#and now I can’t figure out why my armpit stings

[raustenacious]

I did it again

I mixed up my certaindri deodorant and the bio freeze (helps with achy muscles)

[dindjarinbae]

Commander Brown Eyes (Din Djarin x reader)

hi i know this wasn’t requested, but it was something i had been writing since like friday or satuday so... i have like 12 requests to get to, and i am hoping to get those all done within the next two weeks, so bear with me please!! anyways, soft din, that’s it. send tweet.

WARNINGS: none

WORD COUNT: 3979

“Y/n. I want you to come, too. You won’t show up on anything at all. You have no record.” Your boyfriend, Din Djarin, pointed out while you, Fennec, Cara, Mayfeld, Boba Fett, and Din, all stood trying to figure out who was going to accompany Mayfeld into the mining facility. 

You blinked and looked up at Din, shaking your head a few times, “I- I couldn’t possibly go, what on earth do you need me for?” You asked, getting a bit nervous. He usually adamantly refused to let you go on missions or anything of the sort in fear that you might get hurt, so why now? You looked at him quizzically and begged for an answer with your eyes. 

You got an answer, just not from Din.

“Because you’re pretty. There ain’t a single general in there that would even think to find us suspicious because they’ll be looking at you.” Mayfeld interjected and looked at Din, “That’s the idea, right Mando?” He asked and raised his eyebrows. 

Din shuffled his feet around for a second and then nodded, “I had a better way of saying it, but that works, too.” He mumbled and you could just sense that his eyes were on you. You blinked a few times and then looked at Cara and Fennec to see if they were going to protest but Fennec was nodding and Cara seemed to think this was a good idea.

“But I’m going with you two, as well. I don’t like her going in alone with you.” He spoke firmly towards Mayfeld, and Mayfeld started ranting about how that wasn’t smart because the beskar armor would be too suspicious. 

You tuned them out while they bickered amongst themselves and you turned to Boba, who you decided that you liked very much and you frowned a bit. You saw his shoulders shake in a small chuckle and he shook his head, “Don’t look at me like that, this wasn’t my idea.” He stated and folded his arms across his chest. You huffed and then dramatically sighed, getting reluctantly dragged into the mission. 

——

By the time the three of you had arrived into the base after a relentless attack from pirates, the entire base had gathered there to cheer you on. Din climbed out of the cab and held his arms out for you, and you climbed into his outstretched arms and he gently lifted you down, holding you underneath your armpits like you weighed nothing more than a rag doll. He held you for just a bit longer than normal, and you assumed he was just nervous to have you in the base with him and Mayfeld. Carefully, he set you on your feet and you looked up at him, chuckling quietly, not getting used at all to the stormtrooper outfit he had to throw on. 

“Don’t you dare say anything about it.” He mumbled and gave your ass a well concealed, playful smack. 

You giggled and grinned up at him cheekily, “I didn’t say anything! I just thought it!” You protested, and he would’ve grabbed you and whacked you on the ass again, but Mayfeld came around the front of the vehicle and he cleared his throat at the two of you. 

The playful side of Din melted away instantly and he walked up to join Mayfeld, and you trailed behind the two of them, nodding kindly at the stormtroopers that waved at you as you passed through the crowd. You looked around the crowded base and desperately wanted to grab onto Din’s arm, but all the eyes in the room suggested that you not do that. You stayed back behind them and tried to make yourself as small as possible as the two of them rendezvoused in front of the mess hall and you moved up closer to them until you you’re beside Din, your hip brushing his thigh. He glanced down at you, and more than anything in that moment, he wanted to wrap his arm around your waist and keep you in a protective grip. 

Mayfeld wandered off casually a few steps to check for a terminal, and he came back seconds later to report.

“There it is.” He spoke lowly, and Din gave him a small nod. 

“Good luck.” He said gruffly and you moved backwards behind him just a bit. But he caught your arm gently and pulled you out, “You need to go with him.” He stated and pushed you towards Mayfeld very carefully. 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, meeting Mayfeld’s eyes. He nodded towards the terminal and you looked over your shoulder at Din who nodded at you once, telling you to go. You scuttled off behind Mayfeld and followed him closely until he stopped in the threshold of the mess hall. His stance changed and he visibly tensed before turning around and walking right back the way he came, catching your arm in the process, pulling you back to Din. 

When the two of you reached Din again, you wiggled your arm away from Mayfeld and you grabbed onto Din’s arm, not caring who saw at this point. Your heart was racing and you had a bad, bad feeling about this all. 

“I can’t go in there.” Mayfeld stated, a tremor in his voice. 

“Why not?” Din asked sharply, and you tightened your grip on his arm. He allowed you to cling to his arm and he kept his gaze fixed entirely on Mayfeld. 

“That’s Valin Hess.” Mayfeld answered and you scooter a bit closer to Din. 

He yanked his arm from your grip and you almost protested, but in an act of (maybe thirty minutes worth) touch deprivation, he wrapped the same arm around your waist and he pulled you against his side, the cool metal of the stormtrooper armor pressing coldly against you. 

“Who?” He asked, and tightened his arm around you. 

“Valin Hess. I used to serve under him.” Mayfeld practically wheezed, and you could hear the panic in his voice. You felt bad for Mayfeld, with his face turning a ghostly white and the anxiety in his tone. You reached out to rub his shoulder once reassuringly and then sunk back into Mando, looking down at your feet. 

“Will he recognize you?” Din asked, moving closer to Mayfeld. 

“I don’t know. I was just a field operative, but I’m not taking the chance. It’s over.” Mayfeld whispered and you shook your head quickly, looking up at him. 

“No no no, you have t-“ you protested, but Din promptly cut you off. 

Mayfeld moved to leave, but Din grabbed his arm, “Let’s just do this quick and we can get out of here.” He said sternly and you frowned, looking up at Mayfeld with a panicked expression. He couldn’t back out. He couldn’t. If he did, you would never see your little green baby ever again, and that brought hot, stinging tears to your eyes. 

“I can’t do it, okay? We have to abort. I’m sorry.” Mayfeld snapped and he tried to walk away again. 

As he did last time, Din caught his arm and tugged him back, “No, I cant. If we don’t get those coordinates, then me and her,” he said, and motioned towards you with the chin of the helmet he wore, “... will lose the kid forever. Give me the data stick.” Din said and Mayfeld looked a bit perplexed. 

“It’s not gonna work.” He protested and fell silent for a second. 

You looked up at Din and then back at Mayfeld and you could see the frown etching itself onto Mayfeld’s face, “In order to access the network, the terminal has to scan your face. And unless you’re gonna send her in there-'' he said and motioned towards you. 

Din shook his head and held you tighter, and Mayfeld simply nodded, “I figured. Let’s go.” He snapped. 

“Give it to me.” Din said again, sharper this time. Mayfeld held it out and Din snatched it from his hand and he tugged you forward a bit before letting his arm fall from your waist. He nodded for you to follow him and you shook your head, feeling nothing but terror as you looked at Valin Hess inside the mess hall. Din sighed as he watched you stand next to Mayfeld and he tipped his head to the side a bit, and something told you he was pleading to you with his eyes. 

You reluctantly nodded and followed in behind him, standing casually a couple tables away while he parked himself in front of the terminal. You felt Valin’s dark stare on yourself and then watched it move to Din and it stayed there while he attempted to use the terminal. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until the terminal chirped out that there was a problem and there was an incomplete facial scan. 

Everything then moved in slow motion as you watched Din grab the helmet he wore, and he lifted it over his head, revealing the hair that you’d felt before, but had never seen. A gasp got stuck in your throat. Of course it would be brown. Of course Din Djarin would have the prettiest brown curls that you’d ever laid your eyes on, and you wanted nothing more in that moment then to go to him and run your fingers through the soft, pretty curls that fell to the nape of his neck. 

The computer quit its’ bitching and you watched him put the data stick in the terminal. You wanted desperately for him to turn around, and you could tell by his body language that he was absolutely terrified. He had worn that helmet his entire life to hide his face from the world, and now his face was out in the open for everyone, including his girlfriend to see. You couldn’t imagine what that felt like. 

“Trooper!” 

A deep voice pulled you from your reverie, and you looked over at it’s source. Valin Hess. 

He rose from his seat and walked towards Din, and you felt bile rise in your throat as you moved just a step forward to be closer to him. 

“Hey, trooper.” Valin snapped once again, and Din quickly pulled the data stick from the terminal before he turned towards Hess.

“Pay attention when a superior addresses you.” Valin drawled and you went another step closer, biting your lip as he spoke again, “What’s your designation?” He asked, and his voice gave you shivers as you watched Din’s body language show exactly what you’d expected: terror. 

“Transport crew.” He nearly whispered, and your heart broke as you heard his voice crack on the last syllable. 

There was only a second of silence before Hess spoke again, “What?” He asked, turning his body ever so slightly. 

“My designation is transport copilot.” Din answered again, and you prayed that this was the answer Valin Hess was looking for.

From where you stood, you could see only a side profile of your Mandalorian. A strong nose, high cheekbones, a bit of a mustache, and a light coating of facial hair. Nothing you didn’t already know he had, because you’d felt it many times without the lights on or with your eyes covered, but this was the first time you had a real picture to put with the features your gentle fingertips would trace whenever he let you do so. 

“No son,” Valin said, a bit annoyed now, “What’s your TK number?” He asked and you turned your head towards Mayfeld. 

You caught his eye and sent him a pleading look, begging for him to come in and help out. Your lip wobbled and Mayfeld sighed before moving in towards you. 

“My TK number is...” Din began, but before he could continue, Mayfeld had already grabbed your arm and walked the both of you over towards Valin and Din.

“This is my Commanding Officer, TK five nine three, sir.” Mayfeld interjected and dropped your arm, leaving you to subtly scoot yourself towards Din. 

That is exactly what you did. You scurried to his side and it took all of your will not to latch onto his arm as you so often did when you wanted to be close to him. 

“I’m imperial combat assault transport, Lieutenant TK one-eleven, sir.” Mayfeld finished and you glanced up at Din. 

He stole a glance down at you as well, and you felt your eyes water just a bit. He was truly the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on, with his full bottom lip and the sharp curve of his jawline with the thin stubble that grew over his skin, but what really made your heart melt, was his eyes. His big, pretty, entrancing brown eyes, framed with his full eyebrows and a set of short, dark lashes. You wanted so badly to touch his face, and you could see the nervousness in his expression as he stared at you. 

“And this is his... human hearing aid of sorts,” he said and pointed towards you, “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up to him a little bit, since his vessel lost pressure in Taanab.” Mayfeld explained.

Valin gave a slight nod before leaning in towards Din, and you put a gentle, reassuring hand on Din’s shoulder, “What’s your name officer?” Valin asked loudly, and borderline condescendingly. 

Din was silent and looked around and Hess raised his eyebrows as if to reiterate his question before Mayfeld stepped in again.

“We just call him Brown Eyes. Isn’t that right, Officer?” Mayfeld asked, and Din gave a nod. 

“And her?” Valin asked again, pointing at you, his eyes traveling up and down your body, and you felt like hiding behind Din. 

You had to think quickly, so you thought quickly of your favorite flower and you looked up at Valin with a small smile that probably looked more like a grimace, “I just go by Lavender, sir. Apparently a head injury left me without a memory of my name.” You said, laughing casually. 

 Valin tore his gaze away from you after a skeevy smirk in your direction and Mayfeld spoke up again, “Come on, you two. Let’s go fill out those TPS reports, so we can go recharge the power coils.” Mayfeld said and put a hand on Din’s back while Din put a hand on yours and the three of you began to walk away. 

“You’re not dismissed.” Hess drawled and the three of you froze. You looked up at Din fearfully and he glanced down at you with the same amount of fear in his eyes, but for different reasons. You were afraid of the Imperial General speaking to you, and he was afraid of the world that could now see him without a helmet. 

When the two men turned around, Din smoothly swept you behind his back protectively and you couldn’t help but stare up at his hair again. 

“You the tank troopers that delivered the shipment of rhydonium?” Valin asked and you took a step closer to Din, even if it was just his back. 

Both of the boys answered with a simple ‘yes, sir’ and you bit down on your lip, hanging your head as you stood behind Din. Valin Hess turned around to look at the two of them and spoke, “Well you two managed to be the only transport today to deliver their shipment,” he then glanced at you, “Why’s she hiding?” He asked and bent his head to the side to peer around Din’s shoulder, “Why are you hiding, little girl?”

“She’s not big on people, Sir.” Mayfeld interjected and Valin chuckled. 

He clapped both Mayfeld and Din on the shoulder, “Come with me, hm? Let’s get a drink, Brown Eyes.” He said patronizingly and you finally gave into the need to clutch Din’s arm. He looked down at you, along with Mayfeld and Mayfeld sent a look to Din, saying something like ‘bad idea to bring her’, and Din just nodded knowingly. 

The three of you all went to a table and you took the seat closest to Din, clandestinely placing your hand against his thigh, and he laid his down on top of yours reassuringly. You glanced up at him and bit your lip, and he gave you a very small nod. Valin was out of the room getting a bottle of whatever he decided on, and you took this time to lean your forehead against the side of Din’s face. 

“I love you, you know. I’m very, very proud of you.” You whispered and turned your hand over so that you could lace your fingers with his. He nodded and laid his forehead against yours for a second while you looked into his deep, brown eyes. You smiled softly and pecked his lips a few times, “You do have beautiful eyes you know, Din Djarin.” You whispered so quietly that you were practically mouthing it. 

He rolled his eyes and you could feel his hand trembling in yours, “I find yours much prettier.” He whispered back and you bumped your nose against his before pulling away so that you two weren’t touching when Hess came back. 

He finally did come back and sat down at the table, setting down three glasses and he nodded at you, “Figured she was a little young for a drink.” He chuckled and reached out to tap your chin a few times. You felt Din’s hand tighten around yours in anger, reacting to the way Valin had just touched you. He opened the bottle up and grinned a bit, “What shall we toast to, boys? I can blather on about “to health” or “to success” but,” he seemed to be amused by himself as he paused dramatically to pour a drink for Din and Mayfeld, “.. I’d like to do something a little less rote.” He finished and closed the bottle, pointing at Din with it, “Where you from, Brown Eyes?” He asked and you felt Din stiffen. 

He opened his mouth to speak when Mayfeld, once again, interjected, saving the day, “How about a toast to Operation Cinder?” Mayfeld asked and you leaned your head down a bit. 

You closed your eyes and held onto Din’s hand tightly while Mayfeld went on to speak back and forth to Valin, but at this point, their voices were muffled and far away as you tried to calm down and think of a way out of this situation. You tapped the side of your Mandalorian’s hand and he tapped yours in return, the both of you growing tenser and tenser while Mayfeld’s tone grew more intense and Valin got more defensive. You sucked in a staggering breath and Din squeezed your hand tightly to remind you not to make any noise. You scooted closer to him and he placed your intertwined hands on your thigh. 

“...but what they really want.. is order. And when they realize that, they’re gonna welcome us back with open arms.” Valin spoke and picked up his glass. You watched Mayfeld’s hand twitch towards his blaster and you squeezed Din’s in a warning. Valin raised his glass and smiled wickedly, “To the Empire.” He toasted and you squeezed your eyes shut. 

Mayfeld whipped out his blaster and shot Valin dead, and you let out a yelp, practically throwing yourself onto Din’s lap. The two men looked at each other and then at a trooper behind them before Mayfeld also shot them as well. He shot the other remaining officers in the room and Din sprang to his feet. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you up as well, yanking you back so that you were behind him as he shot at an officer. 

Mayfeld grabbed the helmet Din once wore and passed it to him, “You did what you had to do. I never saw your face.” He said and Din gratefully took the helmet before turning to you. You looked up at him with soft eyes and leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose before you pulled away, trying to memorize his face before he turned away and slipped the helmet back on.  

You felt your heart sink as you realized that was probably the only time he’d have the helmet off in front of you, and then the shooting began. You were backed up against the wall by Din and he nodded at Mayfeld who jumped up onto a window ledge and yanked you up with him. You watched while Din jumped up as well and Mayfeld kicked out a panel on the window before he slipped underneath it. 

“Take her!” Din yelled at Mayfeld, and Mayfeld reached in and grabbed you, and you shrieked when you saw the drop below. You looked at him for a moment and he nodded before Din made his way out onto the ledge and Din pointed at a ladder. 

“Y/n. Go. Climb that now and Boba will come and get you when you’re on top. Now!” Din commanded and while he and Mayfeld shot troopers, you ran along the ledge to the ladder. You climbed it to the top of the building and watched Boba circle down in his ship to get you. The door opened and you climbed inside, running up the ramp and into the ship. You climbed your way up into the cockpit as he moved the ship to avoid getting shot at and the two of you made eye contact. 

Boba smiled at you and he pointed up at your face, “Your cheeks are flushed like you’ve just been kissed for the first time.” He teased and you blushed, “Yeah, there was a first in there. But it wasn’t me getting kissed.” You mumbled and gave Boba a look. He analyzed your face for a second and then he nodded. Perhaps he knew, perhaps he didn’t. But if he did, he didn’t say anything, and if he didn’t, he didn’t ask. 

