#Making up

[daughterofscotland]

Love, Unfinished

Thanks to 8x11 I finally managed to write something again!

Not sure I appreciate that them being sad works better for my muse than their happiness, but... at least I get to make it better. With a lot of fluff and sweetness.

Thanks to @daniwib for the title!

Love, Unfinished on AO3 here

“I can’t do this again,” he said, turning around and looking at Tommy who was still at the door, closing it slowly before turning and leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. Protecting himself, Buck realized, and his heart gave a painful pang at that. *** After leaving Maddie, Buck decides he doesn't want to waste anymore time before clearing the air with Tommy. He just hopes he's not too late to fix things. Or: Buck and Tommy talk. Finally.

Or read it here:

Buck didn’t hesitate as he parked his car in Tommy’s driveway, coming straight from Maddie. He jumped out and immediately headed for the light blue door, knocking on it in a quick, consistent rhythm, until it opened. Buck allowed himself one look at Tommy, who looked like he hadn’t slept, and was definitely still wearing the same undershirt he’d worn last night.

“Ev-,” Tommy started, and thank god he didn’t say “Buck” right now.

“Don’t,” Buck interrupted him and pushed his way into the house. He was well aware that Tommy could have stopped him easily; the fact that he didn’t gave him a tiny bit of hope that he could fix this. Fix them.

“I can’t do this again,” he said, turning around and looking at Tommy who was still at the door, closing it slowly before turning and leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest.

Protecting himself, Buck realized, and his heart gave a painful pang at that.

“Can’t do what?” Tommy asked, not looking at Buck’s face but somewhere beyond his shoulder.

“Spend another however many months not talking or fixing this,” Buck said in a rush, trying his best not to stammer, even though it was hard. “I can’t keep sleeping at M-Maddie’s because I can’t stand being alone in my house, I can’t keep trying to force Ravi o-or anyone else to hang out with me just so I don’t have to be by myself, and I seriously can’t keep baking just so I won’t call you, b-because I have gained 15 pounds, egg prices are ridiculous, and two stores have already banned me from buying flour.”

Tommy blinked at him, his face going on a real journey while Buck talked, like it always did. God, Buck missed him and his stupid face so much.

“I don’t know why people think I have romantic feelings for Eddie,” Buck continued, taking a deep breath, calming down now that his immediate rush of words was out. “You never gave me any idea that you were thinking about it, either, and I really hope you didn’t spend our whole relationship worrying about it. 

It blindsided me, Tommy, and I… I miss him. I really, truly miss him; he’s my best friend, my family, and he’s gone, and I, I am not dealing well with it at all. And if I were to take some time and look back at when he first turned up at the 118, yeah, maybe I would realize I had a crush on him or something. 

But it doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t feel back then. I do not have romantic feelings for Eddie. I can’t imagine developing them, either, because…”

Buck swallowed. These were the words he had to say, finally, after they’d been swirling around his head for months. They were big and scary, but if he didn’t say them now, he feared he’d lose Tommy for good. And that was just utterly unacceptable.

“I love you, Tommy,” Buck said, noting how Tommy’s eyes snapped up to his, wide and disbelieving. It broke Buck’s heart seeing that disbelief. How could Tommy not know?

“I have loved you for much longer than I probably realize. I should have told you before asking you to move in together, I should have told you a thousand times after you broke up with me, I should have told you last night and this morning.

But I was scared. So I never did.”

Tommy’s mouth opened and closed for a few moments and he swallowed hard. His eyes were glassy and his arms had dropped down to his sides, as if his strings had been cut.

“Why are you saying it now, then? Are you… are you not scared anymore?”

It was such a mirror of what Buck had asked him in the morning - just before doing exactly what Tommy had said he wasn’t as afraid of anymore: broken Tommy’s heart.

“Oh, I absolutely am,” he said, putting everything out there. “I am terrified that you won’t… won’t believe me or that it won’t be enough, not after I ruined us for the third time…”

“Evan, you haven’t ruined us,” Tommy immediately protested but Buck shook his head, making him stop.

“Yes, I did,” Buck said. “I keep saying the wrong things because I am nervous or angry. And it makes you doubt me every time, and because you want to protect yourself so, so badly, you run. I don’t want to make you keep running, Tommy. I want to stand still with you. O-or walk beside you, whatever. I just want to do it together. If… if that is still something you want…”

Buck’s voice broke on the last sentence and he had to close his eyes tightly for a moment so he wouldn’t start crying. If Tommy didn’t believe him, if he told him to leave, that would be it. There would be no future for them. And Buck wasn’t sure he’d survive that.

“Evan,” came Tommy’s quiet voice and it was much closer than before. Buck dared to open his eyes and he saw that Tommy had stepped closer, was in arm’s reach, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing onto Tommy’s shirt at his side. Holding on, holding them in place.

“You’re right,” Tommy said, putting both his hands on Buck’s hips, as if he also needed an anchor so he wouldn’t float away, just like Buck.

“I have been doubting you. Not because you did anything to make me, but because… I guess part of me always expected us to be temporary. Not even consciously, but it’s just how it goes for me, you know? So when you fumbled our first date, I thought: Oh, okay, he’s not ready, nevermind. But then you called me and we talked and you just… you moved us along and I could do nothing but follow you, and I was happy, I promise. 

But then you asked me to move in - and just to be clear, you asked me to move into your loft, even if that wasn’t really what you meant, and that would have been a terrible idea - and it just confirmed my belief that we wouldn’t work out, that we weren’t on the same page or moving at the same pace. So, yeah, I ran.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s something I have been working on with my therapist.”

“You are in therapy?” Buck asked, his voice quieter than before, now that they were standing almost nose to nose. He let Tommy’s words swirl around in his head and understood them, but also knew he’d have to question some of it later.

“I broke my own heart because it seemed the more logical choice than talking to you and working on the best thing that had ever happened to me. Yes, I started going to therapy. Turns out, talking about things actually helps you get over trauma, who knew?”

Buck couldn’t help but laugh at the usual dry delivery and he rubbed their noses together, anticipating the little sneeze Tommy would let out. It was one of the most endearing things he’d discovered about him.

“Yeah, I, uh… I have started taking sessions with mine again, too,” he confessed, looking at Tommy through his lashes. “Got scolded for going awol for so long, we have quite a lot to work through.”

“Not just us?” Tommy asked, cocking his head a bit.

“No,” Buck answered honestly. “But you definitely come up quite a lot.”

They stayed silent for a bit, still holding each other, Buck’s hands now around Tommy’s neck. They swayed from side to side, a sweet, silent imitation of the dance they never had at Maddie’s and Chimney’s wedding.

“From the start,” Buck finally broke the silence, but didn’t move away. “Did you think I wanted Eddie instead of you the whole time?”

Tommy took his time answering, his fingers spasming on Buck’s hip. “I… not consciously,” he finally said. “I knew you were best friends, of course, that wasn’t the problem. But the more time we spent together, all three of us, I just… it’s kind of tradition, you know? Falling in love with your straight best friend.”

He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “I certainly did it. And somehow, knowing I was the first man that made you realize that you aren’t actually straight, convinced me that you would of course experience the same.”

Buck thought about it for a moment. He could see where Tommy was coming from, in a way. He’d certainly heard of the cliché, or tradition, as he’d called it. But still.

“I’m not you,” Buck said quietly, resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder. He saw Tommy shiver as Buck’s breath hit his skin. “I am not any of your exes, either, or any other non-straight person out there. I am me. I am not going around repeating yours or others’ mistakes. I can make my own just fine, as you might have noticed.”

He smiled as Tommy laughed at that. 

“I know,” Tommy assured him, turning his head just slightly to place a gentle kiss on Buck’s birthmark. “I know you have never actually given me a reason to doubt your friendship with Eddie. I guess it was just…” He trailed off, clearly not sure how to say what he had thought.

“Just you seeing a foregone conclusion borne out of fear?” Buck asked softly and Tommy nodded, exhaling shakily.

“I can understand that. God knows I have enough of those, too. And apparently you’re not even the only one who thinks that way about me and Eddie, because Maddie -” He cut himself off, not wanting to get angry again right now.

“Anyway. Yes, I love Eddie. As a friend, a brother, as family. But you.”

He moved so he could hold Tommy’s head in his hands and look him straight in the eye.

“I am in love with you, Tommy Kinard. And if you’ll have me, I would very much like to prove it to you for the rest of our lives.”

Tommy blinked, once, twice. “You didn’t just ask me to marry you, right, because that would be very unfortunate timing.”

Buck laughed, letting go of Tommy’s head and putting his hands back on those strong shoulders. If he pushed his fingers down a bit, right over the bite mark he’d left there last night, that was between him and Tommy. “No, Tommy, I did not… Jeez, believe me, when I propose, you’ll know.”

“When, huh?” Tommy said, his face lighting up with that crinkling smile Buck loved so much.

“Absolutely,” Buck said, nodding, his own answering grin splitting his face. “There’s no doubt in my mind that I am going to marry you one day, Tommy Kinard, so you better be prepared to indulge me with a clipboard. Possibly two, one just for the catering and cake.”

“Well, the cake is the most important part,” Tommy replied seriously, before shaking his head and grinning again. “I will gladly hand you all the clipboards you need, sparkly pens included, if it means I get to call you my husband at the end of it all, Evan.”

Buck’s grin turned into a shy smile and he ducked his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby,” Tommy said, his voice dropping to a whisper before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth. “I love you, too, Evan. I wish I had said it earlier, but I was afraid, too.”

Buck felt like his heart was beating out of his chest from happiness. “But you’re not afraid anymore?” he asked, not able to help himself.

“Oh, I am,” Tommy said, smiling against Buck’s cheek. “But standing here, seeing you be so brave… how could I be anything less? I want to be brave for you, Evan, because you deserve it. You deserve me to be honest with you about my feelings.”

Buck had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment so he wouldn’t start crying. “Thank you,” he whispered, clearing his throat. “You know I… I used to believe when I found the right person, it would be easy. And when it wasn’t, I thought it was me. That I was just… unlovable…”

Tommy squeezed his sides but didn’t say anything, only kissed his cheek, trailing his lips down Buck’s jaw.

“But earlier today, I remembered this call… it was years ago, an old couple, one of them died and the other, he… he told me about how he met his husband, their journey.

I said something about how I hoped to find something that good one day. H-he said “you don’t find it, you make it”. I, I lost sight of that for a while, but… that’s what I want with you, Tommy. I want us to make a beautiful life, together.”

Tommy pulled back and stared at him. Buck wondered how often he could astound Tommy in one conversation, because at this point, it had to have been at least three times.

“You are a wonder, Evan Buckley,” Tommy said, before pulling Buck in again, kissing him fully this time. The kiss quickly turned passionate, their gentle hands grabbing at each other.

Tommy broke the kiss, panting a bit, as he moved them so Buck was pressed against the wall in a mimicry of the previous night. Then he squeezed Buck’s sides very purposefully. 

“By the way, are you sure you only gained 15 pounds? Because, this feels like -” he stopped with a laugh when Buck bit him on the chin in outrage.

“Oh my god, you’re such a dick,” Buck laughed, gnawing on Tommy’s skin. “So rude, unbelievable…”

“But you love me anyway,” Tommy says, and Buck pulled back, ready to give a retort - before he looked into Tommy’s eyes and registered the insecurity there. His gaze softened.

“Yes, Tommy,” he said, kissing him again. “I love you. Despite the fact that you can be a real bitch a lot of the time.”

Tommy’s laugh held a hint of relief. “Well, good thing you have terrible taste in men and like us being bitchy - Eddie is one, too, after all.”

“Stop talking about Eddie while I am trying to get you naked,” Buck whined, pushing Tommy’s shirt up so he could get his hands on hot skin. 

“Understood,” Tommy gasped as Buck flicked one of his nipples. “No more talk of Eddie in this house, copy that.”

Instead of answering again, Buck just groaned and pulled Tommy’s shirt over his head. 

He was sure they still had a lot of talking to do - there was still a lot of hurt they had to work out between them, figure out what they wanted their relationship to look like from now on.

But that could wait. For now, they would make up for the delayed celebration Tommy had planned in the morning. They had all the time in the world after all.

[sunnynwanda]

Could you please please please continue REMEMBER ? my heart stopped reading jt. Maybe include vil's intense emotions, they finally don't have to hide their feelings anymore, feeling they hid for years (perhaps even a decade)? After all that....hero is finally. Finally. In their arms.

Also also I adored ADORED ticklish hero <3 and how vil , after all the years remembered that <333 the tension was absolutely delicious <3333 hero in their clothes <33333

Remember: Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: mentions of past falling out, the morning after, I digress from the request (I hope you still enjoy it despite Hero's POV)

Hero stirred, letting out a low groan and tilting their head to the side for a more comfortable position. The floor under their back is still as hard as it is cold. With another grumbling sound, Hero is drawn into wakefulness, but their brain takes a few moments to process their surroundings and drops the penny. The velvety surface of the carpet tickles their neck, and their chest feels heavy, urging Hero to glance down - only to discover half of Villain's body splayed out on top of them.

The memories of the previous day flood their minds: Villain, the house they grew up in together... kissing.

Oh.

"So that was real..." Hero mutters to themself, still in disbelief over the turn of events. They shift again but fail to find a less straining position for their muscles. I'm too old for such discomfort, Hero thinks, chuckling under their breath.

Villain was never an early bird, so Hero untangles from their hold and gets up, stretching the sore muscles of their back. Definitely too old, though Villain would call them grumpy instead. They look around, grabbing a second blanket from the couch and draping it over Villain's unmoving frame - sound asleep unless in apocalyptic conditions. Hero always found their ability to fall asleep in seconds and stay asleep for as long as they needed remarkable. They sure lacked on that one.

The old grandpa clock chimes eight. Way too early to be awake on a Sunday, but here they were, awake and full of anxious energy. Hero decides to look around - if only to quench the nostalgic yearning they still felt for the house of their carefree childhood. To be fair, their young adulthood here was quite pleasant, too - up until that godforsaken day that tore Villain away from Hero's trembling hands.

