#I was sitting like a boiling kettle watching everyone piece it together while I had the answer in my hands lmao. but I'm glad this happened

[legionofpotatoes]

Here's a second N7 Day surprise, thanks yet again to @swaps55 - we added Eden Prime to our lineup of Mass Effect destinations! I don't think I need to explain the profound importance of this one; the moment I laid eyes on a gas bag I knew I would pay respect to it in art form one day. Was just a matter of time and sufficient accumulation of skill. But we finally did it, folks.

As an added bonus, we helped tease the final piece to today's treasure hunt for Mass Effect's newest reveal over on the dreaded bird website. Caused quite the hubbub but was certainly a fun time!

[henrywintersdearestgirl]

I wrote this for my dearest friend @arinewneanias03

I hope you’ll like this piece, Bunny🐇 ily

After class

Reader’s point of view:

“And that is all I have planned for today!” Julian said and all of us slumped back into our seats, today was a long day. The others were even more keen to leave, it was a friday night, so the twins were rushing to the grocery store along with Francis, who just enjoyed cooking, before I blinked they were already out the door. Bunny and Richard already left, god knows where. I reached forward to finish my tea, and I stood up to get my coat on like everyone, but Julian had stopped me.

“Y/N, I wanted to talk to you about your latin translation.” This made me sit up straight, I kind of was expecting this given the fact that I did it last minute. “It wasn’t bad, but you missed the point on why Caesar had returned to the kingdom. So.. Henry!”

Henry, who was helping Julian by collecting the mismatched teacups, peeked out of the backroom. “Yes?”

“Could you, please, put on boiling water for two?” Julian sat down at his desk and motioned me to sit in the armchair in front of it.

“Of course, but… didn’t you mention that you have a meeting with the Dean today?” Henry said, leaning against the doorframe, he did say it when we started the lecture a few hours ago. I let my eyes linger on Henry, he always looked so good, especially with his crisp black trousers and white shirts, I wished I could tear them off of him. It always lit a flame in me when his shirts accidentally pulled a bit up, exposing his toned abs and sharp v-line, while he stretched his limbs out during our lessons.

Julian checked his watch and his small eyes widened a bit. “Oh dear, you’re right, I didn’t even notice how time went by so fast. Umm… The question is, what do I do with you, lovely Y/N?” He was already reaching for his coat.

Henry stepped forward and said, almost eagerly. “I could explain the text to the lovely Y/N.” He smirked when he caught me blushing.

“That is a good idea, thank you.” He put the keys down on the desk and he shot Henry a specific look that I didn’t understand, before stepping out the door. “Stay as long as you need, you’ll give me the keys tomorrow, I have a spare one at home.” He turned to me” You’re in good hands, Y/N. Be good, children!” With that, he left. We heard his footsteps until he completely left the lyceum.

Henry snapped me out of my thoughts. “Tea?”

I was nervous to be in the same room alone with him, but I had to get myself together. “Yeah, thank you.”

“Mint, a lot of honey and a little lemon?” I heard the kettle whistle, I was surprised that he knew exactly how I drank my tea.

“Exactly.” I smiled at him and he smiled back at me, more like smirked at me.

He made us tea and we moved over to the big couch, we sat with our knees touching. I could feel his manly and musky scent and warmth consuming my body. He took my translation and his from the table and analysed them for a few minutes. “Hm, the translation is almost perfect, it just seems that you used the wrong person for the accusativus, which changes the whole meaning.” He put the papers down and looked deeply into my eyes, I felt a blush creep up my cheeks again and a smile creep up my lips.

“To tell the truth, Henry, the reason that I messed it up is because I was rushing with it and I wasn’t really paying close attention to the text” I rambled.

“Tsk tsk, well that is not really nice, well… I see, but I am not letting you leave.” I was relieved and not at the same time. The past week was a long one and all I wanted was a long Friday nap, but I was about to spend quite some time with Henry Winter in a somewhat cozy office space.

“You know what lovely girls who don’t pay attention deserve?” He leaned closer and he started toying with the ends of my hair, I hoped my thighs pressing together wasn’t too noticeable.

“No?” My breath was stuck in my throat.

“We’ll go over Caesar’s story.” He whispered, almost seductively. “Be a doll and get it from the big shelf.” He commanded. With a quiet groan, which made him chuckle, I got up and went over to the massive bookcase. I looked on every shelf, but for the life of me I couldn’t find it. “Try looking on the top shelf!” He said from his position on the couch. So, I did, I couldn’t find the ladder that was usually there for the ceiling high bookshelf, so I stretched my torso as much as I could. I felt that my dress was riding up my thighs way too much, just below my butt or maybe even higher. Suddenly, I felt a pair of strong hands lifting me up by my waist to the highest shelf, and he did it so effortlessly, as if I was light as a feather. “It’s the dark blue book.” I saw it and I reached for it. I took it and I felt him turn me around in his arms, now we were face to face. I was still up a bit higher, my hair was all around our faces, but his big hands felt pleasant on my waist. Our faces were inches apart, his scent was stronger now. Out of instinct, I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he welcomed me in as if we had done this a thousand times. I was now completely in his warmth, I was so close that my breasts were pushed against his neck, and it made me blush that he was probably feeling them. One of his hands was supporting me on my lower back, and the other one reached up to caress my face. I looked closer at his face, his clean shaven jaw, his raven dark hair, his lips, the scar he had and those icy blue eyes of his. I have never seen a pair of eyes so beautiful, the scar made him ever more beautiful. I saw his eyes roaming around my face, he never saw me this up close, whatever he was looking at he felt the need to stroke with his finger. At first, he brushed my hair off my forehead. Then, he ran his hands along my cheeks, the curve of my nose, under my eyes and my lips. “What divine beauty you possess…” My breathing got heavy, which meant that my chest was repeatedly rubbing up against him. He looked down between us, and took in the sight of my cleavage with a barely audible groan, it was prominent given the fact that I was a bit leant forward in front of him. His eyes wandered from my breasts to my neck, until he looked me in the eyes again. “And this sweet scent of yours… It drives me crazy.” He took a step forward and pushed me up against the bookshelf, as he did, his hips pushed in between my spread legs, right into my centre. I felt a bit of shame at the low moan that escaped from the back of my throat, but quickly washed away when my brain registered that he also grunted at the contact.

The tension was electric. Suddenly, he took the book out of my hands and he dropped it on the floor. His hand went on the back of my neck and pulled my head close to his. “Fuck Caesar.” And he claimed my lips eagerly, I, of course, returned the kiss just as eagerly. He pushed me more and more into the bookshelf, I could feel his erection through my underwear. He pulled me closer, while still kissing me deeply, and went over to Julian’s desk. His big hands pulled my knees apart so he could nestle himself between them, my dress rid up to my waist. I was breathing heavily and on complete display for his hungry eyes.

“You’re a very sweet girl, aren’t you?” He kissed down my neck and jaw, occasionally biting and leaving marks on my untouched skin. He made his way down to my collarbone and my chest, my breath quivered from his teeth. “You’re so responsive to my touch, and just to me in general.” He pulled my arms out of my dress and slowly pushed it down to my waist, I mentally patted myself on the back for choosing a cute bra for the day. He looked like a starved man at the sight of my barely covered chest. “Beautiful, what pretty lingerie, but I want to see you without it. Show yourself to me, sweet girl, and I will do the same” His fingers motioned me to arch my back, so he could unclasp my bra. I got shy and embarrassed when my breasts were no longer covered by my lace, even if I wanted to be seen by him and taken by him, I quickly shot my arms up so I could cover them, but Henry was having none of it. His lusty gaze shifted to a softer one in a mere second, he caressed my arms that were covering my torso, his touch made me shiver. “Lovely lovely Y/N, you are the prettiest creature I ever saw, I knew this the very first time I had the pleasure of seeing you. And you do not owe me anything, if you don’t feel ready for me, I understand. But, I want to show you what a goddess you are, for I will be your devotee.” I slowly put my arms on my sides, my breasts were bare for his eyes. What he said made me feel comfortable, and so fucking in need for him. I needed him, and I needed him in that second. He had the time of his life kneading and sucking my boobs, but I grabbed his hair and pulled him up.

“Baise moi.”

His eyes had a sort of devilish look in them, and he chuckled darkly while unbuttoning his trousers. “Fuck you? Dirty girl…” He pulled his manhood out and my eyes widened, he was so thick and long. Veiny and dripping for me, he was fully hard, he was already hard when he was pushing me up against the bookcase. “And I wanted to take my time with you.” His hands wandered to my underwear and he slowly pulled it down, but he noticed how it clung to my skin due to my wetness.

“So wet already?” He had mockery in his tone.

“So hard already?” I shot back.

“Touché.” He yanked my underwear down. He pushed my knees up and spread my legs. His tip was begging to be inside me, the throbbing of it proved it. Henry took his pointer and middle finger to circle at my sensitive clit. “I should have known you were going to be this naughty… Walking around here, acting so sweet. But, I could see you. These short skirts and dresses, that only rid up your thighs and revealed your barely covering panties, when I was looking. Coincidence, dear?”

He slowly slipped into me and we both gasped, when he felt me get used to his size he started pounding into me relentlessly. We both had a lot of pent up sexual tension towards each other. “Oh, Henry! Please!”

He slowed down out of teasing. “Please what? Please fuck me harder? Deeper?”

“Deeper!” I moaned out loudly. I thought that he was going to spread my legs wider, so it was a surprise when he leaned down closer to me and threw one of my legs over his shoulder, my other one he wrapped around his waist. When I felt him hit that sweet spot inside of me, I was a mess, I felt even more wetness gather around him.

“Well, well…” he said in a low voice, his constant moving taking on a strain on his voice, but he still toon the effort to talk dirty to me, knowing that it turned me on. “No one ever hit that spot inside you, huh?” I nodded with closed eyes and a thrown back head. My throat was completely exposed for him, and he took advantage of it and kissed my skin, my eyes rolled into the back of my head. “Oh my, you are making a mess on me, lovely Y/N, what a gorgeous sight. Will you let me make a mess in you?”

Even if I was on the pill, I never let a man ejaculate inside me, but with Henry? Gladly. “Yes, please! I want to feel it!”

His thrust slowed down, only so he could stab more deeply into my cervix. He brought his head, so now we were eye to eye. “Ever had a man come inside you?” His eyes were soft. I shyly shook my head, as shyly as I could while getting fucked on a desk. He stroked my hair. “You will like it, most women tend to enjoy the feeling of getting filled. Don’t you worry, my sweet, I will make sure to really fill this sweet pussy.”

He reached down between us and rubbed my clit, which dropped me over the edge in seconds. When my walls clamped down on him, he let out a guttural moan and I felt the hot sensation of his seed painting me from the inside. Feeling so close to him, I reached up and pulled him down into an embrace, he wrapped his strong arms around me and we just stayed like that until we could breathe properly.

“If that what I get for fucking my translation up, maybe I need to do it more.” I chuckled.

His hand suddenly wrapped around my throat, yeah, that shut me up quite quickly. “The sweet Y/N wants to get punished, oh… You have seen nothing yet.”

He pulled out and kneeled before me. He watched as his own seed dripped out of my entrance like it hypnotised him, when it nearly dripped down he gathered it on his fingers and pushed it back. My legs twitched at the sudden contact on my sensitive parts. He looked up at me with a sly and smug grin, slowly he dived down. “Henry-what are yo-“ he pushed my now correct translation into my hands and wrapped his arms around my thighs to keep me in place, while giving my clit a little kiss.

“You are going to read it out for me. If I hear a tiny mistake, mispronunciation or even a moan, you are starting from the beginning.”

[works-of-fanfiction]

Together - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham takes care of the reader after a particularly hard couple of weeks.

Warnings: Literally none - straight up, good old-fashioned fluff.

Word Count: 2.8k

Side Note: I haven’t written since 2019 or something like that, so forgive me if this isn’t the best!

————-

Sometimes you wonder whether your job is actually worth the exhaustion - your hand comes up to turn out the office light, exactly two hours and seventeen minutes later than you’d expected. Maybe it’s too much to ask for the work day to end at your contracted time. You scoff at yourself at the sheer thought, like your managers would ever treat you like a human being.

The tube ride home feels longer than usual, and you’re completely unable to focus on the book balanced in your lap. You’d always tried to be one of those leave work at work people - ‘don’t take your work home with you’ everyone says… but it’s impossible. You were good at your job, no doubt about that, but that came with the downside of being taken advantage of. People aren’t going to do their own dirty work when the overachiever down the corridor can do it for them. Though, how could you ever refuse? Why would you risk saying ‘no’?

Swinging the apartment door open, you drop your bag onto the ground and nudge it further to the side with your foot. Your loud entrance does not go unnoticed by your droopy-eyed boyfriend sprawled on the armchair. The first thing you feel when you see him is guilt. You don’t want to be the reason he forces himself to stay awake. You don’t want to be so fragile that he feels he can’t go to bed without seeing you first to make sure you’re alright. Once he catches sight of you, a weak smile spreads across his lips as he drags himself to his feet and shuffles over to where you’re standing. You paste a fake smile onto your face, hoping you can lie and pretend you had a good day so he can finally get some sleep.

“Hey sweetheart.” Graham mumbles, holding out his arms for you to fall into. You do just that, your head sinking onto his shoulder, inhaling his scent like it’s the last chance you’ll get. He holds you tightly in the doorway, supporting your body weight as you limply cling onto him. You claw at the back of his shirt, gathering the fabric between your fingers as if he could slip away any moment and disappear. His only response to this is to squeeze you as his chin rests on your head. “Hard day?” He finally asks, separating the two of you and holding you at arms length.

You don’t want to be a burden and you’d already come home from work two nights out of five this week feeling like this. You begin to shake your head, hoping that the lie will be easier to tell if you don’t speak, but as you stare into Graham’s eyes, you know he doesn’t buy it. The look on his face is all too familiar; he can read you like a book and he knows damn well that you’re not OK. Your head shake slowly evolves into a nod, and you don’t hold back the first sob that leaves your lips. Graham immediately catches you in his grasp again, holding you as you cry into his chest. He doesn’t waste time trying to find the right words to say to you because he knows that’s not what you need. You don’t need a soppy, motivational speech or a string of “it’s okay”s. Instead, you’re comforted by the beating of Graham’s heart and the warmth from his body as he carefully steps back and begins to guide you into the living room. You stand up straight and slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together in that perfect way that just feels right. No matter where you are, as long as your hand finds his, you know you’re safe and that everything is going to be alright.

As you go to sit down, Graham stops you and helps slide your coat off of your shoulders. You sniffle, quietly thanking him as he tosses it over the back of the armchair. You sink onto the sofa, the throw blanket from the back already slipping off and bunching up behind you. You adjust, your fingers pinching at the stray hairs sticking to your tear-stained cheeks. All you can do is stare at your feet, your eyes tracing the triangular patterns on your socks - Graham’s socks that you’d put on in a hurry that morning. The extra bit of fabric hanging off the tip of your toes makes that evident. You’re too focused on the ground beneath you to hear Graham go into the kitchen.

He boils the kettle, reaching into the very back of the cupboard to find your favourite mug - a round cream-coloured cup with a black cat’s face painted onto it, wearing a pair of red glasses. He’d bought it for you in Camden as a silly little gift, but you fell in love with it the moment you saw it and have treasured it ever since. Though you barely use it, as you can’t trust your own clumsiness and you’re too scared you’ll break it.

Graham makes your tea just the way you like it and carefully carries it into the living room. He remembers to bring the half-eaten packet of custard creams with him too. He’s not sure you’ll want them, but he usually sneakily dips one into your tea when you’re not looking so they won’t entirely go to waste. With one hand, he pushes all the clutter on the coffee table to one side, and places the cup down in front of you with the cat facing in your direction. You look up, a small smile on your face as you spot the mug. Graham squeezes through the gap between your knees and the coffee table to sit down beside you.

“That was the last teabag, so drink up.” He gently teases, pointing at the cup. A small exhale of air from your nose is all you can muster to show your amusement as you reach forward and take a slow sip. It’s perfect, and that feeling of sad happiness washes over you. You’re happy to have Graham; happy that he’s there for you and happy that he remembers your particular taste in hot drinks. Who else would know that one sugar is not enough but two is too much? Who else would measure one and a half teaspoons and make sure it’s stirred in completely?

But the sadness still remains. You’re sad that he’s making the tea to try and cheer you up; sad that he’s used the last teabag and he’s going without a drink of his own. You’re sad that he’s sat here watching you cry one time too many.

It’s silent for a while. It’s clear he’s waiting for you to speak first but you’re not sure what to say. You feel like you’ve said everything a thousand times already, and the last thing you want is to be the broken record constantly spinning in the room.

You gulp down half of your tea before putting the mug back on the table. You turn to face Graham who scoots forward, eager to be there for you and ready to listen. He sits cross-legged, his sleeves rolled down to cover his hands with just his fingertips poking out. Your own fingers pick at a stray piece of thread hanging from the hem of your shirt, wrapping it around your forefinger then unwrapping it over and over. “I really really don’t like that place, Graham.” You whisper, part of you not wanting to hear your own admission. You’d fought hard for that job and were ashamed and embarrassed that it hadn’t gone the way you’d planned. Graham nods in understanding, moving closer to you to wrap an arm around you. He pulls you into him, your head resting on his shoulder as he rubs your back lovingly.

”I know, love.” He presses a kiss to your temple, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. Just having him beside you and feeling his touch is enough to calm the heavy beating of your heart and steady the shaking of your knees. “But hey, it’s Friday night which means tomorrow is Saturday. We have the entire weekend to do whatever we want! The entire weekend to not think about work for a single second.” He encourages, standing up and holding his hand out to you. “Come on.”

You reach over to grab your mug and quickly finish the rest of your drink. You grab a biscuit and bite half of it, feeding the other half to Graham. Crumbs fall from his mouth and he tries to catch them in his other hand but fails. You smile sadly, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, before taking his hand and letting him lead you to your bedroom. He sits you on the bed and grabs a fresh towel from the wardrobe. “First, let’s wash off the day, hmm?” He smiles and you nod in response. He leans over and kisses your forehead, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before disappearing into the bathroom to run a bubble bath. He fills it with your favourite coconut-scented bubbles and fumbles around in his pocket to find his lighter to ignite the candle on the windowsill. It’s almost completely melted away, but he’s certain there’s enough there for it to stay lit for tonight.

He hangs the towel over the radiator to warm it up and tests the water before calling you in. You shiver as you shuffle past Graham, then lower yourself into the water. You hiss at the heat at first, but you’re soon submerged and used to it. You look over to Graham who’s knelt on the floor beside you. “Aren’t you getting in?” You ask, lying down and covering yourself with the bubbles. He shakes his head, rolling his sleeves up and pushing his glasses onto the top of his head.

“This is for you, love. You deserve to relax.” He reaches into the bath and strokes your shoulder softly. He spots a hair tie on the counter and grabs it, then stands and leans over to help tie your hair back. He scrunches it all together and ties it into a messy bun on the top of your head. It doesn’t look the best but it does the job. You look at him and smile, grabbing his arm and giving it a loving squeeze. In that moment, all you can think about is how lucky you are to have Graham. Even something as simple as him tying your hair up makes your heart swell. You wish you could stay in this room with him forever and never face any responsibilities.

You sit up to grab the soap but he beats you to it, the sponge in his other hand. “What did I say about relaxing?” He starts, eyebrows raised. “Let me.”

“Graham, you don’t have t - “

“I want to.” He cuts you off, dipping the sponge into the water and rubbing it together with the soap. You lie back down and he slowly starts to wash you, leaning over the bathtub to reach your legs. You watch as the water spills over the side a little and dampens his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind. His fingertips lightly brush your thigh and you flinch as it tickles you. Graham laughs, doing it again on purpose until you’re practically kicking your feet like a paddling dog.

“Graham!” You squeal, grabbing his wrist and using all your strength to stop him. He splashes you in the face and you splash him back, just missing him as he ducks out of the way.

“You’re going to be the one cleaning that up later.” He jokes, gesturing to the small puddle behind him. You cover your mouth with your hand, laughing quietly as he shakes his head and continues his path up your body with the sponge. He’s gentle throughout, making sure not to scrub too harshly. You move so he can wash your back last, before he wrings out the sponge and places it back on the edge of the tub. “All clean.” He smiles, drying his hands on his jeans. You lie back, not wanting to get out just yet.

“Tell me about your day Graham, tell me something good.” You say, closing your eyes and letting the bubbles cover you again, or what’s left of them at least. He pushes his glasses back onto his face and ruffles his hair, sitting against the door with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“We rehearsed a couple songs today. We didn’t get through the whole setlist as Dave wasn’t feeling too well, and what can we do without the drummer, eh?” You keep your eyes closed as you listen to Graham talk. You could listen to him talk about music and the band for hours. You’re unbelievably proud of him and you know you’ll never get tired of hearing about every new song, music video or ridiculous lyric Damon has come out with. “Alex bought everyone lunch which was nice. Damon thought he’d broken something and was trying to butter us up or bribe us with the food!” He laughs, the sound so infectious that you can’t help but laugh with him.