Boba circled the ship back to the rooftop and he hovered with the door open just a few feet away from the edge of the roof. You patted Boba’s arm once before climbing back down to the entrance where Din and Mayfeld had just jumped in. As they flew away, Mayfeld nudged Din, “Hand me that cycler rifle.” He commanded. 

Din passed him the rifle and then glanced over his shoulder at you. You jumped back a bit at the sound of an explosion and you looked down to see that Mayfeld had shot up the tanks of rhydonium, causing the entire base to blow. Him and Din watched it blow for a moment before Mayfeld walked back inside the ship, with a simple: “We all need to sleep at night.” Before he walked off. 

Din looked down at you as Mayfeld went to find a place to sit and he took your hand, “Come with me to put my armor back on.” He whispered and you nodded as he gathered the bag of his armor up and guided you to the small sleeping space that was on the far end of the ship. He closed the door behind you two and then turned to you in the cramped space and he took the helmet off again. Gently, he grabbed your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I love you, y/n y/l/n.” Din breathed before leaning down to connect your lips. He kissed you softer than he ever had before, and you attributed it to the timidness that came with the vulnerability of a visible face, but you didn’t mind, kissing him back with the same careful gentility. After a moment, he pulled away and you smiled up at him. 

“Hey, I love you too, Brown Eyes.” You teased and winked up at him. 

That earned you another, much more passionate kiss.

[bruhlsbees]

second chance ; 1/5 || writer!daniel x fem!artist!reader

(gif credit to @/magsam)

summary: you continue to dwell on your past as you prepare to open your art gallery

warnings: daniel's boss is a little creepy - like flirty but in power creepy, idk how to tag that, nothing bad happens she just obvi wants in his pants (but don't we all), 18+ although no smut

word count: 6,637

pairing: writer!daniel x fem!artist!reader

a/n: here's my soft fic!! please enjoy!! :) also i should note that writer!daniel is based around sebastian from ich und kaminski - i just changed the name to daniel, but really only loosely based so that's why i'm not considering this to be a sebastian fic!

He woke to the lull sound of music being played in the shop below his flat. With a groan, he pulled his head from under the pillow, squinting at the sun that peeked through his curtains before turning towards the clock on his nightstand.

12:17 PM

Another groan left him as his face fell back into the pillows. He had to be at work by one and he wasn’t even out of bed - and he should be on the road leaving in thirteen minutes! This, however, was not uncommon for Daniel - he was often late, running behind from sleeping off his hangover or just simply not caring enough to pick up his feet and move quicker.

He was half tempted to call off, tell his boss that he had a relative that passed or that he was ill.

“I thought your great-aunt just recently passed away?” Daniel’s boss questioned over the phone, her tone more annoyed than confused. He could hear the restaurant clatter through the phone, indicating that it was a rather busy day.

“Yes, that was on my mother’s side, this one is on my father’s,” He picked up a pair of socks off the ground to see if they were clean or at least passed the smell check. “Tragic, I’m not sure what I’m going to do without them.”

He sniffed the socks and threw them away from his face in the same motion, holding back the cough as he shook the smell out of his nose. Daniel knew he had been putting off laundry for too long, the clear evidence being the pair of socks he mistakenly picked up.

Moving to the bathroom to take a shower and get around for the day. Daniel kept his cellphone pressed to his ear, held by the crook of his shoulder while he waited to hear what his boss would say to him.

“Fine,” She finally responded after a moment. Her tone was short, biting like a sting, “But I expect you back on your next shift. We can’t afford to keep losing waiters.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Opening up the medicine cabinet he grabbed his deodorant stick, swiping it a few times under each armpit before feeling satisfied enough to move on, “I’ll be there.”

When he heard the click he swiftly let his phone drop from his shoulder, catching it with his hand before setting it on the top of the toilet next to his sink, continuing to get ready for the day. Even though he wasn’t going into work today, he could still at least get ready instead of basking away in his own stench from the previous night.

Finally pushing himself out of bed after laying for another few minutes, Daniel rummaged through the clothes on the floor, finding the cleanest uniform out of the dirty clothes before tossing them on his bed, moving to the bathroom to get ready. When he got to the bathroom, he nearly cringed at the sight of him.

It was quite obvious that he had a long night, the dark circles around his eyes screamed that he didn’t sleep well and his hair was matted to his head. He couldn’t remember who he had over, or what her name even started with. Was it an s? Sienna? Sierra? Sally? Who fucking cares.

He did a half-assed job brushing his teeth, more so focused on just getting the taste of whiskey out of his mouth so that nobody assumed he was drunk on the job. He already got let go from another job for that.

After the taste was most of the way out, Daniel quickly rinsed his face off and pulled his hair back into a low bun. He didn’t look bad - but it was clear that he had a rough night.

Surprisingly he was out of the door sooner than he imagined. Ascending down the stairs, he made sure to have his steps extra heavy to piss the store owners under him off. A smirk was present on Daniel’s face when he jumped one by one down the final few steps, hearing the store owner yell for him to ‘bugger off’ from inside.

“Kiss my ass.” Daniel mumbled, pushing the door open before making his way onto the sidewalk, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket and lighter, sparking the stick as he made his way down the road to work.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Everything felt so off, yet so right. Something was missing, but you couldn’t pin what it was just yet. The gallery exceeded your expectations - Vee exceeded your expectations, she always seemed to go above and beyond when it came to your work.

“And how does she like it? Do we get her seal of approval?” The museum’s art curator questioned, standing off to the side so that you and Vee could take it all in.

He was a short man, the rectangle frames glasses that were a bright orange that matched with his orange suit. You wondered if perhaps the glasses were real, or were they fake and more of a fashion statement? Did he have a matching pair of glasses for each outfit?

You didn’t realize how out of it you were until you felt Vee nudge you, answering for the curator.

“She loves it, do forgive her, she’s just taken back is all.” Vee explained, smiling towards the curator as he nodded, relief washing over him as he continued to showcase the room in the museum that was dedicated to your work.

You let out a sigh and trailed behind Vee. You felt bad for not being so animated, but you couldn’t help it - you just weren’t in the best mental spot right now. It was quite obvious too, at least to everyone around you. When the three of you reached the back of the gallery, the curator turned and pulled his lips into a tight smile.

“Well, if there is anything else we can do before your opening, please, let us know,” He turned to Vee and bowed her way in goodbye, “You have my number, just call if there is anything.” He turned on his heels and made his way out of the room, his footsteps echoing until he left and then...nothing.

You let out a soft exhale and sat down on the bench that was placed in front of the back wall, staring up at a few of your paintings. Your shoulders were slacked, a frown on your face as you toyed with your bracelet that was on your left wrist, twirling the string around your fingers. Moving around the bench, Vee took a seat beside you, letting her purse fall to the ground at her feet, looking up at your pieces.

“If this isn’t something you want to do anymore, I can let him know,” She began, your head shooting up, looking at her with wide eyes, “He won’t be pleased, but I suppose it’d be better to hear from me than you.” She stated, eyes flickering from one painting to the next.

You shook your head, shocked that Vee would even suggest canceling the opening. What made her think that? Did she think you didn’t want this anymore? No, of course you wanted this, this was something you’ve dreamt about since you were a little girl.

“What are you saying, Vee? Of course I want this still, you’ve worked so hard and did such a wonderful job with this, I wouldn’t want to have all your hard work go to waste.” You explained, looking towards her now. She smiled, staring at the painting off to her right before turning her head the other way towards you.

“My dear, this isn’t about me. This is about you. My job is to get you where you need to be and make your dreams come true. I won’t be upset if you change your mind. We can wait to open your gallery, wait until next year or this winter perhaps. Whatever you wan-”

“I want this. I just-” You let out a sigh and dropped your head again, looking at your feet for a moment before back up at the wall, tears in your eyes, “I just thought it would be different, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” Vee questioned, her left hand resting on your back, her right on your hands, squeezing them. You didn’t know how to put it into words, and that was the issue. You didn’t know why you felt the way you did, or where it came from. The room wasn’t empty, yet at the same time, something was missing.

“I just, something is missing...and I can’t figure out what it is,” You began, standing up from your spot on the bench and circling it, looking now from the back towards the front of the gallery. “When I come into this room, I want to love it, I do love it, but something just isn’t right about all of it. It feels incomplete, but what is missing?”

Nodding slowly, Vee let out a sigh and stood up, picking her purse from the floor and swinging it over her before walking over to you, standing beside you as she joined you in staring at the work you’ve created in the room.

“You want to know what I see in this room? A young, talented woman who has spent the last fifteen years making something of herself,” She began, her voice quiet, like a grandmother’s gentle tone. “A woman who went from nothing to having a large home, a gallery space, yet at the same time, a woman who doesn’t feel complete because she is still living in past regret.”

You glanced away from her at the last part of her speech. It wasn’t that you were hiding your tears from her, but she was right, and you were a fool to still be living in the past.

When she continued, your head faltered back to its original position, looking straight ahead. This was supposed to be your day, yours, and yet even after everything, Daniel was still the one on your mind...the one who still controlled your emotions and work.

“I don’t mean to be brash, dear, but if he wanted to make an appearance in your life, he would have done it by now. It’s time you put that past away and look towards the future,” Wrapping her arms around you, Vee pulled you close, extending her left hand out to motion around the room, “Think of all that you’ve done without him. Is he truly the one you wish to have by your side when you open your gallery? The one who didn’t want this for you in the first place?”

By this point you were crying, silently weeping in Vee’s arm as she gave you a hard reality check. It was true, all of it, why were you still hung up on him? For all you knew he had moved on himself - living with a pretty wife and a couple kids with a backyard and porch. You made it this far without him, and damn did you do a good job, so why were you still holding out on the chance that he would show up? Were you still that much in love with him?

“Sweet girl, it’s time to move on from him. He’s caused you enough pain. Look at how much you’ve done, truly, look around,” You opened your eyes and looked around the room, smiling weakly at all your work, “Never have I worked with someone as talented as you. The past five years have been a pleasure and I just want you to be proud of what you’ve done.”

“I am,” You whispered, looking at Vee now. You knew there were tears running down your cheeks as you could feel them, dripping from your jaw and onto your shirt. You sniffled and wiped your cheeks dry before letting out a sigh, “You’re right. I need to stop letting him ruin my day. This gallery, it’s beautiful! I should go and tell the curator he’s done an excellent job. I’m sure he thinks by now I’m either stuck up or a bitch...probably both!”

You laughed with Vee, leaning in as she kissed your temple before patting your back once, “I don’t think you should worry too much about that. I’m sure he’s probably dealt with worse drama queens,” She began to lead you out of the gallery, her arm still wrapped around you, “Come on, how about we go get a pastry and head home, yes?”

Nodding, you kept your own arm wrapped around her, following her out of the museum and to your lift that you had taken that day. The city was beautiful, but you were ready to retire back to the countryside where your home was.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

He had made it into work exactly four minutes late, and his boss was at the door waiting for him with a scowl on her face. She was a mean bitch, Teresa, his boss - thin and blonde, always a stern look on her face like she ate something bad. She was his height, which only made arguments worse. Teresa liked to find your weakness and make that her target.

Daniel was rather confident, not taking much heat and just letting it roll off his back, but he was shorter, average, but still short. Standing at only five feet nine inches, Daniel knew quite a few women who were his height, if not taller. So when it came to him and Teresa yelling in the kitchen at the restaurant, she always seemed to find a way to stand herself up to seem taller than he was, making her both look and feel like the alpha.

Tucking the fallen pieces behind his ears, Daniel sighed and went to grab an apron that was hanging up beside the time clock where Teresa was standing.

“Sorry, traffic was busy.” He stated, going to punch in his work number. Before he could, Teresa stepped to the side in front of it, hands on her hips as she blocked him from clocking in. He took a quick step back before running into her, eyes furrowed together. “Um, is there something-”

“You’re late,” She pointed out, as if he didn’t already know. She moved her hands from her hips and to cross over her chest, her breasts pressing together causing Daniel to swallow, eyes looking ahead of him at the time clock. “If we weren’t so desperate for staff, you’d be out of here.”

It took everything for Daniel to not roll his eyes at the comment, shuffling in his spot as he became fidgety, wanting to get away from Teresa and go to work. This wasn’t the first time she had cornered him before - taunting him with her breasts and charm, making him sweat through his uniform.

No, of course he didn’t think she was hot - well, maybe, but she was a bitch. A stone cold bitch who wouldn’t be getting anywhere near his pants. That promise he would keep. He’s had his fair share of questionable hookups, but Teresa the Tyrant would not be one of them, no matter how hard she tried.

“Are you sure it's we and not you?” He toyed, his eyes flicking over towards her. He held back his smirk when her arms fell, mouth gaping before she glared and moved out of the way.

“Get to work,” She ordered, moving out of the way and into the office that was beside the timeclock, in the back of the kitchen. “And I’m docking this!”

“And I’m docking this!” Daniel mimicked, making a face as he mumbled to himself, punching into work and grabbing an apron, wrapping it around him before heading through the kitchen and to the main seating area to start waiting on his section.

The two other waitresses, Kali and Lana, were already working, moving tables around for what looked to be a big party coming in. The restaurant Daniel worked at was rather nice, more formal than most around town, so most people came to the restaurant if they were looking for something special. The host, Will, at the front sighing in relief at the sight of Daniel walking in.

“Finally! Thank God you’re here!” Will began, handing Daniel his things frantically, “We got a huge party coming in. Teresa just sprung it on us when we opened,” Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed, stuffing the pens and orderbook in his pocket, trying to keep up with Will, “Whole party booked the restaurant. It’s just us four tonight. Party is almost reaching forty-”

“Forty? Forty people? And four waiters? What the hell was Teresa thinking?” Part of Daniel wished he had called in, but the four of them were a good team, he couldn’t bail on them. Tucking his hair behind his ears as it fell in his face, he sighed and shook his head, “What do I need to do before they get here?”

Will seemed to relax a bit when Daniel offered to help, wrapping the last bit of silverware before handing the basket to Daniel, “Set the tables. They’re sitting at four tables, ten each. We each get a table and their food is being cooked now so hopefully everything goes smoothly.”

Nodding, Daniel took the silverware, shifting the basket to sit on his hip before moving to the tables, “Yeah, hopefully.”

It didn’t take long to get ready, most of the work already being done before Daniel had clocked in. After the tables were set up and the four of them did some last minute cleaning, the guests soon began to come in, sitting in their assigned spots - the restaurant growing loud quickly.

As the oldest waiter, and the one with the most experience, Daniel didn’t stress too much about his table, focusing on Kali and Will who were the youngest of them, only in high school. He noticed Kali was especially having a hard time balancing all the food on the tray, wobbling as she went to sit it down to begin passing them out. He knew this night couldn’t get any worse, but Hell, Teresa really did throw them a curveball.

When Daniel was refilling glasses, he couldn’t help but grow curious, what was this all about? What were so many fancy rich pricks doing here?

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the occasion?” Daniel asked, doing his best to sound charming rather than nosey. He smiled down at the group at the end of the table he was at, watching as they paused from their conversations to turn to Daniel.

The one man, who turned his nose at the sight of Daniel, scoffed and adjusted his posture in his seat, “Oh you don’t know? Well, if you must know, we’re a group of art collectors,” He pulled out the flyer from his suit pocket and handed it to Daniel, who took it and began unfolding it as he continued, “There’s a new art gallery opening. We plan on going and potentially buying some of her pieces.”

Nodding, Daniel continued to listen until they began to ramble about rich people things that rich people talked about. Reading over the flyer, he recognized the art museum. It was a rather posh one, one that had famous art pieces that people would travel from all over to see. This artist must have been a rather big deal to be having a pop-up in the art museum.

It was the style of art he recognized first. He had seen it before. Where he couldn’t put his finger on, but he knew he had seen the art before. Reading over the name didn’t help either - Cassie Kane?

“Cassie Kane? Like Citizen Kane? What is that, some sort of pen name?” He couldn’t help but laugh at the name, finding it to be ridiculous. He was a writer - well, aspiring writer. He always found pen names to be rather odd, not something he was ever a fan of.

The table laughed at his joke, but Daniel knew that it wasn’t what he said that was funny, but him in general. Rich people always liked to laugh at the waiters, finding whatever came out of their mouth to be funny - as if they were their dancing monkeys.

“You’ve seriously never heard of her? Come now, she’s one of the most aspiring artists right now! It’s not everyday you see someone so young and talented open up a gallery of their own work, let alone in such a famous museum!” This time it was the woman beside the man who spoke, baffled at Daniel’s lack of knowledge in the so-called ‘Cassie Kane’.

“Forgive me, I’m a writer, not much of an artist.” He explained, pulling his lips into a thin smile. His patience was growing weak with these upper-class snobs and his feet were sore. All he wanted to do was go home, smoke a few cigarettes, have some drinks, and pass out on his couch.

“Well, nobody knows much about her. Like I said, she’s young. From what I hear though, she lives in a manor that was passed down to her by a great-aunt or something. I believe she took care of her before her death and her aunt gave her the house,” Another woman said, sipping her champagne before continuing, “A single woman, all alone in that big house. No wonder she has all those paintings, poor girl probably has nothing better to do.”

They erupted into laughs at the woman’s comment, the woman’s own laugh sounding far too similar to a donkey for Daniel to keep his composure, sipping their drinks and continuing on with other conversations.