They walk through each room, taking their time to reminisce about the past days of undisturbed happiness and wishful dreaming. Boy, did they dream! So many sleepless nights were spent dreaming of countless lives to share with Villain after graduation. One night, they would dream of studying and pursuing a career in academia because they wanted to keep challenging each other.

Other nights centred on opening a bakery, eloping to a deserted island, travelling to the North Pole to be glaciologists, becoming archaeologists in Europe, researching marine life, learning a foreign language and walking the Great Wall of China, opening a small bookshop in the suburbs... It never really mattered what they'd do. The main component was always one thing only - Villain - until the uneventful morning after graduation day turned their life upside down.

Hero groans, shaking their head to rid themself of particular unpleasant memories as they reach the kitchen. This was the epicentre of the world for Villain and Hero alike. Anytime Hero's Mom baked, they would run here after school, climbing on top of the kitchen island and waiting for their shares of still-warm pies and cookies. Villain had an incredible sweet tooth, and Hero's mother took note of that very soon, saving a piece even if Villain couldn't come over. It was rare, but any time Hero tried to complain, their mother would gently shush them, saying that there were things that Hero could not understand yet.

Villain never discussed home with them. Sometimes Hero would pout for a day or two, acting offended because their Mom and best friend seemed to be keeping secrets from them. They often ended up forgetting about it by accident and never had the heart to return to the issue. The day Villain left, Hero swore their mother knew. They could tell from the look in her eyes and the way her hands trembled when she gave Villain a hug and kissed the top of their head.

In the days that followed Villain's disappearance from their life, Hero often thought back to their conversations, struggling to find a reason, a clue, anything to soothe the ache in the gaping hole that used to be their heart.

Hero lets out a sigh, sitting down by the counter and rubbing their eyes. They look up, noticing a pile of papers hidden behind the cutting boards. They don't mean to snoop, but it just catches their eye.

Half an hour later, they are still studying the files - documents and newspaper clippings, when Villain's surprised cough draws their attention outwards.

"What are you doing?" Villain's voice is tense, but when Hero looks up at them, their expression is more terrified than anything else.

Hero pauses, searching for words, but no words seem to grace their brain. "What's this?"

"Hero, it's not-" Villain gulps, unable to finish the sentence. How can they respond, really? How can they even begin explaining the abomination that was their family life?

"It is my business," Hero's voice cuts through their hectic thoughts with a sharp tone.

That was not what Villain was trying to say. They open their mouth again, but no words come out, their throat hoarse and dry. "I-"

"Supervillain your father?!" Hero finally asks, standing up from the stool and stepping forward. Villain remains frozen. "Answer me." They demand. Villain nods shortly.

So that's why- oh... Now Hero gets it. All of it.

"H-" Villain tries again, their lips shaking as they aim to form a sentence, only to let out a quiet groan by the end.

"Don't," Hero cuts them off, and Villain expects them to walk away, but Hero steps closer, drawing Villain into a tight hug, squeezing them to their chest. "When?"

"The day before graduation. He found me," Villain's voice is barely a whisper, but Hero hears them, silently nodding for them to continue. "I didn't know what to do; he said I had to leave, that he's my family, and I was supposed to choose him."

"You didn't have to make a choice," Hero pulls them away from their shoulder to see their face. "We'd never make you choose."

"He said your family would never accept me if they knew whose child I am, so I-" Villain cuts off, clenching Hero's shirt for some grounding and dropping their forehead onto Hero's shoulder.

"You dumbass," Hero mutters, their hold on Villain tightening at the feeling of wetness on their shoulder. "You know better than that, Vil."

"You lost your house because of me..." Villain whines, failing to hide their crying voice. "My father did it."

"I wouldn't give a damn if I lost my life for you, idiot," Hero scoffs, running one hand up and down Villain's back in a soothing gesture, the other coming up to card through Villain's hair.

"No! No." They protest, gripping Hero's side with desperate intensity. Hero smiles at that, their expression torn between fondness and anger at their stupidity.

"You wanna see Mom?" They ask, trying to get Villain's mind off their past.

"Can I?" Villain looks up at them through tears, their eyes so full of hope that Hero's heart shatters all over again.  

"Of course you can, baby."

Part 1

Hi sweetheart (s)!

Thank you for requesting a part 2. I really wanted to do it. Got out of hand again - as per usual xD I hope you still enjoy reading it. Let me know what you think :)

xo Sunny

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy@alltimelowing@lateuplight@surplus-of-sarcasm@betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney

@thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood

@whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444 @m4iloblu3

[yourlastbraincell-kiwi]

A/N: I was asked by the lovely @tommysaxes to make part two to my other Henry Danger one shot, here it is.

I hope you enjoy!

Warning: may or may not be typos!

Pairing: Henry Hart x fem!reader

After what happened the other day, I had stayed locked and huddled up in my room. Dings that turned to vibrants after I silenced my phone.

Message after message. Call after call. I couldn’t hear it any longer.

Thoughts and ideas running and racing through my head.

‘Did I overreact??’

‘Should I respond to him? Visit him maybe?’

‘No! I had every right to react that way!’

‘Or was I..?’

All these thoughts kept bouncing against the inner lining of my head, until I heard a knock at the door. All my thoughts had calmed themselves, as I got up and opened the door a bit.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, sorry to bother, but you’ve been in here for a while. Do you wanna talk?” My mom offered.

“No, I’m okay.”

“You sure?” She asked and I nodded my head ‘yes,’ in confirmation. Getting the gist she told me that she’d be out running errands, and to call if need be.

After she left I closed and locked the door behind her and let out a breath, I didn’t know I was holding in.

I trudged up the stairs and was going to crawl into bed when I heard, something repeatedly hitting the window pane.

My brows furrow in confusion, I held my position and listened. Waiting to see if it would continue, and that it did. Like little pebbles hitting the glass almost.

After it wouldn’t stop I stood up and abruptly opened my window to see what it was, only for me to get hit in the forehead with a pebble.

“Ow!”

Jaspers face went wide, and shoved the pebbles into Charlotte’s hands. “That was Char!” Jasper exclaimed, as she gave him a look.

“No, it wasn’t!” She replied and they both started to bicker back and forth.

“Hey! Can you guys just stop? If that’s what you guys came here to do, then you wasted your time and mine.” I said, before pulling my head from out the window.

“Wait! Wait! We really need to talk to you.”

I huffed and sighed, “What about?”

“You weren’t returning our calls.” Jasper said.

“My phone is dead.” I said, and he proceeded to shake his head and call my phone. I purposely, hit the hang up button. “Hey!”

“My finger slipped. Is that all you had to say?”

“No! We really want you to know how sorry Henry is.” Charlotte said, and I shook my head in response, not wanting to hear her.

Yeah, Henry did forgot about our one year, it hurt. Bad. But I still love him, with every fiber of my being, and not talking to him or seeing everyday is hurting me. If not more than him even forgetting about the anniversary.

“Please, just.. Come to the Man-Cave. Only if you want to.”

“If she wants? We need her to come, or Henry will-” Char having enough hit his shoulder.

“What’s at the Man-Cave?” I asked. “Just stop by when you’re ready. It’ll all make sense later.” She said they finally left. I closed my window and turned around examining my entire room.

Without knowing what else to do I dialed my mom’s phone, and called her.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong, honey?”

“I just.. I need your advice.”

Once I explained what happened to my mom, she helped me with deciding on what to do, and I was going to visit the Man-Cave. I took a shower and washed my face, wanting to look nice.

After changing, I started my walk to Junk N’ Stuff to see what they had in store for me at the Man-Cave.

I looked at the store to see that it had a closed sign on it, which surprised me cause it was really early in the day for it to close.

I walked into the store with confusion written all over my face, and let the door close behind me. I proceeded to walk to the back of the store and get into the elevator.

I closed my eyes tight and held onto the railing of the elevator trying not to fall on the ground like I did before.

Surprisingly the second time around on the elevator, I didn’t fall, but my knees did buckle a little, upon reaching the ground floor.

I’ll take that over brushed bones any day.

I stepped out of the elevator and looked around the lights were dimmed no one was in the Man Cave, it looked like.

“Hello? Hellllo?” I called out, wanting to see if anybody was home, but I sighed and huffed upon getting no reply back. I turned on my heel ready to leave.

“Wait!” Henry replied at the top of the stairs, before jogging down them.

“Henry, what is all this? What happened to the lights? Did Ray forget to pay the light bill?”

“No!” He replied before quickly adding, “Maybe.. Okay, wait. Please don’t leave, I have something to show you.”

“Henry..” I started, but he looked at me with pleading eyes and I couldn’t say ‘no,’ “Fine, I’ll stay.”

He smiled then told me to sit down at the round table, I listened and sat down, watching Henry take the seat in front of me.

He took a bell out of his pocket and rung it, and someone came out dressed up in suit and tie, that person being Jasper.

“Jasper? What are you doing?”

“I am to..uh.. Henry, what am I here for again?” He asked, in a hushed voice, but still loud enough for me to hear it.

“You’re our waiter, Jasper. Did you bring out any menus?”

“You didn’t give tell me that, Hen.” He admitted, and Henry started to get visibly nervous.

“Well, what do you suggest?” Henry asked and Jasper let out and ‘uh’ sound as he thought about it.

“Well there’s this place down the road with killer burgers, but there’s also this place with really good nachos and-”

“I’ll take it from here, Jasper.” Charolette said as she gently pushed Jasper again. “We don’t have menu’s but I can suggest that you have today’s special.”

“What’s the special?” I ask, wanting to play along, I was already there so, why not? It took her a bit but she replied with spaghetti tacos.

“Spaghetti tacos?” I ask, confused and she nodded her head. “That sounds good, but I’d like one of those steaks Henry’s always talking about.” I said, and Char looked over at Henry, they probably weren’t expecting me to ask for it.

“Perfect! We’ll take two.” He said and she nods, then leaves.

“Henry, can we please talk?”

“Not before the entertainment!” He said and rung the bell again and Schowz comes out in his clown outfit.

“Schowz?”

“I am not Schowz, I’m Pippy the Clown!” He exclaimed. “Want to see a magic trick?”

“Sure, why not?”

He took out a deck of cards and fanned it out, and told me to pick one. I took one looked at it and put it back in a random spot of the deck.

He put them back into the deck and took out a random card. “Is this your card?” I shook my head ‘no.’

“This one?” I shook my head again, and he kept trying to guess it, but Henry cleared his throat knowing he was never going to guess it correctly.

“How about a balloon animal, Pippy?” He asked, more annoyed than when Schowz started the act.

He nodded, tossing the deck of cards over his shoulder and took out the balloons. “What kind of animal do you want, little girl?”

“Not a little girl, but how about a dog?” He smiled and begins to make the animal, or tried to at least. He twisted, turned, and tried to form the balloon animal but ended up making something that didn’t quite resemble a dog.

A for effort though.

“Thank you, Pippy. I think we’ve seen enough.” He nods and honks his horn before leaving us alone.

“Henry, we really need to talk.

“Not after-” He started to ring the bell, but took his hand to stop him mid shake of the wrist.

“Henry! Stop, please.” He sighed and apologized.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I just wanted tonight to hopefully make up for what happened the other day.”

“I’m sorry too, for the way I acted and everything. Walking away and refusing to talk to you, it hurt not getting a good morning or good night text every day.” I said, he laughed and I smiled.

“I apologize for missing our one year, that was never my intention. I know we’ll never get it back, but I can promise you; every one after will be better than the last.” He stated, determination in his eyes.

“I have no doubt about that. I forgive you, Henry.” He smiled wide, as we stood up and hugged each other tight, till the point where we heard crying in the background.

It was Ray crying, nose running as he waved his little handkerchief around. “Bravo! Bravo!” I shook my head and laughed.

‘I don’t know how I survived, but I definitely did miss these guys..’

[slashv1xen]

bo sinclair’s reaction to you flinching

fem!reader x lovesick/obsessed bo sinclair

category: fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort

the two of you were having an argument. what about? his anger problems

y/n: “you always do this, you seriously need to get your short temper in check”

bo: “my temper ‘s perfectly fine, ya just looking for reasons to argue”

y/n: “you’re raising your voice now! don’t you understand that yelling like this makes everyone else feel like shit?”

bo: *rolls eyes.* “just shut up, okay?!”

he stepped forward towards you aggressively and you flinched. hard.

when he saw this his eyes flashed with hurt and he took a small step back. his jaw was slightly agape, then hardened as he thought of his actions. ‘is she seriously afraid of me?’

you began breathing heavily, and bo sighed whilst running his hand through his hair. your eyes darted around nervously, waiting for a larger reaction

to your surprise, he walked up to you slowly and hugged you, his muscular arms wrapping around your upper back. his face was in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. his eyes watered slightly, and you mouth went dry as you felt you neck becoming damp

“are you afraid of me? you know i’ll never hurt you, right?” he sniffled, then looked up at you for reassurance, his nose and corners of his eyes red, and his cheeks damp from his hot tears.

you stayed silent for a few seconds, unsure how to comfort him. bo’s never this emotional, so it truly was a sight to see. “i know bo, i’m not afraid of you. i’m sorry, i was just…” you sighed and ran your fingers through his hair, smiling at him reassuringly.

his head fell into the crook of your neck once more, finding comfort in this position. he mumbled a few words, words you couldn’t hear. “what was that, bo?”

his face heated up, you didn’t even need to see it, you could feel the blood rush to his cheeks. “let’s just cuddle together” he mumbled again quietly. you laughed at his shyness, and the two of you made it to the bedroom, and reconciled.

authors note: hi loves, this is my first fanfic and i hope you enjoyed it! sorry if it is rushed, i wrote this at 12am while i was supposed to be sleeping. if you have any feedback, please say i would love to improve my writing. if you have any requests i would also love to complete those. i also feel like this is out of character but it’s all up to interpretation i guess. thank you for reading and have a great day x

[drarrily-we-row-along]

"Come on," Draco said, dragging Harry in the door by the lapels on his expensive suit jacket. He looked delectable and Draco wanted to drown in him.

