#i need to go to bed ahsjsk

[themosskid]

What if at the beginning when the Xianle trio was young Feng Xin noticed that Mu Qing startled and pulled away whenever they touched. Like when their hands would brush together when passing each other something. And Feng Xin assumed that Mu Qing just hated him so much that even the thought of having Feng Xin touch him disgusted Mu Qing.

So Feng Xin spent 800 years thinking that Mu Qing couldn’t stand him at all. The only time Feng Xin was permitted any physical contact with Mu Qing was when they were exchanging blows. Feng Xin resigned himself to the fact that fighting was the only way he’d ever be close to Mu Qing.

At least he’d get to be close to Mu Qing in some capacity.

When the truth finally came out (maybe Mu Qing was injured and when Feng Xin went to help him, Feng Xin made an offhand comment about how he knew Mu Qing couldn’t stand his touch but that it was unavoidable so Mu Qing would just have to deal with it) Mu Qing was shocked. He didn’t have the strength to let the words onto his tongue that he had never hated Feng Xin.

That all those times he had pulled away whenever they touched was because Mu Qing wanted so much more.

And that had frightened him.

So he had pushed Feng Xin away, clinging to the terms of his cultivation as an excuse- or maybe as a punishment- for those secret desires.

Looking at Feng Xin, Mu Qing couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

[panevanbuckley]

can you do 58 for bradray pretty please 🥺

ahsjsk okay i've actually been really wanting to write another bradray fic but was scared because i feel like i get them so ooc? so thank you for making me do it regardless! i hope you like this 💜

things you were afraid to say

It's been a week since they returned to the states, five days since most of them parted ways to visit their families, three days since Brad arrived home.

It's quiet.

That's the first thing he noticed when he stepped through the threshold, too tired to do much more than dump his duffel bag by his laundry basket and collapse onto his bed. At least he'd put fresh covers on before shipping out.

The thought doesn't leave his mind as he settles back into his stateside routine (wake early, go for his daily run, shower, cook breakfast, clean up and spend the afternoon in his garage). After being surrounded by his platoon in Afghanistan, spending day in, day out crammed into his humvee with constant activity and chatter, the lull of having a whole house to himself is almost chilling.

On the second night, he finds himself tossing and turning in bed actually wishing for Ray's dumb rants about meaningless shit. He almost misses that messed up hick and how he'd squeeze himself into Brad's grave despite the tight fit, curling up into his side and snoring obnoxiously.

But Ray is miles away, off visiting his family. Brad needs to get over it.

It's not like this is the first time he's had to readjust to normal life, it just so happens that this is the first time he's actually missed someone.

On the third day, Brad doubles his running route, pushing his body to it's limit until he can feel that dull throbbing ache in all of his muscles. He spends the rest of the day passed out on his couch flicking through channels on the TV and purposefully not thinking about a particular brown-haired idiot with a smile brighter than the sun.

He must have dosed off because, before he knows it, the room is blanketed in shadows, the TV a glaringly bright intrusion that makes him wince. At first, he thinks that's what woke up but then the doorbell goes again.

He groans, stretching as he rolls off of the couch and pops his shoulders with the movement. It's gone 9pm, according to his phone, and he frowns wondering who on earth would be at his door at this time. He told his mother he'd see them next week and his sister would've called beforehand.

Ripping his door open, Brad's fully expecting a delivery driver to have just got the wrong number and to direct them to the right house. He's most definitely not expecting to find Ray stood on his doorstep, hair dishevelled, paler than ever, with a pillow tucked under his arm.

“Ray?”

Despite looking like death, Ray smiles up at him and almost – almost – looks back to his usual cheery self. “Brad!” He slaps Brad on the arm, playful pout on his face. “What sort of greeting is that for your old pal, Ray-Ray?”

Brad shakes his head. “What are you doing here?”

Ray doesn't meet his eyes, shifting the pillow in his arm. Brad glances behind him and sees his old truck parked in Brad's driveway. He wonders if he just drove back from his parents’.

“I-” Ray scoffs, shaking his head at his feet before blinking back up at Brad. His eyes linger on his chest and it's then that Brad realises he never bothered to throw a clean shirt on after his run. Not that Ray hasn't seen worse, they're marines for Christ's sake. “This sounds stupid, but...I haven't been able to sleep well for three days.”

“Didn't you go back home?” Brad frowns again, fingers raking through his hair.

“Yeah,” Ray sighs, “I didn't stay for long. It felt...weird?”

“So you've been driving for two days straight?” Brad balks, resisting the urge to shake Ray.

Ray smiles, but the exhaustion is evident on his face. It's in the sunken look of his eyes, the almost bruise coloured area of skin below them, the way his smile seems strained. “It's not like I haven't done that before, homes. C'mon, you know me.”