Before Daniel could finally escape though, giving up all interests on even trying to talk with his table - the original man quickly reached out to Daniel as he turned to leave, pulling at his apron to gain his attention.

“You asked her name, yes well, she’s actually from here. That’s why we’ve stopped by. We wanted to get a look around her hometown before travelling to see what inspired her pieces. Here! I have a photo actually.” The man dug his photo out of his pocket and unlocked it, searching on Google for the artist before pulling up a picture, handing his phone to Daniel who took it, holding it in front of him.

“She’s the one on the far left,” He explained, “In the red.”

Scanning through the line of people, Daniel nearly dropped the man’s phone when he finally reached the artist. He knew he had seen the art from somewhere, and who left town to become an artist? He should have known - it was the only person who he could have thought of. You, you were Cassie Kane.

“You must have known her? She’s about your age! Did you go to school with her?”

The questions became far too much for Daniel, who all but cowered back, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them, “Um, no, sorry, I don’t,” He lied, clearing his throat, “Must have been in different classes than me.”

“Well she’s opening up the invitations to everyone in town. Free admission if you show that you live in town. Perhaps you should go - check the gallery out for yourself and broaden your horizons a bit. Whole town is rather dense from what I’ve seen. No wonder she’s letting you all come for free.”

And after three painfully long hours of listening to the rich snobs joke and whine and bicker, Daniel finally had enough. With a smile, Daniel let out a mocking laugh, pathetically sounding like a snob before his face fell, his table - and the others as well, falling to silence.

“If I wanted to broaden my horizons, I’d go to the zoo, at least there I can enjoy what I’m looking like,” He turned to the woman who had originally spoken up after the man - who’s laugh sounded far too much like a donkey, smiling wickedly down at her, “That reminds me, I heard they’re opening a petting zoo in town - maybe you can go and say hi to the rest of your cousins for me. What exactly do donkeys eat by the way? I’m curious to know.”

He let out a whine line a donkey, mocking the woman before leaning over the table and reaching for the champagne bottle in the ice bucket, pulling the cork off with his teeth and spitting it back out down the table. At this point the whole room was silent, watching as Daniel finally cracked.

When he noticed everyone was staring, after drinking a healthy amount from the bottle, he let out a sigh and let the champagne run down his beard and onto the front of his shirt, hiccuping.

And without another word he made his way lazily from the dining room and through the kitchen, sipping on the bottle until he made it to the back of the kitchen, pushing open Teresa’s door and tossing his apron at things at her, watching as they bounced off her and onto the floor.

“What the he-”

“I quit,” Daniel said, cutting her off. When she looked at him confused, and of course pissed like always, he could only smile and brave it, “I quit. Don’t bother docking me because I’m not coming back. Better yet, don’t even bother paying me today,” He looked down at the champagne bottle and waved it at her, “Consider this my tip.”

And before she could get another word out, he turned and headed out of her office, smirking to himself as he listened to her scream for him to get back as he left the restaurant, heading through the filled parking lot, and back to his apartment.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

After dinner that night, alone in your study like most, you attempted to work on your laptop, going through emails in hopes of maybe finding something that was worth your wild. To your avail, however, nothing jumped out at you.

It was all the same - the coupons from the candle store you liked, the newspaper from your hometown you still followed, and the countless number of spam emails that seemed to always flood your inbox.

Slamming your laptop shut, you let out a huff and fell back into your seat, looking around your office. Your hands found your face and you ran them up and down, groaning before letting your body go slack, arms draped over the arm rests as you twisted side to side in your chair.

For such a busy woman, life often felt lonely to you. Living in your great-aunt’s old manor didn’t help either. The ghosts of those who lived before you seemed to be the only friends you had.

That, and the animals you had out back.

Pushing yourself up from your chair, you made your way out of the office and down the hall, going down the grand staircase. Your slippers scuffed across the floor as you made your way through the hall and into the breakfast nook, opening the door that led outside into the backyard. You had quite a few animals - the acres in your backyard reserved strictly for the farm animals that your great-aunt had before she passed.

Vee suggested that you send them off to someone else, seeing as though you were a busy woman who didn’t need the extra stress of animals. But you couldn’t do that to them, this was their home, more of their home than your own. You made it work, getting up early to feed them and take care of them before work that day and then spending evenings, like tonight, with them.

Opening the gate that secured the perimeter for them, so they wouldn’t wander outside of their area and onto the road to get hit, making your way into the fenced area. Most of the animals were already tucked away for bed, the occasional moo from one of the cows echoing across the hills. You didn’t mind though, sometimes coming in was more for you than it was for them. It helped get your mind off things.

Sitting on the stool you kept out for milking the cows, you rested your elbows on your knees, your chin on your hands. You knew it was rather ridiculous to be sulking so much - being such a successful aspiring artist with a manor and so much that many didn’t - but what nobody seemed to realize was how lonely you were. God, did you know it - you reminded yourself everyday.

But it wasn’t that you were appreciative of all that you had, no, you were more than thankful - but everyone had their one wish in life, and yours - still to this day even after everything, was that by some miracle Daniel would come back, that he would show up at your door on his hands and knees to beg for your forgiveness.

Vee reminded you daily that your dream wasn’t good for you.

“If he loved you as much as you like to say he did...why isn’t he here now? Why has he been gone for the last decade and a half? That doesn’t seem like the man who deserves you, let alone crying over.”

She was right though - he wasn’t worth your time of day.

Letting out a sigh, you wiped away the stray tears before the ‘baah’ from one of the goats made you jump, turning back to see one of the babies prancing your way, a smile growing on your face. It was late, and the mischievous goat should have been sleeping.

“And what are you doing up?” You scolded playfully, much like a mother would to their own child. You watched the baby goat sprint at you the last few feet, butting it’s head into your leg before pawing at the ground to get your attention, wanting to be lifted.

“Oh come here,” Bending down, you lifted up the baby goat and held them in your arms, watching as they got comfortable before tucking their head in the crook of your arm. “Which one are you, hmm?”

Twisting the collar your way, you looked at the name tag and smiled.

“Marlene, hello there sweet girl. What are you still doing awake? I believe it’s past your bedtime.” You heard the muffled ‘baah’ from under your arm and stroked her back, keeping her held in your arms while you enjoyed the moment.

Rocking her gently, you listened as she soon lulled into a sleep, your own head bobbing slightly as you grew tired yourself. Leaning back against the fence pole, you let out a yawn, adjusting so the wood wasn’t digging directly into your spine before your petting slowed.

“Just a minute...I’ll put you up in just a minute.” You whispered, your head falling back as you entered your sudden slumber.

Although your minute became minutes, then hours, until you woke to the erupting sounds of all the animals around you, growing impatient for breakfast. Groaning, you sat up, your back painfully stiff as you cracked your eyes open, looking around to see the animals eyeing you, running rampant as they waited for their food.

“Shit!” You hissed, standing up, stumbling as you lost balance before rushing around to get everyone fed for the day. God, did you really fall asleep out here? How tired were you? You must have been rather tired, seeing as though you slept on a stool propped against the fence post all night.

Thankfully though it didn’t take long, doing your regular morning chores until you were finally able to head back inside, or rather trudging back inside. Your body was painfully sore and while you slept a while, it was a rather shit sleep.

When you made it through the breakfast nook, into the hallway to go back into your room, you stopped at the sight of Vee who was coming down the stairs, looking for you.

“There you are! I looked everywhere for you, did you forget that we were supposed to meet with some of the other museum directors tod-” She paused, nose turning and she sniffled the air, “What is that smell?”

“Me, probably,” You stated, watching as Vee looked at you confused, before you motioned behind you, “I fell asleep out back last night...just woke up actually. I’m sorry, I’ll go get ready an-”

But before you could leave and go get ready for the day, Vee held out her hand, stopping you before pulling out her phone, texting with one hand while you waited patiently, swaying slightly as you still woke up. When you heard the noise from her phone signaling she had sent a text to someone, she lowered her hand and smiled.

“Vee, you didn’t have to do that. I’m sorry I-”

“Please, look at you. Better yet, smell yourself. You reek! Go take a shower and come back down. I’m craving a mimosa. You and I will get breakfast together, think you need a break from all the museum directors breathing down your neck.”

You could only smile, nodding towards Vee before going in for a hug, stopping suddenly when she took a step back. “After your shower. I’m not letting you stink me up too.”

Letting out a laugh, you shook your head and made your way up the stairs, throwing your clothes off and into your laundry basket before heading into your bathroom to take a quick shower for the day.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

As much as yesterday was odd for Daniel, the new day had been even more odd. He wasn’t expecting much - maybe a phone call from his boss about his outburst yesterday - in fact, Daniel might have rather had that, then what he had been going through all morning.

“So let me get this straight...you want me to take your grandfather to the art gallery? I don’t see why you can’t just do it, Will.” Daniel explained, standing near his t.v. stand while Will, the kid from the restaurant, sat on his couch beside his grandfather, and Kali, the other girl from the restaurant, sat on his other side.

It would take a bigger idiot than Daniel to believe the mask he was wearing. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to give the man a ride and earn a few extra bucks, given how he was now out of a job, he just wasn’t ready to face you again.

“I got school. Remember? I’m only in high school still. Kali can’t cause she doesn’t have her license yet,” Will explained, shrugging his shoulders before motioning to his grandfather, who looked to be falling asleep, “Besides...he wants to go see an old student - that old student just so happens to be the girl you’re still obviously in love with-”

“Hey now, Will, I appreciate it...but I’m not still in love with her. That’s in the past, and I’ve moved on.” But had he? Had he really moved on?

Frowning, Will nodded and looked down, Kali glancing towards him before standing up, making her way to Daniel. Grabbing onto his arm, Kali smiled weakly at Daniel.

“Maybe if you don’t wanna go and see her, just go to appreciate the art? Who knows, maybe there will be a story there worth writing about? This could be your big break!” Kali suggested, trying to convince Daniel in any way she could to go. “Besides...you’re out of a job now, what exactly are you doing that’s keeping you from going?”

Opening his mouth, Daniel went to say something before realizing what the kids were doing - they were trying to help him out, cause after all...teenagers seemed to know more than he did.

Kali was right, even if he went and didn’t run into you, there could be a potential story there, something he could write about. That, and Daniel did always get along well with his high school art teacher, so maybe this wouldn’t be all that bad? It’d be good for him to get out of town.

Sighing, Daniel looked at Kali one last time before back at Will, then his grandfather who was now snoring on his couch, “Fine...I’ll take him. But if you guys are trying to set something up, you’re wasting your time. That’s in the past-”

He was surprised to feel the sets of arms wrap around him in a hug. Laughing lightly, Daniel awkwardly patted Kali and Will’s back. “Guys...come on now, you offer a bum cash and it’s going to take a lot for him to refuse.”

Feeling Kali pinch his side, Daniel jumped back, yelping before watching the two laugh now, Will’s grandfather now waking up and looking around, as if he were trying to figure out where he was at. Okay, so maybe taking care of him wouldn’t be all that fun, but it couldn’t be all that bad? Right?

“So, when do we leave?” Daniel asked, watching Will and Kali help his grandfather up before making their way to the door.

“Tomorrow morning. If you leave at six, you’ll get there by four - give or take traffic - we already have your room booked so you just have to check in once you get there.” Will explained, opening the front door to begin heading down the steps and outside.

Following the trio, Daniel helped in any way he could with getting the old man down the steps, making sure he didn’t slip and fall. When they finally got outside and loaded him into the passenger seat of the car, Daniel took a step back, eyes furrowed.

“Wait...six in the morning? Jesus...I haven’t got up that early since-”

“Since the Christmas banquet breakfast that you were late for, yes, we know,” Kali stated, shutting the passenger door before turning to look back up at Daniel, “Just...wake up on time. Will and I will be over here just about that time on our way to school. So just be ready, okay?”

Nodding, Daniel let out a huff and pushed his hair back, “Yeah, yeah, I can do that...you know I’m the adult here, right? You guys really like to boss me around, huh?” When he felt Kali hug him again, he could only soften, hugging her back. “I’ll be up, just - don’t expect a whole lot out of me on this. I’m getting him there and back, that’s it.”

“Totally, and if you so happen to fall back in love with the girl you can’t seem to get over, then that’s all the better.” Will noted, helping Kali in the backseat before getting in the car himself.

Shaking his head, Daniel made his way to the left side of the car, looking at Will and Kali, “Hey, how did you guys even find out about her? I mean...I’ve never brought her up before.”

“Well after yesterday’s incident, Kali and I looked her up and found some old photos of you guys from high school. I knew you went to our school so I asked my grandfather about you guys and, well, he told us the rest. It was Kali who suggested you go.” Will explained, motioning to the backseat towards Kali who was grinning.

Kali was a sweet girl, who was maybe a little too obsessed with love stories - but Daniel couldn’t deny their obvious findings. Especially after yesterday, they were right to assume some pushed down feelings of his.

Daniel could only hope that if he got the courage, he’d be able to tell you how he felt, how sorry he was after all these years. But after all these years, would you even want to hear what he had to say?

[cagestark]

A Hole In the Head//8

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

-

About this: 4.5k. Smoking. Alcohol. Mention of wounds, healed (burns specifically). Masturbation. Threatening as foreplay. Typical winterspider stuff. Daddy kink.

-

Hours later finds Peter still staring upwards, only the ceiling blocks his view of the stars. Most nights he crawls into bed naked (or ends up that way thanks to his lover). It’s more comfortable that way, his sensitive skin against the high thread count sheets. But Peter doesn’t hold much hope that he’ll sleep at all tonight, so instead he dons one of Tony’s dress shirts pulled from the laundry basket, pressing his nose to smell the fading cologne whenever his heart starts racing. 

The bed is far too big for one man. Far too empty. 

Peter picks up his phone and opens a message to Bucky. Come lay with me. Even though it’s two in the morning, Bucky’s response is almost instant, a bullheaded, No, that Peter can almost hear in the man’s rasping, no-nonsense voice. 

No fucking, Peter promises. He sends the message, but his thumbs hesitate over the keyboard, fluttering anxiously before he decides that nothing ventured will mean nothing gained. I can’t sleep, he admits. Help distract me?

In a few moments, the bedroom door opens a fraction and Bucky’s figure is there. He’s wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, hair mussed like maybe he was laying in bed the next room over just like Peter. The sight of him makes Peter’s heart flit upwards to his throat. He’s much more aware of his own outfit: nothing but one of Tony’s shirts and the softest boxer-briefs. 

“No fucking,” Bucky mutters. 

Peter crosses his heart. 

The snort Bucky gives shows just how much he thinks of Peter’s promise. The armchair is still beside the bed where Bucky left it earlier. Peter had thought about pushing it back to the spot in the corner, but a part of him likes the new spot for it. It was a fond reminder of the man who had just sat it in hours before and who was there again now. Maybe it was time to redecorate—call it fengshui. 

Peter settles in amongst the blankets and sheets still smelling of Tony’s scent. With his lover miles away, this is the most contentment he can find. Against his will, he feels the sting of exhaustion at the back of his eyes, the tender ache relieved only for a moment when he blinks. 

“Can you believe I don’t know anything about you,” Peter says, resting one hand beneath his cheek on the pillow.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder—the one without the terrible scarring. “Not much to know.” 

“You’re the Winter Soldier,” Peter says with no small amount of awe in his voice. The way Bucky’s shoulders tense at the title isn’t lost on him, but by then the words are already tripping their way out of his mouth. “You must have plenty of stories you could tell—” 

“They aren’t bedtime stories.” 

Peter winces. Maybe Bucky has a point. “Then just tell me about Bucky Barnes. What’s your middle name?” 

The man’s mouth twitches, his eyes glinting in a way that makes Peter feel like the butt of a joke. All at once, the expression is neutral again as Bucky says: “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Oh man,” Peter says with vicious glee. “It must be awful, then.” 

“Terrible,” Bucky agrees. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know? Pick one.” 

“Pick one for me.” 

Peter sighs. “That’s not how favorites work.” 

Bucky stares at him, solemn. “It’s not how I work, kid. I’m not that kind of man.” 

“Your favorite color is blue, now,” Peter says. “I’ve decided.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes in answer. 

“You said you lived in Russia. Were you born there?” 

“No.” 

When the man doesn’t elaborate, Peter presses. “Where were you born?” 

“The west.” 

“I’m sorry, the west? That’s not a satisfactory answer.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asks. “I’m wanted internationally. Telling you anything about me could get me killed one day, or—” 

“Or?”

“Or it could get you killed,” he says, expression dark. “I have powerful enemies.” 

“Powerful allies, too,” Peter points out. “Not that I can imagine anyone ever getting one over on you.” 

“It’s happened before.” Bucky’s hand comes up to trace at his shoulder along the mottled scars that circle the shoulder joint. With the attention drawn to it, Peter allows himself to look. The skin is heavily textured, shiny pink in some lights and a dark purple in others. Fresh, he thinks. Maybe a few years old. During Tony’s employment, he thinks. “I’m human, kid.”

“Does it hurt?” Peter asks. 

Another one-armed shrug. 

“Is the person who did that—are they dead now?” A slow, mirthless smile stretches across Bucky’s face; an answer in itself. Peter finds himself mirroring it. “Good.”