Harry stumbled, collapsing against Draco, pressing him back against the wall in the hallway, "Mmrmph," he managed as Draco grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

His hands went straight to Harry's buttons, tugging them hard enough that the fabric bit into his fingers, stinging as he ripped Harry's shirt.

"Draco," he gasped, pulling back, something in his voice sounding vaguely concerned.

And he very much didn't want that. Draco dove into kissing him again, groping Harry's back, pressing their bodies more tightly together. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to think about it, didn't want anything but Harry-

"Draco," he repeated, pulling back again and catching Draco's hands. He pressed them back against the wall next to his head trapping him again but not in a sexy way. "Wait," he said, voice soft, and Draco's saw red.

"Don't," he growled. "Harry. Fucking don't," he spit, shaking his head and fighting against Harry's grip on his wrists. "Let me go."

"Hey," he said, achingly tender, and Draco would have punched him if he'd had his hands free. "Can we talk about that?"

"No," he said, "I don't fucking want to talk about it. I want you to fuck me until I can't think straight."

Harry tilted his head down, trying to get Draco to meet his eyes.

Draco was absolutely not having it, he didn't want to look at Harry, didn't want to feel like this. "If you're not going to fuck me, let me go and I'll go find someone who will," he threatened.

Harry sucked a breath through his teeth, "you don't mean that," he said.

He glared at him, hoped that his face conveyed all of the anger and vitriol he was feeling, "Don't tell me what I will or won't do," he said. "Don't pretend to control me. You don't."

His hands were released and Harry took a step back, his torn shirt hanging open, leaving the image of his heaving chest incredibly clear. "Fine," he said, stepping away and turning toward the living room. "You're right," he added over his shoulder, "I don't control you. But I do get to control me, and I don't like being used."

"I'm not trying to use you!" he exclaimed, storming after his boyfriend.

Harry made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He took a long drink before he turned to look at Draco, "What were you trying to do then?"

He threw his arms in the air, "trying to get fucked!"

"In order to avoid talking about what happened at your parents'," Harry said.

"What does it even matter?" he exclaimed. "Why does it matter why I want you to fuck me into incoherency? Especially when it's something that you want too!"

"I just want to talk to you first," Harry said. "Is that too much to ask? To just have a little communication?"

He scowled, rage sitting high in his chest, "Yes. It is too much to ask, I don't want to fucking talk. I thought I was dating a man, not some fucking woman who feels the compulsive need to talk everything to death."

Harry flinched, "Too far," he growled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he snarled, "Have I hurt your delicate feelings?" And he knew he was being an asshole, knew that he was lashing out, but he was so mad, absolutely raging and he couldn't seem to stop himself. He didn't want to stop; he wanted to fight, wanted to hurt.

"I'm not doing this," Harry said. "I'm not having a fight about this."

He stalked over and shoved Harry, both palms flat against his chest, "Fight with me!" he roared. "Yell at me, tell me I'm wrong," his fists hit Harry's chest. "Come on!"

"No," Harry said. "I'm not going to do that. I don't want to treat you that way."

A glass shattered behind him, Draco's magic swirling through him. "I'm leaving."

"Fine," Harry said, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Fine," Draco snapped, stalking away from the other man and heading straight for the door. He summoned a bottle of whiskey and paused on their front step. He had half a mind to go to some club, find some random bloke to sleep with, someone who would really pound him. But decided that Pansy's was actually the place he should crash. She was always good for a fight.

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

Draco woke up the next morning, in Pansy's guest bed, with an awful hangover and an even worse feeling swirling in the pit of his gut. "Shit," he whispered, rubbing his face and trying not to panic.

"Hey, there," Pansy said from the doorway, tossing a hangover potion at his head.

He caught it and uncapped it, draining it and shuddering at the immediate effects. "I fucked up," he managed once most of the symptoms of the whiskey he'd consumed vanished and left only the guilt and shame behind.

She nodded, "I said that last night," she replied flippantly as she sat down next to him on the bed and handed him a cup of coffee. "And then we had a spectacular row about it."

Draco sipped his coffee, "I wanted to have a fight with him."

"Right, but he didn't."

He groaned as the words he'd said to Harry the night before flitted through his mind, "I was awful to him."

"Go home," she said.

He shook his head, "What if he's mad?"

"Then you'll get that fight you were so desperate for," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his.

"What if he's not?" he whispered, the thought somehow even more horrifying.

"Go home," she repeated, nudging him out of bed. "I've got company coming for brunch," she added.

He turned to look at her, "Thanks," he whispered, grateful beyond measure that she would fight with him when he needed an outlet without batting an eye.

"That's what best friends are for," she said with a wink. "Now go."

He trudged home, deciding to walk instead of apparate, trying to work out what he was going to say and mostly failing.

When he came in, Harry looked up from where he was sitting at their kitchen table. Unshaven, puffy red eyes, mouth turned down in a frown, his eyes flickered over Draco's body before meeting his gaze.

"I stayed with Pansy," Draco said softly, by way of apology.

Harry nodded, then looked away from Draco to stare out the window, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

"I didn't sleep with someone else," he continued. Draco couldn't bring himself to walk closer, to come in out of the doorway, he wasn't entirely sure it would be welcome.

The other man winced but said nothing, didn't even nod.

"You're not going to even talk to me?"

"What would you like me to say?" Harry asked, turning his face to look at him, exhaustion written across it plain as day. "Do you want me to tell you that I stayed up all night, waiting for you to come home? Should I tell you that I thought about going out to all of our normal clubs to see if I could find you, but was too afraid that you'd come back and think that I'd left you?" he asked, running a hand through his hair, "Would you like me to tell you that my entire body felt like it was burning up with rage and jealousy but I couldn't-" he broke off and shook his head and looked down at the table. "I couldn't tell you, couldn't do anything with how angry I was because that isn't how I want to treat you. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

At that Harry looked up at him and Draco took a step closer.

"I'm sorry I said those things, I didn't mean them. I was just angry and I wanted to fight with you." He shook his head, "My parents, they just-" he broke off.

Harry reached for him, took Draco's hands in his and drew him in closer before pressing kisses to his knuckles, "I know," he said softly. "I was mad at them too, love. They had no right to speak to you that way."

Tears prickled the backs of his eyes as hurt and resentment build up in his throat and chest at the remembrance of their criticism.

"And I didn't want to hurt you more," he continued. "I didn't want to add to that burden." He tugged Draco down until he had him sitting cradled in his lap like Draco was a toddler instead of a twenty three year old. "I love you. I want to fight for you," he added and Draco buried his face in Harry's neck, his stubble scratching his temple and cheek.

"I love you," he whispered, the feeling so big, so present that it terrified him.

Harry turned his head to kiss Draco's temple, "I love you too. I want to honor you and be on your side."

He nodded, "I want that too," he confessed. "I just get afraid to let myself believe that you want to be on my side. What if I end up needing you?"

His lover chuckled softly, breath ghosting through Draco's hair, "It's a scary thought that maybe we weren't made to do life alone, isn't it?"

"I don't want to need you."

"Why?" he asked softly, hands brushing over Draco's back soothingly.

He held his breath for a long moment before saying, "if I start to need you and then you leave, what will I do?"

With a soft hum, Harry held him closer, "I hear that," he replied. "I'm scared to need you too, but it doesn't change the fact that I do. I could live without you, Draco," he said, "and you could live without me too. But I'd rather live with you," he continued. "I'd rather put in the work to live with you, to love you. My life is better with you in it."

"Mine too," he agreed.

Harry nodded, "Maybe we just take it one day at a time, maybe we just work on trusting that neither of us is going anywhere. Maybe you let me be on your side, and I let you be on mine."

"And then what?" he murmured, fear and hope warring in his heart.

"Then," Harry said, drawing him impossibly closer, "we just keep doing it for the rest of our lives, one day at a time."

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

Read more of my fics

[liillyliilly]

Take Me Back

hinata shouyou x reader words; 1345 synopsis; breaking up and making up with the one that he couldn't let get away from him.

“Take me back to that summer in Brazil playing beach volleyball.” 4 missed calls.

In a language he doesn't call his own but feels like home he leaves voicemails for her. He clears his throat, and says his piece. He knows he should be loving his girlfriend here in Japan, but he's too addicted to the taste of brigadeiros and pavé in her mouth. Brazil warmed his senses up to a new style of play and a new way to love.

He looks at the clock on his wall, it’s a perfect 12 hour time difference. He’s going to bed, she just had lunch. She never calls him back though. She only texts through Whatsapp when she has the time to properly respond, around midnight her time and lunchtime for him.

“I know it's been a while and I haven’t reached out.” 12 missed calls.

She showed him around Rio when no one else could. She was the one who ended up having to endure him when he underwent his first really bad sunburn. He remembers the way she laughed at him for forgetting sunscreen, “tão burro” she kept repeating while rubbing aloe vera on his shoulders. He remembers whining so much that she poked him in the forehead before putting her hands on her hips and chastising him in her Portuguese that was just way too fast for him to catch any of the words.

He had to meekly apologize with a pout, and she forgave him with a kiss.

Maybe that’s why he still sometimes forgot to put on sunscreen when he was playing volleyball.

“Thought I’d regret you like a teenage tattoo but I miss you, baby what can I do?” 14 missed calls.

In Brazil Hinata only got good at swimming because she loved to swim. And because she wore the best swimsuits, but that’s not his only sole reason for getting into swimming. She could swim circles around him, but he still had fun treading the water.

Sometimes, she liked to duck down into the water and tug on his legs. The first time she did that, Hinata thought he would die and that the tug was a result of a shark. The way she just curled into herself and giggled when she popped out of the water and observed his reaction was unparalleled by any other prank he’d gone through. Her joy at his pain was unusual but also intriguing.

Those little games, sometimes back and forth, but mostly her playing them on him was something he missed when he got back to Japan. When he got back, he went into his apartment expecting her to be dancing samba in the living room to afrobeat music. When she wasn’t there, a pang of melancholy strung at his heart. His home here was less alive.

“Why do I shiver thinking about you?” 17 missed calls.

No matter how much his friends and family compared him to the sun, he still thought that he paled in comparison to her. Bright, loud, and glad to be doing her own thing.

There’s always the possibility that he developed some sort of codependency on her. Despite her free-spirit and slightly loner dependencies, Hinata stuck to her like glue. When she would try and slink off into the night to go clubbing, he would bring her in and make traditional Japanese dishes for her to try. Hinata introduced Oikawa to her, which may have been a problem, but she didn’t seem to enjoy Oikawa’s overwhelming embrace of machismo culture. She liked Hinata’s gentle and silent strength over a boastful, loud power.

A guiding hand on her waist rather than pulling her along by the hand. A kiss to the shoulder instead of tearing her away from her conversations for a breathless kiss. Early morning texts to say good morning instead of late night, ‘you up?’ messages. Hinata was everything she wanted, or so Hinata thought.

Apparently, going on three dates in a row wasn’t considered an exclusive relationship to her. So when Hinata saw her with a different guy on the beach, using his towel that she always lent him, tucking her hair behind her ear the way he was supposed to, Hinata didn’t know how else to react.

Throwing a volleyball at the back of the guy’s head was probably not the right move to make, but it was the move he made. The other man just rubbed the back of his head, saying that ‘estrangeiros’ were always a little too obsessed with fine Brazilian women. She just smacked Hinata upside the head, but when he looked at her with sad eyes and with his bottom lip just a little jutted out, she ran a hand through his hair and brought him into an open mouth kiss.

He did have to apologize to her other date, and he ended the conversation by saying that she was still off limits.

“You're still the one I’m thinking about.” 20 missed calls.

Hinata was tired now. It was one in the morning and he was leaving her messages while he laid in bed waiting for sleep to finally take him. Was he desperate? Likely and affirmatively yes.

She told Hinata that long-distance wouldn’t work out, and that he should enjoy finding other people to date back at his home country. He wanted to argue with her, but she said it was final.

She was just there for a while, embracing him in his time in Brazil, and then since he was leaving, she would become merely a part of his memories. Her ease of farewells ripped his heart out. He wished she would’ve fought for them more, fought for him more. But you can’t ask people to stay who don’t want to stay of their own will. So he left, and she said good luck.

When he went back to Japan, he was worried about her. So he did ask Oikawa to check in on her and make sure she was doing okay. Then when Oikawa would send occasional pictures of them at the beach, with their tongues sticking out and hair wet from the ocean water, Hinata wanted nothing more than to be back in Brazil enjoying life. Oikawa would send other photos too, with her permission, ones where Oikawa caught her surfing a wave with practiced skill and ease of enjoyment for the activity, or when she was just laying on the sand stretching in the warmth of the sky.

They were friendly, sending messages frequently during the weeks of his initial return. Then as the months went on, there was less connecting the two, she didn’t respond to messages that quickly. She didn’t update him on life back in Brazil, and he stopped giving her play-by plays of all the games he participated in and who he had met up with.

He got a Japanese girlfriend, and she was nice. But she wasn’t the girl he wanted to go home to everynight.

“Maybe I still want something about you?” 26 missed calls.

There was a saying, from some American poet, someone he learned about but entirely forgot. The saying talked about the influence of yearning. It is the worst poison, best medicine, and key to so many doors.

He was out and about, looking for some lunch now. His sleep was restless. Maybe a fruit sando would be the best solution to the hunger pangs in his stomach. Exchanging cash for the food, he sits outside on the patio, unwrapping the foil and taking a bite.

She finally responded when the time neared midnight in her timezone, texting him. She asked if he knew what he was doing. She asked if he was inebriated last night. She asked if he was still dating his girlfriend. She said that if he was still dating her then he wasn’t being nice. She said she would never date someone who cheats. Hinata screenshots his text exchange with his newly ex-girlfriend.

She sends an eye roll emoji.

He smiles.

Midnight in Brazil. 0 missed calls. One incoming call.

[ilikesillythings]

Hiyaaa would be able to do a luciferxreader please?

" Just a bump in the road, I'm sure.. " Lucifer x Reader

Tws; mentions of violence, stalking, yandere Lucifer FLUFF

You and Lucifer had just gotten into a fairly.. bad argument. Usually you refrained from arguing with your lovely boyfriend, but..

