Sam taking over the mantle of Captain America. Going above and beyond to change how the worlds become and see’s the shield. Using Delacroix as home base to keep himself grounded and around for his family. Surprisingly enough including you and Bucky the house feels a touch over crowded but wouldn’t want things any different.

“Care to explain what that means?” Limping with hands full towards the sink, Sam places his arm load down watching you move around the kitchen. Putting leftovers up, setting to work on the dishes, the familiarity you exude warms a place in Sam’s heart. Always pushing those thoughts from his mind, your his best friend and wouldn’t see him in any other way. Especially with your heart firmly filled with Bucky.

Giving your back to both men and only acknowledging their presence when Bucky comes over with a bowel. “Thanks,” leaves your lips with a nod.

“We’re sorry for leaving you behind Y/N, but Sam and I agreed things were to dangerous neither of us wanted you to get hurt,” trying to reason Bucky leans his back against the counter beside you. Tugging once again at his too long hair that gets slightly tangled in the plates of his fingers.

“You actually agreed on something?” Catching his actions, your head shakes grabbing for the towel to dry soapy hands and help with his dilemma. “Instead you both come back looking like train wreck’s all beaten, broken and bruised. With a busted arm,” finished with untangling his fingers to point at his arm. Whirling around to assess Sam who’s trying not to put weight on his right leg, “Banged up hip and God know what else internally. Neither one of you are spring chickens for heaven’s sake.”

“Don’t know what your talking about Y/N? I’m not a day over twenty-five,” taking an aim to make you smile and ease the tension in your shoulders. Frown appearing when your countenance doesn’t change but deepens, “Talk to the resident Centurion who got his ass captured and tortured for over a week.”

Low growl leaves your lips pursed together in a grim line, “Do either of you think about the consequences of your actions? Of what’ll happen without either of you in this God forsaking world?” Tossing your hands up and turning back to dish washing, something to keep from chocking the life outta the two of them, or spilling your inner most thoughts. Afraid to loose either man the very thought making your heart clinch painfully in your chest, breathing picking up as tears gloss over your eyes. Plates clang loudly, forcefully slamming them into the drying rack making both men wince at your actions.

“Y/N,” coming up behind you large warm hands carefully rest on tense shoulders. Aware of your feelings for a certain cyborg the thought a little bitter to take but Sam resigns himself to the role of best friend. “We’re sorry really,” taking a breath and clearing his throat wanting to make amends and explain. “We thought, planned, things just…”

“Went to shit around us, it’s not like Sam or I wanted to get the crap beating out of us doll it just,” shrugging vibranium hand coming to rest on your shoulder beside Sam’s. “Got complicated.”

Taking a deep breath drawing in the scents of Sam’s citrus and cider wood cologne you couldn’t put your finger on naming, mixing with Bucky’s old world sandalwood base cologne of 4711. Eyes close for a moment blinking back the tears, and to gather thoughts, righting them in an order that makes sense. Trying to keep out the feelings currently jumbling up your brain. “I know,” body sags back against Sam’s strong chest while unconsciously leaning towards Bucky’s hand. “Neither of you will do that shit again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Not if things go dark side like this time, we’re not putting you in harms way,” feeling you stiffen Sam steps back, Bucky’s hand drops back to his side when you whirl on the man behind you. Stance ridge and firm, Sam crosses his arms adding his own glare and not backing down. “My decision is final on the matter and no amount of arguing will change that.”

Understanding Sam’s position, however the thought of staying behind, waiting to find out if… no you push those thoughts aside. “Mine, that’s who makes the choice not either of you,” heat of annoyance flaring to life as you look between the two men. “Knowing what I signed up for, choose to stick around and help put this broken blue marble we call home back together. I won’t sit out the next mission we clear on that?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, barely audible hiss leaves Bucky’s lips at having hair yanked out by the roots. Though his voice is steady when asking, “Why did you stick around? Thought once Walker handed over the shield, the Flag smashers agenda crashed and burned you’d skip out on the next train back to normal.” Not that he minded of course, in fact Bucky rather enjoyed your company, reminded him of those first months out of cryo getting to know each other. Plus his questions distracted you from getting an answer that won’t satisfy.

“I have my reasons,” giving a half hearted shrug you turn back to finishing up the dishes not really wanting to explain. Not fully sure yourself why you’ve stuck around though deep down you know it has to do with both men. “Reasons neither of you need to know.”

Sharing a look with Bucky, “Don’t pull that shit with us sweetheart you demand answers now we ask the same in return.”

Sure they still argued like an old married couple but a begrudging understanding has built between the pair, coming to an almost friendship neither would fully admit to. Both wanting to protect the small family friend’s circle patched together like grandma’s old quilt. Tattered, frayed and a few wholes but well loved and always cared for. Eyes landing back on you to watch the forward slump of your shoulders rounded inward along with your chin dropped to your chest.

“I have the two of you house broken,” idea forming to steer the conversation away. “Don’t need that headache on repeat and I wouldn’t leave the two of you bone heads alone to kill each other or drive poor Sarah crazy,” quicker than either can react you’ve scooped up hand fulls of soap bubbles to smash into both their faces. Deflecting the conversation away from having to answer and lightening the mood. Or so you hoped with the playfully murderous looks both men shoot you. Skirting Sam’s grabby hands heading to put the kitchen table between yourself, Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Now boys that’s just all in good fun and your both hurt so I suggest you think about your actions before retaliating.”

Wiping the remains of soapy bubbles from his face, thick fingers making wet tracks over denim to dry hands. Sam edges a little closer intent on trying to snag your arm. That ghosts through his fingers, “For now but remember paybacks a bitch sweetheart.” Bright smile tugs his full lips, head shaking though he knows there’s so much more your hiding from both he and Bucky. One day he’ll crack that secret you hold so dear, for now Sam lets you cling tightly.

Watching him go you turn towards Bucky who’s smirk sets you back a moment. “I don’t think I like that look Barnes,” arms crossed mustering a half glare. “Sam’s right you really can see the smoke rising from your head.”

“Hahaha that jokes getting old,” light hearted quip falling from his lips, eyes raking your form as you near the sink. Catching you looking between finishing the dishes and making sure Bucky’s not going to retaliate. “I come in peace promise besides I’m too old for revenge I’ll leave it to you young whipper snappers,” throwing his voice to sound like an old man.

Laughter rings full and deep from your parted lips, soapy hands gripping the sink to keep from toppling over in mirth. His own chuckle exists on a grin, cerulean eyes taking in how carefree you look. Tension and worry melted away with his well played grandpa joke. Making Bucky wish he got to see you like this more often but then he remembered why he never searched. Why he left you alone and only within the last ten or so months managed to reconnect the missing dots in his life. Sure there’s still blood on his hands he tries to scrub clean with each mission, to make those amends and not just avenge. But truly help people in ways that didn’t require lead or blood.

Still wondering, so he gives voice to those thoughts, “Why didn’t you go back to your life doll?” Feeling he’s perpetuated a grave error in asking the question but a part of him wants. No needed the answer to know why you’d give up a happy life for one of danger and uncertainty with him and Sam.

Sobering, his question hitting you like a ton of cement bricks keeping you from turning to face him. Wincing when another hiss echos around inside your head from your right side. “Tell you what Buck you let me cut that hair and beard of yours I’ll answer your questions.”

“I get you don’t… wait… what?” Not sure he’d heard you right. Pain making a return to fog his brain for the moment as throbbing radiates across his broken clavicle to the dislocated shoulder, dancing along the fractured radius and painfully tingling his fingers. Soft curse exists his lips reminding himself to take Sam’s suggestions next time though he wouldn’t let the other man know. “Don’t happen to have any pain meds do ya doll?”

Eyes narrow, “Which parts did they break?” Holding up a hand to stop him from answering while you head towards your room. Grabbing up the small med kit Sharon gave you months back for times like these. Pausing to scoop up the hair scissors and trimer, along with a shaver and cream, both of which belonging to Sam. “Now you were saying?”

Placing everything on the table, unzipping the medium size unassuming black bag pulling out a small bottle to pop the top and wiggle out two pills. Handing those over to Bucky who just stares at them resting in his metal palm.

“Trying to kill me doll?” Teasing tone to the cadence of his words while popping them into his mouth and excepting the glass of water. Downing in one go and handing it back, “Never did like pills reminds me of Steve.”

Resting a gentle hand on his bad shoulder, “If I tried to kill ya Buck you’d see it coming,” snickering at the wide eyed look he gives you. Sobering with understanding filled eyes that stay locked with his, “I’m sorry it”s not my intentions to bring up the past.” Moving to put the glass down, you stay at the sink looking out over the backyard, orange and reds dancing over the rippling surface of the bayou. Sinking sun creating a cornucopia of color heralding the on coming twilight and the end of another day.

“You didn’t Y/N,” coming to stand next to you watching the golden ball of life giving light slowly sink into the horizon. On the tip of his tongue to speak about Steve, the abandonment he felt acutely with the absence of his best friend. Slowly filled by your present, that of Sam’s and his family. “I guess ‘Till the end of the line’ meant just till he could get back to who he really missed.” Anguish heard loudly through soft spoken words not meant for your ears but once uttered there’s no going back.

Out of your peripheral vision you study Bucky for a moment heart breaking for the man who’s lost so much to then fully face him. His own gaze staying straight ahead staring unseen out the window with tan lace curtains framing the coming twilight. Over head light casting shadows in the hallows and angles of his features, bringing out the bruises highlighting the cuts, making your heart ache for this man in ways you’ve tried to push aside. Ways you didn’t want it to feel in case of rejection but couldn’t help the tightening in your chest nor the want to embrace and hold Bucky close.

“Come on,” without thinking your hand slips into his vibranium palm tugging till he follows and only dropping to scoop up trimmer, combs and scissors before heading out the back door.

For a moment Bucky stood there thankful to Shuri for the ability to feel warmth and the weight of your hand in his vibranium limb. The very thoughts your simple gesture conjures damns his heart making it beat triple time. When your head pops back around the door sweet smile crossing those kissable lips. Bucky has to remind himself you’re off limits friends nothing more and to breath. Your beauty stealing the air from his lungs, making it hard to focus on anything except your present.

Catching the out of focus look in his cerulean eyes mind swirling with questions as to what he’s thinking about. “You gonna stand there taking root or get your silly ass out here,” motioning with a jerk of your head over your shoulder smile still firmly in place. Making sure he’s actually moving before existing to place a stool about middle of the back porch. Patting the hardwood barstool then reaching up to tug on the pull string as light floods the area casting a bright glow.

Transfixed for a moment in the doorway with the peek of skin allowed to his eyes. Your heather grey band shirt riding up teasingly tormenting him. Cursing internally, tongue trapped between indenting teeth to keep the sounds at bay. Till the hard slap of your palm against wooden seat draws his attentions and he robotically takes the seat. Stiffening with the fluttering of a barber’s cape hating to have things around his neck. Only to settle once you have it in place and buttoned reminding him your not there to hurt or torture him. Fingers brushing lightly over the exposed skin of his neck, creating goosebumps to dance across his flesh.

“Not too tight?” Gently running nimble fingers through his hair, blunt nails scratching the scalp. Finding it hard to keep from rubbing into your hands and fighting the urge to purr with each pass. You work the larger knots out carefully, pulling a comb from the back pocket of your jeans to run through his hair. “You with me Buck?”

“Hmm?” Simple noise issues from the back of his throat lost in the tingling sensations your fingers bloom across his body. Wanting to chase the feeling bringing peace to his mind much like the soft cadence your voice takes on with the intimacy surrounding the two of you. Sweet chuckle music to his ears and snaps him back to now, noticing you’ve paused your hands waiting for a response, “Sorry no I’m good.”

“Enjoying yourself Barnes?” Teasingly quipped while adjusting the cape to cover his back. Making sure all his hair lays over the edges and carefully combing out the smaller knots your fingers missed. Secretly enjoying the soft chestnut strands as they curl around your fingers. Massaging his scalp hoping to relax his tense posture when a particularly stubborn knot has you accidentally giving a not so gentle tug. Garnering a low moan from the man in front of you. “Sorry Buck,” working the knot out with a little more care taking the sound as one of pain.

Throat clearing, thankful his crotch is currently covered to not give away the secret he’s concealing. Praying to all the heavens you’ve taken the moan as one of pain instead of pleasure that’s surfing through his veins with a simple hair pull. “Yes, and it’s fine,” words pushed passed lips held taunt to keep from letting any sound out. Searching his mind for a topic to settle on, willing his body to stop reacting to the warmth of yours.

Each brush of fingers sends heat flaring to life along his nerves. Knowing the pain killers don’t worked through his system that quickly. Yet, the throbbing ache once present has diluted to a low annoying thump with the heat of your hands on his cotton covered shoulder. Wanting to lean back into your body but holds himself ridge from doing something stupid like enjoying the moment. Therefore clears his throat, “You’ve got me at your mercy doll ready to answer my questions?”

“Should I worry what you’ll ask?” Moving from behind him to head back into the kitchen. Grabbing the empty spray bottle to fill with warm water and head back out.

Eyes close with the first spritz of water, chin dropping to chest as you work to wet his hair. “Why?”

“Why what?” Knowing what he’s asking, your distracted for a moment putting the spray bottle’s trigger through a belt loop incase its needed once your satisfied with the wetness of his hair. “I’ll need more specifics than just why. Why’s the sky blue? Why’s it so damn hot? So many why questions you gotta stop wasting your breath Buck.”

“Cheeky doll very cheeky you know damn well what I mean,” keeping his head still to prevent you from severing an ear.

Smirking, setting to work on trimming up the top back portion of his head, trying to keep from childishly making faces. “Sure don’t Sarge.”

Groan slipping passed before he’s able to trap and swallow the sound at the off handed use of his military rank. Wondering which deity had it out for his ass today. Cursing the fact he’s let you so close to breath in the flowery scent of your body. Gentle use of those skilled fingers through his hair not making things any better for the growing problem tenting his jeans. Returning to himself when you move to his left shortening the hair over his ear. “Why’d you stay with us? I thought,” remembering those painful words back in Madripoor. “I thought you had a happy life to go back to.”

“Ear hustling Barnes?” Switching sides and glancing down with a raised brow you know he doesn’t see.

Looking up to try and catch your eye your focus on cutting his hair makes the attempt impossible. So he settles on, “Don’t know what you mean doll. Just asking a question,” trying to hold the shiver at bay when your fingers brush over the shell of his ear.

“Since your asking it means you didn’t hear everything Sam and I talked about,” thankful that’s the case or things would get a whole lot complicated. “I lied.”

Head whipping to the side so quickly you fear he’s damaged his neck with the wince taking over his handsome features. “Lied why?”

“Reasons,” ‘Ones I won’t tell you James,’ speaking the last words in your mind, careful probing fingers check for anything popped out. Garnering a hiss of pain when you’ve found the break in his clavicle. “What did you break besides the hamster running your wheel brain?”

Bitting off the curse as pain flared over his right side. Gritting out, “Clavicle, dislocated shoulder, fractured radius, you can see the cuts and bruises so take it a little easy on this old man.”

“How… Why did you get captured?” Worry fights fear both dance with anger marching through your veins as a Thanksgiving Day parade band would down the streets of New York City. The very thought of both your men hurt and so far away from home torn a hole in your heart. Thoughts you try to push away and focus on the job of cutting Bucky’s hair.

Finishing up what you could on the back of his head, Bucky feels you come around to the front. Knees spread to accommodate your body, closing his eyes to keep from staring at your breasts. Licking suddenly dry lips with having you extra close, he tries to gather an answer to your question. “We needed an in so I made a decision.”

“One I’m sure Sam disagreed on,” carding your fingers through the top, snipping pieces checking length. Jealous over how soft his hair feels between your digits. Woodsy pine scent reaching your nose that twitches in pleasure at the fragrance matching what you always thought he’d smell like.

“Yeah well we ran out of time doll. Couldn’t let what remains of LAF get away,” eyes quickly open only to slam shut again with having you still too near for his own good.

Every brush of your fingers, thighs brushing against his with every move, your flowery scent wrapping around his heart to squeeze tight. Breath punched from his lungs when your knee makes slight contact with his erection. Shooting pleasurable fireworks off behind his closed lids. Wishing for your hands on his body, wondering what they’d feel like over bare skin. If you’d shy away from the scars littering his flesh or… he wouldn’t, didn’t need to think about the alternative.

Unsure why he gasped you move from between his legs and look upon his face confused as to his ridge posture eyes held tightly closed. Insecurities rushing through your mind, setting up shop to remind you no man let alone someone as handsome as Bucky would ever want to look at you. Shoving back those thoughts to ask, “You okay Bucky?”

“Fucking fabulous doll,” bitting out the words while trying to reign in the need to grab hold of your hips, bringing you back against him. Wanting to find out if you’d fit as good or better than what he’s imagined during those dream filled nights he doesn’t talk about with anyone. “Finished?” Praying you’ll say yes, the temptation becoming almost unbearable.

Unconvinced by his words but pushes that aside and stepping farther back to round him, grabbing up the trimmer on the way with a numbered comb. “Almost but then I still have your beard to do.”

“Fuck,” low gravely voice intones the single word hoping you’ve not heard and cursing the heaven for this test of his will and desires. In another life Bucky wouldn’t have hesitated to ask you out, wine and dine with dancing till midnight. Taking you home with a simple kiss of promise with more to come. But he’s different now and you don’t deserve to have a broken man on your hands.

Swallowing harshly to cover your growing need to escape and bury yourself in another program or book to distract from those awful thoughts running around in your mind. Replaying all the brush offs and look aways as rejection shattering your heart. Pushing you to finish his new hair cut that much quicker. “Done, now how short you want your beard?”

“Gone,” knowing exactly what he’s saying and damning himself to the torture of a different kind.

Coming back in front of him, you slip between his parted knees so easily a thought you try to push away while switching the trimmer combs and flicking the on button. Carefully cupping his left cheek while shortening the right for a closer shave once your done. “Surely you didn’t just let them capture you.” Returning to a safer subject other than how good his bearded jaw felt in your warm palm. Wondering how it’d feel in other places.

“Offered myself up for a little bloody torture and a few broken bones. I’m here to tell the tale instead of those guys Y/N. They're off the streets and we have the information needed to finish taking down LAF.” Teeth gritting to keep from rubbing his jaw into your palm, from turning to kiss the center and devour you with his mouth.

Pausing a moment, “But you could’ve gotten killed James.” Sorrow coloring the cadence of your tone, eyes filled with fear at what could’ve happened. “You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped.”

Heart stopping, never had you spoken his first name, always Bucky or Buck, Barnes when your angry but never James. Opening his darken cerulean orbs breath trapped somewhere between lungs and mouth at the sorrow written deep in those eyes he never could not stare into. Heart hammering back to life with the subtle brushing of your fingers over his cheek, “Would it have matter?”

Confusion tips your head to the side, “What you dying or me helping?”

“Dying,” single word dropped like a bomb destroying everything in the path.

“James,” softly spoken with so much emotion held within the countenance of your features. Watching the ghosts float through those beautiful cerulean eyes, memories of a time he couldn’t control, of deeds done to people who didn’t deserve the pain and death he dealt out as the Fist of Hydra. Tears gloss over your eyes once again trying to blink them away to keep them from clogging your emotions filled throat. “It matter’s Barnes, matters to a lot of people you’re just too stubborn to realize that.” Shaking your head to clear the fog and get back to work.

Speechless Bucky just sits there letting you finish up trimmer the hair away as if trying to erase the past months, the torture he let happen with no regard to his personal well being. During this time your words chase around his mind, combined with Sam’s out right demand of him to never put himself in harms way like that again. Adding more questions added than any true answers. Delicate fingers brush over trimmed facial hair bringing him back to the present right as you move to take the barber’s cape from around his neck. Missing the warmth of your touch, heat radiating from your body, your scent filling his nose and making him drunk on you.

Folding the cape to drape over your arm, “I’ll shave you as well come back inside.” Voice slightly rough with unshed tears avoiding looking directly at Bucky and missing the longing written in the ocean pools. Mistaking his lack of response for rejection of your words and feelings. You enter the house placing the small hand load down and moving a chair over towards the sink. Returning to grab up the shaving cream and razor, pulling a fresh wash cloth from the draw by the sink too wet it hot.

“You don’t have to,” entering and closing the back door with the heel of his boot. Bucky leans against the counter watching you with a closed expression. Pain dull but still worming its way through his veins along with so many thoughts.

Glancing his way, “I know,” motioning with a wave of your hand, “but if I don’t that beard’ll come back in short order and we’ll have to do this all over again.” Going for playful to ease the tension built from the lingering words of out on the porch, “Bring your ass over here Buck.”

Your change in mood has a confused frown pulling his mouth down but complies with the order. Taking up the seat with spread legs and turned up face watching you wring out the wash cloth. Using your elbow and tipping his head back to gently place the hot cloth around what’s left of his beard to soften the hair and wake up the pores. Catching the small muffled groan, “To hot?”

“No, perfect,” faintly hearing the two simple words you grab up the shaving cream to put a generous amount in your palm before pulling the quickly cooling cloth from his face. Tossing it towards the sink and applying a layer of cream to his skin. Left overs rinsed from your hands quickly before drying and grasping the razor with steady hands. “Just a little off the top if you please,” boyish smirk slips over his lips tipping cream covered cheeks up while trying to be funny.

Eyes rolling, “To late for that one top’s already taken care of.” Using the pad of your thumb to push the skin of his cheek taunt. Carefully dragging the razor over his flesh intending to keep your gaze directed towards working the blade over his check. However, you’re unable to do so while cleaning the razor as your eyes dart up catching the fact Bucky’s gaze firmly rests on your face. Heat blooming across your body, eyes drop back to his cheek intent on getting finished quickly to avoid any farther embarrassment.

Meanwhile Bucky maps every feature of your face, the slant of your nose, set of your eyes, cupids bow of your top lip. Visions of drawing the plump flesh in for a bite and pull before letting go with a wet pop, filter through his mind. Finding himself in a rather precarious predicament, thighs spread to accommodate your body, his palms itch to grasp and tug you into his lap. Bitting back a moan each touch brings, the gentleness tearing a new hole in armored covered heart. Wanting to keep you out but finding it harder to do every time you show the kindness his life lacked for decades.

Minds eye drawing the curves of your cheeks, lips twitching to caress, fingers tapping trapped in plaster and cloth against his body. Wanting to brush his knuckles over your throat to gently grasp the back of your neck and bring your lips against his for a slow sweet drink of the tempting cavern of your warm mouth. Only snapping back to reality with the soft brush of your fingers along his jawline.