“Was he bribing you?” You ask, opening your eyes and looking over at him. Butterflies dance inside your stomach as you admire Graham under the glaring white light above his head. Even in poor bathroom lighting he’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever laid eyes on. His sleeves are still rolled up to his elbows and you can see little pen scribbles on one of his arms, most likely rushed notes from rehearsal. He never did allow himself the time to just find a piece of paper. His hair is sticking out a little at the front, probably from where his glasses were sitting previously. His cheeks are a rosy pink colour, as are yours, caused by the humidity in the room.

“Nope! He was just being nice.” He grins, standing to grab the towel from the radiator. He holds it out for you and you get up, quickly getting out and wrapping yourself in it. You mentally praise his genius for leaving it on the radiator, thankful for how warm it is. It’s exactly what you need, especially on a cold night in the middle of February.

He leads you back into the bedroom and runs over to close the window to keep you warm. “Alright, pyjamas or - “

”Can I have one of your shirts?” You interrupt, looking towards his set of drawers in the corner. “I don’t want the one you’re wearing, you’re all… soggy.”

He laughs at your choice of words before rummaging through his middle drawer to find the right shirt. He tosses it over to you and it’s one of your favourites; red, long-sleeved and fleecy on the inside. You slide it on with your usual stripy pyjama pants and let your hair down. Graham strips off and takes your laundry into the bathroom to put into the basket. Whilst there, he roughly dries the floor and blows out the candle. He then does a quick scan of the apartment to make sure everything is switched off and the door is locked properly before getting into bed with you.

It pours with rain outside but you love the sound against the windows. Graham hoists himself up against the bed frame and you lay your head on his chest, throwing your left arm over him. Both of your legs wrap around one of his and he keeps you close with his arm around your back. “So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” He asks, his hand drifting upwards to play with the ends of your hair.

“Can we go to Covent Garden and get cinnamon waffles and ice cream?” He chuckles at your response and the specificity of it.

“Ice cream in this weather?”

You nod, your hair tickling his bare chest. He pulls you in closer and adjusts the blanket so you’re covered properly. “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He kisses your head, and you sit up a little to face him. You stretch upwards to kiss him, his hand staying in your hair as he kisses back. You can still taste the sugar from the biscuits on his lips, and you smile into the kiss before lying back down and closing your eyes. You both whisper “I love you”s before you press one last kiss on his shoulder. Graham’s soft breathing coupled with the rain outside begins to lull you to sleep. He stays awake, stroking your hair and watching your feet fidget beneath the covers.

“You don’t have to go back to that job next week. I’ve got things covered until something else comes along.” He whispers, and you barely register his words as you hum in response and nuzzle your head into his chest. In that moment, everything feels OK and Graham knows that as long as you’re together and you have each other, that nothing can bring either of you down for too long. Once your breathing evens out, he closes his own eyes, but not without telling you how lucky he is beforehand. You’re not awake to hear it, but that doesn’t matter.

[floralbuckley]

you are in love - a buddie fic

read on ao3

As the rain hit the windows of the new Diaz house, the credits to Christophers favourite move, Madagascar, rolled down the tv screen. Christopher, of course, was out like a light, soft snores coming out of his mouth and glasses crooked on his face as he lay on the couch in between Eddie and Buck. Eddie let out a quiet laugh as he looked at his son, then reached over for the remote and shut the tv off, hoping the absence of the music wouldn’t wake him.

“Do you want me to take him to bed?” Buck whispered, gently running his hands through Christopher’s hair and looking at him with nothing but pure love in his eyes. Eddie didn’t answer, a gentle silence lingering in the air for a moment. He was too busy staring at the sight in front of him- his son sleeping so calmly with Buck next to him, Buck’s face softly illuminated by the yellow streetlamp outside the front of the suburban house. He had a certain look on his face that he only ever had when he was with Christopher - like that boy was his entire world, like he would do absolutely anything and everything just to make him happy, to keep him safe and make sure he knows just how loved he is. It made Eddie’s heart ache to know that someone else loved Christopher as much as he did. And not just anyone, but Buck. Buck, who was Eddie’s entire world. Not that he could ever tell him. God, only in his wildest dreams did he ever tell Buck how he truly felt for him. Only in his wildest dreams did he ever run to Buck and crash their lips together and say those three words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so many years. And there they continued to sit, at the very edge, every single time Eddie was in the same room as Buck, threatening to slip out and ruin the second greatest thing in his life.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

He couldn’t mess this up.

“Eddie?” Buck asked, his arms already shuffling underneath Christopher as he looked to his friend with slightly raised brows, waiting for him to reply. It was the usual routine for Buck to be the one to take Chris to bed when he came over. He’d told Eddie that he felt it was only fair that he got to tuck him in on the nights he was there, because Eddie got to do it every other night, and God knows Eddie couldn’t possibly ever say no to Buck.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks,” Eddie said, attempting to shake himself of his Buck-daze. “And thanks for helping us move everything today.” They gave each other a gentle smile and Buck lifted the sleeping boy into his arms, stood up from the couch and kissed Christopher on the forehead. Eddie felt like his heart could explode at the sight. His smile grew wider and he watched Buck carry Chris across the living room, silently stepping over all the boxes of clothes and furniture and knick-knacks that covered the ground. His eyes stayed on Christopher’s doorway long after Buck had walked through it, and it took Eddie a few seconds to recollect himself and shake his head to realise he was being silly. He couldn’t keep lusting after his best friend this way. Not even his best friend, but his colleague, his teammate. It wasn’t right. He knew nothing could come from it, and he knew if he ever let those words slip out, it would most definitely ruin everything. It was time to let go.

Eddie walked over to the kitchen, the sounds of Christopher’s bedsheets moving filled the silent house, and Eddie tried his hardest not the let himself smile for too long over the image he had in his head. The one he played every time he or Buck tucked Christopher into bed. The image that one day they could be tucking Chris into bed together. As something more than just friends/

“Stop it, Eddie,” He whispered to himself shaking his head. “You can’t keep doing this.” He reached for a mug and turned the kettle on, starting to prepare himself a cup of tea. As he turned around to grab the tea bags, he stopped in his tracks. Buck stood there, curls starting to peek through as the day wore off on his hair, his blue shirt rumpled and his jaw soft. Eddie’s first and only thought was, God, how he wanted to run his fingers over that jaw. Press a kiss to that jaw. Feel the stubble on that jaw.

No.

He shook his head again.

“Can’t keep doing what?” Buck asked softly. He put his hands on the surface of the bench and leant forward, and Eddie could have sworn he was doing it on purpose as his muscles tightened against the fabric of his shirt.

“Uh, making tea this late,” Eddie laughed off. He reached for the drawer the teabags were in and pulled out a green tea. “You want one?” Buck scrunched his eyebrows and gave Eddie a look that said, “are you crazy?”

“Uh, no offence, Ed’s,” Buck started, chuckling as he made his way to the other side of the counter. “But I’d rather drink dirty dishwater than green tea.”

“Yeah, that’s fair enough,” Eddie laughed in return. He placed the teabag in the cup and filled it with the boiled water, then turned back to face his friend. Buck’s hips were resting on the lip of the bench and his arms were crossed over his chest, and his features instantly told Eddie that he was thinking very hard, trying to figure out or solve something that was battling in his mind.

Eddie looked back at him with a puzzled expression, silently asking him what he was thinking about. Both of their expressions said very different things. Buck’s said, “can’t you see that I can tell you’re lying. Can’t you see that I know there’s something you’re keeping from me?” and Eddie’s said, “God, I hope you’re not planning on pushing on this. Please, tell me what you’re thinking. I can’t handle the unknown anymore.”

Eddie couldn’t look at him for another second. It felt like Buck would find out all his secrets that he kept hidden between the creases in his forehead if he looked any longer. He diverted his gaze and focused it on his tea instead, running a hand through his hair and fluffing it up.

Eddie stuttered over his words for a second as he tried to think of something to ease the tension. “I could make you a coffee inst-”

“Eddie, c’mon,” Buck cut him off, shaking his head. “We both know you’re never going to stop making tea this late. What can’t you keep doing?”

Eddie let out a sigh. The one thing right now that he was hoping Buck wouldn’t ask. “It’s nothing, Buck, really.” He raised his eyebrows, trying to really sell it. Almost trying to even convince himself. It was nothing. Falling in love with your best friend was nothing. Imagining life forever with your best friend was nothing. Wanting to have another father for your son was nothing. It was all nothing. And Eddie couldn’t let all of this nothing ruin everything.

Buck raised his brows back. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.” He moved from the bench and reached over to grab Eddie’s tea from his hand, setting the steaming mug on the countertop and using his now free hands to grip the sides of Eddie’s shoulders. It made Eddie’s heart flip, made him feel like he was 14 and having his first kiss again, made him feel like he’d had something electric shock him. All this from a small touch of Buck’s hands. This was going to kill him.

Buck looked deeply into Eddie’s eyes, brows still raised. “Ed’s, you can talk to me about anything.” Eddie looked up for a second, his chin tilting up as he took in the height difference between himself and Buck. And there goes another heart flip.

“I know that,” Eddie replied, a sigh escaping his lips. He diverted his gaze down. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he allowed himself to meet Buck’s gaze for too long.

“Well, then, talk to me!” Buck was starting to sound frustrated, and it hurt Eddie more deeply than words could say. But these words would hurt him more if he were to say them out loud. Hurt their friendship more than anything. “Is it Christopher? Your Abuela? Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine, Buck. It’s okay.” He pushed himself away from Buck’s grip, not being able to handle the touch any longer. Before he could move away too quickly, Buck had taken a hold of his hand and pulled Eddie back towards him.

“Eddie. C’mon.” Buck said softly. “I can see that something’s going on. I’ve seen it for a while now. Just tell me. Please.”

“I can’t!” Eddie let out. The frustration that was slowly bubbling to the surface was now boiling over, slipping through the cracks of the walls Eddie had been building up so high for so long. Buck released him and Eddie took a step back from Buck. “I can’t tell you because it will ruin everything!” He was no longer thinking. Everything was just spilling so quickly. Buck pushed and pushed and now that wall was falling, and there was nothing Eddie could do to stop it. Buck looked at him with wide eyes and a crinkled forehead and flushed cheeks, and Eddie walked away from the bench, trying to create more distance between himself and Buck.

“Ruin what?” Buck pushed further, his curiosity getting the better of him. Eddie was always so calm and collected. And though Buck had seen him upset or angry or raising his voice, it was never quite like this. He knew something else had been sitting inside Eddie’s mind, and this was his chance to find out. “Eddie, what are you talking about?”

Eddie ran both of his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands. It was happening. He couldn’t stop this. And now that he had gotten this far, he was sure he wanted to stop it, either. Everything he’d built up was cracking more and more with every word.

“This!” He said, gesturing a hand between himself and Buck. “Us!” If I tell you, then that’s it. No more us!”

Things in Buck’s mind were starting to piece themselves together. Like Eddie was saying so much whilst saying absolutely nothing at all. It pained Buck to see the hurt and the frustration in Eddie’s face, and as much as he wanted to comfort him, he could see in those glassy brown eyes how much more Eddie had to let out. So he stayed silent.

Eddie still looked as if smoke should be coming out of his ears as he paced up and down the other side of the kitchen bench, Buck watching him carefully. “God, and you can’t even see it! It would be so much easier if you could see it! You’re the only person I want to tell, Buck! But you’re also the only person that I can’t tell! And it’s so obvious too, I don’t know how you haven’t already figured out how in love with you I am! And what about Christoph-”

“You’re what?” Buck said, his voice gentle, yet loud enough to cut all the anger from Eddie’s face instantly. The words had flown out of him so quickly and easily, he hadn’t at all realised what he’d been saying. And as he played those words back in his mind, he felt his face heat up and his stomach lurch. He’d actually said it. Out loud. And in front of Buck. And fuck, now Buck was looking at him like he was expecting him to say something. But how could he? How could he ever say another word to Buck? How could he ever let words come out of his mouth without tears spilling from his eyes?

Eddie’s gaze dropped to the ground as he felt his rage drain out of him. The cracks in that wall had spread so much that the wall was now completely smashed on the ground, and he felt every inch of that freedom and ease and feeling that he could breathe again completely engulfing him. He hadn’t even realised that Buck had moved until he looked back up, and there he was, just inches away from where Eddie had come to a standstill. There was a look Eddie had never seen sparkling in his friends’ eyes.

“You’re in love with me?” Buck whispered, his gaze focused on Eddie’s lips, waiting to hear what he had already waited so long for.

“I wasn’t meant to-,” Eddie shook his head, trying to think of what to say to fix this. Anything to get out of this. Anything to make this better and to stop the tears welling in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to say that.” He whispered finally, the gentle words cutting through the thick silence. He wiped a hand under his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears that had started to spill.

“Yeah, but you did,” Buck replied, his voice just as gentle and quiet and soft. Eddie began to turn away, trying his best to escape the situation. Buck was one step ahead of him. Once again, he reached out and grabbed Eddie’s arm, pulling him back and close to him once again.

“I can’t do this right now, Buck,” Eddie whispered, shaking his arm away from Buck’s grip. Buck, as stubborn as he is, held on tightly and pulled Eddie closer to him.

“God, you just have no idea, do you?”

Eddie looked at Buck with squinted brows, a puzzled look taking over his features. He was so completely oblivious, and it make Bucks heart hurt.

“Ed’s, I’ve been in love with you since I first saw you,” Buck said, his other hand reaching forward and allowing both of his hands to take Eddie’s carefully.

Eddie’s brows raised. His hands burned where Buck touched them. His heart was beating so fast he felt like he could hear it. His legs were jelly-like and his face was warm, and a feeling in the pit of his stomach was beginning to pool. A feeling he could only describe as pure and immense joy mixed with elation and satisfaction and everything he’s ever wanted to hear. Finally, those words had been spoken. And they were real. It wasn’t just in another one of Eddie’s wildest dreams. Buck was really here. Holding his hands and telling him he fucking loves him.

Eddie released one of his hands and pinched Buck’s forearm. Hard.

“Ow, what the hell, Eddie!?” Buck let out, his other hand tearing away from Eddie’s and using it to rub the now red skin. “You’re meant to pinch yourself!”

“Oh, shit!” Eddie laughed. “I’ll go get an ice pack. I got one for Christopher after he fell off the skateboard. It’s actually really good, you know, it’s got this little pouch that you can-”

He couldn’t finish his story, because all too quickly Buck had grabbed Eddie by either side of his jaw with both of his hands and placed his lips on Eddie’s. It was gentle, soft and careful lips pressing against each other. Nothing but sweetness and warm cheeks and cold hands. It took Eddie a moment to realise what was happening, and before he could move closer or do anything with his hands or melt into the moment more, Buck had pulled away.

Moving his hands away from Eddie’s jaw quickly, Buck said, “God, sorry, I’ve just been wanting to do that for-”

It was Eddie who had cut Buck off this time, his hands quickly reaching forward and grabbing Buck’s waist to pull him into his body. His lips quickly found Buck’s once again, this time allowing himself to really feel the kiss. This one seemed to hold that passion, that longing, that spark that both of them had been feeling for so many years. It was hundreds and thousands of days worth of stolen glances and subtle flirting and gentle touches and accidentally brushing shoulders poured into a single kiss. Eddie held on so tightly as he moved his lips in rhythm to Buck’s, doing his best to keep up. Buck laced his fingers through Eddie’s hair and tugged down, earning a soft sound to come out of Eddie’s mouth and vibrate gently against their pressed lips.

It was pure euphoria. Like nothing either of them had ever felt in their entire lives. And finally, they understood what real love was. Real, true, powerful, overwhelming love.

As they pulled apart, a small creak in the floorboards caught their attention. Looking past the kitchen, there stood Christopher Diaz, a look of happiness unlike no other plastered all over his face as he held on tightly to his crutches.

“Finally!” He shouted. “Buck’s going to be my other daddy!”

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

boys boys boys

Inspired by this awesome post. I couldn’t resist. Also, I recommend listening to Mötley Crüe’s “Girls Girls Girls” while reading the story. Also available over on AO3.

[Now with a Sam/Bucky sequel!]

*

1

Sam wakes to a loud crash, followed by a string of breathlessly hissed curses. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and why—on mission, somewhere in the alps, near the border between Switzerland and Italy—but once he does, he rolls over with a tired groan, blindly fumbling for the bedside lamp.

In the dim light it casts, he can make out Bucky crouched by the other bed across the room, picking shards of glass out of a damp spot on the carpet. His shoulders are tense, and he’s carefully avoiding Sam’s gaze, his mouth a thin, unhappy line. It’s too dark for Sam to see, right now, but he’d bet a hefty sum of money on the bags under Bucky’s eyes to be even more pronounced than yesterday.

A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s shortly after four in the morning, meaning they’ll have to be up and ready in less than two hours. Also meaning there’s no point in going back to sleep again.

Yawning, Sam throws back the covers, and slides out of bed. Bucky’s still not looking at him as he heads for the tiny kitchenette in the corner to flick on the kettle. He keeps his back to Bucky while he grabs mugs and tea bags, busying himself with preparing their tea in order to give Bucky at least a semblance of privacy.

(Watch out for the break!)

Sam’s no stranger to night terrors himself, although it’s hard to imagine what kind of horrors plague Bucky’s dreams, on top of the ones everyone in their line of work is unfortunately, intimately familiar with. And Bucky would almost definitely rather bite off and swallow his own tongue than admit it, but Sam’s fairly sure their current location isn’t exactly helping Bucky’s general state of mind, either.

It doesn’t take long for the water to start boiling, but once Sam turns back around, two steaming mugs in hand, the only evidence of what happened are the pieces of the broken water glass in the trash can by the desk. Bucky’s sitting on the bed, back leaned against the wall, knees pulled up, and face buried in his hands.

He lifts his head when Sam plops down next to him, though, taking the proffered mug with a raspy, “Thanks.”

They don’t talk, but after a couple of minutes, once Bucky’s looking a little less wild around the eyes, Sam bumps their shoulders together. Bucky leans into the contact, and they continue to drink their tea in silence.

2

By the time Sam catches up with him, Bucky’s got the last remaining HYDRA agent pinned against the wall by his throat, frantically scrabbling at Bucky’s metal arm as his face turns redder and redder. Sam lands a few feet away, and approaches the remaining distance on foot, hands held up placatingly.

Their objective is to bring this particular guy in alive for questioning. Sam knows this. Bucky knows this. Sam knows that Bucky knows this.

What Sam doesn’t know is if Bucky cares.

The instant they’d stepped foot in this particular base, Bucky’s whole demeanour had changed. He’d blinked at the lab equipment, first in confusion, then in recognition, and Sam had realised they were in for one hell of a bumpy ride.

“Bucky,” he says, quiet, when he comes to a stop at Bucky’s side.

Bucky’s breathing hard, chest heaving, and he bares his teeth in a silent growl before dropping the guy to the floor. “I know.”

Whoever this guy is, he definitely does not know when to quit. He coughs violently, but even though he can barely catch his breath, he spits out, “Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать—”

Sam winces, but Bucky only rolls his eyes, grunts out, “Will you shut up?” and smashes the guy’s head into the wall, knocking him out cold.

Then he turns to Sam, grins, and announces, “You carry 'im upstairs,” before walking away.

Sam glares at his retreating back. “Man, you've got super strength!”

“You got wings, flyboy!”

“We’re in a bunker!”

“Can’t hear you, gotta speak up!”

“Oh, fu—”

3

Bucky’s sitting at the end of the dock, legs dangling over the edge, bare feet dipped into the water.

Sam loosens his tie as he walks over to him, the bottles of beer Pepper had handed him upon arrival hanging between the fingers of his free hand, clinking together softly. He kicks off his dress shoes once he reaches Bucky, and nudges him with the bottles until he takes them so Sam can pull off his socks.

The water of the lake is pleasantly cool, even in the otherwise sweltering summer heat, making Sam groan out loud when he pushes his feet in. Bucky chuckles quietly as he hands one of the beers back over.

“How bad was it?” Bucky asks, after a couple of minutes. He’s worrying his bottom lip, absently peeling the edge of the label on his bottle.

“A lot of speeches from a lot of people thinking themselves incredibly important.”

That makes Bucky snort out a laugh. “So, Steve woulda hated it, is what you’re sayin'?”

“Oh,” Sam says, equally amused, “definitely, yeah.”

He takes a pull of his beer, eyes wandering over to the willow tree on the shore, and the stone bench sitting in its shadow. They’re too far away for Sam to be able to read the memorial plaques, though if he squints, he can just about see them between the gently swaying branches.

Stark.

Tasha.

Steve.

Bucky comes readily when Sam slings an arm around his shoulders, smiling sadly at Sam’s, “Happy birthday, old man.”

“Happy birthday, Stevie.”

+1

Stakeouts are boring.

And this one especially, since absolutely nothing has happened on any of the three days they’ve been watching the place. Their intel had been frustratingly vague, only alluding to someone with certain information maybe coming to stay at this particular Airbnb sometime this week.

With nothing else to do, Sam checks their perfectly working surveillance devices again, and scowls at the side of Bucky’s head.

Bucky never looks up from his rifle, but mutters an annoyed, “Cut it out,” in Sam’s general direction.

Sam pulls a face at him, but before he can snark something back, Bucky’s phone chimes from his pocket. Bucky startles, and fumbles it out with a clearly embarrassed, “Shit, sorry 'bout that.”

