#their movements are just in sync and they slide right into each others foot steps

[saixria]

I rarely talk about Epic music analysis on here because there’s simply too much to talk about I don’t even know where to start however this has been on my mind:

In WOTM, Athena and Odysseus’ motifs (you can hear this most clearly during their bantering) are like fighting for dominance almost; where one follows the other in quick succession. By fighting for dominance I mean they’re both trying to outwit each other and in this friendly competition, they’re also sussing out the other’s character, motives, intentions, and gaining a better understanding of each other. They’re matching in wits and are equals in this way. But in We’ll Be Fine Telemachus and Athena’s motifs don’t “fight for dominance” but simply coexist — the two motifs are just playing simultaneously and don’t really interact the way ody and Athena’s in WOTM. This means Telemachus is stupid- nah I’m kidding, but it does mean their relationship is less “fiery” “explosive” I guess, they’re not both prideful, stubborn, strong-willed individuals who can’t accept any way other than their own. Athena has learned to take a step back while Telemachus has always just been an empathetic and kind person from the start. Of course it is also true that Telemachus isn’t fully like his father as he can’t match up to Athena in wit, but he does beat her in terms of emotional intelligence

edit: Oops I dropped a bit of analysis in the tags sorry guys

[echoalyssa]

Counterparts | Brian O’Conner

The night air is warm, almost comforting. The city of Los Angeles seemed to have decided to go to sleep tonight. The city, normally bustling with life, was quiet, peaceful. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks up at the moon.

I’m standing in front of Mercy Park’s garage checking the oil level of my bike. My brother Logan is lingering by the bay doors, rearranging a stack of Husky jacks that really did not need to be rearranged. He was skeptical about me going riding with someone outside of our crew, but I had known Brian for years.

He drove with Dominic Toretto. Toretto’s crew were technically our rivals as we worked out of the same part of LA. Though Dom and Kaneko, the leader of the Mercy Park Crew, had come to an agreement to coexist.

We’d decided to leave the JDM’s at home tonight. It was perfect weather to take the bikes out and we’d both been neglecting the machines.

         The loud thrum of Brian’s bike alerts me that he is around the corner. I glance at Logan and narrow my eyes at him, begging him to go back inside and talk to Toby or Ximena. He was ridiculously worried about Brian considering his girlfriend’s dad was the cop who had almost brought us all in. 

Brian comes around the corner and pulls into the garage’s parking lot. He nudges the kickstand out with his right booted foot and then turns the key in the ignition to shut the machine off. He tugs his helmet off, revealing his blonde curls and striking blue eyes. The smile that he aims at me is intoxicating.

He dismounts his bike and crosses the distance towards me. I open my arms for him immediately. His arms go around my waist, and I loop mine around his neck. He smells like oil mixed with an earthy undertone. Brian holds me for a good minute before he steps back and flashes me with that grin again. 

“It’s been too long.” He glances over your shoulder and raises his hand in a wave, “Hey Logan!”

I hear the garage door close and know that my brother has finally left us alone.

“You look good.” I murmur back to him. And he does, he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. He has his steel toes on and a thin gold chair dangles around his neck. He’s showered recently, his hair bearing the signs of water. Though somehow there is a dirt smudge just under his jaw, as if he just can’t quite seem to stay away from the grime of working on cars.

Brian pokes the tip of my nose with his index finger and then glances at the garage behind me. He tilts his head in the direction of the street. Even though both crews were on good terms did not mean that we should be hanging out together in broad view.

I pull my hair into a loose braid before sliding my helmet on. Brian starts his bike again, throwing a leg over. He maneuvers it backwards so that he can pull back out onto the road. It’s currently wrapped in white with the signature Toretto decals on the gas tank.

My own bike, a Kawasaki Ninja is blacked out. I went for stealth. The machine roars to life underneath me. Brian nods in my direction and together we rev the engines before taking off down the road.

I let Brian lead; I didn’t mind where we went as long as I would get an adrenaline rush. He takes us through a few side streets before we hit the ramp to the highway. He turns his head, checking to make sure that I am still behind him.

The second he confirms that I am still following behind him like his little shadow, he tucks and takes off down the empty highway. My heart soars as I accelerate after him. The red needle on my speedometer quickly craws into the triple digits.

We’re absolutely soaring, breaking felony speeds, but neither of us have plates. The wind whips his t-shirt around, making the fabric crawl upward so it bunches around his chest and exposes the hard planes of muscle. 

There aren’t many people out on the highway, but we weave through the ones that are. We’re perfectly in sync, reading each other’s movements without needing to communicate. I give the throttle a little more and go surging past him, but only for a moment. He overtakes me. It continues like this for miles, each of us going for the lead. The city is a blur around us.

I outstretch a hand to the wind, feeling the way it pushes my arm back in because of the speed. Anyone who saw us together must have been in awe, we give off an almost ethereal aura. Yin and Yang. Light and dark. One and the same.

We were brothers. But bound by more than blood. We were twins as well. Counterparts. Gangster princes of the city we met.

No amount of words could describe the perfection of the moment between the two of us. A picture would do no justice.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins, one mistake and we would be dead, but there was no fear. Only the urge to go faster, to push the limits. That was the thing about Brian, he understood. That if speed was to lead to our demise, we would go out smiling.

Almost too soon, Brian drops a hand to his side, signaling that he is going to take the next exit ramp. He leans into the turn and checks once more, that I’m behind him. We maneuver down a few side roads and then come to a stop atop a hill. The stars are bright tonight, almost defying nature. 

Brian dismounts his bike first, and then he’s in front of me. I haven’t even finished setting up my kickstand before his hands are pulling my helmet off and his lips are brushing against mine. I sigh into him, trusting that I can tip toe the bike and kiss him back. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of my chest

He pulls away but rests his forehead against mine, his fingers brush the strands of hair that had escaped my braid back behind my ears. “I missed you.”

The only response I can find is to pull him back towards me. There wasn’t much time to spare for either of us, both crews were constantly traveling for boosts, but the time that we did have together… we savored it. Loyalties to the crews aside, the two of us would always come back to one another.

[banditcoyote]

Frick raised his arm up and the band started playing, the music was lively and fun, fiddles and accordions, immediately setting a tone of sea shanties with an Irish flair, no doubt a nod from Frick’s heritage. “See, your mate says you can dance, and we’re not calling her a liar right?” he said giving a little wink to Sasuga. “Come on Calico, I know you remember.” Coyote puffed out his cheeks and looked to Sasuga. “Okay.” he finally conceded and let Frick tug him away to the main deck, the center was already cleared out everyone still milling about at the start of the party and Frick dramatically entered, arms to his sides, and started dancing. It was a brilliant quick stepping that seemed to make music of it’s own, his feet nearly flying of it’s own accord before he stomped into the deck and gestured to Coyote to take over. Coyote looked unsure but Frick waved him on again and her mate slid his foot across the floor in front of him, as if testing something he hadn’t tried in quite some time, he did it again, a few tentative steps and looked back to Frick who smiled but egged him on with a bit of his own performance, almost as if daring Coyote to attempt the steps. Coyote tried it, still looking unsure, and he couldn’t hit each of the beats that Frick had but seemed to be getting back in the rythym of things before Frick jumped in to join him.  Sasuga had not seen Coyote dance this way before and the sounds their shoes made on the deck of the ship seemed to be almost hypnotic as her mate grew more reassured in his own steps getting closer and closer to matching Frick’s own movements. Then at the same beat of the song there was a stomp they matched perfectly, and a little hop into the air before they both fell into furious stepping to the cheers of the crew. Coyote laughed in delight at having nailed the sync of such a dramatic move and worked harder to match Frick, the stepping was impressive but it almost seemed more incredible when they nailed a more quiet move like their feet sliding across the floor in front of them in perfect sync before bursting into another grouping of steps. Then Frick stopped, watching Coyote perform a short little sequence before he passed to back to Frick who completed another one and so on and so forth until they both hopped again into the air together, landed and finished just a few moments later. Coyote was nearly out of breath, but he seemed exhilarated with the dancing and Frick moved in to gather him in his arms and kiss him as others moved out to dance.  Sasuga was right, the dancing wasn’t much like the clubs, but it looked lively and fun, and seemed similar to some of the square dancing that Coyote had taught Sasuga.

What a Pirate Desires

It was early in the morning when she jerked awake, throwing the covers off and pulling away from the bed completely. She stumbled on her feet for a moment, eyes wide and shivering from head to toe despite the fact that Coyote had dressed her in her nice warm flannels. Big blues darted around the room as Coyote sat up and assessed the situation. She took a shaky breath, tears burning the corners of her eyes. "I hate it..." she breathed and even looked to see if she could see her breath which she couldn't of course. She started to waver and in an instant strong arms were holding her up and she let them. "I'm so cold, Coyote... Can you make more tea? Can we sit by the fire downstairs? Can I wear your robe for a while?" making several requests which she knew he would allow and would help her feel better.

@banditcoyote

[adhduck]

Oh Well, I Guess We’re Gonna Pretend

AO3

(Major spoilers for rqg 207)

Wilde is at a party with all his loved ones, and everything in his life is finally falling into place.

He’s also unconscious on the floor of the world’s last safehouse, and something is coming for him.

--

“Come on, Oscar, dance with us.”

Wilde blinks, realizes Hamid is standing in front of him with his hand outstretched; probably a symbolic gesture, considering he’d be hard-pressed to pull someone double his height.

Smiling, Wilde sets his half-empty champagne flute on the table. “Of course. Care to join, Zolf?”

Zolf, who’s slouching in the next seat with his long, worn coat tucked around him in a fabulous display of I am not a party person, scoffs fondly. “Absolutely not. ‘Sides, it’s yer party, Wilde, not mine.”

“It’s our party,” Wilde says with mock offense, putting a hand on his chest. “Didn’t you hear my toast?”

“Half of it, maybe.”

Wilde rolls his eyes, but relents and squeezes Zolf’s shoulder; presses down a smile when Zolf catches his hand for a second and pats it. “I’ll get you to have fun one day, Zolf, mark my words.” He’s rewarded with a gruff little mumble, and then Hamid tugs on his coattail to pull him away.

[Cel is still reeling from the shock of electricity when they see it. It’s large, with a body that could be humanoid if not for the oversized head, how its body seems not to take up space but distort it. If not for the six-foot swords it has instead of arms.

Instinct kicking in, Cel pulls two bombs from their pockets and throws them in rapid succession. Even with their hands trembling a little – they always do, the first few moments of combat – Cel know each one is perfectly weighted and near perfectly aimed.

The creature doesn’t even flinch.

It only takes a moment to process what that means – limited bombs, a 5% chance of hitting at best, almost a third of their own health taken in one hit – before Cel abandons the idea of attacking and reaches instead for Hamid. He’s desperately light, clothes singed and hissing; as Cel pulls him to their chest, he curls instinctively into the touch.

“Hang on, little buddy,” they whisper, trying fiercely to sound sure. “You just keep dreaming for now; I’ll keep you safe.”

They just need to get him through the door.]

There are a few people dancing, but the clear stars are Azu and Kiko—partly due to Azu’s shimmering, lightly glowing pink gown, but mostly because of the dance itself. It’s a bright, lively partner dance Wilde hasn’t seen before, where they pull in and out of each other’s embrace with twirls and dips and lots of laughter. It looks equally exhausting and exhilarating.

Azu notices him mid-spin and brightens immediately, waving him over. “Kiko, you mind if I show Wilde the ropes?”

Kiko grins and gracefully steps back, half-bowing in the process. “Yeah, sure. Long as I can watch.”

So Azu works Wilde through the steps, out of sync with the music at first to get them right, then faster as he gains confidence, and soon they, too, are spinning and laughing. “You,” Wilde says when they pause to catch their breath, adjusting the frill around his neck, “are an excellent dance partner, Azu.”

Azu preens a little. “Oh, thank you! Though I doubt I’ve got much competition, knowing Zolf.”

Chuckling, Wilde glances at the man in question to find him looking back, chin in hand and a fond smile tugging at his mouth—for a moment, at least, before he darts his eyes away with flushing cheeks. Wilde’s heart sings.

[Azu looks sharply between her friends – half of them unconscious, all of them wounded – and the advancing creature. It seems completely unconcerned by the weapons being pulled as it wades into the fray, dodging a heavy swing from Zolf without even acknowledging him. The swords protruding from its shoulders are almost as long as she is tall.

We can’t win this, Azu realizes. Not while it’s this strong. Pressing a hand to her chest, where her pendant rests safely beneath the armor, she calls to her goddess with words of love and protection and rage. The divine energy builds in her chest, bringing the dull glow of her armor to a bright shine; she throws her hand outwards, flinging the energy with it in all directions, and there—at last, the creature hesitates. It stops as suddenly as if caught in a rockslide, making a noise halfway between a groan of pain and the grinding of stuck gears, and Azu starts to feel hopeful.

Then, it raises its blade.]

Azu catches the movement and smiles conspiratorially. “You know, there are gardens out back that are much quieter than in here.”

”Ah, but you forget,” Wilde replies, putting on his best performer voice. “That just guarantees Sasha will be there, hidden amongst the foliage, waiting to strike.”

Giggling a little, Azu says, “The worst you’ll get from her is some rumors about you and Zolf that are actually true.”

Wilde gasps in (mostly) faux horror. “Don’t even say that.”

Azu laughs for real now, a full and surprised thing, and pushes his shoulder lightly. “Go spend time with him, the party will survive without you a while.” Wilde pouts a little at that, and she tips her head toward Hamid; he’s dancing with complete abandon a few feet away, wings half-unfurled and arms raised high in the air as he spins. Already, a few people have been pulled into his orbit, letting their awkward shuffling loosen into something more inelegant, more natural. “We’ve got it covered. Now go, before you start having deadlines again.”

“To be fair, we have an entire holiday between now and then,” Wilde argues—a bit superfluously, considering he’s already moving away.

Zolf greets Wilde’s approach by sitting up in his chair, eyebrows furrowed and hands raised defensively. “If you try to get me to dance, Wilde, I swear to gods—”

“Already learned my lesson with that one, darling.” Zolf’s ears go a little pink, and Wilde is powerless against the urge to lean into it. “Of course, there are plenty of dances we haven’t tried together—”

“Oh, sod off,” Zolf says, kicking Wilde lightly in the shin; his ears are red, though, so he’s already lost the fight.

[Augusta makes no noise as she’s stabbed through the heart; dead before the pain had a chance to wake her. It’s a mercy, perhaps, but one Cel refuses to let happen to anyone else.

The creature shifts, pulling back its bloodied weapon with Hamid as the clear target, and Cel lunges towards the door, clutching Hamid fiercely against them—and is stopped cold as the creature pierces right through Hamid’s chest.

Like Augusta, Hamid doesn’t cry out when he’s stabbed. He doesn’t move, either; not even when the blade is yanked back out with just force it nearly tugs him from Cel’s arms. Panting, they gather him back against their chest, whatever miniscule safety that might entail, and feel for a pulse. It’s there, thank gods, but only just. He might only have seconds left, and there’s nothing they can do.

At the corner of Hamid’s mouth, Cel can see a smile – the kind he might give during the opening toast of a party, now just the shadow of some wonderful dream – and they do not cry, because what fucking good would that do?]

Just to seal the deal, Wilde drops to his knees in front of Zolf’s chair, bringing them almost eye to eye, and flashes his shiniest grin as he teases, “Don’t worry, I know you love it.” He allows a few seconds for Zolf to huff and pointedly not answer, feeling his chest radiate with warmth, then adds, “Anyway, want to get out of here?”

Zolf’s eyebrows raise, then quickly furrow. “What’re you- that was an awful transition line, ya know. Unless you’re tryna seduce me or somethin’, in which case, why.”

“I’m always trying to seduce you, Zolf, it just never works,” Wilde replies easily. “That’s why I enjoy it so much. And anyway, that’s not what I was asking about. There’s apparently a garden out back, and I thought you might want to take a walk with me.”

“Ain’t you got allergies?”

“It’ll be quiet out there. Poetic.”

Zolf considers for a second, looking Wilde over with a slowly forming smile he’s definitely not conscious of, and for a moment there’s nothing else Wilde wants more than this: kneeling in front of the man he loves, basking in his quiet attention, knowing there’s exciting work ahead and time enough to rest before it comes.

[Zolf spins around, ready to level another attack – he hasn’t hit the thing yet, but maybe if he aims a little lower, forces it to turn for him instead – when he sees the blade sliding out of Hamid’s chest. No. Absolutely not. Without checking it’s clear, he rushes forward, dropping the glaive to his side and redirecting that power into the tips of his fingers. He licks his thumb, presses it firmly to Hamid’s forehead, and, with a low note of please humming in the back of his chest, mutters words of hope and determination into the staticky air.

The wound heals almost immediately, closing like a budding flower in reverse to leave a raised, slightly jagged line of scar tissue; the only proof of how close Hamid was to death. His wings flutter, trying to unfurl in the confines of Cel’s arms, and for a moment, he stirs. Zolf and Cel both breathe out in relief, but by the time he opens his eyes, the poison overcomes him again, and he curls back into Cel’s chest with a contented sound, asleep and completely unaware of the danger around him.

Not exactly what I had in mind, Zolf thinks, but there’s no sharpness to it. The poison in the air was strong enough to knock out people twice Hamid’s size, so he can’t imagine how strong it must be on him. And besides: this might not be a fight where all of them – any of them – get out alive. Can he really blame Hamid for wanting to dream instead?]

“All right, Wilde,” Zolf says at last. “Let’s go for a walk.”

The gardens aren’t particularly large, but they use the space well—bright flowers lining the walkway, bushes and trees bunched together to create the illusion of depth and privacy. Beneath the largest tree, there’s a clear spot where the light filters through like sparkles and the roots breach the soil in just the right way to make a sort of alcove.

It’s exactly the sort of place Wilde would’ve yearned to write poetry in as a teenager, so of course he tugs Zolf over to sit down.

“Thought this was a walk,” Zolf says, eyebrows raised, but makes no argument when Wilde lays down with his head in Zolf’s  lap. His fingers quickly find their way into Wilde’s hair, untangling it little by little, and Wilde can’t stop himself from pushing into the touch with a little hum. Thankfully, Zolf just chuckles, scratching lightly at Wilde’s scalp for a moment before continuing.

There’s silence for a few moments, and Wilde idly searches for a pun he can use to fill it; it’s difficult to focus, though, when Zolf is gathering his hair into sections for a braid, those careful fingers brushing occasionally against his temple, his neck, his jaw.

Finally, what Wilde settles for is: “I hope we’re actually allowed out here. I’d hate to go home early because Grizzop took a swing at me again.”

Zolf snorts. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve always wished I had seen that in person.”

“Some partner you are,” Wilde grumbles, trying not to melt when Zolf tucks a few shorter strands of hair behind his ear. “S’posed to defend me, not join the enemy.”

[Zolf does a rapid once-over of Cel to make sure they’re not injured as well. They’re panting and wide-eyed and definitely only not in shock because there’s not time for it, but seem physically all right, which is about as much as he can hope for right now.

He glances to the door of the lab, where Ada and Skraak also seem to be managing okay—and, importantly, where there’s clean air and a door between them and the monster. Grabbing Cel’s arm, Zolf injects as much authority in his voice as he can and orders, “Get in there, close the door, be safe.”

Without waiting for a reply, he sets his glaive on fire and turns back to the fight. They might not all make it out of here – always a risk, in this line of work – but he’ll still do his damndest to make sure at least some of them do.]

There’s no response, save for a suppressed smile and the continuous back-and-forth motion of Zolf’s steady hands. Wilde basks in it for a moment, getting to lay quietly in the grass without even his allergies interrupting them. It brings to mind when he was a child, rolling down muddy hills with his sister and seeing how long the world tiled after they reached the bottom, dazed and laughing.

“She would have loved this party,” he says, brushing a hand through the barely damp grass at his hip. “Isola, I mean.”

“You could’ve brought her, you know,” Zolf replies. “I could’ve- I dunno, watched her, or somethin’. Not like I was doing much anyway.”

Wilde laughs. “She would be terrified of you.”

[Moving has already proven dangerous, so Cel shifts Hamid in their arms and throws him through the door; once he’s safely inside, they swallow their alchemical allocation and pull a previously untouched potion from their jacket. Dragon’s breath—the one they’d been so excited to get after seeing a glimpse of Hamid’s power; the one they’d chattered back and forth about days or maybe months ago, excited to see when Cel might try it out.

“Not leaving you,” Cel says firmly to Zolf’s back, and chugs the potion. Lightning crackles in their body once again, except this time, it feels powerful instead of painful. This time, Cel is going to be helpful instead of helpless. Whatever it takes.]

Zolf snorts. “Oh, so that’s why I haven’t met her yet.”

“Yes, I’m just absolutely terrified you’ll smite her with all your holy rage,” Wilde deadpans, twisting obediently when Zolf taps the side of his head. “Or gods forbid, convert her to hope.”

“Oi,” Zolf says, tugging lightly on Wilde’s hair. “That hope has saved your arse twenty times by now.”

[Azu catches sight of Hamid breathing and nearly crumples with relief. He’s not dead, she didn’t kill him, she might not have to lose someone else—but there’s not time for that, not yet. They have to destroy this thing first, before it hurts anyone else.

She swings her axe as hard as she can, a scream building in her throat as it moans through the air, and – miraculously – it connects. There’s a satisfying thunk, a sharp note of pain; but as she goes to hit it again, it seems not just to dodge, but actively unform and reform around her axe. Learning. Adapting.

In the second it takes for Azu to regain her footing, the monster sinks one of its blades into Sumutnyerl’s chest. The air seems to freeze for a moment, but the strike is lower than it intended, in the stomach rather than the heart, so maybe it isn’t fatal, but Azu doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.]

Humming noncommittally, Wilde turns his head to look at Zolf, and when he sees the concentration in Zolf’s summer sky eyes, he’s pierced all over again with the force of how much he loves this man—and how much he, in return, is loved. Gods, Zolf is smiling the way he only ever does for a Campbell, and he’s braiding Wilde’s hair as if it’s the most important work his hands have been tasked with, and he looks so utterly, brilliantly happy that Wilde can hardly stand it.

“You alive in there?” Zolf says, tapping him lightly on the cheek.

[There is only one person left unharmed, the horror of the situation made almost a farce by Wilde’s oversized neck ruff and glittering cape. Almost, but not quite, because when the creature turns – body shifting in and out of focus, sword-like arms dripping with the blood of every other being in this corridor – it turns for him.]

Wilde smiles, catching Zolf’s hand before he can pull away. “Yeah,” he murmurs, stupidly fond with it, and rests his lips against Zolf’s knuckles. Zolf’s breath hitches, staring with undisguised awe and quickly reddening cheeks, and Wilde can’t even look at him, he’s so happy. He ducks his head, pushing it against their joined hands; feels Zolf’s warm callouses all the way into his bones. “Thanks to you.”

[There is only one person left.]

“Wilde,” Zolf breathes; a prayer, a promise. Lips press clumsily to his hair, brush his temple as they soak in each other’s presence. “You saved me, too, ya know. So- so many times. I need you, yeah? And I- it- gods, I’m horrible at this, but I just, you’re

[Zolf sees it, this time, when Wilde dies. Sees the sword pierce his chest – right in the heart, a perfect shot – and yank back out with almost careless indifference before the creature turns and does the same thing to Sumutnyerl.

Even dead, Wilde manages to look artistic. His ridiculous cape is flung out beneath him, one arm draped above his head, the barest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He’d been this way after the crash, too, impaled almost a foot off the ground with his limbs dangling and chin flung up to the sky; the perfect semblance of a martyr being raised into heaven. Had he been unconscious then, too? Zolf thinks. Or did he feel the spike go all the way through his chest before he succumbed from the pain?

Doesn’t matter. Zolf had time to mourn when he saved Wilde then; he doesn’t have time now.