Searching for any hairs left behind, soothingly palming his cheeks with cool hands desperate to taste his skin. Drag your lips over the same spots the razor just graced. Teasing the tip of your tongue along the hard edge of his jaw to place a kiss just below his ear. Tempted to even suck a mark for everyone to see. You swallow harshly removing your hands from his cheeks to rinse and warm up the cloth to clean off any residual shaving cream from his face.

“Finished,” clearing your emotions clogged throat, stepping towards the sink, your profile the only side Bucky sees as you work to clean up the mess.

Feeling rather than hearing him stand heat radiating of his body just a few inches shy of brushing against yours. “Thank you doll,” impulsively leaning forward to brush his lips over your cheek. Lingering longer than he should but unable too stop himself from pressing soft slight chapped lips to the corner of your mouth. “Next time I need shavin’ I know who to come too,” breathing the words before pulling away, taking his leaving quickly to keep from doing something even stupider. Like wrap you up into his arms and actually kissing those pillow soft lips. Backdoor swinging closed a little harder than he meant in his bid to get away from your warmth and tempting body.

Frozen in place, skin tingling from just that slight press while your heart beats almost out of your chest. Pounding against your rib cage so hard fear it’ll crack a rib any second now. White knuckles grip the sinks edge, heat flaring across your body to pool low and throb through your lady parts. Thighs unconsciously rub together needing friction to alleviate the ache growing between your legs.

“Did you cut him or take a hunk of hair out and now he looks like Frankenstein monster?” Teasing tone to his quip, Sam enters the kitchen still staring at the back door. Having watched the exchange from the darkened hallway. Reverting his eyes to your back, taking in the ridge posture of your spine with a slight very subtle shake. “Y/N what’s wrong?” Swiftly coming up behind you, hands gripping your shoulders to turn you around. “Did Bucky say or do something wrong?” Worry creasing his brow the want to hold you close growing with each second your not in his arms.

Looking up into the kind russet eyes flashing with concern and worry, “No,” head shaking, “no he didn’t Sam just…” unable to stop yourself from burying your body against Sam’s firm chest. Trying to figure out how to explain what’s running around in your head. The indecision, thoughts you know shouldn’t roll through your mind doing just that as your arms wind around his trim waist.

“Just what sweetheart?” Wanting to help smooth things over between his two best friends even if it meant swallowing his own feelings.

Keeping your eyes closed, breathing in his cedar wood and citrus scent, burying your nose against his collarbone. Always able to calm the raging storm of emotions boiling through your veins. Confusion setting in with those same tingles you feel when Bucky touches you now dances across your body at the warmth of Sam’s arms cradling you close. Reminding you of earlier when his chest pressed to your back strong hands gently placed on your shoulders. The shiver you suppressed at the touch of both men. At the memory your eyes pop open and you quickly push away from Sam as if he’s burnt you. Needing to escape and figure out what’s going on.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry,” feet quickly taking you from the kitchen into the safe arms of your bedroom.

Missing the confused look marring Sam’s face that turns into hurt at the way you’ve shoved him aside. Body sagging against the counter, hand rubbing at the back of his neck searching for what’s changed in such a short period of time.

“Men, blind and just plain foolish,” landing a hard hit to his shoulder, which he rubs to alleviate the pain. Sarah comes up beside her older brother with a raised brow. “Still don’t get it? Searching for exactly why she reacted so strongly? Think Samuel use that big brain you have and actually put it to good use.”

Frown creasing between his eyes and drawing his lips down, “Left behind sucks Sarah that’s all it amounts to. But we… I couldn’t have her along, wouldn’t risk her life like that.”

“Has nothing to do with leaving her home Sam,” giving him a meaningful look that still bewilders him. “Why didn’t you want her along but you took Bucky with you?”

“He’s a super soldier Sar he can take the hits not that I want him hurt either. Shit when he let himself get captured,” moving towards the abandoned chair to plop down heavily. “He scared the living shit outta me, I thought…” hard to swallow the memories of watching those men pulling an unconscious Bucky into a van. Driving off before he could plant a tracker and barely able to get up with bruised ribs making breathing painful. Sam runs a hand over the short hair unsure when things got so complicated between the three of them.

Pulling up a chair in front of Sam, “You’d lost him?” Seeing the nod Sarah’s features softened knowing from the tell’s she picked up watching the three of them for so long. “You love them?”

“What?” Head whipping up so quickly making Sam wince. “Of course I do but not like that I mean their family, you know I’ll do anything to protect my family.”

Hand resting on his shoulder, “You keep telling yourself that big bro maybe one day you’ll actually believe it and able to push those feelings away good enough to keep them at arms length.” Looking up at her, “Just a word of advice,” seeing him nod, “don’t push those emotions away, you deserve that love they both would readily give you.”

*****************************

Softly closing the door behind you heading towards the ensuite bathroom for a nice cold shower, preforming your nightly routine, and shutting off every light except the one beside your bed. Falling into the soft mattress with your current book keeping you company for the rest of the night. Eyes start to droop, words blur and you read the same sentence half a dozen times. Book falling against your chest as a yawn takes over your features.

Body stretching out against cool sheets jumping when a soft knock echos around your room, eyes darting towards the clock to see its just a little passed mid night. Slowly getting out of bed, pulling the extra long dark blue with little pink flowers dotting the sleep shirt down to cover your ass and thighs. Thinking its Sarah checking on you, eyes shocked wide with the small crack you open the door to spy Bucky standing there fidgeting.

“Everything all right Buck?” Opening the door wider to lean against the casing arms crossed just under your breasts.

Swallowing, glancing from your eyes to lips repeatedly. Trying to form the words he wants to speak when the decision makes itself clear and Bucky surges forward. Gently wrapping vibranium fingers around the back of your neck and bragging you against his strong chest. Slanting his lips against yours, nipping your bottom lip to make you gasp and slipping his eager tongue passed into the warm depths of your mouth. Leading the kiss and praying he’s not wrong.

Rewarded by your arms winding around his neck careful of his injures. Fingers tugging at the now shorten strands thanks to your expect hands. Garnering a low moan from the depths of his chest, one that rambles with a pleased hum as you return the kiss. Tangling your tongues together making nothing soft nor gentle about this melding of mouths. Only breaking apart for both of you to gasp for air.

“No, nothing’s all right doll. I can’t stop thinking about you,” resting your foreheads together sharing common air. Fingers at the base of your skull massaging the tension with surprisingly easy pressure. “I’d done fighting, done pushing you away, I need you Y/N.”

“James?” Lips tingling from a kiss you’ve only dreamt about as confusion marring your tone, eyes blinking a few times to make sure you’ve pushed the sleepy haze from your mind.

Soft groan issues at hearing you whisper just first name, hand slipping down to wrap around your waist and pull your taut to his body. “If…” trying to push the next words past his lips, “if you don’t want…”

“Us, we need to know now sweetheart. We won’t push you into anything you don’t want,” Sam’s voice full of desire and longing cuts across Bucky’s for a moment.

Making you look up from eyes locked with Bucky to stare at Sam trying to process his words, the look in those beautiful russet eyes you can’t pull yours away from. Till Bucky presses a kiss to just below your ear, “We know it’s a lot to take in doll and you can say no…”

“I,” gulping like a fish out of water, heat thumping through your veins at the unspoken promise both sets of eyes show. “I don’t know what to say.”

Stepping forward to push you back a step so Sam can fully enter your bedroom and close the door. He comes behind you sandwiching your body between two walls of muscle and masculine warmth. Pressing a kiss to the opposite cheek, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, “There’s no going back sweetheart you’re ours if you say yes. But if the answer is no I’m not going to lie things will change. Awkward as hell yes especially at first but I,” Bucky clears his throat to which Sam nods, “we would work through that with you. Loosing your friendship can’t happen no matter what.”

Removing yourself from between their warm bodies to collapse at the end of the bed, head in your hands. Mind so confused, a jumbled mix of desire and lust touched with a heavy dose of love that scares the living shit outta you. Feeling the bed dip on either side, removing your hands to glance at both men. Seeing the reassurance in those cerulean and russet orbs you swallow to wet your parched throat. Gaining strength to finally speak, “I don’t want to loose either of you,” looking between both men. Taking each hand within your own, “But this last mission taught me I don’t want to deny my feelings any longer.”

“What feelings doll?” Giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

Looking into Bucky’s cerulean eyes, “I’m in love with both of you.” Switching to Sam’s russet orbs seeing the blatant want shining only boosts your confidence to lean over. Cupping his jaw and bringing your lips against his. Different from the kiss you shared with Bucky. Who’s bottom lip begs for a nibbling, Sam’s fuller lips press against your own in tender caresses.

Gentler too, a soft slant of his mouth against yours, pressing twice at different angles before tracing over your bottom lip. Gaining entrance on a sigh of need to check in with your tongue before tangling together. Heated palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over the apple twice while he artfully pillages your mouth. Drawing out a low moan squeak following when a set of lips slide over the side of your neck nibbling a short path to suck a mark behind your ear. Making you weak and boneless against Sam, who releases your cheek and hand to grip your hips, having you straddle his thighs.

Kiss breaking for air, “I’m to heavy Sam, your hip.”

“You’re prefect baby girl no arguing understand?” Cupping your ass in both hands to roll your hips against the hard bulge of his erection. Teeth gritting at how good you feel in his arms, the damp heat of your core only serving to make him grow harder with each brush against your cloth covered pussy. Sam reclaims your mouth, this kiss much different. Desperate and demanding taking no prisoners this time as he immediately slips his tongue back into your mouth. Pulling a groan from deep within your chest, arms going around his neck to help move your body against his. The delicious friction sending jolts of pleasure radiating out over your body, clit throbbing with a need you’ve never felt before.

Hissing at the cool sensations of Bucky’s vibranium fingers drawing circles across your back. Pushing your sleep shirt off your body arms raising, breaking the kiss to accomplish the task. Looking over your shoulder at the bare chested Barnes, mouth salivating at the sight eager to touch and kiss every inch. Brought back to Sam with the heat of his mouth connecting to your pulse, adding his own mark to your body while his callused fingers dances across your back.

Cursing his rotten luck for not having use of one hand, Bucky steps forward lowering to his knees carefully. Brushing his lips along your spine while cool alloyed fingers sweep around your body between you and Sam to trace a line between your breasts. Head dropping back to Bucky’s shoulder and baring your breasts to Sam’s hungry glaze and Bucky’s questing fingers.

“So beautiful,” words whispered reverently from Sam’s lips against the damp column of your throat. Mouth tasting each inch of your skin he can reach. Till moist heat circles your nipple, wet tip of his tongue coming out to flick the tightly budded peak before sucking harshly. In contrast to the cool patterns Bucky draws, taking the time to tug before pinching just hard enough that your back arches into Sam’s mouth.

Pushing into Bucky at your back a whimper parting your gasping lips. Needing more of both men surrounding you, slick coating your trembling thighs as you clinch around nothing. Dragging a whine of desperation from you soul,“Please,” single word escaping your mouth.

“What doll? What do you want?” Drawing his lips up to your ear, nipping the lobe bringing it between his teeth giving a sharp bite at the same time Sam flicks his tongue over your nipple.

Letting go with a wet pop, smiling at the whine exiting your heaving chest, “I think out girl needs more Buck. Any thoughts on how to please her?” Brow wiggling over your shoulder at Bucky who just smirks.

Fingers sliding down then under the band of your panties to find you soaked and pulsing. Cool metal meeting heated flesh makes you jolt in Sam’s arms. Grinding down into those wonderful fingers and against the thick ridge of Sam’s cock.

“Don’t stop please,” gasping head lolling back, your eyes close as sensations crash through your veins. Tight coil starting to form with just the brush of his fingers.

Maneuvering closer to slip two fingers into your clinching channel. Deep groan vibrating through his chest and into your back, “Fuck Sam she’s tight and so wet for us. I bet she tastes just as good as she feels.” Rocking your hips, fucking his fingers desperate for that high traveling up from the bottom of your spine. Tickling your tummy with jolts of pleasure only to have it diminish when Bucky pulls his fingers out.

Frustrated whine leaving your lips only to choke on air when Bucky offers one of the fingers perviously buried inside your cunt to Sam. Who doesn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around the single digit, groaning at the very taste of your essence. Circling the tip with his tongue, making sure to clear every drop off while keeping eye contact with Bucky. Mimicking with his mouth how he’d suck Bucky’s cock, garnering a growl from deep within his chest. Letting go with a smirk, “Even better Buck and I bet from the source it’s simply heaven.”

“Only way to find out,” answering grin firmly in place he raises from the floor. Helping you stand on shaky legs turning you to face him. Capturing your lips in an open mouth kiss, flicking his tongue against yours, teasing your bottom lip and drawing out another frustrated groan making him chuckle. “Don’t worry doll we promise you won’t go unsatisfied we’re going to take care of your every need.”

“Don’t tease her Buck it’s not fair,” glint of mischief sparking through those russet eyes that only Bucky catches since your still face him. Sam comes up behind to pressing his bare chest against your back, hands resting on your hips, tugging and letting the band of your panties snap back against your skin. “You can still say no.”

Wiggling back against Sam then pressing forward to feel the hard line of Bucky’s erection against your lower tummy. Knowing why he’s asking, seeing the same sentiment mirrored in Bucky’s eyes that warms your heart filling with love for both men. “Now who’s teasing Samuel,” reaching behind you to slide your palm over his ridged cock giving a squeeze at the same time you palm Bucky. “I’m sure my loves,” enjoying the answering growls from both men. Before another word leaves your lips Sam tugs down your panties letting them pool at your feet as Bucky moves you towards the bed.

Swiping the book from the mattress to lay on the nightstand, smile on his lips at finding the well loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. Bringing you to sit then lay back against the cool sheets, trailing his vibranium fingers from your cheek down between your breasts. Circling each nipple, giving the right a light pinch that has your back arching and a gasp existing your paired lips. Distracted till Sam gently grips your left ankle, spreading you open to slide between your legs. Pressing kisses alone the inside of your leg towards your thigh. Soft bread tickling your skin making giggles erupt from your mouth.

“I think she likes that Sam,” the comment spoken against your ear. Placing a kiss to your cheek, “Have to remember to let my own beard grow back out.”

Whimpering softly at the thought one hand fisting the sheets as Sam draws his tongue over the crease between thigh and groin. Purposefully avoiding the spot you want him most, “Payback is a bitch boys,” words growled out right as Bucky envelopes your left nipple into the heat of his mouth.

“Teasing half the fun sweetheart have patience,” looking up from between your legs. Stiffen tongue drawing up from your entrance to clit, circling the little throbbing nub and making your back arch, gasping for air.

“Fuck,” single word breathed from deep within your body. Sweat starting to bead across your forehead. Head tossed back into the pillow free hand carding through Bucky’s chestnut hair tugging the strands harshly till he lets your breast go with a wet pop. You guide his mouth up to yours, demandingly taking the kiss over, slipping your tongue into his mouth this time. Swallowing your moans of delight with each thrust of his tongue. Matching the pace Sam sets against your dripping cunt.

Rutting into the mattress to find the prefect friction hoping to ease for a moment the throbbing of his cock. “Stop stealing all those pretty noises Barnes I wanna hear our girl,” reaching up to smack the other mans thigh hard enough to break the two of you apart.

“Sorry not sorry,” giving him a smirk while licking his lips from the heated kiss.

Filing away the fact Bucky knows what means only to have any thought fly from your mind as two thick fingers enter your quivering channel. Slowly thrusting, his mouth suctioned onto your clit, drawing little short patterns making your thighs shake around his head. Slacking off to lazily place kisses over those thighs but still pumping his fingers, crooking them into a come hither motion to brush over that special spongy spot.

Blooming stars behind your tightly closed eyes, “Watch him doll, see how much you loves devouring that pretty cunt.” Voice rough with arousal against your ear, Bucky’s metal fingers dancing over your chest only adding to your heighten state of desire.

At his command you eyes open to lock with Sam’s passion blown blacken eyes. Moaning at the picture he presents you with, panting breath as you keep drawing closer to your orgasm. Only to have Sam back off creating frustrating tension in your body. Gritting out, “I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.”

Smirk showing in those beloved eyes as he doubles down on your clit. Lips puffy but forming a perfect O too suction and flick his tongue over the engorged nerve bundle. Fingers, third added to stretch you open and picking the pace up as your mouth drops wide in a scream Bucky devours with a deep kiss. To keep from waking the kids or Sarah, his own body on fire with a need to have you both.

Tingles quickly dancing through your veins, breath panting as you break from Bucky’s mouth, one hand gripping the sheets below the other still buried in his hair. Body on fire as you near that perfect orgasm Sam’s intent on giving you.

Denial’s not just a river in Egypt as your eyes pop open at the knock on your door. Reminiscent of what your sluggish brain comes to understand as just a very vivid dream. One that makes your heart drop with the book that’d lay on your chest now face down on the carpeted floor. You stand checking the time of mid night before heading to the door and finding Sarah on the other side with ice cream in hand.

“Figured you might need some cheering up,” letting her in and taking the bowl of your favorite ice cream.

Vivid dream lingering though you don’t share feeling a TMI moment she doesn’t and most likely wouldn’t want to know about her big brother. You steer the topics away from the non existent love life to plans for tomorrow and the coming weekend.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.9 (BAON)

Summary:  The final chapter! Let's hope it lives up to the story name, shall we?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry Stretch for long. They were barely down the hallway to the stairs when warning twinges started up in his leg, and he could only ignore it for so long before he setback his own recovery. He resented that lingering weakness, hated that someone had stolen, albeit temporarily, his ability to physically take his willing husband to wherever he wished to put him. Hated that Stretch no longer flung himself at Edge from their front porch, trusting that he would be caught.

A return to that would come, he reminded himself. For now, he simply had to get Stretch to the car. He wasn’t about to let him walk downstairs with the delicate bones of his feet exposed to the floor of that filthy, junk-strewn warehouse anymore than they already had and perhaps Stretch realized that as well. His protests were brief and faded quickly.

“babe, no, your leg!” Stretch made a weak attempt at squirming loose, “i can walk!”

“You are in your bare feet,” Edge said shortly, “there is angel knows what foulness on this floor, and I am not letting you go.”

“guess i can’t argue that," Stretch sighed. "okay, captain. make it quick.”

“You’ve never said that before,” Edge murmured and Stretch let out a startled laugh that was always lovely to hear, but especially tonight. He really was all right if he could laugh like that, deep and sweet and loud.

So, Edge carried on down the stairs, past the melting remains of some kind of chemical foam, and Stretch didn’t struggle, a wise choice considering it would probably have sent them both tumbling down. He simply sighed and wrapped his slim arms around Edge’s neck, his skull resting lightly against his shoulder.

He was exhausted, Edge realized belatedly, already mentally berating himself. Of course he was, it was past the point of being late and going more into early, and the only sleep Stretch had had tonight was deliberately induced unconsciousness.

Better not to think about that. Seeing Stretch awake and hearing his laughter already relieved some of the raw, achy heat in his soul, there was no point in agitating it again. Surreptitiously, Edge ducked his head enough to breathed in the sweet scent of his husband’s magic, letting it further ease the dimming clamor of his LV demanding retribution. Much as he hated admitting when his brother was right, it would be best to let the Embassy security teams handle the kidnappers. Not that Edge wouldn’t be intently watching the results, but Edge knew himself well enough that he couldn’t promise not to react with violence if he saw any of them in person.

They’d stolen from him. Not a possession, no, love was not something to be owned, but it could be given, along with his soul, and Edge had given his to the very person they’d tried to use as a mere tool to be bartered with and after, they would have surely discarded him as nothing more than a useless object, a means to an end.

There was only one punishment suitable for that and Edge did not trust himself not to mete it out.

Outside, the night air was cool, refreshing after the dusty warehouse, and there was a new vehicle amidst the Embassy cars. An ambulance, the lights swirling silently atop, and the back doors were open with a stretcher already on the pavement. When the attendants saw them, they started forward, and in his arms, Stretch tensed, shifting as if to crawl up and over him in a wild attempt at escape.

“no,” Stretch said shortly. “no, no, no, don’t let the damsel in distress pose fool you, i am fine. all i need is a stiff drink and some zzz’s, this is me not consenting to any medical treatment.”

“Love—” Edge began. Stretch swung around to look at him, the pale glare of his eye lights accusing, and he backtracked, choosing his words carefully, “You were drugged. Perhaps it would be best if you were checked out.”

That suggestion was met with fierce scorn as Stretch scoffed, "yeah, i was drugged and now i am wide awake. i can tell you my name, my address, and my shoe size, and whoever tries to get me into the back of that wah-wah-mobile is gonna know it, too, when i shove my foot up their ass.”

“kinky.” Edge whirled to see his brother’s smirking face as he strolled towards them. “wellie, well, well, went fishin’ and got a hellava catch, eh, boss?”

In his arms, Stretch stiffened so briefly, he might have imagined it. He blinked rapidly, once, twice, as if to clear his vision, then relaxed again, settling on a wheedle in Red’s direction, “fishing jokes are so cliché, cooking is better. i’m the best cupcake in the bakery, so let him wrap me up and take me home. come on, tell them i’m fine.”

Red scratched the back of his skull lazily, “dunno, honeybun, might need a tune-up and an oil change—”

“quit switching the metaphors!” Stretch let go of Edge long enough to flip a middle finger at him.

Red snorted, amused, “yeah, yeah, he can take you home. if,” Red stressed, “you take a mo’ to strip off the new gear those assholes gave you.”

“aw, gee, red,” Stretch batted a pair of imaginary eyelashes, “you’ve never asked me to strip before. i’m not even wearing a g-string, where will you stuff the dollars?”

“cute,” Red’s grin widened in a way that made Edge want to carry his husband far away. The way he bared his teeth venturing into the realm of amused cruelty, and the flick of his tongue absurdly lascivious, “it’s evidence and we need it. if you’d rather change up at the bone factory, bet the docs could take a chance to check you out—”

“no!” Stretch yelped, “no, no, fine. you have something for me to change into?”

“yep.” And Red pointed to the back of the ambulance. “in there.”

Stretch rolled his eye lights. “wow,” he said dryly, “that trap isn’t even subtle. you want i should strap myself into the stretcher, too? check my vitals, start an iv?”

“it’s the only place to change, so either trust that we’ll do a catch and release, or…” Red trailed off meaningfully.

Stretch heaved a sigh and started squirming in Edge’s arms, wincing at the gravel as he was carefully set on the pavement. “back to fishing, huh? fine, fine. but if it drives off in the hospital way when i climb in the back, I’m shortcutting at the first stoplight and then we can play tag across town.”