He had seriously injured one of you friends for 'giving you lovey eyes'. At first it was just you expressing how you thought he was too overprotective, then he ended up admitting to stalking you. All the time. Yeah, not a good move on his end.

"Baby..?" You heard your boyfriend call from the other side of your shared room, voice laced with sorrow, and concern, "I'm.. really sorry, I was dumb- and.." he trailed off, and for a moment you swore you could hear him quiety weeping. With a sigh, you called out, "Come in."

Not even a minute passed before the door flung open, a desheviled, guilty looking Lucifer rushing in and throwing his arms around you, sobbing words of apology. "Oh, Luci'.." You mumbled, sighing softly

As much as you wished to remain upset with him -- how could you? He obviously felt like shit for beaking your trust, and was willing to make amends, of course you'd have to go through boundries.. but perhaps that could wait until you calmed your boyfriend down.

Gently, you pulled Lucifer into your lap, "Are-" He began, hiccuping, "Are you still mad at me..?" was his next words, spat out almost pathetically. But, it was that stupid charm that made you adore the fallen angel. "..Yes." you replied with a nod, "What you did.. everything, it was wrong, decietful, and creepy. But, I still love you."

Lucifer's eyes lit up at the last part of your words, "Oh, starshine!!" he exclaimed, kissing your cheek repeatedly, "I'll never stalk you again-- I swear, I swear!". You chuckled at his enthustastic reply, and he kissed your cheek a few more times, now grinning broadly

"How about I take you out somewhere nice!?" he suggested, clearly trying to 'redeem' himself, atone for his bad actions. You thought for a moment, "Hmm.. depends, where?"

For a second, Lucifer opened his mouth to speak, as if he already knew a place. "Crap.. I was gonna suggest Ozzie's, but you're a sinner.." he sighed, running a hand through his blond hair, "I don't really care where we go.. how about you cook something for me?" you returned, hopefully.

He gasped and in swift movements stood, eagerly nodding, before dashing off, out of the room.

Lucifer was a creepy, charming, pathetic man. But he was your creepy, charming, pathetic man, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Neither would you.

[keiwiu]

FANTASTIC

“I thought dessert came after?” “Mhm? I suppose I could make an exception.”

pair: caitlyn x vi context: After going through a rough patch of their relationship, nothing could be more fulfilling than making up. WARNING: sesbian lex, cunnilingus, fingering. pt. 1

By the time I awoke, I could no longer feel the warmth she gave me throughout the night. I sat up, a little disoriented, taking my time to adjust to the surroundings. Where was she? I thought, looking around for any sign of her.

“Cupcake?” I called out, straining my ears to hear her response. “Kitchen!” Caitlyn called back, and I could finally hear the faint sizzling, and the smell of coffee in the air.

I stretched my body languidly, and finally made my way to the kitchen, a soft smile gracing my lips as I watched her move around. My arms reached out to wrap around her waist from behind, burying my face on her neck as I inhaled her scent. It was so comforting, having to hold her like this. 

“Good morning, did you have a good sleep?” Caitlyn asks softly, leaning back against her as she turns off the stove.

“Good morning, and yes I did.” I replied, nodding as I continued to hold her. This moment feels so… domestic, and I crave more of it. Rather than the arguments that seemed to be constant in our relationship these days. Silence enveloped us for a moment, before I finally heard her speak once more.

“Vi?” She spoke quietly, “what I said last night, I… I didn’t mean any of it.” 

I listened to her intently, before nodding, “I… I didn’t mean what I said as well, cupcake. I’m sorry.”

I felt her nod, “you forgive me, right?” She asks quietly. “I do.” I replied, and she finally turned around to face me, wrapping her arms around me.

Another comfortable silence enveloped us, hopefully, things will get better now. My eyes met hers, and time seemed to stand still. It’s so easy to get lost in those sapphire orbs of hers, looking at me so lovingly.

I leaned in, pressing my lips against hers in a gentle manner, almost experimental as I tested the waters. I felt her reciprocate, cupping my cheeks gently as we shared a gentle, yet loving kiss. The kiss lasted for a few moments before we had to part, feeling her forehead pressed against mine in a loving manner. Our gaze met once more, instead of the soft look she gave me earlier, it was replaced by a deep sense of hunger and yearning. 

Her lips met mine once more, and instead of the soft, gentle manner. It was full of hunger and need. My eyes widened in surprise, and it took me a moment to process it, but once I did, I kissed back with the same intensity. I wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her down as we deepened the kiss. 

I felt her hand roam my body, brushing against my bare skin as she trailed hot, wet kisses on my jaw down to my neck. I gasped softly as she bit my clavicle, before soothing it with her tongue, and moved to place more marks all over my neck. She kissed me once more, hunger fueling her actions as she claimed my lips.

Caitlyn’s POV

“Let me have you,” I whispered against her lips, my hands tugging the hem of her shirt, “please.” 

She nodded, panting softly, “yes.” she added, intoxicated from the pleasure I’m giving her.

My hand made quick work on tugging off her shirt, tossing it somewhere in the kitchen, trailing kisses on her neck, down to the valley of her breast where I cupped one tit, and toyed with the other using my mouth.

I could hear her pant, fingers tangled on my hair as I swirled my tongue around her nipple, and bit it teasingly. Then I switched to the other one, giving it the same attention as I did to the other. 

Satisfied with how red it was, I slowly progressed down, tugging her pants off, exposing her cunt to my hungry gaze. I didn’t waste any second as my mouth enveloped her wetness, a gasp escaping her lips as her hand tightened around my hair. “Cupcake.” She called out, a mix of gasps and a moan.

“Yes, Vi?” I replied sweetly, my mouth teasing her clit, alternating between sucking and licking, “tell me what you need.”

She could only muster gibberish as she slowly fell apart, gripping the edge of the counter. I grabbed one of her legs, placing it over my shoulder before my fingers joined my mouth. Teasing her needy hole, before inserting one finger in, curling it to hit her sweet spot.

“Cupcake—” I heard her moan, head thrown back in pleasure, fingers gripping my hair tightly as I continued assaulting her sweet spot, while also working her clit for more stimulation. Sliding another finger in, I felt her legs shake as I intensified my movements, she was struggling to hold herself up. 

“Cupcake, I’m close.” She whimpered, and I felt her walls clenched around my fingers. I gasped softly as she pulled me in deeper out of instinct, crying out my name as she came in my mouth. 

I let out a quiet moan as I licked up her release, spreading her legs wider as I stuffed my face on her cunt, my eyes meeting hers as I lapped her up greedily.

“Cupcake, stop.” She whined quietly, trying to push my face away, she must be overstimulated. 

I hesitantly complied, removing myself from between her thighs, and came up to kiss her, giving her a taste of herself.

“I thought dessert came after?” She whispered against my lips teasingly, having finally recovered.

“Mhm? I suppose I could make an exception.” I whispered back, kissing her deeply as we took it to the bedroom.

[kjack89]

Timeless

Because it may have been almost a month, but what is time, anyway.

The air in the antique shop was thick with dust, and Combeferre coughed into the crook of his arm before giving Enjolras a look. “Remind me again what we’re looking for,” he said, picking a particularly tacky snowglobe off of the shelf without bothering to hide his look of revulsion.

“A gift for Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated for easily the twelfth time as he examined the spines of a stack of ancient books with yellowed pages.

“Right,” Combeferre said, replacing the snowglobe and sharing a knowing glance with Courfeyrac. “Why?”

Enjolras glanced up at them and away again. “Does it matter?”

Courfeyrac leaned against a shelf that creaked ominously, and he hastily straightened. “Well, it’s not Christmas,” he reasoned.

“Not Grantaire’s birthday, either,” Combeferre added.

“And no judgment, Enj, but it’s a little late for Valentine’s Day.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together, glaring a garish painting of a sad clown as if it had personally offended him. “It’s an apology gift,” he said sourly, staring determinedly away from Courfeyrac and Combeferre so that he didn’t have to see the look they inevitably gave each other.

He was already familiar with it.

“Uh-oh,” Courfeyrac said, with barely suppressed glee masquerading as concern. “What are you apologizing for?”

Enjolras sighed. “I said something stupid.”

“No shit,” Combeferre said, uncharacteristically blunt, not that Enjolras didn’t likely deserve it. “But what specifically?”

Enjolras sighed again, raking a hand through his blond curls before telling them reluctantly, “We were watching some movie, or at least, it was on in the background while I was doing work. Some kind of rom-com thing and it ended with the couple old and happy together, and Grantaire made some comment about how maybe that’d be us someday and—”

Courfeyrac stared at him, all traces of amusement vanished. “Don’t tell me.”

“I just pointed out that statistically—”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre and Courfeyrac groaned simultaneously. 

Enjolras winced. “I mean, the world’s probably going to be uninhabitable long before we’re elderly—”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes so hard it looked physically painful. “Mm, yeah, whisper that in his ear, see how it goes.”

“I didn’t realize he was trying to be romantic,” Enjolras muttered, the tips of his ears flaring as red as his favorite hoodie as he continued to avoid meeting Combeferre or Courfeyrac’s eyes. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Combeferre sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Enjolras huffed another sigh. “And now I need to make it up to him,” he said, determined to force the conversation back to something productive.

Combeferre just gave him a look. “And you decided an antique shop was the best place to find a gift because…?”

Shrugging, Enjolras picked a small ceramic ornament off the shelf, turning it over in his hands as he tried to figure out what the hell it was supposed to be. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He loves this place, so I figured there must be something here worth getting.”

Courfeyrac made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hastily-stifled cackle. “Pretty sure he likes the bar next door better,” he said.

“Probably,” Enjolras said, “but I can’t exactly get that for him, can I?”

Though at the rate he was going, that might actually be the only gift big enough to make it up to Grantaire.

“Fair enough,” Combeferre said, ever the voice of reason. “Why don’t we split up, cover more ground?”

Enjolras made a face. “Why does this feel like the start of a slasher movie?”

Courfeyrac smirked. “Probably because if you don’t succeed, your relationship’s going to be the first thing to die?”

Enjolras glared at him. “Thanks for your support,” he said dryly.

“Anytime,” Courfeyrac said, saccharine sweet.

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he turned to survey the assorted crap that evidently passed for antiques. He knew he should be more grateful that his friends were willing to put up with him and his now decades of emotional incompetence, but in his defense, they didn’t have to be such assholes about the whole thing.

Though, in this case, Enjolras definitely deserved it.

He scowled as he drifted somewhat aimlessly down the aisle, not even sure what he was looking for. His eyes fell on a tattered cardboard box perched precariously on the end of one shelf, or more accurately, on the neon green postcard taped to the front.

PHOTOS AND LITHOGRAPHS, it proclaimed. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH.

Enjolras had no idea who in their right mind would buy random old photos of people they’d never met or places they’d never been, but he intrigued enough that he pulled the box off the shelf, shuffling through the untidy stacks until he pulled one out at random.

It was a black and white photo of two young men in dinner standing next to each in front of an old-fashioned car. He flipped it over and he could just make out, written very faintly on the back, ‘Before the big dance, 1944.’

He frowned as he turned the photo back over, but before he could toss it back in the box, he caught sight of the familiar half-smile the shorter of the two men wore. A smile that Enjolras had kissed more times than he could count, and without warning, he could see it in his head like a memory he didn’t even know he’d had.

“Hey, kid,” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras that little smile as he leaned against the fence.

“Don’t call me kid,” Enjolras said, breathless. “I���m eighteen, and besides, I graduate soon.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, raking his eyes slowly down Enjolras’s body, his smile sharpening. “Besides, you don’t look much like a kid tonight.”

Still, Enjolras hesitated. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. I know you’re shipping out soon, and I doubt you want to spend your time with a bunch of kids…”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “Didn’t we just establish you’re not a kid?” he said easily. “Besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on. Especially if Courfeyrac spikes the punch again.”

Enjolras half-smiled at the memory, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wish I was going with you.”

“I don’t,” Grantaire said flatly. “Hard enough fighting the Nazis without having to worry about you getting shot or blown up.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “You’ll write?”

“As often as I can,” Grantaire promised, reaching for his hand. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

It was a hollow promise – they both knew too many young men who would never return from the war in Europe. But before Enjolras could point that out, Grantaire dropped his hand, straightening. “Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras,” he said with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

“Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras’s mother said. “I didn’t realize you were going tonight.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Thought I’d give the kids a little treat,” he said easily.

Enjolras’s father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “And hopefully keep them out of trouble,” he said.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, winking at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.

“Wait, before you go, I want to get a picture!” Enjolras’s mother said, and Enjolras groaned.

“Ma, not tonight—”

“Just one,” she said, and Enjolras’s father frogmarched them both over to pose awkwardly in front of the car. “See, all done.”

Enjolras just sighed and looked at Grantaire. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.

Grantaire grinned. “I’ll make sure I bring him back in one piece,” he promised Enjolras’s parents, who both just smiled and waved.

Enjolras and Grantaire made it all the way down the sidewalk and around the corner before Grantaire pressed Enjolras up against the side of a garage to kiss him. “Sorry,” he said. “You really do look good, kid.”

“So do you,” Enjolras murmured, and Grantaire kissed him once more before releasing him.

“What do you think?” he said, casually. “Make an appearance at the dance and then you can come back to mine to say goodbye properly?”

If Enjolras had his way, he wouldn’t say goodbye at all. But since that wasn’t an option, he settled for nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”

Back in the antique shop, Enjolras shook his head, feeling almost dizzy as the memory – or whatever it had been – faded, leaving a strange sort of buzzing sound in his ears. He set the photo down with trembling fingers, and then, like an idiot, reached back into the box again for another.

This time he emerged with a color photograph that looked like someone had torn it out of a book based on the caption in tiny print underneath the picture. ‘Portrait of a young man writing a letter,’ the caption read, dry and boring like any art book Enjolras had the misfortune of flipping through, ‘ca. 1650. Artist unknown.’