“Yeah,” Brad nods, “I do know you. And I know if you don't get sleep now you're gonna pass out.”

“Nah, I could keep going if I wanted to-”

“Ray, shut up.” Brad interrupts, trying not to overthink what he means by ‘if I wanted to’. “What are you doing here, at my door, in the middle of the night when you haven't actually rested since we got back.”

Ray's shoulders slump then, and he drags his eyes away from Brad. “I couldn't.”

“Couldn't what, Ray?”

Why did talking to him have to be like pulling teeth?

“I couldn't sleep!” Ray snaps, glaring at him with renewed fire in his eyes. “Not without you. Okay? I can't sleep without having your dumb oversized body next to mine because I'm a fucking disaster who managed to fall in love with your Viking ass in the middle of a damn warzone and now that we're home I don't know what to do!”

Brad froze, heart hammering too fast for his liking. His grip on the door tightens and all he can do is blink in surprise.

Ray groans, throwing his hands up in the air. “Great and now I broke you.” He runs his fingers shakily through his already messy hair. “Just, forget I said anything, okay? I-I'll see you when we have to go back to Pendleton.” Hugging his pillow to his chest, Ray spins on his heel and begins to walk away.

Whether it's the broken sound of his voice or watching him walk away, Brad isn't sure, but he snaps himself out of whatever trance he'd fallen into and takes two large steps forward. “Ray!” he calls out, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Ray's bony wrist, tugging just harsh enough to get him to come to a halt.

Ray turns with a quizzical yet defeated expression, opening his mouth to no doubt tell him to fuck off. Brad doesn't give him the chance.

With another sharp tug, he sends Ray tumbling forward into his chest. The pillow falls to the floor and Ray whines in protest, moving to grab it back. Brad smiles, capturing Ray's hand in his own and lacing their fingers together. “I have plenty of pillows.” he says, voice lower than before. Ray looks confused for a split second before Brad takes his other hand to hook underneath his chin, gently coaxing him up into a kiss and, for once, not giving a damn if anybody was watching. It's night time, he's behind a truck in his own damn driveway and he's never felt more at peace as Ray sighs into his mouth and leans closer. Screw what his neighbours think.

Untangling their fingers, Ray stretches to wrap his arms tight around Brad's neck, toying with the growing locks at the nape of his neck and successfully drawing a moan from the back of his throat. He can feel Ray's smile against his own, especially as he snakes his arms around Ray's waist and pulls him impossibly close. Nipping at Ray's lower lip, he smirks as the younger man grants him access without hesitation, but soon melts as the kiss deepens.

Like everything else in life, Ray throws his whole self into the kiss; his passionate and dirty and possessive, all teeth and tongue and lewd moans swallowed by each other, It's feels like a claim, burning hot and unforgettable, and Brad loves every second of it. The nails digging into his bare back definitely add to that idea.

If he were to be claimed by anybody, though, Brad realises that it makes the most sense for it to be Ray.

He trusts Ray with his life.

They pull apart with a wet smack and Ray chuckles into his chest, sending a flurry of warmth through Brad. “Does this mean I can crash at your place for a bit?”

Brad laughs, fingers carding through Ray's hair before coming to cradle his face, pulling him back to meet his eyes. He smoothes his thumbs along his cheekbones, unable to wipe the smile off of his own face. “All you had to do was ask.”

Before he can think better of it, Brad dips down and presses a soft kiss to Ray's forehead. It must have been the right move because Ray lets out a breathy laugh, leaning into his touch and allowing his eyes to fall closed as a smile plays over his lips. They stay there for a moment longer before reluctantly pulling apart and heading inside.

That night, they both sleep better than they had since Afghanistan.

also on ao3 prompt list

[panevanbuckley]

56 for Ron/Nix please? ❤

ahsjsk okay umm...this is based after Lew's jump at the start of part 9?? and idk how i feel about it now ngl but i hope it's not too bad! ❤

things you said in the spur of the moment

“For Christ's sake, Lew.” Ron sighs, stepping into the grand room and finding Nix sat alone at the table. He’s hunched over an almost empty bottle, hair mused and jacket thrown over the back of his chair. Despite the godawful state he appears to be in, Ron can't help but be flooded with relief upon finally laying eyes on the man again. News of his jump had spread and Ron would be lying if he said it hadn't caused him a whole load of stress. “I've been looking all over for you. Dick said he hasn't seen you all day.”

Nix waves his hand dismissively above his head, groaning. “Been right here.”

“Clearly,” Ron remarks, walking up to the drunken man. Placing a heavy hand on Lew's shoulder, he picks up the bottle and sniffs at the contents. It's strong. “How many have you had?”