“I won’t let them take you anywhere you don’t want to go, love.” Edge signed a little ‘x’ over his chest. Stretch’s scrutinizing look shifted to a soft smile and even though he would have preferred a doctor checking him over, Edge wouldn’t do anything to break the trust shining in his eye lights, not for anything in the world.

“okay, babe,” Stretch said, “give me five.”

He climbed into the ambulance, pulling the rear doors shut behind him. After a few minutes of the vehicle shaking and muffled swearing coming through the door, Stretch remerged. The clothes weren’t his own, but they fit, soft pants and a neon-bright sweatshirt that Stretch could have chosen himself, a far contrast to the cheap, bland clothes their kidnappers forced on them. Edge suspected his brother’s hand in it and wondered with some resignation if Red sent someone to purchase them tonight or if he simply kept spare clothes for them all in the dingy hole in the Embassy basement that passed as his office, for just such an occasion.

Probably the latter, Red was never one who minded delegating, but some things required a personal touch.

With visible distaste, Stretch handed over a large brown paper sack to Red. “take ‘em,” he said flatly. “burn them, whatever. i never want to see them again.”

“fair enough,” Red handed the bag off to one of the Embassy security who was standing close by with a muttered order. “all right, newly engaged goes next.”

Their Human friends were standing close by, both silently watching the entertainment, which was fair after the recent show upstairs. With the spotlight turned his way, Jeff hastily nodded and Antwan carefully set him on his feet, his hands lingering and reluctant to let him go.

“You two can head on home,” Antwan said, “We’re taking one of the Embassy cars.”

“yeah, okay, sounds good.” But Stretch didn’t return to Edge. He went to Jeff, leaning down to pull him into a tight hug that was fiercely returned. “hey, we made it, and you even got a special prize to top it off. congrats, bro,” Stretch told him.

It was charming the way Jeff’s cheeks went visibly pink even in the harsh overhead lights of the parking lot, but if this horrible night could end for him on a smile, Edge thought it fitting. No one said a word until the friends ended their embrace, Jeff heading into the ambulance to change and Stretch returning to Edge’s side, if not his arms.

“hey, honey bun.” Stretch paused, giving Red a questioning look, “i’ll have your cell phone back to you tomorrow.”

His face twitched but Stretch only nodded. He turned in a circle, his gaze searching, until it landed on Edge’s car parked on the far side of the lot. He started towards it and as slippers were included with his new wardrobe, Edge reluctantly allowed Stretch to walk on his own towards it.

Before he’d taken two steps, a small voice came from behind them. “Can I ride back with you two?”

Alone on the crumbling pavement, Blue stood there, his hands twisting together and his starry eye lights hesitant and hopeful. For the second time that night Edge cringed inwardly at not thinking of him.

“sure, bro,” Stretch said immediately. His eye lights flicked briefly to Edge to confirm, surprising him.

Of course he could come with them, why wouldn’t he…they needed to invite Blue over more often, Edge decided abruptly. They saw him often on movie nights and group events, and he knew that the Swap brothers had lunch together once a week, but he should spend more time with his brother, and with Edge.

Once, they’d been decently good friends, before his relationship with Stretch subtly cooled things between them. They could be friends again, better friends, if only one of them took the first step. Interesting how traumatic events could be a hell of an incentive.

“Of course,” Edge told him, and tried not to notice the sudden gratitude that filled Stretch’s face. He dug into his pocket for his keys and tossed them to Blue, who caught them with a jangle. “In fact, I’d prefer if you’d drive.”

Blue brightened visibly at the show of trust, darting over to the car. He held open the door as Stretch crawled into the back and didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow when Edge followed him.

“home, jeeves,” Stretch said. The last word broke on a deep yawn and he shifted to sprawl across the backseat, his skull in Edge’s lap.

“Seatbelt,” Edge chided.

“you put it on me,” Stretch grumbled. He didn’t move as Edge did, only settled in more comfortably once the belt was across him. He was asleep before they’d even left the parking lot, without so much as an ounce of deception in his long, slow breaths.

Cautiously, Edge settled his bare hands on him, choosing where to settle them with some care, one hand on his clothed side and the other on his skull with more palm than fingers. He wished for a pair of his gloves to keep the sharpened tips safely concealed. Earlier, he’d wanted his hands exposed and ready to be used, and now in the aftermath, he wanted them tucked away again, the same as he’d learned to conceal his other, more Underfell-ian tendencies. Only bringing them out when they were useful, like a set of heirloom dishes, then hiding them at the back of the hutch again to gather dust.

(don’t think of it that way, do not)

He resisted the urge to clench his hands, closed his sockets and tried to concentrate on the feel of warm bone under his bare hand. Stretch often carried spare gloves for him in his bag, never questioning Edge’s preference, never mocked or teased; he didn’t just accept that quirk, he embraced it and tried to help. If he were awake, he would have been pleased at the bare-handed touch, he would understand the significance of it and Edge focused on that.

It helped soothe some of his agitation and when Edge opened his sockets again, he was surprised to see the Embassy gates already looming ahead. “Drop us off, you can take my car home tonight.”

Blue nodded silently, his gaze focused intently on the road. There wasn’t even a teasing, if pointed, joke about Edge letting his car out of his sight. The car didn’t matter, all that was important was in his arms right now.

He pulled into their driveway and Blue held the door again as Edge carefully lifted Stretch into his arms. He paused long enough for Blue to press a gentle kiss to his brother’s skull, murmuring something Edge did not hear, then carried him inside as the car pulled out of the drive behind him. He hoped Papyrus was home, surely he was, and that he would know that Blue could use some friendly companionship after this night.

He would know, Edge decided firmly. This was Papyrus he was thinking of and it was likely he already had a pot of strong tea and some very interesting cookies ready to share, along with a blanket and some Mettaton reruns. Blue would be fine for tonight and tomorrow he could come over again, after they’d all had some necessary sleep.

He carried Stretch inside and settled him on the sofa. Upstairs would have been better, but he needed a moment for his leg to recover before taking him any further. Not that Stretch noticed, he only slept on, sleepily burrowing into the blanket Edge draped carefully over him.

Indecision seized Edge then. There were things that needed to be done, but leaving Stretch here alone made uneasiness stir in his soul. In the end, he checked the door and window locks to make sure they were secured and that their alarm system was on before he reluctantly went upstairs to run a bath and lay out pajamas. It would be testing Stretch’s ability to sleep through anything, but those Humans had touched him, laid their filthy hands on him. A quick wash would go a long way for both of them to get some decent rest.

He waited for the tub to fill with foamy bubbles, the unsubtle floral scent of lavender filling the room, before heading back downstairs. He halted on the landing, his soul seizing in his chest, to see that the sofa was empty, the blanket thrown carelessly back.

Edge closed his sockets and took a long, deep breath, settling his rattled nerves. Yes, Stretch was missing again, but this time, he suspected he knew exactly where he’d gone.

The sliding glass door was now unlocked, and Edge opened it to step out into the backyard. Dewy grass clung to his shoes as he walked and the horizon was overflowing with purples and pinks and deep orange, heralding the arrival of the sun.

The fence was standing open, confirming his suspicions, and Edge opened the coop door to find Stretch sitting on the floor, heedless of its less than sterile state. Nugget was in his lap, magnanimous surrendering her a scritches to her small, adopted duckling that was curled up on Stretch’s knee, mumbling out sleepy little quacks as it was gently stroked.

Stretch didn’t look up. “hey, babe,” he mumbled.

Edge sank down to sit next to them, pressing their sides together from shoulder to hip. “You could have warned me,” Edge said.

It was lightly said, but Stretch flinched, shifting to rest his head on Edge’s shoulder. “sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

“I’d say you’re still not,” Edge agreed. “are you even awake?”

“prolly not.”

They sat together in the dimly lit coop, the silence broken only by the faint sleeping rumbles from the chickens. Neither of them were prepared for Cheese to stir, going from sleeping to wide awake in an instant the moment they noticed the open door. With a riot of happy peeps, they hopped from Stretch’s knee, dodging Edge’s grab as they ran outside to plunge into the new pond, swimming circles in the clear water.

They followed them out, “No, not right now,” Edge began, preparing to wade in if necessary to secure their tiniest poultry companion.

“eh, let ‘em play," Stretch yawned. He sank down on the walkway they’d finished only the day before. “let them have some fun. may as well, i'm really tired, but i dunno if i can sleep yet."

Edge nodded and settled next to him again. The brickwork was hard beneath his tailbone and he made a mental note to have a bench of some sort installed. He should have thought of it before, Stretch enjoyed watching his pets, and both the patio and the porch swing were too far away for proper observation. Rather than allow Stretch to sit on the stones, he pulled his love into his lap, holding him close without impeding his view. "We can wait until you're ready."

"gonna have nightmares,” Stretch said abruptly. His voice was smaller and knowingly weary. "i was scared, you know, but andy was there, and he was scareder. his face was," Stretch gestured at his own face and shook his head. "i couldn't let him get hurt. i couldn’t."

It ached to hear that soft confession, though he’d known Stretch must have been frightened. He pushed the image of Stretch waking up terrified and surrounded by enemies out of his mind, saying firmly, "You didn't, you protected him."

"he wouldn't need protecting if he'd stayed in his seat on that bus all those months back,” Stretch said sourly and that was a notion that couldn’t wait for his therapist to address.

"Don't,” Edge told him softly, “Don't take on blame that isn't yours, you don’t deserve to carry their guilt."

"heh, yeah. you're one to talk."

“I know. So you can believe I know what I’m talking about.”

“don’t worry, babe, i know something about carrying guilt that ain’t yours, too.” Before Edge could question that, Stretch sighed heavily, confessing, "i knew one of the guys."

That was a chilling admission. "You did."

"yeah, he used to work at classic books,” Stretch said. He shifted in Edge’s arms, unconsciously pushing in closer. “had an issue with monsters, but i didn't think anything of it. lots of humans do. he never said anything out loud that i ever heard. last i knew, thomas said he quit. thomas was happier for it, he was about to fire the guy, anyway, him quitting made his life easier."

“Does my brother know this?”

“if he didn’t before, pretty sure he already does now, but i’ll tell him during my little interview tomorrow.” In his arms, Stretch shivered, bones briefly rattling. “when i saw him, saw into his—” Stretch stopped abruptly, “anyway. he’s not a nice guy, babe. not at all.”

“I see,” Edge said, slowly. There were depths in that obvious diverting should be explored, questions to ask, but that could wait for tomorrow. “Let’s go inside and get cleaned up, all right?”

“yeah, okay.” Stretch crawled out of his arms to the side of the pond and rather than fruitlessly chasing Cheese, he held out a hand. It took hardly more than a touch of blue magic to pull the little duckling close, their pitiful quacks as they were once more robbed of their watery freedom filling the air. “yeah, i know,” Stretch soothed, “tomorrow, okay? i’ll let you swim ‘till you’re sick of it, kiddo.”

He returned the duckling to Nugget, who unsympathetically tucked the peeping duckling beneath her, and when Stretch turned back to Edge, his gaze sharpened suddenly as he watched Edge climb to his feet. “where’s your cane?”

“I was getting it as we speak.”

“uh huh, from inside the house, it’s so useful in there. you,” Stretch jabbed a slender finger at him, “you’re going to use it all day tomorrow, right? no bitching, either.”

Edge didn’t bother pointing out that it was highly likely he wouldn’t be doing much walking at all tomorrow, certainly not out of their home. Tomorrow would be full of questioning and paperwork, so many things that would need to be done. But first, they needed to finish off the night before dawn took it.

“Of course,” he agreed. He allowed Stretch to pull an arm over his shoulders, ostensibly to help him inside, but it wasn’t his leg that needed Stretch’s assistance.

His soul pulsed in his chest softly, settling at the feel of Stretch close to him, leading them both into their house, and when they finally slept that night, it was on the sofa rather than their bed, both of them freshly washed and with a cooking show playing softly in the background.

Lying together, Edge was acting the part of smaller spoon to Stretch’s larger one, and if Stretch guessed the position was one that put Edge closer to the door, he didn’t say. His face was buried into the back of Edge’s neck, his breath damp and even. Edge drifted on the borders of sleep, listening more to that quiet breathing than whatever the chef on the screen was saying.

“I can’t lose you.” The words escaped him, said to no one at all, less a statement and more a vow, a promise offered in the early morning light. I can’t, he thought to himself as he drifted, barely hearing the sleepy murmur in return.

“you won’t, babe. ’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Soothed, Edge let sleep claim him, trusting that he was safely caught up in the embrace of both slumber and his love.

-finis

[vodkassassin]

cucumberplane with sqh defending/comforting sqq instead of the other way around (badass!sqh?)

Someone asked for a FIERCE son???

This one is a little long, at just about over 4k

Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence ;3

—

Shang Qinghua is scared.

There’s been plenty of instances, especially in this new life of his, where he has been in fear for his life. Every instance feels like it’s the worst one, in the time that it is happening. In the moment, when his heart seems to freeze, beating so quickly it’s almost like he can’t even hear it in the blood that rushes by his ears. When his breath stutters to a stop, and his stomach drops so sharply that it feels like it’s dug itself deep into the mantle of the earth.

In the moment, when it feels like he’s never been this scared in either of his lives.

Like a cornered animal, pinned down against cold stone marble floors, this snarling demon’s clawed hand encircling his throat with just barely enough pressure to make breathing something difficult. The cold, sharp point of a spear digging ever-so gently into his gut, just to remind him that it’s there.

“I’ll carve out each and every one of your bones,” the demon is crooning into his ear, fingers flexing against his jugular, just barely. “They will make excellent jewelry, a badge of great honor. A boast at how the revered and powerful Peak Lord Shang was felled by my hands.”

Revered? Shang Qinghua has absolutely no idea where this dipshit idiot got his information, but clearly his broker had decided it would be a good laugh to lead him around by the nose, because he is so far off the mark.

It’s far more like Shang Qinghua is barely tolerated. Kept around for his work ethic and quick results. But revered? No.

And powerful? Okay, in order to be a peak lord, Shang Qinghua had to meet certain expectations. There are prerequisites for becoming the successor of your Shizun in Cang Qiong. However, there are twelve peaks, and despite being ranked number four out of all of them, the peak lord of An Ding is hardly considered powerful.

This demon has it all wrong. But! Here he is, spear and claws cutting into Shang Qinghua’s skin, threatening his life.

Usually, Shang Qinghua has precautions in place for this very circumstance. There are so many exits he could have taken before this. Back up plans, routes to temporary safety. Hell, just calling for Mobei Jun gets the job done in a flash, half the time.

Okay, more than half.

But. However. Shang Qinghua had made certain oversights. Because he never, in any of those precautions, accounted for the additional presence of his bro. Shen Qingqiu, who is curled up against the wall across the room, pale and unmoving, blood dripping steadily from a gash in his head.

And so, like a cornered animal would, Shang Qinghua bares his teeth.

It should have been a warning, but the demon just laughs.

“Don’t pretend to be brave now, little cultivator,” he chuckles.

The hand on Shang Qinghua’s throat loosens, before removing itself completely so that those long, wickedly sharp claws can trail up the soft skin underneath his jaw. They press down as they go, just enough that Shang Qinghua can feel droplets of blood start trickling down his neck. The demon traces up his cheek with two claws, gently, and croons.

“I never imagined a small thing like you to be the infamous Lord Shang,” the demal continues. “I really did expect someone at least a little taller. But, small is fun, too! You gave me a good hunt, little one, so at least you lived up to some of the rumors.”

Any other day, Shang Qinghua would really love to know what the demons of the North say about him. Really. He’s dying of curiosity, about as much as he’s certain he doesn’t actually want to know.

It doesn’t matter right now, though. If there’s anything that Shang Qinghua is guaranteed to be able to work with, it's being underestimated.

“But, the chase is over now. This one wins, and Lord Shang loses.”

With that, the demon plunges the spear into Shang Qinghua’s stomach.

It’s cold, going in. Terrifying, knowing that there’s something ripping into you. The feeling as your body reacts to a foreign object’s invasion. Not quite at the conclusion that it should hurt, yet. Just… shock.

There’s a brief period of time before the shock makes it hard to move, though. Shang Qinghua knows, from experience, almost exactly how long it will take for his body to realize it’s suppose to be in pain. He has a precious few moments, and his teeth are still bared.

Shang Qinghua has been waiting. He’s good at that. He’s patient. He’s spent most of his life waiting for one thing or another. For plans to come to fruition, for schemes to set. For pieces to fall into place so that he can pull his strings. For this demon to finish his dumbass, dramatic monologue, and make the final blow.

Shang Qinghua is quick — he always has been. At the moment the spearhead enters his flesh, he’s already wriggled an arm forward and grabbed it by the shaft, just below where the demon holds it.

The demon makes a surprised noise when Shang Qinghua uses his grip to pull himself further onto the weapon. It’s the last sound he makes, beyond a wheeze of shock as Shang Qinghua jerks forward into his space and latches his jaw around the demal’s throat.

He sinks his teeth into flesh. It tastes salty. He can feel the point of the spear exiting his back, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He clamps down as hard as he can and thrashes his head to the side and then back again.

The skin under his teeth breaks open. Bloods splurts out, dribbling in rivulets down his chin, and Shang Qinghua bites down even further. Something long and sinewy, stretched like a tube, bursts between his molars, coming apart over his tongue.

The demon collapses, falling away from where he’d been straddling Shang Qinghua’s legs. He crashes to the ground with wide, unseeing eyes, soft gurgles erupting from the demal’s mutilated neck before the sound dies out completely, and Shang Qinghua is left lying there on the cold marble floor, a spear protruding from his midsection.

He stares up at the ceiling, hyper aware of the shock that’s finally settling into his limbs. There’s copper and salt cloying in his mouth. He’s never been a fan of rare steaks, and this is even worse. He feels, distantly, as if he’s going to throw up. But, not now. Maybe in a little bit, after the shock wears off and the pain sets in.

Shang Qinghua experimentally tries to wiggle his toes. He succeeds, and so he moves on to the muscles in his arms, working at them until they contract and retract in the way he wants them to. He lifts up one arm, shakily, and carefully grabs the shaft of the spear that he’s currently impaled upon. He can feel the spearhead pressing uncomfortably against his back, from where it’s exited the wound.

He can’t just pull it out the way that it came in, like he wants to. It will catch, and drag against already torn flesh. The backside of the spearhead is serrated. It will just make it worse.

He has to snap the spear head off before pulling the shaft out.

But, it’s not like a shoddy spear, with a stone head and a wooden shaft. This is a well-crafted weapon, without any seams to serve as a weak point. The spearhead is carved of the same strong metal as the shaft. This was forged by a master weaponsmith, with demonic spells carved elegantly into the detailing.

Shang Qinghua isn’t going to be able to break it with regular, Qi-enhanced strength. He can’t start healing himself until he removes the spear, either. And he can’t push the spear all the way through, since the opposite end is an oddly shaped hilt. Bulky. That would do worse damage than the serrated spearhead.

He’s kind of… stuck. Shang Qinghua isn’t entirely sure how to get the spear out of himself without making it worse. He’ll have to wait until help arrives.

However, he might just bleed out before then!

And, across the room, though his head wound has sluggishly ceased its bleeding, his best friend is still unconscious.

This is fun. Exciting! A real puzzle to solve.

Hey, System!

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

What the fuck is that suppose to mean? Cutscenes? There’s never been cutscenes! This is just another shitty excuse not to help!

I hate you.

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

Shang Qinghua groans, and carefully begins to maneuver himself onto his side.

The pain hits. Thankfully not all at once. It comes in increments, so Shang Qinghua is able to sit up and get his legs underneath him before it really starts making a nuisance of itself, but it does come.

It hurts, dammit. He’s had worse, of course, but it still hurts like a bitch, and there’s a hazy blackness encroaching on the very edges of Shang Qinghua’s vision that won’t go away no matter how many times he blinks.

He shoves the pain to the back of his mind and focuses on standing. It’s an arduous process, but he manages it, and he’s by Shen Qingqiu’s side within thirty seconds of almost drunken stumbling.

Shang Qinghua is very mindful of the spear that still impales him as he kneels in a controlled collapse beside his best friend. He angles his chest away from the other man so the heavy end of the spear points downwards and away from them both. He lifts a visibly shaking hand to Shen Qingqiu’s brow and begins channeling qi into him.

Just because he can’t heal himself with the spear still in him, doesn’t mean he can’t heal his buddy.

It’s a short process. He’s no healer, but he and Mu Qingfang are — close, and Shang Qinghua has learned a thing or two from the very best that their sect has to offer. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes are fluttering open within minutes.

“Ow,” the man murmurs, raising a hand to his most-likely aching skull. It lands to cover Shang Qinghua’s, fingers momentarily intertwining with his, and Shen Qingqiu straightens up from where he has slumped against the wall to look over at him.

“What hit me?” he groans, confusion cinching his brow.

Shang Qinghua sucks in a slow, controlled breath. The pain is hammering at his senses insistently, but he shoves it to the back of his mind again. It’s an ongoing battle, like trying to fight off a jumping dog with boundless energy when you’re going off two hours of sleep and are short three cup of coffee. And you have a migraine that makes every single one of your joints feel like there’s a knife stuck in them.

It’s a very specific metaphor. Which might not be a metaphor, but more of an correlation to that one time he’d been roped into dogsitting for his older brother.

That didn’t necessarily hurt as bad as this, per say, but it was like, similarly annoying?

To… being impaled?

Right.

It takes a few moments, Shang Qinghua still focused on channeling his qi, but Shen Qingqiu eventually becomes coherent enough to recall how exactly he’d ended up like this, and he pins him with a sharp look of examination. Which quickly turns to pale-faced horror.

“Airplane!” Shen Qingqiu hisses, eyes wide and terrified. “Airplane, stop! Why are you — why are you healing me? You have a fucking spear sticking out of you, oh my fucking god—!”

They quickly switch positions. Suddenly, Shang Qinghua is the one on the ground, with a panicked Shen Qingqiu leaning over him, hands hovering above the spear but not quite touching it, uncertainty warring with fear on the man’s face. No fan to hide the expression, this time.

Amusement and fondness twists up in Shang Qinghua’s gut, mingling with the internal bleeding that he is most certainly experiencing. He reaches up a hand to clumsily pay at his bro’s face.

“Peerless,” he breathes out. He can feel a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Bro, you’re so pretty…. I did so, so good…. character descriptions absolutely flawless....”