Without a further thought, Peter throws the blankets off of his bare legs. Bucky’s eyes flicker over them: pale and soft with dark, sparse hair, gaze lingering on Peter’s glossy clear-polished toes. When Peter crawls towards that side of the bed, Bucky’s chin ducks down like he’s preparing for a physical attack, though the way his eyes shimmer like molten mercury makes Peter think it wouldn’t be altogether unwelcome. 

Peter opens the bedside drawer on Tony’s side of the bed. Tony’s personal handgun is gone, which makes it easy to rifle through the condoms and lube to find the half-empty tube of cream the older man had received from the dermatologist. 

“Come here,” Peter says, patting the bed. 

“Why?” Bucky asks, eyes narrowed at the tube in Peter’s hands. “No fucking.” 

“No fucking!” Peter says. It takes all the mental fortitude he has not to roll his eyes. Who could have imagined that an international assassin would be such a prude? “Tony—he’s got a scar too. They gave him this cream that he was supposed to rub on it three times a day to help the scar tissue break down and lighten, but he’s too fucking busy for that.” 

“And I’m not?”

“You’re with me two-thirds of the day,” Peter says, opening the tube. He squeezes out a generous amount of pale colored cream onto his fingers. “And I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

When Bucky makes no move to come to the bed, Peter lets his legs dangle over the edge, reaching out to where the man sits at the bedside, but before his fingers can come close to Bucky’s shoulder, the man flinches backwards, catching Peter’s wrist in a fierce grip. 

“Don’t,” Bucky rasps. “You don’t have to touch it.” 

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Peter scoffs. The grip around Peter’s wrist tightens to the point of pain before going slack again, Bucky’s thumb pressed against his pulse point which must be hammering. “When will you learn that there’s not a person in the world who could make me do something I didn’t want to do?” 

After a long moment, Bucky lets go. 

Gentle, Peter lets his fingers trace over the ring of scars. It lacks the clear edges of Tony’s stab wound; if Peter had to guess (which he doesn’t, he doesn’t have to think at all about what gave Bucky those scars, about how badly it must have hurt, about how long it must have taken him to heal), he would say that the scars look like burns. 

The scars don’t have the same texture as the surrounding skin, no softness, no stretch. Peter rubs the cream in with the utmost care, working hard not to cause any pain. He coaxes Bucky’s arm to shift so that he can reach the scars that extend towards his armpit and then stands, t-shirt touching his thighs to walk around the other side of the man and make sure every inch of tissue receives the same attention. 

“I hate this.” Bucky’s voice makes him jump, jerking him from where he’d become lost in his own thoughts and in the pleasant monotony. His hand freezes, but Bucky goes on: “I hate the way I am around you.”

“Nobody said you had to be such a hardass,” Peter says. He reaches out and gathers Bucky’s hair where it’s falling onto his shoulder and getting stuck in the cream. When his fingers brush the back of the man’s neck as he brushes the hair to the other side of his head, Bucky shivers. 

“That’s how I’m supposed to be,” Bucky rasps. “I hate how you make me so—” 

Bucky cuts himself off and Peter waits one endless moment before he prods the other man. “So?” 

“Weak.” 

Peter isn’t sure what to say. There’s a queasiness in his stomach. He remembers when things started to get serious with Tony, when his older lover had explained that affection was weakness. There’s a reason why cold men make it so far. When you fall in love with something, it becomes a part of you, an extension of you. Suddenly, you’re taking up more space in the world, Tony had said. The man had turned his hand into a makeshift gun, pressing the barrel of his pointer finger to his temple. Bigger targets are always easier to hit, sweet thing. 

He’d lifted a hand, shifting it between Tony’s finger and his head. Then, it had frightened Peter. Tony was right; love could be a liability. But after Beck, Peter knew that for people like them, that wasn’t true. Love could make him colder, braver, bolder. Strong. 

When he opens his mouth to tell Bucky that, he notices that the man’s head has slackened, body loose in the chair. One glance at his face shows that he has fallen asleep. 

-

Peter falls asleep himself, somehow. When he wakes he can see the dim signs of impending morning through the window, but the chair beside the bed is empty. He stretches, groaning with satisfaction before reaching for his phone on the nightstand to make sure that he hasn’t missed his morning Facetime with Tony. 

He has a handful of unread messages from the man, which is more than he fell asleep with hours ago. Smile stretching his face, Peter opens with one hand while the other reaches down to palm his morning wood (more out of habit than anything else). When he sees the wall of text sent, eyes skimming it quickly, he squeezes his erection tightly and hisses through his teeth. 

Fuck kid, Tony begins. I just finished that footage and I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard in my life. I’d kill to have been a fly on the wall, to hear whatever filth he was spewing in your ear. How did his cock feel pressed against you, honey? Looks like it felt good with the way you rutted against him like an animal. You looked like an absolute slut pinned underneath him and so desperate for whatever scraps he’d toss you. When I’m home, I want to see you suck him off and show him your gratitude properly, is that understood? 

If there’s any doubt how I feel about this, see the enclosed.

Next Tony sent a video. The thumbnail tells Peter everything: just a still of Tony’s shirtless torso. He clicks on it frantically and makes it full screen, mashing the button to turn up the volume. For being in his forties, Tony looks incredible. He’d worked hard with the physical therapists hired to come to the mansion after Beck, and it shows in the flat lines of his abs. Dark hair is smattered across his chest and then against below his belly-button. The scar at the center of his chest is dark with shadows from the dim lighting. 

Tony fiddles with the placement of the phone until it is propped up on what appears to be the desk of his hotel room. A glass rests just barely in view, drained. Tony sits back in his chair, the movement flexing the muscles in his core. Peter can only see him from nose to knee, but it’s more than enough. His dress pants are open, cock tenting his boxer-briefs obscenely. But he doesn’t touch it; instead, he takes a package of cigarettes from where they rest offscreen on the desk and expertly taps one free. Just the sight of his capable hands has Peter’s throat bobbing, the hand on his cock squeezing to the point of pain just to pace himself. 

Tony lights the cigarette with the lighter Peter bought him at the mall, and Peter swears he can feel the flame. 

“There’s no smoking in this room,” Tony says after the flame catches. “But with a sinful little thing like you at home, a fee is the least of my worries. I haven’t smoked cigarettes in over a decade, pumpkin. You see what you’re doing to me?” 

Holding the cigarette in his lips, Tony reaches down to work his cock free. The sight of it evokes a physical response, Peter’s mouth salivating, his throat tightening. Leisurely, Tony fists it while his other hand comes up to take the cigarette from his mouth, smoke rushing from his nose. 

“You can show this to him, if you feel so inclined. If you really think he’s interested.” The handsome, full mouth twists into a smirk. “You know I’m not shy. And if he’s going to have you, he’s going to have to get used to me, too. The things I’m going to have him do to you,” Tony sighs wistfully, shaking his head to clear the illusions. “You’ve got no idea what you’re in for. I’m going to take you apart, sweet thing, and he’s going to be the tool that does it for me.”

Peter can imagine. Beneath the sheets, he shimmies his underwear off and runs his fingers over his cock. All at once he remembers that he isn’t allowed to touch himself and his expression sours. On screen, Tony taps ash onto the desk. Peter hopes he has to pay a big fine. Huge, he thinks sulkily. 

But if Peter is anything, he is resourceful. Rolling into his stomach (kicking when his legs get all twisted up in the sheets), he presses a pillow down between his legs and groans at the pressure on his aching cock. It’s juvenile, but it will work, and if Tony didn’t want him to exploit loopholes in his orders, then he shouldn’t have left the loopholes in the first place. He turns his head until his cheek is pressed into the pillow, holding the phone inches from his face. 

Tony’s stamina and cool head always impress Peter. Surely it is something that comes from twenty more years of experience, but Tony always strokes his cock like he has all the time in the world, like he’s savoring the feeling of himself in his hand and cumming is secondary. His knees are spread wide, the perfect place for Peter to kneel between. 

Behind him, the door opens. 

He sucks in a breath, rolling onto his side to take in Bucky’s figure where he leans against the doorframe, eyes narrowed at Peter’s suspicious figure on the bed. Peter lets his back arch, emphasizing the obscene curve of his ass where he continues to rut against the pillow, leaking precum. 

“Jesus, kid, it isn’t even eight AM. What the fuck has you so worked up?” 

Peter grins. Holding up the phone, he says, “A gift. From Tony.” 

A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitches as if he is clenching his teeth. The otherwise unimpressed look stays on his face until Peter adds: “He says it’s for you, too.” 

A normal person might react with interest, pleasure. Bucky looks as if he’s only been pushed a fraction closer to a murderous rampage. He stalks closer to the bed, boots silent against the floor. How a man with so much mass is so quiet, Peter will never know. “The fuck do you mean it’s for me?”

When he gets close enough, his eyes flit to the phone and there’s no hiding the widening of his gaze. His whole expression shudders as it struggles to return to a more neutral position, but it’s difficult when those pale eyes are glued to Tony’s tan hand where it leisurely jerks the impressive cock between his legs. Has Bucky always been this expressive, Peter wonders, or is Peter just getting better at reading the few expressions he has?

It was one thing to hear Tony’s sinful mouth yesterday on the phone, but it’s another thing entirely to be confronted with the image of it, the overt sexuality of the cigarette dangling from his lips, the way his head tilts back on screen as he draws closer to his orgasm. All this and Peter hasn’t taken his eyes off of Bucky’s face. On screen, Tony mutters, fuck kid, take it, and Bucky’s pupils dilate, and Peter is lost, the phone lax in his hand as he presses his face into the pillow until its hard to breathe, hips jerking through his orgasm.

He comes to in time to lift his head and watch Tony cum, all the muscles in his abdomen thrown into sharp definition as his hips jerk upwards into the tight circle of his fist, cum pale where it lands on his tan skin and the dark fabric of his dress pants. The groan he gives is music to Peter’s ears, one hand coming up to take the cigarette from his mouth so that he can pant properly. 

“Look what you fucking do to me,” Tony sighs smoke curling from his mouth. “And nobody here to clean me up. What a tragedy. Shakespearean proportions. Next time I cum, I’m doing it down your throat, sweet thing. Be good for Bucky. I love you.” 

He stands onscreen, tucking his softening cock back into his dress pants (though he leaves them undone as he reaches out and turns off the video). Peter dares to give Bucky a glance and finds him glaring at the phone. He waits to see what the other man might do, but eventually the phone screen goes dark and still Bucky stares, now at his own reflection. 

He drops the phone onto the bed with a quiet thud, fingers flexing and smoothing at his jeans as if he’s trying to wipe away a filthy touch. When he speaks again, it’s with a mixture of hostility and resignation that makes Peter shiver: “He knows.” 

“If you mean how obsessed you are with him, then he doesn’t. But to be fair,” says Peter, edging towards the far side of the bed just in case he decides to run for it. “You’re a little obvious.” 

“Obvious?” The word comes from Bucky’s mouth sounding like a curse. He shifts on instinct until he is between Peter and the one exit. Fucking assassins. “I’ve worked for him for eight years and he never caught on. Three weeks with you and now I’m fucked. What did you tell him?” 

“All I said was that I thought you had a hard-on for him!” Peter says. He pulls the blankets up, cocooning himself in soft cotton. A slip of dark fabric appears - his boxers, score! - so he works to tug them on instead. “He seemed shocked, but in a good way. Look, I don’t want to be presumptuous or anything, but I feel like this is a very natural progression given where we were heading. I don’t get why you’re freaking out.” 

“You don’t understand,” Bucky mutters. He breaks from standing between Peter and the door and chooses to sit in the chair Peter is beginning to think of as his. Slumped over, he looks like the picture of dejection. He mutters something under his breath but it doesn’t sound like English. 

With all the care of a man approaching a feral animal, Peter carefully slips off the bed (tugs up his boxers the rest of the way, even if there is cooling cum clinging to his well-trimmed pubes) and pads to the chair Bucky occupies. The carpet is soft and not uncomfortable to kneel on. When he tilts his head to rest it on Bucky’s jean-clad knee, the man flinches. After a long, still moment, he lets a hand come down to pat condescendingly at Peter’s head. 

Rolling his eyes, Peter says, “I don’t understand. Then tell me.” 

Bucky lets out a breath. He tugs on a lock of Peter’s hair until Peter turns, resting his chin on the man’s thigh to look up into his tired, uncertain face. “You want to know more about me? Tony is all that’s worth mentioning. This thing with you,” he begins. “It’s big. I’m not saying it isn’t. But this - thing - I’ve had for Tony? It’s been so long. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s formative. It made me.” 

“I still don’t get it.” 

“I’m still talking, aren’t I? Do I sound finished?” 

“Start from the beginning.” 

“You’re a bossy little shit,” Bucky mutters, flicking Peter between the eyes. “There’s going to be none of that when we’re fucking, you know that right?” 

Peter grins. “We’ll see. Quit stalling.” 

“About eight years ago, I reached the end of my rope. Lost my mind, a little. I convinced myself that I was being followed, that the people I worked for had put a hit out on me, and I ended up isolating myself in a tiny cabin - somewhere, don’t give me that fucking look, kid, be lucky I’m telling you this much. I was there for twenty days. Starving to death. Spiraling...then one day out of the fucking blue, Natasha called me.”

“Nat?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised. “You two knew each other?” 

Bucky nods and doesn’t deign to explain their relationship any further. “She called me to say she’d been stateside for three years, working for a man she couldn’t even name over the phone. She promised that if I ever wanted a change of scenery, I could catch a plane and there would be a job waiting for me.

“I thought it was a plot. Maybe she was in on it with the others, maybe they were just trying to lure me out. Maybe there was no job, maybe as soon as I stepped foot outside, they’d have my location confirmed and they’d send someone to kill me. The no food, no water just made me more paranoid. In the end, I told myself that even if it all was a plot - if I died trying to get out - it wouldn’t matter. Who’d fucking care if I died? Not anyone I worked for. Not Natasha. Not some boss in New York City. Least of all me. 

“So I caught a plane to New York, drank water out of the faucet in a bathroom at JFK International and met up with Nat. She took me to Le Cinq in downtown Manhattan, that fancy French place. Fuck, I must have looked like a nutcase walking in there, smelling like a homeless person, thin enough that a stiff enough wind could have carried me away. And there I was surrounded by all these white table clothes and maître d’s, luxury like I’d never been treated to. Then there was Tony, sitting alone at a table dressed in one of his suits but without the jacket. He stood up when he saw us coming, like some kind of gentleman in one of those old black and white movies. You know what he looks like. But it was more than that. He’s got a presence, and once I was in it, something inside me just - burst.  

“We’d never even fuckin’ met. Never even spoken. But I told him that my gun was his, my skills were his, my life was his, if he wanted it. We hadn’t even sat down yet. He asked me what did I want, and I said I didn’t know. Trust, maybe. Rest, but I didn’t fucking say that. And he just smiled and said, ‘well, how about a hamburger’?” 

“No,” Peter says, one hand clutching at his bare chest. “No, tell me you did not force Audric Ansel, head chef of Le Cinq, make you a fucking hamburger at the finest Parisian restaurant in the tri-state area. They don’t even have beef on the menu.” 

“I didn’t,” Bucky says. He reaches out and threads his fingers into Peter’s hair, pulling to coax him to rest his head back on the man’s thigh. Just that act of dominance alone starts a fire simmering low in Peter’s belly. “Tony did. Is that the only point you took from that story? Shows how fucking often I’ll open up to you.”

“Not the only point,” Peter says, eyes heavy lidded. He’d need a few more minutes to become hard again, but that doesn’t mean his cock doesn’t tingle with the threat of it. “I know now that you’re in love with him.” 

Peter feels viscerally when Bucky’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling at his scalp to the point of pain. He loosens them right away at the wince on Peter’s face, patting clumsily as if to soothe the ache he caused. 

“If you tell him,” Bucky warns. “I’ll make you regret it.” 

“Fuck, yes, threaten me again,” Peter groans lowly. He has to bite off the end of that sentence, the way the word daddy came so easily to his tongue. But the other man isn’t ready for that, hasn’t expressed any interest in it. Not to mention, maybe it makes him a sentimental fool, but Tony is the only man he’s ever called daddy, and it doesn’t feel right to pass the moniker along. Not without permission. Peter opens his mouth wide and plants his teeth into the muscular thigh that was resting beneath his cheek. When he pulls back, there is a shadow of the imprint in the denim. “It turns me on.” 

Bucky pulls his hair again, this time harsh and purposeful. Peter’s neck cracks, an unsettling sensation that makes him shiver. He leans down until his breath fans across Peter’s upturned face. “I mean it.” 

There is a real trace of fear that trickles down the back of Peter’s neck, but he leans into it. This is what he wanted. A dangerous man brings danger with him. His mouth opens to taunt Bucky more but the eyes - those pale, sea spray eyes - they are wild. Maybe frightened. It takes herculean effort to decide between egging the man on and comforting him. Well - it takes effort to choose what he knows to be right. 

“I’m joking,” Peter says, throat hoarse from how his neck is exposed. “I won’t tell him.” 

He’s left pinned under that fervent gaze for a few more endless seconds and then Bucky’s fist loosens. Brings him back down to rest his head where he had moments ago planted his cheek. Between Peter’s legs, he is throbbing. He can’t help but reach a hand down to palm at the tented fabric of his boxers. 