Skraak and Ada both attack, but Zolf doesn’t know if the hits land, refuses to process anything that isn’t Wilde and the mere seconds left before he’s gone for good. He throws himself forward, landing hard on his knees beside Wilde’s head, and starts to pray. The magic builds like strong drink in his throat, and he clumsily wipes the blood from Wilde’s mouth as the spell reaches its peak—and is nearly knocked over as the monster deals a crushing blow to his temple.

His vision goes briefly white, blood already dripping down his cheek and jaw, and the magic begins to fizzle away, but he refuses, he refuses. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Zolf presses a hand firmly to the desecration of Wilde’s chest, cradles his cheek with the other. He’s still warm with hope, and Zolf channels that into his prayer, pressing their foreheads together in a way that might’ve been painful, had Wilde been awake to feel it.

Please, he begs the power inside him; begs anyone who’ll listen. Please. Let this be enough to bring him back to me.

The magic bubbles inside Zolf once more, sparkling and bright and warm, and there’s no way to know, really, if it’s enough. It doesn’t matter, of course, because he doesn’t need to know. Because when he presses his mouth to Wilde’s, stroking his cheek and breathing every last ounce of that vital energy into his body, Zolf has hope.

And there, where Zolf’s fingers curl tenderly against Wilde’s neck, new and weak but steady all the same—a pulse.]

 The first thing Wilde registers is breath on his face, warmth in his throat—then pain, all over his body but especially in his chest, gods, what happened? He opens his eyes, hoping to regain his bearings; Zolf is there, face mere inches away from his own, which is a nice start.

Realizing he’s awake, Zolf pulls away, fingertips brushing against Wilde’s cheek as he goes. His other hand is pressed firmly to Wilde’s chest, and there’s blood running freely from a wound at his temple. He looks about to cry.

If Wilde didn’t feel unmoored before, he certainly does now. “Zolf- wh- what-”

In lieu of an answer, Zolf pulls Wilde to his feet. There are flashes of movement to the side, none of which Wilde is capable of processing yet; Zolf grabs his arm, which is easier. He looks resolved, in that urgent way he used to get just before leaving on solo missions; Wilde has just enough time to be scared about that before Zolf pulls him close and says, “Get the others out and be safe.”

Wilde opens his mouth in question, but Zolf’s already shoving him away. He stumbles backwards a few steps, more out of shock than actual force, before losing his balance and landing hard on his elbows just inside the lab. His neck snaps back a little, making his vision swim, but he blinks hard to clear it and now, now, he sees it all. The creature. The dead. The ones left standing.

For just a moment, Wilde catches sight of Zolf’s face before he turns away. His eyes nearly glow, lips parted around gritted teeth, and there is rage in his features like Wilde has never seen before. Then he raises his burning glaive, this idiotic man that Wilde loves so unbearably much, and growls, “Right. It’s yer turn now.”

[morganaspendragonss]

dancing on the edge of something new

huge thanks to alice ( @reyeslonestar ) for letting me talk this through with her at midnight when it was causing me huge trouble 🥰

five dances in tk and carlos’s life

ao3 | 2.3k | @911fluffweek day 3: getting together // dancing

i.

TK looks over when Carlos slides off the hood of the Camaro, his hand trailing after him until he’s forced to let go. Carlos is smiling almost shyly, shifting from one foot to the other, and TK can’t help but smile back, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Carlos?” he prompts, confusion growing as no explanation is forthcoming. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I just, uh…” He bites his lip, then takes a decisive step forward and holds out a hand, cocking a brow suggestively. “Wanna dance?”

TK laughs. “Seriously?” he asks, but he’s already sitting up and placing his hand in Carlos’s, allowing him to pull him off the car and to his feet.

“Well”—Carlos shrugs, yanking TK close and smiling at the oof he makes when their chests collide—“it’s how we began, isn’t it? I figured, if we’re starting again, then it feels only right, no?”

TK stares, stuck dumb, unable to do anything but follow Carlos’s lead as his arms slip around his waist, guiding them into a gentle sway. He rests his own hands on Carlos’s chest, the realisation that he gets to do this now—gets to touch Carlos and be with him like this—hitting him all over again. To think he almost threw it all away… Well, none of that matters anymore. What matters is that they’re here, dancing in a field with no music save for the shuffle of their feet in the grass and the occasional bird or cricket, like a pair of lovesick idiots in a romcom.

And he’s never been happier.

He slides his hands up until his arms are resting loosely around Carlos’s shoulders, fingers playing with the stray curls at the nape of his neck. He stares into those familiar brown eyes, so full of warmth and light, Carlos cast in the beautiful glow of the Northern Lights above them, and TK feels an intense feeling take root in his chest. It’s not love—not yet—but it will be.

He can’t imagine not falling in love with Carlos Reyes.

ii.

The club lights strobe around them, bathing the room alternately in lurid colours and strange shadows. The place is packed, the doors practically straining on their hinges, but the only thing TK is aware of is Carlos’s body moving against his own, their movements perfectly in sync with each other.

It’s been a while since they were last about to do this, to come out and just let loose for the night. In fact, TK thinks the last time might have been when they were out with Paul what seems like a lifetime ago; so much has changed since, and TK feels like a completely different person to who he was back then.

He and Carlos have officially been together for a few months now, but it’s like the universe has been working to stop them from actually being able to enjoy it. They’ve managed to squeeze in some dates here and there, but between the shooting, the solar storm, TK’s medical leave, and weeks of opposing shifts, getting a moment to themselves has been difficult.

But now, finally, they have one. And TK is going to milk it for all it’s worth.

He turns slightly in Carlos’s grasp, his head tilting up to catch his lips in a searing kiss. Carlos grips TK’s hips tighter, pulling them flush against his own as he deepens the kiss, and TK gasps, a sharp thrill shooting down his spine.

The night stretches out blissfully in front of them, the knowledge that this isn’t just a fling that will end with the cold light of dawn making it all the sweeter. It’s still a little surreal, even now, but it also feels so damn right.

TK’s heart hammers in time with the music and he sinks into Carlos’s hold, losing himself in his heat.

iii.

It’s not that TK never felt at home at the condo. The opposite in fact; Carlos’s place had been home even before he could officially call it his, and he feels the loss of it keenly. The thing is, though, even after he’d fully moved in, it had been a struggle to think of it as theirs.

It had been home, sure, but it had also been Carlos’s place.

Carlos had found it a little funny, and it had taken several slip-ups on TK’s part and just as many gentle corrections on his for TK to get used to our dining room, and our bedroom, and our house.

And then—well. Just as he’d started to get used to it, it was all gone. Ashes. It hurt, deeply, but TK knew that it was his turn to be the one to lean on, to let Carlos be the one to set the pace. Carlos had lived there for years, after all, and what was TK’s month compared to that?

Really, anywhere that Carlos is would be home, but this—holding the keys to a house they’d picked out together, a house they’d signed the lease for together, a house they’d picked the furnishings for together—feels like coming home. 

He hates that it was the condo burning down that got them to this stage, but TK can’t stop a grin from emerging on his face as he slips his key into the lock.

He finds Carlos in the kitchen, humming and shimmying to a song playing from the speakers. To his credit, TK really does try to bite back his laughter, but he can’t quite manage it, letting out a loud snort which has Carlos stopping in his tracks, flushing a deep red.

“I see the unpacking’s going well,” he says, walking over to the kitchen counter and leaning a hip against it. 

“It was, actually,” Carlos defends, still blushing. “I didn’t realise you’d be back this soon.”

TK shakes his head; as adorable as Carlos’s embarrassment is, he needs to let him know he’s not making fun. “You can relax, babe. You know I always love seeing you move those hips.”

“Mmm, don’t I know it.” Carlos leans in and kisses him, lingering a moment before pulling back, a wide smirk on his face. “How about you help me finish unpacking here and we’ll see about showing you more of that hip action later?”

TK grumbles, but does as he’s told, the two of them falling into a comfortable rhythm as they work to getting their house in order. It’s ended up being the perfect blend of their different styles, which probably shouldn’t work together, but somehow do, and TK loves it here. They both do, he knows—nothing will ever replace what they lost in the fire, but being able to build a home together is beyond special.

He keeps sneaking glances at Carlos as the afternoon goes on—sue him, his boyfriend is built like a Greek god—and TK smiles when he realises Carlos has started dancing again. He probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, which makes the whole thing so much better.

TK watches for a while, then walks up to Carlos and taps him on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?” he asks, gesturing to the wooden spoons he was twirling around.

There’s a brief moment of confusion, before Carlos’s eyes light up with realisation. He barely wastes a second in tossing the spoons aside (though, it’s more like a careful placement in the correct drawer) and grabs TK by the hand, sending him into a literal spin.

TK laughs, taking a moment to right himself after the sudden movement caused him to stumble inelegantly. Neither of them are in time with the music as they dance around the kitchen, carefully avoiding the boxes still scattered around, but it’s not important. 

For the first time in his life, TK feels fully, completely at home. It’s not a feeling he wants to let go of.

iv.

“I think they were expecting something slower,” TK murmurs, burying a laugh in Carlos’s neck. Their guests are all wearing expressions with varying degrees of shock, and he can’t really blame them—he’s pretty sure the last thing anyone expects to hear during a first dance at a wedding is a country song. “I still can’t believe you even remember it.”

Carlos shrugs. “I still can’t believe you don’t. It is our song, after all.”

TK rolls his eyes, remembering their first conversation on this topic months ago, back when they were still sorting out all the wedding minutiae. 

“‘Our’ song, babe?” he’d said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Why, because we danced to it for five minutes before leaving to get off in the bathroom?”

“Exactly,” Carlos had replied, his tone so serious that TK wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not. He’d rolled his eyes and lightly shoved at TK’s shoulder. “No, babe. Because it was the first time we danced together on the night that we met. That’s special, right, even if it did only last five minutes?”

TK hadn’t exactly been able to argue that one, and he has to admit now that it was a pretty good choice. If only to see the way Judd almost choked on his champagne in surprise when the song started.

It’s a little untraditional and, if he’s being honest, TK had never thought that one day he would be getting married in Texas on his new husband’s family ranch, with their first dance being to a ‘cowboy song’, as he’d once called it, much to Carlos’s horror. But he and Carlos have never been ones for tradition, and TK wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s perfect,” he admits, his eyes never leaving Carlos’s. He stops the dance, not caring that the song is still playing, and steps closer, pressing their bodies together. Everything else fades into the background as he leans up and kisses Carlos, barely moving when they break apart. “I love you, Husband.”

Carlos’s face lights up in a grin that could rival the sun in its brightness. “I love you too, Husband.”

v.

Music is floating through the door when TK gets home, and it’s enough to alleviate the weight he’s been carrying all day. It’s not that it had been a bad shift per se (though, when your standards for a good day are ‘nobody dies’, your view tends to get a bit skewed) but it had been long and tiring, and he’d missed his family desperately.

Sometimes, he still can’t believe this is really his life. But Ana, now three, has been living with them for a year already, and TK can’t imagine their home without her anymore. She’d been a blessing, coming into their lives after years of fighting to get on adoption registers, right when they were beginning to despair of ever managing it.

They did, though, and now TK gets to come home to scenes like this. 

Scenes like Ana standing on Carlos’s toes as he guides her slowly around the room in a basic dance. TK watches for a moment before getting his phone out and hitting record; he’ll be damned if he misses the opportunity to get this on film.

Carlos, having heard him enter, rolls his eyes when he sees what TK’s doing, but flashes him a quick smile before returning his focus to Ana. She hasn’t noticed TK’s entrance, her face scrunched up in deep concentration as she grips onto Carlos’s hands as tight as she possibly can.

When the music ends, Ana claps her hands and giggles. TK takes the moment to make his presence known, dropping to his knees and holding his arms out. She barrels into him, almost knocking him over, and presses her face into his chest, her tiny hands creating creases in his uniform shirt.

“Hi, sweetheart,” TK murmurs, dropping a kiss in her hair. He gently detaches her from him and manoeuvers them until she’s sitting in his lap. “Looks like you guys were having fun while I was at work.”

She nods enthusiastically. “Papa was teaching me to dance! Abuela showed me photos when I was with her and Abuelo and I wanted to be just like her!”

“Abuela got out the photo albums again, huh?”

Ana nods again. “Of her… Her…” She frowns and looks up at Carlos.

“Her china poblana dresses,” Carlos says softly, smiling as Ana grins and points at him. 

TK laughs and draws his daughter into a hug, rocking them gently, his gaze going up to Carlos. “Well, from what I saw, you were dancing even better than Papa,” he says, smirking as Carlos gasps in mock offence. He looks back down at Ana, tapping on the back of her hand. “You know,” he starts, smiling, “I think I might need some dancing lessons too. Think you can teach me?”

Ana lights up and immediately gets to her feet, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask. She grabs TK’s hand and pulls him up, leading him to where Carlos must have cleared a space for them earlier. The music begins to play again and TK lets his daughter take charge, playfully sticking his tongue out at Carlos when he laughs at TK getting firmly told off for putting his foot in the wrong place.

At some point, Carlos joins the dance, the three of them stepping and bouncing around the front room. Ana’s laughter fills the house, shrieking with delight when Carlos sweeps her from the floor and wraps both her and TK in his arms. TK leans his head on his husband’s shoulder, a hand placed on their daughter’s back, and breathes out slowly, all the exhaustion from earlier forgotten. 

At last, he’s home.

[myhockeyworld87]

Bubble Wrapped - Part 12

Word Count: 2,510

POV: Reader

Warnings: Same as always, Language, Smut, NSFW, Please see the note in the Masterlist

Teams: Bruins, Caps, Flyers, Lightning, Pens, Jackets, Canes, Islanders (more to come)

Notes: I literally have no clue what happened the frist time, but let’s try this again. When last we left this story, (Y/N) had just had a steamy encouter with Joel. Now with Svech back at the suite hurt, let’s find out what happens.  As always feedback is greatly appreciated and wanted…hahaha! Luv ya all!! Happy Reading to all!

A quick run downstairs and a check-in with Carly told you that everything at the hotel was running smoothly. You gave her a recap of what had happened with Svech and told her that you were heading back upstairs to be with him at least until Joel and Dougie got back from practice. By the time you got back up to the suite, the boys were just heading out the door. "Ready to head up to bed?" You asked Svech and his eyebrow shot up. Obviously, you didn't mean it that way as the man was in no way able to perform. Or was he?

"Sure," he said eagerly then hobbled on his crutches to the elevator with you. It took a few minutes to get him into his shared bedroom with Joel, but once you did you propped his foot up on a stack of pillows, making sure to take extra care with it, so as to not cause him any more pain than necessary.

"Comfy?"

"Yeah," he mumbled and you could see the tiredness in his eyes.

"Do you need anything else?"

"I don't think so."

You dug through your bag and placed the bell you'd found in one of the offices on the nightstand. "Here, in case you need me, just ring this. I'll be downstairs doing some work, but will be up in a flash." He looked so young and innocent just lying there and you swept a bit of hair that had fallen onto his forehead away. "Get some rest."

You went to leave, but he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back in his direction, which caused you to stumble and land awkwardly on his chest; your face a mere inches away from his. He didn't say anything, just cupped your cheek with his free hand and brought your lips to his. It was soft, yet with the right kind of pressure, and he sought entrance to your mouth with a simple glide of his tongue to your lips. You opened for him, deepening the kiss. Svech was gorgeous there was no denying that, but at the same time you felt a little bad after doing what you'd done with Joel last night and now you were kissing his teammate. Though when he moaned into your mouth all thought of that left.

Gently you pushed back from the kiss. "Svech, what are you doing?"

"I want you, (Y/N). I have from the moment I saw you in this bubble a few weeks ago." You tried to think back about running into him at any point before the Canes had actually transferred to your hotel but couldn't recall a time that the two of you met. "Don't worry, I don't expect you to remember. I would come here to play tennis. Well, not really, it was just an excuse to see you. You're so beautiful." His hand caressed your body lightly as he spoke and it ignited a fire deep within you. "I know I'm younger than you, but it doesn't mean that I can't satisfy you."

"Svech it's not that..." For really it wasn't. You had no doubt that he was good in bed, it was just, well, his injury and all.

He must have caught on to your hesitation. "I'm fine I swear, though you'll have to be on top. I just think this is really the optimal time. The guys are gone and won't be around for a couple hours. Say you want me too."

There was a pleading look in his eyes, this sort of need to be wanted. Your body definitely couldn't deny that you craved him. It was just your head that wasn't in sync. You threw caution to the wind and decided to just give in to what your body wanted this time; not that you hadn't been doing that all along. "I want you too."

His hand went to the back of your neck and he drug you down to his lips again for a hard and searing kiss. "Undress for me, beautiful." He whispered out and you stepped back from the bed. Slowly, you unzipped your skirt, then shimmied it down your hips to fall on the floor. Your hands worked each button on your blouse revealing your soft supple skin to his gaze, and look he did. There was a hunger in his eyes as the top fell to the floor and you stood there in only a bra and thong. "Fuck you're gorgeous." He sat up and shucked his shirt over his head before propping himself up against the headboard a bit. "Don't stop now."

A small giggle escaped you at his eagerness. Your hands went to the clasp of your bra, releasing the globes for their confines. Holding the bra with one hand, you let the straps slide off your shoulders, then dropped the garment. You cupped your breasts, gently squeezing them and pulling on the nipples. Svech sucked in a breath of air and you saw him bite down gently on his bottom lip. Your eyes dropped to his crotch, where you could see his erection growing even through his shorts.

Hooking the elastic of your panties, you wiggled them over your hips and glided them down your legs. There was a visible wetness in the crotch that you knew Svech could see, letting him know how badly you wanted him. You sashed back over to the bed, then slid your hand down his chest and abs to the waistband of his shorts. "We're going to need to do something about these." He lifted his hips up, using his upper body strength and you slid them along with his boxers down. It was a bit tricky getting them over his boot, but you managed.

Once that task was accomplished, you went back up and kissed him. "You know you're a really good nurse." He laughed and you joined in, as you straddled his hips.

"Well, I try. Gotta keep my patients happy." His hands went to your hips, while you used his shoulders to steady yourself. "Let me know if I hurt you in any way."

"You're killing me now because I want to be inside you." You chuckled, then took his cock in your one hand and guided it to your entrance. You coated him a bit in your wetness before sinking down on him. "Fuck you feel amazing. So wet...and..." He didn't say anything more as you began to move up and down on his length. "Oh...yeah...fuck..." There was an endless stream of moans out of his mouth. When you swiveled your hips, he almost lost it. "Do that again."

"You're quite the demanding patient," you hissed out as you rode his cock.

"Can't help...it..." he panted. "I've wanted...this...oh fuck...for...mmm...yeah just like that....so long...faster baby." His hips started to rise up, thrusting into you, and you were concerned that he would be putting pressure on his bad foot. Your mind was so lost in making sure that he wasn't hurt, you'd knew that you'd never get off. "I'm so close...are you?"

You weren't but you didn't tell him that. Instead, you grabbed his hand on your hip and moved it to your clit. "I need you to..." you moaned out as he started to rub your little nub, grabbing onto the headboard now to steady you both. "Mmmm...yeah." His movements got faster pushing you to that familiar crest you wanted.

You could feel him tighten his grip with the hand that still held your hip and knew he was close. "Come on baby," he encouraged you and flicked your clit more. It was all you needed, as you screamed out in ecstasy as your orgasm came over you. "Fuck," Svech moaned as your pussy spasmed around him and he thrust deep in you, cumming hard. You were both breathing heavily as you came down off your high and it took a moment for you to collect yourself. As you made a move to roll off him, he held you tightly. "Don't go just yet."

"You've got to be uncomfortable like this." After all, you were practically lying on top of him.

"Quite the opposite, really. Besides, I don't know if we'll get another chance at this. I plan on savoring the moment." His fingertips skated up and down your spine. "You're really something, you know that?"

"I don't know about all that."

"I know I wouldn't have a shot, but if I was a few years older and maybe had a bit more experience in the league. I'd try and steal you away from everyone else here."

“You make me sound like I’m ancient or something. I’m only a few years older than you.”

His hands skimmed up and down your body, fingertips gliding along your ribcage and making you shiver. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I can’t even take you out to dinner in Raleigh and buy a bottle of wine.” Damn, you forgot the boy was under twenty-one. You really should’ve thought about things before you jumped into bed with him. Why did your libido have to run rampant around these men? “These guys here are probably showering you with expensive gifts and I just can’t compete with them, though I wish I could. I’d give you the world if I could.”

“Aww Andrei, the fact that you want to do something like that, is just so sweet.” You placed a gentle kiss on his lips. You needed to diffuse the situation before things got too out of hand or the next thing you know he’d be asking for your hand in marriage or something. “I think you’ve had a little too much prescription medication.” He went to protest but you stopped him placing a finger to his lips. “This was fun, but you should rest. Besides I’m sure the others will be back soon.” He nodded as if he finally understood that nothing more was going to happen between the two of you. It was then that you climbed off him and out of bed, picking up your scattered clothes before kissing him one last time. “Get some sleep. If you need anything just ring the bell.”

The tile floor on the hallway felt cold as you made your way down to your room so that you could change into something more comfortable. Hearing Andrei’s declaration really made you start to think. Maybe you should be looking for more than just a fling here and there. Tyler was begging you to let him come to Toronto if the Stars lost or have you fly there if they continued on; maybe it was time to seriously start to consider his offer.

The rest of the morning you buried yourself in paperwork until Dougie and Joel got back early afternoon. Then they took over nursing duties, or at the very minimum getting their teammate food when he wanted. You were still in a cropped hoodie and leggings when you headed downstairs to see how things were going. Thankfully, no one had set the hotel on fire, which was a major accomplishment considering all the rival teams you had under one roof.

“So how goes it with your three roommates?” Carly asked you wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“You don’t even want to know.”

“Of course, I do. I’m living vicariously through you now that Brayden and I are together. Spill the juicy details.”

“Juicy details about what?” You knew that voice, before turning to see that Mat Barzal was standing there, a sheer sheen of sweat lightly coating his forehead, telling you that he had been working out. His shirt clung to his body in all the right places. And those thighs. Ugh! It should be downright illegal to have thighs as muscular as his and shorts that tight.

“We were just talking about…” Carly started to say before you elbowed her.

“It’s just about someone that works here in the hotel. You probably wouldn’t know them, considering you’re staying at the Royal.” God, you sounded like a snob; a snob and a prick. “I mean it’s really just work gossip.”

“Oh well, hopefully, I’ll be moving in here soon. Then maybe you’ll let me in on your little secrets.” He gave you a little wink as if he knew you weren’t exactly talking about some indiscretion of a hotel staff member. Although technically you were. That member just happened to be you.

“I guess if you do get to move, I’ll have to reveal all the dirty laundry this place has going on,” you said flirtatiously, and suddenly you were throwing out that whole idea of settling down.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing what you’d got going on underneath everything.” Mat playfully bantered back, as his eyes roamed your body. His heated stare had your panties getting wet. You were really going to have to do your laundry after the day you had.

“Well, I can see I’m not needed here.” Carly chimed in as you’d completely forgotten about her being there. “I think I’ll go check on what Chef’s preparing for dinner.”

She sauntered off leaving you standing there alone with Mat. “Speaking of dinner. Would you like to get some, say maybe tomorrow night? We’re playing tonight or I’d say in a couple of hours.”

“I’d like that, but it’s not like we can go out to any restaurants.”

“True, though I do remember you mentioning something about a suite you’re staying in.”

Had you mentioned that? You couldn’t really be sure and it didn’t really matter at the moment considering you had roommates. “About that…You see there was kind of a little incident here. Let’s just say it involved a hockey stick and some busted pipes.” Mat looked like he was ready to bust out laughing but he took a deep breath regaining control. “So now I have three people staying there with me.”

“Oh well if it’s your friend there and a couple others I’m sure Tito and a couple guys wouldn’t mind coming along.”