Enjolras frowned down at the picture, letting out a sigh of relief that it didn’t look anything like Grantaire.

At least, until he realized that it did look, at least a little bit, like himself.

Enjolras’s chest felt tight as he scanned Grantaire’s latest missive. Where most of his friends sent updates on how their efforts were going to liberate Enjolras from the cursed marriage his parents had foisted upon him, Grantaire’s alone were like a balm in these dark times. They weren’t full of hope, as Enjolras would never expect from the cynic, but they were full of certitude, of no promises but instead guarantees that no man could stand between Grantaire’s blade and Enjolras.

“Patience is a virtue neither of us possess, but I must beg you for what little you can spare me,” the latest letter read. “Dark is the night but soon we shall be reunited in the dawn. And should we fail, know that my heart will belong to you for the rest of time, and none may cleave my soul from yours when we depart this earth.”

Enjolras traced his finger over the scrawled ‘R’ at the bottom of the page, lifting his finger to brush against his lips. Only then did he sit up in his chair, straighten his shoulders, and grab his own quill to begin to write his response.

Again, Enjolras resurfaced in the antique store, and he reached out automatically to grab the shelf, steadying himself against it. His head swam, and he had no explanation for what was going on, save for the obvious that he’d finally cracked under pressure and lost his entire mind.

It didn’t feel like he was going crazy, though. He was still him, still in this cursed store, still trying to find some kind of apology gift and instead unearthing bizarre memories of, what, alternate lives?

A hysterical giggle rose in his throat and he did his best to tamp it down, instead reaching for the box to return it to its spot on the shelf. 

Instead, he caught sight of a lithograph on the top of the pile of pictures, a charming little scene of what could only be a Parisian café a century or so ago, and despite now having two very distinct reasons to know this was a bad idea, he lifted it out of the box.

He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised at what happened next.

Enjolras squinted up at the sun, too high in the sky already for how much he had to accomplish that day.

But as he strode past a café, someone hailed him, delaying him all the further. “Enjolras! Join me, won’t you.”

Enjolras scowled at the dark-haired man seated at a table outside of the café, his chin propped in his hand as he grinned at him.. “I see you are putting your morning to good use,” Enjolras said sourly. “Alas that some of us have more important matters to which we must attend.”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “And yet what may be more important than sating your hunger and thirst?” he asked with feigned innocence. “Even gods take the time to feast with mortals.”

“I suppose it is well that I am not a god, then.”

He turned to leave but paused when Grantaire called after him, “All the more reason to join me, then. As I doubt I merit the company of gods regardless.”

Enjolras sighed, turning back to again refute him, but before he could say anything, Grantaire straightened, his grin sobering into something more genuine, something that made Enjolras’s chest feel inexplicably warm. “Please,” he said, something soft and almost sweet in the word. “Would the world cease to spin should you spend a half hour letting someone take care of you?”

“Is that what this is?” Enjolras asked, forgetting to be harsh.

Grantaire shrugged. “A first attempt, at least.” His grin returned. “How am I doing thus far?”

“That remains to be seen,” Enjolras said, hesitating for only a moment before, reluctantly, sitting down across from him. “Very well. You have a half hour. Do your best.”

“For you, I always do,” Grantaire said, his voice low, and Enjolras was suddenly aware that the warmth on his cheeks had nothing to do with the sun.

At least this time, he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse upon returning to himself, which was a small sort of comfort. He did feel a little shaky, which probably explained how his renewed attempt at putting the box on the shelf instead sent it falling to the floor.

Enjolras groaned as he bent to pick up all the pictures and shove them back in the box, hoping this didn’t mean he’d suddenly experience a hundred memories at once. Luckily, he remained entirely in the present, and he hastily gathered all the photos, placing them back in the box, which he successfully returned to the shelf.

Only then did he notice a photo he’d missed, and he sighed again as he bent to pick it up, glancing automatically at it. This was a color photo, much more recent if a little out of focus, of two older men kissing, and he flipped it over to see if anything was on the back. 

In bold Sharpie strokes, someone had written ‘FINALLY! Fifty years in the making. June 29, 2015.’

Enjolras felt the breath catch in his throat. Three days after Obergefell.

He waited for the memory to overwhelm him yet again, but this time, it didn’t come, and he frowned down at it, a little surprised. Maybe it was because neither man particularly resembled him or Grantaire.

Or maybe it was because he and Grantaire had to live this memory themselves.

It was a stupid thought that somehow still had tears pricking in Enjolras’s eyes, and he shook his head, starting to return the photo to the box before hesitating.

He knew what he needed to give Grantaire.

— — — — —

“I bought these.”

Grantaire glanced up from where he was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Hell of an opening,” he said mildly, sitting up as Enjolras sat down next to him. He accepted the paper bag that Enjolras held out, his brow furrowing, and he carefully shook out the four pictures Enjolras had purchased from the antique store, fanning them out across the table.

He blinked down at them and back up at Enjolras, his brow furrowing, just slightly. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “You bought four random pictures?”

Enjolras jerked a nod and then took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”

Grantaire looked up at him, his expression neutral. “I’m listening.”

Enjolras wet his lips before telling Grantaire, “I meant what I said.”

Grantaire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok,” he said, with something like patience, “maybe we need to first circle back to what the concept of an apology means—”

But Enjolras refused to be deterred from his point. “You and I both know that we aren’t guaranteed to get old together, let alone separately,” he said, and Grantaire fell silent, something tightening in his expression, something that Enjolras wanted desperately to smooth away with his fingertips. “Hell, we’re not even guaranteed to make it to next week, let alone past November, or five years from now or what have you.”

“Stirring oration as always, Enj—”

“But what I should have said,” Enjolras continued, “and didn’t, is that it doesn’t matter how much time we have together. What matters is that we have any time at all.” He reached for Grantaire’s hand, a little surprised when Grantaire let him take it. “Whether it’s five years or fifty years, any time that I have with you will be worth it. I don’t know if we’re going to get a happy ending, but I’ll be damned if we don’t get a happy right now with each other. And that– that’s what I should have said.”

He had faltered a little at the end, but it was worth it regardless for the look in Grantaire’s eyes, for the small half-smile that lifted just one corner of his mouth, for the way his fingers tightened around Enjolras’s.

Enjolras took another deep breath before telling him, “I went to the antique store to get you a present to say that I’m sorry, but instead I got these.” He gestured at the pictures still spread across the coffee table. “Something about them– I can’t explain it, but I look at them, and I see us.” He shrugged, a little helplessly. “I know that between the two of us, I’m the believer, but I have to admit, until I saw these, I don’t know if I truly believed that it really is me and you, forever. Whatever that forever ends up looking like.”

He squeezed Grantaire’s hand before telling him, “So I didn’t get these for you. I got them for me, to remind myself of that. Because the only gift that I can give you that matters worth a damn is time.”

Grantaire’s smile was soft and his eyes were just a little bit wet, and he shook his head. “Enjolras—”

He broke off as if he couldn’t quite decide what to say, and Enjolras added, “And I really am sorry that I didn’t say this the first time around.”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Well,” he managed, his voice thick, “you said it now. C’mere.” He tugged Enjolras to him, reaching up with his free hand to cup Enjolras’s cheek, to brush his thumb along his jawline as he leaned in to kiss him. “I love you.”

Enjolras kissed back before telling him, “I love you, too.”

Grantaire kissed him once more, his lips curving into a smile against Enjolras���s before he leaned back to ask, innocently, “So does that mean you didn’t actually get me a present, or…?”

Enjolras sighed, the exasperated, endlessly fond sigh of a man in love with the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever met. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

And for once, Grantaire did. After all, they had time to worry about presents later.

They had all the time in the world.

[steviewashere]

Misplaced Emotion

Rating: General CW: None Apply To This One! Tags: Established Relationship, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, And Gets One, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Cuddling, Arguing, Making Up, Hurt/Comfort

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is being able to say your sorry and mean it."

💕—————💕

Robin’s leaving for college this morning, Eddie knows this. He said his goodbyes yesterday. But Steve is saying his goodbyes today.

What this means, though, is that he needs to be prepared for Steve to come home. He knows already that he’s going to be an emotional mess. Will probably have some things that need to be said. Will probably put his sadness in the wrong place. Eddie’s well aware of how Steve functions in his emotions; it’s not always the prettiest thing to behold. It’s going to be a chilling September afternoon.

Though, when Steve does walk through their apartment, he’s oddly silent. Barely makes a noise with taking his jacket off or stacking his shoes on the rack. Doesn’t puff or groan or growl, like Eddie thought he would. No, he just slides into the living room with a completely glazed-over sheen to his face, limbs tense and awkward as he moves around the coffee table, completely silent when he sits down.

Eddie hesitates, “How’d it go, sweetheart?”

Steve doesn’t look over at him. His eyes set on his hands. Fingers picking at one another. He chews on his lips and shrugs. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he states. His voice is far away and quiet. Almost lost in the air between them. He collapses back into the couch, moving to tuck himself into a little ball on his side, head pillowed on the arm of the sofa.

“Hm,” Eddie hums. “Y’know, you got back earlier than I thought you would. Thought that she didn’t have to leave until four?” He looks at his watch very briefly. “It’s only two,” he points out.

“Eds,” Steve sighs. “I just said I don’t want to talk about it. Need…Silence, I think.” His eyes are so far away, Eddie nearly fears the distance they’ve travelled to. What happened, he wants to ask, but knows better than to attempt it.

Though, “Are you sure, Stevie? I can turn on a movie or something or maybe make—“

“Eddie!” Steve snaps. Eddie startles in his cushion, face immediately souring at Steve’s tone. He crosses his arms over his chest, broadening his shoulders in the face of Steve’s sharp glare. There’s some clearance in his eyes now. Eddie’s not very pleased with how they’re on him, though. “I don’t want to talk! Just—I just need some time to think!”

“What—Steve,” Eddie growls. If Steve’s going to be pissy, then Eddie can shoot it right back. “Why are you getting angry at me? I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay! This isn’t how you are normally and—“

Instead of listening anymore, Steve abruptly shifts on the couch. Sitting up ramrod straight. Face away from Eddie. Huffing as he stands up. And then he leaves the room entirely, shuffling down the hallway. He slams their bedroom door hard enough that it ricochets the wall behind Eddie.

On any other day, Eddie would dignify Steve’s anger by letting him have his space. But this isn’t a normal day. And this isn’t how Steve even voices his anger, usually. Typically, he’s the type to immediately go sit in their room, contemplating what happened, only reappearing some time later to explain what’s going on in his head. This isn’t him. And something is wrong. And Eddie knows it.

He goes to the farthest door in the hallway. Shuffling absently in front of it, raising a hand to land on the doorknob. And that’s when he hears Steve…crying. Nothing soft or sniffling or quiet, which is typical Steve behavior. No, this is almost wailing. It’s clawing out of him, nails raised at his tender skin, breaking through with blood and bones. The kind that sounds like it hurts to even travel through his throat.

Eddie opens the door. Gently, softly as to not bring attention to himself. He sidelines the bed completely, instead crossing into their attached bathroom. It’s odd to pretend that he’s using the bathroom, just to make sure he doesn’t upset Steve anymore.

But also, if he’s honest with himself, he’s sort of feeling like a massive piece of shit. On one hand, for pushing and prodding at information that Steve doesn’t have or won’t give. And on the other, for not taking care of Steve when he needed it. Why couldn’t I just shut up, he begs to wonder. Because that’s part of it, right? He pissed Steve off by not silencing his yapping. Always one to aggravate the dragon.

When he goes back into their room, he settles tensely on the edge of their mattress. Strips out of his pants, turns on the bedside lamp, sets his alarm for a few hours later, and settles on top as if going to sleep. Steve’s next to him still. Whimpering into his palm. Laying on his side, curled into himself, hands tucked under his chin. He jostles the bed with every small sob that escapes him, but he attempts to bite it back. As if he doesn’t want Eddie to hear. Which, that’s pretty usual for him, but it still makes Eddie ache in a terribly painful way.

He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply, feigning to pretend. Just imagine the room silent and dark. That he’s actually tired and wants to take a nap. Miraculously, it works. He drifts off, still aching and yearning to soothe Steve, still listening in on the cries and the sniffles and the gross wet coughs. But he falls asleep.

The next time Eddie wakes, it’s to his alarm blaring on the table. He clumsily reaches out a hand and silences it. Groaning, running a hand down his face, grimacing at the drool on his fingertips. He’s rolled onto his side at one point and shifts onto his back once more. But as soon as his bleary eyes focus on the space around him, he yelps, freaked out.

Above him, staring at him with the saddest eyes in the world, is Steve. His face is swollen and his eyes are wet, bloodshot, absolutely devastating. Steve’s breath is stuttering hot and cold over Eddie’s face. There are tear tracks sizzled into his skin. A shiny spot of snot at the edge of his nostril. Like he just finished crying.

“Christ,” Eddie breathes. “Hi, baby. Scared me.” He wrestles one of his hands from under the comforter, running it up the length of Steve’s spine, resting his fingers at the nape of his neck, and toys with his hair. “Give a guy a warn—“

“I’m sorry,” Steve cries out. He hiccups a sigh and coughs on the sob at the end of his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Eddie whispers. He carefully sits up, hand still in place, Steve moves with him. His other palm goes to Steve’s left bicep, squeezing with subtle soothe. “Hey, honey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“But I was so mean and awful and I didn’t—“ Steve coughs again, gagging with it. His breath shudders in his chest. Face going splotchy red all over again. “—I didn’t—I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

Eddie tentatively wraps his arms around Steve, tugging him into his chest, cushioning his head under his chin. Steve turns into his shirt, sobbing loud and jagged right where his heart is. It hurts, hurts, hurts. He shushes the best he can, fingers splayed over his warm back, running in soothing stripes up and down his spine. “I know, baby. It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it,” he assures. Because that’s true. Steve acted on impulse, matching where his emotion was already high strung and set. “I’m sorry, too,” Eddie whispers, “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Steve only cries harder at that.