“None of that,” Bucky says sternly. “Jesus, how desperate are you? You came just fifteen minutes ago and you’re already thirsty for more. You’re going to learn some patience, kid, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Good luck,” says Peter, breathless.

[ghostlywritten]

If Only I Had Stayed In The Shadows - Chapter Six

James Potter x OC

Words: 4,8k

Prologue   Chapter One   Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four 

Chapter Five

"What?"

"I'm asking you out," James stated matter-of-factly whilst I sat next to him, having a mental breakdown.

"Um, I'm not Lily, you know that, right?" I asked slowly, pondering on the possibility of Poppy overlooking a concussion that caused him to blabber nonsense. His eyes did continuously flicker over my shoulder like a madman.

"I know that," he rolled his eyes.

"Then why?"

He shrugged. "I wanna hang out with you."

I raised an eyebrow, "That's not a reason."

"Do I need a reason other than wanting to spend time with you?"

"We've been hanging out for the past months, why the sudden need to date now?"

James huffed impatiently, "Are you telling me that you don't think something is going on between us?" My eyes widened in surprise, a sense of déjà-vu hitting me when I remembered Sirius saying the same thing not long ago.

"No?" I squeaked, still in shock before I narrowed my eyes at him, "Definitely not. You are in love with Lily, remember?"

"No, I'm not," he said with a blank face, "Not anymore."

"Oh yeah? All of a sudden?"

"Yes, all of a sudden."

"I don't believe you," I shook my head, causing him to stare at me in disbelief, "You've been pining after her for years and now you want to tell me you are over her, just like that? And after her you want to go out with someone like me?" I shook my head again, "Unbelievable."

James' eyes softened, "It did not happen just like that. I've just come to realise that my affections were shallow...I don't really know her and the way she treats me is not the most lovable as you might have noticed."

I winced, her past yelling echoing in my memory, "Yeah...I have. But still, this feels like I'm gonna be a rebound and I don't really want to be the filler for anyone."

"You are not a rebound! Merlin, Cec!" James huffed, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"What? You can't blame me for being suspicious," I defended myself, "Why would you even wanna date me? Just because I'm nice to you in comparison to her?"

"Yes!" he almost exclaimed, throwing his arms up, "That's it. You are nice, incredibly so. And yet...you are still sarcastic and witty. And you make the worst jokes ever."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't know how to persuade shit but give advices that are surprisingly convincing. You have the aim of a hippogriff when it comes to spells in DADA but you still manage to throw a Quaffle through the hoops from a bloody mile away."

"Cec!" he grabbed my shoulders, completely turning me towards him, "You are full of contradictions and make no sense at all. And maybe that's exactly why I want to date you."

I wondered when he had noticed all these things about me when I said, "I don't know whether I should feel flattered that you know this much about me..." James beamed. "Or creeped out." His grin deflated into a pout, "The first please. I'm usually not observant."

"Please, you are a Seeker and Quidditch Captain. You are nothing but observant," I retaliated.

"Touché," he responded with a shrug, "So, what do you say?"

"Say to what?"

"Say to going out with me, Cec!" he exclaimed impatiently.

"Oh, that..." I sighed, trying to ignore the way my racing heart shouted at me to say 'yes' already. After all, he would be the first to date me and possibly become my first boyfriend, too. Which was basically everything I had been missing to complete the whole adolescent experience. Besides, I really had no reason to not agree on a date; he was good-looking, kind if he wanted to be, charming even teachers like McGonagall (her twinkling eyes ain't gonna lie) aaaand he was good-looking. I could say 'yes' just because of this and to finally receive my first kiss but a churning in my stomach - my gut instinct - told me it was a bad idea.

"Cecily," James called me out of my thoughts and I shook my head slightly, "Talk to me. What's holding you back?"

"I'm not really sure myself," I said slowly, "Let me think about it, alright?" James nodded, "I'll be patient."

The next morning...

"ARE YOU GONNA SAY YES OR NO?" James yelled from across the hallway and I cringed at the number of heads that turned at the commotion, halting in their way towards the Great Hall for breakfast. I waved at Alice and Marlene to go ahead as I turned to face the messy-haired boy jogging up to me.

"So much for being patient, eh?" I commented, my cheeks still red from the attention around us.

James huffed, "How much can someone think about something this easy?"

"It's not easy," I protested lightly though 80 percent of me was already convinced to say 'yes', "It's a huge thing for me."

"It's not a huge thing," James rolled his eyes and I almost pouted at the sting in my chest, "Not?"

"No, it's just one date. No big deal, eh?" he stated.

"Well, I've never been to one," I pointed out quite shyly, embarrassment colouring my cheeks. Better tell him I was a freak at the beginning when he had the chance to still run away.

James shrugged, "Me neither." My eyes bulged, causing him to blink. "What?"

"You? Never on a date? You?" I spluttered in shock.

The dark-haired boy raised an eyebrow, "You've been here the past few years, right? Has Evans ever said yes to me?"

"No, but...," I trailed off. I had thought he would have at least tried dating besides wanting Lily. "Why have you never tried dating anyone else before?"

"Why would I if I'm not interested in them?" he asked back though cringing right after his words. I looked at him weirdly, "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied hastily, regaining his composure, "So what do you say?"

"You haven't really given me a lot of time," I pointed out and he moaned in despair, "Why does no one want to go out with me?"

"It's not that," I relented, giving him a pitiful look, "It's just I think no one can overlook the fact that you've been in love with someone for almost your entire school career. For it to just disappear is strange."

James breathed in deeply, straightening up, "Believe me when I say I've...wasted enough of time thinking about it. And yes, it was hard giving up on her but on the other hand it's not because she is never been mine to begin with."

I looked at him almost sadly. "And don't give me that pitying look," he accused, pointing at my face, "I'm really done with her. And I want to start fresh. So...will you go out with me?" he asked with a sigh as if already expecting me to say no.

Regarding him quietly, I decided to not reply to it directly, "Come on, let's go eat breakfast." James blinked. "You can't expect me to answer on an empty stomach now, can you?"

"You need food to make a decision?" he asked with a judging look as he fell into step beside me and I shrugged, "I love food. Now you know what to do if we go on a date." I could practically see the reels turning in his head and pinpoint the exact moment he realised what I had said as his face started to split into a wide grin.

"This is how it feels when someone says yes?" he wondered, his chocolate brown eyes shining like a kid.

"I said if, Potter," I replied but he seemed to be in another world already, muttering to himself on how he could finally ask Padfoot for some dating advice, "I said if-"

"If means yes," he beamed, skipping away with a fist pump whilst I shook my head in confusion. "No, it doesn't?"

"Yes, it does!" he yelled over his back, already far ahead as I stood rooted in my spot.

Was I going on a date with Potter now?

Apparently, I was. Or at least, the whole school seemed to think so. After History of Magic the whispers about James' dating a mystery girl roamed the halls and everyone tried to figure out who Cecily Grant was.

I rolled my eyes, I really seemed to have been a nobody in this school despite playing Quidditch and being friends with the popular girls of my year. That changed now after someone started spilling what had just - not actually - been decided earlier this morning.

"Is it true?" Marlene asked in Potions as I sat down next to Alice, Lily on her other side.

"Is what true?" She rolled her eyes, "You know exactly what I'm asking. Is it true that James asked you out?"

"Well...yeah," I replied, feeling weird at the unknown feeling of having a positive answer on a question like this.

"Wow...," Alice breathed, "He really is over you, Lils. Who would have thought?" The red head stayed surprisingly quiet.

"Isn't it exciting though?" Marlene squealed, "Our little Cec is finally growing up. Going out on dates!"

"Oi, I'm not little," I grumbled though I couldn't help but grin back at her wide beam.

"We have so much to do!" Marlene whispered urgently whilst Slughorn recited his instructions for the potion of this lesson; Draught of Living Death. It was a complicated procedure, which should give us enough reason to listen attentively, however, we didn't. "You definitely need to get a whole makeover. And get your hair cut," she started making a list of things and I raised my eyebrows higher and higher the longer it got.

"You want to make a whole different person of me?" I asked after even Alice, who was all for 'be yourself' added a few things.

"Of course not," Marlene rolled her eyes, "But you don't wanna scare away your first date with your armpit hair, do you?"

I went red; So what if I was too lazy to regularly shave it? "When is he going to see my armpits anyways?"

Marlene gave me look before grinning slyly, "You wanna be prepared for everything." As if on cue, we all turned to look at the boy that started all this, cackling at something Sirius was whispering to him. Upon feeling our gazes, he turned to shoot me a sweet smile. My blush deepened as Marlene and Alice started giggling.

"You know I'm pretty glad he is going out with you," Lily randomly blurted as she unsuccessfully tried to cut her Sopophorus bean to get the juice out. I watched the frustration grow in her face, though I didn't know if it stirred from the bean not being cracked or something else.

"Figures. You must be so happy he is leaving you alone now," Alice stated lightly, turning to her own cauldron.

"Yeah...really happy."

Class ended with no one really succeeding with the potion besides Severus Snape, by far the best in our year. I spent the rest of the day avoiding eye contact with any curious being - and there were surprisingly a lot of them; Alright, I knew if it hadn't been me I would be extremely eager to figure out who managed to sway James away from Lily myself, too. But did people not know how to exercise discretion for Merlin's sake?

"This is getting ridiculous," I muttered as a bunch of Fifth Year girls stared at me unabashedly.

"What is?" Marlene asked disinterestedly, already used to this kind of attention.

"People staring," I whispered as we walked past the girls whispering something about 'Potter' and 'Evans'.

"Oh, you will get used to it," the dark-haired girl waved off, "You better, anyways. You are popular now."

I scrunched my face, "Because I'm apparently dating a popular boy?"

"Not just any popular boy. One of the Marauders," Marlene said as if it was the biggest thing ever. I briefly wondered if that would change her attitude towards me when she continued with a mischievous smirk that strangely reminded me of Sirius, "And not any Marauder but the one who has sworn his life to another, one of your friends nonetheless." She straightened up, flipping her hair back, "If that isn't juicy gossip, I don't know what is."

"So much for becoming popular because I'm a good Quidditch player," I grumbled to myself. Don't get me wrong, I kind of loved the attention even if I wasn't used to it and I had been dreaming of being acknowledged by others all the time after staying in the shadows of my friends for so long. For some reason it bugged me though that the only way for that to happen was because of me dating a boy.

"Hey, you don't know that, maybe they recognise you for your Quidditch skills now," Alice tried to cheer me up when she saw my pout, "You know, since Angie's last games are coming up, people are naturally going to wonder who will take her place."

"And it's gonna be James' future girlfriend!" Marlene announced loudly, causing me to slap her shoulder quite hard, "Ouch! Cec!"

"Shut up, will you?" I whispered embarrassed, ducking into the library, "I'll see you at dinner."

"Sure, try and hide but the limelight will find you everywhere!" Marlene called after me dramatically.

Who would have thought that the library would be my sanctuary when I used to avoid this place like the plague? Well, people do change...

"Cecily?" I jerked out of my lying position, the book 'Quidditch Through the Ages' that had been draped over my face falling down with a thud. "Wha? I'm awake."

"What the hell are you doing?" Sirius asked amused as he placed his books on the small table in front of the couch I was settled in.

"Eh, studying?" I replied, dusting myself of with an embarrassed laugh, "What else would I be doing in a library?" Sirius raised an eyebrow and I deflated. "Alright, I was hiding."

"Hiding? Of what?" He sat down on the armchair across the couch, occasionally glancing over me. We were in a pretty secluded place where you could still overlook the rest of the library, which I chose wisely to avoid Madam Pince throwing me out for using one of her books as a sleep mask.

"Of gossiping beings," I whispered in a conspirative manner.

Sirius' expression cleared. "Ahh, the rumours about you and Prongs dating has spread then," he concluded, smirking to himself, "Splendid."

"Not splendid. It's annoying," I huffed, and he looked at me in surprise. "What, you don't like the attention?"

"Not this kind of attention," I said pointedly. The boy stared at me, still confused. "I don't wanna be known because I'm dating James Potter. Why does no one recognise me for my Quidditch skills or something?" I groaned, dropping back against the couch.

"I see," Sirius said quietly and if I had looked, I might have seen a flash of guilt in his eyes, "Sorry about that. It could have been me, who spread the news."

I lifted my head, ignoring the fact that I was proudly flashing my double chin as I started at him incredulously, "What? Why the hell would you do that?"

"Well, I was proud of Prongs that he finally asked someone out, who would say yes for once," he defended himself but I noted his voice catching slightly. "And he is going on a date after six bloody years. About time, honestly," he muttered to himself.

"Good for you, Black. But it's not helping my case," I grumbled, rubbing my forehead. Sirius kept quiet before he leaned forward with a smirk, "Come on, people always talk but the gossip will die down at some point. Might as well bask in the attention while it lasts."

I shot him look, "Why are you here again?"

Sirius barked a laugh before he shushed himself quickly. I raised an eyebrow at him in confusion and he coughed slightly before pointing at the stack of books between us, "Research."

Craning my head around I read the title of the book on top, "The Tales of Beedle the Bard?"

"Exactly," Sirius said too quickly and too stiffly, "Got a problem with that?"

I giggled, "What are you researching for?"

"Ways to overcome boredom," he quipped.

"And you chose the library for that, of all places," I wondered.

"Yes..."

"..."

"Alright, Grant," Sirius huffed exasperatedly, "If you must know everything that is going on in my life...I'm here because of Reg."

Gasping dramatically, I chuckled when he shot me a look, "Was that so hard to tell me now? Why lie about it?"

"Because I don't want you to avenge me by spreading rumours that I'm stalking my brother."

"...I would have honestly never considered that," I said, and he sighed in relief, "Until now." I grinned wide like a Cheshire cat.

"Grant..," Sirius started with a warning tone, causing me to laugh and wave him off, "I'm just joking. I'm not like you to spill private information out to the world."

"It wouldn't have stayed private for long anyways!"

"Whatever, where is he then? I have never really seen him before," I mused, sitting up when Sirius stopped me, "Don't. At least be discreet if you have to be snoopy."

I grimaced at him, straightening up casually, "...Gotcha."

"Good." He nodded at something behind me.

Whipping my head around I eagerly scanned the library with wide eyes, ignoring the groan emitting from behind me. "Target spotted," I muttered to myself like I would whenever I spotted the Quaffle as my gaze landed on the slightly scrawnier version of Sirius.

"This is your way of being discreet? Are you serious?" the grey-eyed boy asked as I settled back down.

"No, you are." I chuckled as he gave me a blank stare, mentally high fiving myself for finally using that pun on him. "He's cute," I commented, looking over my shoulder at the boy quietly reading a book and scribbling something down on his parchment, "Looks a lot like you. But less...sharp."

"Sharp?" Sirius questioned, picking a book from his stack and pretending to flip through it as he glanced at his brother. His attempt was futile for the cover was upside down. I grinned, deciding not to tell him.

"Yeah, his features are softer," I mused, "He looks more approachable than you."

"Please," the older one scoffed, "He's a Slytherin. They are never approachable."

"Well..." That was probably the only reason why his brother wasn't as popular as him then. Many thought Slytherins weren't approachable and that in turn made them pretend they weren't actually approachable for real. Mind you, I remembered meeting many decent Slytherins in the first few years until they fell under the group pressure. "At least, among his peers then."

Sirius looked over the boy, who was oblivious to all the talk about him, and started smirking, "For sure. He is my brother after all." I rolled my eyes in amusement but didn't fail to notice the fond tone in his voice whilst he stared at his brother. Something akin to longing flashed in his grey eyes.

I opened my mouth to ask him whether he had tried talking to him but decided that it was not my business. "Well, I'm off then," I said, yawning as I stretched my limbs and went to get up.

"Wait!" Sirius snapped forward hastily to hold me back. "Can't you stay? Just for a bit...let's look like we are studying," he requested, shooting me a pleading look. I relented almost immediately, not because of his admittedly cute expression but due to the fact that his brotherly fondness made my heart melt.

"If you want to make it believable that we are studying you will have to get another book...and actually not read it upside down," I pointed out with a grin. Sirius spluttered, sheepishly turning the book over and we sat back in a companiable silence.

"So, are you going on a date with Prongs now or not?" he broke the few hours of peaceful quietness around us and I groaned internally.

"It was so nice right now, Sirius," I complained, and he grinned.

"It's still nice, you just have to give me the right answer."

"Which would be?"

"Yes, I am going out with Prongs, Sirius."

I sighed, "I sometimes think I don't really have a choice."

"You're right about that."

"Sirius!"

The dark-haired boy chuckled to himself before scrutinising me. I squirmed slightly under his gaze, wondering what he was thinking about. "What is it?"

"I believe...you would actually do him good," he said slowly, and I raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

"Yeah," Sirius said with the shut of his book and stood up, stretching himself. I turned to see Regulus was already long gone. "At least you seem to accept him the way he is."

I stared at him in surprise.

"Come on, let's get dinner."

"Padfoot! Cec!" James shouted from behind us and I cringed as once again a few heads turned to look at the commotion.

"You will get used to it," Sirius whispered with a grin as his best friend jogged towards us, "What's up, Prongsie?"

"Where have you been all afternoon?" James questioned, glancing between the two of us.