“Yeah,” you said cringing as you told him this next part. “It’s not Carly. It’s three guys from the Canes. Dougie Hamilton, Joel Edmunston and Andrei Svechnikov.” Mat’s eyes widen and his jaw dropped a bit before drawing together to form a hard line on his jaw. He hadn’t seemed like the jealous type in your last encounter but then at the time, it didn’t seem like you were having a foursome every night in your suite. “It’s just temporary.” You were quick to add. “Their room should be fixed in a couple days.”

“I see.” It was a short response and you could tell that he wasn’t pleased. “I guess dinner is off.”

You didn’t want it to be. In fact, Mat was the first guy that you really were interested in more than just a fling with since Sidney. You just needed to come up with another place for dinner and maybe some sort of dessert that involved both of you being naked. That shouldn’t be too hard.

.

[strayingdawn]

request: “...something like little bit angsty but fluff at the end? Something how y/n was getting back late at night and someone follows them and they call boyfriend Changbin?”

warning: feeling unsafe, stalking

wc: 2,2k

(i got a little carried away,, so sorry.)

—————

Only the ticks of the store clock echo throughout the empty cafe as Y/n slides their damp cloth across the counter. One of the girls scheduled to close today called in sick, so Y/n figured the extra money wouldn’t hurt and filled in for her. However, they did not expect to end the day all alone after the remaining, scheduled closer left early due to a family emergency.

So here they were, cleaning the counters of the deserted cafe, five minutes till closing. Y/n honestly didn’t mind closing alone. The aroma of coffee beans and the calm silence surrounding them felt almost comforting in a way. The clock created a soothing rhythm as the nearing end of a long day at work gave them a sense of relief.

But that moment was short-lived as the front door’s bell cut through the tranquil atmosphere. A young man of tall stature wandered through the door, much to Y/n’s displeasure if they were being honest. The man was actually quite a regular to the cafe. With that being said, surely he would know the cafe’s hours by now since he has passed the door on which they’re displayed many times. He was around Y/N’s age and had burgundy brown hair with bangs that always hung forward, creating a shadow over his deep, brown eyes. He usually just ordered a simple pastry and sat in some corner at the back, reading a book, phone, or computer. None of his behavior ever seemed unusual or noteworthy, so Y/n never concerned themselves with being any more cautious than they usually are around strangers. That is until one of their coworkers pointed out that the man’s gaze seemed to linger on Y/n often. It wasn’t too unusual for people’s eyes to wander around their surroundings and occasionally get stuck on something or someone. Y/n was guilty of it themselves sometimes, but that thought didn’t hinder them from raising their guard still.

Back to the present, Y/n simply planned to tell the man that they could no longer run the coffee machines nor were there any more pastries to sell and give him a short and sweet apology. However, the sound of his voice put a slight wrench in those plans.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you already closed?” His eyebrows were raised to create a somewhat innocent look.

Well, the place is empty, chairs are on tables, and the sign on the door you just walked through says we close in four minutes. What do you think?

That’s what Y/n wanted to say, but they held their tongue for the sake of politeness and professionalism. Instead, their lips formed a kind smile as they said, “Well, we’re technically still open for a couple of minutes, but I’m sorry to say that I can no longer sell anything.”

They hoped that was enough to urge the brunette out the door and back onto the street lamp-littered sidewalk. The man in question, however, was not on the same page. He began to shift his weight from one foot to the other as his gaze scanned the whole room, seeming to investigate every corner as if he was searching for something.

“Are they making you close all alone, tonight?”

Now, why would he ask something like that. Y/n was honestly caught off guard by such an unnecessary question; one whose truth they felt should not be openly exclaimed. They had to think quickly, so they just had to bend the truth a little.

“Not exactly. One of my coworkers had to leave unexpectedly..but they’ll be back.”

No one made them work extra; Y/n simply offered their help. Their friend did, also, leave unexpectedly and would be back...tomorrow morning to report for work. The stranger’s brows furrowed as his eyes became unfocused in thought. What he was thinking, Y/n couldn’t decipher.

“...I see..would you like some company while you wait?” He raised his eyebrows with slight optimism, and the corners of his mouth rose slightly.

Now, the man was clearly dragging out this interaction far longer than it needed to be. Four minutes had definitely passed, so he had no reason to be here anymore.

“No, no, that’s fine. Thank you, though. The cafe’s officially closed, now, actually. So I’ll be out of here in no time. And my boyfriend will be here any minute, now.” Y/n wore the most genuine smile they could muster, positive that they left no room for the customer to object to leaving.

His eyebrows twitched, and he appeared slightly taken aback when the word “boyfriend” left Y/n’s lips. However, the look left as soon as it came, leaving his usual resting face, lost in thought.

“Oh, okay then,” he flashed a full smile this time, showing his top row of pearly white teeth. Then, he turned his body with slight hesitation, footsteps pointing to the door, “I’ll see you around.”

And with that, he finally left. There wasn’t anything inherently creepy about his last statement, but with context, his wording and tone was somewhat off putting. The city was pretty big, and their paths would most likely only ever cross in the cafe. So why would he say “around.”

Anyway, it wasn’t the only weird thing he had done, so it was time to move on to more pressing matters. Changbin should have been here by now. Y/n didn’t bend the truth, that time, when they mentioned their boyfriend’s approaching arrival.

Y/n opened their phone and went to Changbin’s contact. They texted each other three hours ago about Y/n’s sudden overtime, and Changbin was fully aware that he would pick them up. So where was he? Y/n called him twice, both with no answer, before simply leaving a text that they were on their way home. The walk home was roughly ten minutes. Y/n loved it after early shifts but usually tried to catch a ride if the sun had already set, like tonight.

Dreading the extra cardio after a long, tiring day, Y/n just gathered their belongings, double-checked their closing duties, and lastly locked the cafe’s door, mentally prepared themselves for the journey ahead of them. Only a few steps in, they noticed another set of footsteps echo theirs. Changing the rhythm of their footfalls, the rhythm of the mysterious set of steps changed as well, falling in sync. Subconsciously, Y/n brought their hand towards their bag which held protective measures such as a taser and pepper spray. Yet, all of their movements, including their breathing, abruptly halted as a familiar voice called out to them.

“Y/n!”

Y/n slowly turned around, meeting the same brown eyes they saw just moments ago. At this point, Y/n was completely unsettled, but they refused to let it show.

“Hi..again. What are you..still doing out here..this late?”

“I never saw your boyfriend,” he paused for less than a millisecond, but Y/n could still sense that he was questioning their earlier statement, “get here, so I wanted to make sure you left safely.”

He had to have been waiting for at least ten minutes. And for an employee they’ve barely talked to, who already said they were taken care of.

“Well, that’s..very thoughtful of you, but you don’t have to worry about me anymore,” Y/n let out a little chuckle that also sounded much more stiff than intended and held their hands out to their sides like they were presenting themselves, “I seem to be leaving in one piece, so I think I’ve got it from here.”

He didn’t seem too convinced, or maybe he was simply ignoring their words as he took a step forward, causing Y/n to instinctively take a step back.

He pressed on, however, clearly not sensing your discomfort. “I’m not sure I would have peace of mind not knowing whether or not you got home safely.”

“Trust me, it’s fine-”

“I insist-”

“They said, ‘it’s fine.’” Changbin’s voice boomed past your ears.

He had lost track of time while preparing something special for you at home. On top of that, his music was blasting at extreme volumes, surely becoming a nuisance to the neighbors, which caused him to miss both of Y/n’s phone calls. Although, he’s thankful he remembered his commitment with you when he did. He threw the first coat and pair of shoes he could find before, basically, running through his door, almost unhinging it, to get to his partner as soon as possible. Now, he saw Y/n’s rigid form and some random stranger who, clearly, could not take a hint.

Changbin walked towards Y/n and gingerly slipped his hand around their waist, feeling them slowly relax as they leaned farther into his body and gained a steady breathing pattern. His glare was cold as well as neutral and aimed right at the man in front of him.

“I believe I can take it from here.”

The brunette was slightly unnerved but quickly attempted to put on a strong front. “And who are you?”

“Their boyfriend. Now step away before I become their bodyguard and make you.” If it wasn’t already cold outside, the icy aura radiating off of Changbin would have surely done the job.

The creep was definitely weighing his options. However, facing Changbin did not seem to end in his favor, so he took one step back, placing his eyes on Y/n. “...See you around, Y/n.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it.” Changbin’s eyes never wavered.

With one last glare at Changbin, Y/n’s nuisance for the night finally walked away. As if a weight was lifted off of their chest, Y/n let out a deep breath they didn’t even know they were holding. Regaining their composure, their gaze drifted towards their boyfriend who was still eyeing the fleeing brunette. Y/n promptly hit him on the chest.

“Where were you?” Y/n hit his chest, catching him off guard but not actually hurting him.

Changbin let out a grunt at the sudden assault. “I..got a little caught up with something. Something important.”

“And you couldn’t answer the phone?”

“Wel-“

Y/n was honestly too tired to be reasonable right now, so they just let out a deep sigh and began to walk towards the couple’s shared apartment, expecting their boyfriend to follow.

Around ten minutes later, Changbin was a fumbling mess as he tried to promptly open the apartment’s front door under the pressure of Y/n’s tired stare. When the door finally opened, it presented nothing but a dark, silent home.

Y/n walked in before Changbin and immediately dropped their bag which felt heavier than when they left that morning. However, when they started to step into their second house shoe, they froze after the delicious smell of food drifted from the kitchen to their nose. Changbin noticed Y/n’s sudden stop, and a flash of realization grazed his features.

“What’s that smell-” a pair of hands being gently placed on Y/n’s shoulders halted their sentence.

“Just..walk towards the kitchen,” Changbin instructed them with a soft, low voice.

“How am I supposed to walk there in the dark.”

“It’s not like you’ve never done it before in the middle of the night.”

Changbin’s tone was slightly accusing but still soft like before. Y/n just remained silent and followed his directions. Once they both arrived at the kitchen’s entrance, Y/n felt the weight of Changbin’s hands leave and heard his footsteps approach the lights.

As soon as Y/n’s sight recovered from the sudden intensity of light, they were engulfed in shock and appreciation. The kitchen table was covered with flowers and many of their favorite dishes. Fairy lights hanging all around radiated a soft glow, making the heartwarming gesture warm their heart even more.

“Is this what…?”

“..was so important? ..Yeah. I knew you must have been really tired from working nonstop this past week and the whole day, today. So I thought this was the least I could for you since you’ve been doing so much for everyone else...do you like it?”

“...Like it. I-I love it! Thank you!” Y/n couldn’t say much more before they felt the tears pricking their eyes.

“Wait- why are you crying?!” Changbin rushed to his love’s side and embraced them while panicking because of their unexpected reaction. “Are you sure you actually love it?”

Y/n let out a few broken chuckles and weakly punched his chest. “Yes, I’m sure, idiot! I’m just too tired to handle all this!”

“Oh! Thank goodness. I thought I did something wrong.”

“Don’t worry, Binnie. You always make it right. Thank you. For tonight. And for everything.”

“Anytime, babe.” He gave a sly wink with the little pet name but quickly put on a serious face and looked deep into Y/n’s eyes. “I love you”

Y/n couldn’t help roll their eyes at the term of endearment but didn’t fail to return the meaningful words. “I love you, too.”

“Well, let’s dry these tears,” he tenderly wiped away the few tears that escaped Y/N’s eyes, “and get you out of these uncomfortable clothes.”

[dragonsfictavern]

Saving My Savior

Loki Laufeyson x Reader

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4K

𝗮/𝗻: This is an AU for Loki’s time with Thanos. It’s in-between Thor and Avengers. The MC is another daughter of Thanos. She looks human enough but she has these powers of the mind. She can make people believe anything she wants. Whether they are seeing something or she’s making them believe they’re in pain and a bunch of other powers that include the mind.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: Swearing, talks about, and shows torture.

Gamora swung, punching me hard in the face. I grunt, stumbling back and wiping the blood from the corner of my lip. Both of us were breathing heavily as we moved back into our fighting stance. We had been training for hours. I was losing. And I never lost!

I wasn’t too surprised though; I was once again asked and expected to torture the man I was in love with. Thanos didn’t know of course. And I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t imagine what pain Thanos would inflict on Loki and if he found out about our love.

I threw a punch of my own yet Gamora moved to the side. I punched, aiming for her throat, her stomach, her face. Yet every time she moved to the side as if I was moving in slow motion and she had all the time in the world. I growl under my breath. I was losing patience for this...

Finally Gamora moved, she kicked out her foot and aimed at my chest. I caught it and tugged her forward, using my other hand to latch around her throat. Gamora was quick to snap her own hands to my throat. We stand closely, both of us squeezing and both of us losing our air supply. Teeth barred to her, I stomp my foot against her knee and she buckles.

She crashes onto the metal floor. I let go of her and step back. I barley have time to collect myself before she lunges out. One hand goes to my jaw and the other on top of my head. I freeze. She sees this and her eyes harden.

“What’s wrong? Can’t figure your way out of this one?” She goads. I assess the hold she has on me. It’s loose. I scream and roughly push her away from me. The force knocks her back onto the ground. She looks up at me with ferocity, clutching her side loosely. I eye the movement intently. Interesting...

Gamora grunts as she stands, still keeping her arm across her stomach to guard her side. “You’re growing weak, sister,” she hisses. I inhale sharply and clench my fists tightly.

I scream, stomping towards her and delivering blow after blow anywhere I could make contact. But Gamora was ready. She stepped back and side-blocked each move I made. My patience was getting thin and I needed to win this. With a sharp inhale I swipe up her feet and thrust the palm of my hand to her chest. Gamora when flying back. But with her body in the air she barrel rolled and kicked me in the face.

We both fell harshly onto the metal floor. Gamora and I groan in sync. I don’t bother trying to get up, instead, I lay on the floor and stare up at the ceiling of this level of the ship. I see Gamora sit up from my peripheral vision.

“You’re getting weaker sister. I don’t usually come this close to beating you,” Gamora comments, a hint of amusement in her voice. That was it; my patience snapped like a rubber band. I make my way back to her, rage spilling over me in waves.

“I. Am. Not!” I yell, focusing in on her and honing my powers. In an instant Gamora is screaming in pain, my powers forcing her to believe she was in the worst pain imaginable. Gamora’s body arches before she begins to contort and wither in pain.

I soon let up on the illusion and crouch down next to her. Gamora relaxes and looks up at me lazily.

“Know your place,” I spit out lowly. I place my hands on my knees to help me stand back up. I don’t look back at her as I head to my private quarters to freshen up.

I let my hair fall from its towel before I start to re-dress. It’s only when I’m zipping up my leather jacket that someone knocks on the door. I look in the mirror and smile. The outfit I wore was dark green, black, and gold. I had taken to Loki’s colors with fondness. I move with hurried pace to open the door. Standing in front of me was one of Thano’s little lackey’s: Ebony Maw.

“Maw,” I greet distastefully. Ebony’s lip curls into a snarl.

“Thanos requires your assistance,” he says back, the mutual hate between us evident. Yet I stiffen at the phrase he spoke. It was a code of sorts, a calling for me whenever Thanos needed me to torture someone. It just so happened to be Loki that it had been leading too these last few months. I give him a curt nod. What was I supposed to do? Refuse Thanos? That’s wishful thinking.

Ebony Maw turns on his heel and starts leading me towards the torture chambers. We enter the lower levels of the castle. Before we are about to turn a corner, I almost bump into my sisters. Nebula held Gamora up and Gamora was still guarding her side. I look over them and try not to scoff. And she thinks I am the weak one, I think to myself.

“Gamora... Nebula.” I nod, even letting a smirk grace my face. Nebula senses the smug tone in my voice and she straightens. Always trying to prove herself; the little runt of the family.

“Sister,” Nebula responds cordially.

“Come now,” Maw snaps. I look and realize he’s all the way at the end of the hall. I start to go on my way when Gamora grabs my for arm in an iron grip.

“Please, sister. Don’t do this. If Thanos finds out—“

“And he won’t... Will he?” I interrupt, looking up at her. She stares at me deeply. I know she worries, but I can take care of myself. Gamora breaks from my gaze and looks down to the ground. I rip my arm out of her hold and continue to follow Ebony Maw.

As we walk down the corridors I can’t help but think back on the time Gamora had walked in on one of my sessions. It was around the time I had started to grow feelings for the troublesome god. Instead of using my powers to torture him, I would use them to give him peace. He would sit against the wall and beckon me into his lap; a comfort we both needed. Then I would use my illusions or conjure moments of peace and happiness for us. But Gamora had walked in and broke the spell. There was a lot of yelling— mostly on her part. There was a lot of nervous tears—mostly on my part.

But at the end of the day, Gamora wanted me to be happy for as long as we could manage to pull this off for. She always told me she wouldn’t risk my safety for the god of mischief. And over the past few weeks, Thanos has been growing impatient. He wanted results and he wanted Loki ready. Of course Loki was fine— mentally. Physically he was malnourished and dehydrated. But he was not as susceptible to Thanos as Thanos thought.

Ebony Maw stops in front of a metal door that had two guards stationed out front...More of Thanos’ so called “children”: Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive.

“Open the doors,” Maw commanded. Proxima nodded and turned to the door. She entered in a code even I didn’t know and the steel doors opened with a snap. Maw moved to the side and motioned for me to walk inside. I swallow thickly and enter the plain grey room.

The only decoration in the room was laid in the center. Chains hung from the ceiling and some more were sealed to the ground. In those chains were Loki. His head hung low and his knees ghosted over the floor. I could tell he was clearly starving, thirsty, and exhausted. I hated seeing him like this. If only he could get away...

My heart rattled. Of course I didn’t want him gone and away from me, but who was I to have him stay here in pain? If he could get out, I would let him go. I would help him go! Anyway I could...

I stand, stiff and tense. I can feel all of their gazes on my back. I wait impatiently until I hear the snap of the doors. As soon as the seal clicks my shoulders slump and I race towards him. Skidding to the floor, I grasp the chains at his feet and use my key to unchain him.

It’s only then that Loki even senses my presence. The chains around his wrists clank and he eventually manages to pull his head up and look at me.

“You’re here,” he croaks. I smile, taking his face in my hands and kissing him lightly.

“Of course I am. And I’m about to make everything better.” I nod, assuring him and trying to assure myself. He looks up at me as I stand and reach for the chains around his wrists. When I get an arm loose, Loki immediately latches it around my waist. I unlock the other and his arms wind around my hips to support himself. I brush my fingers through his hair tenderly. I can feel his steady breathing against my stomach and my mind calms down. He’s here, with me. He is ok.

When I feel he’s ready to move, we both separate. Loki sits on his arse and scoots against the wall without any help from me. His cheeks looked hallow and the dark circles under his eyes were a heartbreaking sight to see. But he held out his hand and motioned for me to sit in his lap. My brows furrow as I walk over to him. He looked oh so fragile. I attempt to sit down carefully when his arm wraps around my waist and he curls me into him. He hums in approval and a smile grows on my face. I slide my right hand against his chest and burrow my face in his neck. He responds by tightening his hold on me.

“Are you ready?” I ask quietly. Loki inhales slowly before letting out the breath.

“Yes, I think I am,” he confirms.

And just like that, the world around us shimmered away. We now stood in Asgard’s ballroom; a memory I had taken from Loki’s mind. I laugh quietly as Loki’s face immediately brightened. He spun slowly, looking around the place in awe. My smile widens as I look over the love of my life. In my illusion I painted him how I always imagined him. Like a king.

He looked full, quenched, and well-rested. He looked immeasurably happy. Loki turns full circle and lands on me. His lips curl into a wicked grin as he sees my dress.

“Well don’t you look marvelous,” he compliments. My gown fell to the floor and was an abstract design of green, black, gold, and white. I nod and motion back to him.

“As do you, Loki, Prince of Asgard,” I say back. Both Loki and I look down to admire his apparel. He wore Asgardian robes. Green and gold colors adorning it that gave him a refined look. Loki chuckled, happiness radiating off of him as he took everything in, once again. I simply stand and watch him. Seeing and feeling the happiness he feels whenever we go somewhere was simply the greatest feeling in the world.

Loki suddenly grows very serious and I fear I did something wrong. Did I mess up the illusion. He walks towards me, a determined yet slightly nervous edge in his posture. He stops about a foot away from me and holds out his hand.

“May I have this dance?” He asks, his voice silky and smooth. I bite my lip, wanting to suppress that certain smile only he can cause. I nod, not trusting my voice. He grins as if he could possibly know and delicately takes the hand I hold out for him. He pulls me towards him and wraps his free hand around my waist. We hold onto each other with a hand each and I use my free one to rest it across his back. We begin to sway. Realizing that we might need some music, I begin playing a song taken from a memory of a random person on Midgard.

‘A Thousand Years’ by Christina Perri starts playing. Loki jumps, looking up at the sky and I begin to laugh.

“What in the Valhalla?” He muttered. I laugh again, causing him to look down at me.

“It’s from Midgard. It’s what mortals are listening to,” I explain. His lips part and he looks back up to the sky.

“It’s quite nice,” he whispers, then without looking at me, rests his cheek on the side of my head. I smile and pull him impossibly closer.

“I thought it fit,” I say with a shrug as the song continues to ‘I have died everyday, waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.’ With my head on his chest, I hear the deep rumble of Loki’s chuckle.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” he agrees.

We dance steadily till he surprises me, stepping back and guiding me to spin in a circle under our lifted hands. I do so and gasp as he pulls me close again. I look up at his smiling face and revel in the fact that I was the one causing that.

‘And all along I believed, I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more.’

Loki leads us through the room. He spins me, he guides me, he moves our arms fluidly with each new move of the dance.

‘One step closer

One step closer’

He steps back, holding out his arm. I don’t hesitate to take it, walking back into his comforting embrace. He moves his hands and his touch begins near my shoulders. They glide down along my exposed skin, causing goosebumps to rise. I shudder. He smirks as if it was the exact reaction he had been wishing for before he softly places my arms around his neck. He winds his own arms around my waist and draws us close.

“This has been lovely,” Loki murmurs, his head ducked down close to my ear. I merely respond with the slight ‘mhm.’ I was tired. Using my powers for so many things for so long was beginning to take its toll. “When must it end?” He asks. I look up; leaning my head out as far as to see him, though my eyes slightly drooped. I look into his eyes and see the sadness and pain creep up on him. The thought of going back to being malnourished was not something anyone would look forward to.

“We can stay for a little while longer,” I assure him, trying to give my best uplifting smile. Loki’s gaze immediately hardens and his hand moves to cup my cheek.

“You’re tired,” he states. I flop my shoulders in an attempt to shrug. His jaw clenches as he sends me a look. “Do not lie to me,” he grits out. I sigh deeply and let my head sag into his hand. Clear worry replaces the mask of anger on his face at the sight of me.

“It’s hard, I’ll admit. The limit on my power is being stretched thin,” I explain. His brows furrow deeper. “Casting multiple illusions for a multiple of people… I have you and myself here. I have our clothes, your health, the music, and I am casting illusions onto Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive,” I give in and explain. Loki’s thumb brushes my cheek.

“What for?” He asks softly. I wince. My head spins and my arms shoot out to hold onto his forearms.

“To make them believe I am torturing you. The sound of your...screams. To avoid suspicion.” I look at him deeply.

“Then we should leave.” Loki nods. I shake my head rapidly.

“No, no. Loki, I’ll be alright. This is all you get. Fleeting moments with me. I want to make them worthwhile,” I express. He chuckles.

“Even the shortest of moments with you are worthwhile.” I shake my head. I hang my arms back around his neck and I hold him close.

“Can we— can we just finish the song? Then we’ll go,” I whisper. I hear him sigh, but eventually he nods and holds me tightly.

I have died everyday, waiting for you

Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

My lips part. I certainly felt faint. I don’t dare do anything or react. Feeling exhausted was worth doing this for him; because once the illusion was shattered, we would both be back in Thanos’ home. We would both be miserable. A trickle of a feeling passed over me. Something was wrong… but the weakness was consuming my body and I couldn’t tell what was happening. As much as I wanted to focus on Loki and Loki alone, I thought deeply on the sense of dread coursing through my body.