“Look at the professional,” Sam teases, and has to bite back a laugh when Bucky flicks a pebble at him. “Overwhelmed by modern technology, grandpa?”

“Funny,” Bucky says, deadpan, with a roll of his eyes. “Remind me, who was it who forgot to—”

“One time!” Sam cuts in, and throws a pebble back, nailing Bucky in the chest. “And I wasn’t the one who—”

Bucky glowers at him. “That doesn't count!”

“Yes, it most certainly does count,” Sam counters, ready to argue his point, when suddenly— “Wait, wait, hold on!”

“What?” Bucky is frowning, looking from Sam to their target house, then back again. “Somethin’ happening?”

Sam shakes his head, and tries to think of a delicate way to ask the question burning on the tip of his tongue, only to blurt out, “Are you on Grindr right now, man?”

The way Bucky’s entire face goes hot is very telling.

“Look, I was gonna tell ya—”

“No, hey,” Sam is quick to interrupt, reaching over to give Bucky’s arm a reassuring squeeze, “you don’t owe me an explanation, okay? I was just, uh. Let’s go with surprised.”

Bucky ducks his head, but he’s smiling faintly. “‘S not somethin’ I’m used to talkin’ about, is all.”

“Well, if you ever need to talk about it,” Sam spreads his arms in invitation, grinning when Bucky rolls his eyes again, “I’m right here.”

It’s enough to dispel the last of the awkwardness between them. Bucky quirks a brow at Sam, chin propped up on one hand, and flutters his lashes as he asks, “Wanna talk about boys, Wilson?”

“We’ve got the time,” Sam points out, then holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

The look that earns him is extremely dubious. “Why?”

“Look,” Sam wiggles his fingers impatiently, “do you want my help, or not?”

“Never asked for it,” Bucky grumbles, but does unlock and hand over his phone. “Just don’t—”

“Open the DMs, yes, got it,” Sam says, grimacing, and frantically presses the back button while Bucky cackles next to him, eyes shining with mirth. “That’s very forward.”

“Oh, he ain’t even the worst one,” Bucky says, looking at the screen over Sam’s shoulder. “What’re you doin’, anyway?”

Scrolling down the list of recent conversations, Sam clicks on the picture of a guy who’s actually showing his face, instead of his thighs or abs. “Figuring out your type.”

He stops swiping when he gets to a picture of the guy in a suit, and tilts the phone so Bucky can see better. “You know, he reminds me of—”

“Nope,” Bucky snatches the phone back, slapping at Sam’s hands when he tries to steal it again, “don’t ruin ‘im for me—”

“You don’t know who—”

“I don’t wanna know!”

“I think you already know he looks like—”

“I will throw you off this roof, Wilson!”

“Bring it on, Barnes!”

[therealvalkyrie]

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 2

insomniac

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.  

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: insomnia, nightmares, (remembering) death, panic attack, cuddling, fluff

AN: Here she is!! I’ve decided to give oc a little ~tragic backstory~ and I really hope it comes across like I’ve intended. I wouldn’t go so far as to call in angst, necessarily, but there’ll definitely be some in the future. Also, I know I’ve painted Annie and Reiner in a really bad light so far in this particular fic, but please know that’s not how I view them in canon at all - it’s simply because someone had to be the bad guy:( Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy and as always don’t hesitate to reach out via reblog/ask with any suggestions/feedback/questions!! ~valkyrie

(read Part 1.5 here)

Bodies jostle against you in the darkness to the beat of music you can’t hear.  The buzzing gets louder, drowning out even your own screams for them to stop.

Stop. Stop. STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!

“STOP IT!” You can hear yourself this time, your voice embarrassingly loud in the cramped room. You slap hands over your mouth but everyone’s already turned to look at you, disgusted at the display of emotion. Even they peel their faces apart to sneer down their noses.

“Why should we?” Annie’s voice rings with superiority, swirling around the space and nestling in the crook of your neck. You shudder away, but the faceless bodies shove you back.

“Don’t you know this is your fault, anyway? You weren’t enough for me.” Reiner jeers with a satisfied smirk. The whole room laughs, cackling and giggling spitefully. You can’t move, muscles frozen, as they turn back to each other and continue making out. His hand in her hair, her thigh hooked over his hip, obscenely wet noises from their joined mouths.

You scream and scream and scream, jaw wide and aching, and all of a sudden the scene shifts and you’re at your mother’s bedside. Your breath hitches and you’re screaming in a child’s voice this time.

“Mommy, Mommy, no, please, no, MOMMY, PLEASE--”

Your hand twitches towards her and its movement against soft sheets brings you back to consciousness.

You’re spread-eagled in bed, comforter kicked almost completely off, chest heaving.

“One. Two. Three. Four…” you count in a hoarse whisper to yourself, staring out the window at gently falling snow illuminated in yellow streetlights. It takes you to one hundred and twenty-seven before you’re calm enough to do anything productive. 

You reach out a blind hand to find your phone on the nightstand and raise it up to check the time. 4:47 am. Nearly three hours of sleep.

Eh, good enough for jazz.

You heave a sigh, then push up to sit on the edge of your bed and flick on the lamp. The sudden bright light makes you squint against sharp pain behind your eyes and turn away in search of a sweatshirt. Some sifting through the ever-growing pile of laundry later, you settle on a green university hoodie and pull it on over your ratty tank top. Your toes and fingers always feel like icicles after waking up from a nightmare, so you find faux fur-lined slippers as well.

As you push past your bedroom door and into the living room, a figure in the comfy armchair catches the corner of your eye.

You nearly jump out of your skin before recognizing who it is. “Christ on a cracker, Levi! Nearly scared me half to death.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry as he marks the page in his book and sets it on the coffee table.

“What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Well that’s not ominous or anything,” you mutter with an eye roll as you cross to the kitchen and set the kettle to boil for coffee.

Levi sighs and pinches the bridge of his elegant nose.

“Sorry. That’s not what I meant. It’s just… I noticed you haven’t been sleeping much lately and I’m worried.” He crosses to sit at the kitchen table and speaks to your back as you shuffle around the kitchen.

“What do you mean? Of course I’ve been sleeping. Whaddaya think I was just doing?”

“It’s five am, and you were still up when I went to sleep at twelve. Optimistically, that’s four hours of sleep. And yesterday you went to bed after one, but Hange said you were texting her at five-thirty, and--”

“Jeez, what, have you been stalking me or something?” you ask with an incredulous glance over your shoulder.

“We live together. It’s kind of hard not to notice.” Levi’s tone is the usual dry you’ve come to expect, but there’s an undercurrent that you’re too exhausted to pinpoint. “And Hange also told me she’s been worried.”

“What is this, an intervention? Just because I break up with someone I’m suddenly incapable of functioning?” Your voice (and headache) rises with each phrase, cracking on the morning dryness in the air, and you spin to face him.

“I didn’t say that, I--”

“Am I just supposed to wallow in misery for the rest of my life? No. I’m not doing that, Levi, I’m moving on. I-- I’m a busy woman, I’ve got finals and, and internship applications, and I happen to enjoy waking up early. I like watching the sunrise.” Though your words are rushed and you’re gesturing animatedly, uncertainty seeps through the stuttered phrases in your argument.

Levi lets you finish, then returns in a measured voice: “Why are you so defensive about this? I know you’re busy. So am I. But I manage to get more than four hours of sleep at night. I just want to help.”

His statement hangs in the air like dust mites, swirling around you and clinging to the sticky after-effects of the nightmare in your mind. You frown and drop your eyes to the linoleum, guilt settling into the stickiness.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Your voice is much softer. “I just--” A deep sigh. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

The simple question makes your breath stutter and you scrub a hand down your face in an effort to ground your skin into reality.

“It’s so stupid.” It’s practically a whisper. “I have these nightmares. About my mom. I got them when I was younger, too, but eventually they just sort of… stopped. But now they’re back. And I can’t ever get back to sleep after, so I just stopped bothering to try.”

“You know, sometimes I get nightmares, too.”

The admission catches you off guard, your eyes widening. Levi always seems so… steady and sure, you wouldn’t have expected it.

“Really?”

He nods. “About my mom and the foster homes.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you…” Your heart sinks, and you don’t know how to say you’re sorry for the heartbreak he must’ve lived through with any semblance of tact.

“Yeah. It’s not something I talk about much.”

“Right.” You pause and chew on your tongue thoughtfully for a moment. “Do you have...strategies for when you can’t sleep because of them?”

“I have sleeping pills from my psychiatrist and some meditation practices that work for me. I can send you some resources, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I’d really appreciate that if it’s not a bother.” You feel kind of sheepish now, for raising your voice, and so try to sound extra thankful for his help.

“It’s not.” He stands up and stretches both arms over his head, tipping his face up to the sky, lean body arching and twisting with the effort of it.  “I’ll send them to you later today. I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Okay. Thank you, Levi.”

He nods and yawns, nose scrunching adorably. “Night, kid.”

“Good night.”

As his bedroom door clicks shut, you sigh yet again and turn off the stove. The first thing to avoid is probably coffee.

--

Your fingers flick off last rivulets of water as you step out of the shower. A shiver rattles its way up your spine before you can grab a towel to dry off. Bless Levi, he had done laundry today and the towel is still dryer-warm, smelling of his favorite fabric softener.

As you go through your evening routine (tooth brushing, face washing, hair drying), you can feel a quiet tension set into your shoulders despite the humidity of the bathroom.

The day had gone okay. You managed to resist coffee until 8 am and cut yourself off at 3. A lecture and a studio in the morning left the afternoon for library studying and a trip to the grocery store. 

You had actually seen Bertholdt there, in the cereal aisle. You hadn’t been too keen on having that particular conversation, but luckily he hadn’t seemed to be either. The pair of you exchanged sympathetically awkward smiles before turning back to the Cheerios. 

The evening consisted of ordering chinese takeout while obsessing over your latest architecture design project, followed by convincing Hange over the phone not to sleep in the mouse lab for extra credit.

“But Bean will be lonely!” she insisted hysterically. “And Sonny wasn’t looking too hot in lab today, what if he needs his mommy and I’m not there?”

“You’re not their mommy,” you reminded her. “They have each other to keep them company, and if Sonny dies, won’t it support your hypothesis anyway?”

She had eventually acquiesced when you promised to help her plan a memorial should they pass in the night.

So now here you are, skin slowly drying, as you psych yourself up in the mirror to go to sleep.

“It won’t be bad. Just use the meditations Levi sent you.” You try to inject confidence into your voice, but you only end up grimacing at yourself in the mirror. “Ah, fuck it.”

You tuck your towel in firmly around your chest and double check to see your things are put away before going back to your room.

As you pass, you hesitate by Levi’s door for a moment. His normal studying music, Chopin, is on and light creeps out from underneath. Another moment of uncertainty, then you gently knock and poke your head in.

“Levi?” He raises his head from where he’s hunched over an easel, paint brush in hand. Brow furrowed and body tensed like a strung bow, he doesn’t look happy to be interrupted.

Fuck.

“I, uhm, just wanted to say good night.”

He grunts and turns back to the painting.

You take that as your cue to leave.

Back in the sanctuary of your own room, you curse again and kick your desk chair, sending it rolling a couple inches.

Why had you bothered him? To say good night?

“Stupid, stupid, UGH.” Your dramatic outburst ends in flopping face-first into bed. Just because he felt concerned enough to stage a fucking intervention doesn’t mean he’s your fucking nanny. Idiot.

Eventually, you roll over and get up to change into pajamas. 

Settling into bed, you open your newly downloaded meditation app and start an audio.

“As you prepare for your meditation practice today, find a comfortable position sitting or lying down where you can fully relax….”

The cool female voice wraps your mind in a hazy blanket of fog and eventually coaxes your body into an achingly needed sleep.

--

This time the dream wakes you up whimpering into your pillow, arms flung above your head as though you’re skydiving. With a sucking breath, you lift your head to prevent imminent suffocation and instead settle on your side, staring unblinkingly into the darkness. Breath ragged in your chest, your mind can’t seem to move past the last image of your nightmare.

It’s burned into your retinas when you close your eyes and etched onto the moonlight-pale wall when they’re open: your mom’s pallid face staring up at the ceiling, hands resting on top of  her blue embroidered duvet cover, chest still.

A sob escapes your unwilling throat and you’re scrambling to sit up and reach for the lamp. The lamplight suddenly reminds you of your own existence in the physical plane, thrusting all your senses into sharp contrast.

Her greying, thinning hair, the frailty in her fingers, the cracks in her lips, the cloying scent of death.

“Nonononononononono,” you moan, hunched over your knees, fingers tangled in your hair. Your stomach is hollow, chest tight, tears now flowing in earnest. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time, not since 7th grade at least.

Do something, do something, you stupid bitch, your mind is yelling at you, and so you force your body to move. Somewhere, anywhere other than here.

You practically fall out of bed and then lean heavily on your desk to compensate for shaking knees as you move to the door. Feet shuffle in the darkness and all of a sudden you’re sniffling outside Levi’s door, fingers in a deathgrip on your shirt. One, two breaths and you knock three hesitant raps.

Fuck. Shit. Instant regret bubbles up in your throat and you pivot away. Before you can get far, the door opens and you hear Levi’s sleep-ragged voice utter your name like a question. Damn.

You turn back sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve woken you up. Go back to bed.” Your voice is unnaturally breathy as Levi tries to make you out in the dim light of the moon filtering in through the living room window. 

He reaches for your shoulder to gently pull you out of the shadows, and realization crosses his face as he registers the tear tracks and haunting terror in your eyes.

“It happened again,” he states.

You nod hesitantly and wipe at your cheeks with the back of one hand. You try again to tell him that no, really, you’re fine and he should go back to bed, but the words get lost in the tangle of truths between your brain and mouth.

Instead, what comes out is: “Can… can I sleep with you?” Your eyes finally flick to his before you quickly follow up. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just- it helps to have someone close….”

Levi watches you for a moment before sliding his hand from your shoulder to your hand and tugging gently.

“Come on.”

You follow him inside and fidget awkwardly at the side of his bed as he climbs in. His room is impeccably neat, not that you would expect anything different from the man who once gave you a five minute lecture about leaving dishes in the sink to soak. It was the most words you’d heard him string together at the time, and he only stopped when he realized you were laughing.

“You sound like my Great Aunt Cheryl,” you said between hiccups of mirth. “Insufferable woman.”

He had looked at you scathingly, then made you promise never to leave the dishes for later again on pain of changing the wifi password.

Once he’s settled, Levi turns back the covers on your side and looks at you expectantly. You falter a split second before climbing in next to him, the familiar smell of his laundry detergent clouding around you as you fall back into soft pillows. He throws the comforter over you, then settles down and opens his arms.

“C’mere, kid,” he says with a tenderness that makes a sniffle catch in the back of your throat.

You roll into his arms, resting your head in the curve of his shoulder and breathe the first easy breath since you woke up. An arm flung around his middle means your whole body is against his, warming you up like a midafternoon nap in August.

Levi settles his arm around your back after tucking in the blankets and holds you like you’ve always belonged there. He gradually, gradually feels you relax into him as your breathing begins to match his own.

After a while, your eyes droop closed and Levi allows himself the indulgence of tucking his nose into your hair. A bouquet of lavender shampoo and you accompanies him softly into his dreams.

--

(read part 3 here)

[stxphxn-strange]

(no) rest for the innocent

summary: Tony wasn’t even on trial, but the jury found him guilty and he couldn’t disagree.

a/n: idk last night i was thinking about tony dealing w survivor’s guilt after endgame (and IW) so i threw this together, tw for mention of death and implied thoughts of suicide

“Good evening, Doctor.” FRIDAY’s warm, pleasant voice always reminded Stephen of home and cinnamon scented candles. “How was your trip?” 

“Too long for a meeting that could’ve been handled over email. Or through carrier pigeon, as Tony would say,” Stephen replied as his cloak sailed off down the hall. 

He washed his hands carefully, drying them on an Iron Man dish towel that Peter had given them as a joke wedding gift before putting the kettle on. 

As the water was boiling, he noticed a covered plate on the kitchen counter. There was an obnoxiously orange piece of paper in front of it, which made Stephen smile. Tony always left him little notes on purposefully electrifying paper, that way they were easy to find. 

The sorcerer’s smile only widened as he read the note. 

Steph— 

I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but I decided to make you dinner anyway. But not because I’m missing you and wanted to surprise you, I just accidentally cooked too much. You know how that happens sometimes and you just end up with an ungodly amount of chicken parm? Life’s funny like that. 

Anyway, I’m in the lab. I had some good ideas earlier and I wanted to start them while I still felt productive. Welcome home sweetheart, and if you go to bed before I do (because you probably will, you responsible asshole you), sweet dreams and goodnight. 

Love, Tones

PS— Orange you glad you met me? … don’t answer that, I just couldn’t help it and had to write that down. 

Stephen rolled his eyes fondly. “Fri, will you tell Tony that even though he’s not funny, I’m very glad I met him?” 

FRIDAY was quiet for a few moments before responding. “Boss says, quote, ‘fuck you Gandalf, I’m hilarious,’ unquote.” 

Stephen smiled, heating up his meal before sitting down to eat. He flipped through a magazine while he ate, FRIDAY turning on some soft jazz music as background noise until Stephen cleaned up and left the kitchen. After a refreshing shower, the sorcerer found himself in his most comfortable pjs and slippers as he walked through the house. Stephen wasn’t sure if he was going to bed yet, but he wanted to see Tony (and maybe he wanted a kiss or two or even three). 

The music in the lab automatically lowered when Stephen shut the door behind him, and Tony looked up with an expression that could only be described as tired. 

Actually, he looked exhausted. Weary. Barely holding himself together. Stephen wasn’t a thesaurus, but very concerned about his husband. 

Tony was trying to smile, but he seemed too exhausted to do that and just gave up, not saying anything as Stephen sat beside him. 

“Hi.” Stephen leaned over and softly kissed his husband’s temple. “Thanks for cooking for me, you didn’t have to.” 

Tony shrugged. “I had a lot of energy earlier, and I accidentally cooked way too much. Maybe it was intentional, you know I’d take any excuse to go out of my way for you.” 

His words said one thing, but his tone betrayed him. His voice was brittle, hard, and almost staticky. Stephen thought he sounded like a rusted hinge that was trying not to cry out for repairs… or maybe that analogy only made sense given where they were. 

Stephen kissed him again as Tony sat back at his desk, closing his well-used sketchbook. “You alright?” 

“Yeah. Tired I guess.” Tony sounded as unconvinced as Stephen felt. 

“Come to bed with me,” Stephen offered. “I’ll bore you to sleep by telling you about the meeting.” 

Tony laughed hollowly. “That bad?” 

“I don’t know how to describe it, but it was a waste of time. Even Wong was bored, and he watches the Antiques Roadshow remake for fun,” Stephen replied. He yawned and leaned against Tony’s side. 

“I see what you’re doing,” Tony murmured, trying to be lighthearted. He was just feeling some kind of way right now, he felt serious and was so endeared by his husband that it hurt. 

“What am I doing?” Stephen asked, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Being cute and sweet so I’ll go to bed and let you be the big spoon,” Tony accused. “And maybe I just really fucking need a hug, but… it’s working.” 

Stephen shifted and pulled Tony into his arms, holding the mechanic close as he went lax. 

“My Boss Is Singing Closing Time Protocol please, Fri,” Tony mumbled. 

“Goodnight Boss, goodnight Doctor,” the AI replied, beginning to run the lab’s standard closing protocol. 

“Portal?” Stephen asked. Tony was getting better with going through portals, but some days were harder than others. Stephen didn’t know what tonight would be like and opted to ask, selfishly wanting to make sure Tony got some rest as soon as possible. 

He was so out of it by that point that Stephen wasn’t sure if Tony registered the question, but he nodded slowly and trusted Stephen to lead him through it and into their bed. 

Despite “resembling a sloth clinging to a tree bough,” (Tony’s words) Stephen was intuitive and knew when not to hug Tony. Even when he was asleep, if Tony woke up thrashing or fighting against something in a dream, Stephen let him go. 

Tonight was a bit different. Stephen wasn’t brought to the edge of reality by Tony thrashing in their bed or accidentally tangling himself in their sheets, so he assumed everything was fine. That was until the sorcerer hugged his husband closer, still mostly asleep and just following his instinct, and Tony outright begged Stephen to let go of him. He wasn’t quite awake, but Stephen backed off immediately and heard Tony trip over his own feet as he left the room. The sorcerer fell asleep again after that, trying to stop the sound of Tony’s broken plea from cementing itself in his memory. When Tony climbed back into bed some time later, Stephen was stirring a little bit more. Tony hid his face in Stephen’s collarbone and said nothing, his breathing still slightly erratic. 

“Sorry if I woke you up,” he mumbled. 

“Don’ be,” Stephen replied, his voice unsure whether or not to wake up. 

“Will you hold me again?” Tony asked pleadingly, his voice almost imperceptible. 

Stephen wordlessly obliged, kissing the top of his head. “Whatever’s bothering you… you can talk to me about it. When you’re ready. And you don’t have to, but I’m here for you.” 

Tony nodded. “It feels like too much right now. What I’m thinking about, I mean. I need time to process, I guess.” 

“Okay,” Stephen said simply. “But I’m here for you whenever.”

“I know. I love you,” Tony replied. 