They sway lightly from side to side. Eddie’s torso is cramping from his twisted position and knows with how cramped up Steve is, he isn’t faring any better. But still, they rock and sway. He hums and takes deep breaths, just so that Steve has something to follow, to come back to from however far away he is.

And when Steve only hiccups, his little breaths short and forced from his nose, does Eddie stop moving them. “You with me again, sweetheart?” He asks.

A nod against his chest. The silence stretching between them, sans Steve’s breathing. Eddie briefly wonders if this is it. If this is the only thing he’s going to get out of Steve. And knows, that though it’s not the best thing in the world, he’ll take barely anything over nothing.

But then, “She left already,” Steve mutters.

Eddie hums in question.

In tentative, slow movements, Steve pulls away from him. His head is tilted down. Hair hanging limp in his face. Eddie brings a palm to his hairline, guiding it back to the crest of his skull, holding his hand there. It’s weight hot and grounding against Steve’s scalp. With the hair out of the way, Eddie can see the sad, yet contemplative look on Steve’s face.

“Robin,” Steve murmurs, “she left for college already. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“What?” Eddie squeaks. Because that can’t be true.

Steve nods solemnly. “Yeah,” he whispers, “hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Why didn’t she say she was leaving early? That’s—��� Eddie huffs, now is not the time for him to angry. “I’m sorry, love bug.”

“Drove all the way out there at the ass crack of dawn. Got to her house just in time, or so I thought. But when I knocked on her door?” He asks rhetorically. Eddie nods, though he doesn’t think Steve actually sees him. Steve huffs. “Her mom answered. Saying that Robin already left. Said that she had to leave early to make it to her flight.” He shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

Eddie brings his other palm up and rests it on the side of Steve’s face, cupping his jaw, thumb sweeping over his soft cheek. Steve nuzzles into the hold, eyes closing, sighing from his nose. A stray tear drips down onto the tip of Eddie’s thumb. He wants to crumble at the sight.

“She’ll call,” he tells Steve. “She’ll apologize and find a way to make it up to you.”

“What if—“ Steve chews on his lip. His voice is raspy with emotion when he speaks again. “—What if she just got tired of me?”

Eddie squishes Steve’s cheek, holding him steadfast. “No way,” he rushes to say. Heated with it. “No, Steve, she didn’t. Baby, she was a sobbing mess yesterday about how much she’s going to miss you. All it was was poor planning, that’s all.” He pets Steve’s hair again, smoothing it flatter to his head, tickling his ear with the dry skin of his palm. “That’s all it was, baby. She loves you so much. She’ll call, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, small.

“Yes, Steve,” he assures. “She has our phone number. Robin will call.”

Steve nods in Eddie’s hold. He’s practically boneless, exhausted. He swallows hard. “I really am sorry about how I acted,” he murmurs, “that wasn’t fair of me to put the target on you.”

“Forgiven,” Eddie whispers. He pulls Steve back in, tucking him safely and securely into his body heat. Melding them together. “I love you too much to be angry about something like that. You’re okay.”

With that, Steve shakes again in his embrace. Wetting the skin on Eddie’s neck. He swallows and tilts his eyes to the ceiling. He’ll cry later, now is not the time. He holds to Steve tighter. Doesn’t want to let him go again.

💕—————💕

[kasagia]

The last time

Pairing: William "Billy" Russo x fem! reader Summary: You're done being the less important one. The one who always had to conform to the big asshole and playboy Mr. Billy Goddamn Russo. And this time you really promised yourself that it's over... but is it? Wairning(s): Billy is toxic, but he loves the reader; the reader loves Billy, but everyone is fucked up; fight; swearing; blood; the reader is a doctor; the reader and Billy argue, but both cannot live without each other; violence; weapon; Inspired by: Taylor Swift - The Last Time (Feat. Gary Lightbody) Nonsense from me: I'm so happy I was able to write this in this week. I hope you like it. 💙🖤 P.S. The next oneshot will be with Darkling (Would've, Could've, Should've), but I don't know when I'll be able to write it. 😅 Word count: 6,5k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen

Find myself at your door Just like all those times before I'm not sure how I got there All roads, they lead me here

When you opened the door, you didn't expect that instead of finding the pizza delivery guy, you would find Billy Russo... or rather, what was left of him.

The hood over his head and his slightly lowered head were unable to hide the scars on his face. You notice that over time they have become... less visible... at least not as angry red as they were in the media after they published the fugitive's photo.

Yeah. You saw the news. (And talked to Maria.) You know what happened.

Maybe you didn't want to deal with a man who had broken your heart many times over the years, but you couldn't just pretend he didn't exist.

His face, his name, even that stupid nickname, Jigsaw, were everywhere. In the newspapers, on TV, on the internet, in your old photo albums and even in your fucking dreams. And now he was standing in front of you. The shell that remains of a one and only Billy Russo.

"May I... may I come in?" he whispered, staring at you uncertainly. You promised yourself that you would slam the door on that scarred face when he came to you... but in your toughts he was more... arrogant... just like he used to be.

"I... I'm not sure." the words come out of you as you look at him, trying to recover from the shock. You thought seeing him in person wouldn't do anything to you. How stupid you were...

"Please... I just want to talk to you. Give me five minutes and then you can sand me back to hell."

You bite your lip. You saw on the news that the Punisher and Jigsaw had teamed up... if Frank could forgive him enough to work with him and let him near Maria and the kids, you could give him that five damn minutes, before you try to kick his ass.

"Only five minutes, Russo." you say as you let him in.

Closing the door behind him, you wonder how far you've fallen by letting him back into your home… but from the way he looks around your place hesitantly, avoiding looking at you, you wonder who's really lost their dignity here.

I imagine you are home In your room, all alone And you open your eyes into mine And everything feels better

"You... you look beautiful." he says as he finally looks at you for the first time since your… rather tumultuous breakup.

"You wanted to talk." you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the dresser and stare intently at the man sitting on your couch.

"I… wanted to come to you after… all this shit. I… I could have lost my fucking memories somehow, but I think you've embedded yourself in my brain more than anything else. I went to your apartment, but you moved away." he admits, avoiding your heavy gaze to stare at the coffee table. You see a sad smile on his face as he stares at the pile of books and papers that were almost always present in any available space in your apartment. Some things don't change.

"I did." you say, closing some of your patient files from him so he can't analyse where exactly you work after you quit your job at Anvil as their private doctor. You collect papers and put them on your desk, turning your back to him. "Some people would get the hint. Did Frank throw out what was left of your brain by smashing your head against a mirror?"

You know it's a low move on your part, but you can't resist making him suffer. And by the way you suddenly feel his warm body behind you, you know that turning your back on your former marine and murderous ex wasn't such a smart idea. You swallow and turn around, crossing your arms to stare defiantly at him.

He is angry. You see it in his eyes. For some strange reason, instead of throwing you against the wall, he decides to close his eyes and take a few calming breaths.

And the part of you that still cares about him reminds you that he never laid a finger on you. Screaming, shouting, verbal threats were options. However, he never lost his temper enough to actually try to hurt you... but maybe you should stop testing your luck after all?

"Well... I... I think he finally put something into my empty head." you shift your puzzled gaze to him. You thought Frankie and Billy would go back to fighting like vicious dogs, trying to kill each other. Apparently, things have changed more than you originally expected.

"And here I thought that no one would be able to get through your thick skull."

"I'm going to therapy." he blurts out. You frown. Well, this wasn't at all what you expected when you saw Billy again. "To… sort it all out." he says, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Well… good for you. But I assume you didn't come here just to brag about it."

Billy shakes his head and takes a step towards you, watching your reaction. You tense up, but then relax as your body subconsciously takes in the scent of his perfume, which after all reminds you of (ironically) safety.

"No. I don't. I... I'm here to ask you if..."

"Stop it. Whatever you are about to ask me, my answer is no. I don't want to have anything to do with you." you interrupt him before he makes any suggestions for you to consider. "Not after what you did to me, to Frankie, to Castles. I'm glad you're on the mend, but I don't want to know you, Russo."

"Y/N, please..." he sighs pleadingly and reaches up to cup your cheek. You grab his hand before you can feel his fingers on you in a tender gesture that so often melted your heart for him.

"DON'T... just leave. Do one damn thing for someone else's sake and just leave. Let me be as I was." you say, glaring at him and internally cursing yourself for the tremble in your voice.

Somehow you win this battle of hurt glances because the next thing you hear in the room after his heavy breathing is the door slamming as he leaves. You are left alone. You're shaking with the emotions that are flowing through you now. You put your hand to your mouth and cried quietly.

Billy fucking Russo always had to come and mess up your life like a damn master.

And right before your eyes I'm breaking, no past No reasons why Just you and me

You come back from your shift at the hospital to find Frankie sitting outside your apartment door.

"One more such trip to the past, and I swear I will take a dog from the shelter and threaten you with it. What do you want, Frank?" you ask, crossing your arms and glaring at the Punisher.

"Nice to see you too, Doc. Have you finally learned how to sew people up, or are you still torturing them?" he asks with a mischievous smile, standing up and walking over to you.

"It was only once in Afghanistan, and in my defence, you were squirming like a dog in a nettle. Besides, it's not my fault you fell on knives because you stumbled like an idiot after the action was over."

The man laughs and pulls you into a hug. "It's been too long. Too bad you fucking ran away from Russo all the way here, I hate coming back to this town. By the way, Maria and kids missed you too."

"I spoke to them just yesterday on Skype. Besides, somehow this distance doesn't stop you from harassing me. And not only you. Billy was here two weeks ago." you say, leading him into your apartment. You give him a stern look as he walk inside. He rolls his eyes at me but bends down and takes off his shoes before walking further in.

"I thought so. He's been looking like shit for two weeks. I'm sure he now consists of 70 percent alcohol. Lisa wondered if his corpse on the couch was starting to decompose enough for Maria to let her perform an autopsy on him." you smile at the mention of your goddaughter. That's your little girl.

"If you tell me you're here to stand up for him, I'll kick you out of my apartment. The idea of letting him be part of your family again after all this shit he has done is sick. You're a fucked-up man, Frankie."

"Y/N, it's not what it looks like."

"Frank damn it, he almost helped kill your family! If I hadn't let Maria talk me into going with you that damn morning to the Central Park and forgave him after seeing those fucking eyes of a broken puppy, he probably wouldn't have lifted a finger to save Maria, kids and you!"

"I thought so too, so I shattered up his face, and we did a lot of shitty, sick things to each other, but believe me, it's not that simple. This fucking mess around us... is partly his fault, but not in the way we first assumed. He's still my brother… he's still our Bill."

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. You were fed up with it all. All this drama that's going on around Russo. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't have been better if they'd never called you in to stitch up that damn Marine and you'd never met him...

"I don't care, Frank. He hurt you. For money. He can go and keep selling himself like a whore." you say bitterly and walk past the man standing in the middle of your living room. You go to the bar and pour yourself a glass of something stronger.

"You can't be serious."

"I fucking am, Castle." you reply dispassionately, drinking the alcohol in a gulp. You pour yourself another glass and sit on the couch, watching the conflicted man in front of you.

"Come on. It's you and Billy. You always came back to each other. After every shit, big fight and breakup. Like a damn Ross and Rachel."

"For the last time I'm telling you, stop fucking watching Friends with Lisa and Maria, it's our show. Besides, this isn't damn Friends or any soap opera, Frankie. Billy fucked up. Ultimately. Nothing will change that, so just fuck off or accept it. God! You're taking our breakup worse than that cold bastard." you laugh bitterly and finish your glass. You set it down on the coffee table with a bang and run a hand through your hair. No. You won't get drunk again because of that damn asshole.

"Bullshit. He's a mess… I've never seen him like this."

"Do I look like I care?" you ask him, raising an eyebrow defiantly.

"You fucking liar, you couldn't stop loving him overnights."

You don't answer right away. He was right. You couldn't stop loving someone who was so deeply embedded in your soul, who saw all of you and became a part of your heart so easily... but loving Billy hurt you more than staying away from him. And for once in your life, you just want to feel at peace and be somewhat happy. Even without Bill by your side.

"If you want something, you better fucking say it or get the hell out." you say, not looking at him as your attention is drawn to your hands instead of the man standing in front of you.

He sighs, tightening his grip on the chair. You see his white knuckles, and for a moment, you think he's going to break the back of the chair. He sighs suddenly and relaxes his muscles, staring at you with a less angry look.

"I need your help."

This is the last time I'm asking you this Put my name at the top of your list This is the last time I'm asking you why You break my heart in the blink of an eye (Eye, eye)

You imagined your reunion with everyone a little worse. Maria and the kids were in a safe house outside the city, but it was nice to meet the rest of your old friends (in the case of the murder of the last of Rawllins' men, but hey, people talk about different things, right?) And it was really nice... until Billy returned to the apartment.

As soon as his dark-brown irises met yours, an unpleasant, awkward silence fell in the living room. You felt not only his gaze but also the curious gazes of the others as they glanced between the two of you.

"What the hell is she doing here?" he asks, shooting an angry, betrayed look at Frankie.

"Don't worry. I'll be gone as soon as I make sure the Castles are out of any danger. I don't really feel like seeing your face too." you say, giving him a defiant look. You turn your head away from him and towards Micro as quickly as you can.

Billy had dark circles under his eyes, a paler face than usual, and obvious signs of sleep deprivation. You'd care if he was more than just a piece of trash who betrayed people close to him. Yet you still cared.

However, the man does not give up easily. He walks over to you, stands in front of you, and takes your chin in his hand to make you look at him. If you didn't know better, you'd think you saw pain in that son of a bitch's eyes.

"You don't have to look at me from the hiding place where we put Maria and the kids, so get your pretty ass out of here and don't cause us any more troubles than we already have."

"How dare you talk about them after what you did?!" you growl at him in anger, pushing his hand away and standing up to face him. "All the trouble we're having is because you're a selling-out motherfucker who betrayed the only people in this world who fucking cared about you!"

Billy clenches his fists and takes a step towards you, leaning towards you. You both breathe quickly, shooting each other hostile glances, waiting to see who will break away and attack first. The tension in the room is so great that you can almost feel sparks flying between you. Frank quickly steps between the two of you, gives Billy a stern look and turns to face you.