And all along I believed, I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

“Thanos,” I whisper, realization flooding me. A look of horror graced my face as Loki leant back to stare at me.

“Pardon?” He asks. I gasp.

“Thanos.”

Suddenly our world shattered. I scream, being yanked by my hair. I look at Loki as he crumples to the floor, only being held up by my dear brother and sister. I crane my head upwards only to see Thanos gripping my hair tightly. His jaw was locked and if he could, his face would be red with anger. I guess it turned a little brown…

My eyes fall over to Gamora who held her hands over her mouth, regret in her eyes.

“You bitch!” I growl. She closes her eyes. Thanos yanks my hair back and I groan, feeling the strain on my scalp.

“Your sister did the right thing. She exposed me to the traitor in our midst. I just never thought it would be one of my children.” Thanos spoke darkly.

“I’m not your kid,” I spit out. I cry out after he yanks my hair back once again.

“We’ll put them in separate rooms. We have months of work to catch up on,” Thanos orders.

“Loki,” I whisper as Thanos turns around, dragging me out of this room and into the next.

Thanos throws me onto the floor of an empty room. I grunt in landing.

“Let’s get to work,” Thanos says with a wide smirk.

Hours later…

Everything hurt. He had performed every form of torture known throughout all the universes. And there was a lot. When he had finished, I hung from the wall. We both knew I wouldn’t be able to stand on my own. Thoughtful, wasn’t he? He bends down to look me in the eye.

“Let us go show your lover what being with him costs. Maybe that will get him to comply,” Thanos says through clenched teeth.

Thanos rips the chains off my body and carries my by the back of my neck. I groan in pain from just about every move made by me and Thanos. The door to the room Loki’s in opens and Thanos throws me inside. I crash onto the ground and I groan, feeling parts of my body throb in pain.

“What? What did you do?!” Loki shouts weakly, his own injuries not redenering him the most useful. Loki was sprawled out on the floor. He cried out, moving to get closer to me. Thanos stepped in front of me.

“Do you love her?” He asks lowly. Loki flinches, turning his gaze to the floor. “Do you love her, boy?!” He yells.

“Yes,” Loki says weakly. A sick smirk grows on Thanos’ face.

“Then look upon what you have done to your beloved, because this,” Thanos growled, stomping around and gripping the hair at the base of our heads. He yanks us both up to stare at each other. “Is what happens when you go against me,” Thanos speaks darkly. Tears fall down my face. My scalp felt like it was on fire. Loki’s jaw was clenched as if he was trying to hold in all the pain. He let us both fall to the floor and I gasped, tears falling quicker by the minute. This was agony.

Thanos moves around me, pulling and tugging at my limbs to get me in another set of chains that must have been brought in. He then moves and I watch as he starts chaining up Loki. I close my eyes, trying to focus on better things. Thanos eventually steps away from us and looks at his work.

“Look at what your betrayal has led to… I’ll be back for you both soon enough,” he explains before walking out of the room. Once the seal closes I let the illusion shatter. Loki suddenly noticing he wasn’t in chains, scrambles up into a sitting position.

“What is?” His eyes flicker up to me. He inhales sharply as he moves to cup my face with his hands. “What are you doing?” He croaks out. I close my eyes briefly before I smile as much as my injuries would allow me.

“I promised myself that if you ever got the chance to leave, I would let you. More importantly, I would help you. This is me helping you,” I whisper. Loki shakes his head.

“But I- I can’t. I can’t leave you here,” he whispers out desperately. As much as it hurt, I pushed forward and leaned my forehead against his own.

“Please…” I trail off. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before he nods, determination flooding his features.

“What do I do?” He asks. I exhale in relief.

“Use the tesseract. Get out of here and find help. Thanos will not stop once he’s lost you. He will find another and create the same chaos he first intended. Find the most powerful beings in the multi-verse and stop him,” I explain, putting as much strength as I could muster in my voice.

“I will,” he says, standing up. “And I will come back for you,” he states. I grin and do my best to shrug no matter how much it hurt.

“I’ll be waiting…”

Loki chuckled and hauled himself up, groaning in the process.

“I’ll try and keep an illusion around you as long as I am able,” I tell him. He nods and kisses my forehead softly.

“Don’t strain yourself, love,” he says against my forehead. I peer over my shoulder and watch him move out of the room. I was already beginning to feel tired.

“Hurry,” I whisper.

Third person.

Loki reaches the room that held the tesseract. He was surprised no one had noticed him but he chalked that up to her not listening to him. He walked up to the blue cube and reached for it.

“If you leave, I will kill her,” a deep voice grumbled. Loki spun on his heel and was met face-to-face with Thanos. Loki let his hand fall to his side. “But… if you go to New York and allow the Chitari through, I will let you and her go. Fail me, I’ll kill you both,”

Loki froze. He needed to save her. He couldn’t let her die after she risked everything to save him. He couldn’t do that to her. He sighed and dug his hands into his greasy hair. He didn’t want to do this, he knew she wouldn’t want him to do this… but he saw no other choice.

“So, will you do it?” Thanos asked expectantly. Loki let his hands fall before looking Thanos in the eye.

“I will.”

[twdeadlysins]

My Girl

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2,858

Summary: During a hunt with her boyfriend, the reader is left alone for a brief moment. And in that short span of time, she’s fighting for her life with no sign of surviving. 

Requested by: @leej2468​ #17 - “This is going to hurt.” #82 - “I trust you.” - Daryl and the reader are on a run and something went wrong. The reader is injured with a dislocated shoulder. 

Warnings: season 2 spoilers? fluff, injury, dislocated shoulder,  the usual walking dead violence, language and such with possible typos. 

Author’s Note: I’m sorry if Daryl seems a little out of character? He does, but then he doesn’t to me. I mean... he’s so comfortable with the reader especially since they’ve known each other for years so like it makes sense??? Also, I don’t think is the greatest, but it’s what I came up with :/ Anywho, I hope you all enjoy the fic nonetheless!! 

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

Masterlist in bio 

Hearing them crunch beneath you, the rest of the colorful autumn leaves gracefully fell down around you as you trekked in front of Daryl. The sun was bright as hell, giving you a substantial amount of warmth while a gust of breeze would travel your way every so often. During this time of year, it was a tad colder considering winter was just around the corner which meant extra layers to wear, hunting and going on runs almost everyday to stock up on supplies… and snow.

“Dixon, I can feel your eyes on me,” you teased before you turned around to see him with a big smirk on his face, not ashamed he had gotten caught. You and the hunter were very close before the apocalypse, best of friends even though you harbored a crush on him. Merle would tease his brother about making a move or tell you guys to shut up and just kiss already. Sometimes he would even take it upon himself to flirt with you, but it was just all fun and games. Later on, Daryl had told you it was to make him jealous, a part of Merle’s stupid plan to get you two together. In the end, you two had finally admitted your feelings at the farm after Daryl came back with an arrow in his side. Merle would be proud that his little baby brother finally got the girl.  

“Gotta nice view.” You snorted and shook your head, stopping in your tracks to walk in sync next to the archer who stared at you, amused. Your hands brushed together, the both of you thinking the same thing as you intertwined them. Daryl brought your linked hands together and pressed a soft kiss, smiling as he did so, looking at you while you giggled. He was a big softie even though he denied it every time, but you both knew you were right, hell even the group teased him about it. 

“I hope we can bring back something good because the squirrels we caught aren’t going to be enough,” you brought up after a few minutes of silently walking. Daryl tugged on the rope of squirrels on his shoulder while he rubbed your hand with his thumb, trying to comfort you. 

“Hey, we’ll be fine. We always find a way.” You were still worried, but you nodded nonetheless. Winter was coming and the group was going out on runs everyday to stock up on can goods and other supplies, so you didn’t have to go out of hibernation as Carl liked to call it. You and Daryl were the ones in charge of hunting and occasionally going on runs as well. Squirrels and other small animals were the only thing that you guys saw and caught, but you needed more especially since Lori was pregnant. You needed a deer or something. One deer could last you a couple weeks to a month, maybe less considering you had a whole group to feed, but maybe more if you rationed properly. 

After an hour of endlessly walking through the woods, you had snagged two rabbits and a squirrel. You were disappointed, so Daryl suggested another hour before you guys would head back and maybe you could get a deer heading home. You highly doubted it, but you were damn hopeful. If not, then you’d be out there tomorrow.  

You and Daryl came at an impasse, the path you were sticking to was interrupted by a steep hill that lead down to a shallow river. The both of you decided to go along the edge, still hopeful that you’d find a deer. Maybe a deer was drinking some water? Wouldn’t that be something. 

“Do you remember the way back to the place we’re staying at?” You rolled your shoulders and readjusted your grip on your compound bow, feeling tired and stiff from all the walking you had done. You had been hunting for roughly two hours and the thought of retreating back ‘home’ for three more hours exhausted you. You were definitely making Glenn rub your feet and massage your shoulders when you get back. 

He playfully scoffed and gave you a ‘of-course-I-do’ look. “Hey, I just thought I’d ask, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t remember.” Your boyfriend shook his head with a smirk before striding ahead, making you groan since your feet were killing you. You were usually fine with all the hunting and traveling, but you weren’t used to doing it every single day for hours on end, especially with bouncing from one location to another. The farm became your safe haven and you were hoping to find another one. 

“Daryl,” you whined. “My feet are killing me, can we-” Daryl whipped around with his finger over his chapped lips, signalling you to shut your mouth. Any other time, you’d question him, but considering you were in the apocalypse and trusted him, you kept quiet and halted your movements. Your brows were furrowed though, letting him know you were beyond confused. Was it walkers, people? 

The hunter quickly motioned for you to come to him, so you carefully stepped beside him. He pointed in front of you, over your shoulder, and at first you couldn’t see anything, but then you squinted and saw the bushes move. Your eyes widened as you let out a breathless chuckle, smiling at the sight before you… a deer. Since the mammal was a little bit far, you could only see their head peeking out of all the greenery, chewing on their meal as they scanned the area. 

“I’m gonna go get that deer, ya stay here,” Daryl whispered, earning a nod from you before he went in the direction the deer was in. Since he was capable of catching a deer alone, you took the opportunity to sit down near the edge of the hill and rest. Setting down your bow, you untied one of your boots to massage your foot. You closed your eyes at the sensation, moaning to yourself and enjoying the sound of the stream flowing beneath. You stretched your leg and went to put your shoe back on before soothing your other foot, but suddenly footsteps and growls could be heard from behind you. 

You hurriedly unsheathed your dagger from your ankle holster, discarding your shoe, and whipped around to see two walkers very close to you and another making its way over. Mentally cursing yourself for letting your guard down, you stabbed one in its skull, struggling to keep the other away from you, but it kept nabbing onto your parka. As you were about to withdraw your blade, you took a step back to get away from the dead, but your foot never made contact with the ground. 

You tumbled down the hill, hitting numerous branches and rocks with the walker not far behind. Instinctively, you covered your face with your arms and grunted at the harsh contact your body was suffering from. A shriek left your lips, the hill had hills within them like a roller-coaster or a series of waves, making you pop fly up before hitting the ground hard. Something struck your shoulder, making you wince as you rolled down further, finally coming to a stop in the water. 

The calf deep water was ice cold as you struggled to get up, the excruciating pain in your right shoulder preventing you from doing so easily. You couldn’t sit there and clutch onto your injury, you had to fight for your life first. Not knowing where your other knife had gone, you searched frantically for something to aid you in killing the walker that was coming towards you. The third walker that you had almost forgotten about was rolling down the hill, so you needed to find something quick. 

As you were sliding backwards with your injured arm hugging your torso, your hand hit something big and solid. Gripping the object, you gave the creature a blow to the head once it stooped in front of you, and it fell over along with the rock that slipped from your grasp. You panicked and went to reach for it, but the last walker had gotten on top of you. Despite the pain, you wrapped one hand around its throat while the other tried to fight off its hands, not wanting to be ripped open like Dale. 

This was it. You were going to die. You were going to die and never see your family again- never see Daryl again. He wasn’t too far away from you and he would blame himself when he would find your lifeless body. You wanted to scream his name, but you couldn’t… nothing audible would come out. The inevitable was about to happen, but you kept fighting, you weren’t about to give up even though your thoughts were. The walker was growling and snapping its jaw, inching closer and closer as you grew weak in fending it off.  

All of a sudden, an arrow was staring just inches away from your face, sticking through the walker’s eye, making yours widen in shock. Tears streamed down your face as you shoved the dead weight off, hearing your name and quick paced footsteps splash the water coming towards you. Daryl kneeled beside you and set his crossbow down before you immediately wrapped your uninjured arm around his neck tight, trying not to have a panic attack. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and cried, feeling him secure his arms around your waist even tighter. You were soaking wet, but he didn’t seem to care. 

After a couple minutes, you loosened your grasp and withdrew, feeling a pair of hands on the sides of your face. The archer’s piercing blues were glossy, scanning your features and he rubbed your tears away with his thumbs. Your hands went to hold his wrists while your lip quivered, trying to hold back your cries. 

“I… I couldn’t call for… for you. It wouldn’t… it wouldn’t let me,” you choked, motioning to your throat. Daryl shook his head and embraced you once again, whispering that it was alright, that you were safe now. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, your shoulder was killing you and you let out an involuntary wince causing Daryl to quickly retreat with worried, apologetic eyes.  

You instantly caressed his cheek. “It’s okay, just my shoulder. It’s fuckin’ killin’ me. I think… I must’ve dislocated it.” 

“Here, lemme see.” Whimpering in pain, you shrugged off your jacket with Daryl’s help. You were wearing a black long sleeve shirt that was low cut, exposing the top of your chest. Your boyfriend only had to move the fabric near you shoulder a tad before seeing your bone was, in fact, out of place. 

“Uh, I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” you mumbled, grimacing at the sight. Daryl was quiet, so you glanced up to see him already staring at you with sympathetic eyes that were also nervous. Him biting his lip also being a dead give away.

“Do ya trust me?” You furrowed your brows and frowned thinking it was a stupid question. Of course you did, you’d put your life in his hands, hell, he saved you from that walker just mere moments ago. 

By the look on your face, he knew you thought it was stupid to ask, but you were going to hate him for what he had to do next. “Just spit it out, Dixon. I’m in a lot of pain right now and will be for weeks. Not to mention I’m soaking wet and not in the good way.”

Daryl softly chuckled, but it quickly dissipated when he softly grabbed your wrist that was cradled against your chest, with both of his hands, making you swallow thickly. “This is going to hurt.” 

“I trust you,” you smiled even though you weren’t looking forward to what he was about to do. 

He slowly stretched your arm out in front of you and began to bring it towards him, pulling until the ball of your arm bone would go back into your shoulder socket. You bit your lip hard and shut your eyes as he continued to tug, which made you lean back so you didn’t go forward. Suddenly, you heard a pop followed by a sensation, it still hurt like hell, but it felt normal.    

 Daryl shrugged off his winged vest before peeling off his leather jacket and brought his knife up to it. You hurriedly placed your palm over his hand that gripped the bladed weapon. “No, Daryl, just use my jacket. Besides, it’s wet and I can’t use it.” You lifted the black material and offered it to him.

He shook his head and pointed at it with his knife. “Nah, it’s ya favorite jacket, just gonna use mine.” 

“But that’s your only jacket.”

He looked down at his jacket and huffed as he peered back up at you. “Yer stubborn, ya know that?” He gravelly said, snatching your parka in a jokingly manner, making you smile and nod. 

You watched in bewilderment as he meticulously cut up your jacket and maneuvered it around your injury, the perfect makeshift sling. Honestly, you didn’t pay attention to how he managed to put your arm in a sling and knot it, you couldn’t help but stare at him the entire time in awe. You thought you were going to faint when he wrapped you in his jacket despite your protests. 

He sat back and stared at his work satisfied. “It feel alright? I can readjust-” 

“It’s perfect.” You leaned over and pecked his lips, brushing some hair out of his face, staring into his orbs with tears brimming your own. “Thank you.” You weren’t just thanking him for creating your sling, but for saving your life… for loving you. 

The archer shook his head with his hand on your thigh, rubbing circles and knowing your appreciation had a deeper meaning. “Ain’t gotta thank me, gotta take care of my girl.” 

Butterflies flew crazy in your stomach and you could feel your heart almost pound out of your chest. His girl. You don’t think you would ever get over the fact that he was yours and you were his. 

Daryl tapped your thigh, pulling you out of your trance before standing up, offering his hand to the only one you could use. When you accepted, his attention went down to your feet and by his befuddled reaction you followed. “Where’s ya shoe?”

You nervously chuckled, wiping your eyes before they could release tears. Scratching the back of your head, you glanced over to the ground above that you were once on, averting your eyes away so he wouldn’t notice. Oh, but he sure did. He did a double take, catching on and glared at you, waiting for an answer. 

“I may or may not have…  taken my shoe off ‘cause my feet were killin’ me which then led me to get jumped ‘cause I wasn’t payin’ attention like an idiot,” you confessed rapidly with a small voice, shutting your eyes to prepare yourself for the scolding he was about to do. When no words were spoken, you cautiously opened one eye to see him with a tiny smile. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” You questioned, tugging his jacket tighter around your frame.

Your boyfriend shrugged, his smile more evident before he grabbed his crossbow off the ground and began to walk across the river. Having no other choice but to follow, you huffed. What a tease. “So what’s your plan, smart guy?” 

“Walk down the river ‘til there’s an easier path ta the top. I’m gettin’ deja vu just bein’ down here n’ we ain’t gonna try climbin’ with ya bein’ all crippled. 

You rolled your eyes even though he was right. There was no chance in hell that you were going to be able to get back up there regardless if he helped you or not. “Crippled my ass. I could still put up a fight,” you mumbled grumpily, imagining yourself whooping some ass one-handed. “Also, that reminds me… my dagger’s up there in a walker’s skull.”

“Alright macho girl, we’ll get ‘em along with our food. I dropped everythin’ ta slide down and getcha.” 

You scoffed at the nickname… wait, food? FOOD! Your near-death experience and detour made you forget why you were out there in the first damn place. “Wait a minute, what happened to that deer? Did you get it?” You sped up to walk alongside the archer, excitement and hope flooding your features as you grabbed onto his arm, waiting for his face to show any sign of an answer.

He continued to walk as if you weren’t there which earned a tug on his forearm and a plea for him to spit it out. Daryl peered down at you with a smirk and with that you snaked your arm around his neck from the side to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“I can’t wait to tell everyone I got hurt ‘cause I fought off a bunch of walkers to get the deer before they could,” you proudly said, skipping in front of a very confused Daryl.

“Aye, don’ ya dare!”

Taglist:  @jodiereedus22​ @sourwolf-sterek32​ @haleypearce​ @gruffle1​ @lonewolf471​ @dashesoflipstick​ @aristocracy-y​

[thisbrokenmask]

Havana Nights

Title: Havana Nights

Pairing: Jin x reader

Genre: Meet-cute, flirting

Warnings: sexual tension?, Jin being a big-ass flirt, Y/N also being a big-ass flirt

Word Count: 5.1k

Song inspiration: Airplane Pt. 2

A/N: Even though ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event is now over, I’m still planning on finishing as many of the songs on my bingo card as I can! I was actually working on this in plenty of time before the end of the event but I just couldn’t get the wording right until this week. 

I also didn’t realise I would end up writing for Jin the most before I started this but what can I say, WWH just does things to me ig.

You were grateful for the cool rush of air that graced your skin as you entered the bar; the fan fixed above the door was one of many attempting to circulate air around the room, but was the only one that would actually grant any relief from the sticky heat of the midsummer night. You knew that as soon as you took another step into the bar you would be hit by the feverish aura radiating from the undulating mass of writhing bodies on the dancefloor, so you took a few moments to revel in the cool relief before you left it.

Pulling your hair away from your neck and tilting your head to the side to allow the fanned air to hit your pulse point, you smiled at the music that met your ears. You couldn’t see much above the crowd, but you could tell that Ernesto had found another band to perform live rather than playing the same well-loved tracks each night on his beloved jukebox. 

You made your way through the crowd towards the bar, helpless against the smile that pulled at your lips when you saw Ernesto already pouring you a drink. You’d always wanted to come to Cuba, something about the classic cars and the brightly-coloured streets drawing you in, so when you’d decided to travel on your own - a la Julia Roberts in Eat Pray Love - Cuba had been first on your list. You hadn’t really had a plan when you’d arrived, but you’d quickly settled in and found a few friends, even writing articles for a local magazine to get you by once your savings started to look a bit thin. You’d met Ernesto no more than a week into your time in Havana, when you’d wandered into the nicest-looking bar near your temporary apartment and he’d immediately taken you under his wing. You were the same age as his own daughter, apparently, but she’d decided to go to graduate school in America and he was missing her, so he made sure he looked after girls like you when they came into his establishment. You had grown to care for him in return, as him being roughly the same age as your own father made it easy to return the familial affection. Carmella, his wife, had started popping round to your apartment to bring you food a few times a week before you eventually started being invited for dinner on a regular basis. As the weeks had gone on, you’d found yourself feeling like this might just be your new home, at least for the foreseeable future, and Ernesto and Carmella had been delighted when you’d told them as such. 

You spent several nights a week at his bar, either chatting to him and some regulars you’d befriended just to be out of the house after a day of writing, or to cut a little loose on the weekends. Ernesto often refused to let men buy you a drink, adamant none of them were good enough for you, but all it took was a smile from you and he would back down, never intervening if you wanted to approach someone on your own. 

“Buena noches, Y/N,” he greeted you with a smile, sliding your favourite daiquiri towards you as you took a seat at the bar. 

“Buena noches, Tio,” you greeted him in return, wrapping your hand around the ice-filled glass and feeling the condensation wet your skin. “New singers tonight?”

Ernesto grinned at you before looking over to the group of heads you could see bobbing on the other side of the crowd. “Sí! They come to me last night, seven of them! They ask to perform here, I say they have to prove they can sing first,” Ernesto recounts the story to you and several other patrons as he continues to serve drinks, everyone listening with a smile as he raises a finger, as if he’s about to confide a secret. “They come this morning, they sing a few songs for me and Carmella and I put them straight on the board for tonight!” He laughs as he gestures towards the bar’s entrance, referring to the small notice board that sits on the wall outside to which he attaches the names of the bands he lets play here. You curse yourself for not checking it before you came in. “I don’t understand a lot of it but I’ve been around long enough to know they’re good. They’re from Korea, can you believe? From Korea to my little bar in Havana!” Ernesto is chuckling to himself about the strings of fate being pulled in such a way to bring this band to him, his patrons unable to hold back their grins at his unfaltering spirit, and his awe of them deepens your curiosity ten-fold.

Craning your neck, you attempt to catch sight of the singers through the crowd but can only spy several heads of hair as they bop in time to the beat of their current song. You count six in total; sleek black, two dirty blonds, dark red, what you believe is a head of pale pink, and a wide-brimmed cream hat, but you struggle to see more than glimpses of the faces beneath. Taking a sip of your drink through your straw, the combination of sharp lemon and smooth white rum floods your taste buds as you continue to watch for gaps in the crowd. The music changes several times before you drain your glass, but all of them have kept the crowd thriving and grinding in front of you. 

Placing your empty glass back on the bar, you tuck your hair behind your ear and straighten out your dress as you stand up. You slip between the bodies, letting yourself sink into the heat and the movement of the bodies around you that push and pull like a hot ocean tide. You’ve come to find the sticky heat of the crowds here comforting, almost blissful in how easily they melt away the stresses and worries of your daily life. Ernesto’s is your haven, and the effect of the dancefloor is now instantaneous.

You push your way to the front, bodies parting easily to let you through, and find yourself staring into the shining dark eyes of who you assume is the seventh man that you couldn’t see before. His blond hair is brighter than the other two you had already spotted, shimmering under the lights like the finest white-gold thread.