Stephen began to trace soothing patterns on Tony’s back. “Love you Tones.” 

++++

Tony didn’t seem any more rested the next day, but his confident Tony Stark™ pose seemed natural. He’d easily be able to fool people who didn’t know him as well as his family did. So it was a “fake it until you make it” kind of day, and Tony’s energy was on a strict schedule. There was only so much he could take today, and if his teammates wanted to call him selfish then that was their choice. 

It would just go in one ear and out the other, especially this late in the day and after brutal team training. Tony was close to skipping the meeting, but a cutting remark in the hallway made him change his mind. Why did they always act like it was breaking news when Tony needed to step back from something anyway? He was just as human as anyone else, and the world was happy to throw responsibilities on his unenhanced, steady shoulders just because he was a natural caretaker. 

The arguments about Tony’s quiet, withdrawn demeanor started two minutes into the meeting. Stephen was ready to defend his husband as soon as they got to the conference room, Tony collapsing into a chair and leaning his head against the cool metal of the table. 

He didn’t want to talk today, and Stephen didn’t want him to. 

“It’s not nap time, Stark.” There was a small hint of fondness in Natasha’s cold, clipped voice. 

Tony was already regretting his decision to show up, wishing he hadn’t told Stephen again and again that he was fine. He wasn’t, and they both knew it. Everyone knew it, but Tony knew better than to advocate for himself in front of his… colleagues. 

“I don’t even remember what we’re meeting about,” Tony muttered, looking up enough to address whoever was talking to him. 

Rhodey took a seat beside Tony, encouragingly patting his back. “You good?” 

“I’m fine, Honeybear,” Tony replied. He was sitting between his two favorite people, and that helped him feel a little more grounded. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Someone scoffed. “I don’t think anyone’s slept right in months. And don’t say you haven’t slept in years, Stark. We don’t need a story about how everything you’ve ever done has led to years of sleepless nights. We know already. Put it in a book or something and make the team more money so I can have better arrows.” 

Stephen was two seconds away from dropping the archer into the Dark Dimension, or flipping a table. He wasn’t sure how to handle the man yet, still taken aback by the rudeness and stupidity of his comment. “Barton, what the fuck—” 

“Steph, don’t bother with him,” Tony said. He stood up, forcing his tiredness into a corner and giving his coworkers a confident glare. “Pardon me for giving it my all and being a bit tired as a result. Now I’m going to get an ice pack for my shoulder and maybe a cup of coffee. Does anyone want anything?” 

“I’ll take a—”

“Get it yourself, you know where the kitchen is.” 

For dramatic effect (and moral support), the cloak landed on Tony’s shoulders and billowed out as he left the room. He returned with the aforementioned ice and coffee, and a mug of tea for Stephen. 

“You didn’t have to do that sweetheart, but thank you,” Stephen said appreciatively. 

“That’s why I wanted to,” Tony replied. He relaxed a little into his chair, starting to believe he could get through the meeting. 

Then, like clockwork, Clint opened his mouth to complain. 

“Why did you bring him tea and nothing for the rest of us?” He whined. 

“Doesn’t Tony do enough for you?” Stephen asked, innocently taking a sip of his tea. It was his afternoon green tea, made exactly the way he liked it. 

Tony was always so sweet and attentive with his loved ones, it warmed Stephen’s heart. The sorcerer stifled a laugh as Rhodey poured half of Tony’s coffee into his own empty mug. 

“Thank you,” the colonel said impishly. “Consider the roommate tax paid for this month.” 

Tony tried to smile at the old inside joke, but Stephen noticed that it fell flat. 

“Are we done with the interruptions? We need to talk about what’s out there. We don’t know if Thanos is the exception or the rule, and—”

Tony stopped listening. Clint’s snootiness was doing his head in, but the idea of another threat, another thing, another colossus he’d have to conquer and survive if his luck had anything to say about it… that was the breaking point. 

Tony didn’t have a good relationship with luck. He didn’t really believe in it, but apparently it believed in him. Because Tony was lucky. It was true that he was lucky in meeting his husband, his friends, and his family, but this was a different kind of luck. Tony was intelligent and skilled, shrewd and savvy, and there was virtually nothing he couldn’t do or solve, except for one thing. 

He was constantly lucky, constantly cheating death. 

And he didn’t realize that he was hyperventilating, didn’t recall dropping his head into his hands. He didn’t recall that he’d just walked out in the middle of the meeting after a minute, didn’t realize that he was home when he opened his eyes. 

Tony was home, in his spot on the couch in Stephen’s library. Stephen was sitting beside him, quietly watching a documentary or something like that. Tony was laying down, his head in Stephen’s lap with the cloak draped over him like a blanket. The crimson fabric continued to cling to him as he sat up, further proving Tony’s point that Levi liked him best, but he wasn’t in the mood to banter now. He just appreciated the support and the warmth of his sorcerer and their shared, sentient blanket.

With some hesitancy, Tony leaned over and rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder. They locked eyes for a minute, Tony’s gaze deliriously bright and vacant. 

Stephen didn’t know what to say or do to make the man trembling in his arms feel better, but started by hugging him closer and softly stroking up and down his spine. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, lowering his head and hiding against Stephen’s chest. 

“No apologies,” Stephen reminded him. “I don’t want or need them, and you don’t have to explain yourself.” 

“I have to give a good reason,” Tony said, his voice beginning to shake. “Everything I do needs a reason.” 

“Why? Says who?” Stephen asked. He was more thinking aloud, half expecting Tony to leave the question unanswered. 

For a while, he did. He just sat, furiously trying to blink back tears and gather his thoughts as Stephen held him protectively. 

“Sometimes I think about… things,” Tony began vaguely. “And people. And places. I guess I just like nouns.” 

At this point, he didn’t even know if he was trying to deflect or just tell a joke, but his attempt at humor fell flat. He tried to force a laugh, but halfway through it turned into a painful sob. He cried harder with each breath, ignoring the ache in his chest. Tony barely listened when Stephen encouraged him to breathe, but eventually he gave into his exhaustion and listened to his lungs. 

His stupid lungs, which apparently were just as stubborn as his brain. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” Tony whispered. “I shouldn’t have survived Afghanistan, New York, Sokovia, Siberia, or Titan. I can’t keep cheating death, Stephen. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be lucky and survive when the damage I’ve caused, the damage I claim full responsibility for, has taken so many lives. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed for me.” 

Stephen pressed a soft kiss to his hair, feeling Tony’s guit and fatigue as if it was his own. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Tony repeated. “I’m probably just spiraling or being needlessly selfish, but  I… I don’t know.” 

“You’re taking on too much responsibility where you don’t need to,” Stephen said. “I know that’s easy for me to just say from the outside, but you aren’t the only Avenger. It’s about time the team, if you can even call them that, takes accountability for their actions and stops bulldozing you with their problems. You aren’t selfish, Tones. You’re tired and overworked, and you deserve a break. You deserve to breathe, to just exist without feeling like you have to look over your shoulder or justify your every step.” 

“I don’t think I know how to even do that anymore,” Tony replied. “And I don’t deserve it.” 

“You do,” Stephen argued. “And rest assured I’ll keep telling you that. And I’ll keep telling you how much I love you, because I really do.” 

Tony smiled sadly, trying to press himself closer to Stephen if that was even possible. “I love you too.” 

He was starting to settle down, soothed by a flurry of soft kisses in his hair and the gentle brushes up and down his spine, when FRIDAY quietly spoke up. She almost sounded remorseful. 

“Mister Parker is requesting one or both of you in the lab, whenever it’s convenient,” she began. “And he’s asked me to assure you that it’s nothing major.” 

Tony sighed, sitting up again. “I’ll investigate.” 

Stephen shook his head. “No, let me. I’ll tell Peter that you’re resting, and he’ll understand.” 

“I don’t want him to think I don’t care,” Tony whispered. 

“He would never think that. You know how he gets about making sure you take care of yourself, and Peter knows with certainty that you care about him. Our son is much more mature than the Avengers,” Stephen replied. 

“I still feel bad,” Tony said. 

“I know. I can promise him Thai food if that’ll make you feel better?” Stephen suggested, half jokingly. 

“It actually would,” Tony admitted. “FRIDAY, will you schedule a Thai food delivery for 6:30pm please?” 

“Scheduled,” she replied simpy. She still sounded apologetic for disturbing them right as Tony was falling asleep, but maybe Stephen imagined that. 

The sorcerer stood up gracefully, covering Tony with another blanket as the cloak wrapped a bit tighter around him. “Look after yourself and relax, or get some sleep. No one’s expecting anything from you right now Tones, alright? I love you.” 

Tony nodded, a little smile on his face as Stephen kissed him again. “Love you.” 

He really wanted to sleep. He actually put effort into falling asleep, which was something he never thought he’d do, and of course sleep didn’t come easily. Sleep never came easily, but the memories did. It was all too easy for Tony to get caught in a thought stream, whether he was planning a surprise, inventing, or remembering unpleasantries. Today he was overwhelmed by guilt, readily convincing himself that he was a selfish failure like Howard Stark and his teammates liked to say. It was too easy to get lost in their ire and wanting to please everyone, and Tony had given up so much of his agency just to try and make other people happy. 

It was exhausting, and he didn’t even feel like he’d succeeded at that. 

The mechanic started tearing up again as he continued to think in a circular pattern, faintly aware of the Cloak trying to comfort him. It was a sweet, welcome gesture, and Tony let it happen and let himself cry. He was still laying there in tears when Stephen came back in half an hour later.

“Pete says he hopes you feel better,” Stephen said, returning to his spot and pulling Tony close. “And I told him to just go ahead and eat whenever he’s hungry, or when the food gets here.” 

Tony just nodded, feeling relieved and supported in Stephen’s arms again. He nodded again, as if trying to shake the unending self-deprecating thoughts from his head, before saying anything. “Sounds good.”

tags: @salty-ironstrange-shipper @stark-strange-love2 @chocopiggy @katninjagirl97 @kitkatfat15 @taruyison @funkylittlebidiot

[localswordlesbian]

rose-coloured boy

The Lonely left it's mark on Martin, with his formerly dark brown hair going a stark white the moment the fog touched him. Whenever he sees his reflection in the mirror, he sees the man who became the victim of a fear that nearly swallowed him whole. So he decides that a bottle of pink hair dye is the way to go.

(or: a bunch of friends were sending art of pink haired martin on discord and I was inspired, thank you to @bagginshield and @m-e-w-666 for encouraging me to write this <3)

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Martin was beginning to wonder whether he’d fucked up.

He watched as the water vanished down the drain before his eyes, tinged ever so slightly pink as it ran freely from his head and into the sink. Hunched over the cold ceramic, Martin listened to the music he’d set to play from the speakers to occupy his mind while he waited for the water to run clear, a process which was taking an almost infuriatingly long time. Despite the music, his mind was spinning – he couldn’t remember what, exactly, had spurred him to dye his hair. His walk to the convenience store down the road had almost disappeared from his memory, as though he’d done it in a daze, and he hadn’t hesitated before pulling the plastic gloves onto his hands and squeezing the light pink goop from the bottle onto his head.

Half an hour of sitting on the cold bathroom floor, paired with being hunched over the sink which was too short for someone of Martin’s height, was beginning to cause his muscles to tighten and his bones to ache. Eventually, the water spilling over his head finally ran clear and Martin straightened, his spine popping as his unruly curls flung water all over the bathroom. Sighing as he grabbed a towel and began to dry off his hair, Martin stretched. He kept his eyes away from the mirror – he knew this had been his decision, but a deep-seated fear squirmed through his gut at the thought of seeing his own reflection; what if he hated it? What if he regretted it immediately and had no way of getting the dye out?

He shook his head. Spiralling into a panic over nothing wasn’t going to help, he tried to tell himself. Towel still wrapped around his hair, he left the bathroom and stepped onto the cold tile of his kitchen.

Tea would calm him down, he reasoned. Tea usually calmed him down. Martin got the kettle, two teabags, and two mugs, and got to work – it was a calming process, and that combined with the music still spilling from the living room was enough to distract him from his panic about his hair.

As he was seeping the tea in the boiling water, he heard the distinct sound of the front door unlocking and someone coming inside. A smile pulled at Martin’s cheeks as he saw a familiar figure enter the kitchen.

“Welcome back,”

Jon smiled at him, his tired expression lifted as his eyes met Martin’s. “Thank you. Perfect timing,” he noted, gesturing to the tea.

Martin laughed, and the sound seemed to make Jon smile wider. “Yeah, it is.”

The two stood in amicable silence while Martin finished making and pouring the tea, handing Jon his mug. His scarred hand wrapped around Martin’s as he accepted the tea, giving his boyfriend’s hand a squeeze. They stood in the kitchen as they sipped their drinks, music continuing to pour in a continuous stream of company as they enjoyed each others’.

“Is that a new fashion accessory or something?”

Martin looked up suddenly. “What?”

Jon gestured to his head. “The towel. I wouldn’t normally point it out, but you never wear a towel on your head when you shower, so…”

Martin smiled softly – the fact that Jon knew that about him was still a little pleasant surprise sometimes. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Well..” Jon tilted his head sideways, waiting for Martin to continue. Sighing, Martin grabbed the towel with one hand and yanked it off his head. “It was sort of an… impulsive decision,” he explained.

Jon seemed to study him for a moment before setting his mug down and walking over to stand in front of Martin. Reaching up, he hesitated before making content, and at Martin’s nod he took a strand between his fingers. Martin could see that the colour was very pale, an almost pastel pink, just dark enough to be noticeable but not so much so that it would call attention. Jon gave a soft smile. “I think it looks lovely,” he murmured. “Why the sudden impulse, though?”

Martin finally let himself consider that question, the question he hadn’t let himself think about since he made the decision to venture out to the store to buy the dye in the first place. He thought about all he and Jon had been through the past few years, the horrendous traumas they’d both faced – the degradation of both of their psyches at the hands of their power hungry immortal boss. Jon’s scars were a constant reminder of the avatars who had wanted them dead simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and after the Lonely–

“I suppose I didn’t want to be reminded of it anymore.” Jon tipped his head sideways, urging Martin to continue. “Every time I looked in the mirror, I could see it – the fog, the blurry horizon hardly even there, the vague silhouettes of people who were just as alone as I was. And it’s not like I could justify it with “going grey young;” it was white, Jon. There was no– no compartmentalizing it anymore. And I just couldn’t bear it.”

A beat passed, then Jon reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb across Martin’s cheek – Martin hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He wordlessly took Martin’s hands and led him over to the couch – Martin sank gratefully into the cushions, suddenly exhausted. He felt weary down to his bones, as though a film of grey had settled over his vision and made his brain all fuzzy and spaced out. Jon said nothing, simply held Martin’s hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckles in a soothing back and forth motion.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait until I– until I forget,” he confessed in a broken whisper.

Jon let out a dry, humourless laugh. “Love, I don’t think either of us will ever forget what we went through.” He squeezed Martin’s hands. “Though, that’s not to say we’ll never move past it.”

Martin nodded. “I feel like I’m giving in.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know, the fear? Peter Lukas and the Lonely? Heroes are always supposed to rock their scars, hell even you live with constant reminders of what you went through painted on your body, but I can’t even look at myself without feeling… cold. Cold and lonely and abandoned.”

Jon lifted one of Martin’s hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Martin shook his head. “Jon. It’s not your fault. None of it was, or is.”

Jon nodded. “I know, I–” he broke off, squeezing Martin’s hands again. “I can’t promise that it will get better. The nightmares, the memories, the… the habits. But I can promise I’ll never abandon you ever again. I never want you to feel like you’re alone, not as long as I’m with you.”

“You didn’t abandon me the first time. I chose to work for Lukas, I chose to sacrifice myself. That wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“So are you!”

Jon laughed. “I suppose you’re right. My point is, I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what. No matter the colour of your hair,” he added fondly, lifting one hand to thread it through Martin’s curls. Martin leaned into the touch, taking comfort in the simplicity of this moment – sat on the couch, with tea that had gone cold, two broken people desperately trying to figure out how to simply be in a world that had taken so much from them.

Jon leaned closer, tilting his head in a silent invitation, one which Martin accepted by pressing their lips together – it was a soft kiss, a gentle one, a reminder that not all was lost, that despite it all they still had each other. Jon’s hand threaded through Martin’s hair, and Martin savoured every sensation as he cupped Jon’s cheek and felt the stubble scrape his palm. This was what had been missing in the Lonely – the feeling of touch, of direct contact with another person without feeling as though there was a layer of something between him and anyone or anything around him. But here, in this tiny flat, he was present in this very moment, present for the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips moving against his, a reminder that right now he wasn’t alone. No matter the colour of his hair or the nights where he’d wake up in a cold sweat after a dream where he’d been drowning in fog, his lungs full of cold, wet smoke and his eyes unseeing, Jon would be there.

Jon hummed against his lips, and Martin pulled away. “What?”

His boyfriend has a small smile on his face. “I just realized something,” he said. “You’re a real rose-coloured boy.”

Martin barked a laugh. “Really? That’s your great realization?”

Jon pouted. “I thought it was cute.”

Martin chuckled, brushing his lips over Jon’s again and pulling away before he could press closer. Jon let out a petulant growl, and Martin grinned. “You’re cute.”

“Am not!”

“Yes you are, don’t deny it.”

“If I agree, can I kiss you again?” Martin nodded. “Fine, then I’m adorable.”

Still grinning, Martin brought his lips to Jon’s again, and they stayed on that couch for a good long while.

After this, they’d go about their regular days. Martin still didn’t know whether he’d be able to bear his own reflection, now that his hair was no longer the stark white it had turned after the Lonely. He knew that this wouldn’t keep the nightmares at bay, the terrifying dreams of losing Jon to a fog so thick he could hardly move through it, of losing himself piece by piece as everyone walked by, of being forgotten and discarded as though he’d never mattered. He knew this wouldn’t solve anything long term.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe this was the first step.

That night, Martin looked up from the sink and beheld the pink curls on top of his head for the first time. He held his reflection’s stare, as if challenging it to go after him. The memories weren’t gone, but the telltale twist of a corkscrew of panic driving its way into his chest was, for once, absent. He simply felt… normal.

What normal was, Martin could only hope it wouldn’t remain that way forever. Jon was right – he’d never forget, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t heal, piece by piece, bit by bit, never alone again.

Perhaps that was enough.

[arandompostarchive]

Inure - Ch. 2

SAVED WORK

Summary: To some, The Specter is a serial killer. To some, a hero. But to everyone, you were entirely a mystery. You had no history, just a list of victims a mile long. No matter how many people searched your name, they could find anything. If only they had the spelling right. Now, you’ve come across some unfortunate information that drives you out of your usual shadows and into the path of the Avengers. Including two of the more reclusive members of the team. And it’s hard to pick only one of them.

***

“Howard, I’m not sure this is a good idea. SPECTR isn’t ready to show the public yet, much less reporters who will make up a million theories on how we’ll use this.” You argued. You sat across from Howard as you looked over the machine’s blueprints. Howard had suggested that it was ready for a test run, which was completely wrong. It was far from perfect.

“I’m not saying we have to keep it running, but we’ve got to show people something!” He said, getting frustrated. You began to get frustrated too.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged about it to every media outlet in the country, then. You told them about SPECTR, now you have to tell them it’s not ready. It’s that simple.” You didn’t look up at him.

“C’mon. One test, we don’t have to test all it’s features, let’s just turn on its most basic setting. Just show that it works!” He said. You stood, walking toward the control panel you had set up. The machine was behind glass in a testing room. If you turned it on right now, you weren’t sure what the reaction would be, so you insisted it be put safely away from you.

“But it doesn’t work.”

“They don’t have to know that! I just gotta show them something.” You were tempted to give in. To let him bring in his media crew and you would have if it weren’t for the dangers SPECTR presented.

“Turning it on right now could endanger lives. We need to stay safe about this.” He rolled his eyes. He hated your safety rules which you had only implemented because he would run around the lab doing stupid things otherwise. “Look, I get it. I’m excited about this too! We’re making life-changing stuff here! But let’s save it until we know it will actually change lives.” You bent down and unscrewed a panel on the control board. You had missed the upset look on Howard’s face, not that you couldn’t guess what it looked like.

You continued working while he made a call or two in the background. You jumped a bit when a spark came out of the panel. You stood up, opening the door to the test room to check the machine itself. You could feel Howard staring at the back of your head.

***

You jolted up, sweating a bit. Most of your dreams were memories now. At least, all the dreams you remembered were. At the time, that memory didn’t seem so bad. It just seemed like two friends arguing and that’s what you thought it was. You wished you could go back. Tell yourself to listen a little closer to his phone calls. Double check that he really wouldn’t get a dozen reporters. Instead, you trusted him. That had been a grave mistake.

You pushed yourself off of your bed. Your room was nice to say the least. Leave it to a Stark to make things look expensive. You had an apartment-like area. There was a bedroom and a small living room and kitchen hybrid. It had a tv, a couch and the bare essentials of a kitchen.

You walked into your kitchen area to make tea. “What time is it?” You wondered out loud, seeing the darkness outside your windows. “I need to tell that Captain more about what I know, maybe the team would stop talking about me. Or at least do it in a more private setting.” You grabbed an electric kettle and filled it with water, waiting for it to boil.