"Save the lovers' quarrel and make-up sex for later, okay? Billy, Y/N is coming with us. Y/N, you're not trying to kill Billy until we do what we have to do, and it's best not to argue with him at all. Same with you, Bill. Can you do it, or are you resentful young brats who will be at each other's throats after a breakup?" he says, looking between you two. You huff, crossing your arms and staring at Castle.

"And since when did you become such a responsible asshole, Frankie?" you ask mockingly, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Since we've been planning a glorious murder at those, who tried to kill my family." you sigh and nod. He is right. Killing these bastards is your priority. You can't let your feelings for that asshole who still manages to get under your skin somehow complicate your already difficult mission.

"Fine. Just keep him away from me." you growl in anger and walk past Billy, elbowing him as you go to get ready for your 'mission' with the boys.

And if you looked over your shoulder, you would see a dark brown irises staring longingly at your retreat towards the armoury silhouette.

You find yourself at my door And just like all those times before You wear your best apology But I was there to watch you leave And all the times I let you in Just for you to go again Disappear when you come back Everything is better

A ring at your door at 2 a.m. should make you suspicious.

You should pretend to sleep and finish studying for the last exam that separates you from your desired diploma. You promised yourself that after completing your specialisation, you would leave the army and move to a state hospital. You were fed up with gunshots all around you. For now, you were well on your way to shedding your soldier's uniform and permanently donning a doctor's coat.

You were one exam away from your dreams... and one Billy goddamn Russo who was standing outside your door.

Before you could close it in his face, the man stuck his shoe between the door and the frame. You curse under your breath and open them again to meet this hot damn asshole on your doorstep.

"You shouldn't open the door at this hour without checking who's behind it." he starts, resting his hand on the door as if to make sure you won't shut it in his face again. Only now do you notice his bag slung over his shoulder. He must have come here straight from the airport as soon as he landed.

"A lesson for the future. What do you want?" you ask dryly, crossing your arms. He looks at you tiredly and sighs. The hand that isn't holding the door is combing through his hair. Dog tags hang from his neck as he bows his head slightly before looking back into your eyes.

"Please... I just want to talk." he pleads, wearing his best apologetic, kicked puppy look.

"We have nothing to talk about. Can you let go of my door now? I have an important exam tomorrow; I need to get some sleep." he smiles slightly. Reluctantly, you feel your chest warm up at that damn cute smile.

"Knowing you, honey, you probably weren't even going to go to sleep, just keep revising the material."

"What are you doing here? There were no more sheets of paper in Afghanistan? The poor postman used to come here with a bag full of letters from you. I felt bad sending them back just because of him."

"So… you haven't read any?" he asks, swallowing and staring at you with those damn eyes you would kill for someday.

"Why? I broke up with you before I left the unit. I was just your sexy doctor, right? Or maybe I'm distorting your words? I'm almost sure that's what you called me while bragging to your colleagues in the unit that you fucked the coldest and most unapproachable bitch from the base."

"These same colleagues saw me rage and fall apart as I was getting my letters back from you. I was the one of us, who was there to watch you leave." he responds to your accusations, and the pain in his eyes almost convinces you to throw yourself into his arms. But luckily, you remember the nights you spent crying because of the asshole in front of you.

"And I was the one who overheard that everything between us was some kind of fucking adventure for the time being until you get to another woman." you growl angrily, trying to slam the door on him, but his hand on it prevents you from doing so. He pushes himself inside your apartment and pins you to the wall, closing the door behind him with a loud bang. Loud enough to have your neighbours hear that.

"It's not true… what was between us… it was the only real thing I ever had in my damn life." he says with a shaky voice and you see tears forming in his eyes. "Neither of us expected what was between us to turn into something more than a few-month fling, but here I am, flitting around without you like a moth searching for the fucking light after spending years in the darkness, which was my life without you. I care about you. More than anything. More than I want to admit, more than I would like. That damn much that I would travel halfway around the world for you, I will grovel at your feet just to be fucking close to you."

You let your tears flow freely as you listened to his confession. You know what the man in front of you has been through—what demons of his past pursued him at every turn. And maybe it's his words; maybe it's those damn, tearful eyes that allowed you to see his vulnerability, hidden for so many years; or maybe you just can't live without him either...

Anyway, you grab his dog tags and pull him towards you for a passionate, tearful kiss as both of you realise one terryfing truth... You need each other.

"This is the last time, Russo." you whisper against his lips as he guides you towards your bedroom, stripping you of your clothes.

And right before your eyes I'm aching, run fast Nowhere to hide Just you and me

"What the fuck are you thinking you are doing?" you ask him angrily as he drags you by your elbow away from the shooting.

Things have gone a bit south. Frank didn't anticipate how much support the group we were supposed to kill would get, and now they cut off your group, and now you were forced to work with Billy to get out of here and kill the people you had to. A very mad Billy Russo in his stupid mask.

"I'm saving your ass. Stay here. I'll take care of the rest." he says, letting go of your elbow as he looks around the room.

"There's no fucking option. You won't play my hero, Russo." you say, and reload your gun.

"You won't distract me. You're staying here. End of discussion." he walks up to you and tries to grab the gun out of your hand. You struggle with him and use the grip he taught you to push him away. After a while, you aim your gun at him. You see a hint of fear in his eyes. You shoot, killing the guy standing in the doorway behind him.

"I'm not you. I don't kill my people." you growl at him in anger and move past him to drag the dead man inside and close the door. Billy is grateful for his mask... at least you can't see his shocked, pained expression.

He pulls up a chair and starts rummaging through the flap of the ventilation duct. During this time, you take the gun and bullets from the corpse.

"I would never kill the Castles." he says, not looking at you as he continues to open the vent. "They are my family... just like you."

"You haven't been my family for a long time." you snort at his seemingly tender words. You shiver when he suddenly jumps from the chair and pins you to the wall. Even from behind his mask, you can see how hurt and furious he is.

He holds your arms tightly, almost in a bruising embrace, as he whispers from under his mask so quietly that you can barely hear his words and his voice shaking with emotion.

"Everything... I've ever done... I've done for you. For us."

"There are no us, Russo." You growl in anger and push his arms off of you. You go to the air vent, but he grabs you by the waist and pulls you towards him. You fight him, even going so far as to rip off his mask, but he still holds you in a tight hug, staring into your eyes.

"I fucking love you; do you understand?! With my entire pathetic existence. I know that now you only see me as a monster and that my face is disgusting, but I can't... I can't lose you. Not you. I can endure everything—insults, your hatred... just... please... please don't leave me." he whispers desperately, cupping your cheek in one hand and resting his forehead against yours. You close your eyes, feeling tears welling up in them. You can't count how many times you cried because of that bastard in front of you.

"You think I care about your scars? I don't give a damn about them. What's keeping me away from you is your ugly inside, Russo. You don't care about anyone suffering as long as you profit from it. I'm disgusted by your personality and by the fact that you were willing to sell out your best friend's family and all the people who cared about you for goddamn money and fame. And I hate you, because somehow, even after all you've done, I still care about your damn ass."

His thumb strokes your cheek tenderly as you let him kiss the tears off your face as you almost fell apart in his hands, which you've missed for so long.

“Y/N, my heart, I swear I would never, ever hurt them. You have to believe me. I wouldn't risk what we have… I wouldn't risk losing you after having no one to care about for my whole messed-up life.”

And you're inclined to believe him. You are willing to forget everything and just accept him back. But then you hear a faint beeping sound. You both freeze, staring at each other.

Billy works fast. Too fast for you. He pushes you into the vent and closes the hatch behind you before you can do anything. After a moment, a quiet explosion echoes from the room below you, masking your frantic scream of his name.

This is the last time I'm asking you this Put my name at the top of your list This is the last time I'm asking you why You break my heart in the blink of an eye (Eye, eye)

Billy was not a good man. He knew it. He had no reason. Life never spoiled him, and everything he worked for he had to tear out with his nails. He had no reason to be good. But what he was about to allow now would seal who he was forever. There would be no turning back. And he knew it the moment he joined Castles in the Central Park.

He actually had nothing to lose. Y/N left him, and it would only be a matter of time before Frank would turn on him. He would be alone again. At least he would have guaranteed his future... however empty it might be. But he always believed that it was better to be depressed in an expensive sports car than anywhere else.

At least that's what he thought until he saw Y/N again, for the first time since their next big (this time final, which he deeply believed) breakup. And God, she was beautiful. More beautiful than ever.

She was wearing that little black floral dress that he loved, and she was joking about something with little Lisa as she dragged her through Central Park and the stands. Little Castle led her towards him.

Quiet: "Don't fuck it up, Uncle Bill." came from Frank Jr.'s mouth, before the kid disappeared, likely going to his father, who was probably already watching him. A young boy had to stop using such words. Maria would have his and Frank's heads for it.

Billy's eyes met yours. He gulped, watching as you walked up to him, and Lisa disappeared, probably going to the hideout where her parents were, watching him and Y/N. He clears his throat as you stand in front of him and gives you one of his practiced smirks... though he doubts he's acting as confident as he should be.

"Hi." he says quietly, staring at your face. His stupid heart beats like crazy as he completely forgot everything that wasn't you.

"Hi." you reply, playing with one of the rings on your finger—a nervous habit that he has despised since he felt the need to put HIS ring on you that you can play with and twirl on your finger when you feel insecure. "It was a long time."

"Indeed." he agrees and puts his hands in his pockets, trying to appear nonchalant. "You look beautiful, how are you?" he asks, as if he didn't have people positioned around you, to keep you safe and out of his troubles... the daily update about your life was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind after... losing you.

"All right. I got this job at the hospital." he knows. He himself made a transfer to the account of the hospital's head so that he would employ you there. Still, a smile appears on his face at the excitement in your eyes.

"I told you it was only a matter of time. You are the best surgeon in the USA."

"Well, I doubt Frank would agree with that." you laugh, and he can't help but join you. Frank was your test subject. A very grumpy test subject. Billy could never complain about being a little too strict or stitching it up too quickly at your beginnings. You were just perfect in his eyes.

"Don't listen to him, he is just a brat." he says, nudging your shoulder gently with his. And suddenly, you both stare at each other. You both linger on the other's lips for a moment longer.

"I missed you, Bill." you admit and his heart starts beating wildly.

He swallowed. No. He can't drag you into his shit. You would be better off without him... but as you stood in front of him, looking at him with those beautiful eyes of yours that he would do anything for, he knew he had lost. And much sooner than he realised it.

He pulls you into his embrace. And when you wrap your arms around him, when you snuggle into his chest, and he inhales your scent, burying his nose in your hair, he knows he's home. He knows that he wants to feel this way forever and that life without you simply makes no sense to him anymore. And if he were anyone else, if he hadn't gone through all this shit in his life, he would have cried right there.

Instead, he pulls you closer to his chest, almost digging his fingers into your back, and whispers softly, his eyes closed tightly:

"This is the last time, I won't hurt you anymore." he kisses your head, sealing his promise. He will burn the world for you. And nothing will stop him.

And as you sit next to him on the bench, across from the Castles, who are teasing you about how you two can't live without each other, he just smiles and texts his people to call off the action. Unbeknownst to you all, he declares war on Rollins, writing to him: "No one hurts my family. That's the end of the deal."

This is the last time you tell me I've got it wrong This is the last time I say it's been you all along This is the last time I let you in my door This is the last time, I won't hurt you anymore Oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho Oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho

You've been holding his hand since you returned to the Castles' house after his doctors examined him and patched him up. They didn't let you get to him. Something about an emotional attachment would cloud your judgement as a doctor. Stupid bullshit, but there was nothing you could do against Frank's strong grip as he held you in the hallway until you were allowed to carry him home. You're sure Castle had scratches from your nails when you tried to get away to go to Billy.

You shiver when Frank suddenly enters the room and hands you cup of tea. You take it from him without a word with one hand, and with the other, you still hold Billy, waiting for him to wake up. Frank snorts and sits down in the chair next to you, watching you closely.

"He'll get through this. Fortunately, he didn't set himself on fire, he just crashed into the opposite wall." you shiver, ignoring his words as you sip your tea. "Although I doubt he'll have any luck next time if you dump him again. Who knows what he'll do next time just for you to hold his hand."

"What the hell are you talking about?" you ask angrily, shifting your outraged gaze to him. He just shrugs.

"Do you think he let me give him those scars just like that? This is some form of his twisted compensation or punishment. The fact that he was hoping you would magically come get him and patch him up only encouraged him more to stay still as I smashed his face."

"You're fucked up. Both of you. No normal people would come back to being friends after something like that."

"We're all fucked up. Me, because I still see him as a brother. He, because he still wants to be part of my family. And you, who love him despite everything, but leave him at every possible opportunity." you turn your gaze away from him to Billy. He is right. And that hurts the most.

"Every time I promise myself it will be the last time. That I will never go back to him. That this is the last time he breaks my heart without even blinking. One last time I let him back into my life, but I… I just can't, Frankie… I can't leave him, no matter how much he destroys me."

"He thinks he's not worthy of you. That you deserve better." you huff bitterly, shaking your head, trying to fight away the tears.

"There is nothing for me apart from him." you whisper, staring blankly at your linked hands with Billy's. "Not after everything I've been through with him."

"Then stick with it. It's better to be fucked up together." you are laughing. It's not that simple, it never was… or maybe it was you who didn't want to make it such a simple thing.

"You should go to Maria and the kids." you say, wanting to get rid of him. You don't know what you feel. All you know is that you won't leave this room until those dark brown irises look back at you again.

"Will you stay with him?" he asks, and from the heavy atmosphere in the room, you feel like this question means more. He asks if you will stay forever. You lift your hand and gently run through Billy's short hair, observing what happened to him after the two of you were apart... and in fact, you weren't holding up any better than he was.

"Yes... yes I will." you whisper, never taking your eyes off his face. And you feel like something heavy has fallen off your chest. Months of crying, anxiety and apathy passed with the snap of a finger.