“Great, you’re delirious.” Shen Qingqiu huffs out, trying to sound annoyed. There’s still that note of fear in there, though, that can’t be mistaken. “Airplane, pull yourself together. How the fuck am I suppose to get this out of you? I need you sober, man.”

“Drunk on paiiin,” Shang Qinghua giggles out in a singsong, and his bro pulls a face.

“That sounds so wrong. Don’t say that. Instead, tell me how to— to unimpale you? Maybe? Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua tilts his head back. Cold marble presses against his crown. It’s soothing, kinda. He feels like he’s burning up with a fever. The slight chill is… nice. He closes his eyes.

“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu says. A hand lands on his shoulder and gives him a very light shake. “Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fucking fall asleep! Airplane, please.”

Right.

Shang Qinghua sucks in another slow, careful breath, and forces his eyes open. He fights past the haziness that’s trying to cover his vision, and locks eyes with his martial brother and best friend. Shen Qingqiu looks terrified, eyes wide and damp around the edges.

Awww, he does care!

Shaking the thought away, he reaches out with one hand and slaps his palm against the shaft of the spear. The vibrations travel down its length and into Shang Qinghua, and his entire torso alights with fresh, white hot pain. He stiffens and smothers a cry.

“Shit! Airplane, what the fuck?! Stop!”

He ignores Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua is more awake now, which is exactly what he was going for.

“Bro,” he says. It comes out breathless, more of a wheeze. “We can’t break the spear with normal cultivation.”

“Then how the fuck—?!”

“No, no. Listen. You can’t break it with normal cultivation. It needs an elemental touch, and I’m not about to electrocute myself to death again.”

Shen Qingqiu pauses, staring down at him. He blinks.

“But,” Shen Qingqiu says, realization alighting in his eyes. His bro is so clever. “I don’t have a lightning element. Mine is earth.”

“Yep! Bro.”

“Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua swings out his arm and slaps it against Shen Qingqiu’s chest, turning his hand to grab the front of his bro’s robes. He uses his grip to haul himself up into a sitting position, leaning in to speak directly into the other man’s ear.

“Bro, disintegrate the spear. Like, I am begging you here. It fucking hurts.”

Shen Qingqiu leaned back in order to stare at him. After a few seconds, he shakes his head roughly, eyes wide.

“R—Right!” He says, and reaches out to curl his fingers hesitantly around the spear shaft. His other arm has curled protectively around the small of Shang Qinghua’s back, helping to hold him up as his strength quickly drains away from him.

“Right. Um, just… give me a second. I’m not… um, I’m not really good with elemental techniques….”

“Take your time,” Shang Qinghua says sincerely, before blacking out into his bro’s shoulder.

—

“Hey, Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua glances up from the door of the throne room that they’ve summarily been trapped inside of.

It was a beautiful scheme of their opponent, truly. Using the defenses of the wards that are intended to protect against them. Setting up a grand distraction in the form of a false invasion, drawing away the guards and his king to the frontlines of the battle. Meanwhile, Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu were trapped within the seat of power of the palace the very moment that the wards had initiated the total lockdown.

Nothing goes in, nothing goes out.

It’s a complete, absolute protection — but it can’t do anything to protect them from someone already inside the wards themselves, and subsequently had cut them off from any back up in the form of a teleporting demon king, as not even Mobei Jun himself can break through the ancient wards of his own ancestors.

It was a severe oversight. He’ll have to rectify it immediately, once this is all taken care of and finished.

Loopholes being taken advantage of in such creative ways! Shang Qinghua would be so very impressed, if only they weren’t his wards being made a mockery of.

He looks over at his bro, to find Shen Qingqiu staring down at the corpse of their attacker with an odd look on his face.

Really, Shang Qinghua is kind of embarrassed. For both of them! They could have taken this guy, working together. Neither of them are slackers in the power department, and Shen Qingqiu in particular inherited a pretty strong body to begin with, that he has since only made more powerful. Shang Qinghua himself is, while not exactly super impressive, certainly nothing to sniff at. After all, he is a peak lord, too.

Together, they should have been able to take this guy.

Too bad the dipshit demon had foreseen that, and had worked in the element of surprise. It really had been too quick. Strike down the more powerful of them first, and fight the lesser head on. Shen Qingqiu is unconscious against the wall, and Shang Qinghua is fast, but apparently not fast enough.

Seriously. It’s embarrassing.

“Yeah, bro?”

“Did you….” Shen Qingqiu looks up from the body, glancing at the bloodied mess that is the front of Shang Qinghua’s robes. He points a finger at him, and looks back down at the corpse in clear befuddlement. “Did you, uh…. Um, how exactly did you kill this guy?”

Shang Qinghua pauses his work with the wards. They’re a true beast, really, and he’s gonna need his bro’s help anyway. It’ll take more than just him to dismantle the lockdown. He stands up and wanders over to stare down at the corpse as well.

It’s a fucking mess. The corpse had drained out of the neck until there wasn’t any more blood to bleed, resulting in a massive puddle of deep crimson that has expanded a good five feet in diameter around the demon’s body. The body itself is pale in death, an ashy green color that has become mottled in places due to the absence of blood. The eyes are still open, staring sightlessly at nothing, and the face still bears a slightly slack expression of shock.

It’s disturbing to look at, sure, but they’ve both seen worse. Shang Qinghua is a little confused about why his bro seems so uneasy.

“Uh,” he says, head tilted to the side in thought. “Well, he stabbed me…. hm. Oh! Yeah, so I kinda, like, used the spear to pull him closer so I could, y’know,” Shang Qinghua snaps his teeth in a theatric grimace, and gives his head a slight jerk to the side.

He then smiles brightly at his friend, who is staring at him with an expression he can’t really describe.

“And, yeah,” he finishes, lamely.

“There’s blood,” Shen Qingqiu says. “In your teeth.”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua frowns. He runs his tongue or his teeth, and grimaces for real at the tacky feeling that coats them. Not even going to mention the taste. “Can blood stain, like, bone? Teeth are bone. Do you think it’ll stain?”

“Airplane, did you rip out that guy’s throat with your teeth?”

Shang Qinghua frowns at his friend. “Um, yeah? Didn’t I just say that?”

“Haha, you did.” Shen Qingqiu gives a strange laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. “You actually did.”

Shang Qinghua watches in bewilderment as the other man spins on his heel and takes a few steps away from him. His steps bring him closer to the corpse. He stops just shy of his feet kicking into it and stares down at it for a long few moments that feel like they stretch into minutes.

Then, Shen Qingqiu shakes his head slowly, and walks back over to him.

“That’s so fucking metal, bro,” he says, finally. “Like, I’m both terrified and very, very impressed.”

“Oh.” Shang Qinghua says. He runs his fingers through the back of his hair self-consciously, feeling at where the strands have come loose from his bun. “Thanks. Listen, I’m gonna need a hand with the wards. They can only be unlocked from the inside, and usually I’d be able to just do it myself, but I’m almost spent, dude. Like, I need a fucking nap, as soon as possible. Imma need your qi.”

“Sure, what little I can give of it. I used up a lot on that medical technique for your, uh, impalement. I’m no doctor, man.” Shen Qingqiu shrugs. He casts one last vaguely incredulous glance between Shang Qinghua and the demon’s corpse, before following him over to the two, large and imposing throne room doors.

They’re swinging them open about fifteen minutes later, and both of them are forced to duck out of the way as a barrage of deadly sharp icicles comes raining down almost upon their heads.

Shang Qinghua grabs his best friend by the arm and flings him back, raising his other arm up into the air to snap his fingers. He winces at how the movement pulls at his still incredibly sore injury. Thankfully, he’d managed to heel it enough that the wound itself has closed, but he’s pretty sure he’s still got some internal bleeding going on in there.

There’s a light shimmer in the air before them, barely visible, as his qi condenses into a weak physical barrier. Most of the icicles shatter upon contact with it, but some make it through, and Shang Qinghua tugs his increasingly drowsy martial brother out of the line of fire.

Ah, head wounds are so annoying. Guess he’ll have to drag Shen-ge with him to see Qingfang, after all.

“My king!” He shouts, and then raises his voice as another volley of icicles begins to form from the moisture in the air. Being in the cold north, there’s plenty of it. “Mobei Jun! Stop! It’s us!”

The icicles pause, and then fall to the floor, shattering into thousands of tiny shards of ice that immediately begin to melt into the floor. There’s no time to appreciate the built-in clean up function born from his beautiful world building skills, however, as a large figure comes striding across the outer hall toward them, intent in every single step.

As soon as Mobei Jun and the retinue of guards spot the two peak lords, they fall to an abrupt stop. The guards all exchange glances, but it’s difficult to make out their expressions underneath the helmets of ice. His king, barefaced as always, looks a little surprised. Not much, of course, but his eyes are a little wider than usual.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, and then stops.

“Yes, my king?”

There’s a long strength of silence. Shang Qinghua frowns and turns to his friend, only to find Shen Qingqiu staring at him as well. His fan flutters in front of his face, having appeared out of absolutely nowhere — seriously, does the man keep spares in a qiankun space? — and the eyes that peer over it at him look distinctly amused.

“Shang-ge,” he says, mirth coating every word.

“What?”

Shen Qingqiu watches him for a moment, and then snickers.

“Shen-ge, what?”

“You look like you just ripped someone’s throat out.” Shen Qingqiu comments idly.

Annoyed, Shang Qinghua reaches up and rubs the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He scowls at his bro. “That’s because I just did? Why are you laughing at me?”

Someone coughs. It sounds like one of the guards. Another hurriedly shushes the one, and all the demons in the hall are very still and very silent. It’s kind of eerie, actually. Mobei Jun is still staring at him, too.

Is it because Shang Qinghua has made such a mess? He will clean it up, your majesty, he promises!

“What did it taste like?” Shen Qingqiu suddenly wonders aloud, watching him inquisitively, and Shang Qinghua rounds on him with a sigh of exasperation.

“Gross.” He says firmly. He wipes his sleeve over his mouth once more, for good measure. Blood flakes off of his chin, and he makes a face. “Disgusting. I’m never doing that again. Ugh.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan flutters, and his friend laughs at him.

“Shang Qinghua.” Mobei Jun says, this time more firmly.

He turns toward his king and folds his hands out in front of him, bowing just slightly enough to show respect. “My king, this one will have the mess cleaned up, do not worry. However, both this one and his martial brother require the assistance of our fellow peak lord after such an ordeal, so if your Majesty would allow us….”

Mobei Jun’s haze sharpens, and he takes a step forward. Always one to read in between the lines of what is being said, he demands answers. “You are hurt?”

“This one was impaled. Healed now, but likely requires further treatment just in case. Brother Shen has a head wound that I would like for our sect doctor to look at.”

“I’m fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, annoyed.

He sways slightly to the side, righting himself before Shang Qinghua can reach out to steady him, and gives him an impervious look when he tries to set his hand on the man’s arm anyway.

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes. “Sure, as Shen-ge says. Would you like to tell Qingfang, or should I?”

Shen Qingqiu glares at him.

He turns back to Mobei Jun, who has taken a few steps to the side and is trying to peer around them for a glimpse at the mess on the throne room floor. Shang Qinghua steps in front of him, blocking the view.

His king narrows his eyes at him, and Shang Qinghua swallows down the usual nervousness that tries to crawl up his throat at the look. He is tired, he’s got a headache, his qi levels are at rock bottom, he’d just been impaled, and Shang Qinghua thinks he deserves a fucking nap, okay?

He summons up a polite smile and gives his king another bow. “If my king permits it…?” He hedges once again.

Mobei Jun glowers at him for a couple more long moments, the line of demonic guardsmen at his back unrelenting and immovable.

“The invasion force at the gates,” his king says slowly, eyes once again going to the throne room just beyond their little rendezvous point here. “It was only a bluff?”

“Yes, my king.”

“And the assassin?”

“Dead, my king.”

“.... Hmph.”

Well, Shang Qinghua has no idea what that sound means.

Mobei Jun stares at him some more, before finally nodding his head once. “This king will take you to Qian Cao.”

Shang Qinghua beams at the man. “That would be amazing! Many thanks, my king!”

Mobei Jun lets out a huff and pivots on his heel to face the contingent of guardsdemals instead, his back shown to them.

From Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, Shen Qingqiu quietly snorts into his fan.

“Gather a cleaning crew for both the battlefield and the throne room,” Mobei Jun barks out, and the guards scatter.

He turns back to face the two peak lords, and holds out one arm, not even looking at them.

Shang Qinghua wraps one arm around his bro’s waist. From how unsteady Shen Qingqiu still is, he doesn’t really trust the man to hold on for the entire trip. And falling off mid-teleportation is definitely not fun. Shang Qinghua can attest to that.

Mobei Jun is scowling when he reaches out and sets his arm into the crook of the king’s elbow, but he steps into the teleportation before Shang Qinghua can even consider asking him what’s wrong.

[luninosity]

Catching up on @evanstanweek ficlets again! Here’s Day 3, prompt: on set.

Read at AO3 here - 2,336 words of on-set love confessions, set during The First Avenger - or read on tumblr below!

#

Sebastian’s watching Chris. He often is, can’t seem to help the track of his gaze—can’t pull away from the magnet-tug that’s Chris Evans’ loud laugh and gesturing hands and philosopher’s eyes, and if he’s honest he doesn’t want to. Right now the low hazy grey lighting of the broken bar sits on Chris’s shoulders and turns him into a grieving supersoldier: a man hollowed out by loss, left with a gaping hole right through his chest.

 Chris is so good. So brilliant at emotion, at getting character. So thoughtful and so generous with his feelings, the kind of bravery that holds nothing back. He is Steve Rogers, through and through: a hero, shining blue and gold.

 Sebastian’s not that brave. Not that brilliant. Good at angst and pain, or dry humor, or intensity, maybe; but he’s in character for it. He does love people and stories, and he thinks he’s funny, sometimes, and he thinks he might want to be a writer, sometimes, and he can shove an entire pizza slice in his mouth when he’s comfortable around friends, but.

 It takes him a while. Exhaling. Stepping out. Speaking up. He wouldn’t say he’s shy, because he isn’t, not once he knows people. He’s just…not Chris Evans, who wears joys and vulnerabilities openly, with pride, unafraid.

 Sebastian looks at Chris, and aches with emotion, and says nothing, every day and every minute on this film so far.

 He’s technically done for the day, though he’s not at all done on this film; he’s spent the morning running around with Howling Commandos and being a young and terrified sergeant thrown into war. They’d filmed Bucky’s fall from the train the day before; Sebastian had honestly loved it. The emotion’d been easy: love and loyalty, throwing himself in to fight alongside the other half of his heart, the moment of sheer shock, a small but gloriously physical drop onto thick mats. They’d let him do that one, because it wasn’t a long fall and they needed to see his face. He hoped it’d been good; everyone seemed pleased, at least.

 He shifts weight, wishes he had a pillar or a wall to lean on. He watches Chris some more.

 They’d caught the stunned disbelief on Chris’s—Steve’s—face at the fall, yesterday. Chris is so incredible at nuance, at blazing emotions, even in a few-seconds-long shot. Sebastian had said, after, “That felt really good, that last take?” and had meant, I think you’re a genius, I think I want to work right next to you forever, I think I love you.

 Chris had gotten kind of pink-cheeked because Chris is too damn self-deprecating, and had said, “Oh—um, thanks, man, you too, I mean it felt good to me too, I mean we’re fuckin’ awesome, obviously,” and had nudged Sebastian’s shoulder, somewhere between a punch and a quick resting of a hand. “Craft services? They got blueberry bagels, someone said.”

 Chris, bagel-focused, clearly had not heard Sebastian’s internal monologue. And if he had, wouldn’t reciprocate.

 Which is fine, of course. Chris never needs to know, and Sebastian’s ridiculous emotions will calm the hell down and go away. Any day now. Sometime. Soon.

 But he’s watching Chris, and Chris is pretending to try to get drunk, pain visibly shredding him inside; Chris is Steve and Steve can’t believe it and has to believe it and wants to scream, to shout, to punch a hole through the world—

 The scene’s fantastic, of course.

 They get it in maybe three takes, rapid-fire, Chris laying out his heart for the watchers. His voice cracks; it’s getting rougher, the third time.

 They do it a couple times more for different close-ups. Sebastian takes a step closer, between takes. His boots—he’s changed; they’re his own boots—are louder than he’d recalled that morning; Chris looks over at the sound.

 And maybe Chris looks surprised, or relieved, or grateful, for a split second; maybe it’s all in Sebastian’s head, though, because the next second they’re right back into it, capturing Steve’s heartbreak.

 It’s a wrap for the scene, eventually. And Chris is done for a few hours too, though he’ll need to stick around; he’s got some close-ups to do inside a mock airplane, being bounced around, for what’ll be the big final self-sacrifice. Sebastian loves the heroism and pain of it; he’s always loved good writing, and he’s got a good feeling about this script and about this universe, which he’s a tiny part of now.

 Chris doesn’t get up right away. Just scrubs both hands over his face, shoulders slumped. Hayley Atwell’s gone off to talk to the director; Joe’s nodding, listening to her. Nobody’s checking on Chris.

 And that’s wrong, that’s wrong and not good and not right—Chris has just been hurting, the way that Chris hurts for the world, and Chris should never be hurting, not while Sebastian’s alive—

 Sebastian’s legs move before his brain makes a conscious decision. He’s picking his way across artistic rubble and taking a few running steps and putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Hey.”

 Chris actually jumps a little, which isn’t the best start. “Oh! Uh, hey, hi, did you, um…have a question? About Steve and Bucky, or somethin’?” The Boston comes out extra-strong; it does that when Chris is feeling a lot, or tipsy, or simply exaggerating to make someone laugh.

 “No,” Sebastian says. “Or, well, yeah, we might want to talk about some of those flashback sequences, so we’re on the same page with emotion and all, but.” He licks his lips, realizes he’s doing it—a nervous habit, one he’s had for years—and stops. He can taste chapstick on his tongue. “I just. Wanted to. I don’t know. Are you…I mean, that looked like a lot.”

 “You…” Chris trails off. He’s looking at Sebastian’s face with astonishing intent; Sebastian would say even desperation, but that’d be ludicrous. Chris doesn’t have any reason to feel desperate about him.

 He tries, “I know you, um, like tea? Not coffee? We could go grab, um, tea. If you want.”

 “Tea,” Chris says, a little blankly. “But you like coffee.”

 Sebastian’s starting to get kind of worried, here. “I do, but you gave it up? We could maybe head back to your trailer, and you can, um, relax for a minute, and I can…try to make tea?”

 Chris stares at him some more.

 “Or not,” Sebastian throws in helplessly.

 “Yes,” Chris says. “Yes, yeah, yes—you—fuck. Okay. Jesus, Chris, get it together,” and he even shakes his head like a puppy flinging off water, and Sebastian kind of wants to grin and also scratch his tummy.

 Well. Maybe not scratch. He can think of better things to do with Chris’s stomach. Mostly involving his tongue.

 And he should absolutely not be thinking of that when Chris needs his help. He sticks out a hand. “To the end of the line? Or at least your trailer.”

 Chris looks at the hand, and then takes it, hauling himself up out of the chair. His fingers are large and strong and a little cold, and they squeeze Sebastian’s for just a little too long, as if wanting to hold on.

 No. Must be Sebastian’s heart thinking that. Wanting what he can’t have.

 He walks with Chris through behind-the-scenes set-ups and teardowns, props and people rushing to and fro, the corners of trailers and the shouts of movie-making going on. The sun’s warm, if light; the ground’s hard beneath his boots. He keeps stealing glances at Chris, who doesn’t seem too talkative. Sebastian’s poor overworked heart wants to take each sensation, each sight and taste and scent of this backstage moment, and fold them up safe deep inside.

 Chris is letting him help. That feels like sunshine.

 Chris’s trailer’s simple, unpretentious, unfussy; script copies and notes lie scattered around, and he’s got some weights, and some Disney-movie DVDs. Sebastian smiles, because that’s so very Chris: delight in the magic, always.

 Chris, still in costume, sits down on his sofa. He breathes out, and looks up. “Thanks.”

 “For what? How do I make tea with this?” He’s poking Chris’s electric kettle. He does sort of know how it works, in theory. His mother has an old-fashioned kettle; he’s got fancy coffee-making machinery; he should be able to combine all this knowledge. “Where is your tea?”

 “Seb,” Chris says. “I—hang on, does anyone actually call you Seb?”

 “Um. Not really? You can. I don’t mind.” He doesn’t. Chris uses last names often, an affectionate Boston-bro shorthand for friendship; Sebastian’s somehow always been Sebastian or Seb, in Chris’s voice. He’s wondered why, though he’s thought maybe Chris just doesn’t feel that close to him. Not deserving of the bro-status.

 “You don’t mind, or you don’t like it, and you’re being nice about it?”

 “I don’t mind,” Sebastian says, too quickly. “I like it.”

 “Sebastian,” Chris says.

 “Really,” Sebastian says. “Either. Whatever.”

 “Jesus,” Chris says, face back in his hands. “I’m sorry. I just…just tell me if I’m sayin’ something stupid, okay? Please.”

 “But you’re not!” Sebastian comes back over to the couch. That damn magnet again. Tugging his bones. “You’re not, it’s fine, we’re good, Chris. I swear. Really.”

 Chris doesn’t look up, so Sebastian drops to both knees, right there at Chris’s feet, and tries not to think of all the times he’s wanted to do exactly that. It’s easier not to think of it, right now, because he’s genuinely concerned.

 He peeks up at Chris’s face. “Hey. Kinda worried here. Not about you, I mean, about your kettle, it’s got all these buttons, it’s like a rocket ship, I’m afraid if I touch the wrong thing it’ll explode.”

 Chris snorts, almost a laugh, and then does look up. His eyes go right to Sebastian’s, so close and so blue; and then all at once he’s moving, leaning forward, one hand reaching out and cradling Sebastian’s head, and then—

 They’re kissing. Oh, god, they’re kissing, Sebastian on his knees in front of Chris and Chris bending down to claim him, hand in Sebastian’s hair—

 Chris kisses like reprieve, like the release of storms, like the dive into a heated pool on a chilly day: wholehearted, devoted, anxious to lick and taste and plunge into every part of Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian, who’s been kissed before, has in fact never been kissed before, because no other kiss has ever been a kiss, compared to this.

 His knees dimly register the hardness of the trailer floor, and his neck’s at kind of an awkward angle, and Chris is still mostly in the Captain America suit. None of that matters. Nothing else matters at all, because Chris wants him and Sebastian’s whole self yearns for Chris, and Chris’s tongue and taste and tug at Sebastian’s hair are all white-hot gloriously perfect.