“It’s 3:44 am, and I can remind you, if you’d like,” A voice offered. The sound of another person in your space made you jump, but when you looked around you couldn’t spot anyone.

“Hello?” You said loudly, unsure of where the person came from.

“Hello.” The voice said again. You stepped closer to the couch and looked around, still, no one was in sight.

“Who are you?” You asked. Trying to locate the voice.

“I’m FRIDAY, Mr. Stark’s AI system.” You almost laughed. Of course.

You were still curious though. She was really AI? Had she passed the Turing Test? How had he made a completely functional system? How was she built in, is it just in certain rooms, or did he manage to put her everywhere? You had questions to ask Stark about his inventions, though you were dreading having to talk to Howard’s son. He couldn’t be that much better than his father and you weren’t ready to spend time with Howard 2.0. You’d seen Tony on the news and even spent your own time watching over him, but you’d never had a real conversation.

“FRIDAY, huh? And how do you work?” You asked. Admittedly, it felt weird talking to the air. There was no where to focus, so you really just ended up staring at the ceiling. It felt odd.

“I was implemented to help Mr. Stark after he lost his previous AI. I’m a network of different systems Mr. Stark has created. I’m not allowed to share all the details, but I’m sure Boss wouldn’t mind showing you.”

Of course she calls Tony “Boss”, seems just like a Stark to put themselves on a pedestal. “Well,” you began, “Thank you FRIDAY. I can remember to talk to Captain Rogers, though. I don’t really have much else to do.”

“Alright, Miss.”

“Just call me Spectr,” you told her, smiling at the ceiling.

“No problem, Spectr.” There was a soft whistling behind you and you stopped the kettle before it got too loud. You took the tea along with a bit of honey and sat down on the couch, slowly sipping it. It felt odd to have a ‘home’. A TV, couch, bed, kitchen, even the weird body-less AI felt comforting. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

***

Coming downstairs to get breakfast was one of the most awkward experiences of your rather long life. You had come down late, hoping the Avengers ate early. To your dismay, most of the team were in their kitchen, chatting about something or other, though it seemed like a few of them there only to talk to the group.

When you walked in, book in hand, their conversation immediately hushed and all eyes turned to you. The team was terrible at pretending not to stare, but you did your best to ignore them.

“Um, Spectr.” The Captain spoke up. His voice stayed steady, but you could tell he felt odd asking you anything. You turned around to face him, silently telling him to continue. “Join us, we’d like to get to know you.” The sentiment was nice, though you knew what he was doing. If they could befriend you, they’d have a permanent ally or maybe even stop your ‘crime spree’. Or maybe they wanted a reason to justify working with you. Maybe they felt guilty putting a serial killer on the team, even temporarily, and thought that maybe, just maybe, if you were a kind person they’d feel just a little bit better. But the much more likely option was that they wanted a way to take you down. They wanted to know exactly what made you tick just in case you got too hard to handle. You wished them luck, you had died decades ago.

“No, Captain, you don’t want to talk to me. I’m a possible threat in your house. You want to learn whatever you can about me. That’s fine, I understand.” Everyone at the table was avoiding meeting both your eyes and Steve’s. You didn’t really have anything against Rogers, but you weren’t here to become best friends, you were here to stop a threat. Then you could leave and go back to your old life with no record of your crimes. Not that the city papers wouldn’t have a field day.“But you don’t want to talk to me. Don’t pretend you do, it’s rude.” You didn’t get a response, so you assumed you guessed right.

The team went back to your hushed conversation and you scanned the room. You grabbed a cup of coffee from the fresh brewed pot and sat yourself on a couch in their living room area. A man was sitting across from you also buried in a book. You didn’t mind the lack of conversation, though his book choice was interesting. Shakespeare’s The Tempest, certainly a good read.

You looked down at your book, staring at the page but still focused on the man in front of you. You recognized him, though you weren’t certain from where.

“The team seems to have deemed you a villain as well.” He said, barely glancing up from the pages. Usually, you’d be angry. You’d leave and find somewhere else so you could be alone. But for some reason, you didn’t.

“You’re getting the same treatment?” You asked, somewhat skeptical. From the outside, he looked like just another team member.

“It is to be expected after what I did. They still do not trust me.” This time he looked up at you, fully meeting your eyes. Then, you recognized him. Loki. The guy who wrecked New York.

It wasn’t your style, but it did end up taking out one of your targets for you and he seemed nice enough.

“I see. Well, can’t exactly blame them for not liking me either, then.” You said. He kept a straight face. It looked practiced, like he knew exactly how to keep his emotions hidden. But you knew that look in his eyes. The very silent desperation that maybe, maybe you could relate to him. Maybe you could be outcasts together. You weren’t sure you liked that idea. Being alone in your new ‘room’ seemed much more favorable.

“I’m not exactly clear on what you did.” He closed his book, keeping his thumb between the pages and setting it on his lap. You did the same.

“Well, I kill for a living. Sort of. It’s not the most high paying gig out there, but ‘heroes’ don’t tend to appreciate serial killers.” You tried to state that in the most lighthearted way possible, though there wasn’t really a nice way to phrase it.

“Do you simply kill anyone?” He asked, clearly trying to piece together why a murderer is currently trying to help save the world. You smirked a bit.

“Not exactly. All my victims are the people who’ve escaped justice. Maybe they got away with murder maybe the court just isn’t moving fast enough. Or they’ve got connections and keep walking free. I never miss a target.” You said, proud of your work.

The Avengers didn’t see it how you did. You were correcting the world. Bringing back hope, even if no one would cheer for you out loud.

“And the Avengers feel you are doing the world a disservice by ridding it of evil?” He seemed confused by the concept. As far as he was concerned, it sounded fair. Harsh, but fair.

“They don’t like the whole ‘murder’ part. Well, torture and murder part. They think we should let the system handle it. But the system isn’t working, so here I am.” You said, taking a large sip of your coffee.

“And if authorities catch you? Will they put you to death over such a thing?” You shrugged in response. In all honesty, you hadn’t really looked up what consequences you’d face. You didn’t care. “You do not seem scared.” He noted.

You laughed a bit. “Death is an old friend.” You took another sip of your coffee and he seemed to acknowledge that he wasn’t going to get any more than that. You spent a little while longer in a comfortable silence, both reading your respective books.

Soon, you finished yours and stood up. Loki nodded to you and you nodded back. You wouldn’t call him a friend, but he certainly wasn’t an enemy and that’s the closest thing you had to a friend right now.

You walked back to the kitchen, dropping your now empty coffee cup into the sink and washing it, placing it on the small drying rack they had there. Some of the team was still in the kitchen and you heard their conversation quiet. You had better hearing than average, but it wasn’t anything to brag about. And since the team was mostly super-soldiers, you could hear their extremely quiet whispers. Whatever they were talking about, they were being careful about it.

You grabbed a few granola bars from the cabinet when you spotted a bottle of whiskey that had been left on the counter, probably by mistake. You suspected Stark, Howard would leave your bottles on your table when he went to your house, why would Tony be different? You grabbed a glass and filled it, not bothering to look at the brand of whiskey.

“I like a good drink myself, but, uh, that’s a full size glass and it’s 10 in the morning?” Tony said, looking slightly concerned. You scoffed a bit.

“I’m starting that late, huh?” You asked, drinking a bit of the glass and walking toward their training room. The drink  wouldn’t do much, your heart had stopped, well, working after you died. Everything had. As far as you knew, you were essentially a walking, talking corpse. The only reason you had to breathe was so you could talk, so when you lived alone you didn’t find it necessary. Your alcohol limit was high to say the least, you were almost certain you could out drink Thor. And now that you lived in the same house as the guy, you were kinda tempted to try it.

Since all of the loud members of the team were at breakfast, including Thor and Tony, you settled for getting exercise. Their training rooms were huge. Starks always went big. You could hear someone else and you groaned at the thought of human interaction. Like living with a bunch of do-good superheroes wasn’t enough, now you had to actually talk to them.

You walked in anyway, hoping it was one of the quieter members, like Vision. Though you didn’t see why a floating android would need to work out. Instead, it was Steve’s friend, Bucky Barnes. Although Steve and Bucky didn’t know you, you knew of them. Peggy had talked about Steve a bit, so you knew a little bit about their life in the army. You had even comforted Peggy once Steve crashed into the ocean.

The closest you had ever been to actually talking to them was consulting when Howard was designing possible shields for Steve. Bucky on the other hand, you had only heard about once or twice. Mainly about how he had gone missing.

You tried not to make eye contact with him while you went over to the weights. He was practicing what looked like knife throwing, so he wasn’t really focused on you.

“You created that machine, right?” You hadn’t even crossed the room before he addressed you. You internally groaned, not liking the idea of a conversation right now. Especially with someone who would quiz you on all your weaknesses.

He looked at you and offered a knife out of the small chest full of them. You took it and resigned yourself to questioning. It would be easier to manage if it was only one of them.

“Me and a friend. We thought it could do good, but it was never finished.” You said, throwing the knife at the target. Knife throwing wasn’t your specialty, but you weren’t terrible, so it landed off-center. Bucky still looked impressed though.

“Not bad. That machine was made to heal people, right?” You nodded and he threw his own knife, landing dead center. It looked like he was making a ‘X’ shaped pattern out of them. “So how’s he going to use it to hurt anyone?”

You had considered that before. But, considering the… malfunctions the machine was capable of, you didn’t doubt it could harm people as well as heal. “Trust me, it can kill without a problem.” You said, not liking the topic he had chosen. You tossed another knife at the target, this time landing further off-center than the one before. You internally sighed at your lack of focus.

He considered what you said and nodded, seemingly understanding that there was more to your statement.

“I don’t think you’re a threat, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He said, pausing in his knife throwing. You scoffed.

“You don’t, huh? Then why exactly are you talking to me?”

He shrugged a bit. “You seemed lonely.”

You continued throwing knives discussing members of the team. It seemed you had two not-enemies in the tower.

[dolce-peach]

Hi! I really like your mcu fanfiction! Could you do a fanfic where the reader is an avenger and loves to paint and daydream and once she first meets Loki she falls head over heels and secrets dreams abt him and sketches and paints his portraits and he finds out. Hope you have a good rest of your day :)

unspoken

pairing: loki x avenger!reader

warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff oml

a/n: honestly this was the fluff i needed to write in the midst of my sad life 😂😭 hope you guys like it!

permanent taglist: @kaitlynmalikisnotonfire

** TO MAKE A REQUEST -- please check the status in my bio **

masterlist

----

Once again, you got carried away sketching on your paperwork.  This time, it was Steve and Tony arguing over something petty while the mission meeting progressed.  You leaned into your arm, your pen pretty much moving on its own.

“Anyways, before I was rudely interrupted,” Steve started as he sent a playful glare at Tony, “does everyone understand their role?”

Everyone nodded.

You continued shading in various parts of the quick sketch, further capturing lifelike qualities.  The annoyance in Steve’s gaze.  The defiance in Tony’s eyes.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, setting your pen down.  “Sorry.  Yeah?”

“Do you understand your role for the mission?” Steve repeated.

You sent an apologetic smile.  “Aye, Cap’n.”

As the meeting ended, you collected your strewn papers with slight embarrassment.  It wasn’t the first time you were caught with your head completely in the clouds.  

You couldn’t help it.  Sketching helped you concentrate, as strange as that sounded, and when you had time, painting helped you take your mind off of things.  Healthy extracurricular activities that were relaxing were hard to come by, especially for a combat and stealth agent like yourself.

You made your way back to the common room, where everyone was crowding around Thor and someone else.

“Thor, you can’t just bring him here,” Steve said.  

Tony snorted.  “Yeah, what if he destroys half of New York again?  Guess who’d have to clean that up?  Me.”

“Oh, please,” Natasha groaned, rolling her eyes.  “You give yourself way too much credit.”

“No offense, but I’m not a big fan,” Clint said, eyeing the newcomer anxiously.

Bruce cowered behind Clint.  “Me too.”

“Of who?” you asked.

Everyone turned to see you standing there, your curiosity piqued.  They slowly backed away, revealing someone you’ve only heard about.

“Loki,” you breathed.

He stood in all his godly glory, adorned in his green and black robes, hints of gold making everything vivid.  He stood tall over you, making you shrink a bit at his bravado.

He smirked.  “That would be me.”  His eyes scanned you.  “And who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

“And she can kick your ass,” Tony added helpfully.

Steve sent a warning look.  “Language.”

Tony held his hands up in defeat, everyone laughing.  

Loki kept his eyes on you with interest.  You had to break away from his intense gaze, or you felt you might be eaten alive.

--

When you got done with training that day, you found yourself sitting on the balcony overlooking the night streets.  You were snuggled up in a thick sweatshirt with your pencil and sketchbook.  

You sighed happily.  

If you had to describe your ideal night, it would be this.  No missions to complete.  No errands to run.  No one to meet or please.

Just you and your imagination.

As per usual, you let your pencil draw for itself.  

You smiled a bit to yourself, seeing the rough shapes coming together to form Loki’s structure.  You began putting some fine lines in before shading ever so softly.

You’d been thinking about him the entire day.  Other than the mischievous look in his eyes, he hardly seemed like the egotistic maniac who destroyed most of New York.  Instead he looked gentle and reserved, taking in the world quietly, all while perhaps having a slightly sadistic sense of humor.

You shook your head.  You didn’t care what the others had to say about him.  You were determined to get to know him while he was here with Thor.

With your head full and your heart satisfied, you decided to brew yourself a cup of tea before heading back inside to retire for the night.  

You filled the kettle and started the stove.  You nearly jumped when you heard the fridge open behind you.  

“Do all you humans drink such revolting liquid?” Loki asked, holding up a can of soda.

“Depends on what brand you drink,” you answered.  “Would you like tea?”

He paused.  “Yes, please.”

As he put the soda can back, you reached for two cups in the cupboard and scooped some non-caffeinated tea into a couple strainer balls.  You placed them in the cups and carefully poured the boiling water, watching it swirl and change colors.

When it finished brewing, you removed the strainers and slid Loki a cup across the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” came his quiet response.

You grinned.  “No problem.”

You sipped your tea, and looked at him again before laughing.

He blushed.  “What’s so funny?” he asked defensively.

“Nothing!” you laughed.  “I just never expected to see a god in sweatpants and a t-shirt.”

“Well, it’s quite comfortable,” Loki argued.  “And you didn’t expect me to stay dressed like that all the time, did you?”

“I suppose not,” you said, leaning against the counter.

It was quiet as the two of you finished your cups of tea.  You took his empty cup and rinsed it in the sink.

You smiled to yourself.  He really isn’t as bad as everyone says he is.

He stood awkwardly against the counter.  “Um, thank you again.”

You shook your head.  “Anytime.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

You blinked.  “Hm?”

“Well...”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “Usually people scream or glare or something.  They think I’ll kill them the next instant or freeze them forever.”

“I don’t think you’re so bad,” you said.  “Misunderstood, yes, but you’re not a bad guy.”

A blush colored his cheeks as he looked away.  

“Anyways, I’ll see you tomorrow, Loki,” you said with a smile.

He snapped out of his momentary daze.  “Yeah.  Have a good night...Y/N.”

As you began walking away, you couldn’t help but widen your smile, feeling your heart beating a bit harder.

--

The next week was utterly exhausting.  Each of you used your abilities to the very max hunting down Hydra bases and the likes.  

Having Loki fight with you all was strange for everyone.  The Avengers always made sure to keep him in check, but you had no doubts about his loyalty, especially as you got to know him more.  

There were also things unseen and unsaid.  

You’d often catch him stealing glances at you, and you didn’t mind at all.  It was almost like he was afraid you were going to disappear.  

He’d come up to your room late at night with a cup of tea and stay into the early hours of the morning.  Sometimes you’d talk, and sometimes you just watched the cars move up and down the street.

You’d become best friends with the god of mischief.

It wasn’t until you started dreaming about him that you discovered you were also in love with him.

Loki became your sole subject for your sketches.  You loved capturing his many different expressions, especially the looks of varying annoyance.

Eventually, you gathered enough courage to begin a painted portrait of him.  You were determined to show everyone how you saw him: vivid, charming, lovely, protective.  

You used so many colors, a color for each bit of life in his expression.

As you painted, you got so lost in what you were doing, you didn’t hear Loki walk in behind you.

He silently studied you painting for a few minutes, taking it all in.

“What are you doing?”

“Jesus!” you yelped, nearly dropping your brush.  Your cheeks grew hot as you tried to cover your work.  “N-nothing!”

Loki laughed, catching you off guard.  “I’ve been watching you the past few minutes.”

“Really?” you squeaked.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You looked like you were concentrating.  I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said.  “And I was enjoying watching you work.”

At this point, you were a red tomato.  You had no idea why you were freaking out so much.  It was just a painting of a friend.

A friend you wanted to be something more to.

“I’m flattered,” he continued.  He eyed the sketches of himself strewn all over your desk.  “You drew more?”

“Yeah, but they’re not much...” you trailed off as you shuffled them around a bit.  “I mean, it’s just a relaxing hobby of mine...”

He carefully picked up some pieces, his eyes filled with admiration.  “These are really amazing, Y/N.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course!”  He furrowed his eyebrows.  “But why me?”

“What do you mean?”

He nodded.  “Wouldn’t it be nicer to sketch someone like my brother?  Or one of your Earth friends?”

“I guess, but they’re not you.”

You were your reddest, if that was even possible at that point.  

Loki took a moment before smiling.  “If you insist.”  He let out a small laugh.  “If you want, I could model for you some time.”

Your eyes sparkled.  “Really?”

He played with your hair.  

“Anything for you.”

part 2

[flipnegg]

Under the Lights [Modern AU/Fake Dating AU]

Pairing: Itachi Uchiha x Kousuke Senju [OC]

Word count: 1,530

Summary: College student, Kousuke Senju, gets thrown a curve ball when Itachi Uchiha, a classmate who he's never spoken to, suddenly asks him to date him. With finals approaching and winter break just around the corner, what else was going to be added to the list of things he needs to worry about? Of course, his mouth and brain weren't in tune that day and said yes; resulting in Kousuke being Itachi's fake boyfriend and getting to spend his winter break with the Uchihas. How bad could this possibly get?

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, very awkward first impressions

“Date me.”

Kousuke frantically coughed as he tried to clear his throat after he inhaled a piece of rice. His friends at his table look over in concern and shock, not expecting someone to outright ask their friend out, especially in front of the whole school.

“I’m sorry, what?” His voice was strained, throat aching due to his violent coughs.

“Date me.” Itachi said with a straight face as if he wasn’t being watched by his classmates and some strangers in the cafeteria of their university. “I need you to be my boyfriend.”

This man had simply walked up to Kousuke’s table and asked, no, demanded for Kousuke to date him. Sure, Itachi was attractive and one of the top students in his year, but what just happened. Him and Kousuke hardly knew each other, let alone talked. The two of them only had two classes together, so why did he choose Kousuke out of all the other students in his school?

Kousuke’s face burned a bright red, feeling all eyes on him. This was definitely the moment he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. How the hell is he supposed to respond to this?

He got up and took Itachi’s arm, hurriedly pulling him outside, not minding his abandoned lunch. The two of them ended up in an empty halfway, yet he still felt everyone’s eyes watching him. This was so embarrassing.

Itachi stood there in front of him again without a care in the world. Does he ever get embarrassed? Kousuke thought to himself, frustrated that he was the only one flustered. What is this man made of? Stone?

Itachi was the first to speak up after a minute of silence and awkward glances. Thank god, Kousuke rejoiced.

“So,” Itachi cleared his throat. “I need your help with something.”

Kousuke looked at him apprehensively, but was ready to listen. When he actually stopped to look at this man, he saw how nervous Itachi looked. He had been shifting his weight from his left leg to his right and furrowed his brows, trying to think about his next words.

“You know how winter break is coming, right?” Itachi started and Kousuke nodded, not sure where this was headed. “Okay, so here’s the thing. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and come with me to my house during winter break.”

Kousuke was relieved that he wasn’t being asked to actually date him and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Sure, Itachi was very nice on the eyes, but he’s way out of Kousuke’s league. Hell, Itachi was a home run compared to Kousuke as a single.

“Wait, why do you need a fake boyfriend? Why did you ask me? I hardly know you.”

Itachi thought for a moment. “Well you’re smart, and I thought you’d be able to play the part pretty well.” Itachi said as a matter of fact. “In our lectures, you hardly pay attention, but when you’re called on to answer a question, you always know the answer and act as though you were prepared.” He paused again, thinking over his words. “Honestly, it’s a no brainer when you think about it.”

Kousuke was stunned. Has Itachi paid attention to me this whole time?

“Okay,” Kousuke started, “But why do you need a fake boyfriend?”

A small frown formed on Itachi’s lips, and his brows furrowed, as if remembering the taste of something sour. This piqued Kousuke’s interest. “My dad has been trying to set me up with some family friend’s daughter for the past few years.” He shook his head and let out a small chuckle. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I just want to get him off my case for a little bit.”

Kousuke waved his hand, brushing off his apology. “Don’t worry. I’d be upset if my parents pushed stuff like that onto me, too.” His smile let Itachi relax, and he watched the tension leave Itachi’s shoulders, just a little bit.

The atmosphere between the two of them calmed ever so slightly before Kousuke spoke up. “What happens if I decline? What should I tell my friends?” He used his thumb to gesture back to the dining hall.