"I want to be godfather to your first. And for him to have Frankie as his second name if it's a boy."

"Fuck you, Castle." you say and throw a spare pillow at him. The man laughs as he leaves. He closes the door behind him and you look at the unconscious Billy.

"This is the last time, Russo. I mean that. Don't fuck it up." you whisper and kiss your joined hands.

This is the last time I'm asking you this Put my name at the top of your list This is the last time I'm asking you why You break my heart in the blink of an eye This is the last time I'm asking you this (This is the last time I'm asking you this) Put my name at the top of your list (Put my name at the top of your list) This is the last time I'm asking you why (This is the last time I'm asking you why) You break my heart in the blink of an eye (You break my heart) This is the last time I'm asking you, last time I'm asking you Last time I'm asking you this This is the last time I'm asking you, last time I'm asking you Last time I'm asking you this

The gentle brushing of your hair is the first thing you feel when you wake up. Another is his tight grip on your hands, as if he's afraid you're just a product of his head high on painkillers. You raise your head slowly. His hand slips from your hair and rests hesitantly on your cheek.

"Hello." he whispers, staring at you. And for a moment, you just stay like that, each drinking in the sight of the other.

And your heart breaks when you see him waiting for the moment when you start screaming at him, when you take away the closeness he missed so much.

So against your better judgement and what you should do, you lean in and kiss him sweetly, cupping his cheek in your hand. You caress one of his worst scars with the pad of your thumb as he responds to your kiss. His hands stay stiffly in place as he's afraid to move, lest he disturb this moment between you, to feel your lips as long as possible.

You pull away from him and rest your forehead against his. You close your eyes, catching your breath. You feel his burning, confused gaze on you, but you don't move. You don't say anything. You just sit there, enjoying his touch and his closeness, not thinking about the conversation you need to have.

"I missed… I missed this." he whispers shakily. You feel him burning with the desire to taste your lips one more time, but he maintains some semblance of control and settles for just moving the hand that isn't cupping your cheek to your waist.

"Me too."

"I know I screwed up. But… I will never… never again…" you kiss him again, interrupting him. You brush away the tears that fall down his cheek with your thumbs and gently brush your nose against his as you end your kiss.

"Shhh... I know." you whisper, straddling him, needing to feel him as close to you as possible after everything that happened. You were both shattered, but maybe you could put each other back together?

"Are you sure?" he asks, swallowing. You nod and bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. He strokes your back slowly, drawing patterns with his fingertips under your blouse. You shiver at the feeling of his touch on your skin.

"This is the last time, Russo. Either we succeed or... it's over. And I mean it. There will be no great quarrels and returns, no appearances on the doorstep of the other at midnight. We'll either be honest with each other... and make it work... or we won't be together at all. You understand? We're at the top of each other's lists, or not at all. I don't want anything less, any toxic love, any blaming each other, and all that bullshit. We take each other and try to do something with us, or we end it."

He nods and pulls you closer to him, digging his fingers into your back, anchoring you to his chest.

"Deal. I hope you know, you just stuck with me forever, because I'm not leaving you." you lift yourself gently from his chest to look at him. Your eyes water as your eyes meet and for the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to fully express your feelings to him.

"Just... don't make me ask you this again... don't hurt me. Please."

Billy pulls you into a tender kiss, showing you all the love and devotion he has for you. Trying with your actions to ensure that this time will be different, that you will never suffer because of him again, that you will never run away from each other again, that you will never watch the other one leave again.

"I'm nothing without you. Trust me. I tried to live without you and look how it ended." he jokes, and in any other situation you wouldn't find it funny, but now, fueled by the high of being with him again, you giggle stupidly into his neck. Billy smiles fondly and strokes your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Break my heart again, and it will end worse for you. I have connections in the mortuary, Russo." he huffs, undeterred, and pulls you closer.

"Please. As if you didn't fly across two states just to stitch my face together because you didn't believe in the competence of the doctors at the hospital." you blush as you realizes that he knew about your moment of weakness after you found out what happened to him after his fight with Frank.

"How did you know?"

"I'd know your stitches anywhere." he says with a shrug and pulls you in for a kiss.

Maybe this really was the last time after all… and this time you will stitch the scattered pieces of both of you together for good.

[treasureboxmylove]

I Don’t Want to Sleep Angry

The fight started like so many others had—quiet frustration, buried too long, bubbling to the surface with nowhere else to go.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this tonight.

They were supposed to be curled up on the couch with leftover pizza and a bad sci-fi movie, bickering over plot holes and quoting lines at each other with exaggerated accents. But dinner was late, the kid had gotten suspended again, and they were both too tired to be kind.

"I asked you three times, Foxy," Puppet said, trying to keep her voice level, but it trembled with strain.

"And I told you—I was busy with FC!" His voice was louder than it needed to be. “I can’t be everywhere at once, lass!”

"You could’ve just messaged me."

“Maybe I didn’t want to text while he was bawlin’ his eyes out because the world’s stacked against him!”

The silence that followed was immediate and cutting. Puppet crossed her arms, long fingers curling tight around her sleeves. “So it’s my fault now?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, exasperated.

"You didn’t have to."

Foxy sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. His tail twitched with restrained tension. "You're twisting my words again. I’m trying to do my best here, but I feel like I’m walkin’ into a trap every time I open my mouth."

"And I feel like I'm yelling just to be heard!" she snapped. “Everything falls apart and I’m just… supposed to smile and hold it together so you can cope.”

That one hit deeper than she meant it to. She saw it in the way his expression crumpled for a second—just a second—before he pulled his mask back into place. Cold, sharp, closed off.

"Maybe we do need a night apart," he muttered, voice low. "Cool off. Sleep it off."

She blinked. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m goin’ to the bedroom,” he snapped. “To stop sayin’ things I’ll regret.”

He turned his back, tail swiping across the carpet, shoulders tense as steel cables. She watched him disappear down the hall, footsteps heavier than they should’ve been.

And then—

SLAM.

The bedroom door rattled, a hollow sound that echoed long after the impact.

The kind of sound that feels like the end of something.

Puppet didn’t chase him.

Didn’t scream after him.

Didn’t cry.

Instead, she stood in the middle of the living room, in the same clothes she’d worn since morning, surrounded by soft lamps, half-wilted flowers, and the familiar smell of lavender and spice—and felt like a stranger in her own home.

Her arms hurt. She blinked and looked down.

Her nails—sharper than they looked, honed over years of anxiety and bad habits—had dug deep into her biceps, gripping so tightly through the fabric that red was seeping through her sleeves. Tiny half-moon cuts, some fresh, some already scabbing, had broken the skin. She had done it again. Without realizing. Without thinking.

Like she was trying to hold herself together—or maybe punish herself for not being enough.

Shame pooled in her stomach. She slowly peeled her hands away and looked at her fingers. Blood. Her blood.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even that much.

But it was real.

And the quiet ache in her skin was the only thing grounding her in the moment.

She sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, numb. Her thoughts raced in tight, painful circles:

Why do we do this?

Why am I never enough?

What if he walks out next time and doesn’t come back?

What if this is just who I am—broken, hard to love, hard to be around?

She had made progress. She had worked so hard. Foxy loved her, didn’t he? She knew he did. He’d proven it again and again.

But love didn’t make her easy. And sometimes, love wasn’t enough to keep the shadows from creeping in.

And then—

Soft steps.

Rushed. Hesitant.

She didn’t look up at first. Couldn’t.

But she heard the breath—trembling, trying to be steady. And then a voice.

Low. Breaking.

“I don’t want to sleep angry,” he said.

Puppet’s head snapped up. Foxy stood at the end of the hallway, ears folded, eyes glassy with tears he hadn’t yet wiped away.

“I don’t want to lose you over this.”

The silence stretched.

Puppet’s lips trembled. Her shoulders fell.

Foxy took a few cautious steps forward. “I’m sorry. I know I sound cruel when I get overwhelmed. I hate it too, you know? I hate that I still get that loud. That sharp.”

He swallowed, voice cracking.

“You didn’t deserve that. You’re tryin’. And so am I. But we’re tired. And scared. And I—God, I just… I can’t sleep thinkin’ you hate me.”

His voice trembled. “I know I stormed off, but—I just... I kept hearin’ your voice in my head, and—” He gestured helplessly. “I love you, and I can’t stand thinkin’ this—this stupid fight—might be the last thing I ever said to you tonight.”

Puppet didn’t hesitate.

She crossed the room in three strides and wrapped herself around him, burying her face in his chest. The sob came before she could stop it, and he was already holding her like he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words cracking as they came out. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

“No, no—don’t you say sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s me. I shut down when I feel like I’m failin’. But I ain’t afraid of failing—I’m afraid of failing you.”

“I thought you were really gone,” she whispered. “Just for a second. And I didn’t know what I’d do.”

“I’ll always come back,” he murmured into her hair. “Even when I’m mad. Even when we say stupid things. I will come back.”

They stood there for a long time—just breathing. Relearning each other’s rhythms. Puppet’s hands tightened around his back, pressing into fabric, into safety. Foxy’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled her closer.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her. “You’re shakin’. You okay?”

She started to nod, but his eyes dropped to her arm. To the dark spots on her sleeve.

“What’s that?” he asked softly.

She froze. “Nothing. It’s—”

But he was already lifting the sleeve, slow, careful.

His expression changed. Not horror. Not pity. Just—hurt.

“Love…” he breathed. “You did this?”

Puppet couldn’t look at him. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just something I do when I feel like I’m losing control. I didn’t notice until you left.”

“Love…” His voice broke. “You shouldn’t have to bleed just to hold in how you feel.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

He pressed his lips together and gently took her hand, guiding it to his mouth. He kissed each knuckle, slow, reverent. Then her wrist. Then the edge of the bruise.

“I hate that I left you in that space,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Her eyes stung again. But she let him hold her hand there, wrapped gently in both of his, like it was something sacred.

“You didn’t know,” she said. “And you came back. That’s what matters.”

He nodded, pulling her close again. “Let me help next time. If you feel like that. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s enough.”

She gave a wet laugh, wiping her face. “You’re lucky I love you.”

He kissed her temple. “You’re lucky I do.”

They didn’t talk much more that night.

They lay down together, curled in tight. Puppet rested her head on his chest, where the faint thump of his artificial heart soothed her nerves. Foxy ran his fingers gently through her hair, and every so often, he’d lean down and whisper, “Still here,” like a mantra.

She slept with her arm across his chest, and when she woke the next morning, her sleeve was rolled up and cleaned, bandaged with care. She didn’t remember him doing it. But she didn’t have to.

Because she knew.

He saw the parts of her that hurt, and he stayed.

[megsiepoo]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62948647

            "Ach, is that what they told ye I did?" Demo laughed. "C'mon Solly, ye know me better than that."             "I-I know, it's just... seeing your face on that screen... hearing the words in your voice... it all felt so real. It... still does sometimes."             Soldier trailed off, the guilt emanating off him in waves. A heavy sigh left Demo's lips, and he struggled to his feet. It took a moment to get his balance, but once he did, he made his way past the campfire and joined Soldier. He dropped onto the log Soldier was using as a seat with a thud and offered the bottle of alcohol. When Soldier had taken his fill, Demo wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a side hug.

(Don't ask me why the link is being weird I don't know)

Day 5 time let's gooo (Day 5 - sleeping/camping)

No ship series would be complete without some Boots 'N Bombs! Just them talking about the past and being cute.

Thanks for reading and feedback appreciated as always!

[kissorkill16]

I'm Sorry: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: The gang apologizes to Nicky.

(P.S., for @yummy-funny !)

Trinity hoisted herself through the window of Nicky's room. Afterwards, she pulled her friends in one by one as they climbed through the window.

"Are we even sure he's home right now?", asked Delroy.

"He has to be, I saw a car in the driveway. That must mean someone's home.", replied Trinity, looking around the room.

It's been a long while since she's been here. She remembered being here back before he got kidnapped, and when he was hiding under the bed, and now here she was again.

Why? Because she wanted to apologize to him.

Apologize for all of the things he'd been through, and all of the things she and her friends put him through.

"Never thought he liked Talking Heads.", said Maritza, looking at one of the posters on the wall.

"Fuck that, I didn't know he was into aliens.", said Delroy, letting out a little dry laugh. "God, he's such a weirdo."

Trinity looked at her friends, "Can we stop looking at his private things please?", she said. A moment of silence passed through the room.

"Holy smokes, he has a dismantled CB radio!", Ivan squealed, "He really is my fellow engineer!"

"What did I just say?"

Just then, everyone stilled when they noticed the door open, and Nicky walked in, holding that dirty potato sack he wore over his head a few times. When he saw them in his room, he stilled in his place and looked at them all with wide eyes.

"Why are you all here?", he asked. "Leave. Now."

"But, Nicky we -"

"Now.", said Nicky, a little more stern this time. "You think I want to see you after all the hell I've been through? You think I want to see any of you after what I've been through? You people have no idea how many times I've thought about killing myself just so I could relieve the pain! I've been suffering, I'm not okay, and I haven't been for a while now, but it's not like any of you care."

He took a breath and pointed to the door, "I want all of you to leave me alone. Right now. Don't ever come back here again -"

All of a sudden, Trinity ran forward to Nicky and wrapped her arms tightly around him. Nicky was completely taken aback, his eyes widened as he stilled in shock.

"No, I won't leave you alone.", said Trinity, "Last time I did that, you nearly killed yourself. I don't want that again. I don't want you to die, Nicky. I'm sorry I left you alone, we all are. We love you so much, Nicky."

As she said this, Nicky looked at all of his friends with wide eyes. They all stared back at him, and Nicky could be mistaken, but he could've sworn he saw...guilt in their eyes.

They all looked at him apologetically.

Nicky suddenly burst into tears and hugged Trinity back, burying his face into Trinity's shoulder.

"I forgive you all.", he said through a broken voice.

Trinity smiled and hugged her friend tighter, happy to have him back.

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang looked away from them, trying to hold back tears.

This was all Nicky wanted. Just an apology, with real remorse.

[cletusthurstonbeauregard]

"One inch of duct tape at a time"