 Chris pulls back almost as abruptly. They’re both breathless; Chris whispers, “Oh, fuck…” and takes his hand out of Sebastian’s hair, but then touches Sebastian’s cheek, cups his face, as if unable to stop touching. “I…fuck…I didn’t…I’m so fucking sorry, I just…”

 “Why?”

 “What?”

 “Why’re you sorry?” Sebastian tips his head into Chris’s hand. “I’m not.”

 “You’re…not.”

 “Chris,” Sebastian says, and then runs out of words. He hopes Chris can see it, can read it, in his eyes. On his face. “Yes.”

 “Yeah?” Chris reaches out with the other hand too: framing Sebastian’s face now, tender and awestruck. “You mean that.”

 “I mean it,” Sebastian says. “But—”

 “Oh god,” Chris says, “I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I—”

 “No! No, just…are you okay? I mean, from earlier.” Somewhere amid the kissing his hands’ve ended up on Chris’s thighs; apparently they just want to be there, and now rub along Chris’s legs, soothing and caressing and learning all at once. “I mean, I wanted to—”

 “To help,” Chris groans. “You came over to help—because you’re the sweetest fucking person I know, god, you’re perfect, Seb, the nicest and the warmest and the best—and I fucking, Jesus, practically mauled you—”

 Sebastian cuts that anguished recrimination off by diving forward and getting his mouth back on Chris’s. After some in-depth affirmation, he breathes against Chris’s lips, “Don’t think you’re doing any mauling I don’t like.”

 Chris’s eyebrows go up.

 “Really,” Sebastian tells him.

 “Huh,” Chris says. “Huh. Okay. You—okay.”

 “No,” Sebastian says patiently. “Are you okay?”

 Chris stares at him, and then bursts out laughing. Mid-laughter, scoops Sebastian off the floor. Flops them both down across the sofa, holding on. “God, you’re incredible.”

 “The best, you said.”

 “And I mean it. You just make it all…feel better, kind of?” Chris strokes a hand down Sebastian’s back, over his t-shirt. “That’s what it was, earlier. Like…being Steve, losing Bucky, but that’s you, and all at once I was thinking about losing you, and I just felt like…like someone’d dropped me off a train, y’know? Like I’d never get up again.”

 “I’m here.” Sebastian wriggles against him. They fit together: bodies pressed close, every piece of them learning each other. He’s half atop Chris, but with one of Chris’s legs tangled through his. “I’m here.”

 “I know.” Chris rubs his back again. “And you were there, too. You were right there and I could look up and find you, and it was like I could remember how to breathe. And then you were here, asking about tea and looking at me like—and I just had to kiss you. I want to kiss you. Seb. Sebastian. God, I fuckin’ want—everything. I know it might get complicated, I know we’re in the middle of making a movie, but I can’t not want everything. Together. With you.”

 “Well,” Sebastian says, “good to know,” and stretches to kiss Chris again. It’s that simple, if not easy: the future’ll change, but it does that anyway, sprawling out in all sorts of directions. And he thinks it’ll be a good direction, with Chris at his side. “Because I want everything with you too.”

[parseisflat]

Hi! For the prompt - angst #1 holsom? Thanks!

1. “Did you ever even love me at all?”

Holster sees Ransom walking hand-in-hand with March and thinks: what. 

“Brah, they’re dating,” Lardo says, looking up at him in concern. “Did you - did you not know that?”

Holster doesn’t even bother giving a smile that he knows she’ll see through, just shakes his head. She pats him on the shoulder and somehow, coming from Lardo, it feels like a hug.

“It’s only been a couple days,” she says, and he knows she’s trying to cheer him up, but his brain is trapped under a block of ice and all he can do is nod.

They walk back to the Haus in silence.

-

Ransom still sits next to him on roadies; still sleeps in the bed on top of his; their passes connect as they always do. When the four of them - Ransom, March, Holster and April - start to go on double dates, Ransom walks back to the Haus with Holster.

Holster sings show tunes so loudly he knows the Swallow will have his head, and Ransom hypes him up.

It’s still not quite the same. 

-

April shows up at the Haus again, once, and it’s different. He’s used to melancholy April, pining April. It was one of the reasons they became friends in the first place: the heartbroken romantics inside of them understood each other.

This time, though, April’s smiling, beaming, and she jumps into his arms with a bone-crushing hug. “She loves me back,” she whispers into his ear, and he rocks her from side to side a bit. Part of him wants to be bitter, but she’s radiating with so much joy it demands to be spread.

“She loves you back!” he steps back, grinning toothily. “Bro!”

“Yeah.” 

“We’re not smoking this time,” he leads her into the kitchen, ignoring Shitty, who seems to be winking unsubtly from the couch. “You’re getting a celebratory leftover piece of pie.”

She looks sufficiently honored, so he heats it up and carries it onto the reading room, the only place they can hang out without getting harassed by various well-meaning teammates. 

It’s not as strange as he thought it would be, sitting in their Moping Spot, celebrating instead of comforting each other or lamenting. 

“So you’re going out then?” he says to break the silence.

She’s still smiling. “Yeah,” she says. The pie’s already gone. He has no idea how she ate it so fast, but it’s a Bitty pie, so he gets it. “I just - I just said it. I told her I loved her. And she kissed me.”

She looks over at him as if she can sense the way his heart is pounding, and she settles back against the rooftop. “Why’d you tell me this in person? It could’ve been a text,” he says, but he thinks he might know the answer. 

“March and Ransom aren’t together anymore,” she says. “Don’t make me spell it out for you, asshole.”

Holster’s still on the roof when she leaves, and he watches her walk out the door from above. “I’m serious!” she turns around and yells back up at him. “Go get your man!”

“Go back to your girlfriend!” he hollers back, and her face lights up at the reminder. He thinks: maybe that could be me.

-

He finds Ransom in the attic, laying on his bunk. 

“Hey bro,” he says, to announce his presence. He lingers in the doorway. “Are you alright?”

Ransom doesn’t look up, just continues staring at the ceiling. “Did you hear?”

“About you and March?”

“Yeah.” 

Holster gingerly sits on his desk, toying with the Canadian flag Ransom put in the pencil holder. The silence expands between them, stretching like a living thing. Ransom speaks up again after a long moment, “I’m alright with it, so don’t worry. I just…”

He sits up, pinning Holster down with a strange look. “I think March and I were both just - trying to forget other people.”

Holster struggles to find his voice, and it’s like learning to skate for the first time, scrambling and sliding on ice that doesn’t want to hold you. He thinks his world might be crushing his lungs, thinks it has been, slowly, for a long time. 

In the end, he doesn’t have to say anything because Ransom beats him to it.

“Did you ever even love me at all?” His voice is quiet, hardly a whisper, but he’s staring straight at Holster with those piercing eyes of his. Holster thinks: what.

“Bro…” Holster’s wide-eyed, panicking at the sight of tears in Ransom’s eyes, because these aren’t coral-reef tears. He’s never seen him cry like this before. “What are you talking about?”

“March and I never loved each other,” he continues thickly. “because she was hung up on April, and - and,” his eyes dart away and he swallows. “Because I love you.”

Holster’s stuck to the chair, chest heaving quietly, mind racing and coming up empty. “You love me?” Ransom looks down at his hands, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

He thinks, he thinks-

“Ransom,” he says, and he’s laughing a little, because what the fuck is happening. “I’ve loved you since our frog year.”

This time Ransom is the one with wide-eyes, visibly trying to catch up. “What?”

Holster’s full on crying now, laughter coming straight from his gut and bubbling out, overflowing, even. He reaches a hand up and cups Ransom’s cheek, sticking his hand between the bunk bed’s bars. “I think we have a lot of talking to do.”

Another tear slips onto Ransom’s cheek, but this time, he’s beaming.

Holster thinks: finally.

lol i posted this on ao3 things happen idk

(send me prompts)

[strongerwiththepack]

I got Hypothermia & Cabin - with Virgil & any other bro 😊

Thank-you! Prompt from the Whump Generator. Also my first ever ask which is exciting XD

Virgil & Hypothermia & Cabin w/ some John on the side!

Virgil feels numb all over as he’s dragged back to consciousness. It’s like he’s waking up from a drug-induced sleep except there’s far too much pain for that to be true. The too-bright light behind his closed eyes is making his head throb and he groans pitifully.

There’s definitely something wrong, so with great protest he blinks his eyes open and all he’s sees is blinding white for a few seconds before his eyes adjust. Snow. Everywhere. There are trees above him and the snow is still gently falling.

He looks down at himself and he’s half submerged in the snow…in his island clothes. It’s then the pain makes it’s way through the numbness and he shivers violently, disrupting the snow that had fallen on him.

He starts gasping as he forces his uncooperative arms to push him into a sitting position. His clothes are soaked through and he’s sitting in the snow in the middle of nowhere. His breaths puff out, visible in the frigid air and he uses a near-by tree to pull himself up to his feet. His legs tremble dangerously and he has to blink black spots out of his vision.

Dammit. Virgil thinks to himself. What the hell happened?

Virgil wracks his brain and parts start to come back to him. He’d been skiing with John. They both had a long weekend of leave. That didn’t explain why he was now freezing his butt off in the middle of nowhere though. He reached for his watch only to find his wrist bare. That can’t be right, he never takes it off.

If he doesn’t start moving things are going to end very badly. He scans the area around him. The snow has mostly covered up any tracks of how he’d gotten here but the snow directly in front of him is much more uneven than behind him to he guessed that was his best bet.

Letting go of the tree that was semi-supporting him he stumbled forwards. It was like the cold had seeped into his bones and every step sent a stab of pain into his joints. His wet jeans rubbed uncomfortably against his frozen skin.

The dizziness was becoming a problem as he followed the path of uneven snow, grabbing a hold of each passing tree to keep himself grounded. God knows how long he’d already been out here.

The snow was getting heavier and he had to squint his eyes. There! Up ahead, a cabin stood out against the backdrop of snow. It definitely wasn’t the ski village but he’s about 2 minutes away from passing out in the snow again so it looked like his best option. John would be looking for him by now.

The cabin looked less inviting up close. Rotting wood and broken windows weren’t going to offer much protection but he didn’t have a choice at this point. The door opened with a creak and he had to grip the doorframe to stop himself from falling straight through.

His heart sunk as he peered around and saw only one table and some rickety chairs, the rest of the cabin was bare. He took a shaky breath. It would keep him out of the snow. John would find him soon.

As much as he wanted collapse right there his training wouldn’t let him rest. He paced back and forth around the room trying to keep his blood flowing. It became more of a shuffle as time passed and Virgil barely even comprehended the fact that he was moving as he dragged his feet across the ground.

Just keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving.

His thoughts were muddled but he managed to keep up his slow shuffle far longer than he should have been able to. Eventually his legs gave out and his knees hit the wooden floor with a crack.

He placed his trembling arms out in front of his and sat, breathing heavily. He wasn’t getting back up again. He managed to crawl over to the corner of the room and prop himself up against the wall. He pulled himself into a tight ball and placed his hands under his armpits.

Come on John. Where are you? He thought.

And then he drifted.

*

John was frantic. Virgil had stepped out this morning to get some more wood for the fire in their cabin. It was only a few meters from the front-door but he hadn’t come back in again. It was their last day here, they’d been planning on going up the ski slopes one more time before they left. Virgil wouldn’t have left without telling him.

They’d had a nice trip so far, the two of them were definitely the more relaxed members of the family. Last time they’d gone skiing as a family he and Virgil had either been dragged along with Scott and Gordon to do extreme off-piste skiing or they were frantically worrying about Alan trying to copy his more daring older brothers. They’d had a much more relaxing holiday this time around.

Well until Virgil decided to go missing that is.

He tried calling through their watches with no response so after an hour and still no Virgil he’d tracked his brother’s whereabouts. The location pinged in the resort café. If Virgil had spent an hour ignoring him just to get his morning coffee, John was not going to be happy.

He pulled on his boots and waterproofs, walking across the resort to said café, ready to give his brother an earful. His chest tightened when he arrived and there was still no sign of him. Their watch locations were extremely precise, and John zeroed in on a group of guys being rowdy in the corner. He clenched his fists. The guys from the bar last night.

He stalked over, worry for his brother overshadowing his reluctance to approach them.

The saw him coming and turned to look at him as he approached.

“I believe you have something that belongs to my brother.” John gritted out.

The table erupted in laughter and one of the guys sneered. “That prick make it down the mountain already? We should’ve left him further up boys.”

“Mountain?” John questioned angrily. “Where the hell is my brother?”

“That’s a no then.” The guy smirked. “Half-way up the Balgay mountain, exact location isn’t coming to me.”

John was done with these guys, he just need one thing to find his brother. He held out his hand. “Give me the watch.”

John’s tone must have been verging on dangerous because it was tossed his way without argument. “Things worthless crap anyway.”

He ran out of the café as the guys laughed again. He and EOS would deal with them later. Harshly. Right now, he needed to find his brother.

He activated his own watch as he ran back to the cabin. “Come in Tracy Island.”

“Tracy Island at your service.” Gordon’s voice came across the comm. “What can I do for you holiday goers?”

“Gordon! Virgil’s in trouble.” John panted out as he ran. “I don’t have all the details, but he might be hurt I don’t know.”

“What do you need me to do?” Gordon asked, entirely in professional mode now.

“Have Thunderbird Two on standby, I’ll keep you posted.”

Tracking Virgil’s past movements led him to where his brother must have been left. He came to a halt on his rented snowmobile and noticed the disturbed snow. He quickly followed the tracks, maybe his brother had made it down already and was fine. The track ended at a derelict cabin and John had a sinking feeling.

The door banged off the wall as he slammed it open. “Virgil?”

And then he saw his brother. Slumped and unconscious against the far wall. “Virgil!”

“Going to need that pick-up Gordon.” He relayed to his brother. “And hurry.”

John didn’t wait for a reply as he kneeled down next to his brother and gently shook his shoulder. “Hey Virg. You okay?”

His brothers head lolled at the movement, not reacting to the touch. The plaid shirt was damp under John’s hand. He shakily pressed his fingers into Virgil neck and breathed a sigh of relief at the faint pulse he felt there. His skin was like ice while his cheeks and nose were red and irritated. Frostbite.

John was going to kill those guys.

Thunderbird Two was still at least 20 minutes out. He needed to do what he could.

He started to peel off his brother’s wet shirt, gently talking to him as his did so. “Hey Virg, you’re okay now. We’ll get you warmed up in no time.” He soothed as he pulled the shirt down his unconscious brothers arms. “I’m just going to get these wet clothes off of you.”

He awkwardly manoeuvred his brother out of his vest as well before wrapping his own coat around Virgil’s shoulders, hoping it still held some of his body heat. As he pulled it closed, his brother’s eyes fluttered open to half-mast.

“Jo’n?” Virgil mumbled.

“Hey, I’m here. You okay?”

Virgil just blinked slowly and puffed out a few heavy breaths.

“Hey, hey that’s okay.” John soothed as he rubbed up and down his brothers arms. “Just stay awake okay? Your girl is on her way, we’ll be home soon.”

Virgil hummed and his eyes drifted shut again.

John gripped his brothers chin muttering. “Come on Virg, I said no sleeping.” Virgil’s eyes squinted open. “Just focus on me okay?”

Virgil held his gaze in affirmative. “Okay. Just stay awake, and I’ll tell you all about what I’m going to do to the guys who left you up here, okay?”

Virgil continued to stare at him with slightly glazed eyes which he hoped was a good sign. His brother was far too unresponsive though, Gordon better hurry.

“Okay bro, I may even get creative just for you.”

So just settled in and talked to his brother. He was never one for small talk but if it kept his brother awake he would ramble for as long as needed. He’d let Gordon take over soon.

For now, he just talked and waited.

fin.

[papermoonish]

when the weather changed

"Wait for me!"

"Shit, it was so nice out at lunch," Kirishima whines, stopping in the doorway.

"That’s fucking autumn for you."

"Don’t curse a whole season, you'll get unlucky."

autumn brings weather changes and simple sweetness. for kirishima and bakugou it comes first in the shape of friends and then each other

read on AO3 or keep reading here

Kiri is on the roof of the school building. There are mesh fences keeping the small spot up in the air secluded - safe. He's sitting on the floor, his back to the wall hiding the staircase, eyes closed and head leaning against the concrete.

The air tastes like crisp autumn, fresh and cold with the promise of warmth tingling. Maybe tomorrow, maybe later. The door opens and Kirishima straightens up, opens his eyes and reaches for his water bottle. With two quick movements he looks busy. Nothing weird going on here.

"Hey man," he smiles, and Denki waves back.

"Yo dude. I was looking everywhere for you."

Denki drops besides him, loose and easy. His shoulder brushes Kirishima's as he’s reaching for the food in Kiri's lap, stealing a small piece of pre-cut sausage. He's warm, body slumping against his friend with a content sigh.

"Ah sorry! What's up?”

Denki pops his lips, pulls up his phone and scans the screen quickly before tapping away on it. He's sitting cross-legged, his knee occasionally bumping against Kiri's thigh. He steals another piece of sausage and chews it a little too loudly but it’s okay. Kirishima appreciates the company.

"Didn’t see you at lunch and thought you might've run away with a hot girl into a future unknown.”

Kirishima snorts and shakes his head, red hair doesn’t move an inch. Next to him Denki cracks his knuckles, but only the ones on his left hand.

"In the middle of a Monday?”

"Who am I to question the timely manners of love, bro."

"Bro."

"Bro."

They laugh and the wind picks up a bit, messing up Denki's hair. As he tries to fix it he lets out a loud groan. Kiri reaches up to tuck a few strands back with the others.

"Nah dude, I'd never leave you behind."

"You better won’t. Blasty would have my ass if he heard you got away and I knew."

There’s an implication between the words, simmering right in the space left after them. Kirishima blinks and shakes it off, smiles until the dimple on his right cheek shows up.

"He has your ass for everything. He owns it."

"HE DOES NOT OWN MY ASS!"

Kiri giggles, downs the rest of his water and rubs his nose. The movement causes Denki to sway a bit, still leaning on his friend. He catches himself and sits up, wiggling his eyebrows.

"That's gay," he snickers.

"Denki-"

"No Ei,” he raises his hands in defeat, pouting, “I simply do not wanna think about Bakugou in a sexual way."

"That’s not even close to what I said."

"It was IMPLIED!"

"IT WASN’T!"

They’re shoving at each other now, laughing and the water bottle drops, rolls away across the deck. The rest of Kirishima's lunch nearly falls too, but just at the last second he remembers and puts it aside. Seeing an opening, Denki throws himself at Kirishima and they both topple over. Denki is snorting, Kiri is chuckling. The sun shines.

"EW, DUDE!"

The wet stripe Denki licked across Kirishima's palm glistens in the autumn weather and Kiri is fast to wipe it at Denki's dress shirt.

"You're so gross."

"Excuse me? You have a crush on Bakugou, that's nasty!"

"Ughh,” Kirishima hides his face in his hands, “don’t bring that up."

"You can't censor me, this is a free country."

Their laughter fades at the same time as the sunshine, covered by a few thin clouds moving across the blue. Lunch is coming to an end and Kiri hears Denki's bones pop from stretching his hands. A rumble in the sky makes a few birds fly up and the boys look up.

"I- … uh-"

Denki rolls onto his side and makes a whole show of getting up, like standing is a dance he owns. He cracks his neck and Kirishima cringes at the sound, worrying his lip.

"I won’t tell him. Drop the pout, lovebird."

He reaches out a hand and Kiri grabs it quickly, and then he gets pulled up from the floor with the sun reappearing. Warmth immediately spreads across their skin.

"Thanks, man.”

Denki waves his hand, grins mischievously.

"Bro, you've got so much more dirt on me. This is self-protection.”

"Bro I’d never tell any of them anything."

"I know, I know. You’re just good like that,” he laughs. "One day either Shinso, Jirou, Sero or Tetsu will notice me. I'm not giving up yet."

"You're helpless," Kirishima shoos away a mosquito. “You should pick one of them to work your charm on.”

"I’d go for you, but your little monkey brain is already wired in the wrong direction, babe."

Kiri fake gags and Denki shoves him, hard. They gather their stuff - meaning Kirishima grabs all his things and Denki starts breakdancing next to him. Denki opens the door and bows, giving him the, "After you, good sir." and Kiri bows right back with a, "Oh my, thank you darling."

The door falls into its lock and clicks shut. A gust of wind picks up and moves the water bottle Kirishima forgot on the deck. It clatters against the mesh fence and rolls a few feet across the floor. It’ll be found later by someone else, surely. Not everyone has a bright red metal bottle with multiple stickers of pictures of his friends. They get back to class and the sun still shines.

* at the same time *

The cafeteria is too loud. There's laughter and screaming, talking, shuffling, things dropping and people running. For Bakugou the cafeteria hurts, it rings all the way through his ears to the bottom of his brain and he furrows his brows while poking chopsticks into rice.

"You want a spoon for the rice soup you’re making there?"

Bakugou flinches, knuckles turning white before the colour slowly creeps back, blood flow released.

"Watch your mouth," he barks into the direction of the person sitting across the table.

"Can’t, I'm eating. You should try it, it’s supposed to be good for you."

"I fucking know, Tapeface. What’s your issue?”

Sero grins before digging back into his chicken, his legs long under the table right under the window. His feet knock against Bakugou's ankles. Neither of them moves.

"What's yours? You're usually not that grumpy at lunch."

Bakugou looks at him for a few seconds, like he's considering, waging something in his head.

"'s loud here," he finally settles on.

"Oh."

Sero blinks, then he grabs his backpack and tray and Bakugou flinches again at the speed of it.

"What are you-"

"Come on big guy, grab your stuff."

"Huh?"

"There's tables outside, next to the gym building."

Oh. That’s right.

When they settle again Bakugou's forehead is still crinkled and Sero pokes him, index finger smudging against his skin. The wrinkles smooth out a bit. Sero puts his phone on the table, screen up. Bakugou can see the small notification LED blinking yellow.

"Ya still look grumpy."

Bakugou shrugs, finally eats his rice like a normal person. Sero hums, low and deep, then rustles inside of his bag and pulls out a juice pouch. There's a drop spilling when he puts the straw in a little too forcefully and Bakugou hands him a napkin.

"I have a goddamn headache."

"Ah."

The wind picks up and the sun vanishes behind thin clouds. The building casts enough shade to cover them and their table fully now and it’s a little colder.

"Maybe Ei can do his magic hands thing later. Doesn't he help sometimes?"

Bakugou shrugs but he averts his eyes, dipping his rice into sauce before shoving it into his mouth. He knows Sero can see through it but he also knows Sero is gentle. He hums again and Bakugou breathes.