“You can just tell everyone you rejected my confession. No questions asked,” Itachi said with a small smile and looked away, cheeks brushed pink. Kousuke almost felt bad if he had to reject this man.

Kousuke contemplated for a bit, running a thumb and forefinger over his lips. “I’ll do it.” It was spoken so quickly that Itachi didn’t hear him. His head turned towards Kousuke quickly. “But-” Kousuke continued, “You’re going to buy me tea for the next week.” He finished with a cheeky grin that caused Itachi to shake his head laughing.

“Yeah, alright.” He conceded to Kousuke’s antics. “Give me your phone, and I’ll text you the details. We’ll leave this Saturday after finals end.”

Kousuke dug for his phone, unlocking it and then handing it over.

Kousuke sent Itachi a message after the black-haired man handed him back his phone and put it back in his pocket.

Kousuke: 12:27 p.m.

I’m looking forward to the tea that’s going to get me through finals week :p

Itachi shook his head as he read Kousuke’s message, but saved his number on his phone nonetheless. He hoped he chose the right person to help him out.

Itachi’s phone buzzed again, this time it was his friends asking him to join their study group to prep for their exams. “I gotta go, but thank you for helping me out.”

Kousuke shrugged while grinning. “I’m doing it for the tea!” He shouted after Itachi, who was walking down the hall.

“Oh wait! I forgot to tell you!” Kousuke called out to him. The ravenette turned around expecting something important. “You’re gonna have to work on the way you ask people out! ‘Date me’ isn’t all that charming!”

Kousuke let out a laugh when Itachi flipped him off, but his black-haired classmate was laughing as well.

The white-haired man walked back into the dining hall and returned to his friends. They immediately bombarded him with questions, but all Kousuke was focused on was finishing his food and tea.

...

Later that night, Itachi texted Kousuke. The light of his phone lit up from across the room, causing Kousuke to look up from the textbook he was writing notes from. He got up and heard his back crack as he stretched. He really needs to work on his posture.

Grabbing his phone, he squinted as the bright light stung his tired eyes.

Itachi Uchiha: 11:46 p.m.

I’ll pick you up Saturday morning. Be sure to pack things for two weeks and bring anything you need. We’ll probably have to share a room, but I can sleep on the couch. Don’t worry about Christmas presents, I've got it covered.

Good luck on finals.

Kousuke sent him back a message wishing him luck as well. He put his phone down and went into the small kitchen of his dorm to make himself some more tea. As he waited for the water of his kettle to start boiling, he let his mind wander. What did he just get himself into? Kousuke stood in the dimly lit, biting his thumb as he thought.

He wasn’t worried about Itachi being a creep or anything. Honestly, he knew Itachi was a good guy and had good intentions. Kousuke was mostly nervous about meeting Itachi’s parents. From what little he knows about them, he thinks they’ll be super intimidating. He just hopes he won’t ruin this and mess up.

The tea kettle’s whistle broke Kousuke out of his thoughts, just stopping him from overthinking everything. Kousuke poured himself another mug full and returned to his studies, thankful he doesn’t have a roommate due to his late night shenanigans.

A few hours later, he saw he had another message.

Itachi Uchiha: 1:12 a.m.

I’ll bring you the tea before the exam tomorrow

Kousuke: 1:54 a.m.

You really do care 😢

Kousuke: 1:55 a.m.

Thanks though

I really appreciate it

…

When Kousuke woke up the next morning, he had many regrets. Staying up late isn’t something he should do anymore, but he tells him that every time. It’s all worth it when he sees that cup of hot tea where he normally sits during his morning lecture. The same class that Itachi attends.

He sent a grateful smile Itachi’s way when he caught his eyes.

Kousuke sat his bag down next to his own chair before sitting down. When he lifted the warm cup of tea he saw a little note next to a few mini containers of creamer and two packets of sugar.

Wasn’t sure what you wanted,

I hope this works.

-Itachi

How was Itachi still single? This guy was too nice. Kousuke tried to contain his excitement, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty. He’ll have to pay him back some way other than pretending to be his boyfriend. I mean, it can’t be that hard to act like you’re dating someone.

Oh, if only Kousuke knew what lay ahead of him.

[marshmallow-phd]

Secret in His Eyes

Spinoff of Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: A vacation exploring China’s famous city was supposed to be relaxing. When you witness a horrifying murder, you instead find yourself in police custody, unable to run. Trying to stay alive, you meet Luhan, and you believe you can trust him. You never imagined that he might be the one you should be running from.

A/N: Yeah... I was too lazy to keep up with the header so I made a gif instead... 

Part: Prologue I 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I Final

**

Your heart was racing as you followed Detective Zhuang through the trees. Too many times you thought you heard Luhan behind you, shouting for you to stop, but he was never there. It was all in your head – maybe even your heart.

By the time you reached the tree line, you were doubling over trying to catch your breath. Detective Zhuang seemed hardly effected by the run, power walking over to the driver’s side door without hardly looking at you.

“In the car. Hurry.”

You obeyed even though you were still struggling to breathe. As you sat in the leather seat and watched the trees blur by on the back road you never knew was so close, you tried to find the relief you would have expected to feel. But it evaded you. Anxiety stayed in its place. Worry as well. Questions relentlessly bullied you.

Did Luhan yet know that you were gone? How was he taking it if he did? Was he angry? Hurt? Would he hate you? Or think that something bad happened to you? Would he search the ends of the earth or simply let you go and move on with his life?

You hoped that he would let you go. Not an easy feat given how much he begged for you to stay with him. This separation was an inevitability. You just hoped that he would see it.

The relief still didn’t come when you left the country behind and entered the city limits. In fact, if anything, your apprehension heightened. Were you simply used to the security blanket that was Luhan in your life? Separation anxiety was not something you were expecting to be suffering from. Maybe as soon as you were on a plane home – really, truly leaving – then you would be okay.

Confusion came when you passed the airport and Detective Zhuang didn’t slow down even a little bit.

“I thought I was able to go home?” you asked after turning to her.

“There are no planes scheduled to leave the country right now,” she replied. “At least, none that we can seat you on. Tonight, you’ll stay with me, where it’s safest. Hopefully by tomorrow we can get you on your way.”

You nodded, understanding that a giant aircraft couldn’t be catered to your own schedule, but you still wished an exception could be made. Well, staying with Detective Zhuang shouldn’t be too terrible. After all, she made you feel safe and her own residence had to be easier to protect than a random motel.

The tall apartment building that turned out to be her home was nothing like you’d expect from a member of the police force. No, you didn’t think she lived in poverty, but the high-rise that shined in the evening sun seemed to be more fitting for a company director or celebrity than a humble detective. Security was tight in the parking garage underneath the building, needing both a fingerprint scanner and a card reader to open the fortifying gate. Good. That should keep unwanted enemies out.

You stayed quiet as you followed Detective Zhuang through the garage and to the elevator, watching the number climb all the way to the fourteenth floor before going down the short hallway to the last door on the left. She herded you inside and locked up behind her before switching on the lights. Your jaw dropped.

The entire apartment was white and new and glass. Light reflected off of nearly every surface, illuminating the space like the sun at noon. And it was open. Nothing felt cramped or shoved together. There was plenty of room to roam around freely. Everything had a place – from the remote on the sparkling coffee table to the fruit basket and writing supplies on the island counter.

“You live here?” you asked, astonished.

“Yes,” Detective Zhuang laughed. “What did you expect? A dumpy studio in the middle of the slums?”

Now you felt embarrassed. “Well, no. But this just seems… like… a lot. How much-”

“The guest bedroom is the second door on the right. On the bed should be a change of clothes for you. Get comfortable and I’ll make some tea for you.”

You nodded, shutting up. It was only just hitting you how inappropriate the question you were going to ask was. How much she made or how much the apartment was had nothing to do with her protecting you and was none of your business. The only thing you should be focusing on is the fact that no one would be able to find you here. Home was finally in reach.

The guest bedroom was no less as grand as the rest of the apartment, although its theme was a bit darker with its navy blue comforter and gray walls. Waiting for you on the foot of the bed was a cotton t-shirt sporting some band you’d never heard of and a pair of running shorts. You took your time changing and getting comfortable before venturing back out into the living room.

Detective Zhuang was talking fast into her cell phone, but as soon as she saw you, she hung up. “Better?” she asked you.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t too much of a lie. The clothes were certainly more comfortable, but they didn’t easy you into a better state mentally.

Patting the cushion next to her, Detective Zhuang said, “Sit.” As you did so, she pulled out a recorder from her jacket pocket, clicking the starter button and setting it down on the coffee table. “Now. I need you to tell me everything that happened while you were held by Luhan.”

Ice ran down your spine. Everything? You couldn’t. Not the more intimate details, not the feelings that still brewed in the pit of your stomach. Thankfully, Detective Zhuang misinterpreted your fear. She reached out and took your curled up hand that rested in your lap.

“It’s okay,” she reassured you. “He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now. But I need to know what happened so we can put him away for good.”

Little did she know that was the last thing you wanted. But you had to tell her something, so you gave her the broad strokes of your time there. You never mentioned the first time Luhan took you out of the mansion or that he pretended to be Lin at all. During the conversation, Detective Zhuang stood up and went to the kitchen where the kettle whistled that the water was now boiling.

“So, why did he call you to his office?” she asked from the other room.

You shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. You felt like a fraud. It would be a miracle if you were able to keep all this straight if ever asked about it again. “I don’t know. We never got that far. A bomb went off, knocking us both out.” Part of you expected her to rush over and asked if you were okay or to question the fact that you even brought up a bomb in the first place.

“Did he get hurt?” Detective Zhuang asked. There was no ounce of concern in her voice, just inquisition.

“Yeah,” you replied. “A piece of wood pierced his side. But he survived. Conscious and walking around, at least.”

She came back and handed you a cup of tea. The steam floated slowly from the caramel colored liquid. You were comforted by the heat radiating from the cup to your fingers, the time you’ve felt that this whole afternoon. “He’s lucky,” she said as she went into the kitchen once more. “Most people don’t survive a bomb made by Mr. Eight.”

You paused before the mug could hit your lips. You roamed over the words that you had weaved together to make sure you hadn’t accidentally slipped the unknown bomb maker’s name in. No. Definitely not.

“How do you know it was made by Mr. Eight?” You put the mug down with a shaky hand, rattling the bottom against the glass surface of the table.

Emerging from the kitchen, Detective Zhuang “If anyone would make a bomb to get back at Luhan, it’s Mr. Eight.”

You shook your head, unable to believe the leap in logic. “But Yixing said he hadn’t been heard from in years. And surely there are other people with the means to get back at Luhan that way.”

She ignored your other comment to focus on another piece of information you’d accidentally let slip. “Yixing? As in Lay Zhang? Interesting. I didn’t realize he was back in town as well. Things are working out a little too nicely, aren’t they?”

It was written all over her face. A hidden agenda that had been there all along.

Jumping up to your feet, you put as much distance between the two of you as possible. “Who are you?”

Detective Zhuang scoffed. “You know who I am. I’m the officer that’s been trying to keep you safe this whole time. Now sit back down and finish your tea. It’s considered rude here to let it get cold.”

You shook your head. “Tell me the truth. How did you know about Mr. Eight?”

With a tilt of her head, Detective Zhuang studied your face. “You almost seem… protective right now. Does someone have a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome?”

“No!” you snapped back. “I’m just wanting answers because I’m tired of being jerked around by everyone. No one has been honest with me since that night in the alley.”

Detective Zhuang took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s best if it stays that way.”

You were done with this. She wasn’t who you thought you were and alarms were going off in your head, screaming that you were in danger. Taking a chance, you leapt over the coffee table and ran for the front door. You managed to undo the lock and pull the door open a few centimeters before it was shoved closed once again by Detective Zhuang’s hand.

“You should have just left it alone,” she growled before grabbing a hand full of hair on the back your head and slamming your face against the door, knocking you out cold.

**

Luhan wasn’t surprised that you were gone when he woke up. He didn’t think you would stay there while he slept to regain some of his strength. You were too restless with the events that had occurred lately. But finding you should be easy enough. There were only so many rooms in this mansion that you could hide in and you tended to stick to the ones you knew.

The wound by his side growled in irritation as he sat up. It took him longer than most days to get completely off the bed, needing to take a minute or two between each step before standing up on his feet. It must be past sunset by now given the lack of light out in the hallway. Luhan had to squint in both directions before venturing down towards your room. Out of respect, he knocked rather than his usual habit of bursting in uninvited. When there was no answer, he knocked again.

Still nothing.

Thinking that maybe you were asleep, he carefully opened the door and peeked inside. But the bed was empty, sheets still made from the maids’ earlier clean up. Luhan frowned as he closed the door once more. Okay, if you weren’t there, then where else could you be?

Maybe you were talking to Yixing? It was a start. Luhan could feel the jealousy already churning in his stomach. You always found it so easy to talk to the doctor. Luhan had to work to get to that level with you. And then he almost lost it. While you trusted him again, he knew it was a fragile existence. Just the slightest prick could shatter his progress.

As he approached Yixing’s room, he heard voices echoing inside. He smiled to himself. Good. He must be on the right track. This time, he didn’t knock, barging in the doctor’s room, too eager to see you to wait patiently for an invitation. But the smile faded as soon as he saw the occupants inside.

It seemed like everyone was there – except you. Tao, Yixing… even Kris and the female doctor, although what she was doing there, Luhan had no idea. Worried looks echoed across their faces even as they tried to hide it from him.

“What’s going on?” Luha demanded.

“You should be resting,” Kris stated, but that wasn’t going to be enough to deter him.

“That’s not an answer.” Turning to the one he could trust not to lie to him, Luhan repeated his question to Yixing. “What’s going on?”

Yixing looked nervously to the other two leaders before sighing. “We can’t find (y/n).”

“WHAT!”

Tao rolled his eyes. “Great. Way to lead with the bad news.”

“It’s not like there’s any good news,” the female doctor scoffed.

Luhan pointed to her. “You. Shut up. Tao. Explain.”

“I wanted to ask her a question about that night in the alley because our guys found female DNA on the bomb as well.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, Tao leaned up against the bookshelves. He was worried. As much as he tried to be like Kris, tried to be unaffected and unconcerned, he just wasn’t able to do it. And it was evident all over his face. “When she wasn’t in your room, I checked hers. When I still didn’t find her, I went to the security room to check the cameras. The last time she was seen, she walked out the back kitchen and to the woods. She never came out of the trees.”

Luhan looked in disbelief at his friends. His eyes flickered from one person to another, hoping someone – anyone – would tell him that it was all a sick joke. He even glanced behind him in hope that you would pop out laughing. But that moment never came. He look back at the others, shaking his head.

“No. No.” If he kept denying it, then it wouldn’t be true. Right? “She couldn’t- she wouldn’t just leave. Not like this. She promised. As long as there was danger, she would stay. Here. Where I could protect her. She wouldn’t….” Unless you saw a way out. What possible way that could be, Luhan couldn’t even fathom.

“We don’t know if she left on her own accord,” Yixing said. “For all we know, she could still-”

“She could still be out there.” The possibility hit him like a fast moving train.

Spinning on his heels, he ran out of the room and down the stairs, all the way to the kitchen where he burst through the back door. The others were right on his heels, hollering for him to stop or slow down, but there was no way he would listen.

“(y/n)! (y/n)!” He called out for you as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

There was no moon in the sky, making his search even more difficult. He continued to yell out your name, pausing every once in a while to listen for you to call back. But there was no reply. No response of any kind.

Pain seared in Luhan’s side which stopped him in his tracks. He clutched his side as he fell to his knees in a sad attempt to push away the pain. He needed to keep going, but his wound wouldn’t allow him.

“Luhan!” Yixing was by his side, hands on his shoulders to help steady his friend. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Luhan grunted as he gently pushed the doctor away. He struggled to get to his feet, staggering enough that Yixing had to catch him. Looking at Yixing in desperation, he whispered, “She wouldn’t have just left. Not without a good reason. Someone might have taken her or-”

“If someone did take her, you can’t help her like this,” Yixing scolded, although his sympathy was more than apparent. Hooking an arm around his shoulders, he took on most of Luhan’s weight and headed back towards the house where everyone was waiting. “Rest. We’ll keep looking while you do.”

“I don’t know how you expect me to sleep,” Luhan grumbled.

Yixing sighed, knowing it was a hopeless battle. With his current state of mind, Luhan wouldn’t be able to sleep. That required shutting off and once he was wound up like this, his brain going off in every possible direction and coming up with every possible scenario of what he could do to find you again, that wasn’t an option. Lying in bed just staring up at the ceiling would do more harm than good.

“How about we compromise?” Yixing offered. “We’ll gather in the library and collaborate on what to do next there. But you have to stay in the chair and not work yourself up, okay? And if your body tells you to go to sleep, you at least try. Got it?”

Luhan didn’t want to agree to the conditions, but it was better than being locked in his room – which was an option he didn’t put passed his old friend.

“Fine,” he mumbled with a sigh just as soon as they reached the others.

Tao smirked, having heard a majority of the conversation. “To the library then?”

Luhan nodded and they headed inside.

Unlike most of the mobster movies he’d seen in his life, Luhan did not have that large, over-the-top library with hundreds of books lining the walls around the room. He had no need for so many novels and he wasn’t interested in the aesthetics of such a room. Really, this place was like a second study, a little bigger than his usual meeting room, but no grander or more luxurious.

They spent about an hour in there, bouncing ideas off each other of what could have made you leave or who might have taken you. Kris checked all his leads in the police stations, but no one had any record of you being picked up or held anywhere in the city. Nor were they able to find any mysterious last minute bookings among the busses or planes going out of the city. Luhan didn’t think you would be dumb enough to use your actual name, especially if you were getting help or forced to leave.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Sir?” Xiaofei peeked his head in cautiously.

Narrowing his eyes, Luhan immediately became the mafia boss he always was before you came into his life. “What is it?”

Still half-hiding behind the door, Xiaofei held up a tan office envelope. “This was dropped off at one of the warehouses thirty minutes ago.”

Tao stomped up to the door, snatched the envelope out of the underling’s hand and slammed the door in his face.

Yixing raised an eyebrow after exchanging a look with the female doctor whose name Luhan had still yet to learn. “Was that entirely necessary?”

“For Xiaofei? Yes.” With his finger, Tao tore open the envelope and slid out a single piece of paper. As he took in the contents of the paper, his face fell from its typical snark into one of distress.

“What?” Luhan tried to get up from the chair, but Kris kept him down with one hand. “What is it?”

Without saying anything, Tao turned the glossy paper around to reveal the picture on the other side.

It was of a person, tied to a chair, their hands behind their back and a blindfold over their eyes. Even with part of their face covered, he knew exactly who was behind held hostage and taunted before him.

“(y/n).”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 5

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 5: Ella gets fed up with her family, everything comes falling apart.  

          About a week after her hunting trip with Tommy, Ella was at Ada’s. She was watching Karl for her sister while she was at the library. Her five-year-old nephew was always a joy to be around. Ella had grown much closer to him and her sister when she moved to London. They were the only family members she kept constant contact with. They were sat in the parlor, kneeling on the floor and constructing a train set that Arthur and Linda had sent him for his last birthday.

           “Is your dad in heaven too?” Karl asked out of the blue.

           Ella glanced up in surprise. The young boy had been starting to ask odd questions. But they were innocent. Where did babies come from? Why does a caterpillar live on Uncle Arthur’s lip? Where does the sun go at night? Can he go to the moon next summer?

           But this question completely disarmed Ella. “What do you mean, love?” She asked gently.

           He shrugged and struggled to interlock two wooden pieces of the train track. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked uncannily like Freddie. But he still had Ada’s soft eyes. “Mummy says that my daddy lives in heaven now, that’s why I can’t see him.” He explained.

           Ella chewed on her lip. She felt terrible for Karl because she knew what it was like to grow up without a dad. She reached out and helped him get the track pieces to fit. “Yes, but he still loves you very much.” She said softly.

           He looked up at her with a smile. “That’s what mummy says.”

           “It’s true.” She brushed her nephew’s brown hair back.

           “I think it makes mummy sad though.” He shrugged and grabbed the train to set on the incomplete track. Mindlessly, he pushed the train back and forth. The small wheels squeaking.

           “It’s hard to lose someone.” Ella agreed. “But you still have many people here who love you.”

           Karl was quiet for a moment. He looked at his aunt’s hand as she continued to build the track for him. “Where’s your thing?” He continued asking questions that had been on his mind all morning.

           “Where’s my what?” She smiled and tilted her head to the side with a quizzical look. "What're you talking about?"

           “Your thing.” Karl pointed at her left hand. “Mummy has a thing there.”

           Ella held up her hand and observed her bare ring finger. “Oh, a ring?” She nodded. “I don’t have one, poppet.”

           “Why?”

           “Because I’m not married. People wear rings when they’re married.” She explained helpfully. “Your mum was married to your dad so that's why she has a ring.”

           “Why aren’t you…married?” He tested out the difficult word.

           “Because I haven’t found the right person yet. Why aren’t you married yet?” She teased and grabbed him.

           “Auntie El!” He squealed in protest when she pulled him into her lap and tickled him. “Stop!”