Lew shrugs under his hand.

“Hey,” Ron squeezes at the nape of his neck, bending down to his level. He notes the tired look on Lew's unshaven face, the bags under his eyes, the tight pinch of his lips. “You okay?”

“’m fine.” Lew insists, but his voice is slurred and weak. “Absolutely dandy.”

“I heard what happened.”

Lew scoffs, the sound muffled since he's chosen to bury his face into the crook of his arm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ron brushes a stray strand of black hair from Lew's face. “I was worried.” That wasn't an easy admission to make.

“Well, I'm fine.” Lew rises his head, glaring up at Ron. His eyes are dark, anger and something else swimming around beneath the surface. “Still fucking alive.”

Ron laughs, for lack of a better reaction, before noticing the flash of pain across Lew's face and clearing his throat. His hand slides from Lew's neck, travelling lightly down his arm until fingers tease at the cuff of the man's sleeve – he moves slow to make sure Lew knows he can stop him at any time.

Lew doesn't stop him, though.

Calloused fingertips find smooth skin, tracing the vein of Lew's inner wrist in a touch so intimate that Ron doesn't dare breathe too loud for fear of ruining everything. “I'm glad you're still alive.” he finally whispers into the quiet of the room, locking eyes with Lew and searching for any hint of discomfort.

Always one to be full of surprises, Lew sniffles, free arm coming up to wipe at his nose. Fingers suddenly latch onto Ron's own wrist, wrapping around in a tight, grounding grip. “Why?”

“I need you.” Ron admits, and it's everything he wishes he could say. I want you. I love you. Stay. Instead of speaking his thoughts aloud, Ron cracks a smile, the weight of the conversation starting to feel not unlike a noose wrapped around his throat. “What, you think I'm just going to knock on Hitler's door without you by my side?”

Lew chuckles, grabbing at the lapels of his jacket then and pulling him down with the strength of a man that wasn't currently drunk out of his mind. Ron goes willingly, allowing Lew to drag him into a searing kiss of teeth and tongue, eyes fluttering closed with the faintest of moans. It's not soft or sweet or gentle, it's a kiss of possession, of desire, of reassurance and passion and longing. They fall into one another, bruising and biting, making up for the time that was lost, reaffirming to one another that they're both still here and are both very much alive.

Lew has a tight grip on Ron's hair, holding him impossibly close, and as he gives a sharp tug Ron makes a low sound in the back of his throat. When they separate, they're both panting and flushed.

Ron hums as he his forehead onto Lew's and blinks down at him with a dazed smile. “I really fucking missed you.” he breathes out into the space between them, guard slipping away by the second. It's Lew's fault; the way he's smiling up at him like he hung the damn stars in the sky, the darkness washed from his eyes as though it'd never been there in the first place.

“Missed you too, Sparky.” Lew teases and the moment is shattered with his low laugh. Ron groans, but instead of pulling away he dips down, closing the gap between them once more.

This time, when their lips met, it's soft and slow. A gentle exploration, tongue sliding past parted lips to taste the whisky he's grown accustomed to purely through Lewis. His hands slide to frame Lew's face, coaxing him into a better angle, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and eliciting a sigh from the man. Ron smiles into the kiss, heart swelling in his chest.

Nipping at Lew's lower lip as he eventually pulls away, Ron can't help but run his fingers through the man's hair and smile. Lew leans into the touch, eyes blinking for just a second too long before a yawn escapes him and he drops his head onto Ron's arm. Ron chuckles, patting Lew's cheek gently. “C'mon, let's get you into bed.”

“Ooh, yes, sir.” Lew smirks, not complaining as Ron guides him out of the chair, wrapping an arm around his middle to keep him upright.

“To sleep.” Ron says. Lew makes a somewhat agreeing sound.

It's not until he's got the man onto bed, albeit only sitting on the edge, that Lew speaks up again. His head sways slightly as he meets Ron's gaze, tongue darting out to wet drying lips. “I love you.” The clarity in his eyes is almost unnerving, considering he was both drunk and half-asleep.

Ron's heart leaps in his chest and he holds his breath for a moment as he lets the words sink in. But then he sighs, remembering to take anything Lew says in this state with a pinch of salt. He presses a lingering kiss to Lew's forehead before stepping back. “Tell me that when you're sober.”

And he does. That very next morning, hungover like hell and looking even worse, Lew sneaks up on Ron when they get a moment alone, chin settling in the crook of Ron's neck like it belongs there as he whispers the words into his ear. He says them again and again and again day after day, as though a dam burst that night and now he can't help himself, and each utterance of his true feelings has Ron blushing and tongue-tied.

It takes a while but Ron finally manages to bring himself to return the words and know, without a doubt, that he means them.

also on ao3 prompt list