You notice his eyes quickly glance over you before a small smirk tugs at the corner of his plush lips, his singing uninterrupted. The air of professionalism around him strikes you, as you’re used to a lot of amateur musicians coming through and getting flustered by the proximity of the crowds. You feel heat rise in your cheeks at his close scrutiny of your outfit, your face, and your body, but you also feel heat settle in your abdomen as his gaze never breaks from your own. To grant yourself some minor relief, you look away to observe their set up, your suspicions that they’re more than a travelling band being confirmed the more you see.   

An invisible line on the floor has been mutually agreed between them and the patrons in lieu of an actual stage, a laptop, a few speakers and seven microphones the extent of their equipment. All seven of them are dressed impeccably, their outfits clearly chosen to appear casual and lightweight to suit the heat, yet the evidence of high-quality labels is visible to those who pay attention. All seven of them are also incredibly handsome in their own rights, a combination of sharp and softer jawlines all presided over by deep brown eyes. 

There wasn’t enough room for choreography, but the subtle moves they could pull off were infallibly synchronised. Whether it was shifting their weight from foot to foot in a sway to the beat or performing simple gestures with their arms, as you look down the row of them you could see that none of them were even half a second out of sync. 

The singer in front of you is still watching you, although the intensity of his gaze seems to have lessened slightly while you’ve been distracted. When you look back to him, you see a harder edge start to creep back in again and it stokes the heat in your abdomen. 

You let your gaze drift down him and he watches with interest as you drink in the sight of him. The loose material of his shirt keeps you from being able to distinguish where his waist tapers, but it does nothing to hide the broadness of his shoulders and chest. You briefly wonder what it would be like to hold onto them if he was holding himself above you and whether you’d be able to feel the muscles flexing under your fingers, but you blink the thoughts away, hoping your open appreciation wasn’t too obvious. His simple black jeans accentuate the length of his legs and the strength of his thighs, and you definitely feel your temperature rise as you skim back upwards to his face. 

If you weren’t looking into them, you might not believe that human eyes could be as dark as the ones in front of you, but given the way they burn into yours as soon as they meet, swirling with intrigue and temptation, you’d be a fool to deny the power they hold. You barely notice the song has ended, only becoming aware of it once the man in front of you turns away and walks towards the back of the stage, but not before dropping you a wink. You’re confused but too wired up to turn away, feeling adrenaline rush through your veins as you watch eagerly to see what’s happening. The seven singers gather together briefly, grabbing bottles of water and towels to dab at their faces as they murmur between themselves. The crowd behind you has stilled, but the hum of applause and conversation prevents silence from falling. Soon enough, the band breaks apart to form a vague line, looking out to the crowd before the tallest one steps forward to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for allowing us to entertain you tonight,” his voice is deep and smooth and his accented American gives his words a lilt that makes him even more charming. It’s definitely the voice of a man charismatic enough to apparently be the band’s leader, you think. The crowd applauds behind you, cheers and whoops ringing out loud enough that the leader has to wait a few seconds to speak again. “We’ve thoroughly enjoyed singing for you tonight, and we hope you’ve enjoyed our performance. We’re going to take a break now, but we’ll be back after a short while. For now, please speak to our man, Yunki, if you have any requests.” He gestures to the dark red-headed man to his left, who raises his hand in a wave before heading to the back of the stage and leaning over the laptop, clicking buttons.

The blond you’d been eyeing catches your eye again, the two of you immediately locking gazes. You’ve never experienced a pull towards another person as intense as this before, especially when it’s only after eye contact, and you feel your knees weakening under his gaze. The rest of the members begin to disperse, most heading in your direction to head towards the bar, your blond beau cocking an eyebrow as he begins to walk towards you. Feeling a rush of confidence under his heated stare, you let your lips twitch into a coy smile before turning and making your way back through the crowd, feeling your heart race with excitement and hope that he’s following you as you suspect he will. 

You return to the bar to find your earlier seat still vacant, but your empty glass has been removed and the bartop wiped down. You see Ernesto already grabbing a fresh glass before you even take your seat, a knowing smile in his eyes as he shakes his head fondly at you and a grin breaking across your lips. You see his eyes flicker to something behind you before returning to finishing your drink but, before you can turn to look, he brings your drink to you and places it down with a flourish. 

“And what can I get for the best singers my bar has ever seen?” 

You hear several low chuckles from behind you, five of the seven men having gathered behind you to order from the bar. You turn on the stool to sit sideways, Ernesto on your right and the band on your left, and your eyes immediately meet with the blond at the back of the group. He’s already gazing at you by the time you turn around, his dark eyes steadily watching you, the same smirk from earlier once again pushing up the corner of his lips. He seems to be as interested in you as you are in him, which sends a thrill pulsing through your body. 

“Five of your coldest beers, please, sir,” the leader says in front of you with a charming smile as he dips a hand into his pockets to find his money, “and a single of your finest whiskey, too. Neat, please.” 

“Coming right up!” Ernesto turns to start the drinks, leaving the six of you to exchange silent smiles before you decide to speak.

“You guys are the best band I’ve ever seen here,” you tell them, turning more to lean against the bar as you speak. “I’m pretty sure Ernesto would keep you here permanently if you let him.”

“Ah, thank you very much,” the leader bows his head slightly with a grin, his eyes scrunching closed adorably, his cheeks dimpling. A few more thank yous echo from around the group, all of them having heard your compliment, proud yet bashful grins lighting up all of their faces. “I’m Namjoon,” he offers his hand to you, which you take, and he shakes it gently.

“Y/N,” you offer back with a smile as he releases your hand. 

“That’s a beautiful name,” he says. “It suits you.” 

You can’t help the hard blush that burns your cheeks, especially when you see the other singers nodding in agreement with him, but you still preen under their complimentary smiles. It’s hard not to feel flattered when you have five very handsome and obviously talented gentlemen agreeing that you’re beautiful.

“You’re too kind,” you say instead, taking a sip through your straw to hide your smile and attempt to cool yourself down slightly. When you return the glass to the bar, Namjoon turns to introduce you to the other men at his side.

“Where are my manners?” he says with a chuckle. “Y/N, let me introduce you to my friends. This is Seokjin-hyung,” he gestures to the man at the back, ushering him to the front and making your heart hammer in your chest as the man you can’t stop staring at steps forward.

The word ‘hello’ has never seemed so attractive as it does when he says it, taking your hand in his and dipping down to press a light kiss to your skin. You miss the others roll their eyes and laugh quietly at his antics, too enchanted by the deep eyes you’re finally seeing up close: they’re dark as sin, yet they glimmer under the lights in a way that reminds you of obsidian glass. He lifts his head once more, his blond hair appearing almost white when it catches the light as he does so, and looks at you with a small smile, saying, “Please, call me Jin.” He holds your gaze and you find yourself nodding dumbly, completely entranced. You don’t see the knowing looks passed between the men around you before he’s stepping back and letting your hand gently slip from his grasp, as if he can’t quite bring himself to let you go. 

Namjoon glances between the two of you with a smirk, clearing his throat gently to break the eye contact between you. You shake your head slightly and send a small apologetic smile his way, but he’s either very understanding or doesn’t notice as he gestures to the next man.

“This is Hoseok-”

“Please, call me Hobi.” You don’t miss the snickers this time as he copies his bandmate, although he skips the kiss to your hand. The radiant grin he offers as he shakes your hand instead is contagious and you’re sure it would be enough to cheer you up if you weren’t already in such a good mood. His black hair is parted down the middle and sits gently above his eyebrows, and you wonder if all of them get dimples in their cheeks when they smile, because so far you’re three for three.

“Jimin,” Namjoon gestures to the next man along, whose handsome features are so delicately refined you’d possibly call him beautiful instead, his face blessed with a devilish combination of a sharp jaw and soft eyes, plush lips and apple cheeks.

“It’s a pleasure,” he smiles, bowing nearly 45 degrees as he takes your hand. His voice is as melodic when he talks as you remember it was when you saw him sing just minutes ago, although it seems slightly deeper in conversation.

“Our youngest, Jungkook,” Namjoon gestures to the man standing at your left elbow, who you definitely wouldn’t have guessed was the youngest. He’s taller than Jimin, looks like he might be taller than Hobi as well, and even his arms held politely in front of him can’t hide how broad his chest is. You suppose his eyes give his youth away, wide and curious as they are underneath his peach-pink hair, but he still quirks his lips in a smile as he greets you. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says with a shallower bow than Jimin’s, and his deep voice takes you by surprise - you’re pretty sure you witnessed him effortlessly hitting several high notes that you could only dream of reaching. You’re not sure if it’s his age, but he seems more nervous than the others and lets go of your hand sooner than his friends.

“The two over there,” Namjoon leans closer to you as he points to the two men still standing by the equipment, one you recognise as the ‘Yunki’ previously introduced to the crowd when they announced their break and the other talking to him quietly, watching as Yunki taps away at his laptop. “- are Yunki-hyung and Tae. Tae’s the one with the hat.” You giggle at how bluntly he says it, missing the way all of them watch you with gentle smiles as you do so.

“Hyung?” you look to Jin questioningly, feeling the weight of the foreign word on your tongue as you try to figure out its meaning. “Brothers?”

All of the men chuckle slightly, but none of them come across as malicious or even teasing. “Sort of,” he grins with a nod. “But probably not in the way you’re thinking,” he explains, and you find yourself unable to look away from the kindness in his eyes as he elaborates. “It’s a Korean word, not a surname. More like a term of endearment. We use it to address our friends - and our actual brothers - who are older than us; it’s like a sign of respect.”

“I see,” you nod, offering a sheepish smile to the rest of your company. “My mistake.” They all shake their heads good-naturedly, clearly used to having to explain this to people as they’ve travelled. Your mind briefly wonders how old they all are, whether they’re older or younger than you. “So, would I use it? If you’re older than me, I mean.”

“No, no,” another chuckle escapes Namjoon as he pushes his hair back, another quiet titter of laughter spreading through the group. “‘Hyung’ is just for guys, and only when they talk to other guys that are older than them, family or not.” He pauses, frowning slightly as he considers just how much detail to go into in the middle of a bar. He’s not in the mood to give a full honorifics lesson and, by the way your eyes shift to Jin, he supposes you aren’t in the mood to hear one, either. “There are different words for everyone, really.”

“So what would I call you guys?” Now that your focus on Namjoon has been broken, you struggle to keep it away from Jin for more than a few seconds, your eyes constantly drifting back to him. It allows you to notice the way his pupils dilate slightly at your question, his voice sounding before Namjoon even has a chance to take a breath.

“‘Oppa’,” he tells you, his hungry gaze holding onto yours as if he’s daring you to look away from him.

“Oppa?” You ask experimentally, letting the word roll off your tongue and exaggerating the pout of your lips as you do, taking note of the way his shoulders seem to tense when he hears you say it. You bite into the corner of your lip to try and stop the smirk you can feel pushing at your cheeks, vaguely aware that there are four other men here watching you essentially eye-fuck their friend. 

Your gaze is broken when Ernesto returns just moments later with five of his largest bottles of beer, holding them by their necks before he places them down, pools of water immediately gathering on the bar from the condensation dripping off the bottles. You sit up again and turn back to watch him, barely even seeing the small bottle opener tucked between his fingers as he expertly plucks off all the bottle caps, dropping them all into the bin you know he keeps behind the bar for that very purpose. You cock an eyebrow at him, silently questioning how it seemed to take him much longer than normal to collect a couple of beers, but he simply winks at you with a smile. You shake your head lightheartedly, knowing that his tardiness is his way of giving you time with these men and an unspoken sign of his opinion that at least one of them might just be good enough for you. He retrieves a glass next and then reaches up for a bottle of whiskey you’ve never seen him serve before. The seal is broken but it looks like barely more than a few singles have ever been served out of it. You wince at the thought of the price tag the drink must come with, especially given how small it is, and also wonder which one of them is the one with such a refined taste. 

Your eyes drift to Jin, wondering if his lips will be the ones coated in the sweet, oaky taste of whiskey and whether you’d be able to taste it if you kissed him afterwards, but for once he’s not actually looking at you. He’s murmuring something into Hobi’s ear, his face turned away from you so that you can only see the round outline of his cheeks and the sharp rise of his jawline. You notice the back of his ears have gone slightly pink, but it’s Hobi’s mischievous smile towards you that really captures your attention. Whatever Jin’s saying, you’re growing more sure with every second that it’s about you, especially when Hobi winks at you, but you’re aware that the little you can hear from this distance is Korean. You tell yourself you’re just imagining things as you move your hair back off your shoulders, although you’re not sure if you do so to cool yourself down or to distract yourself. 

“Anything else?” Ernesto asks, smiling warmly at the men beside you, and Jungkook mumbles something to Namjoon in their native tongue that makes the leader startle, his eyes widening almost comically.

“Oh! A glass of water, please,” he says, putting notes down on the bar.

Ernesto nods but pushes the notes back towards Namjoon before he goes to get the final drink. You watch Namjoon’s face contort in confusion, stifling a laugh when he looks at you for an answer.

“Did I do something wrong?” he whispers, unsure if he’s missed a cultural cue or has been impolite in some way. 

“No, no,” you assure him gently, resting your chin on your hand, but hold off from giving him any further explanation until Ernesto returns. 

“Excuse me, sir, did I pay the wrong amount?” Namjoon’s hesitant, probably painfully aware that Ernesto is responsible for his current employment but desperately wanting to do the right thing. 

“My singers don’t pay,” Ernesto says firmly, ignoring the money Namjoon’s holding out to him as he pushes the drinks forward. You notice Jimin stand a little taller at this, nudging Jungkook with his elbow and grinning, wiggling his eyebrows at what he’s essentially just heard as meaning an open bar, but Hobi sends him a slight warning glare and his grin turns into a smirk that he tries to hide behind pretending to wipe his upper lip. 

If nothing else happens, you’re certain you’ve found a reasonable drinking buddy in Jimin, should he wish to join you after his set. 

“I’ll take this to Yunki-hyung,” Hobi says, picking up the glass of whiskey before taking one of the beers and walking away. 

“Pass me the water, please, hyung,” Jimin says, pointing to the glass. Namjoon passes it over to him, then grabs two beers and gives one each to Jimin and Jungkook. You watch them follow Hobi back through the crowd, Jimin passing the water to Taehyung before offering a sip of his beer, which Tae sniffs but seems skeptical, taking a large drink of water instead, much to Jimin’s apparent amusement.

You’re left with Namjoon and Jin, Namjoon still trying to insist he pays Ernesto in as polite a way as he can muster, while Jin leans past him to take his drink. He leans right between you and Namjoon, leaving you staring directly at his broad chest merely inches from your face. You’ve barely had a chance to take in the sweet, woody aroma of his cologne before he’s pulling away again, a hint of something close to cinnamon lingering before he disappears. 

You don’t turn to watch him leave, returning your focus to Namjoon’s valiant yet pointless efforts in order to distract yourself from the heavy weight sinking in your chest. You’d thought Jin would stay and talk to you, especially with the way you’d both been eyeing each other all night, and you can’t say you’re not disappointed.

Although, the feeling doesn’t last for long.

“So, tell me,” you almost jump at the words that are murmured in your ear, turning on your barstool to see Jin taking a seat on the one beside you. His body is leant forward towards you, close enough to keep your conversation private and, once you’ve turned fully, for your knees to brush against his. “If singers don’t pay here, how am I supposed to buy you a drink?”

“Well, oppa,” you lean closer to him, emphasising your newly-learnt word as you place your hand on his thigh, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, hard. “I’m sure you could think of something else you could give me.” The muscles under your fingers tense and you’re sure you both feel the jolt of electricity that passes between you, even if you do still curse the denim that prevents you from feeling the skin of his thigh directly under your fingertips. 

“I’m sure I could,” his eyes once again drift down your body, unabashed in how he so brazenly drinks in the way your skin shimmers under the lights. You hear Namjoon cough awkwardly behind you before he walks away, but you can’t pull your eyes away from Jin. He wets his lips as he zones in on the exposed curve of your neck, your eyes following the brief flash of pink of his tongue before you lock eyes once more. 

“Dinner, maybe?” His eyes drop to your mouth when you speak, fascinated by the way your lips mould around your words.

“Sounds good.”

“Mmm, I agree.” You’ve both been gradually leaning in closer and now you can feel his breath as it ghosts over your skin, resisting the shiver that scurries up your spine in favour of scaling his thigh with your hand. There’s barely a few inches of space between your noses now, both pairs of eyes darting rapidly to take in every feature they can. The hand that was holding his drink on the bar now begins to lightly caress your upper arm, drawing small circles with the wet condensation on his fingers. 

“What are you doing later?”

“All the restaurants will be shut by the time you guys finish,” you tell him with a grin, but he’s undeterred.

“I’ll cook for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You any good?”

“Never had any complaints.” You get the distinct feeling he’s not just talking about food anymore when his hand goes from drawing circles on your arm to gently wrapping around it to hold you close. 

“What can you do?”

“Whatever you want,” he declares, briefly letting go of your arm to tuck your hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, his fingers gently playing with your hair. 

“Sounds promising.” Your fingers brush against the bottom of his belt, your heart rate rapidly increasing as you feel his breath against your own lips. 

“Jin-hyung!” You can’t help but laugh at the rush of air on your lips when Jin sighs, his head dropping slightly, and above the crowd you hear what sounds like Hobi yelping and several different laughs. Jin looks back up to you, an apologetic smile on his lips as you both feel the heat of the moment begin to slip away, although he still plays with the ends of your hair.

“They’re calling you,” you mumble, your hand slipping back down his thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. He looks over your shoulder and lifts his chin slightly in acknowledgement of his band before turning back to you, his palm finally coming to cup your cheek.

“I’ll see you later?” 

“For dinner?” you smirk, and a dark gleam returns to his eyes as he bites his lip.

“For dinner.”

If you would like to read my other works, please visit my masterlist

[bowieandqueen11]

Vulnerability / Luke Skywalker Imagine

Request: Hii! Could you do a Luke Skywalker x Reader where he comforts them after a panic attack or PTSD episode? I love your writing so much ❤ 

Thank you so much darling!! I’m so happy to see the love for Luke because there are not enough imagines for him! <3

As always, all comments, reblogs, requests are highly appreciated and do help me keep writing!

‘Y/N, are you alright? Why did you leave from the celebrations?’

Three taps rap on your door again.

‘Y?n, sweetheart, are you in here?’

Hearing nothing in reply, Luke thumps his shoulder down against the ship frame in defeat, shrugging his shoulders at Han who raises his hands and walks back to the cockpit with a frown. 

As he slouches by your door, waiting to hear any movement at all from behind the metal, he takes a moment to glance out the window and just watch the galaxy he had helped save. In every direction there is a star. He tilts his head, gazing upward, eyes more open than they can be in the fullness of day, not looking at one star, yet somehow seeing them all at once. Leaning on his left foot, he pops his head against the door, his eyebrows raised and eyes sparkling with hope as he hears soft plops approach his position. Scrambling up, he takes a step back down the corridor, fixing his collar as the doors begin to slide open.

‘Sweetheart, it’s quite dark in here’, he whispers, raising his hand up towards his eyes as he squints into the darkness, the footsteps receding away from him again. Flicking on the light, his eyes widen in shock, shame and fear swirling within their golden specks as he sees you sitting on the bed rocking, your knees tucked up to your chest and one hand wrapped around your throat, trying to stop it from constricting as the shaking sobs make you helpless to breathe. 

‘I-I’m sorry’, you manage to gasp out, ‘just seeing everyone there, in uniform, it just reminded me, reminded me of what V-Vader did to me-’

He runs over without a second thought, the only thing in his mind and in his heart is that he had to be as close to you as possible, right this second.

‘Is it okay if I’m here? Can I hold your hand?’

The vulnerability in his voice makes you nearly cry even more, but you manage to weakly nod your head.

His hands grasp at your face delicately, trying to wipe away as many unwanted tears as he can reach with his thumbs before settling for grasping your hands tightly, littering each knuckle with soft peppering kisses. You snuggle your head as far into his chest as you physically can, your eyes squeezing shut as you feel him pull you tighter, a thick sigh emitting into the air as the only sound that surrounds you two is the quiet buzz of the Falcon’s engine, and Luke’s erratic heartbeat. 

He nudges his nose into your cheek, and you lean into the touch.

‘I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving you, Y/n. I’m yours, and I will be for as long as you let me. I’m right here beside you.’

His hands run gently up and down the curve of your spine in tingly circles, his face blank and eyes closed, frustrated that he wasn’t there when you needed him most, no matter how many times you had saved him from blaser blasts or had his back when flying. 

‘You’re the best person I know in this whole galaxy.’

He starts splaying nervous sweet little nothings, nonsense words that tumble from his lips. 

Once Luke’s happy that your breathing has begun to regulate itself, becoming less shallow and more in sync with his, he wraps his arms gingerly around your shoulders, sagging lightly in relief as you allow yourself to be folded into the small expanse of his chest, revelling in the feeling of his fingertips dancing over your arms as you just breathe. 

‘Hey, if we can destroy a Death Star, we can do this.’

There’s a comfortable silence as the two of you just embrace the moment, just appreciating each other’s company and the trust you share in each other during such moment’s of vulnerability. Neither of you notice Han smile sadly from outside the door, before letting it close and allowing the two of you some privacy as the celebrations roar on outside.

‘The force may be strong among us, Y/N, but do you know what’s stronger? You. You are. We’re going to get through this.’

He gazes up at you with such compassionate devotion as he pulls you tightly against him, placing a soft kiss against the tip of your nose.

‘Right, shall I go and make hot chocolate?’

[telli1206]

A Christmas To Remember (Ch.4)

@vndooms @descendantsgiftexchange And here’s Chapter 4 😁 One Chapter left, which I hope to have up in a few days.

Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Falling For Christmas

Jay grunts softly, his eyes fluttering open at the intrusive sounds echoing from downstairs. He had resolved himself to sleeping in with Carlos this morning, so of course there would be a ruckus to ruin his first solid sleep this week.

He sighs, glancing down at the boy cradled in his arms. Carlos is settled peacefully against Jay’s chest, even breaths gently ghosting through his pretty pink lips.

Jay snuggles in closer, hugging Carlos tightly to his chest to fully enjoy this restful moment. It’s almost too tempting to just stay here for the day and not move a muscle, but before he can even really entertain the idea he hears a familiar snarky cackle ring out from downstairs.

He bites back a smile, sliding out of bed all too quickly and almost stumbling over his feet, waking Carlos with his movements. The boy next to him pops up, looking surprised to see Jay awake.

“W-What...are you doing?” He yawns, propping himself up on his elbows. Jay smiles at Carlos’ adorable sleepy face, unable to resist leaning over for a kiss. But once he’s back over the bed, Carlos takes the opportunity to grab Jay and press his hands into his back, trying his best to pull him back into the bed.

“Mmph! ‘Los!” Jay resists, pushing back from the bed. “Ben and Mal just got here!”

Jay springs backward when Carlos releases his hold and sits upright. An excited smile splays on his lips, and he drops out of bed to join Jay and get ready quickly. In record time they’re making their way down to the kitchen together.

The kitchen is erupt with laughter when they walk in. Ben, Mal, Evie, and Doug are sat around the table with Lonnie as she animatedly tells the story of her and Jane, again, while Jane sits in her lap, giggling happily. Ben and Mal are clearly absorbed in the story, Mal nodding her approval and Ben glowing his usual reassuring smile while they listen to Lonnie.

“That’s so cool you guys decided to give it a shot,” Mal mused, giving Lonnie a pleased smirk as she turned to nuzzle Jane’s neck. “Like, you got to be such close friends for so long before you dated. That must’ve made things just, so much...better. Huh?”

Lonnie seems speechless, for once, simply grinning at Jane while she nods vigorously at Mal.

“Isn’t that right, Jay?”

Jay chokes back a chuckle. Mal’s not even looking at him yet, but he knows that smug grin is meant for him. She turns slowly, flashing the grin his way as her eyes trail from Jay to Carlos and back. Carlos buries his face in Jay’s shoulder to hide his reddening complexion.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s great. Thanks Mals, good to see you too.” His eyes never leave Mal’s as he returns her smirk, letting go of Carlos to stride over to her and swoop her up into a hug. “Missed you, M.”