           Ella smiled and kissed his cheek, letting him free. “Silly boy.”

           Karl plopped back down on the rug and smiled cheekily. “Fuck!”

           Her eyes widened when he blurted out the cuss word. “Karl Thorne, where on Earth did you learn such language?” Of course, she knew exactly where he had picked up the word. She knew for a fact that she had learned all the words she knew from her brothers. From an early age, she’d had a mouth like a sailor. It was easy to mimic her brothers and the words they spit out every two seconds. Frankly, it wasn’t too surprising growing up in Birmingham. But Karl was in London and in a nicer area at that. Ella was sure Ada would get some looks if her son was walking up and down the block spouting out obscenities.

           “Uncle Arthur!” Karl beamed proudly. “’N Uncle John, n’ Uncle Tommy, n’ Aunt Es, n’ Uncle Finny.” He listed off all his bad influences.

           “Jesus Christ.” Ella rolled her eyes. “Karl, sweetheart, don’t listen to a word they say. And certainly, don't repeat the things they say.” She instructed gently.

           He frowned. “Mummy says I’m s’posed to listen to them 'cause they're old.”

           “Mhm.” She sighed because she'd been told the same thing. Respect your fucking elders. Her foot was tingling, about to fall asleep underneath her, so she stood up to stretch her legs. “Want a snack?”

           “No.” Karl shook his head and flopped onto his stomach, making the toy train deviate wildly off the track.

           “Alright, stay there, I’m gonna make myself tea.” When she headed to the kitchen, the front door opened and Ada walked in.

           “Hello.” Her older sister smiled. “Sorry I kept you longer than I said.” She took off her coat.

           “That’s okay.” Ella shrugged it off. “I don't have anything to do today so I don't mind one bit.”

           Ada glanced in the parlor to check on Karl before following her into the kitchen. “Tommy came to the library.”

           Ella raised an eyebrow. “Our Tommy in a library?” She scoffed and fetched the kettle. “Whatever for?”

           Ada sat in the small breakfast nook to the side of the kitchen. “He was asking about someone. Russians. Something happened at his wedding and now I think he's getting more involved with it.”

           She stood in front of the stove, completely still for a moment. She sighed deeply and shook her head. “I don’t care.”

           “El…”

           “No, Ada, I don’t fucking care.” With a sharp turn, she glared at her older sister. “And you shouldn’t care either. You’ve got Karl to think ‘bout now. You can’t get involved in this…this shit storm that our dear brother keeps kicking up.”

           Ada rolled her eyes and let her boots knock idly against the chair leg. “We’re a family, El.”

           “Oh, for Christ's sake don’t you start too.” Ella moaned and lit the stove. “’We’re a family, Ella, you’re just as involved as the rest of us, Ella, we’re all in danger, Ella’. I’m sick of it Ada, Tommy and I can play nice but I’ll be damned if I deal with any fucking Russians.” She snapped and let the kettle boil. Digging into her skirt pocket, she came up empty and remembered she’d smoked her last cigarette the day before. With a heavy sigh, she sat down across from her sister. “If you’re bored, Ada, have at it. Get involved with whatever Tommy wants. Not my place to tell you off.”

           Ada merely looked at her in amusement. “You? You’re telling me I’m bored? You’d tempt an angry bull just to get your kicks. You couldn't sit still for two seconds as a kid.”

           “Do you have a smoke?” Ella was not about to have this conversation without a cigarette.

           Her sister nodded and reached into her purse to find a pack. “You’re telling me that you’re completely satisfied with your little ol’ life in London?”

           Ella’s hand trembled as she tried to light a match. “I’ve made peace with the family, does it matter what I do now? I'm sorry that I'm not risking me life everywhere I turn. I can play nice with Tommy and everyone else, but what I do on my own time is my own business.”

           Ada’s eyes narrowed because she noticed the major tell. She let her sister take a few drags of the cigarette before she confronted her. “You are up to something.”

           “Nope.”

           “Yes you are, you’re a shit liar, Ella.” Ada retorted. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

           Her blue eyes glanced out the window across the room from them. The lace curtains allowed some light into the kitchen but kept the street from looking in. “I’m not doing anything.”

           “Don’t you trust your own sister?”

           “Not when I know she’s going to go to Tommy.” Ella shot back with a bit more venom than intended. But after John had scorned her and told Tommy she wasn't going to confide in any of her siblings, not when it was about Alfie.

           Ada pursed her lips in disappointment. She assumed they were close enough that Ella could trust her enough. But apparently, the young woman was still going to treat her like the others. “I wouldn’t do that to you unless I knew you were in danger.”

           Ella stood, her cigarette hanging between her fingers. “You and I have very different definitions of danger.” Most, if not all of her family considered Alfie Solomons danger. So there was no way she could confide in any of them. They would all go to Tommy about it; it was simply the nature of a Shelby. All of them would be terrified for the baby of the family and alert Tommy. Then Tommy would make a trip to Camden. Then Alfie would find out. Ella shuddered at the thought of what sort of chaos that would incite. But she’d deluded herself to believe she could keep it a secret for as long as she wanted. Chaos could be avoided as long as she kept her mouth shut.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           That night, Ella’s phone was ringing practically nonstop. She’d answered a few times. First, it was Ada, coaxing her to talk openly. Then Polly called and said Ada was concerned. Finally, Tommy tried to call but Ella was not in the mood to speak to any of them. Yet, they continued ringing.

           “For fuck’s sake!” Ella snapped when the phone rang again, rattling noisily. She stood up with a huff and grabbed her coat.

           It was Friday night, and the clubs were just starting to open as the sun was setting. Ella pushed through the crowds on her way to Camden Town and straight to Alfie’s. Sometimes, after a stroll in the park, Alfie would bring Cyril back home so the two of them could go to dinner. That’s how she knew where he lived.

           Ella was still frustrated with her family when she knocked on his door.      

           Alfie was home earlier than usual from the bakery. Cyril began to bark when he heard someone at the door. He rarely had unplanned visitors at his home. So he grabbed his gun and kept it close at his waistband just in case when he stood to answer the door.

           The gangster was thoroughly surprised to see Ella standing at his door. “El…”

           “Will you take me out?” She asked with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

           He furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s wrong, love? Something happen?” Of course, it was a pleasure to see her, but such a visit was unlike her. They kept carefully planned dates together, always working around their schedules. The young woman wasn’t someone to pop up out of the blue without a reason.

           “I’m just…” She sighed heavily. Alfie’s presence instantly calmed her down. She was so fond of him that her burdened heart brightened. “I need to be with you right now.”

           He nodded but was still concerned for her. “Right, well, m’not too good of a dancer.” A sheepish look crossed his face and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Bad hip, yeah?”

           “That’s…that’s fine.” She shook her head and felt dumb standing there. What was she thinking? Just showing up at his doorstep and demanding he take her out. “It was silly of me to just drop in on you unannounced…”

           “Let me get me coat.” He stopped her from turning away. With a fond smile, he let her inside to wait. “Then we’ll go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           On the way to the club, Ella walked arm in arm with Alfie. She was quiet but moved close to him. “I know the owner here.” He said nodded to a club with a long line waiting by the door.

           “Okay.” Ella followed as he bypassed the line completely and walked right through the doors without so much as a word. Clearly, he knew the owner and he knew what sort of repercussions would occur if Alfie Solomons was denied.  

           The man at the door nodded and greeted him without hesitation. “Evenin’, Mr. Solomons.”

           They left their coats with the attendant, Alfie leaving his derby hat on as usual. The club was buzzing with activity and there was barely enough room to move. But Alfie commanded the crowd without so much as a gesture or a word. People moved out of his way as if they were opposite ends of a magnet. He kept Ella near and guided her through. A jazz band was playing on a large stage at the front of the dance floor. They were playing a milder song, nothing too fast or upbeat. Still, Ella felt electricity surging through the room when Alfie pulled her close. He held her hand and rested the other on her waist. He smiled at her and she practically melted.

           They swayed together, simply listening to the music instead of talking. Alfie kept them by the edge of the dance floor, never straying too far. Every so often, his eyes would move from her face and glance over her shoulder. She didn't know what he was looking at, but he would always return to gaze into her blue eyes. They drifted closer as the smooth music filled the club. Ella moved her hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck and drew him towards her. He tilted his head down and touched his cheek to hers.

           Ella closed her eyes for a moment and tried to focus on the music and Alfie’s touch. But it was so hard to keep everything at bay. “I want my family to like you.” She blurted just loud enough for him to hear her over the noise of the club.

           Alfie didn’t react in any way to make her feel worse. He simply kept dancing with her to keep her at ease. But, it was the first time she ever mentioned her family. She’d made hints to them once or twice, but he assumed they were either gone like most of his was or they were estranged from her. “I’m a hard man to like, love.” He attempted to keep the mood humorous.

           “Not to me.” She replied stubbornly and nuzzled closer to him. Her fingernails lightly grazing up and down the back of his neck, speckling goosebumps over his arms and causing a shiver to go up his spine.

           “Well, I could meet them.” He offered. “And if they don’t like me, well-” He frowned to himself. Of course, they wouldn’t like him. Any reasonable family would be horrified to find their daughter or sister was fraternizing with a man like him. Someone who was barely seen as a man, but something more of a monster. But maybe he was too selfish to walk away from someone like Ella. Someone who gave him so much affection. He couldn’t even imagine turning around and walking away, never to see her again. “It’s your life, El. You need to decide what you think is best.”

           She drew back slightly to meet his eyes again. The rest of the world falling away, completely meaningless to her. The warmth and adoration on his face were too much to ignore. “I care about you, Alfie. I just wish things were simpler than they are.” Her chest seized with heartache. If only she could be from a normal family without the reputation hers had. If only they could accept how she felt about Alfie. The thought of having two separate lives was difficult to handle. But if she needed to live the rest of her life like that to be with Alfie, she would do so in a heartbeat.

           “Life ain’t simple.” He agreed. “But…things are simpler with you.”

           Ella swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She drew him closer again to kiss him. The rest of the club was nothing but background noise. A dull hum out in the universe. Meaningless vibrations that didn’t affect the two of them. It was just Alfie, standing right in front of her. The center of her universe. Truly, a magnificent discovery. It was any wonder why her family or the rest of the world couldn’t see what she saw. Still, it didn’t matter if they were blind to it. She could see him clear as day and he was beautiful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Ella went almost half a year with keeping everything in her life under control. Five blissful months with Alfie and five months of being on better terms with her family. But Icarus flew far too close to the sun and so did she. She became too confident that her brothers would never find out. So confident that she hardly even thought about Tommy and how he was still suspicious about her.

           But he had bided his time. Ada had hinted that Ella was acting strange. After the mention of Alfie Solomons, he wasn’t about to give up that easily. His sister had purposefully slipped away from the men he had sent to watch her. So there was something she was hiding.

           With Ella’s own advice, he sent men who were more competent than the last two. And it did the trick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           There was something unsettling in the air but Ella ignored it. She should’ve listened to her aunt who told her never to ignore a gut instinct. Instead, she met up with Alfie again.

           They’d become so familiar with each other. It was like being with an old friend and a brand new love. He listened to her like no one ever had. He’d often bring something up long after she told him. It gave Ella a skip in her step. Far too frequently she felt ignored by her family. She was just the baby Shelby, too young to understand anything. Too young to know what true emotions are. She wasn’t in the war. She hardly even knew their father. She didn’t know what it was like to be so neglected. She didn’t know anything.

           But Alfie respected her. He validated her and assured her that her fears were reasonable. Not once did he shrug her off and tell her she was just being a silly little girl.

           Still, Ella didn’t know how strong of an effect she had on Alfie. It seemed every second of the day she was on his mind. And every time her blue eyes flashed across his mind, he couldn’t help but smile. Truly, he thought he’d found the one. The woman he didn’t even think existed. A woman he would be chuffed to spend the rest of his life with. It was a terrifying thing to consider. Laying his emotions all out on the table like a deck of cards. Each one facing up, ready for her to read and react to. Very seldom did he find himself in a vulnerable position. But that changed with Ella. This wasn’t a business interaction. This wasn’t a battle. So he felt completely unprepared. And yet, he was more than willing to follow her into an uncertain future.

           They continued to go out together. Out for a walk, out to dinner, or dancing, which was just an excuse to hold each other close. It was endearing and tender, something neither of them were used to in the slightest. Each time was like digging into a sugary treat. Every time was like heaven and they parted ways still craving more.

           But they carried baggage along with them, secrets and lies they couldn’t completely wash away. And they couldn’t continue to ignore them any longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy was in London, finishing up some business halfway into the evening. He was walking back to his car when one of his men approached.

           “Mr. Shelby.” Franklin, a young man who had been in the war with Arthur, jogged over. He was one of three men who Tommy had enlisted to follow his sister. It had been weeks without any news.

           That night, everything changed.

           “Evening, Frank.” Tommy greeted and paused by the open car door.

           “It’s Ella.” The dark-haired man caught his breath. He’d run all the way from the Camden area to find his boss before he left the city.

           “She alright, something happen?”

           Franklin shook his head. “She’s fine, but you said you wanted to hear about any information regarding her and Alfie Solomons.”

           Tommy’s blood ran cold. Part of him wanted to believe he was overreacting. A large part of that came from his wife. Grace scolded him for still not trusting Ella and insisting he allow her to live her own life in London. Another week and he probably would’ve thrown in the towel and chalked up his worries to just being an overprotective sibling. But now, his worst fears had been confirmed.

           “Where are they?”

~~~~~~~~

           Alfie always walked Ella home. He didn’t trust the city or its inhabitants. He always walked right up the first two steps. That way, Ella could be eye to eye with him when she stood on the top step. Perfect position to kiss him.

           “Lovely night.” Alfie looked up to the clear night sky. “More reasons than one.” He smiled at her.

           Ella grazed her fingers down his cheek and searched his face. She loved picking out the little features that only someone close to him would get to see. The complex cool colors of his eyes, the very faint spread of freckles congregating around his nose, and how his beard avoided the scar on his right cheek.

           He always leaned into her touch, allowing her to carry just a tiny bit of his weight even for just a moment. A man who was so used to carrying his own weight and sometimes those of others. Now he rested in the palm of this women’s hand. Allowing his vigilant eyes to close.

           She drew him out of his moment of silence to kiss him. Completing their typical Friday night together. A soft kiss that got deeper and more familiar every night they spent in each other’s company.

           Their collective guard was so low that they didn’t hear the expensive car pull up on the street behind them.

           Tommy caught sight of his sister kissing Alfie Solomons and he about blew a fuse. He got out of the car, ripping off his coat and slamming the door behind him.

           The loud noise finally startled the two out of their love-filled stupor. Ella looked over Alfie’s shoulder and she felt dizzy with panic. In an instant, she had gone from kissing the man she adored to seeing her enraged brother crossing the street.

           Alfie saw the terror on her face and turned. His brow furrowed in confusion. “Tommy…”

           “You fucking having a laugh?” He didn’t let the man speak. No, this time he would be the one in control of the conversation. “After I give you the benefit of the doubt more than once you fuck me over again?”

           Ella froze. She wasn’t sure who her brother was talking to before she realized he very well could’ve been addressing them both.

           “Tommy, mate, what the fuck are you on about?”

           In response, the Blinder grabbed his gun and pointed it right at Alfie’s forehead without hesitation. “You fucking think I wouldn’t find out, aye?”

           “Tommy, stop!” Ella quickly tried to get in between the two men but Alfie held her back.

           The situation got even stranger. How in the world did Ella know Tommy Shelby? “You on the drink again, Tom?”

           Tommy nearly popped a blood vessel at the man’s callous remark. “Don’t act stupid. You fucking crossed the line, Alfie. You can do what you want to me business but this is…” He sputtered over his words, to angry to think straight. His sister had lied to him multiple times. His business associate who had screwed him over one too many times was going behind his back yet again. But this time he was messing with his family.

           “Mate…”

           “She’s my fucking sister!” Tommy shouted loud enough to wake up the whole block.

           Ella could feel Alfie’s entire body stiffen. She knew her world was on fire even if she couldn’t smell the smoke yet. “Alfie…” The wait for his response was agonizing.

           The man turned to her after a brief moment of shock. “Fucking what…?” His voice was quiet but unmistakably upset. His jaw clenched as if he’d taken a blow to the stomach.

           Ella’s shoulders heaved with anxious puffs air as everything around her unraveled. “Alfie, I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry I-” She reached out to touch him but he jerked away like she was hot to the touch.

           Tommy gritted his teeth and put away his gun. However, he still wasn’t done with Alfie. He grabbed the man by the shirt collar and shoved him away from Ella’s front stoop. “Are you mad? She could’ve been killed ‘cause of you! You think you can just walk 'round with her and think no one will try to get at her?” He kept an iron grip on Alfie.

           “Tommy, stop!” Ella jumped down the stairs and tried to separate them.

           “You think I knew? Really? You think I’m stupid enough to do something like that?” Alfie wrestled Tommy away. His voice getting gruff and defensive. “Mate, she didn’t fucking tell me either. She’s been lying to the both of us.”

           Tears formed in Ella’s eyes. Her knees felt weak but she continued to try and tear her brother away. She’d already hurt Alfie enough, she didn’t need her brother harming him too.

           “You fucking stay away from her or I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in your head and leave you out on the street.” Tommy spat in a low voice. He finally relented and stepped away from the Jewish gangster.

           Alfie punched out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t have to worry ‘bout that, Tom, you can take her back to Birmingham where she belongs. Take her back to you and your kin. Don't ever want to see her again.” His voice was full of poison but he couldn’t even look at Ella. It was purely defense, trying to shield himself from the massive hit to his heart. Before she even had time to stop him, he turned and walked off. Going home to tend to his wounds and build another protective layer around himself. Should’ve known the second he saw those blue eyes. He didn’t understand how he had the wool pulled over his eyes just by a pretty face. The man wanted so desperately to be angry. But he was too hurt to even feel it. Everything had become so numb.

           Ella stood in the middle of the street. Her body stiff with shock. Her blue eyes found her brother through the blur of her tears. She choked out a heartbroken sob. “You’ve done it then, haven’t you? Satisfied? You’ve completely ruined my entire life. You’ve broken my fucking heart!” She shouted, her voice shattered and hoarse.

           Tommy never used to bear watching his baby sister cry. He typically felt awful about it and kicked himself for weeks. But he didn’t take too kindly to being lied to. He stood straight being the soldier he was. “You’ve ruined your own life.” He replied steadily. “You lied. That’s what happens when you lie, everything falls apart.”

           Ella felt sick and wondered when she would wake up from the nightmare.

           “Get in the car.” Tommy opened the car door for her. “You’re coming home.” He grabbed her upper arm.

           “I am home.” She spat back at him and lashed out, shoving and slapping at him. “Fuck off!”

           “Ella, get in the fucking car!” He raised his voice again. He wasn’t going to leave her in London, not after she lied so much to such a dangerous man.

           Too weak to fight him anymore. She got in the backseat of the car. The entire way back to Birmingham she cried, but couldn’t find any more words to speak.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           They pulled up to six Watery Lane and she rushed inside. Polly was in the parlor and was shocked to see her niece running in. Tears staining her pale cheeks. Ella collapsed in her arms, clinging to her as she used to as a child.

           Polly had no idea what was going on, so all she could do was hold her as she cried.

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Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[slashingdisneypasta]

Freddy Krueger x Reader || Oneshot

Title: I can’t. I won’t. 

Notes: 

This has the potential to be series, with the other Slashers but for now its gonna stand alone ^^ 

Quote that inspired me to write this but didn’t make the cut( I love it and think it still deserves to be posted!): You know what I'm tired of?!

Telling myself not to be sad, or heartbroken, or just plain cracked because he wasn’t a good person. Because he deserved to die, because its better then way. Because that's all true.

I'm sick and tired of it. I loved him and this is killing me, pretending like I'm okay with this! Why cant I just s c r e a m?

Plot: The Slashers have all died, and are being held in hell as punishment for their crime son the mortal(And any other) plain, not that you know that part. The other Slasher’s S/O’s are able to mourn, because their were good things about them which were easy to slur into misunderstood. But you wont let yourself, because Freddy didn't deserve it. 

Heather comes to visit you. 

Warning: This is pure angst, so... 

~~~

I knock on the door and hold my breath. 

A moment passes before a voice calls that they’re coming and to hold tight. When the door opens, I let out the breath and feel... confused. Y/N brightens when she sees me and waives. “Hi, sorry, if you’re selling something- I’m broke, so you might want to find another house. Bye!~” Before she can close the door, I jump to action and manage to stop her and look bashful when she raises a skeptical eyebrow, wondering I’m sure, whether she’ll have to spray me with mace. 

“Sorry, I’m not a salesperson. I’m, uh, Edith Rose Sawyer.” 

She still looks confused. I guess, I can’t expect everyone to know who that is. Looking bashful, I explain. “I’m... Jed Sawyers, cousin.” 

That sparks recognition and Y/N immediately, reopens the door fully. Her face doesn't quite reveal anything, except apprehension. Of course, she cant really be blamed for that. Last time a killer, or killer adjacent, contacted her he was killed. “Oh, uh... what’s up?” 

“Can I come in?” 