"Eh, snogging some girl," Sirius replied with a shrug and I gave him a weird look. James' eyes widened. "Not her, Prongise," he continued with a pat on his shoulder, "Don't worry, she's all yours."

"Excuse me? I'm right here," I complained when James grinned, throwing an arm around my shoulder and causing me to almost flinch in surprise at the sudden touch.

"If that's the case, you don't mind giving us some privacy, do you, Pads?"

"Of course not. Have fun, Prongsie. Cec." With that 'Pads' left, whistling a cheerful tune.

"Where are we going?" I asked as James led me away from the Great Hall, "I'm hungry."

"That's why, dear Cecily, we're heading to a very special place."

"Which is where?"

"The kitchens."

My eyes widened as I took in his words. "You...know...where...the...kitchens...are...?" I asked almost breathlessly.

James grinned widely. "I knew you would be interested." He leaned down towards my ear, "Yes, the kitchens. Food accessible around the clock, whenever you want to eat. Midnight snacks, second breakfasts, afternoon lunch..."

"That sounds too good to be real," I sighed dreamily, blissfully unaware of him chuckling at my expression, still leant in.

We went down several stairs until we reached near the dungeons where I presumed the Slytherins had their quarters along with the Hufflepuffs nearby.

"Where is it then?" I asked eagerly.

"Right...here," he announced cheerfully, pointing at the painting of a fruit bowl.

I deadpanned, "Food in a picture is not actual food, James."

"I know that," James rolled his eyes though his blush told me he hadn't always known. Grinning at the imagination of him trying to grasp food from a picture, I watched him tickle the pear in the bowl. To my bemusement it giggled before transforming into a green door handle.

"My lady," James announced as he pulled the painting aside, "Take a faithful step closer towards heaven on earth."

Following his orders, my jaw slackened at the sight; a high-ceilinged room, big as the Great Hall - if possibly bigger - and filled to the brim with pans and pots...and elves.

"Elves work at Hogwarts?" I asked in surprise. I had always wondered, who was responsible for the amazing food that was presented to us daily out of nowhere. A few tiny heads turned at our entrance and some shuffled over with big eyes.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter is back!" they greeted the boy next to me, shooting me curious looks, "What can we do for Mr. Potter and his friend?"

"Cecily," I introduced myself lamely with a wave.

"What can we do for Mr. Potter and Ms. Cecily?"

James chuckled. "Just get us whatever you think is your most delicious dish this evening, please," he requested kindly. The elves nodded eagerly, shuffling away towards the crowd of elves bustling around busily. "Come on," he gestured towards a set of tables with chairs on either side. As soon as we sat, the table started getting filled by various foods and my mouth watered at the sight.

"Dig in!" James urged cheerfully, filling his plate.

"This. Is. Heaven," I said through a mouthful of chicken, sighing blissfully through my nose, " And this is all just for us! How did you find this place?"

"Well, Padfoot, Moony, Wormtail and I were setting up some pranks for the Slytherins-"

"As usual."

"-when we saw a few older Hufflepuffs sneak out of their dorms. I believe, one of them was the Head Boy. Naturally, we followed them-"

"You mean, you stalked them," I pointed out and he shot me a peeved look.

"We followed them," he continued with extra emphasis on the word and I snorted into my cup of pumpkin juice, "And watched them enter through the pear."

"That's it?" I asked with a raised eyebrow and he nodded with a shrug, "That sounds almost boring."

"Excuse me?" he spluttered. "What do you mean boring?"

"Well, when I think about all the crazy prank stories you've done that people talk about, I figured the way you found this place would have been some kind of adventure."

"How else would we actually find a place like this?" James asked with a raised eyebrow, "It's not like you can stumble and tickle a pear in a painting by accident now, can you?"

"If anyone can do this, then it's you," I said, pointing at him with my cup and he grinned as if that was a compliment. It probably was.

"Enough about me," he waved off, gulping down his bite, "I wanna know about you, Cec."

"Oh yeah?" He nodded and I swallowed down the chicken, wincing at my suddenly dry throat, "What do you want to know then?"

"Something no one else knows about you," he requested easily, and my eyes widened at his confidence.

"Ehm, there is not really anything interesting that no one knows about me."

"Please, everyone has a story," James stated, leaning forward, "What is yours?"

"I'm not old enough to have a story, yet."

"You want and at the same time don't want to become a Healer," James pointed out, "That has a story."

"You know about that already. I've told you about my parents," I said back, and he nodded.

"Yes, and now I wanna know another story."

"…That's my only story."

James narrowed his eyes, "You are really stubborn, aren't you?"

"So are you," I replied with a grin before sighing at his steady stare, "Honestly, I don't know what you want to hear. My life is not as exciting as yours."

"...Tell me why you like the Montrose Magpies?" he asked after a while, and I laughed.

"Alright, but only if you tell me why you like the Chudley Cannons."

"Deal."

And thus, we started talking about our likes and dislikes, our favourites in every thinkable department and other light topics. It wasn't until the elves started crowding around us, asking if we needed anything else that I realised we had stayed here long past dinner.

"It's probably almost midnight," I mused, yawning behind the back of my hand.

"We should head back," James agreed, standing up and thanking the elves around us for the food.

Quietly, we padded across the halls towards the Gryffindor Tower, having talked enough for tonight to have a peaceful lull in our conversation. Giving up the password to the Fat Lady, James gestured for me to get inside and I sighed at the warmth of the fireplace that was still lit in the Common Room.

"So...I would say that was a nice first date..." I almost choked on the intake of my sigh, my peaceful inner mind waking up with a whirlwind of thoughts. 'What the-'

"Right?" James pushed, turning to look at my surprised expression as I coughed.

"Eh..what- that was- was it?" I stumbled over my jumbled words and he grinned.

"Was it not?"

"We never said-"

"Doesn't matter, I consider it as our first date," James announced, raising a hand to lightly graze my red cheeks. My red cheeks from coughing. Yeah. "Besides, you would have just disagreed if I had said it was a date."

"You tricked me!" I spluttered indignantly, "You tricked me with my biggest weakness."

"You gave that weakness away yourself," James stated with a grin as he walked backwards towards the boy's dormitories, "Anyways, I wouldn't mind a second date, Cec. Just saying."

And with that he and his frustratingly cute and mischievous grin vanished from my sight.

Chapter Seven

[dreamilymagicalhideout]

Toji Oneshot

Fushiguro Toji

You

The sounds of the kettle whistling through the air, however the beauty on the bed is still sleeping soundly, her breathing is slow, three are no movements coming from her. She is still dreaming, and does not even hear the whistling of the kettle. A seconds later the kettle stops whistling, then a man get in to the bedroom, the first thing he see is someone laying on the bed. Her small figure is just covering one fourth of the bed, her long hair id spreading behind her. She is sleeping on the very edge of the bed, almost falling.

The big bulky man walk closer slowly, careful not to wake the petite woman by the sounds of his walking. He climbs into the bed, then pull the woman closer to him, for her not to fall, and for him to hug her close then bury his head on her neck. The big difference of their body is palpable, his big body is engulfing her small one.

There are no movement coming from the woman, she is still sleeping, the man beside her is looking at her. His big hands slowly make its way to her face, he is caressing her temple, then down to her cheek, her jaw, and her neck so slow that he is sure if she were not sleeping she will surely feel ticklish. He continues to do that until she slowly awakes. She is not that deep in sleep because she is waiting for the water to boil, so it is easy for her to wake up on a slightest movement.

She opens her eyes and found a man looking at her, his eyes are sharp, looking at her tender one, after a while she smiles, "Welcome home"

"I am home"

"I take it you already take a bath" she said after realizing he smells fresh. "Hmm"

"You forgot to turn off the stove"

"Oh right, the water is for you to bath, did you use it?" She put both of her hands beneath her ear to propped her head to see him better.

"Huh? I thought it was for you to use so I did not use it"

"Oh, I already took a bath. It is cloudy just now, it will rain, you never bring an umbrella, so I prepared the hot water"

"Alright then, I'll take a bath again" Toji said as of it is a normal thing to do, "huh?" She said as she looks at him quizically. "What?" He answers in the same confused tone.

"Don't bother, you don't have to take a bath again" she said, then Toji smirks "then let's take a bath together" Toji said as he scoops her on his arms, carrying her suddenly. She squaled in surprise and automatically put her arms on his neck.

"That's not even what I had in mind!" She said again "put me down!" Toji suddenly put her down in a fast motion, but he just go down, not actually let her go. She squealed again, "Toji!"

"(Y/n)!" He mimicked your voice and tone.

"Oh, you're a five years old, aren't you?"

"Yes Mama" Toji says while smiling mischievously and raising one of his eyebrows, mocking her.

"Toji!"

"Okasan" he replied in a small voice, she is mad just now, but now she is laughing, she just can't help it. He smiles as he sees her laughing, he lay her down gently on the bed, she still laughing. It is just hilarious, imagine seeing a big bad Fushiguro Toji acting like a toddler while said "mama and okasan"

"If only your friends see you acting like that" she is still giggling"

*change of POV*

"Don't you dare tell them" he said while squinting his eyes. "What if I dare?"

"Don't tempt me" you raise one of your eyebrows, changelling him. You want to see what he would do if you refuse to cooperate. "You asked for it" He tickles you.

You are extremely tickles. His fingers are attacking your sides, you scream in high pitched voice and laugh loudly. You try to push him away, but he is too strong, he does not even budge a little when you tried to push him. "Stop"

Seeing you laughing, he feels even more tempted to tickle you. This time he is going for your armpit. You are laughing hysterically, you already feel weak from all the tickling, laughing, and trying to push him away, but he still tickling you. "Toji"

"Hmm?"

"Mercy"

"I haven't even gone for the most interesting part yet" he said as he attacks your knees "wait" you tried to stop him, but he does not even wait and attacking your knees mercilessly. You tried to move away, but he quickly pushed you back and continue attacking your knees. You try to push him off, but he is just to big and strong.

"Please" You are now laughing non stop, your eyes is wet because of the tears from laughing, but Toji does not show any hint of stopping, he even looks more eager by seeing at you now.

"Please continue? Fine" He moves to your armpit, attacking it with his deft fingers. "Toji please"

He can feel that your strength is getting weaker, you do not push him as hard as before "no more" you said and he attacking you again with full strength for the last time, you lost control and put your strength into your hands trying to push him away, but you don't realize you push too strong, then you accidentally slap him, hard, the sound of it is so loud, even your hand stings. You stop struggling, and even he stops tickling you.

You are just looking at him, and he also mirrors your expression. "I am so sorry, did I hurt you? Are you okay?" You asks him while tentatively reach out for his face "honey, darling, I am sorry, I didn't mean to hit you"

Toji just stay silent while looking at you, "oh Toji, honey here let me see" you try to propped yourself to take a closer look to his jawline, but he suddenly lean on you, burry his face on your neck.

"Oh, honey I am so sorry, we'll put an ice to it, okay? I won't do it again, trust me" After a while you can feel Toji's shoulder ia trembling, 'is be crying?' you thought, then push him out a bit to look at his face. "Darling, are you alright? Please don't cry" you said while lift his face, you can see that there are no tears, but a smile. He laughs.

"Oh my, did you really think I am hurt?"

He looks at you while laughing, you look at him with an annoyed expression, you try to push him away, but he barely move.

"Really (y/n)? I'm Fushiguro Toji after all, how could I be hurt with something like that?"

"Mean" you said as you look away and turn on your right, then close your eyes in order not to see him.

"Don't tell"

"As if I really plan on telling them" You said as you take a pillow behind you and hug it to your face. Just now you are truly worried that you hurt him, you feel like crying because you truly feels bad that you hit him, but now you want to cry because you are upset that he was just joking.

"Don't be mad" He said as he try to pry off the pillow from you, but you hold it tightly into you, do not let it go.

"Alright it's my bad, I'm sorry" he said then hug you from behind, his big body is now behind you, holding your tiny body, his mouth is next to your ear, making you shivering.

"What should I do to be forgiven?" He asks, but you just ignore him, you don't even move an inch. He actually stop tickling you just now because he realize that your hand must be hurt, he can tell you are pushing too hard, but it's true that he does not feel hurt at all.

He tries to pull out your hand, but you refuse. Then, he slowly caressing your hand that bump hard into his jaw just now. "Your hand must've been hurt, right?"

You still do not say anything, you cry silently, not making any sound. Toji leaned over you, and kiss your hand that holds the pillow, once, twice, over and over again while whispering I'm sorry. After a while you melt and let go of the pillow to look at him. Your eyes is still wet and you sighed, "you are already forgiven"

"Alright, let's sleep" he said while pulling you closer, he take your hand and kiss it again. "As an act of apologize I'll kiss your hand until you fall asleep"

You are smiling at his words, but after a while you said "why are you only kissing my hand?"

"Why? Your other hand feels jealous?" He asks while smirking, then be pull your other hand and kiss it. He knows you don't mean your other hand, but he just wants to tease you.

"Not this? Talk properly then”

"Kiss me" you said as he leaned down and kiss you, after a while he breaks the kiss, turn off the light on the night stand and say "good night, you are not allowed to dream about anyone but me"

"Yes sir" you close your eyes, while feeling Toji's arm around you and his warm chest on your cheek you feel sleepy. You lean up and kiss his jaw "I'm sorry I slapped you, we're even now"

"No, we're not"

"Huh?"

"I kissed you more than once" you chuckle and then lean for another kiss, you positioned yourself so you can sleep eye to eye with him with your mouth precisely beside his jaw and continuously kissing him until you fall asleep.

"I love you"

[weakzen]

Left on the detective’s desk, a single red rose and a note written in precise handwriting:

Alex,

What happened to you - you didn’t deserve it. You can be loved, if you let yourself.

Happy Valentine’s Day

(yolo experimental style; alex/mason, early established relationship, angst and fluff; no direct mention of abuse, just oblique circling and fatalistic thoughts; rated m for mason; also on AO3~)

Even though I didn't finish reading it, even though I hid it from sight, imprisoned it in darkness, cast it to the depths of the bottom drawer until the end of shift, when it would be possible to smuggle the thing into the break room recycle bin without risking Tina's eyes or interrogation, that stupid fucking note has somehow still managed to reach up through all those heavy files and twist my stomach into knots.

For hours.

Plucking my nerves hard enough to make my hands fucking shake too. Typos in every report, backspace key pulling overtime without pay. Not helped by eyes that won't stop stinging. Armpits that haven't fully dried either, along with a weird chill, shivers that persist despite the sweater and the cranked-up thermostat.

At least the rose is gone. Snuck it into the arrangement on Tina's desk, the one I get her every year.

It looks better surrounded by friends.

It was nice to see it on the desk this morning

(Can still smell it perfuming the air.)

And if I could get rid of my thoughts as easily, I would. Because after half a day of chasing them in circles, I still can't figure out who the fuck sent that goddamn note, who the fuck would write something like that—say shit like that, to me—who could possibly fucking think or know or say anything about that, or that I-I, that I—

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckingfuck.

That sickly feeling wrenches again, hard enough to jerk me forward over the desk, face buried in my hands while my breathing shudders into something unsteady and vaguely gasping.

Fuck.

It can't be Tina.

It can't.

It should be, but it can't.

The writing's not loopy enough to be hers, and it's not slanted enough to be Verda's, and the damn thing isn't covered in nearly enough heart stickers to be from Felix. We all should know. Nate's been sighing nonstop for the past week, scraping them off every available surface in the Warehouse—except for the lacy pink one Felix managed to sneak right between Adam's shoulders.

And the glittery red one I pressed covertly to Mason's ass.

(Maybe not so covertly. Found a few hearts stuck to my underwear later when I slipped outta my jeans, and the secrets of how the fuck he pulled that off are still locked behind his smirk.)

A smile tries to pull at my lips, but the tightness in my gut warps it crooked.

Another shuddery breath.

It can't be from Adam either. If he had something to say to me, he'd just say it, preferably after he finished laying me out on the mats, all sweaty and sucking down air from another session of his gentle ass-kicking. Nate, however, would write a note to me. Has written a note to me. Has written many notes to me and still not made a dent in that stack of expensive stationary, and although the card stock was silk cream, the pigment obsidian night, and the calligraphy swooping in almost a dead ringer, I know it can't be from Nate because he would never leave a rose with his words, not the ones meant for me.

But there isn't anyone else.

There's Mason

And it can't be from him.

It's not his handwriting, to start. I think. I'm pretty sure. I've never actually seen his writing, but I can't imagine it would be anything resembling neat or careful. It's gotta be complete chicken scratch. All cramped and illegible. He's left handed too, barely patient enough to sit through a stoplight, much less give ink the time to dry, so there'd be definitely be smears, and there weren't any smears. At all. Can't be him.

Not to mention he'd never do anything like this.

Don't know why he keeps coming to mind anyway. Just because we're…

Together

—for now.

Doesn't mean he'd ever say anything like that—

He already has

(He did. He said I deserved better and I believe him, but I don't, I can't.)

—only because he'd say differently if he knew.

If he really knew.

He'd say different and I'm not gonna fucking tell him and it doesn't fucking matter anyway, it doesn't. Shine's gonna wear off soon enough. Novelty, satisfied. Boredom, returning. And at least the conversation won't be awkward, just… blunt. To the point. A first for us both, in topic, if not style.