"Yeah.”

Sero finishes his food and sips his juice, offering it to Bakugou but obviously being declined. He just shrugs.

"Denki texted me he's on the roof if ya wanna go up and ask."

Bakugou shakes his head, puts the lid back onto his bento box. He catches the way Sero checks at his phone, types away an answer to a message that made him smile.

"Lunch is over in a few anyway."

"You have some rice on your shirt."

"Ah shit."

The sun comes back out and Sero's phone chimes. He glances at it and sighs, swiping the little alarm notification away.

"Back to class then, wonder kid."

"You're on thin fucking ice, Hanta."

"Aw with the first name? You make me blush today."

"Bitch."

"No need to sweet talk me after you had a lunch date with me."

"Oh my fucking god I despise you."

He grabs his bag and then puts the trash from Sero's tray on his own, sliding them together. He carries both. Sero holds the door open for him and Bakugou grunts a thank you. The wind starts howling and the cafeteria is still filled with laughter when they enter.

*later*

The school day ends and the sky is grey. There are dark speckles between heavy clouds and the light turned a muddy yellow. The sun isn't visible and you can’t feel it either, all the warmth traveled further away into other days, future hours. Bakugou's kicking the door to the sky deck open with his foot, the sole squeaking against the heavy metal.

"Fucking bullshit."

There’s a rumble and then rain hits his face and there's a giggle right behind him, echoing in the halls of the stairway.

"Wait for me!"

Bakugou keeps the door open with a snarl.

"Shit, it was so nice out at lunch," Kirishima whines, stopping in the doorway.

"That’s fucking autumn for you."

"Don’t curse a whole season, you'll get unlucky."

Bakugou looks at him, getting soaked more every second, hair slowly plastering itself against his forehead. Water gets caught in his lashes and drips into his shoes. His socks get wet. He blinks once and Kiri rubs his blushing neck, laughing.

"Yeah," his lip pulls upwards, "wouldn't fucking want that, hah?"

Kirishima bolts out into the rain, Bakugou looks after him before following. There are small puddles on the floor and Kiri steps into them intentionally, grinning as he notices his boots are waterproof enough for his shenanigans.

"All right, where are you? Come out, come out wherever you are," Kirishima sing-songs.

"You're so stupid."

"Shhhh maybe it's hiding from us."

"Your water bottle?"

Kiri nods. “Maybe it feels your negative vibes, bro."

"Maybe I’ll make you feel a negative vibe in a second, bro."

It’s an empty threat and Kirishima laughs.

He keeps running and the sky doesn't split open to let light through. Bakugou licks his lips, rainwater on his tongue, and walks towards the fence to the south side. It’s like Kirishima forgot where he sat with the way he's buzzing through the rain, arms spread and face tilted towards the sky.

Bakugou spots his bottle immediately, picks it up with his pinky hooking through the loop on the cap. He inspects the stickers and none of them are peeling. When he turns, Kiri is standing still, looking up at the falling rain, hair bending and bowing under the weather.

"You done with your moment?" Bakugou yells over the noise.

"It’s so nice."

"The rain?"

"Hmh."

Bakugou comes up next to him, holds up the bottle but Kirishima’s eyes are closed. So he bumps the cold metal against the exposed skin under Kirishima’s rolled up sleeves.

"Got the goods."

"Ah! thank you, Blasty."

"You'll never drop that name huh?"

Kiri shrugs and Bakugou watches his shoulders move.

"It’s a good name."

"It’s old as shit. Come up with something better."

"Stop exploding into our faces then," Kirishima turns his head and grins.

"Never."

"That’s what I thought."

Kiri's quiet until Bakugou pulls up his nose. The sky keeps making noises that hint ever so closely at a thunderstorm coming.

"Ah shit, okay let's go back inside. You're soaked!"

"Duh."

"Thanks for coming to look with me though."

They both know Kirishima would’ve found his bottle on his own. They don’t address it though and somehow the knowledge settles between them in the form of physical contact. Bakugou simply accepts the wet arm that’s thrown over his shoulder, it soothes the tension built up in his muscles.

"You can thank me by doing your hand thing."

Kirishima’s head snaps towards him, eyes big and round. There are water droplets in his eyebrows.

"You have another headache? Man, why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Kiri grabs his bottle from Bakugou, their fingers touch. Kiri smiles and walks towards the door. His hand reaches for the handle and it creaks under the movement.

"School," Bakugou says, voice calm while he shrugs.

"Let’s get dry and then I can come over? Whatcha say?"

Bakugou nods, brushes past Kirishima holding the door open. The arm that was around his shoulder slides off and it’s immediately cold where it lay. It’s now freezing in the hallway, especially dripping wet.

"D’you think Sero has a crush on Denki?"

Bakugou huffs, towel rubbing over his ears. They’re in the baths, air warm from their recent shower. The mirror Bakugou stands in front of is fogged up and Kirishima reaches over, hand smearing across the glass until his image is visible.

"I don’t care."

"Come on, gossip with me," Kirishima pokes his finger into Bakugou’s shoulder and the blond doesn’t even turn to look.

"No."

"But you always have the best takes."

"Shut up."

"Katsukiii please."

The towel drops. The sky breaks open and a few late sunbeams work their way through the clouds, illuminating UA in the softest glow. The boys are inside though, the warm bathroom shielding them from the outside, they can’t see.

But Bakugou looks at Kirishima and he simply knows, knows the grey is making space for evening blues and purples, knows the muddy yellow will turn into clear orange.

"I won’t spill Tapeface's secrets."

"Not even to me?" The puppy eyes get ignored.

"Especially not to you, you can't keep your big mouth shut ever!"

"That’s not true! I never spill secrets."

Bakugou unlocks his dorm room door and watches Kiri walk in before him. Bakugou smells his shampoo, it’s a mix of something woody and sweet.

"You're spilling right now."

"Yeah but to you, that’s different."

He sits down in the desk chair, swiveling around a bit. Digging the heels of his feet into the beige carpet. He’s barefoot in Bakugou’s room and it feels intimate. Bakugou snaps a laugh, it’s dry. Kirishima perks up at it.

"It’s not different, you’re making shit up."

"Uh yeah? I like sharing with you?"

"You like talking to everyone."

He drops himself on the floor, back pressed to Kiri's shins and tipping his head back over the redhead’s knees. It’s a bit uncomfortable but it gives Bakugou enough control over the situation. Not that he’d need it here. Kiri's hands gently weave themselves through towel dried blond hair, fingertips pressing against his scalp.

"I like talking to you most though," he says simply.

"Ew."

Kirishima laughs, Bakugou closes his eyes. He lets Kiri work his fingers through his hair, lets his nails scrape and scratch in all the right places and with every minute passing by he feels the headache less and less.

They're quiet for a bit and then he goes, "Hanta's whipped as fuck."

"I KNEW it!"

The ceiling light bathes them in warm white and the sky outside is hidden behind curtains.

[skelesinners-r-us]

I mean- maybe some smut of a yandere x reader-? Uhhh- hh maybe Yanberry? Orrr Yan!Fell? qwq

You, my friend, have good taste :P 

This nearly destroyed me as I was working on it, so yeah >////> also wasn’t sure which pronouns to use for the reader, so I tried to stay neutral with the pet names that were used and such. I think I did a pretty good job of that, right up until the very last couple paragraphs or so, where I used one or two pronouns suggesting the reader is female or at the very least, capable of getting pregnant

anyways though, here it be :P

He wasn’t ok with this. Not with your current situation, not with having to leave your side for work, not having to leave you home alone. Not with his brother, of all people. He knew Papyrus could be a flirt at times and had a certain charm to him, but if he thought he could just swoop in and steal you - his human - from him, well… He’d have another thing coming to him, then.

Sans glanced up at the living room clock, taking a mental note of the time as he slipped on his gloves. Noticing the movement from beside you, you looked up from the tv, your attention fully on him as you let out a soft sigh, smiling faintly, “Almost time for work, I take it?” Seeing that your eyes were on him and him alone… god, he loved it. So, so very much.

He offered you a weak smile, wrapping an arm around you and gently squeezing your hip, “YEAH, I’M AFRAID SO. I NEED TO WORK LATE AGAIN TONIGHT, SO THERE’S DINNER IN THE FRIDGE WHENEVER YOU GET HUNGRY.” Cuddling close to him and laying your head on his shoulder, you hummed in understanding and playfully raised an eyebrow, “You already prepped dinner? When did you manage to do that?” The skeletons’ smile widened and he chuckled, “I WOKE UP EARLY THIS MORNING AND MADE IT.” You snorted, visibly amused, “Wow, look at you, hot shot. I wish I had as much ambition as you.”

That remark earned a laugh from him and he held you as close to himself as he could, “YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU REALLY PUT YOUR MIND TO, MY LOVE.” He then paused, pressing a skeleton kiss to your temple and mumbling against your skin, “BEFORE I LEAVE THOUGH, DO YOU REMEMBER THE RULES?” You nodded and sighed, absentmindedly raising a hand to play with his scarf, “Mhm, sure do.” “CARE TO REPEAT THEM FOR ME, THEN?” You made a face, your cheeks gaining a faint blush as his gloved hand captured yours, and he delicately intertwined his fingers with your own, “Uh well… No inviting anyone over, no allowing anyone other than Papyrus into the house, no allowing Papyrus into your room while I’m alone there, no going into Paps room, and no touching Paps? Not in any way, even accidental bumps or hand brushing?” 

Sans purred in delight, his eye lights shifting into small hearts as he gently cupped your face and kissed you deeply, holding you close to himself. As he nipped your bottom lip and trailed the tip of his cyan ecto tongue along it, the sound of someone coughing could be heard. It was an awkward cough, as if they’d walked in on something they weren’t meant to see, and your blush darkened: Papyrus. Growling faintly in irritation at having been interrupted, Sans broke away from the kiss, looking up at his elder brother, who was currently standing at the bottom of the stairs, “WHAT IS IT, BROTHER?”

Papyrus gestured to the clock, using his free hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, “it’s just that your uh… your shift starts in three minutes.” Accepting this as a reasonable excuse for disturbing his moment with you, Sans sighed, “THANK YOU, PAPY. I’LL HEAD OUT AS SOON AS I FINISH SAYING GOODBYE TO MY HUMAN.” The taller, lanky brother made a sound of acceptance, digging into his hoodie pocket and fishing around for his cigarettes as he crossed the living room, heading for the front door, “alright, bro. sounds like a plan.” 

As Papyrus disappeared, vanishing outside and leaving you alone with Sans, a mischievous look flickered in Sans’ sockets. Shifting slightly in his seat, he tugged you onto his lap, turning you so that you were facing him before very intentionally raising one of his legs slightly. Considering that you were essentially straddling his lap, his single raised leg was between your legs, and as gravity would have it, you now had it grinding against your still clothed sex. Watching your blush darken a noticeable amount, Sans smirked, almost appearing wicked as he moved his leg, making sure you felt it against you. Drawing a soft whimper from you, he chuckled, beaming at you in smug satisfaction as he lowered his leg, so that it no longer rubbed against you.

You pouted at the sudden lack of stimulation and he continued to smile at you, delicately running his fingers through your hair and mumbling in that slightly deeper, husky voice he knew you loved, “IF YOU FOLLOW THE RULES AND BE A GOOD HUMAN FOR ME, I’LL GIVE YOU A REWARD AS SOON AS I GET HOME.” You nodded, still blushing deeply, “O-Ok… Should I wait up for you, then?” The skeleton shrugged, playfully arching a brow bone at you, “IF YOU THINK YOU CAN STAY UP THAT LONG, THEN BE MY GUEST.” Sliding off his lap to let him get up, you smiled sheepishly as he leaned down to steal a kiss from you, muttering in a hushed voice against your lips, “I Love You So Much… I’ll See You Tonight, Beautiful.”

He had then proceeded to use a shortcut, heading off to work for the rest of the day.

The day had passed so slow that it was almost cruel, and the amount of boredom he faced was torturous. To combat it, he let his mind wander back to you on multiple occasions, wondering how you were doing, what you were doing, and what all he would do to you that night. By the time his shift was nearly over, he’d pulled out his phone, resorting to check the notifications on his social media. There was a photo posted earlier on in the day by a mutual friend of yours, and you’d been tagged in it. He clicked on the notification, immediately interested, but in response to actually seeing it, he scowled.

The photo might’ve seemed innocent enough to anyone else, but to him… it made his nonexistent stomach turn. You were in the photo, standing in the aisle of a small grocery store that he instantly recognized, and standing around you were a handful of your friends. The caption simply read, “Saw this dork while out getting some snacks <3 ended up staying so long chatting that the cashier had to ask us to leave.” As if the heart emoticon wasn’t aggravating enough, the way your friends were looking at you was almost enough to infuriate him.

They looked at you with pure adoration, as if they were in love with you or something. There was a second photo attached to the post that also had you in it, but one of your female friends had her arms around you, kissing your forehead. The photo had been taken while the both of you laughed over it, and as he gazed at the image, he began to tighten his grip on his phone, only stopping as the screen glitched and began to crack. If this was the game they wanted to play, then so be it. 

Sans loved games, and being as magnificent and determined as he was, there was no way he could ever lose. When you were the prize at the end of the game in question, however, he’d do anything to guarantee that no one else gained your affections. If they tried, he’d have to make it point to have a little conversation with them. If they couldn’t be reasoned with, then, well… he’d just have to get rid of them, wouldn’t he?

As soon as his shift ended, he clocked out and headed home, ready to set his plan into motion.

When he got back to the house, it was dark, minus the porch light and a single, dimly lit room upstairs, which he instantly recognized as his own. Relaxing the smallest bit, he slipped in through the unlocked front door, taking off his boots and turning to lock the door behind himself before he headed for the stairs. Being extra careful as he passed by Papyrus’ room, he placed his steps very specifically, avoiding the floorboards that he knew would creak under his weight. He made a beeline for his bedroom door, very carefully opening it, then nudging it shut behind himself and absentmindedly locking it.

Turning to glance around the room, his eye lights almost instantly located you; you were lying on his bed, a book open and laying on your chest. He smiled to himself, quietly making his way around the bed to pick up the book and mark your page for you before setting it aside; god, you were honestly just so cute like this. You must’ve dozed off while waiting for him to come home, and his soul swelled in complete, utter adoration and love as he gazed at you. 

You’d dozed off, leaving yourself completely helpless and vulnerable, and the thought of that alone elicited a soft groan from him. Call it sick, call it twisted, but he just… couldn’t help it. He loved seeing you vulnerable and helpless like this. It delivered a certain thrill that he was unable to find anywhere else, no matter how hard he searched for it. He slipped his gloves and scarf off, setting them on his desk before beginning to remove the rest of his battle body, changing into his favorite set of pajamas and climbing into bed with you.

Shifting in your sleep, you rolled onto your side, your back to him, and he frowned. He just wanted to see that adorable face of yours, and now he couldn’t. Not unless -

He cautiously sat up, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching you for a moment to make sure he hadn’t disturbed you, before he used his magic, delicately rolling you onto your back again and holding you in place as he curled his fingers around the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging both of them down and off of you in one fluid motion. He paused again to make sure you remained asleep, which thankfully, you did. He let out a deep sigh of relief, and then proceeded to gently coax your legs apart, settling in the space between them. 

With his attention centered almost entirely on your face, he slowly slid a bony finger inside you. Stopping once it was all the way in, he paused, the soft moan that slipped past your lips enough to cause his magic to begin forming a bulge in his pajama pants. Feeling spurred on, he began slowly thrusting his finger in and out of you, his eye lights shifting into hearts as you mewled, his name a mumble as it escaped from you. Even in your sleep, you dreamt of him doing these things to you? Touching you this way and making you feel good?

He purred softly, an affectionate smile finding its way onto his face; just for that, he might have to forgive you for letting those friends of yours get as close as they did. Adding a second finger and pumping his digits a bit faster, Sans watched as you squirmed, moaning softly again. You clenched around his fingers and he arched a brow bone, still wearing a toothy grin; truth be told, he was having more fun with this than he thought he would.

He slipped his fingers out of you, licking them off as he looked over your exposed body. He couldn’t take it anymore. Before you woke up, he needed to get a taste of you.

Sans leaned down, inhaling your scent and groaning softly before burying his face between your thighs, immediately lapping at your entrance and moaning. You shifted in your sleep again, letting out a much louder moan, but at this point, he didn’t care if you woke up and caught him in the act. Pressing closer to you, he moaned again, thrusting his tongue into your hole and fighting back the whine that threatened to slip from his maw as his now fully formed member began to ache, as if begging to be touched. 

Growling faintly in annoyance, he shoved his pants down just enough to free his length before he wrapped a hand around it and began stroking his shaft, moaning against your entrance again. Your eyelids fluttered and you mumbled something incoherent, beginning to stir as he drew more moans from you.

Continuing to lap at your entrance as he quickened his strokes, he lost himself in pleasure, and the thing that brought him back to reality was the startled yelp that left your lips as you woke up. You’d begun to question him, but all he heard was his name coming out of your mouth, and with the knowledge that you were fully awake now, he moaned against you. The vibrations from his moans directly on your ridiculously sensitive core… that was what pushed you over the edge. You bucked your hips, your body spasming as the coil in your gut came undone and you moaned loudly, reaching your climax.

Sans eagerly licked up your juices, his body beginning to tremble the smallest bit. Catching your breath, you sighed, smiling sheepishly at him, “W-Wow… Well that was one hell of a wake up call.” His sockets, now hazy and clouded with visible lust, shifted their focus to your face and he smirked, sliding back to slip off his pajamas, “THAT WAS ROUND ONE, MY LOVE. WE’RE ONLY JUST BEGINNING.”

Now fully unclothed, he leaned over you, his magic releasing its hold on you as he fumbled with your shirt, nearly tearing it as he impatiently tried to get it off of you. You cooperated to the best of your ability, feeling a bit relieved once it was finally removed and tossed aside. With your naked form beneath him, his cyan ecto tongue slipped out of his mouth, gliding over his teeth as he took in the sight of you. You were so beautiful… so gorgeous and perfect.

And he couldn’t wait to absolutely wreck you.

Gripping your legs a bit harder than he’d intended, he hoisted your feet up over his shoulders and thrust his entire length inside you in one go. Clamping a hand over your mouth in an effort to muffle your voice, you squealed, arching your back and clenching around him, and he moaned, his breathing becoming shaky. As Sans began to rock his hips, he slammed into you roughly, quickly turning your loud moans and squeals of pleasure into screams, and his eye lights became small hearts as he watched you again. But… He was a bit annoyed, at the same time.

You kept trying to muffle the sounds you were making, and that simply wouldn’t do.

One of his sockets flared up with his cyan magic, and you found your hands pinned above your head. He’d paused briefly to let your legs down, off of his shoulders, before pushing them as far apart as possible. As he resumed his previous motions and began ramming into you again, he let out a rather loud growl, tightly gripping your hips, “SCREAM FOR ME, HUMAN. I WANT THOSE FRIENDS OF YOURS TO HEAR US FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN.” Your eyes widened in surprise and as you opened your mouth to ask what was going on with him, he decided to angle his hips a bit differently, before snapping them forward again and slamming into your sweet spot.

With your face entirely flushed, you screamed in pleasure, beginning to buck your hips in time with his thrusts as you whined and begged, “O-Oh shit… Sans, please! Fuck me harder! Please, I really need it!” The skeleton growled, his gaze almost predatory and dangerous as he leaned over you, his voice husky, “SCREAM MY NAME FIRST, THEN. EVERYONE NEEDS TO KNOW WHO YOU BELONG TO… YOU’RE MINE, AND MINE ONLY. I DON’T LIKE SHARING… YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT BY NOW.” 

He slammed into your sweet spot again and you did as told, screaming his name. A pleased purr left him and he bucked his hips harder than before, his pelvis hitting yours hard enough that he knew would end up leaving bruises. Leering down at you and offering you a sultry grin, he began to roll his hips noticeably faster, moaning as your inner walls squeezed his shaft, “TELL ME AGAIN WHO YOU BELONG TO.” Writhing beneath him and screaming again, tears rolled down your face at the overwhelming amount of pleasure you felt, “You! Always you, don’t belong to anyone else! Won’t ever belong to anyone else! Don’t want anyone else, only want you, Sans!”

Moaning loudly as he felt his own release rapidly approaching, he panted, continuing to slam into you at the same speed and with the same amount of force as before, his tongue lolling from his mouth and allowing his cyan tinted saliva to drip down onto your chest and stomach, “S-SHIT, FUCK… MINE. YOU’RE MINE, HUMAN! MINE, MINE, MINE!” Arching your back at what looked to be an almost painful degree, your eyes rolled back and your body spasmed again. With a silent scream, you came undone around him, and in turn, caused him to finish as well. He thrust his length as deep into you as he could, leaning down and sinking his teeth into your shoulder, permanently marking you as his mate as he released a moan that sounded similar to your name and shot his seed deep inside you.

Feeling his teeth in your shoulder, you whimpered, this time in pain rather than pleasure. Easily catching this, he let go of your shoulder, purring faintly as he began to trace the tip of his tongue over the bite, almost in a soothing manner. As you let out another whimper, he softly shushed you, gently pressing his teeth to your lips and offering you praise, his voice hushed now, “Shhh… It’s Ok, My Love. You Took So Much More Than Normal, And You Did So Well. You Never Cease To Amaze Me, And For That, I Love You. With Every Fiber Of My Being, And With My Entire Soul.” Your lips curled into an affectionate smile and with your hands now free, you gently touched his face, mumbling tiredly, “I love you too, Sans… With all my heart.” 

He leaned into your touch, his eye lights heart shaped once more as he watched you with pure adoration, sighing softly as he delicately touched your hand, “I’m Glad… We Should Rest Now Though… It’s Late, And We Need It.” You nodded in agreement, attempting to muffle a yawn. With the length his magic had formed now completely gone, he simply flopped down next to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you flush against himself, smiling as you cuddled into his side. 

Your eyes drifted shut, and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep, remaining where you currently were. As you dreamt, Sans watched you quietly, admiring how peaceful you looked, sleeping in his arms like this. His cheekbones dusted a bright shade of cyan as he delicately rested a hand on your stomach; you were already beautiful as is, so he couldn’t imagine how beautiful you’d be, as the potential mother of his child.

That was a discussion for tomorrow though. As a wave of exhaustion swept over him, he yawned, his hand remaining on your stomach in an almost protective manner. He wasn’t sure how you’d react to possibly becoming a mom, but once those friends of yours saw you covered in love bites with a swollen belly and his mark on your shoulder, they’d know to stay away.