Mal leans into the hug with a smile. “Missed you too, Jay. I’m glad Ben could finagle at least a couple of days off for us,” she teases, stealing a glance over to her husband.

Ben’s already engulfed in a hug with Carlos, but he pulls away and quirks a smile Mal’s way.

“I did my best,” he concedes with a shrug. “I know it’s not much, but the royal court is fully adjourned at least, so we shouldn’t have any disruptions for the next couple of days.”

“Shouldn’t, being the key word,” Mal needles, poking at Ben’s chest. He scoffs at her snide comment though, sneaking a quick peck from her before running off to grab more coffee.

“Well, I for one am glad you’re finally here,” Evie says with a squeal, smiling brightly as she leans into Doug, looking over his shoulder at Jay. “Jay has been our Christmas activity coordinator all week, and you’ve been missing out on all the fun!”

“Oh! Oh! Yessss! It’s been so fun!” Lonnie agrees, eyes alight with excitement. “Jay’s got all the great ideas. Like, Christmasy stuff but super fun and exciting. Never a dull moment!”

The murmurs and nods of universal agreement have Jay swelling proudly, puffing up his chest as he smiles around the kitchen.

Once he catches the look on his boyfriend’s face, however, he physically deflates.

Carlos is chewing on his bottom lip, eyes cast downward as he scuffs at his foot. Jay observes him, silently, until he hears Doug clearing his throat.

“Anyway, what’s on the agenda for today, Jay? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be great to have Ben and Mal joining us!”

Evie grips Doug’s arm, eyes wide and focused in a silent thank you as he places a hand over hers. Jay sucks in a slow, stuttered breath, forcing a smile at them and silently promising to pry about what’s bothering Carlos later. Besides, he saved the best for last, for when Ben and Mal arrived, so Jay has no doubt that everyone will have fun today, especially Carlos.

“Well, why don’t we go find out? We’ve all gotta dress warm again…” he adds, talking over a few groans at the request. “It’ll be worth it! I know it.”

-----

Getting everyone dressed and out the door was a lot easier this time around. Jay likes to think that all of his surprises have been so fun that no one feels the need to question why they always have to go outside, but deep down he knows that Ben and Mal’s presence have more to do with it than anything. Ben is always willing to join his friends without question, and Mal has been hyping up their day so much that Jay’s really starting to wonder about her. Mal’s not the...cheerleader type. But he can’t think of another word to describe how she’s acting right now.

“Jay-bear, I think I figured out where we’re goooing,” she coos.

“Oh, did you now?” Jay quips, trying to glance quickly behind him. He knows she’s grinning, but their banter just doesn’t feel right if he can’t match his arrogant looks to hers.

“Yep, and I’m pumped.” She grabs Ben’s arm excitedly and stares out the window as they arrive. Jay’s pulling up to the lake now, fully frozen over and empty, with a fresh dusting of snow on top that’s been left untouched.

“Ice skating??” Lonnie practically shouts, jumping up from her seat in the car. “Yes! Let’s do it! I love it!”

Jay lips curl into a smile at the warm response to his plans. Even Carlos reaches over to intertwine their fingers and flash a happy grin. Well, a sort of persed, tight-lipped grin with a slight hesitation behind his deep brown eyes, but Jay pushes away the need to address it, yet. They only just got here, so there’s plenty of time to warm up to the idea still. And all their friends are here, so what’s not to love about this?

The sounds of excited chatter and elation as skates are being put on heartens Jay. Even Evie cheery smile stays put through the wobbling on her skates, and the mild offhand complaint about them not matching her outfit. Jane is giggling with every step, emulating a newborn foal with the ways her knees are knocking, but still eager and ready to get on the ice.

Carlos is not much sturdier than Jane on his own skates, but Jay keeps a firm grip on his waist and elbow as they walk, and despite a few harrowing teeters on his blades, Carlos glides onto the ice with surprising ease. Definitely a better start to their outings than previous days, and enough to stir a glimmer of happiness inside Jay as he and Carlos fall in sync on the ice together.

Of course, Lonnie still tries to stir up trouble by flying by them on the ice with Jane and getting a little too close , but even with that close brush Carlos manages to stay upright, maybe just holding Jay’s arm a little tighter.

He heaves a sigh of relief once they pass, and Lonnie throws a wink to Jay over her shoulder.

“We’re racing later Jay, you better be up for it!”

“You’re on!” Jay shouts back. He shrugs when Carlos shoots him a troubled glare, but once he squeezes Carlos’ hip and smiles reassuringly, he gives in with a resigned sigh.

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you skating alone. Maybe you and Jane can keep each other...up?” Jay grits his teeth, biting back laughter at the thought.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Carlos quips, bumping him on the shoulder. “I was more worried about your dumbass racing yourself into a tree or something. You and Lonnie aren’t exactly...thoughtful, when you challenge each other.”

Jay chuckles, turning their bodies to ease around a bend in the lake. “I’ll be careful, ‘Los. You know you can trust me.”

Carlos nods silently, choosing to lean into Jay rather than respond, which Jay is fine with. He’s content to enjoy this time with Carlos before their friends disrupt them, which usually happens all too soon anyway.

Especially when Mal is around.

“Jayyyy!”

He’s startled by two hands on his shoulders, and Mal’s body slams into him from behind before he can react. “Whoa! Sorry,” she cackles, wrapping her arms around to hug him. “I wanna do a whip, Jay! Assemble the troops!”

She pushes off of him, just as Ben skates up and grabs her hand, gesturing for Jay and Carlos to join them as she leads Mal to the middle of the lake. Jay groans as he starts to spin them around.

“You heard the queen,” he snarks. “You wanna grab Evie and Doug? I’ll get Jane and Lonnie. Let’s get this over with.”

Carlos giggles and shakes his head as he skates off to do Mal’s bidding. Jay wants to keep a sneer on for show, but Mal’s eagerness to has him feeling giddy. Even Carlos wasn’t fighting back his smiles, despite being out in the bitter cold. Things were finally going well for him.

-----

The rest of the day on the lake had been fun, but largely uneventful. Jay was happy for that though, because really, most of the events of the last few days had some sort of minor disaster tacked onto the end of them.

The whip had been exhilarating in its success. A knot had twisted in Jay’s gut as they all got lined up, the thought of Carlos potentially finding himself at the end and getting whipped into a snow mound had been swirling in his mind when they finally started. But to his luck, Jay had finagled the anchor position, and was able to keep Carlos at his side, ensuring his safety...for the most part.

Carlos’ breathless laughter and toothy smile remained etched in Jay’s memory, making the day more than worthwhile to him. He even managed to race (and beat) Lonnie, with Carlos conceding to skate with Jane for a bit while they did.

“Oh come ON! How did you do that? Tell me you cheated,” Lonnie pants, trying to catch her breath. Jay doesn’t want to sound as winded as he is, but sucking his breath down only leads to an awkward wheezing, which makes Lonnie laugh out loud. “Careful grandpa, you’re gonna hyperventilate! Deep breaths!”

“Shut up,” Jay retorts, unable to bite back his smile. “I beat you fair and square, Li- loser.”

He snorts when she slaps his back, hard. “Fine! Just don’t get a big head about it, cause it’s not gonna last long, you hear?”

Jay nods, letting his laughter die down as his breaths come in more evenly. His eyes dart around the lake until they land on Jane and Carlos, arms linked as they skate slowly, chattering quietly and smiling to each other. It’s only when Lonnie leans in to follow his gaze that he realizes he’s been staring.

“They’re fucking cute, aren’t they?” she muses, smiling softly as she watches them. “The cutest little nerds…” she adds with a quiet chuckle.

Jay nods, but jumps when Lonnie spins to face him, lips painted with a playful smirk.

“They really needed us you know? To show them how to let loose and just have fun.” She turns back to steal a glance at them again. “I just assumed Jane would always be uptight. I still liked her though, still wanted to give it a shot. And...she’s actually really fun. She’s always up for anything when she’s with me.”

Lonnie continues to watch Jane, and Jay almost has to choke back a giggle at the dreamy look on her face, but he’s able to control himself. He’s too happy for Lonnie anyway, he doesn’t even feel his usual need to tease her.

She finally seems to snap out of it, looking back at Jay with only a half quirk of a smile. She huffs a laugh at him, shaking her head.

“You gotta do the nerd stuff too, though, don’t you? Just to make them happy. It’s not so bad though. Jane loves when we read together. And we do puzzles allll the time.”

She scrunches her nose when Jay chuckles at her, giving him a nudge with her elbow. “Turns out, I actually like puzzles. I had no idea. I guess that makes me a little bit of a nerd too, huh?”

“It makes you a nerd for Jane.” He actually laughs this time, and Lonnie rolls her eyes at him.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been a nerd for Carlos even longer.”

Jay scoffs, pulling her along as Jane and Carlos start to skate back to them. “If you say so, Lons. It doesn’t matter anyway, cause I’m not about to complain.”

Lonnie seems eerily quiet for a moment, but just as she reaches out to grab Jane’s hand, Jay hears her barely mumble.

“Me neither.”

-----

Jay feels his happiness creeping through him for the entirety of their drive back to the castle. The car is relatively silent, Evie and Mal are already both sleeping, clearly feeling physically spent from the long day outside. Jane and Lonnie talk quietly in the back for most of the ride, while Jay lightly strokes Carlos’ hair as he lays his head against the center console. He’s smiling sleepily, and a rush of joy consumes Jay from the inside out. Ice skating had gone off without a hitch, and at this point he couldn’t have wished for more. Today was perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

When they arrive at the castle, Carlos pulls Jay aside and into the hallway as they’re walking in.

“So. Don’t be mad, but-” Jay’s already frowning, so Carlos turns a weak smile. “-would it be ok with you if I just went to our room now? I really want to lay down, I’m beat.” Carlos bites his lip and looks downward, refusing to meet Jay’s gaze as he waits for him to respond.

Jay’s trying to be understanding, but really, he isn’t. Sure, today was tiring, but everyone else is still choosing to hang out together, and Carlos is never one to turn down time with friends. And Mal and Ben just got here today! This just, doesn’t seem like something that Carlos would do.

Carlos finally looks at Jay, giving him wide, pleading eyes and his most regretful smile.

“I mean, if that’s what you want. You know I won’t stop you.” Jay mumbles, trying his best to look sincere.

Carlos nods, kissing him quickly on the cheek as he passes by to retreat upstairs. Jay huffs a sigh as he watches, eventually trudging glumly back into the main living room alone to rejoin their friends.

-----

“Jay, will you get your mopey ass in here already?”

Mal shoves another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, letting the spoon dangle from her lips as she waves Jay into the kitchen. He follows her command wordlessly. All the will he had to enjoy her company and banter went upstairs hours ago, leaving him alone so his mind could formulate all the potential scenarios that sent Carlos upstairs and not with Jay on Christmas Eve.

“Are you just going to sit around all night and wonder what the hell you did wrong?”

Jay grits his teeth as he slides into the chair next to Mal. “No,” he grumbles, but she’s already flashing a shit-eating grin.

“Yes, yes you are, Jay-bear. You’re not fooling me. Never could, so stop trying,” she chuckles and dips her finger in her ice cream to smear it across Jay’s nose. He swipes it off with a sneer, shrugging her arm off his shoulder.

“Fine, who the fuck cares?” He bursts, tossing his hands up in frustration. “I spent weeks planning out this trip, and all I’ve managed to do is drop a tree on Carlos, knock him out with a toboggan and make him want to go to bed and ignore me. I think I have the right to fuckin’ be upset, ok? I ruined our first Christmas together. He probably hates me.”

“Ok, stop with the pity party. He doesn’t hate you. I saw him with you all day today. He does, like...the exact opposite of hating you.”

Opposite of hate? Jay’s lip trembles, but he forces back his smile. “But, he couldn’t get away from me fast enough tonight. And I thought he had a great time today.”

“Jayyy,” she sighs, “I love you, you know I do. But not everything is about you. Did you ever think that maybe Carlos was...tired?”

Jay shrugs, a little disbelieving. “He’s skated before, it’s never that exhausting. And he’d never give up the chance to see you and Ben. We’ve been wanting to see you guys for so long.”

“I know,” Mals says, squeezing Jay’s hand. “And we’re excited to see you both too. But from what Evie’s been telling me, you’ve had all of them running laps for days with all your, Christmas activities.”

Jay snorts at Mal’s finger quotes, slapping them down with a smirk. “So what’s your point? I’m just trying to make the most of this trip, and really get in the Christmas spirit. You know? Make it a memorable Christmas for everyone.”

“And I’m not arguing that at all, Jay. Really, Evie, Lonnie and Jane wouldn’t stop raving about how fun it’s been thanks to you. But-”

“But? Oh great, here it comes,” Jay starts to moan.

“Just shut up and listen, ok? When you were making all these, Christmassy plans, did you stop to consider the things that Carlos likes to do?”

Jay pauses, licking at his lips as he thinks. “He likes...Christmas. Being with friends.”

“He likes sitting and talking, playing board games, doing puzzles,” she explains with a quirk of her brow. “Sure, he does sports. Sometimes. But mostly to spend time with you, like with tourney. But, you fell in love with a nerd, Jay. Don’t forget that.”

Jay scoffs, turning away from Mal with an angry furrow in his brow. But he releases with a sad sigh. “Fuck, you’re right. I know you’re right. I should’ve made at least one day about doing what he loves, not me. Dammit.”

He drops his head, clenching his fists on the table. But Mal reaches out to him, softening his grip with her fingers.

“Will you chill? We can still fix this.”

“Mal, it’s Christmas Eve. What the hell are we gonna do?”

Mal’s smile stretches wide and triumphant. “I thought you’d never ask. E! Get in here!”

Jay here’s some stumbling in the main living room, followed by quickening clacks.

“You called, M?” Evie sing-songs as she pops around the corner.

“Remember what we talked about? Jay does need our help,” Mal tells her, smirking at Jay’s surprised look.

Evie grins toothily at Mal. “Oh good! Craft time!”

[haleruby]

Forget Me Not

Characters/Pairings: established Malia/Lydia/Reader (Quim), Malia, Lydia, Scott, Stiles, lots of snow, and I never say it but the literal yeti. 

Summary: Amnesia makes the mind go brrr, but in a bad way...brr (sad). [This not being a published imagine for my followers means I can mess with the summary and other info as much as I want. XD]

Word Count: 5.9k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes (hopefully and technically the gif maker’s...thank you @ gifmaker for the gif), so no need to reblog/like, etc.

Hope you enjoy and it gives you a boost for dealing with your aunt. :-)

I wrote this around October 11th 2019, so apologies about the style not being quite as fluid as my other writing. My other stuff is a bit more recent, if you maybe wanna read it. Most of my teen wolf phase was around here and then it re-sparked in 2020 towards the fall so I added a tiny bit to that one story I told you about with the warnings. 

Also, apologies for the ending, lol. >.>

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She is cold... So cold. It feels like a slab of ice is being used for a bed; her back aches all the way down to the individual vertebrae that compose her spine. Pain is slowly causing her other senses to return, enlivening them in cruel way so feeling anything means to hurt to some degree. A whooshing sound makes it hard to think, it rips across her mind dashing the thoughts that slowly trickle in through the haze and the ache. What happened...? Whipping wind continues to bear down on wherever here is. There is hardness under her, so she is probably on the ground and outside based on the frigid temperature. Moving an arm to check the hypothesis causes pain to lance through her shoulder so sharply a feeling of vertigo sets in. The firm ground suddenly tilts slightly. The leverage is increased almost mockingly, it edges up bit by bit like she is about to be slid off a cold metal tray to join the next batch of suffering. A choked whimper leaves her at the odd sensation of slipping. Just before the final plummet, she snaps back into herself viciously. Jolting does nothing good for her body, but now her eyes snap open with a slight burn as if they were sealed shut previously with chilled glue...At least she thinks they are open. Blinking confirms that her eyelids still function, which is good because she is trying not to think about how her arms and legs are not, though she can still mostly feel them. Everything is white. A flurry of white is all she sees after staring long enough to detect movement in what was thought to be a static image. Snow from what may be an impending blizzard continues to beat down on the surroundings, coating them in freezing rain, smatterings of hail, and ice. Why isn't she buried yet...? How long has she been here? A large conglomerate of flurries landing on her cheek causes her to wince, because it will not melt for a time, but the question remains. The left side of her face is stinging brutally, while the rest of her exposed skin only feels like a wind chap is starting to set in. Frowning makes it seem like there is something frozen to her skin; the downward curl is not reaching the left corner of her lips as if they are stuck. Is there something on her face? Staring blankly at the sky is not helping any of this make sense. Turning her head a miniscule amount causes her to feel sick, so she stops, trying to breathe evenly although the slight shaking is making it difficult. Being still is not an option, but the jolts of pain makes her wish it was. Evergreen trees were glimpsed in her peripheral vision; they looked towering and dark, not all fit for a happy Christmas. Woods plus winter with injuries does not sound good. Why is she even here? Working up the will power to try and get up is not something she has even entertained, since moving a single appendage hurt way too much. The snow fall is becoming less like the interior of a cheap snow globe and more like sheets of rain are freezing and then coating the forest solidly. Her right arm is no longer visible. Maybe getting under a tree would provide some protective covering? Don't get up, just shuffle. She can do that. Her feet ache in a disconcerting way like they fell half asleep. Digging her heels into whatever frozen packed dirt or snow is under her takes a few minutes, but little divets were clumsily formed. Now, she just has to leverage it. Her left arm is tucked close after what happened when she moved it. Shakily drawing her legs up again allows her to try and push back slowly, more so scrambling a few inches than moving back with purpose. Sliding against snow should be easy. The rocks and sticks that litter the ground seem to dig into her when she attempts the awkward dragging motion that causes a pull of tension across her body.

It hurts. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she mumbles hoarsely. Anger at not knowing why, where, or what lead to this prompts the pain signals to be ignored, instead she attempts to continue the mutilated crab walk back. Powdery snow sticks to the black of her pants with less finding purchase on the plastic shell of the navy jacket. A bit of red is spotted in the snow, but checking for the source of bleeding is secondary to getting away from the flurries. A trail of blood spottily forms from where she started to where she has hauled herself to. She is practically panting, which causes the cold air to stab her lungs like multiple knifes each time a ragged breath is drawn in. Her movements become out of sync, bordering on frantic. Less than a few meters of progress has been made... A foot digging in is mistimed with the curl of her back and placement of her arm, so that the stretch wracks through her painfully. A gasp muffles the cry of pain. She ends up off balance, crashing to her side heavily. Snow forces her to reflexively turn her head slightly to the side, but she still feels it burning in a way only ice can against her cheek. Throbbing stemming from her left temple encapsulates her head in a vice and is likely what makes the white dance with undulating blots of black for a while until her vision slowly clears back up. She could just rest and then try again. Maybe she should just close her eyes... Lean back and try to conserve warmth until the effort to move again seems possible. A cat nap could work? She tried and is tired; it's deserved. A sudden shrill howl barely stirs her, but a primal part of her mind urges her to become slightly more alert. That kind of sound belongs to a predator. Laying semi-buried in the snow with the inability to move may as well be an open invitation for dinner to whatever can survive the harsh conditions of the forest; it is probably a wolf or something canine. The tree line is watched between too slow blinks for whatever just made that noise. Nothing happens... She didn't imagine it. The cold has penetrated her gloves, it has penetrated her to the very center of her being, but fingers weakly search for something of use. A large rock? A stick? A phone? A conveniently placed gun? There is nothing she can use for defense, so her right arm stops extending outwards from her side to come to rest with her useless left one. Guarding her vital organs may at least help a little... Another howl sounds, but this one sounds deeper and echoes across the space; it sounds low, haunting, and mournful. There is more than one... They could play tug-a-war with her.  She can barely make it to a tree for makeshift shelter, so climbing one to impede them locating her is also a 'no'. No weapon or means to deter the animal was magically found in the snow. The state she is in is yet another limitation, because she could not fend one off in perfect health either. ...What does she do?  A short yip sounds like an announcement that her time to wrack her weary mind for a solution has trickled away. The source of the sound is located immediately as a small wolf with large, rounded ears makes a bee line for her. She vaguely thought it would have white fur or maybe a light gray, but a tawny brown sticks out against the snowy surroundings and looks distinctly out of place; it should be in a rich pine forest with browns and greens. Mentally critiquing the animal is not what she should be doing. Fear laced adrenaline causes her to clench her right fist tightly as she attempts to shift upwards to appear less prone—less weak. Gathering snow in her palm is so she has something to throw, even if a snow ball is a poor choice against a predator. The animal skids to a stop a little ways away, raising its head towards the sky to scent the air. Is it smelling her blood and judging that she is easy prey?

Teeth grit at the thought, because she has no idea about wolves or whatever dog thing this is. Could noise scare it away or only incite it further? How do you deter a canine? Looking it in the eye may be taken as a challenge or as a warning, but she still stares into its' eyes sharply, trying to project an intimidating aura as she narrows her own. The little quakes racking her paired with the fact she is on her back does not make her cut an imposing figure. A slow step forward is taken as the small wolf lowers its body more to the ground; it must be savoring how easy a kill this will be. Her arm draws back in warning. Will the wolf call her bluff and edge closer? "Go away," she seethes, knowing that saying something to it is a lost cause, but it is eyeing her oddly for an animal, almost thoughtfully. Lunging for her throat or springing forward to pounce should have occurred by now. Why isn't it attacking? Ears fall back, almost dropping at the tone, rather than being pressed flat against the skull in anger. Another step forward is taken and then another, until the wolf is close enough that she thinks she can hit it...The snowball is poorly compacted and falls apart, but some of it lands on its fur, which causes the wolf to shake its head at the action, giving a disgruntled chuff at the coldness.  ...Did she expect that to go any better in her head? No. But it was her only real projectile. The wolf does something unexpected, it sits down like a dog and stares at her with those too human eyes. The forest in summer again comes to mind; a rich hazel that borders on brown like wood bark aside from the lightness around the iris is trained on her. She glares right back. Maybe its not a wolf, because it looks small and lean with a body that seems more agile than powerful. A long snout reminds her of a fox, and those ears that are still down are not really that wolf like either, too floppy... Maybe it's a special breed to this area or something else, not that it matters when it definitely has vicious claws, sharp teeth, and she can't get away. A decision must have been made as it creeps closer with tentative footfalls that barely displace the snow. Her arm is pinwheeled to kick up the remaining snow at her side at it in a last ditch effort for distance, but it keeps coming closer heedless of the weak icy barrage. The coolness likely does not seep through its thick fur. "Stop! Please, just go back!" She raises her voice sharply, distilling a hardness to her tone that causes the near hyperventilating quality of her breathing to abate for a moment as she tries to issue a command to a wild animal. Surprisingly, the wolf does halt its progress, but what it does next has her trying to get away as if the promise of being eaten was only a slight offense. Hazel just flashed a brilliant, glowing electric blue that seemed to pierce through her. Its an unnatural wolf thing. There may be worse things than death. Scrambling away using both hands and legs was a mistake, one that was made more than once as she groans. Her jaw locks like a steel trap as she continues, now on her stomach rather than side to crawl away. Tears feel momentarily warm against her frozen cheeks, before causing the burning to redouble from the wind. Everything hurts. She claws desperately at the snow, trying to get away, because there is no explanation for what she just saw or how odd the creature is in general. Her vision seems to be becoming the view used for wide screen movies; darkness creeps around the edges. She is struggling to make sense of things other than the need to move away, because that creature goes against the natural order.