I've never been dumped before, at least not in a romantic sense.

Another breath. Another shuddery breath.

Wonder how it's gonna feel.

(It's gonna suck.)

No fucking shit.

If it can't last, why agree to it at all?

I rub hard at my eyes, grinding palms into sockets.

If it can't last, why not tell him anyway?

Because I already fucking know! Don't need to hear it from him, don't wanna hear it from—

If it can't last, why does it matter what he thinks?

“…Stupid fucking note.”

It was nice to see it on the desk this morning

(Someone took the time, wrote it, left it in here. Someone cares.)

Someone's playing a sick fucking joke, more like.

What if it's genuine?

I scoff ragged, squeezing fingers around the back of my neck.

(Tina cares. So does Verda. The whole team, so many others, I know, and I believe them all but I don't. I can't.)

What if you didn't deserve it?

I did. I stayed and I did. My fault. Fucking stupid, like he always said.

(All Mason ever speaks is care. In a thousand different ways of touch, in silence, in lingering looks, he cares.)

What if you can be loved?

What if you can?

A brittle laugh wheezes past my lips and shoots toward something hysterical, boosted by acid burn and cloying petals and that churning, churning tightness. My shoulders hunch high around my ears while the sound pitches even higher, lungs immolated and screaming along, nails digging, cutting crescents as I shake and curl tighter, smaller, compacting into stiffness hard enough to rival diamonds, every muscle verging on a cramp and my throat is stinging and my eyes are on fire, hot, wet, and the door is closed, the blinds shut, and maybe I could just— this time— if I stayed quiet, I could—

I could—

But I don't.

I swallow once, twice, suck down, blink it away, then snap upright and get back to work. There's too much shit, not enough time.

Never enough time, not for that.

For you

(Remember to eat lunch.)

I don't.

I don't really remember talking to anyone either. Or finishing paperwork. Answering email. Clearing the inbox backlog, digital and otherwise, but the stack depletes, the numbers go down, Tina gives me shit from the doorway, and soon the peripheral lights tick off overhead in the foyer, a mop bucket rattles its rounds, darkness crept into my office at some point for a visit and now it's here to stay, just its quiet company along with the monitor blasting eye strain, clacking keys, tight shoulders, a headache, and then—

A familiar ass plops down on my desk and scares the shit out of me.

I jerk back in the chair, wheels rolling, hand over heart to keep it from pounding free and Mason looms above it all, bathed in harsh blues, deep shadows, a deeper frown, and eyes that refuse to obey the rules of any ambient illumination.

Right now? They're crinkled soft, even as they scrutinize.

He looks… worried.

When did he even open my door?

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“…Yeah,” I mutter. A lie, an obvious one, but I fight the urge to glance away and dare him to call me out anyway. “You need something, sunshine?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You're late.”

“For what?”

We didn't make plans.

“Getting home.”

Fuck.

I sigh, slumping in the seat, and now I'm looking away, now I'm backing down, running a hand through my hair, mussing and tangling, just like he always does when he's uncertain.

And when the hell did I start doing that?

“Yeah, I'm still behind on shit from my vacation. I was gonna stay late tonight, try and catch up…” I explain, because Tina and I also didn't make plans this year.

(Because she's been marinating in smugness ever since I sighed and told her about the relationship. Because she dropped that shit-eating smirk earlier—that I remember, at least—dripping suggestion all over my office as she waggled her brows and winked and made obnoxious kissy faces until I shoved her out the door, but not before she told me to 'have lots of fun tonight, Alexandra.')

Sure.

“Sorry I didn't text. I… forgot.”

That tightness in my stomach does another loop, and I huff a quiet breath.

Stupid fucking note.

Mason folds his arms. “…The fuck is going on with you?”

Concern blunts the teeth of his words, not that there's any real bite. There never is, not with him, but I tense up anyway, expecting it, expecting to be ripped open.

Blood and pain.

I'd tense up no matter how he asked.

It's okay

(He's not Bobby.)

“Nothing,” I reply, folding my arms, eyes down, “just…”

It's okay

(He's not looking to hurt.)

Probably will anyway, but fuck it. I already know his answer.

Let's just get it over with.

“You didn't leave me a valentine earlier, did you?” My gaze snaps to his. “On my desk?”

Mason scoffs. “Why the hell would I do that?”

This time, it stabs instead of twists, higher up, somewhere in my chest. Something sharp instead of dull.

Disappointment? …Relief? I'm not sure.

Just that it stings.

And it's nighttime, so maybe he feels it too, and maybe that's why he unfolds his arms and shifts toward me, boot heel dangling by the bottom drawer while his voice drops to a softness that matches his accent. “What it say?”

“Nothing,” I repeat, even quieter than him. “Just someone fucking with me. It doesn't matter.”

It does

(Shouldn't lie, not to him. Don't need to. Don't want to, don't like it.)

Mason doesn't like it either, but he doesn't push it. Neither do I.

We look away from each other.

The office swelters around us, too stuffy, too small. Too silent and uncomfortable now to stay. I roll forward to save my work, then turn the computer off and Mason's already waiting for me by the door, a dark silhouette framed by distant fluorescent, my coat and bag hanging off his arms. He pulls me in while I put it all on, yanking me by lapels before abandoning them for the sweater on my lower back, the loose hair at my nape. His lips brush against mine in slow movements, soft nibbling, and he's whispering something to me with it all, with the strokes of his fingers and the circle of our chins, but I can't quite hear.

So ask

(He'll answer—and he won't lie.)

I swallow, then I do.

“…What kind of kiss was that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs beneath my hands, breath tickling my face. “I want you to feel better.”

“Oh.”

A shadow flits behind his eyes.

“…And if he's still bothering you, I'm gonna break his fucking jaw again.”

I chuckle softly. “Pretty sure it wasn't him this time.”

“Good.” Mason nibbles another kiss, then smirks. “Might still do it anyway.”

That gets a laugh from both of us, one that sprawls into a pause, grey eyes locked to mine while our grins fade out and our breath catches on everything unspoken and nameless rushing in to take the space.

Honesty. It's what I try to speak. Trailing up from the emotional ooze, raw and sticky.

I hope he can fucking see it, hear it cry, but I wipe it off and whisper the words into shape anyway, cheeks flaming, just to be sure—

“I'm sorry, I just… I don't wanna talk about it now.”

—and he answers me with a brush of his mouth, with his tongue parting my lips, with the way he teases into me before licking deeper, the way he jerks our hips together then shoves, a knee between my thighs, my back into a wall, a door frame, a sharp corner, a low groan rumbling up his chest directly into mine and I hear it all this time, in his breathy panting at the edge of our kiss, the firmness in his fingers angling my face to his, the solid heat of his cock pressed hard against me, grinding slow while I cling tight and moan, I hear it all, but he sucks my lip in with a sharp inhale, rolls me around his mouth before releasing with a drag of teeth, and he murmurs it aloud anyway, just to be sure—

“I know, sweetheart. It's fine.”

—then he nips down hard, and it's hard not to smile, hard not to laugh, harder still not to nip that asshole right back, so I don't.

Hold back, that is.

Our lips are swollen and sore by the time the station door swings shut behind us.

[besanii]

Hi thank you for the 🗡 🗡 🗡, it 💔💔💔 and it 😭😭😭😭😦😦😦🥺🥺🥺, but it also like😍😍😍😍😍 because we love suffering and torture and that sweet sweet angst. (if we ask for🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️) will it hurt even more? 😘

Shattered Mirrors 51

A pair of hands grab him under the armpits and haul him upright with a grunt. He hisses as a sharp pain lances through his limbs at the sudden movement and his legs buckle almost immediately beneath him, but he is still hauled unceremoniously out of the damp darkness, head lolling listlessly on his shoulders. The door opens with a clang that jars his ears and makes him wince—a sharp, painful contrast to the long days he has spent in utter silence—but his handler spares no regard for his comfort, or the fact that his feet are dragging like dead weights against the cold stone floor behind him.

He’s taken to another chamber, where his captor is waiting for him with a mocking little smile.

Thought you could get away, did you? You must be stupid to think you could escape.

He stifles a pained gasp when fingers grab him roughly by the hair and yank his head back, exposing his neck and face. His eyes water and sting at the light from the torches along the walls, clouding his vision.

But don’t worry, his captor croons. You’ll learn soon enough.

Then his vision clears and he sees the figure behind Wen Chao. His heart stops.

No. No, no, no, no—

Ah yes, we caught your little accomplice too. The hand in his hair drags him forward, closer to the bench. We’re going to teach him what happens to traitors who turn against their own blood.

Dark eyes stare up at him, wide with terror, and pale, trembling lips form soundless words that he can’t understand. The rest of his body is restrained, shackled to the bench with chains around his torso and legs, his head held in place by a wooden frame.

You know what this is, don’t you? A delighted laugh. We thought it’d be a fitting end for our little A-Ning here. He’ll die as he lived: in silence.

--

 He wakes to the feeling of someone shifting beside him in the bed. A candle is lit and set beside the bed, the dim glow illuminating the dark interior within the canopy until he can make out Lan Wangji’s features, furrowed with concern.

“Wei Ying?” he asks quietly. “Is everything alright?”

Wei Wuxian releases a shuddering breath and nods, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest and the clamminess of his skin.

“Just a nightmare,” he says. “Sorry for waking you.”

Honey-gold eyes study him for a moment before Lan Wangji reaches over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze where it clutches at the edge of the covers.

“No need to apologise,” he tells him with a soft smile, rubbing soothing circles along the back of his hand with his thumb. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He closes his eyes and takes a moment to calm his racing heart, but the moment he does he sees that pale face staring up and him with fear and despair, and tastes the bitter helplessness in the back of his throat like bile. He grits his teeth and swallows it down before he opens his eyes again and allows Lan Wangji to help him into a sitting position. Their hands are still joined, resting between them on the covers, and he takes comfort from the warm weight of Lan Wangji’s palm against his.

Throughout all of this, Lan Wangji does not press. He sits beside him on the bed, arranging the covers to ward off the chill, and waits patiently for Wei Wuxian to speak.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian begins haltingly, his eyes cast down at their hands. “What do you know about Yiling-hou and his family?”

Lan Wangji hums.

“Yiling-hou was known to be a fair, just man,” he says. “He rarely participated in politics, and preferred to stay neutral where he could. I’m told his family shared those values, but they died before the end of the war so I have never met them personally.” He pauses. “Why do you ask?”

A shudder passes through Wei Wuxian’s body which Lan Wangji initially mistakes for him being cold, so he shifts until he can wrap an arm around his waist and draw him back against his chest. Wei Wuxian tucks his head beneath Lan Wangji’s chin with a sigh and covers the hand around his waist with both his own.

“When I was…in Qishan,” he says. He does not need to elaborate for Lan Wangji to understand the meaning behind it. “I met two people—a brother and sister. Children of Yiling-hou. A-Yuan’s aunt and uncle, in fact. They had been sent to join the war effort and were working as on-field medics.”

Fingers card through his hair in long, languid strokes and scratch lightly at his scalp until the tension bleeds from his shoulders; his own fingers trace tiny circles over Lan Wangji’s forearm as he considers his next words.

“They were kind to me,” he says. “Did the best they could to help me despite the danger it would pose to them if they were discovered. If it weren’t for them, I would have died a long time ago.”

He shudders, drawing his knees up to his chest and curling in on himself a little tighter. Lan Wangji’s fingers do not stop their ministrations, but he wraps his other arm around him more securely, grounding him with the warmth and weight of his body. He has never spoken of these things to anyone before, not even Wen Yuan—the words do not come easily.

“We were discovered, eventually,” he continues, his voice going quieter as the memories resurface in his mind’s eye; he feels Lan Wangji’s body stiffen behind his. “The night they occupied Jiangling. Security was lax that night, so we decided to try our luck while the guards were distracted. It…well,” he chuckled to himself, a dark, bitter sound, “suffice to say, it didn’t work.”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it, opting instead to press his lips against Wei Wuxian’s temple. His breath tickles the soft hairs there as he exhales. Wei Wuxian’s fingers tighten around Lan Wangji’s sleeve, twisting into the soft fabric; his eyes stare unseeingly at the flickering shadows dancing along the walls with the candlelight.

“There are many forms of punishment,” he continues distantly. “Many forms of torture that can leave a mark on the victim without even touching them once. There was one, in particular, that—that he was fond of. One that left him with a memento at the end of it, a trophy for his collection.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate on who he is referring to—Lan Wangji recalls the barely human figure huddled in the crate, disgust rising in the back of his throat at the memory of the stench and the bloodcurdling shrieks, and knows.

“Jiaguanjinjue,” he breathes.

Wei Wuxian stifles a gasp; his hands reach up as if to cover his ears, only to fall short and dig into the muscles of his jaw and cheeks instead, leaving deep imprints against the skin.

“How did you—?” the words are breathy and strangled. Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“There was a room in the watchtower at Jiangling,” he says. “The contents were mostly burned to ash, but there were a few…scraps. Enough for us to realise what they were.”

The laughter that rips itself from Wei Wuxian’s throat is harsh and wet, half-choked with sobs.

“He couldn’t move,” he whispers. “No matter how hard he fought. It was—I couldn’t—” he gasps, “—I can still hear him, trying to—to breathe, struggling—”

The hand in his hair cups the back of his head, bringing his face against the soft skin of Lan Wangji’s neck as he weeps; they cling to each other tightly, desperately, unable to stop the trembles that wrack their bodies. His ears ring with the sound of his own gasping sobs, mingling with the phantom echo of Wen Ning’s final breaths in that cold, dark cell—

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji’s voice is in his ears then, low and soothing, cutting through the storm in his mind. “Wei Ying, come back.”

He continues to murmur in his ear, soft reassurances and gentle words, his arms strong and firm and warm around his body. It seeps into his skin gradually, washing away the chill in his bones and the ice in his veins until the tremors subside. Even then neither of them relinquish their hold on the other.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs into his hair. “It’s alright. You’re safe now. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

   Notes:

jiaguanjinjue (加官进爵) - literally “promotion to nobility”; a method of execution beginning in Ming Dynasty where the criminal was bound to a bench to prevent movement, and layers of wet paper/fabric were placed over their faces until they died of suffocation. By the time the execution is over, the layers will have hardened into a mask that preserves the person’s final expression. It’s the quietest method of execution.

Master Post and ko-fi link on my sidebar!

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 namjoon x reader x hoseok || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 4.4k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 your two boyfriends decide to play good cop-bad cop with you as the criminal.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 oh god where do i begin… roleplay, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), anal (f receiving), multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, squirting, dp, object insertion, use of sex toy, bondage, soft dom namjoon, hard dom hoseok, deepthroating, degradation, dirty talk, overstimulation, spanking, eiffel tower (spitroasting? i do not know the difference between these two terms), unprotected sex

---

“You’re in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“A lot of trouble,” Namjoon agrees, “right now, we’re your best chance here. If you confess now, we might be able to greatly lower your sentence.”

You bite your tongue, hard, and stare at your reflection in the wall-length mirror across from you. 

Hoseok laughs bitterly. “No? We don’t want this to get ugly, princess, but if you don’t cooperate, it will.”

The younger man pulls up a chair from across from you, swiveling it around so that he straddles it backwards. You try not to quirk a grin at the image of one of your boyfriends trying to act cool. “Let us help you, Y/n,” he enthuses with an encouraging smile, “tell us why you did it.”

“Did what?” you spit out. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Hoseok stands up, pacing behind you, out of sight. You fight the urge to crane your neck around to face him. He bends; his voice low in your ear, hot breath on your neck. “We all know that’s not quite true. Don’t lie to me, Y/n. Unlike my colleague here, I’m not so-” you let out a strangled whimper when a hand snakes into your hair and tugs your head roughly to the side, exposing your neck, “forgiving.” 

“Hoseok,” said colleague scolds, “don’t frighten the poor girl.” Namjoon sighs out slowly, like he’s disappointed in you. “But I’m afraid he brings up a valid point. We both know what you did that night. All we need is a confession, and we have all night to get it, the easy way or the hard way.”

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose when you feel teeth slowly dragging their way down the sensitive flesh of your neck, stopping at the rise of your collarbone. When Hoseok speaks, his lips are soft against your skin. “Something tells me she would prefer the hard way.” 

You jerk your hands when he bites down harshly, but the tug at your wrists and clatter of metal on metal reminds you of the handcuffs that lock you to the interrogation table. For a scene room at your local BDSM club, the place was surprisingly convincing, down to the stark strip lights on the ceiling that would buzz every few seconds.

You whimper when the pressure of teeth turns into wet suction, a tongue laving and sucking at the skin to raise a hickey. “I didn’t do anything, I swear! You have to believe me!”

Hoseok hums and nuzzles into your neck, chucking under his breath. “Let’s see if you can keep your story straight when you’re cumming for us so hard that you can’t even think. I find a good orgasm does wonders for bringing out the truth.”

With one last press of his lips, the elder stands back up and walks back around the table, leaning on the table edge beside where Namjoon is sitting. Namjoon looks up at him and the two share a nod.

“Y/n.” Namjoon’s eyes are heavy on yours, but you can’t help but let your gaze wander down his figure. The two are clad in the same uniform, yet it strikes you differently for each of them. The white button-down and black pants highlight Hoseok’s lean build, the first few buttons undone to show golden skin. But for Namjoon, the way the fabric strains, yet his tie remains perfectly straight, screams power. And you feel deliciously powerless sitting across from the two of them.