As they rightfully should.

[lover-of-skellies]

For the horror fic promt how about a yandere swap papyrus?

This is a bit longer than anticipated, but eh =) hope ya like it anyway

-

You never meant for things to be this way. You'd been arguing with your parents and decided some time away from them would be best, so what better place to stay than with your two best friends, Sans and Papyrus. Sans was always cheerful and lively, and you often found yourself getting roped into helping him with the housework, and he even sometimes allowed you to help him prepare dinner, too.

Although chores weren't something you enjoyed in the slightest, you couldn't say no. Not when he looked at you with those wide, expectant sockets of his. Something about that face was cute, and you were inclined to believe that Sans was well aware of that, because he'd begun making the exact same face whenever you were hesitant to do a particular chore or run a particular errand. No matter how many times he did it, you still couldn't say no.

Papyrus, on the other hand... was a bit different. For a while, he was his laidback, casual self. Perfectly timed yet terrible puns were his speciality, and while Sans responded to them by rolling his eye lights or giving his brother a very unimpressed, almost disgusted stare, you'd almost always found the jokes pretty amusing. You would turn away from Papyrus and try to hide your smile and muffle your soft laughter, doing your very best to bite back whatever puns you could've made as a comeback of sorts.

There was no doubt in your mind that Papyrus knew you liked his jokes. He'd raise a single brow bone and grin at you, playfully winking. That look oftentimes caused a soft blush to rise to your cheeks and left you without words. He was attractive. Very attractive, and you weren't afraid to admit that.

Recently though, Papyrus had been pretty distant. Not just with you, but also with Sans. This obviously concerned Sans greatly, and he'd asked you to help him try to figure out what was going on with Pap, and why he was suddenly acting strange. As expected, Papyrus didn't feel like talking, merely ignoring the both of you as you tried to talk to him through his bedroom door. Dinner had become significantly quieter; Papyrus sat with you and Sans to eat, but then, he'd vanish again, without barely saying a word.

As you sat at the dinner table tonight, however, something felt... different. Papyrus was very gradually starting to talk more, which caused a small amount of hope and relief to blossom in your soul. As you made conversation and idly picked at your food, you happened to glance upward, very briefly locking gazes with the taller brother. Despite the eye contact lasting no longer than a fraction of a second, there was an intensity in his sockets that caused all the little hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. It was unsettling, and you couldn't explain why. You decided to ignore it; it was probably nothing, after all.

As you consumed more of your food and drink, your eyelids started to feel heavy, and sitting upright became an increasingly difficult task. You were... sleepy. So very sleepy.

Noticing the exhaustion that was starting to overtake you, Sans gave you a questioning look and tilted his head, "HUMAN? ARE YOU FEELING ALRIGHT?... YOU DON'T LOOK TOO GOOD." Offering him a small smile, you hummed, "Yeah, I'll be alright. I'm just tired, that's all." He seemed hesitant to accept your words and frowned, "OH. IN THAT CASE, YOU SHOULD GET OFF TO BED, THEN. YOU NEED REST IN ORDER TO FEEL BETTER, AFTER ALL." You lifted a hand, rubbing your eyes and sighing, "I know... Didn't you still want me on dish duty tonight though? I can't just ditch you if you still want my help, Sans."

The shorter skeleton simply waved off your words and shook his head, "IT'S ALRIGHT, BESTEST FRIEND. IF YOU'RE TIRED, I DON'T MIND DOING THEM. JUST GO REST, OK?" You offered him another small smile, "Thanks Sans... you're the best, y'know that?" You rose from your seat, the sudden movement causing a wave of pain to pulse through your head. You tightly clutched the edge of the table with one hand while the other flew to your head, pressing your palm to one of your temples as you winced. What the...? A migraine? Since when did you?...

Sans was immediately on his feet as well, his sockets wide with concern as he took a small step toward you, his arms outstretched, "HUMAN, WHAT'S WRONG? YOU REALLY DON'T LOOK WELL NOW. HERE, YOU CAN HOLD ONTO ME IF YOU WANT. THAT WAY I CAN ESCORT YOU TO YOUR ROOM WITHOUT YOU FALLING." You wordlessly reached out to take one of his hands, taking a single step toward him before you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Looking up, you found Papyrus looking down at you, a faint smile teasing at his teeth as he addressed his younger brother, "It might not be good for them walk that far on their own, bro. How about I use a shortcut and take 'em there instead? It'll be easier that way." Although Sans looked as though he wanted to argue what Papyrus had said, he shrugged, sighing softly and frowning, "OK, BROTHER... AS LONG AS THEY DON'T FALL AND GET HURT OR ANYTHING, THEN THAT IS ALRIGHT WITH ME."