Its too intelligent, it knows too much. Those eyes. It won't just kill her... Something grabs a fistful of her jacket, tugging backwards to prevent the flagging forward motion. It must have a mouthful of her jacket. She kicks out. Her legs feel like lead weights that she only has a minor degree of control over and no contact was made with a furry body, instead only the inevitable collision back with the hard ground occurs. The additional jolt is nothing compared to the rest of the pain that is maddening at this point, because the adrenaline rush is failing at dampening it. Her actions are catching up with her. An angry sob leaves her when she inelegantly falls face first in the snow. Her arms are shaking and she can't support herself anymore while also resisting the wolf. The grip on her jacket is suddenly replaced by a clamping sensation on her shoulder. There is no tearing or teeth burrowing. What feels like fingers squeeze her shoulder, until another hand is placed flatly on her back. What the Hell? What. The. Fuck. Being turned over slowly causes her to whimper; her eyes screw shut because nothing makes sense and she hates it all. Fighting has gotten her nowhere. Something warm settles on her cheek, and she should look to see what is going on, but she is too cold and tired to care. The whipping wind gains an additional sound, though she can't process what it is except that is softer and more pleasing to the ear. A voice? No, that isn't possible. The falling sensation comes again; this time she does not try and stay upright or grounded against it, allowing herself to go along with it. She gives up. . . . . . . "-the blizzard is only increasing; it took out the power lines. We can't go out in that." "You can't, but I can." A dull bang sounds like someone hit something wooden with their fist. "We can't!" This is half shouted in clear exasperation that may be hiding anger. "Losing anyone else isn't an option, ok? I want to know where he is too, but you can't see, smell, or even hear when it's this bad out, and we don't know what is out there that did that to her. You're not thinking it through, Scott." "He's a part of the pack." Listening to the argument unfolding any further is prevented when warm fingers graze her neck. She stops playing possum. Her eyes snap open to meet startled green ones that reminds her of emerald gemstones. A strawberry blonde girl is sitting on the burgundy upholstered couch she lays on, and may just be checking her pulse, but her right hand wraps tightly around her wrist just in case the action is not so innocent. Only a cursory glance is given to the surroundings, since she feels on edge. Where is she? A ski lodge... Thick wooden logs make up the walls, though it is hard to tell how large the space is when only candle light provides light. She does spot the underside of the A-line architectural support that is made of exposed beams. A few mounted deer heads leer at her with glassy black eyes. One wall boasts a large crackling stone fire place that has ancient crossed ski poles above it as a decoration; this is the main source of warmth and brightens the large 'U' of couches that could fit a dozen or more comfortably. This must be a lobby, not a home, based on the few informational areas and posters she saw. Was she out skiing? Returning her attention to the girl has her pausing, because she is being watched so closely, but there may be fear to that gaze too. Pale skin seems to lack much color, even though the fire is casting warmth on both of them and making the red to her hair more vibrant. Her grip is not that tight, and she was touched first, so why is she being looked at like that? Releasing the hold after moving those probing fingers away occurs; she did not mean to frighten her... "She's up! Thank God." The sudden announcement breaks the silent stare off. A guy with spiked brown hair dashes over to the couch alongside a taller guy with black hair that is somewhat obscured by a beanie. These were the two who were arguing. She simply observes them, unwilling to be the first one to speak, because she has no clue how she got here and would rather not be at a deficit by admitting that. Letting them do the informing is a smart move. "We set your arm back in place, but you may need surgery for the cuff," Stiles explains, coming to kneel beside the couch. Soft brown eyes sweep over her form that has less snow and blood caked on it; however, he is still worried about the injuries, especially when they only have a small first aid kit and makeshift sling on hand. "We bandaged what we could. Also, you will probably need a CT scan because your head has a crack in it like Humpty Dumpty. We will figure it all out, Quimmie." He seems pretty caring, so she nods stiltedly in agreement for him to continue speaking. The taller one, who must be Scott, draws closer, fiddling with a walkie talkie in his hand, before sighing. She waits for him to muster up the will to speak. "I know you're hurting, and I'm sorry, but where is Liam?" Once one question is asked it seems that it breaks the dam so a deluge of them come forward as his dark brown eyes narrow at the faint popping of static that comes from the device. There has not been a check-in in a while. "What happened to your team? Was it the ridge that you investigated or did it come after you on a trail? Were the hikers right, and it's just a crazed wolf or something else?" "You can't ask her all that at once." "Stiles, the temperature is dropping further and he is still out in it." "Yeah, and she just woke up, Scott. So back off." A hand finding her own diverts her focus from another brewing argument between the two. Fingers interlace with her own one at a time with a gentleness that confuses her after how hard everything else has been, so she doesn't immediately resist it. A pinky edges over the row of her digits until her hand is covered and then a hold is formed that she does not return. The question must be evident on her features, because a sad smile of understanding is given; it looks like the girl is trying not to crumble, which she accomplishes, but the underlying cracks are still there for all to see. What did she do to be looked at like that?   "Malia is right..." Stiles practically rounds on both of them, knocking his knees against the edge of the couch at the softly spoken statement. "No, Lyds," he disagrees immediately, before locking eyes with impassive (Y/E/C) that watch him, but do not really take him in or express much emotion. He thought it was from the pain and shock, not because... "What is my name?" "Stiles," she answers correctly, because it was spoken already.

"Scott said it earlier," Lydia points it out calmly.  Stiles runs a hand down his face, not wanting to test the theory that Malia suggested because of what it could mean, but he also knows he needs to. There is a reason the werecoyote is listening from behind the couch and not present with the rest. The earlier fear towards her cut her to the bone. Explaining it away as confusion or discombobulation did not convince Malia, who he tries to not glance directly at, even though he can see the glowing blue to her eyes, because this is upsetting to her. He balls his hands into fists; it can't be that. "What school do we all go to?" She says nothing, but wishes the couch cushions would absorb her into it. "What does our dad do for a living?" He asks it more sharply at the silence that seems to say more than any answer could. No, no, no. A hand is placed on the edge of the couch to keep balance as he sinks to his knees, rather than kneel; he meets her eyes squarely. "Come on, try and answer."   Her brows furrow at this, because she does not look particularly like him for them to be blood related. His features are mentally compared to what she intuitively knows to be her appearance. The skepticism is not voiced.  Being stared in outright disbelief by Stiles makes it clear that anything she could say about the situation would make it worse. "What is your name? Where are we from? What is the year? Who is she-" A hand gestures quickly to Lydia, though he quickly unfolds his fingers so he is not rudely pointing at her, but his palm shakes, "-to you? Malia, come over here and-" "Stiles." Lydia's voice holds a firm warning as she places a hand on his shoulder, pushing him slightly away from the couch edge before he looms closer. She scoots to be blocking his stare that practically tears into them with its desperate edge. He probably does not even realize he was raising his voice, almost shouting out each question so it warped into a demand. "Don't push her; it's not her fault." "She isn't saying anything!" Stiles counters. "It wouldn't be what you all want to hear..." That causes the pack to grow quiet for a moment as they each consider the matter of fact statement. "So, what? You were just going to go along with it?" Scott asks, confused. The realization that they have no idea what they are facing or how Liam is doing also weighs on him in addition to how this amnesia will affect the pack. Did they just lose two friends tonight? He sits down heavily on the coffee table, shooting Malia a sympathetic look to try and silently communicate she needs to dim down. "There are five of you and one of me, not great odds, so-" "We aren't going to hurt you." The vehement interjection causes her to reword the point, though green eyes practically blaze as they meet her own; any of that fear has burned away, replaced with conviction. "I don't know anything about anything," she admits softly, glancing at the red and black plaid blanket draped over her legs to cope with so many people staring at her. Her head still aches and this is tiring. "Waiting to see what you had to say was the logical thing to do. I don't know your intentions, but I wasn't going to lie to you. Thanks for helping me out of the snow..." "That was Malia," Scott supplies automatically. She has the feeling that none of the ones in the seating area is this Malia person, so a nod is given. Stiles rises from the stone floor, trying to figure out how to fix the situation. This is no broken bone that can be set or a cut that needs to be stitched up; her memories are not murky or mixed up, but are completely gone. "Can you please tell us what you do remember?" "Why?"

"So we can help you and our other friend." Scott answers honestly, before Stiles losses the bit of composure he just re-gained. He is in older, adopted brother mode and is obviously upset. "We can answer your questions too." "I didn't say I had any..." "You don't know anything, so you should. Unless being amnesiac is how you want to reinvent yourself before senior year." Stiles snipes, but backs off when his best friend gives him a warning look that does not compare to the one he will get from Lydia and Malia, if he keeps pressing it. He is mad at what happened not her...But she is not acting like his adopted sister, who has been with him for years, but someone else entirely. Fingers pull at the worn tassels of the blanket for a moment as she considers the alternatives, turning them over in her head given how tense things are and her own deficit. They did help her, so being difficult is not her goal. She can't shake that there is something not quite right about them, especially Scott, it makes her feel on guard like there is a potentially hidden deadliness. Why are they in an empty ski lodge? The owners should be present or at least the other customers. She is mostly laying down aside from a pillow that elevates her back, sitting upright would put them more on equal terms, but the pain that will come with moving is considered. "Okay, one quick question: why are you all here alone? This place does not seem to be in operation, so did you break in...?" Scott shares a look with Stiles. Telling the full truth would only work with someone acquainted with the supernatural and all of that must have been wiped away too. He runs his hands down his thighs to stall. "We got, er, permission to come up. There's an unsolved mystery that we are trying to crack. The resort is temporarily closed down, because of it and the blizzard..." He trails off, trying to balance the truth with the lies. "We are trying to help." "You do seem the helpful type," she observes dubiously, before crossing her right arm carefully with her sling encased left. The position helps her feel a bit more distant from their prying eyes; it feels like they are judging her, though that makes sense when she is expected to actually be someone, not a blank slate. She turns her attention to the fire. "I don't know a Liam. I don't know why we were on a team or what our objective was. All I remember is snow: white, cold, burning snow. I was on the ground trying to get up, but failed because everything ached. I actually felt like I was falling..." She presses her lips together, mulling over what else can be said. Those glowing, unnaturally blue eyes come to mind so vividly, it feels like she is staring at the creature again. They probably already think she is crazy enough without mentioning it. "There was a wolf, or maybe it wasn't a wolf, that kept coming towards me. I assumed it would maul me, but it didn't...I'm not sure how it was going to kill me, it seemed too patient and smart, not really like a typical animal. I freaked out and tried to crawl away when it got too close, which made all the pain a lot worse. I fainted. I'm assuming Malia scared it off or dealt with it, because I think I would remember it biting into me...Then I woke up here." Lydia wants to reach out to her, but prevents the urge with how previous attempts were received. She can tell that she is still struggling with the pain on top of everything else; however, the far off look in her eyes must mean something is not being voiced. They still have not shared her name...

"Okay, so everything before the snow is blank?" Stiles confirms, getting a curt nod in response that makes him want to throw something into the flames of the fireplace. This is not how the weekend's mission was meant to go. He is pacing in front of the hearth, chewing on the cap end of a pen as he thinks about where to go from here. She was also their only lead with Liam and the creature. How will his dad react? He's older--the older sibling, and feels responsible for her, and now she's a very familiar stranger..."You're sure that's it? So like an hour or so comprises your entire, new existence?" "Yes, Stiles." He ignores the slight irritation to her tone, because he is busy thinking. "Maybe we can jog her memory?" This is posed to the pack, like his sister is another murder case or mystery that he can add to his pin and red string laden board to puzzle out the connections and causes. He can solve this. "We should wait until my mom sees her and the doctors run legit tests. There may be rules on how to deal with head trauma patients," Scott disagrees gently. "Maybe the head trauma is not the cause...It could be something else?" "She is still healing and we don't know how bad everything is." Scott sees the way Stiles crosses his arm abruptly at the disagreement, annoyed. "I want to help her. We need to find Liam too." "The answer could lie with her if we just try and remind her who she is!" "That could make it worse." Lydia is unsure who she sides with between the two guys, but knows talking about the one in question like she is not present in the room is almost always a bad idea. Malia getting up from the wooden chair that was pulled from behind the receptionist's to rest behind the couch is mostly ignored. Supple leather comprises her winter boots that only make a faint clack against the wood floor. She moves purposefully, ignoring Lydia's questioning look as she rounds the couch and stands in front of it to peer down at its occupant. The lack of recognition causes her to feel a deep ache in her heart, while the early fear left a ragged wound behind. Taking a knee, she tilts her head slightly as she watches (Y/E/C) eyes look her over cautiously, rather than softly, because the one in front of her does not know her. "Uhm, thank you for saving me?" Malia ignores the tentative gratitude. "Malia, I-" Scott's concerned warning is stopped short when Stiles holds up a hand, silently asking for him to let whatever is about to happen unfold. He locks his jaw, knowing how affected his beta was when she arrived back at the lodge. She was practically incoherent in describing what happened, instead whimpering and growling when anyone got too close to the two and unwilling to let go of the one bundled up in her arms. She was more coyote than human... Scott slides to the very edge of the coffee table to intervene, if needed, as a precaution. She looks kind of angry...Hazel eyes are not nearly as searching as the green ones that were first on her, rather they seem to be invasively prying without hesitation. The shoulder length cut to her brown locks frames her face nicely, which makes her gaze that much harder to look away from. Being stared at like some sort of freak show is grating on her patience, so she eventually manages to glance away to look back at the fire, though her view is soon occupied by Malia shifting closer with a challenging look. A lightly tanned hand rests on the back of the couch, effectively caging her in. "If you have something to say, then please go ahead," she requests calmly. "How could you forget about me?"

"It wasn't a choice." "Then why aren't you remembering?" Malia almost snaps out the question. A scoff almost leaves her at the presumption, because this girl is really blaming her...Are they all placing the fault on her alone? Maybe the inkling that something is not right with some of them is because they are actually a threat; the lodge is becoming more inhospitable by the second.  "I can't. It's not like I'm repressing it," she replies sternly. "I don't know my own name, so it's definitely not personal. Get over yourself." "Quim. That is your name" Lydia offers, trying to mediate between the two, though she knows this is hard for Malia. It is hard for her too, but someone has to be on Quim's side as a source of support. "Oh, okay..." Fingers burrow deeply into the upholstery of the couch, nails threaten to extend and rip out the plush stuffing. Her coyote aspect howls in her mind. Malia grits her teeth against the hurt those words just stirred, trying to let anger mask it because she would have never thought this would happen to them. This is not how it should be. Relying on instinct, she surges forward, placing a hand firmly over Quim's heart to pin her in place as she joins their lips without asking for permission. She is her's, so she should not have to. The kiss is forceful, demanding and not at all how a kiss should be...It is also one sided. She is doing all the action, while her partner is frozen and unresponsive, though that stasis eventually breaks for Quim to turn her head away abruptly, before a hand is against her shoulder, pushing away. Trying to move away from Malia causes a sharp pull in her back that earns a wince. Fucking oww. "What the hell are you doing?!" "I was trying to jog your memory!" Malia counters. "You can't just kiss people!" "We've done way more than kiss, Quim!" That causes the indignation to leave her in a rush, making the anger feel unwieldy and too large for her to handle. She retracts her hand from Malia, re-crossing her arms as best she can to serve as a barrier between the two of them. Now, she is more confused. "What...?" "Maybe now isn't the time for this..." Scott attempts to reason with his beta. "Mal-" "My soulmate forgot me!" "Not on purpose." Lydia pipes up, earning a huff from the werecoyote, but at least she is listening to her. She links their hands to try and pull Malia away from the couch edge. "We need to be patient." "How are you handling this well? She forgot you too--both of us!" "Not. By. Choice." "I have two girlfriends...?" Stiles runs a hand down his face at the turn in conversation; this is not going to fix her memory, but of course that is what his sister takes away from the conversation. "Yes," he answers at the perplexed expression, rolling up his shirt sleeve to show his blank wrist. "Soul identifying marks. Ring any bells? No, well, you have two of them, so you have two soulmates, even though it is rare to have even one. Lucky you."  Oh... Green and hazel eyes no longer meet in a silent, tense stare off, settling back on the occupant of the couch. Quim falls silent under their attention, unsure what could be said when forgetting your literal fated other halves.

[drakewalkerfantasy]

Higher, further, faster, baby! (Part 1)

Summary: 4 years later, they are still together, and their love only growing stronger with each passing moment. It took them only one kiss to awaken the feelings they didn’t realize were blooming deeply inside them. What will it take for them finally to take the next step? And if they are both ready to do this? And what exactly Beckett planned to make this evening truly magical. 

Author’s note: All rights on The Elementalists and characters belong to Pixelberry.  English isn’t my mother language, so please excuse my mistakes.

This is a part of my Friends to Lover Universe, the one that was started with Four Part Mini Series called Can you fake love? I may continue to write it as small mini series or one shots, to show what future is awaits them

Thank you so much to @sarzkh31 for the prompt 181 for Beckett and my MC Maeve. I’m not sure if this is what you expected and I really hope you will like it :) This fic may have second part, part for now will leave as this.

Words count: 3008

** music inspiring it This post

** video inspiring it This post

**Warning: none, this is pure fluff**

Snow slowly circled around them, falling to the ground. Their faces still flushed from the previous activities, and snowflakes burned against their hot skin, while they went forward through the snow-covered ground. Beckett gently led Maeve further, his hand placed on her lower back, while another held hers in a firm, but gentle grip, helping her to walk. The satin blindfold was covering her eyes, and her heart fluttered inside her chest in anticipation when they came to a halt. After a moment, she felt him came behind her, his fingers sliding up her arms to the ties, and his hot breath caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear, sending a wake of goosebumps to dance along her spine. His fingers reaching for the ties letting a light material flatter to the ground, swaying on the wind. Maeve’s eyes widened, and the soft gasp left her lips when she saw a beautiful ice rink in front of them. The Christmas lights danced off the sides sparkling with different colours, and bright projectors illuminated the surface of the ice.

“Beckett,” she managed to breathe out, feeling his gaze on her, before meeting it, stunned by the beautiful view in front of them.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, taking her hand in his and leading her to the bench on the edge of the ice rink. Sitting her down, he leaned on one knee, taking off her shoes and guiding her legs in a pair of figure skates, which were standing under the bench. He gently grazed her soft skin with his fingers, and her breath hitched when he raised his eyes, watching her in the moonlight, the look of pure love and adoration in his eyes, and she leaned forward to place a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips, before parting.

After he put on his skates, he took her hand in his stepping on the slippery ice together and sliding hand in hand toward the far end of the ice rink.

“So will you tell me finally why did you bring me here?” Maeve asked when they stopped in front of the gramophone.

“What in a concept of surprise, you don’t understand,” Beckett chuckled. “You are so impatient, but don’t worry, you are about to find out soon,” he murmured, kissing her forehead and letting go of her hand while moving closer to the gramophone and turning it on. The soft woman's voice started to fill the air, and he turned to face Maeve, sliding toward her, one hand behind his back another extended, offering her to take it. He stopped right in front of her, bowing slightly in a gallant bow waiting for Maeve to take his hand.

“Will you do me honor and dance with me,” Beckett murmured, looking up at Maeve.

“Are you asking me to pair skate with you,” Maeve whispered, her eyes lit up brightly and her heart started to race in anticipation.

“Mae, what does it looks like,” he asked, a cocky smile spreading his lips before he continued. “Unless you are too scared to accept?”

“Never,” she purred, watching him stand tall, looking at her with an amused smile. “We just... Oh my god, how long was it since the last time we even have done this. It seems like it was an eternity ago. I think we didn't do this since...”

“Since high school,” continued Beckett. “So, I’m asking you once again, will you do me honor and dance with me?” he asked, smiling at her softly, watching her eyes lit up with happiness, offering her his hand and waiting for her to accept it.

“Yes, let’s do it,” she replied, beaming at him excitedly, placing her small hand in his, feeling how his fingers squeezed hers gently.

Slowly he started to slide backward beginning their dance together, helping her to slide toward him, his hand gently holding hers, guiding her every step carefully as he did all these times before. His grip is gentle, caring and their eyes locked on each other sparkling with happiness and love, while their movements perfectly synced. Letting go of his hand Maeve starter to spin toward him, feeling how he effortlessly caught her. His arms taking hold of her waist, and he lifted her up as if she weighs nothing, rotating with her before slowly lowering her down. Her hands wrapping around his neck, and their lips moving toward each other, while he still slid on the ice, spinning them both before placing her back to the ice, parting with the soft brush of their lips. Her leg slightly touches the ice while another still lifted into the air sliding with him, both turning in unison, lifting one leg after another on every turn they made. Their hearts starting to beat faster, the snow slowly falling all around them, her skirt fluttering on the wind while the music peak up in temp. His gaze holds hers, and he interlaced their fingers, squeezing them lightly, catching her small nod before both rushing forward, holding each other hands before her body moved in front of his. He could feel how his heart started to thunder when her back pressed to his chest, and he squeezed her waist, while his arms were still holding hers. The thoughts flooded his mind, and his resolve almost faltered. Too terrified of everything that could go wrong, of how much time had passed since the last time they were pair skating on the same ice, hand in hand, placing their trust in each other. Not knowing yet that in a couple of years from then, they would be more than friends, and more than lovers. He felt a light squeeze of her fingers, pulling him out of his thoughts to reality, feeling how the love washed over him once again, and their eyes met. It was just a split second, not even a full turn before the inevitable would happen, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready. If she is ready.

“Are you sure you want to do this,” he whispered into her ear, his hot breath skimming across her skin, while they almost finished a full turn, and his grip tightened on her, waiting for her reply.

“Yes,” murmured she tilting her head, her eyes caught his, not a hint of hesitation in them, not any sign of doubts or fears. Instead, he saw in them full confidence and faith in him--- in them. Her lips brushed his, and she sighed into their brief kiss so he barely could hear what she said, but he saw it in her eyes when they parted. “With you, I’m willing to take that risk.”

Taking a deep breath, finding confidence in her trust, he took her firmer by the waist, and with the last turn, thrown her high into the airs, watching her body spin toward the ice. His heart skipped a beat, and he rushed after her, catching her before her skates touched the ground. Their smiles brightly lit up their faces, and he cupped her face in his hands spinning together, his lips hungrily captured hers, and they both lost themselves into a fierce kiss.

“Did you miss me,” Beckett’s breathy voice sounded on her ear when they broke the kiss, and he gently took her hand in his not letting go of her gaze, while another firmly placed on the small of her back.

“Always,” she replied in a raspy voice.

Together gliding and twirl on the ice, they increased their speed. Dancing to meet the wind as they have done so many years ago even before everything changed between them, even before they finally surrendered to their feelings. The ones they didn’t notice were blooming between them. He clasped her hands with his, standing beside her, his chest pressed into her back, his hot breath caressing her sensitive skin every time he breathed, sending a sensual shiver along her spine. They lifted their right legs in the air to meet their clasped hands behind them as if two swallows soaring above the ice to meet the wind. Their legs moving in perfect sync before he turned to face her, sliding backward, keeping hold of one of her hands. His hold on it tightened, his body crouch and he shifts his weight downward before guiding her in a perfect spiral, planting a toe of a skate blade into the sparkling ice. The sharp blade digging solidly into it, while the other skate positioned in front of the planted blade. Her heart skipped a beat, but she doesn’t hesitate even for a second, placing all her trust in him once again. Letting him guide her into this maneuver, knowing that he will never let her go. For a second she closed her eyes, her body relaxing, and she let him lower her to the ice while her back arched backward, gliding on one foot, circling around him. After a moment, she felt how he shifted his body weight once again, gradually straightening from the crouching position, helping Maeve to decrease the radius of the circle, spiraling back up to a standing position. His hands catching her and their bodies pressed together. Her lips brushing his before teasingly moving away, letting go of his hand. Her eyes meeting his before speeding up from him, sliding out of his reach. It was just a fleeting moment, just one tiny heartbeat before he caught up with her, his arms grazing her sides tightening on her hips, his fingers gently digging into her flesh, and he lifted her up from the ice, his muscles flexing. Spinning, he put her back to the ice, his hands still on her hips, and they slid further, swirling and changing places, the light laughter filling the air, feeling happy together, feeling as one. They both sped up, spinning in sync, moving away from each other in an arc, just to meet in the middle of the ice rink again. His hands catching hers, squeezing them gently, their lips just a breath away from each other. 