“Uhh… “ She looks around and over her shoulder, then moves out of the way so I can come in and follow her to the kitchen, closing the door behind me. I sit down straight away at the kitchen table as she goes to get the kettle, and look around. This place is so... strangely in order, like her. I expected a little bit of mess, I mean... I was, when they were taken. Jed’s my cousin, one I’d only just met and I still felt the crushing weight of his loss. 

Now, I know for me, and for probably everyone else in the world, its hard to believe anyone would care for Freddy Krueger. But she did, and its like his loss hasn't made an impact on her at all. Its been a month. 

Curiously, waiting for the bomb to drop, I watch while she fills up the kettle and sets it back on the little electric stand, turning it to boil. Then she turns, and leans back on the bench, raising her eyebrows at me with a little smile. “So, what’s up? How have you been, uh... “ Quickly, her eyes change to reveal a deeper sadness momentarily, and I think for half a second that it might be for her, but she’s looking at me far too carefully. “I’m really sorry about Jedidiah. I didn’t meet him, but he’s your cousin right? I’m so sorry.” 

I shrug, not quite sure how to talk about it yet. “Thank you. I didn’t know him long, either but its been... “ I assess her outright. “Hard.” 

“I bet,” Her voice is strained but she doesn't mention my obvious hint. Instead, she quickly changes the subject. “How do you take your tea? And, pick a mug. They’re on the shelf over there.” 

Deeply, I sigh. She is not making this easy. “You know, that's why I came, actually. To see how you’re doing?? I had to get outta the house, and thought it would be worthwhile to find you, and uh, all the others to see how they’re doing.” 

Awkwardly, she turns around to the kettle and taps away on the bench with a finger, avoiding my face I think. “A phone call wasn't good enough?” She jokes. 

“Well, uh... “ I don't know to answer that, as heat covers my face in embarrassment. 

“Pretty impressive how you found me, too.” 

“Y/N, I just thought everyone was having a hard time, and-” 

"-How hard a time can you all be having?!" She speaks, literal vocal venom flying from her lips unapologetically, revealing her true fury. A second later, apologies spill from her lips with just as much sincerity and her eyes fill with remorse as he whips around and clasps her hands together, pleading. "Sorry, sorry, oh my God I'm sorry! That didn’t- I- I'm sorry. That was insensitive, of course they're having a hard time." She means it, I know. That's clear. But it’s also clear that theirs truth to her outburst, also. 

"No, tell me. What did you mean?" 

She settles into a halfway point between mad and remorseful, which despite her efforts is somehow crazier. "Just... that... how hard can it be, when you're allowed to mourn, hah?"

Horror scratches my heart at her words. "Allowed??"

"Yes, allowed." She snaps, setting down the kettle. "When your monster was a misunderstood misfit with abandonment issues and a teddy bear, you're allowed to be sad he's gone. And I get stuck pretending I'm okay, because he deserved it. I know he did, he did. He was a horrible person and it's better that he's dead."

"But... " 

"But I still fucking hurt. None of that changes the fact that a piece of me has been torn from my guts and my heart," Her voice finally falters, and I notice the tears in her eyes. But before I can’t even think about giving her a hug, or softening my face, she's mad again. "And smashed into grease and somehow I’m still standing, talking to you about it, without crying.” She sobers up a bit, all over the place in her emotions and how she presents them. She looks away from me, as she wipes the bottom of her eye with her thumb, and looks for wetness there. And finds none. “Although, admittedly. Its becoming hard.” 

“I... I’m so sorry that we made you feel like you couldn't mourn for him. Please, try, I-” 

“Thank you, but... “ She rolls her shoulders back, uncomfortable to the point of anxiety. She still wont look at me again. “Its mostly me, stopping myself. I’m afraid... “ Tears finally well in her eyes and she looks at me, right in the eyes. “I’m afraid, someone will see me crying over him, and think I’m excusing what he did. I... They’ll think I’m blind and idealistic. Pretending to myself that he’s misunderstood, or something... And I can’t let my feelings be wrote off like that. I’m not pathetic. I knew exactly what he was the whole time.”

My heart feels like its torn in two. On one side, she’s right. That is how people would view it and he doesn't deserve it, but on the other she does deserve to mourn. None of the Slashers were particularly good, which makes us all... hypocrites. I grit my teeth, in anger at myself and get up from my seat to stand with her. My eyes fill with concern. “Even so, you cant bottle it all up.” 

“Oh I have news for you then,” A nasty, defiant scowl contorts her features, showing exactly the willpower in her. It makes me mad.

“Y/N.” I snap, putting my hands on her arms to keep her from turning away, and I think for a moment that she’s going to rip me off of her, but she controls herself and instead just sets me with a blank look. She’s unsure what to feel. “I’m sure all the others would agree, you have to mourn. Maybe- Maybe no for what Freddy was in the end,” Physically, nearly violently, she flinches at hearing his name, on impact. Her head turning away from me to the bench and her eyes looks so coldly at it hell should freeze over. “But none of the Slashers were born evil!”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip, I’m afraid the skin will break under her frustration. “I-I know, I... know.” The last word comes out with all her frustration at what hurt him, and changed him. Still, she shakes her head. “But I cant... I can’t just... turn it off. I’m mad, and I’m sad, and I cant turn it off and I learnt that from him in the first place.” 

I nod, understanding. Oh, I understand. “Yeah... yeah, I know. But in some ways they all were made to be the way they were, it was out of their hands. So for now, I think we can allow him a moment, and a moment only,” I add quickly, dipping to look at her seriously, to both assure her and assure myself, because I sure as hell don’t want to mourn that bastard. But she has to, and maybe in a tiny way he does deserve a millisecond of thought. ”Of respect.”   

I watch as she thinks for a moment, then slips away from me and shakes her head, and sad smile on her lips. You can see that she wants, desperately to let that happen, but the little part of her that's afraid, and moral, blocks the way.

She crosses her arms and shrugs. “I won’ t.” 

~~~ SOMEWHERE IN HELL ~~~

“... Okay... I was upset before... “ Slowly, blue eyes flicker from the screen with Y/N on it and the look on her face. Enough to make even the most inhuman and cruel heart mad, even if only because its her. Freddy switches to looking at the man with the pins in his skull looking smugly at him, and the knives on his fingers itch. Hasn't anyone told this bitch that he’s the monster around here? “Now, I’m pissed.” 

I have to get back. 

[eliminatedtheimpossible]

A Study in Proximity

I’ve decided to embark on another line of scientific inquiry and experimentation. John is yet again, my main subject. I’m aware that in the past he hasn’t been the most receptive research subject but in this case, no one else would do. As I’ve stated several times over, John is a creature of habit. Yet, as of late he has been breaking familiar patterns. 

We have our own patterns and our own established boundaries but lately, I’ve found us crossing these lines. For this reason, I believe it is critical for me to determine where these boundaries lie and reestablish what is ‘okay,’ while maintaining our friendship. The two of us generally have more relaxed boundaries than what is commonly considered ‘average’. 

Since we met, I’ve found myself preferring to be close to John and I believe the feeling is mutual. He is steadfast and grounding. When entering a crime scene the sheer amount of information (and stupidity) can be overwhelming. John is a good touchstone. The casual bumping of shoulders has always been welcome. He is also receptive to retrieving things from my pockets when my hands are full or I can’t be bothered with the mundanity of it. 

John has always been happy enough to share his things with me. He might gripe when I use his laptop or phone, but he never bothers to change his passwords or lock them away. So I assume he is at least neutral on sharing. He’s more than happy to share food. I believe this has more to do with his worries that I don’t eat enough than his affinity for generosity. He never gripes when I steal food from his plate, he just gives an amused smirk. 

These are all parts of the established norm. However, it appears John has become more relaxed on his boundaries. While eating together at a Chinese restaurant with a particularly satisfactory looking doorknob, we found ourselves crushed together in a table at the far corner of the room. It was a busy night. Normally John would suggest we eat somewhere else but tonight he didn’t. His knee spent the night firmly pressed up against my own and never once did he appear uncomfortable. To my own surprise, I found the sensation pleasing. This was new. 

To test if this was a situational adjustment or a new and acceptable part of our interactions the following morning at breakfast I sat across from him at our dining room table, stole a piece of toast from his plate (as was usual), and nudged his ankle with my foot. John gave me the same look of withered amusement common when I steal his breakfast and nudged my foot back. I hadn’t expected this reaction. It appears John is still full of surprises. For the next two mornings, I did the same, to the same effect. It would appear this kind of touching is now acceptable. For my part, I believe this to be a welcome change. 

Another change occurred a week ago. John began spending some of his time reading on our sofa. At first, I’d been irritated by this, as John had his own perfectly good armchair and he knows it’s my favourite spot to lay when trying to work through the particulars of a case. One night, out of frustration I decided to sprawl across the sofa and lay my head in his lap hoping for the action to be a deterrent. It seemed to be the opposite as John had no complaints about the arrangement. He had hummed and shifted his book from in front of my face, resting one elbow on the arm of the sofa and the other, well that’s an unimportant detail. Yet I will note, this was a most preferable turn of events. 

It was then my experiment gained another subject, myself. Originally I had been examining the boundaries of my relationship with John but after realising how comfortable I was with our new intimacy I found myself confused, an uncommon and uncomfortable sensation I assure you. It’s no surprise to the readers that the concept of intimacy with another person is one I try to avoid, yes I’ve previously stated how I am averse to romantic relationships but before John, the concept of friendship was out of my realm of interest. The idea of anyone but John making such advances as he has in recent days is enough to make my skin crawl and yet doing such things with John is different. 

So was it my own boundaries and ideologies shifting or was John an exception to my rules? At first, I attempted to mimic the close proximity John and I share with others. Firstly, the idea of even standing in the same room as my brother is almost unbearable, so nothing’s changed there. At a crime scene, I stood beside Lestrade, instead of John. This also wasn’t very pleasant, though I suspect it had more to do with my distance from John, not my proximity to the inspector. The turning point was Mrs. Hudson.

I spent a morning with my landlady and found the conversation trivial but pleasant. However, standing too close to her for long periods of time threatened to give me a headache as her floral perfume was overpowering. Before I returned to my flat she gave me a quick hug, which was bearable but nothing I would willingly initiate. I questioned if I would like to hug John. After all, it wasn’t something we did. A year ago, the idea would be laughable, but now it seemed possible. After a moment of consideration, I was not opposed to the idea.  

There is a difference between theory and practice, as I’m well aware. The only way I could know for sure if I would enjoy hugging John was to do so. This posed a problem as all of the new advances in our relationship had been initiated by John. How does one know the right time or place to do something?

I needed to collect more data before initiating anything. I sacrificed time which I would normally spend reading new chemistry or forensic science journal articles on my laptop to sit with John and watch what he referred to as ‘crap’ telly. People hug a lot on crap telly. I kept notes on the events which occurred prior to and preceding the hug, in an attempt to determine the perfect time for myself to implement this. 

According to programs like ‘Coronation Street,’ there are several instances when hugs are appropriate. The first is for comfort. This often occurred after a character had found out something mind-numbingly stupid for the sake of television drama: their partner was cheating, they had a terminal illness, or some such event. The next type of hug happened after a love confession, which could be ruled out straight away and the last seemed to occur almost at random between two individuals who shared a close relationship. It seemed as though this final type of hug would most suit John and my own relationship. This didn’t help me much in determining when I was meant to initiate the hug. It often seemed like a placeholder for a hello or a goodbye. With this in mind, I attempted to use it as such. 

This morning, John woke around nine and found me at my microscope in the kitchen. He mumbled out a sleepy ‘morning,’ and turned on the kettle as was our usual routine. It was my time to break routine. I rose from my chair, strode over to John, and gave him a hug. 

At first, John had stiffened considerably, which didn’t seem like the right response. I was about to move away when John finally became receptive and hugged back. It was an interesting sensation. It lasted longer than my hugs with Mrs. Hudson, in those cases it was always her hugging me, never a mutual affair. John didn’t smell like sickly sweet perfume, which was good. He smelled of soap with a hint of aftershave. It was a smell akin to trivial sense names like ‘clean breeze’, or ‘open windows’. It was nice. It was very nice. We both pulled away and I returned to my place perched on a kitchen chair. I’m not exactly sure how John felt about the whole thing as after it happened he was still and silent for a long while. The kettle had boiled and cooled by the time John remembered he was making tea and he had to boil it again. 

‘Has something happened?’ John asked me, looking as perplexed by the hug as I was by his question. Did something have to happen in order for me to hug him? Had I gotten it wrong? It appeared probable. Perhaps he assumed this hug was more indicative of terminal illness or a death in the family but how had I gotten it wrong? 

Sometimes John can be surprisingly observant. Something on my face must have tipped him off as after he seemed to determine my intention or at the very least my concerns. 

‘It was fine. Just give me some warning next time,’ He had informed. 

This is as far as my experimentation has gone thus far. I haven’t yet defined the boundaries between John and myself but I’ve determined hugging is fine. As far as my own involvement in the whole process, I have concluded that I like hugging John and if given the opportunity I would gladly do it again, which suggests John is the exception to my previously established ideologies. This is the worst possible outcome as this revelation has caused me to formulate another hypothesis, one which I’m unwilling to explore, as it is impossible to examine. 

All this to say I need a case to distract me. If the readers would contact either myself or John on our respective blogs regarding cases of interest, we shall examine them. I fear if nothing comes up soon, I might have to contact my brother and everyone will be all the more miserable for that outcome. 

S.H. 

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Six: All I Need

Forever? Masterlist

12th August 2016

After yet another sleepless night Ashley trailed into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and scooping two large teaspoons of coffee into a mug. Once it was boiled she poured in the water and milk, returning to her seat on the sofa beside Daisy’s moses basket, somehow she was sound asleep, while Ashley was anything but. On days when she had visitors she tried to put in a bit of an effort, changing into something other than a t-shirt and leggings. But Harry was coming over today and frankly he had seen her in much worse states, so she decided to stay in her comfy attire.

Ashley’s light nap was interrupted by a knock at the door, she checked on Daisy who was still fast asleep after her feed. She shuffled to the front door, opening it to see Harry, whose arms were filled with lots of bags and a large bouquet of big daisies. “Hello stranger,” she smiled, welcoming Harry into her flat, before he placed the bags on the floor, “You gonna give me a hug?” she asked, he edged closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, whilst she wrapped hers around his shoulders, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. 

“I’ve missed you Ash.” Harry whispered.

“It’s been two months H.” she chuckled.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you.” he sighed. 

Their sweet reunion was interrupted by Daisy’s high pitched cries, “I think little madam wants changing, you want to come meet her?” Ashley led Harry through to the living room, picking Daisy up out of her moses basket, “Hey little lady, what’s all this fussing about? Shall we change your nappy?” She lay Daisy on the changing mat while Harry used his initiative to make them both a cup of tea, “There we are Daisy, all fresh and clean for your uncle Harry.” She scooped Daisy up, rocking her in her arms as Harry bought the tea over to where she had sat on the sofa.

“I got you both some presents, if you want to open them?” Harry told her as he placed the bags on the sofa.

“You didn’t have to H,” Ashley insisted, “Do you want to hold her? Whilst I open them.”

“Alright then.” Ashley scooted over to where Harry was sitting on her velvet teal sofa, she placed Daisy in Harry’s arms, she fit perfectly, as he held her close to his chest. Harry really had gone all out with the presents, he’d bought Daisy a range of outfits that Ashley didn’t dare imagine the price of, a couple of teddies and a piece of art to hang by her cot. For Ashley he had put together a hamper of all her favourite things, her favourite rosewater shower gel, several tubes of pringles and her lindor chocolates, because he knew they were her favourites, “There’s one more thing,” Harry pulled a small black box from his pocket, passing it to Ashley, she opened it, seeing a silver necklace that had a daisy charm on it, “I saw it in a jewellery shop when we were filming in France and I thought it was perfect.”

“You’re such a softy you know that?” she told him, yawning as she rested her head on one of her many scatter cushions, “Sorry, as you can probably imagine I haven’t been getting much sleep at the moment.”

“Why don’t you go and have a shower, then sleep for a bit, I’ll stay with Daisy.”

“I can’t ask you to do that H.”

“You aren’t asking, I’m telling, if you tell me where the important stuff like nappies and milk are that should be absolutely fine.” Harry assured her.

“Her milk powder is in the cupboard next the fridge, instructions are on the side, she’ll probably want a bottle in half an hour, and her nappies are in that basket over there,” she told him, standing up from the sofa, “You Harry Styles are a diamond,” She told him leaning over from behind the sofa and pecking him on the cheek.

After a long overdue nap Ashley made her way into the living room, where Harry was singing tiny dancer by Elton John as he rocked Daisy to sleep, before placing her in the moses basket. “I was going to ask if you needed help with anything, but it looks like you have everything covered,” Ashley told him, he turned to face her, a large grin across his face.

“Did you sleep well?” Harry asked her.

“Like a dream, I feel like I’ve been asleep for ages.”

“You were down for about five hours,” he told her.

“Oh wow, you weren’t bored were you? I should’ve set an alarm.”

“No, we were more than fine, we had cuddles for a bit, I fed her and changed her, then she napped whilst I put a wash on, hoovered, did the washing up and made us dinner.” Harry explained.

“You didn’t have to do all that you know.”

“Yeah I do know, but I thought you deserved a bit of TLC.” 

“How did you make dinner? I literally have nothing in my cupboards.” 

“I popped into tesco on my way here, I figured you wouldn't have much in the way of fresh food, so I thought I’d grab some stuff.”

“How much do I owe you for it?” Ashley asked, embracing him.

“Nothing, it's on me.”

After a delicious paella courtesy of Harry, he and Ashley sat on the sofa, snuggled up as they watched reruns of Friends, Ashley sat beside Harry, her legs stretched across his lap whilst Harry ran his fingers lightly up and down them, “When did you last go out?” Harry asked, interrupting a very tense scene between Ross and Rachel.

“About two weeks ago, getting out of the house with a newborn is easier said than done.” Ashley told him.

“Why don’t we go down to the river? The sun will be setting and getting some air will do you good.” Harry suggested.

“That would be lovely.”

Clearly taking his role as uncle very seriously, Harry took control of the pram as the pair strolled along the river, the rays of the orange sun hitting their faces. “Are you happy?” Ashley asked Harry.

“I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time,” Harry assured her as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, “Being here with you two makes me feel so content.”

“Shall we sit here?” Ashley suggested, gesturing towards a bench on the side of the path, “Thank you for today, you didn’t have to spend the whole day with us.”

“Yeah I did, I know you’ve got Daisy, but you need a bit of adult interaction every now and then, besides I haven’t seen you in forever.” Harry replied.

“Well we’ve loved having you, I feel so lucky that I get to call you my best friend.”

21st October

“Happy birthday Anne!” Ashley called as Harry let her into his family home, she’d back come up for Anne’s birthday on the train that morning, Harry had already come up a few days before, but insisted he would drive Ashley and Daisy back down to London after the visit. “How are you?” She asked Harry as he gave her a big hug, nuzzling into his chest.

“I’m good, it’s nice being home,” Daisy, who was somehow perfectly in tune to Harry’s voice stirred from her nap in the pram, “Can I?” Harry gestured towards the pram, Ashley replied with an assuring nod as if to say ‘of course’. He scooped Daisy out of her pram, the smile on her face was incredibly endearing, she had only met Harry a handful of times but everyone could tell that she absolutely adored him. He bounced her on his hip as he headed into the living room, followed by Ashley.

“Happy birthday Anne,” Ashley greeted her with a hug, “These are for you, from Daisy and I.” She handed Anne a bunch of flowers and a gift bag that had a box of Anne’s favourite chocolates along with one of those posh, fresh smelling candles.

“Thank you my love.” Anne replied, “It’s lovely to have you both here.

“Harry, are you gonna let your mum have a hold? It is her birthday after all.” 

Harry and Daisy were having a lovely little moment, he had taken a seat on the armchair in the corner, bouncing her on his lap, Harry presented her with big eyes and a small smile to suggest he didn’t want to hand  Daisy over yet, “I’ll leave the pair of them to it, I wouldn’t want to break Harry’s heart by stealing his favourite girl away from him, I’m sure I’ll steal a hug before you head back to London.”

It was later on in the evening, dinner had been eaten, and everyone was sat around the TV watching Notting Hill, chosen by Anne, much to Harry’s dismay, after he fought so hard for The Notebook. Clearly Daisy was worn out by all the attention she had received throughout the day as she had fallen asleep on Harry’s chest, her tiny hand clinging onto the string of Harry’s hoodie. Ashley sat beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, whilst he rested his free hand on her waist, his hand making delicate circles on her skin, to a stranger they would like a family unit. Gemma and Anne sat on the sofa across from them, not daring to say a word, but noticing just how content Harry appeared, every so often the pair shared a knowing glance. “Do you want a drink mum?” Gemma whispered.

“Yeah, go on then, I’ll come and help you with them,” The pair tiptoed out to the kitchen, Anne flicking the kettle on while Gemma grabbed the milk from the fridge, “He adores them both doesn’t he?” Anne whispered.

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her, he’s clearly besotted with her, I just don’t think he would ever do anything about it, I think he would see it as a way of protecting her.” Gemma replied.

“They aren’t even together and the press have this idea that Harry is Daisy’s dad.” Anne replied as she poured the hot water for tea. 

“He’s got good intentions mum, I just hope he doesn’t regret it.”