Feeling your strength rapidly fading, you leaned back against Papyrus, unable to keep your eyes open anymore. The last thing you felt before passing out was Papyrus lifting you up into his arms. You'd breathed in what seemed to be a mix of scents, consisting of cigarette smoke, honey, and some odd metal twang, and then the world went black.

~~~

When you finally came to, you groaned softly, slowly cracking your eyes open to look around. This wasn't your room, and this most certainly wasn't your bed that you were currently lying in. This wasn't Sans or Papyrus' room, either. In fact, you'd never actually seen this place before. You slowly sat up, confusion tugging at your mind at what sounded like metal against wood. Your questions were answered as you looked down, noticing the handcuffs that were keeping you bound to the bed, and you furrowed your brows, testing the strength of the cuffs by giving a few more experimental tugs. And then the door opened, light flooding into the room.

Your movement came to a halt as you looked up to see Papyrus cross the threshold, entering the room and carelessly kicking the door shut behind himself. In his hands was a bag, and judging by the smell that seemed to flood your senses, the bag contained food. The lanky skeleton smiled at you, slipping off his shoes and sitting on the edge of the bed, "Well good morning, angel. I was wondering when you'd wake up." You raised an eyebrow, "Pap?... What's going on? Where are we?" Plopping the bag of food down beside you, he shrugged, nonchalantly dragging his eye lights up and down your frame, "Oh, right. I forgot, you don't know yet. This is where we'll be starting our new life together, honey."

You stared at him, visibly confused, "Wait a minute, what? 'Starting our new life together'? What's that supposed to mean?" Papyrus hummed, leaning back onto his elbows as he watched you, "Exactly what you think it does. You're gonna stay here with me. From now on, it'll be just the two of us. No more of your parents, no more Sans, no more of those nosey little pests you called friends. Just us. You and me," he paused, reaching out to rest a hand on your thigh, "And soon enough, our children."

Your eyes widened and you began to squirm, shaking your head, "Pap, stoppit. Whatever kinda joke this is, it's not funny. You need to let me go, right now." He only sighed softly, vaguely disappointed, "That's not gonna happen... I know you're confused right now, maybe even a little scared, but if you give it time, I promise you'll be happy here." Your anxiety spiked as he moved closer to you, cupping your face with a boney hand as he continued, "I love you... so much more than anyone else ever could. I can't lose you, sweetheart... you're mine. I'm all the friend you'll ever need, and I'm the only one who can truly make you happy."

You leaned back away from his touch and frowned, fear flickering in your eyes, "Oh my god... please tell me you don't seriously think all that." He hummed, his sockets half lidded as he drawled, "I do. Why?... Is it too weird? I found this place, and I made it perfect. I made it the best I could, for you. And your nosey friends? Even though they tried to get between us and keep us apart, I let them go. I... I know you'd be upset if they got hurt, so I just talked to them and made sure they knew not to bother us again. Sans. I left Sans, my own brother, behind. I left everything behind, and I did it for you."

Your breath hitched and you tried to scoot away from him, shaking your head, "You're... You're out of your mind. People will come looking for me, just you wait." He smiled at you, making your blood run cold, "Honey... did you think I didn't plan ahead? I know they will, which is why I'll have to kill them when they do." You opened your mouth, floundering for the right words to say, but were abrupty cut off as he pressed his teeth to your lips, an arm snaking around you to hold the back of your head in place. You let out a muffled scream, and without thinking, you raised a hand, striking him as hard as you could.

Both of you froze, and then he pulled back, lifting a hand to touch his face and appearing stunned. Your cheeks burned bright red as you watched him with wide eyes, a single tear running down your face. Refocusing his attention to you again, his eye lights shifted into heart shapes and he chuckled lowly, leaning closer to trail the tip of his orange, brightly glowing ecto tongue up your cheek and tasting your tears. You whimpered, tightly closing your eyes to avoid looking at him, and he hummed, "Your skin is so soft, and your tears... I've never tasted anything like them before. Give me more, honey. I need more... please." You shook your head and peeked at him, having felt the bed shift. He tilted your head to the side, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply, groaning at your scent. You began to tremble, letting out a yelp as he sharply nipped at your skin, drawing a small amount of blood. He seemed to bask in the combination of your scent and the taste of your blood, only being brought back to reality when you spoke, "Papyrus, listen to me. I don't want this. I don't want you, not this way. I don't love you, and I don't wanna stay here. I wanna go home. Please. If you let me go, I won't tell anyone and we can pretend this never happened, ok? I promise. You just have to let me go though."

The skeleton hummed, his voice slightly muffled, "I'm sorry, sweetheart... I just can't do that. There's too many people out there that could hurt you, and too many others that want you for themselves. As long as you're here with me, you're safe." Understanding now that you wouldn't be able to talk reason into him, you began to thrash wildly, pulling as hard as you could against the handcuffs. You let out a single scream, and found his magic abruptly silencing you.

He pressed a finger over your lips, softly shushing you, "Shhh... don't worry, honey, it'll be ok. Papyrus is here to protect you. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, 'cause that's how much I love you."

[roman-apples]

the ballad of me and my brain | roman angst ( wip )

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308567

this is much less a wip, and more of an unfinished mess. but here it is- 

--

❝ and well, I think I've gone mad. isn't that so sad? ❞

in which the signs of warning can't be visible if there is no one there to notice. and thankfully, there are.

-

❝ and, what a shame, you've lost a brain that you never had. oh, mum, check the car, it can’t have gone far! ❞

It starts with a bang. Literally.

On the other side of a deep purple door sat a usually darkened room, which belonged to the embodiment of anxiety. Virgil laid on the bed, scrolling through his phone when he heard it. The loud, crash and bang coming from down the hall. He sat up, startled, before deciding to check it out.

He felt worry spark up within his chest as he realised where it had originated from. A rose-red door.

Virgil had took note of how the anxiety levels of the hall increased as he slowly approached the door. It being 4am, he figured the others were asleep, so they wouldn't hear the noise.

He reaches for the door. Though, as he put his hand on the knob, the anxiety is gone. All that is left is pure sorrow.

The knob is turned before he can process he had done it, and looks around the room before him. There stood the exaggeratedly fanciful room he'd been used to. In shambles.

Virgil gasped as he looked around. Paper was cluttered around the floor, all filled in with words of black ink. However, that seemed to be the least of his concerns, as there, kneeling on the floor with his head rested on the bed was Roman. As the anxious side walked closer, he noticed tears staining his rosy-red cheeks. A poor sight to be seen.

He sighed, before putting a blanket on the sleeping man's shoulders. He turns the light off before he leaves.

He'd tell the others later.

❝ I must have left it in a train, or lost in a bar. It’s likely in a sainsbury’s, flirting with the boys and waiting for me. ❞

He didn't tell the others.

And so, it was followed by a silent refusal.

As the resident chef, the embodiment of morality would be tasked with trying to get the other sides to come down to the dining room for a family meal.

It was a few days after the come-in with Virgil, and Roman decided he would skip today's dinner, apparently. Patton looked at the table before him, with everyone except Roman. He raised an eyebrow, before sighing tiredly. He walked up to the creative trait's room.

A knock, "Roman?" He called. He received no reply.

Patton knocked again, "Roman? Are you there?"

He heard nothing except the soft whirl of a ceiling fan. He closes his eyes, before reopening them. Knock, knock, knock.

SIlence. A soft whirl. Silence.

Patton retreated back downstairs with nothing to tell the others.

❝ I jumped on the bus, declared my name, and asked if anyone had seen my brain. ❞

It is accompanied by a withdrawal of voice.

This humanised form of logic was an observant one. It was no shocker, really. He was meant to know most, if not all things. 'The Smart One' was a strong title with a lot to live up to. He managed.

Going back on his observations, Logan began to notice just how much Roman took himself out of their conversations and debates. The princely side used to happily and eagerly throw in his opinion, wanting all eyes on him. He had an ego, and would do anything to fuel it. That was his role.

Though, when it comes to debate, compliments are only thrown around sarcastically. Roman obviously knew this, Logan decided, and had hypnotised that after the courtroom episode with a certain liar that he understood it was a manipulation tactic. However, even days after the trial, Roman wouldn't join in normal small talk, either.

Logan would confront him about it.

"Roman?" The side looked up from the ground, a smile quickly plastered onto his face. And, if Logan hadn't been so observant, he would've shook it off. However, this time, he tipped his head back lightly. The others seemed to be in a conversation of their own with the host, Thomas.

"Why is it that you stay so silent?" He asked, quieter than he normally would, "I am only asking for, I have noticed you don't seem to want to input your own opinions lately."

Roman's eyes flashed a tinge of panic, before going back to normal. A plastic brown. "Why, my dearest nerd, I don't seem to get what you mean?"

"It's just—"

"I believe i'm doing just wonderful, Lo'. Now, if you'd excuse me, I'm going to fetch myself a glass of water. My throat is scarily sore, and a prince's throat must be in tip-top shape in order to sing beautifully!" He declared, before sinking down quickly.

Logan stood there, slightly dumbfounded, which is concealed with the mask of a deadpanned expression.

Roman's throat sounded fine. However, he didn't come back.

❝ I stepped outside, it hurt my eyes. well, what do you expect when you’ve got no mind? ❞

It is trailed closely by an episode of apathy.

Remus was never one for secrets, nor was he ever one for falsifications. He also wasn't one for boring, being intrusive thoughts.

Coming with the role, he'd usually pull tricks on the sides, or sometimes, the creatures Roman created in the imagination. Sometimes as experiments, and sometimes for his own enjoyment. Usually, it was for the dramatic reactions his brother would give him.

However, lately, those reactions would never come.

Before, Remus would try to burn down a farm one of the villagers had owned in Roman's side of the imagination, and Roman would yell at him, laugh, say something witty in return, and change it back.

Now, Remus would try to burn down the castle, and Roman would only watch. He would stare with a blank expression on his face, only moving it to blink.

The normally loud side stood there in confusion and silence, as his brother changed it back to a full castle, before walking away to do something else.

"Ro-Bro?" He followed, "You're silent. Ooh! Did the princess die from starvation in the tower before you could save her? Was she eaten by the rats?"

Roman only looked forward. A shrug.

Remus rolled his eyes, "Ugh, how boring. Do you wanna slay something with me? Like, maybe, a giant kraken!" A large squid appeared in front of them, flopping around, needing a body of water. It smelled horrible.

"I gave it utters!" The side said excitedly. He pointed to the giant cow utter on the sea creature, a drop of white milk spewed out of it.

Roman only looked at It, before sinking off.

Remus huffed, but looked at the space where Roman was standing.

His concern faded away as the kraken let out a loud "moo!"

He giggled, taking out his morning-star and ran towards it happily.

❝ I searched all day, it drove me insane! where would I be if I was my brain? ❞

It continued with a lie.

Being the embodiment of Deceit, Janus knew immediately when it began. He felt it. Like a little sense of alarm, it was a feeling that bloomed whenever someone had lied. Normally, he'd ignore it. But when it came to Roman, whenever the lies became greater, so did the amount of time the feeling stayed in his chest. After a while, it began to hurt.

They all stood in their respective spots. Virgil sat on the stairs, Patton by the window, Logan by the railing, Janus near him, Remus having in the middle of Patton and Roman, who was near the corner.

Thomas seemed to be speaking, but Roman didn't seem to notice. All there was, was a pale look on his face. That was what Janus could see. Though, he knew there was more.

"Roman," He called smoothly. Everyone's attention now was pulled onto the side mentioned, "You've not gone pale. Are you doing alright?"

Roman smiled, "Well, of course I am, Mr. Pants-On-Fire! You're just mistaken, perhaps it's the lighting."

Janus nodded after wincing, "Obviously not because I don't know that you're lying."

Roman huffed, about to shoot something back, before being cut off by Patton.

"Kiddo, you know, it's okay to not feel alright," He said kindly, "Just tell us what's wrong!"

"Nothing's wrong! I can assure you," The creative side looked at the deceitful side's flinch, "Just- Just lay off it."

"Princey, you're not okay, all you have to say is what's causing it. You're panicking." Virgil explained calmly, trying his hardest to tip-toe around the subject, as to not step on a mouse trap and set it off.

"I'm fine! Please, just, let it go." Roman stepped back. All eyes were on him. But he didn't want that, not now, not now, not now, not now—

Oops, the trap closed.

He shook as he felt himself fall to the floor. Wait, he's on the floor? He can't feel it. Why is everything so loud? Why does it feel this way? Why can't he actually hear them?

Oh, god, are they even there? Have they finally realised how bad he was and left him? Oh, god, oh god, oh god, oh god—

Suddenly, everything was silent. And dark.

❝ the nice nurse told me she felt my pain, but she couldn't find a single trace of my brain. ❞

It ended with a truth.

When you were creativity and ego, you had quite the job. You were to create new ideas that wouldn't get denied because they suck and are unrealistic and just "Aren't achievable, Roman." You had to make sure your host's mood was in tip-top shape, which meant your mood had to be in tip-top shape.

You strived off of compliments, practically begged for recognition, and hunted for approval. You wanted to be good.

Because if you weren't good, that meant the work you did isn't. And if the work you do isn't, then what's the point? You might as well disappear.

Oh, with this mindset, Roman might as well sob.

He was laid down on the couch. Or, that's where he was placed, because, he didn't remember then he got there. When he awoke, he let out a groan, "Ow!"

All eyes were on him.

"Roman!" Someone exclaimed. He thinks it's Patton, but everything is just so blurry. He closes his eyes, before opening them once again. Yup, his bones were being broken in by Patton.

"Um, padre, please—"

"Oh! Right, sorry." Roman let out a breath. It felt refreshing. He turned to face the others concerned faces.

"H—"

"Oh, you stupid idiot!" Virgil exclaimed, jumping off of the couch's arm and scolding the tired side. "You should've said something."

"I don't know, it's a bit hard to come clean about my on-going mental breakdowns." Roman joked, trying to get a laugh out of the serious side. He didn't succeed.

"You've been having them?" Virgil stepped back, "What the fuck, Roman?"

"What?" He argued, throwing his arms up. The other sides and Thomas stare at him, before Remus speaks up, "Are we really that oblivious, or—"

"Wait, so, is that why I've been so. . . sad?" Thomas asks, quietly.

Roman looks up, before looking away. His eyes fall to anything other than those around him. Thoughts begin to race as silence eats him alive.

He messed up again, what a surprise.

The side looks up, meeting his host's downplayed eyes. Oh, he messed up. A lot. Thomas was in distress over this, and it was his fault. It's always his fault. Nobody else was to blame. Only cowards would put the blame on others, and that's not a good trait to posses.

"Roman, you can't keep forgetting to breathe."

Inhale, exhale, he sighs. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

Roman closes his eyes, wasn't it obvious? "For messing up? For being an idiotic, narcissistic prick? For making things harder than it already is? For—"

He reopens his eyes they stare back at him, drowning in worry. "You haven't messed up!"

Oh, how he wishes he could believe that.

-

[faerytale-au]

Promises and Tokens

Word Count: 4,117 Third Prompt Place: After “The Shopping Trip” Rating: T Cross Posted to ao3 here!

“What’s a wedding like here?” Sans’s sockets snapped open, his eyelights drifting over to Frisk curiously from where his head rested in her lap, her palm gently running over the curve of his skull where a faint blue blush rose unbidden at her question.

“uh, it’s a bit different from a human one.” 

Frisk hummed and Sans could only stare at her waiting for a response but as the silence stretched he realized she probably wasn’t going to simply give him one and he reluctantly sat up to face her. “why are you asking?” 

Her face turned crimson. “I was just curious, aren’t you?” 

Sans gave the impression of a raised brow as he looked down thoughtfully before slowly looking back up at her in consideration. “never really thought about it before. is that something you’d want?”

Frisk didn’t know what to say or how to take his question. Her tone was a bit shaky and her heart picked up a quicker beat as she spoke in a low volume. The last thing she wanted was to make him uncomfortable.

“Would you want that?” Sans looked at her with a slow blink, his expression the closest thing to a deadpan Frisk had ever received from him, and then gave a too casual shrugged.

“eh, i didn’t want a lot of things until i met you.” If Frisk hadn’t been blushing before she most certainly was now. 

Sans gave a knowing smirk before chuckling and speaking seriously. “if you want a wedding i’m not against it. not my cup of ketchup really but if it’d make you happy sure.” 

Frisk’s heart practically burst form her chest.

“Really?” The surprise and breathlessness in Frisk’s tone made Sans’s own soul give a furious thrum against his ribs. 

If he’d known she would’ve been this excited at the whole thing he would’ve considered doing it a while back. They’d been together a while now, were both head over heels for each other and she got on great with Papyrus.

There wasn’t any sort of reason why they shouldn’t.

“yep, if you’re willing to.” Frisk’s eyes went wide joyfully. Sans almost felt bad at how quickly they lidded as he continued. “the seelie way is complicated though.” 

Complicated. 

If there was one thing Frisk had learned to be wary of in the Seelie Realm it was of the word complicated. Whenever Papyrus or Sans used that in conjunction with something it usually meant the whole issue was going to be more difficult than it had to be.

“Is it because I’m a human?” Sans despite himself let a snicker out, quickly stopping with an awkward cough at how Frisk puffed her cheeks out in a pout. He smiled apologetically.

“nah, it’s more like we’d have to go out and track down tokens for each other within seven days. the item has to reflect an inner quality that the giver sees in the one receiving it, and if your soul approves of it then we exchange vows.” Frisk tilted her head in confusion.

“It sounds like a normal wedding.” 

She watched as a sweat drop visibly slid down the side of Sans’s skull, his eyelights shrewdly darting off to the side while his normally easy going baritone came out a hesitant drawl. “not really babe.” 

However he quickly changed his demeanor as he took Frisk’s hand and ran a thumb across the back of it silently, as if savoring the suppleness and soft texture of it, before looking into her golden eyes with a soft haze to his eyelights. 

“so, do you want to marry me?” 

She felt her blood pound in her veins with how much love she saw in his sockets. Frisk had to hold back the happy squeal that almost slipped out of her mouth and instead placed her other hand over top his. “Yes.” 

They both smiled softly, both their faces flushed red and brilliant blue respectively as the thought of what they were about to do settled on them. 

Marriage. 

Frisk had never imagined she’d get the chance to have such a thing and Sans though he’d never really given it much thought could do nothing but find the idea appealing as his hand subtly tightened over Frisks.

And as they slowly started to lean in--

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING!” They both jolted and whipped around to stare at a googly eyed Papyrus standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his pink apron and skull dotted with tomato sauce beside an equally messy Undyne. “THAT’S HOW YOU FINALLY DECIDED TO PROPOSE SANS!?”

Frisk bit her bottom lip to keep from giggling as Sans rubbed the back of his neck. “i did propose though.” 

“AT HER INSISTENCE.” Papyrus stated dully as he crossed his arms. 

Frisk felt Sans’s retort building in his non existent throat before his sockets had even creased in the corners, and apparently Undyne did too as she took a blatant step back from Papyrus. 

Frisk and Undyne’s clear preparation didn’t phase the shorter skeleton in the slightest.

“but, i did marriage it.” It was so bad, just lazy and awful how he’d simply repeated himself with the small word play. 

But it was more than enough to cause a pot of spaghetti to go flying towards him. 

Frisk dived sideways and Sans’s eyelights only managed to shrink to pinpricks as the pot landed over his head with a clang, smashed tomato and soggy noodles falling down to coat his shoulders and front. 

There was silence.

Then with practiced and elegant grace Frisk watched from where she lay on the floor as Sans simply lifted a phalange under the pot’s brim, the slurping of a noodle loud within the metallic echo. “mm used the mushroom sauce this time bro?”

Papyrus sounded unimpressed but he was grinning rather smugly, cleaning the mess later was going to be worth it for the sight of Sans wearing a pot for a hat. 

“YES.” 

~~

Frisk was frowning from where she sat. 

Her eyes were focused on nothing as she contemplated what kind of token would represent her and that Sans would seemingly accept. 

Truth be told she hadn’t the slightest clue what to get him, he’d liked the broach she’d gotten him ages ago, but that was a broach. 

Not something supposed to reflect his innate quality that she saw in him.

There was just so much.

What did Sans see in her? She wondered offhandedly. Had she ever asked him really? 

The questions weren’t helping in the slightest. It was already three days into their week and she hadn’t even left the house. But then again she hadn’t seen Sans do so either and he didn’t look as if he was in a hurry, still sleeping and lazing about like he normally did.

But he could teleport…

No she had four days left, it was fine!

“FRISK?” She blinked from her zoned out haze and looked up at Papyrus curiously.

“Oh hey Papyrus, something wrong?” His sockets were creased worriedly and both of his hands were on his hips as he peered at her. 

Looking slightly confused himself he gave a small tilt of his skull. “I SEE YOU’RE STILL SITTING ON THE COUCH...CONTEMPLATING.” 

She did not like the way he drawled the last word. How uneasy and nervous it sounded to her ears. She was clearly missing something.

“Yeah I’m just thinking about what kind of token to find.” 

Papyrus didn’t say anything and that only made the little hairs on the back of Frisk’s neck stand on end.

“What?” Papyrus folded his arms.

“IT’S BEEN A FEW DAYS, YOU SHOULD ALREADY BE OUT LOOKING.”

“I still have four days.” Frisk tried with a raised brow. 

Papyrus pinched his nasal ridge. “HE DIDN’T TELL YOU.” 

Frisk felt her lungs deflate and heart sink to her toes. Yeah she was definitely missing something and judging by how exasperated Papyrus looked it was something important. 

What hadn’t Sans told her? If it was so important why had he merely continued acting normal around her the last few days?

“Tell me what?” Papyrus let out a sigh.

“IF YOU DON’T FIND A TOKEN BY THE SEVENTH DAY YOU CAN’T GET MARRIED.” Her throat locked up. “EVER.” and Frisk’s world shattered like glass so loudly she swore she could hear the splintering of reality from where she sat.

Why hadn’t Sans said anything!?

“Ever!?” 

Papyrus tried not to flinch at how her question came out a whimper.

“IT’S CONSIDERED A BAD OMEN AND A SIGN THE PAIR AREN’T MEANT TO BE TOGETHER.” 

She was going to kill her fiancé. 

“SO I SUGGEST--” His words were cut off by the sound of the front door slamming shut, the vibration sending a shock up to his patellas as he blinked at where Frisk had been seated only a moment before.

That was faster than he’d expected.

“heh, she finally took off huh?” 

Papyrus’s vertebrae made a loud and ominous creaking sound as he looked over and down at his smirking brother. The shorter Seelie staring at the front door with an amusement highly inappropriate to the situation.

“WHY PRAY TELL DID YOU NOT TELL HER?” Sans snickered.

“didn’t want to pressure her or anything. can’t have the bride running off y’know.” Papyrus glared.

“WAS THAT A PUN.” It wasn’t even a question just a dulled statement as he turned to fully face his older sibling. Sans’s sockets creased in mirth and his eyelights brightened as he gave another shrug.

“just being honest bro, ‘sides i didn’t know how to bouquet the news to her.” Papyrus threw his hands up and with only a frown picked Sans up and tucked him under one arm, the satisfaction of Sans’s surprised grunt making the expression flip up into a smile.

“HAVE YOU FOUND YOUR TOKEN AT LEAST?” Sans let out a falsely put upon groan that Papyrus easily ignored as he turned down the hallway.

Sans’s smile was soft. “yep, found it the same day we agreed to this whole thing.” 

Papyrus was so shocked he stopped walking to look down at the bundle of lazy bones he carried. Sans though had already shut his sockets and let out a loud and obnoxious snore the moment he sensed his brothers sockets on him. 

Papyrus gave a shrug. He could tell his brother how proud he was of him later.

~~

Frisk blinked down wearily at the rings the merchant held out for her. None of them she could relate to or find appropriate for her skeleton. 

Awkwardly she looked up at the shopkeeper and tried not to let her anxiety show.

“Are there any more?” The wolf Seelie gave a gentle shake of his head and Frisk felt her shoulders slump. 

“May I ask what it is you’re looking for my dear?” The older creature questioned.

“I’m looking for a marriage token.” The wolf’s ears perked up and his maw shifted into what Frisk could best make out as a grin.

“Congratulations! Who’s the lucky partner?” 

Frisk blushed. “Uh, Sans, Sans the skeleton.” 

The Seelie’s eyes went wide before an uproarious laugh abruptly filled the store causing Frisk to jolt in place as she watched tears slowly gather in the dark brown eyes currently hidden behind gray furred lids. 

What was so funny?

It took a minute of her simply standing in place feeling gradually more awkward until the wolf Seelie’s laughter slowly died and he gasped for fistfuls of air, a single clawed finger coming up to wipe away a stray tear as he focused on Frisk again.

“Sans the skeleton getting married? Wow, who’d have thought!” Frisk’s brows furrowed. But the store owner quickly waved a paw dismissively. “No offense, just pictured that brother of his being the one hitched not him.” 

Frisk chuckled, because even she could admit marriage seemed more Papyrus’s cup of tea.

Which only made this whole thing more precious to her.

The Seelie cupped his muzzle in thought before raising a brow. “You are aware that tokens don’t have to be rings specifically right?”

Frisk’s blank look was telling and the wolf let out another chuckle before holding up a digit as he ducked down behind his counter, the sound of rattling and countless small clanging noises rustling before he reemerged with another tray.

Laid out before her were an assortment of necklaces and bracelets, even some earrings. 

The thought of Sans with earrings was enough to make her snicker and at the same time inwardly mourn how he lacked the lobes necessary for them.

“Some of these are considered popular alternatives. Truth be told you might find something in this more suitable than a ring, no wonder you blew through half the town before entering my doorstep.” 

Blew through...like a flustered and nervous tornado.

Frisk tried not to think about the embarrassing moment she’d accidentally knocked over a stall in her rush, the poor shop keeper had been so shocked they’d merely stared as she’d tried to gather their product for them. 

Her cheeks stung as she purposefully lifted a small tear drop necklace to inspect it.

It was pretty, a simple jade pendant on a thin silver chain. 

But nothing about it called out to her. 

The wolf eyed her indecision as she placed the necklace back down and lifted another, her face neutral and occasionally frowning the more he observed her. Taking a gamble he drew Frisk’s attention absently as she continued to peruse.

“Marrying Sans. Still hard for me to picture. You must be incredibly patient.” 

Frisk had a bracelet half way up to squint at but paused as she glanced up at the Seelie. His grin was friendly and wide with understanding, “Must also be very kind and forgiving too with that stubborn pile of bones. And a human mage no less. Don’t think anyone can say they’ve ever found someone unique in that way.”

She felt her heart give a small flip at the compliments and with a humble smile she knew right away what he was doing. But she still asked just to be sure.

“You think that’s what he sees in me?” He let out a snort.

“Has to be to get him to buck up enough to commit to a relationship let alone marriage.” She looked back down at the tray and stilled as something caught her eye. 

Slowly she reached forward and lifted a small slave bracelet; the chain was a delicate silver connected around three precisely placed stones that ran over the back of the hand and up to a loop meant to hang around the base of a middle finger.

Right away she recognized Moonstone.

And her chest warmed as it reminded her of home, it’s simplistic design something she related to with how plain she sometimes felt, but so pretty whenever she caught Sans sometimes looking at her with tenderness from the corner of her eye.

The stones shimmered in the surrounding light just the way she remembered the moon back home doing, just how his eyelights did lighting up with happiness and joy rather from a small moment of silent contentment beside her or during a scene of chaos from Undyne and Papyrus’s antics.

The bracelet screamed Sans.

The Wolf watched her eyes widen and he let out a silent hum. “Think you found it.” 

“How much?” Frisk asked excitedly.

~~

Sans was suddenly nervous.

He wasn’t showing it, purposefully kept his stance apathetic and detached like he normally did but inside he was terrified as his eyelights scanned the small gathering of friends and family all smiling and chatting excitedly. 

“Brother.” Sans nearly lept out of his clothes at Papyrus’s abnormally quiet tone but gritted his teeth as he looked over to his little brother who had leaned down to whisper to him. He was almost proud at how fancy his sibling had dressed up for a wedding that wasn’t even his own.

Papyrus was so cool.

“yeah bro?” 

His little brother had a small blush on his face as he kept his voice discreet. “Your Magic Is Spiking.” 

Sans’s eyelights shrunk and he took a moment to temper down the surging he could feel in his leylines. Only letting the specks of light enlarge again once Paps gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

Welp that was something he was sure he was going to be teased about later. 

“my bad.” He muttered. 

Sans hadn’t expected the actual ceremony to be when he suddenly got a dose of the wedding nerves so many had often talked about. He wasn’t scared of tying the knot he was sure of it, just thinking of being with Frisk like this made him practically giddy, but the thought that she was settling down with him…

He felt so undeserving but so lucky.

The murmuring died out and Sans felt his soul palpitate as he suddenly spotted the bride to be.

Frisk stilled at the end of the aisle, her eyes big and bright as she took in the thick carpeting of multiple differently colored petals leading down and up to Sans; the skeletal Seelie grinning with a navy blue blush beside his brother. 

They weren’t dressed up, there was nothing out of the ordinary to signify it was a wedding other than the many hushed faces and position Sans stood waiting in, his eyelights bright and nearly taking up the whole of his sockets. 

But yet it felt so significant to walk down the path in front of her, the other Seelie present all displaying feats of colorful magic in her passage like a chorus of fireworks until she stood beside her groom. 

Sans leaned close enough to whisper, “you look stunning. careful, my wife might not like that.” 

Frisk let out a small snort and automatically any nerves she’d been feeling vanished as Papyrus coughed and moved between them. 

Both their hearts and souls were racing as he spoke up. “TODAY WE BIND A NEW MEMBER TO THE SKELETON CLAN. WOULD THE ONE INVITING THIS UNION PLEASE PRESENT THEIR TOKEN OF ADORATION?”

Frisk’s heart was in her throat as Sans shot her a wink and reached into his pocket, his other hand extended out to her expectantly with such patience she couldn’t resist trembling as she slipped her hand into his. 

Casually he reached up and flipped her hand palm upward before placing a ring in it’s hold. 

She stood there in confusion. 

Was he not going to put it on her? A glance passed between her and Papyrus who gave her a simple gesture towards the ring. 

She stared curiously as Sans released her and looked down to examine what she was looking at. 

It was a golden band, etched with faint knot work along one side that curved upward into golden tendrils that surrounded a deep red ruby gem. By no means was it large or gaudy, in contrast it was a simple if not petite stone that glimmered in the sunlight with an array of colors rolling within.

A hidden beauty much larger and enchanting than the way it appeared.

Her heart gave a hard and powerful slam in her chest that stole her breath.

Slowly she looked up at Sans who had begun to visibly sweat along his brow and she held the ring back out silently. 

There was a sudden cascade of whispers and Papyrus visibly stiffened beside her. 

For the briefest second Sans’s eyelights went out, his whole facade filling with rejection and she could practically hear his soul shattering. 

Frisk spoke quickly. “Can you put it on me?” 

Silence, quick and abrupt.

Slowly Sans’s eyelights came back but Papyrus was the one to speak.

“IS...THAT A HUMAN TRADITION?” Frisk swallowed thickly and bit her lip.

“Humans tend to put their tokens on the other, it’s something I always loved.” More whispers broke out before there was a small round of chuckles and giggling. Frisk’s face flushed but Sans’s smile stretched as he reached up and took the ring and her hand.

Gently and with a slowness relevant in it’s reverence he slid the ring delicately onto her finger, his textured phalanges lingering as he stroked against it and took in the way it fit picturesquely against her skin.

Talk about giving a skeleton a heart attack.

Letting out a small ‘heh’ he brought the hand up to his mouth and pressed a bony kiss against where the ring sat with a wink, feeling extreme satisfaction at how Frisk turned red at the open display of public affection. 

She was still so shy sometimes. Too bad though, being married he was going to be doing that a lot more often.

Kisses were addicting.

Papyrus, now relieved, continued from where he’d left off, only giving Sans a small side eye at the ill timed kiss, “THE INVITATION HAS BEEN ACCEPTED, WOULD YOU NOW PRESENT YOUR TOKEN OF DEVOTION?”

Frisk smiled as Sans released her and reached into her own pocket.

Sans’s sockets went wide and he put a hand over his mouth as he let out a loud laugh at the bracelet she held out to him. 

Papyrus and Frisk both shot him a look and he simply shook his head at the whole thing. 

She was too cute sometimes.

He only had to gaze at it briefly before he felt his soul thrum, the meaning and consideration in which she had selected it conveyed without barely a moment of scrutiny. 

It was perfect.

Sans grinned, and being mindful she might want to put it on him as he had done hers he couldn’t resist making a show of pulling his sleeve back before he held out his wrist. 

The gesture purposefully similar to what he’d seen human women do when expecting a kiss or showing off jewelry. He even playfully wiggled his phalanges for emphasis.

He was sure Papyrus was holding back from slapping him on the back of his skull.

Frisk chuckled and slowly slid the bracelet on him, looped it up to where it settled perfectly on his proximal phalange just above the joint with such gentleness he felt like glass beneath her touch. 

Sans felt so cherished it was enough to make his joints burn as hot as his face.

He gave it an experimental shake and was more than happy that it fit him securely. It would have been a bit awkward if it got tangled in his bones, last thing he wanted was Frisk potentially worried he’d be unable to wear it.

Proudly he captured her ring adorned hand with his bracelet one and laced their digits together. 

Papyrus stepped forward and tied a cloth over both their hands, Frisk watching with rapt attention as his socket lit up in an orange glow just as static warmth spread over where the cloth rested.

After a moment Papyrus’s socket dimmed and he pulled the cloth free to show a magical etching of both their hands in glittering orange, interlocked and glimmering with a blue ring and red bracelet adorning them.

She couldn’t help staring and feeling awed even as Papyrus spoke with a smile.

“YOU MAY NOW BOTH MAKE YOUR PROMISES.” 

Sans spoke first, his tone hushed and the most serious Frisk had ever heard as he took both of her hands in his and held them securely in his grip. He brushed the backs of them with his thumbs as he focused on her sun colored eyes.

“i promise a life full of bad laughs, nice friends, good food, but most of all endless love. i’m going to mess up a lot, but i will always do my best to make sure you’re happy.” Frisk felt her eyes start to water and she could see the liquid magic threatening his own sockets. “i’m yours, now and until i dust.”

She had to choke back the cry in her throat and forced her gaze to stay locked with his as she spoke through a nervous timbre. “I promise to cherish you and the life I have here, to make sure you and our loved ones know everyday how dear you are to me.” 

Her hands gripped his tightly. “I’m yours until I am no more.” 

They were both lost in each other feeling the racing of their heart and soul, too happy and content to acknowledge the sniffling and silent crying around them as the weight of their promises settled firm and absolute within their beings. 

Papyrus wiped a hand over his sockets before grinning broadly. “YOU MAY SEAL THE UNION WITH A KISS.”

He didn’t need to repeat himself.

Sans and Frisk were already in the other’s arms in a single heartbeat.

[dayzone]

maybe you could do neil snapping (i mean he kills someone or something like that) at evermore after the winterbreak (so Andrew is already out of rehab) and calling kevin (and the rest of the foxes bc they are there)? idk? it was just an idea hahahha :)

BRO YES THANK YOU

okay i took some liberties with the prompt BUT i absolutely adore fics/hcs of neil snapping so mmmmm thank u

tw death / blood

so we know andrew got out of rehab after neil came back from evermore but we’ll just say he gets out of rehab before neil gets back

and andrew- andrew knows when kevin lies. he knows all of kevin’s tells and he’s too paranoid by nature to not be able to tell when people are lying. so he’s Suspicious when he asks where neil is and kevin starts to blink hard and seems like he can’t sit still while stammering out that neil went to visit relatives.

but he leaves it alone because he’s not supposed to care anymore now that he’s off his meds

now neil.. neil isn’t one to back down and take a beating without biting back

he knows he can’t physically really touch riko; he can talk back and insult him until his mouth fills with blood, but he can’t do much more than slam his forehead into rikos nose the one (and only) time riko made the mistake of getting too close to neils face while sneering and cutting into neils chest

so riko.. he can’t touch riko. not now. not yet.

but the other ravens? that’s a different story.

neil doesn’t know it but it’s his last day in the nest. his cheek is throbbing from roman numeral “3” on his cheek and his body hurts so bad it feels numb

he’s in the locker room, sitting on the floor of the communist showers, everyone already gone, including jean. neils been sitting there long enough for the water to be ice cold, and he only distantly hears the cream of the door opening

and in comes a raven neil can only distantly remember; he’s good enough to be a raven but not good enough to be one of rikos boys who stand close in his shadow. neil knows his name, colin hemmings, and he also knows that he embarassed colin on the court only a few hours earlier, bad enough that tetsujis cane took a break from neils back to find home on colins spine

colin comes in sneering and spitting curses after locking the door, and he’s coming at neil with his leg cocked back to kick at neils already bruised ribs, fists clenched and ready to rain down on neils crouched form

and neil is just so fucking angry. he’s so fucking tired but right now all of his rage towards riko, the ravens, and the nest burst to the surface and he feels himself rise quickly to his feet- he doesn’t really remember making the conscious decision to get up, to sweep colins feet out from under him, to straddle the boy and catch him by his collar and slam the boys head repeatedly into the tile floor

neil does remember vindictively thinking that colin was too stupid to think to bring back up- too stupid or too proud and that will absolutely be one of the last mistakes he ever makes. neil remembers the look of anger, and then fear, that flashes in colins eyes as neil breaks his arm and cracks the bones of his own knuckles from the sheer force he’s putting behind the punches he’s aiming at colins face. he’s smiling so hard he thinks that he’ll never stop.

neil distantly knows he’s going to kill him, and when colin tries to pull a knife on neil it only makes his rage burn hotter, making his vision go white

he doesn’t remember much after colin tried to pull the knife. he thinks there might be a “W” carved into colins chest by the time he’s dead but he doesn’t look back to check. when neil finally pulls out of his own head, he’s standing in the middle of his room and jean is looking at him with barely concealed horror. neils hands only start to shake when he goes to pull on clothes over his damp skin and realizes that his skin is damp with watered down blood. his cheeks ache.

“jean.” neil says, after he finally gets dressed. he’s not sure what he wants to say but jean beats him to it

jean hurries to get out of the chair he was sitting in and pushes neil towards to door of the room “we’re leaving. your flight isn’t for another eight hours but we need to go.”

so they leave. jean gets neil in the passenger seat of a car and pulls out of the parking lot faster than what could ever be described as safe and it’s only when they’re an hour away from edgar allen that jean tosses neil his phone and tells neil to call someone to pick him up after his flight

jean has a look on his face that neil doesn’t want to even begin to decipher but neil unlocks the phone anyways. his fingers shake hard enough that it takes three tries to punch in the numbers, but really, there’s only one person he can call right now

“kevin. kevin you have to come get me.”

neil can’t make himself talk anymore after that, can’t get his throat to unclog, can’t tear his eyes away from the mirror on the side of the car where he can see his own reflection, his fathers eyes and smile staring back at him, his face splattered with blood

jean snatches the phone from him and snaps at kevin in fast french, undoubtedly telling him the entire story. jean says nothing whenever neils chest bubbles over with quiet, mean giggles.

neil knows he goes to the bathroom in the airport to wash away the visible blood, and he knows he sits deathly still for the entire flight, but he doesn’t really feel like neil until he drops his forehead on kevins chest. kevin’s too terrified of opening neils wounds to wrap his arms around neil, so he just presses the side of his face against the top of neils head and tries to breathe deep to stave off the tremors lurching through his body

they sit pressed as hard against each other as neils wounds will allow in the back seat of andrews car as andrew drives them back to palmetto, refusing to look in the rear view mirror to look at neil. his jaw is clenched hard enough that neil’s jaw aches in sympathy while neil presses his fingers against his own lips.

when they get back to the tower, all of the foxes are there waiting but it’s kevin who simply glares and shakes his head tersely at them before leading neil up to his room. neil showers while kevin sits on the lid of the toilet in the bathroom with him, and andrew is smoking in the living room

when neil finally slinks into bed he feels- not okay. he doesn’t regret it and he’d do it again in a heartbeat, but the bloodlust is finally easing in his veins and kevin is within reaching distance, andrew is by the door of the dorm, and that counts for something.