“Lift me,” Maeve murmured against his lips, before turning around, feeling safe and happy with him.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You always was afraid of the high,” Beckett asked, placing one arm to her hip and with another holding her hand pressed to her belly.

“I’m not afraid now,” Maeve whispered, catching his amused gaze on her. “Let’s do that. Remember what miss Martha alway said?” she asked, laughing when Beckett tried to imitate her french accent. Her heart was full of love and happiness.

“Higher, further, faster, baby,” Beckett teased in a french sensual voice, meeting Maeve’s eyes, her hand wrapping around his neck, moving him closer to her, their lips touching, feeling his hands moving down her body.

“Do it,” she breathed out, catching his lips with hers for a briefest of moments, feeling how his hand took hold of her leg below her knee, another hand went under her ass, lifting her effortlessly into the air. Her laugh ringing through the darkness of the night mixing with a temp of waltz they danced, the Christmas lights bouncing all around them. She sat on his hand, throwing her head back, letting the wind sweep her long silky hair while her arms were spread like wings. Letting an icy cold pleasantly caress her heated cheeks, and a snowflakes’ thawed on her skin. Fully surrendering to faith in the person, who meant everything to her, who was everything to her.

Making a whole circle with her on his arm, he slowly lowered her back to the ice, letting her rush forward still laughing happily. Her eyes sparkling, while she tilted her head toward the sky dotted with silvery stars, twirling on the same spot, happy and carefree. Her arms raised up, her eyes fixed on the stars while he did not take his eyes off Maeve, slowly sliding towards her, forgetting about the music or their dance. Slowly, he reached to his pocket, taking out a little velvety box, his heart thundering, and he lowered himself on one knee, gliding toward her.

Still smiling, she looked from the stars toward Beckett, her eyes widened, looking at his hopeful but shy smile and the open box in his hand. The box with the most beautiful ring she ever saw. The ring in a form of a little diamond snowflake made from the platinum, she gasped, a lump formed in her throat, and her eyes watched between the ring and his eyes, that hold so much hope in them.

After a moment that seemed eternity when the melody died and her last chords dissolved in the night's air Beckett started to speak. His low husky voice made her heartbeats speed up, and her eyes welled up with tears.

“Mae, we knew each other for our whole lives. As long as I remember myself, I remember you. You were my best friend since we were 4. You still are my best friend, but now you also are so much more. You are my soulmate, my love, my life. And though I cannot remember the exact moment, when I fall in love with you, I do know that now I cannot imagine not being in love with you and not having you in my life. You are my everything. You are everything I ever dreamed for, and even 4 years later since our first kiss, my feelings for you only became stronger as did our friendship. Mae, I love you, and if you will have me for eternity, I will be yours. And by this, you will make me the happiest guy in the world. Will you marry me?”

“Yes...,” whispered Maeve slowly sliding forward, shortening the distance between them, the tears running down her face, but her eyes sparkling with happiness, and she watched him rise from his knees, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “Yes,” she replied louder, starting vigorously nod her head, a soft sob leaving her throat, and she rushed toward him, watching him do the same until they met halfway through. “Yes,” she cried out, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling how he tightened his grip around her waist, lifting her up and starting to spin her, their laughter filling the air. “Yes,” she said once again when he put her back to the ice, taking her hand in his and slid a beautiful ring to her finger, placing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I love you, Maeve,” Beckett whispered into her ear, pulling her closer to him and placing a gentle kiss onto her temple, slightly pulling back to meet her eyes before lowering his face. His lips caught hers in a soft lingering kiss under the thousand stars above them, pouring all his love into this one lasting kiss.

“I love you,” murmured she pecking Beckett gently on the lips, the look of love and adoration in her eyes mirroring his. “Was that the real reason why you took me here?”

“Part of it was,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes studying hers for a moment before he continued to speak. "The other reason was that I want you to be happy, every single day of our lives I will make it my top priority to make you happy. I want you to know and feel that you can always rely on me, and trust me like you have done so many times on the ice. I want you to smile the way you used to when we were skating. And I want you to remember that I always will help you to soar above the Earth, and never will take your freedom away. I love you, Mae, the way you are, and I don’t need a cadged bird. I need you, and I love you.”

“Beckett,” Maeve breathed out. “You hated it,” she murmured.

“I didn't hate it,” Beckett corrected, kissing the top of her head swaying together under the stars. “I just thought it is a waste of my time, that I could use on studying.”

“You did think so, but you still never missed the practice and was here for me, you didn’t abandon me. Why?”

“Because you are my best friend and I would never abandon you. Although I knew how much you loved it. You still love it, the way your eyes lit up during the dance, it was--- breathtaking. You are breathtaking.” he replied.

“Why we stopped doing it,” Maeve questioned, raising her eyes to look into Beckett.

“I don’t know. I guess it was partially my fault. Suddenly I became quite aware of your presence, of how close we were during the dance. How good it felt to just be there, out of the library, away from all problems, all assignments, freely sliding with you across the rink, laughing and smiling, lost in each other's eyes. I wasn’t aware of what it was, and why I felt this way, the only thing I knew, I didn’t want for things to become awkward. So we kind of stopped doing it, and now all that I want to do is skate with you to feel the same way I felt so many years ago even not realizing that someday I will fall in love with you.” said Beckett in a soft tender voice, holding her gaze, while the distance between them got shorter. Maeve’s lips ghosted against his, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips as the snow fell around them. Snowflakes burned against their hot skin while they unhurriedly slid together, drawing perfect circles and spirals on the ice. Their arms wrapped around each other, and their foreheads pressed together, while they both humming a tune under their breath. The melody that reminded them of each other and their love. And he felt how his heart started to thunder, waiting for the day when his best friend, the only woman he had ever loved, will become his wife, his everything.

Tagging: @fluffy-marshmallow-heart​​ @annekebbphotography​​ @perriewinklenerdie​​ @thequeenofcronuts​​ @symonde​​ @lapisreviewsstuff​​ @madampugzalot​​ @emichelle​​ @elles-choices​​ @lilyofchoices​​ @boneandfur​​ @walkerismychoice​​ @hopelessromantic1352​​ @confessionsofabrokegirl​​ @msjpuddleduck​​ @desiree-0816​​ @universallypizzataco​​ @feartheendlesssummer​​ @catlady0911​​ @the-soot-sprite​​ @sarzkh31​ @choices-bound​

[half-bakedboy]

#fluff game: Jalec #18 or #19 prima both together Thanks

A Constant ReminderRead on AO3

The minute Jace stepped foot into the New York Institute, he learned to lean on Alec. He comforted him when his family abandoned him, spending countless hours in Alec’s room talking about everything under the sun. They studied together, trained together, were taught together by the greatest shadowhunters who have ever lived, and before Jace knew it, they were parabatai. 

On the battlefield, they were in sync. A perfect team made up of the most incomparable balance of pure skill and innate wisdom. What Alec lacked in strength, Jace made up for with his natural ability and what Jace lacked in intelligence, Alec’s knowledge was right at their fingertips. They were one, not whole without the other. Jace couldn’t imagine a life without his parabatai, his best friend, his family. 

He wasn’t quite sure when things changed. When his eyes lingered a bit too long on the sweat soaked, broad chest Alec puffed out during training. When his heart beat faster at even the mention of Alec, let alone the way it stopped when Alec looked at him. He wasn’t sure when him and Alec had both become so comfortable with attention, affection, even. 

Alec was carrying him then, his feet dragging across the steps of the Institute, Jace too drained to even pick them up. He relied on Alec, leaned against him with all of his weight because he knew that Alec would hold him up. Alec always held him up. Alec held him higher than anyone ever had and the thought alone terrified him. 

He wasn’t deserving of the pedestal that Alec hoisted him onto, the beacon of light and hope that Alec shined in his direction. He wasn’t anything special, really. He knew he had the skill, but it had been forced upon him from such a young age that he didn’t really know anything other than being a good shadowhunter. For Alec, he wanted to be a good person, something that never really occurred to him as different.

“Can you just take me to my room? I don’t want to have to deal with Maryse or Hodge or…” Alec nodded before he could finish, the only indication Jace needed to know he had heard and would honor what Jace wanted. He knew it wasn’t what Alec wanted, no, he wanted Jace to get checked out, but Jace just couldn’t. He had made a mistake, was too reckless, and he just wanted to sleep. 

Instead of turning right into the corridor that housed Jace’s room, Alec brought him left. It didn’t concern him, though, because he knew where they were going and it wasn’t the infirmary. Alec wouldn’t go against him like that. They were going to Alec’s room, where the bed was a little comfier and the room more lived in. A room with something other than just a bed and a dresser, the way Jace’s was decorated. 

When they pushed through the door, Jace let his feet plant firmly on the ground. He wasn’t unfamiliar with sleeping in Alec’s room. He’d stashed a few pairs of pajamas and a few seraph blades, the essentials, in the bottom drawer of Alec’s dresser a few months ago when it became apparent that both of them slept better together. 

“Can I help?” Alec asked softly as he watched Jace wince with every move of his arms. Jace shook his head, he had already been enough of a burden at that point. Alec kept watching him, his eyebrows furrowed with every sharp inhale the pain caused, but he didn’t help. Of course he didn’t help. Alec was a lot of things, kind, generous, talented, beautiful, but he wasn’t selfish. And if Jace didn’t want his help, he wouldn’t help just to make himself feel better. Jace loved that about him. 

He finished undressing and tugged on the pajama pants that he knew weren’t his. They were Alec’s, but neither of them seemed to care that the mistake was made. Jace wouldn’t admit that it wasn’t a mistake, either. Alec got ready himself with his still watchful eyes examining Jace’s sluggish movements. Jace laid back in the bed, on his side of the bed, closest to the door so that he could protect Alec if anything were to happen and waited patiently for Alec to join him. Alec did so soon after, sliding into the bed and under the covers. 

It was like a magnet, really. The minute they were alone and close enough, their arms wound around each other, their legs slitting comfortably, his parabatai rune pressing against the other, drawn together by the Angel if nothing else. Jace would always move first, pressing their foreheads together and revelling in the evenness of Alec’s breath hitting his face. It took everything in him most nights to lessen his grip on Alec’s skin, one hand on Alec’s smooth back, the other pressing against the slow beat of Alec’s heart. 

When Alec’s breathing slowed and his eyelids fluttered to a close, Jace couldn’t stop looking, memorizing. Nights like those were when Jace would let his eyes linger. They would wander to Alec’s soft, plump lips and it took everything in him not to press his forward, allowing himself to finally get a taste of what he thought happiness might be. They’d focus on the way Alec’s chest rose and fell and he’d mimic it, reminding himself to keep breathing, through the pain, the despair. 

They’d always end up on Alec’s parabatai rune, peeking out from where their skin was flush together, the darkened ink a notion that Jace had something, someone, to live for. It was a constant reminder that he could lean on Alec and that Alec leaned on him. And with those peaceful thoughts, he would let sleep take him over, knowing that if nothing at all, he had Alec to wake up to in the morning. 

[cuorepietoso]

Things you said but not out loud

requested by @ivanrahal  /  ft. Alessio Rossi and Ivan Rahal

          I. 2010

     Rana and Rospo stand at the bottom of the trail and peer up for a long while as the rest of them pack, glancing at the surrounding hills and mountains with poorly hidden trepidation. The barrels of their twin M82s tower over their shoulders, the rifles nearly the length of a grown man, and when Rossi meanders close and prods at them over their silence, Rospo only throws his cigarette to the dirt and grinds it out with the toe of his boot, and muttering, “exposed the whole way. Easy targets for any sniper worth their salt.” He’s the veteran of their unit, the oldest and longest serving, and his grizzled face makes his partner look almost cherubic in comparison, most of the time. Now, Rana only gives their motley crew a nervous glance before turning his eyes skyward once more, and fiddles absently with the straps on his gear.

          It has, unsurprisingly, set a rather somber tone for the trek. 

     The soft shale stone of the mountain crumbles underfoot like sand, treacherous and slick paths leading up a sheer cliff face. The wind against their backs is frigid, smells faintly of acrid smoke. Their entire squad is burdened with gear, sweat clinging to the napes of their necks and drenching their uniforms as they slowly, painstakingly, make their way up to the firebase already nestled in the valley between two craggy peaks. They’re meant to use the hastily constructed base as a touchstone for their next assignment, and bring relief and supplies to the men already nestled away there. It’s a terrible idea-- a terrible location, a terrible plan, but there’s no other way to get there but by helicopter, and the last four that tried were nearly brought down by RPGs and small arms fire alike. One pilot had cheerfully showed Tahan the bullet hole in the bottom of his foot, and called it ‘running the gauntlet’. 

     They don’t speak. It’s bad enough that every rock they send slipping seems to fall forever, and the echoes of them last even longer than that, radiating through the canyon endlessly and announcing their presence to anyone within miles, likely. Tahan, who grew up nestled at the foot of the alps, at least fares better than some, struggling for breath and footing in the thin air. He fares better than Rossi, who grew up on the sea, in the south. They’re supposed to keep a distance of three meters, to make targeting them from a distance just a little more difficult, but as the six of them slog forward, they bunch occasionally, settling a hand on the shoulder in front of them to help keep balance, or lifting the bottom of their pack to help them climb a sheer step without using their hands. 

     It’s lucky that he stops watching how close he’s getting to Rossi, watching for movement on the opposite cliff face. When the younger man’s feet slide out from under him, it takes him only a millisecond to catch his elbow, and the shoulder of his uniform, and drag all 117 kilograms of him and his gear back to his feet with a harsh grunt. The rock he’d been sliding on slips neatly off the lip of the trail, and they listen to it fall for a long time, clutching each other until it finally crashes against the ground below. Tahan looks at Rossi. Rossi, wide-eyed, stares back. 

     Tahan pats his chest, awkwardly, and then brushes some of the dust clinging to his fatigues off. Gunfire echoes in the far distance, but nothing close enough for them to worry about now. Rossi takes a deep breath, eyes him, trailing his gloved fingers over Tahan’s cheekbone for just a moment, and then turns away with a long sigh.

          They carry on. 

-

     II. 2011

     The little black book he carries in his pocket has hundreds of little blank pages. He’s been stuck on how to start it for a little while, ever since Rossi had added to his sketchbook collection by pressing the warm leatherbound thing into his hands like it was made of precious gold, smile light on his face. Unwilling to spoil it, maybe, with the wrong topic. He’s had plenty of others to fill, anyway.

     Until now, at least. He’s half-reclined among some crates, a knee pulled to his chest, the book resting against his thigh. Rossi and Rahal are seated at a rickety folding table a meter away, getting into a rather heated argument over ... something. Tahan thinks it’s probably about the human condition, seeing as Rahal has that ugly, vaguely cruel look on his face, and Rossi’s usually smiling lips are downturned, and they’re both gesturing so sharply and suddenly and often that it’s hard to get more than a gesture sketch done. 

     And so that’s just what he does, for a while, listening absently to their hissed logical word traps and their gotcha arguments and anecdotal and empirical evidence, filling pages and pages with gesture sketches, and then turning back and filling details-- the wrinkle between Rossi’s brows, the sharp bridge of Rahal’s nose, their flared nostrils. The twin looks of triumph as they continue to try and one-up each other, drawing out a trap and then striking ruthlessly, cutting tongues and logic intertwined. 

          He just thinks it’s nice that they’re having fun. 

     Rossi has been looking a little wide-eyed, lean around the edges lately, as he slogs through mountains of intel, risks his neck for secret meetings with informants, trying desperately to keep them on the right track, to keep them alive. And Rahal has been -- not wilting, maybe, but his near-death experience had left him on uncertain footing. Their lively banter is a nice backdrop, where normally there would only be the sound of the wind hissing over the sands, behind the backdrop of daily life on base. 

     It takes him a moment to realize they’ve fallen ominously silent, and when he lifts his gaze to see what the deal with that is, they’re both watching him closely. He finds he doesn’t quite have the piercing quality to Rahal’s gaze down, and without looking away from them he starts to absently erase what he has done of the youngest man’s eyes. Rossi, for his part, seems amused, eyes bright with something like excitement even as his lips remain pursed and his jaw clenched. Tahan raises his eyebrow, a silent, what?

          Rahal’s voice is glacial when he snaps, “Well? What are you thinking in all of this?”

     Tahan slowly, thoughtfully, closes the little black book. He considers the things he’s believed for a long while: the innate dignity in being human, the strong should protect the weak, that cruelty and depravity are symptoms of an illness that’s been eating people alive for thousands of years. A common enemy in greed. The corner of his mouth quirks, and Rossi already looks resigned to hearing whatever stupid joke he’s about to let loose. “Naked women,” he drawls finally, folding the sketchbook carefully into his rucksack. 

     There’s another long silence, though this one is tinged with outrage. When he looks up again, Rossi’s got his hand over his eyes, shoulders shaking with laughter, and Rahal’s jaw seems like it’s halfway to the table. He looks like he’s practically trembling with angry disbelief. 

     Tahan tosses his pencil at him, and he swats it out of the air like an angry house cat. When he glances to the side and sees that Rossi is only laughing helplessly, the incense grows, and he barks out, “What the hell is so funny about that?” Turning his pale gaze back to Tahan, he continues, “You weren’t even paying attention?” 

     “I leave the thinking to the big brains,” Tahan replies, settling back into his little nest of crates as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Rossi draws his hand away from his face and gives him an unbearably fond look, and then gently taps the back of Rahal’s hand to get his attention. 

          “Leave him to his fantasies, no? Surely he can only be so creative.”

-

     III. 2013

     The heavy pounding of the chopper blades is both heard and felt. The headsets do well to cancel out the raging noise, but they can’t completely drown it out, not when the metal surrounding them hums with every solid beat. Tahan can never sleep in these screaming metal death traps, no matter how exhausted he is. It feels like his heart syncs with every rapid, measured beat of the blades, like it will burst out of his chest. For him, time slows. There’s nowhere to put the energy. Normally-- well, normally he fidgets. 

     But today, it seems, after their weeks-long and trying assignment, Rossi has no such compunctions about it. He’s not sure when the younger man fell asleep, exactly. Not sure how long they’ve been in the air, not sure how much longer they have left in their trip. His head had fallen to rest on Tahan’s shoulder, and though he’s sure there will be more than one complaint about the kink in his neck when he wakes, he leaves him be. Rossi needs the sleep nearly as much as he needs to breathe, at this point. 

     Tahan stays perfectly still, staring at Rospo, seated across from him. The older man has a lazy, half-smirk on his face, unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He gestures, vaguely, to the sleeping man on his shoulder. “Mannaggia is drooling all over you,” it’s hard to hear his low baritone even with the headsets and the mics, but Tahan gets the gist of it when he gestures to his own shoulder. 

     He sighs softly, and when they hit a rough patch he reaches across his own torso to leave a steadying hand against Rossi’s collarbone, to keep him from falling forward and starting awake. Rospo gives the pair of them a fond look, and then closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the cold wall of the helicopter body. Rossi’s hair has fallen into his face, and he can feel the man’s nose and cheeks twitching at the itch of it. Carefully, so as not to scrape his skin with the rough fabric of his kevlar gloves, Tahan brushes the strands off his forehead with his knuckles. Rossi settles back into his shoulder with a quiet sigh, and he remains utterly still for the rest of the long flight, unwilling to stir and wake him even once his arm starts to go numb.

-

     IV. 2017

     He’s not sure what he’s expecting, exactly, when he pushes the door open to the Handkerchief that afternoon. He’s never really sure what to expect with Ivan’s mercurial temper, whether he’s going to try and sink his claws into his spine and try to shred him in the name of curiosity, or if he will be all teeth, gnashing and snarling and hard-mouthed and -eyed. He doesn’t know if he’ll get the purring, contented creature that lets his hackles settle under his hands, or if Ivan will want to throw punches, talking with his fists as much as his mouth. He’s never really expected to have a cell phone hurtling towards his skull first thing-- the door isn’t even closed yet when he ducks out of the way. The glass of the thing shatters to pieces against the wall, and he traces its path back to the origin point: Ivan Rahal’s hand. 

     The man is practically shaking with rage, though Battista can tell it’s not really at him. He’s not afraid to ask, he’s just not sure if he should, if it will soothe Ivan or if it will fan the flames of his raging temper and send him up to the ceiling. He takes one step inside, two, and watches the way those silver eyes track him, flinty in his face. “I could have been a customer,” he says, finally just biting the bullet and stepping forward fully, trailing his fingers along the top of the glass cases as he approaches, his other hand loosely gripping the strap of his backpack. 

     “I know. That’s why I threw that, and not this--” his voice is hardly more than a venomous hiss, and he draws up like he’s going to come at him over the counter as Battista approaches, brandishing his knife. Battista snorts, and then he has to dodge the knife, too, listening to it shatter something behind him with a quiet sigh. The pause in his approach only gives Ivan time to dramatically wave his hand, and then reach up and run it through his hair with a snarl.

     Perhaps bravely, perhaps stupidly, Battista comes to a rest with his hip on the counter Ivan stands behind, setting his bag on the glass with a quirked eyebrow. “What crawled up your ass and died, habibi?” 

     Ivan gives him a sharp look, shoulders relaxing at the bit of careful Arabic before remembering he’s supposed to be angry, and he makes an inarticulate sound of rage, teeth grit. “Nothing crawled up my ass and died, you son of a bitch--” He gestures again, this time at the poor, shattered cellphone that nearly caved in Battista’s skull. “Fucking-- Orion Massetti, that prick, that thrice-damned--” Falling silent again, Ivan watches as he reaches into his worn bag and pulls out a pair of wrapped shawarma sandwiches, and a container of rice, and some fattoush. “What the hell is that?”

     Battista watches as he trembles faintly, the adrenaline and the anger still coursing under his skin like magma, and he gestures to the sandwich he’d set down closed to Ivan. “I brought lunch. That one’s for you. No pickles.” The younger man’s brows furrow, like he’s not sure quite how to handle this. “Go on, then. I can tell you haven’t eaten breakfast.”

     Almost violently, Ivan snaps the sandwich up and unwraps it, taking a bite like he’s imagining it’s a piece of Massetti’s flesh. That’s fine-- he’ll feel better with a little food in him.  

-

     V. 2019

          It’s pouring down rain, on a Friday night. 

     Battista is convalescing, and really so is Ivan-- the injuries they’re currently fighting are no joke. Battista had been nagging him so much about being careful of his ribs, no strenuous activity, and Ivan had turned it back on him, with a snapped, what about your leg, hm? And a cold I wouldn’t have to work so hard to get up the stairs at your apartment if we just stayed at my place. I have a fucking elevator. 

          Well, whatever. 

     They’d had a warm meal. Battista can’t really think what it was, drowsing here on Ivan’s couch with his injured leg propped up on a couple of pillows on the coffee table, and the taller man’s head resting squarely on his other thigh. Ivan is flat on his back, face half-turned towards the television, where Our Planet plays at a volume almost too low to hear even in the silence of his apartment. He’s half asleep, hardly paying attention at all. 

     Battista’s attention, for once, is firmly on Ivan. His left hand is settled palm-down right over Ivan’s heart, the slow and steady beat of the damned thing and the almost stilted way he breathes through the pain of his broken ribs doing well enough as signs of life, when the man is so otherwise still. 

     His other hand, he’s found, can’t quite stay away from the silken strands of his hair. It’s fascinatingly soft, and every time his blunt nails scrape along Ivan’s scalp, he watches his lips twitch into something that’s almost a smile, and he can see his arms break out in goosebumps. He doesn’t want to overdo it, to drag Ivan back into full awareness, but he can’t quite get over how deliciously reactive he is to the contact. When his thumb trails over the shell of his ear, Ivan’s eyes flicker open almost lazily, something like a dazed grin spreading on his face. Battista thinks, briefly, that he looks kind of like a cat with too much catnip, and has to bite back a snort. Then, he thinks, if the angle wasn’t so weird, and he wasn’t likely to get an awful crick in his neck he might just lean down there and kiss him, to see how his smile tastes.