“Y/n,” Namjoon repeats in a chastising tone, returning your attention to him, “I want to believe you. Really, I do. You’re a vulnerable young woman and I understand this experience must be stressful for you, but the jig is up. It’s time for you to be honest.”

He pushes his chair back noisily, slowly, like he has all the time in the world. When he stands and moves around the table to you, he adjusts his cuffs, though they were already perfect. You can see the way he juts his chin out lightly, trying to portray an in-control aura. While Namjoon puts in an effort to stay in that character of authority (normally his dominance in the bedroom was a lot more implicit), Hoseok has never seemed more in his element, eyes hot on you with molten lust, mouth pursed and lids low. You can see how his erection presses tightly against his pants, though he shows no indication of being bothered by it.

You can’t keep your eyes on him long, however, as a large hand gently grabs your chin and turns it to face Namjoon. He stares down at you, searching your figure. “It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” You frown at the change in conversation, but go completely still when his hand moves, both homing in to the top of your shirt, fingers fiddling with the button, popping it open. “I always tell the chief not to have the thermostat on so high, but he never listens. It’s hard to think straight when you must be so overheated.” Three buttons; four. You swallow hard when his knuckles brush against your breasts where they swell over the cups of your bra. “How about we cool you down a little bit? You might be able to remember more clearly then.”

When he reaches the last button, he gently parts the fabric, letting it fall off your shoulders until the sleeves catch on your elbows, unable to slip down further. There’s another metal chair in the corner, and Namjoon drags it over to sit down beside you, running his calloused palms over the bare skin of your upper arms and shoulders. “Is this better?” he asks in a murmur.

You nod tentatively. 

Namjoon smiles. “Good. Now, let’s try this again. Where were you on the night of the 6th?” 

You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. “I was at home with my boyfriends.”

“Plural?” Hoseok scoffs at you from across the metal table. “Figures. A slut like you wouldn’t be satisfied with just one.”

You shrug, a sly grin playing on your lips. “I have three holes. Seems a waste to only fill one of them.”

His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow into slits. “But our files say you only have two boyfriends. I guess we’ll just have to find something else to fill you with, huh?” He adjust his hips, drawing your attention to the nightstick that dangles from his belt. You swallow hard, and he grins toothily. That fucker. 

Namjoon sighs, placing a palm on the flesh of your thigh. Earlier in the costume room, you had thought the skirt and blouse was too ‘schoolgirl’. Now, as your soaked panties cling to your pussy lips, you’re grateful for the ease of access it allows. Your legs tip open more minutely, inviting him in. 

“We could make this easy for you, Y/n. We could make it feel good. But my partner here is getting impatient, and I’m worried I can only hold him back for so long. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hoseok’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, watching Namjoon’s hand glide higher and higher with a gaze dripping in raw need. “I do.”

Your legs fall open further and you sigh out. “For the last time,” you make out through a moan as Namjoon’s fingers finally press against you, perfectly still, “I don’t know anything, and I didn’t do anything. What can I do to prove my innocence?”

“Y/n, Y/n,” Namjoon croons, “I feel like…” Your mouth drops open when he begins to rub against your clit through your panties, round and round, frustratingly slow. “I feel like we’re just going in circles.” 

“I agree,” Hoseok pitches in. “Clearly she’s not willing to listen to reason or rationale. A girl like her can’t use her head because all she can think about is being fucked stupid. Bend her over the table, Namjoon. Ass up.”

Obediently, the younger grabs you under the armpits and tugs you out of your chair, pulling you forward until your hips hit the edge of the table and you fold over it, hands pressed between your breasts and the cool metal. “Hey! What the fuck?”

“Well, princess,” Hoseok growls, standing up to walk around the table, “you obviously won’t listen to Namjoon when he asks nicely, and I don’t ask nicely. I take what I want and if you don’t give it to me, I make you regret it.”

You continue to struggle as he lifts up your skirt to reveal your panties, internally reveling in the feeling of Namjoon pinning your back and head to the table. He’d been going to the gym more recently, and it had never paid off more than right now.

“Shh,” he soothed. “This will hurt less if you just relax and take it. Be a good girl for us.”

A rough grip latches onto your panties, pulling them up between your cheeks harshly so that the fabric grinds against your clit. You whine and rise up on your tiptoes, but Hoseok just pulls harder, wiggling it to watch you shudder at the sensation. 

Once he’s had his fill, he pulls them down past your ass to leave it bare for him. “Either you confess,” he bargains, “or you won’t be able to sit for a week. What’s it gonna be?”

“This is fucking sick!” you spit. “What’s wrong with you, you can’t do this!”

The hold against your back falters. “Colour?” Namjoon questions unsurely.

Your heart warms, but you fight not to lose the heat of the moment. “Green, baby, I’m green.”

“Okay.” He presses down again, harder this time, and you keen when your face is trapped between the table and his hand, fingers almost cupping your entire head. You love when he makes you feel small, and you lose yourself in that satisfaction too much, only returning when Hoseok grows impatient and rains a sharp slap against your left ass cheek, making you jump violently under Namjoon’s hold.

“Are you going to confess, princess?” Hoseok’s hand smooths over the stinging sensation on your skin, and you sigh out at the relief, but shake your head firmly. “Well, then. You know what that means.”

One hit at a time, he brings his hand down on your ass, pausing briefly after each one to soothe your reddening skin and ask if you have anything to say. You feel yourself growing steadily slicker, thighs slipping together as you writhe on the table. “Please, Hoseok!”

Another smack, this one hitting lower down at the tops of your thighs. You whine. Hoseok kneads the sore flesh with a tut. “If you don’t confess, I have no choice.”

“We won’t be angry,” Namjoon adds. “If you tell us the truth now, we can take your statement to the chief and try to lower your sentence for complying with us.”

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Hoseok warns, “tell me now. Because if you don’t, I’m not giving you anymore chances. I’m not stopping until your ass is redder than a traffic light, and then we’ll see if you feel like sharing.”

You huff, but don’t say anything. After a moment, Hoseok tuts you again, the room falling completely silent. You go weak with anticipation, feeling the chill of the metal seep into your bones, wiggling your ass in the air slightly.

You jerk when the first kiss of skin bites you, but as promised, he doesn’t stop there, relentlessly spanking you over and over, back and forth.

You cry out and struggle under Namjoon’s grip, kicking out hopelessly with your legs, but Hoseok just growls and holds them down, continuing to light up your ass as you flinch under every smack.

It goes on for what feels like forever. You try to shuffle yourself up further onto the table or lower your ass away from the pain, but nothing helps. Between the two of them, there’s nothing you can do but lie there and take it, whining their names. When Hoseok does stop with a satisfied exhale, dragging a fingernail over your red ass, you’re sobbing, tears making your cheeks slip wetly against the table. 

Namjoon lets out a hum of concern. “That was hard for me to watch, Y/n.” You know he’s lying, but you sniff and nod anyway. “I wish you would’ve taken the easy way so we could have avoided all this suffering. Look at you. You’re a mess.”

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut as he takes his hands off you, sliding them down your haphazardly-clothed body, until they’re cupping your sore cheeks, spreading them. You hear the chair squeak and hear his shoes squeak against the floor as he crouches behind you.

“Let’s get rid of these,” he murmurs, tugging your ruined panties down your legs, helping you step out of them shakily. “God, what’s this?” You hiss as a finger slips between your folds, barely any pressure. “Here I was, worried about you suffering, but you liked it, didn’t you? You’re dripping.”

Hoseok scoffs sharply. “Of course she did. Sluts like her need someone to be strict with them. They need someone to take control. I don’t think our princess has any intentions of confessing at all, Namjoon. If I’m being honest, I think she just wants us to ruin her.”

Namjoon makes a noise of consideration. You can feel his breath waft over your core as he speaks. “Is that so, partner? Well, if Y/n isn’t going to talk, then we might as well use that mouth for something worthwhile.”

Hoseok laughs darkly. “For once, I agree with you completely. What do you think, princess? Need a cock down your throat?”

You crack open your eyes, blinking blearily at him and nodding. You’re still bent over the table, and instead of sitting you up, Hoseok leans forward and grabs a handful of your hair, tugging it to the side, pulling you over so that you’re laid out across the corner of the table, chin hanging over the edge. You wince at the sharp pull on your scalp but your mouth soon begins to water as your boyfriend stands in front of you, pressing his cloth-covered erection against your nose.

You look up at him with wide eyes, and his grin is pure wicked desire. Slowly, teasingly, you begin to rock your face against the front of his pants, unable to pull your hands out from under you, the cuffs digging into the delicate bones of your wrists. He swears lowly at the sight and feeling of you rubbing yourself against him. 

Growing restless of your teasing in mere seconds (Namjoon was always the patient one), Hoseok pulls back and let’s go of your hair to undo his pants, pushing them and his underwear down below his ass. His cock springs up one it breaches the waistband, and you’re so close that it smacks your face on the way, smearing precum across your cheek. 

He licks his lips and laughs at your affronted glare. “Open up, princess.” You do as he says, stretching your jaw and sticking your tongue out, and he places himself on your tongue, tapping it playfully a few times before grasping the back of your head again and pressing himself deep into the back of your throat.

You consider yourself a seasoned expert at deepthroating, but the awkward angle has you feeling off-guard, and you squeeze your eyes shut to focus on breathing through your nose. 

All you can hear is his quiet pants and breathy curses as he uses your mouth, in no hurry to face fuck you quickly, more concerned about plunging himself to the hilt and feeling you gag around him each time. He’s enjoying using you and wants to savour it. Or, you consider, there’s something else coming and he knows not to demand too much.

This thought strikes you only a second before something foreign is pressing shallowly into your entrance, pushing at those muscles. You jerk and jump away as best you can, but that only results in you impaling yourself deeper on Hoseok’s cock, and you splutter around him, losing your breath.

He takes mercy on you and drags you off him by pulling back on your hair again. You think you might need a wig after this with how rough he’s being. You swear you’ve felt him rip actually strands out. 

You puff and catch your breath back again, blinking up at him with spit around your mouth and chin and tears in your eyes, and through the character of a dominating police officer, you see the shine of pride in his eyes, and it warms you up inside. You’re doing well, baby, it seems to say.

Namjoon’s hands are running lightly up and down your thighs, simultaneously relaxing you and winding you up more. “We both saw the way you were eyeing up that nightstick, Y/n. I thought you wanted us to fill you up? Three holes, remember?”

Your eyes go wide as you listen to him, but continue to look up at your boyfriend, though your neck muscles ache. With one hand on your hair and the other under your chin, Hoseok forces you to keep locked into his gaze as the unforgiving object is slowly plunged into you, forcing your pussy walls, as slick as they are, to accommodate the intrusion.

Your mouth falls open and your toes curl. “F-fuck,” you babble, “oh god.”

“That’s right,” Hoseok affirms, “unlike you, we give what we’re asked for. And your body is begging for us to stuff you to the brim.” 

You shiver, and he cracks a grin at the look in your eyes. 

Namjoon thrusts up into you with the nightstick a few times lazily, before pulling out. You whine at the loss, but once he begins circling your back entrance, you stop breathing, clenching automatically in anticipation.

“Uh-uh,” Namjoon tuts, “you need to relax for me. Don’t worry, this is smaller than either of us. Now let me in.”

You do your best to relax your muscles, and groan gutturally at the feeling of the tip of it breaching the tight ring of muscles. Once it’s in, the rest of the stick is the same thickness, and you tremble as Namjoon easily sinks it deep inside you, until you feel the handle pressing against the reddened flesh of your ass. You clench around it experimentally, and groan again.

“Good?” Namjoon questions, and you nod quickly, rocking your hips slightly to feel it move inside you. “My turn now. Spread those legs wider.”

You try to do as he says, but your brain is too slow, and in the end he kicks at your ankles, baring yourself to him even more, your stomach lowering to press flat against the table. You bite your lip when you feel his cockhead lining up between your folds, and you crane your neck forward, opening your mouth and glancing up at Hoseok.

He pats your cheek, the one covered in his slowly-drying precum, and places his cock on your tongue, letting you suckle on the tip as Namjoon grips your hips. 

You swipe your tongue over Hoseok’s slit, collecting the colourless drops that have gathered there, and hum around him, trying to open your walls up to Namjoon, even as your body tries to reject it.

While Hoseok is the longer, Namjoon is much thicker than anyone you’ve been with, and while it’s never been a problem (a huge plus, in fact), you find the stretch as he tries to fit himself in alongside the makeshift dildo buried in your ass is just too much. He senses your discomfort, the way your cheeks clench and your back tenses, and slips out the little way he was able to plunge inside.

“We need to swap,” Namjoon instructs his elder. 

You whimper as Hoseok pulls his cock away from you, wiping away the wetness in the corners of your eyes. “Is our princess too small to take you both back there?” 

“She is,” Namjoon affirms. “Besides, I want a taste of that pretty little mouth of hers. I’d rather have her choking on me than spitting out more lies.”

They exchange places quickly, and soon enough Namjoon is cupping the back of your head with both hands, fucking your throat the way he likes most. The noises that come out of your mouth are obscene, but they only double in volume and desperation when Hoseok latches onto the nightstick and begins fucking your ass with it, holding your hips up higher so that he can begin to sink inside you as he works the stick, stimulating nerves that almost never received any attention.

You feel drool sliding down your neck, unable to swallow properly around Namjoon, who fills your mouth and throat with every thrust, and your feet lift off the floor as Hoseok holds you up, bouncing you on his cock so every time he fucks up into you he’s stuffing you to the hilt. 

Your toes curl and your andfingers clutch at the chains of your handcuffs as you gargle and splutter around the hardness in your throat, feeling the wave of an orgasm crest, almost too much to feel good. There’s so much sensation, so much pleasure, that when it’s all out together, it overwhelms you completely, and the second Hoseok’s finger grazes against your clit when he goes to get a better hold on your hips, you’re vaulted into a shuddering orgasm, eyes squeezed tightly shut with the intensity of it. 

Namjoon quickly removes himself from your throat when you come, so you use your free mouth to cry out hopelessly, screaming as Hoseok continues to fuck you. It’s too much, and you try to curl up on yourself, thrashing under him to try and escape the blistering sensations, but he refuses to stop, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hips, growling out your name as he meets his own end, shuddering one last time and coming inside you. He slaps your ass weakly but you clench anyway, and that milks the last of his cum from him. With an exhausted sigh, he pulls out, and before his seed can even begin to drip out, Namjoon is behind you and plunging himself inside.

Relaxed from your orgasm and stretched out from Hoseok, your walls do accommodate him this time, but the way he fills you completely makes your legs go ramrod straight, muscles trembling. “Namjoon, fuck!” 

“That’s it,” he soothes, “just some more me, Y/n. You’re gonna feel real good, I promise.”

You sob, going limp as he fucks you, every thrust ripping another inhuman sound from your raw throat. 

Worryingly quickly, your high rises again, and you barely get enough time to scream out a warning before you’re plunged into another orgasm, wailing at the feeling of clenching around two different intrusions inside of you. 

Namjoon swears, and his cum paints your insides, mixing with Hoseok’s. Faintly, through a sub-space haze, you hear Hoseok command, “get her up.”

“It’s too much,” Namjoon’s voice murmurs, but the nightstick is being pulled from you, and you let out a broken whimper when it slips out, leaving you empty, and strong hands are flipping you onto your back, resting you on the table with your ass on the edge. 

“She’ll take it,” Hoseok replies, and you find out what he means when his fingers dip easily inside you, three at once, and his mouth lowers to tongue at your clit.

Your legs jerk, thighs clamping around his head and hips waving uselessly in the need to escape, but another pair of hands reluctantly holds you down by the shoulders, a face nuzzling into your hair and pressing kisses against your sweaty temple.

Your hands are pulled off to one side, still attached to the table, but you can’t help but rattle them, thrashing under Hoseok’s ministrations. 

You’ve come too hard and too close together, and his focussed clit and g-spot stimulation is too much for your tortured nerves. 

Tears slip steadily into your hairline by your temples, but Namjoon just kisses them away.

“My good girl,” he soothes, “just give us one more. You’re doing so well.”

“I ca-han’t,” you sob hopelessly, “Hobiii!”

“One more,” Namjoon reminds, “or confess now.”

Hoseok’s mouth is unforgiving; sucking and flicking and nibbling no matter how much you’re convulsing under him. You hear him chuckle between your legs as he speeds up his hands, and your mouth goes slack when you realise that the unmistakable flame of an orgasm building inside you is growing.

“I don’t even-” you break off into a moan as Namjoon tugs down the cups of your bra and tugs at the closest nipple with his teeth, sending volts straight to your core. “Fuck, I’m cumming!”

“Cum for me, princess,” Hoseok growls, and swaps to use his fingers to rub back and forth over your clit as fast as he can.

You feel something break inside you, a kind of release, and your vision goes spotty with your final orgasm. It’s not as traditionally powerful, but you feel wetness pelting your thighs, and manage to squint downwards, where clear liquid drips of Hoseok’s fingers. 

Namjoon laps soothingly at your sensitive nipple, and you whimper, finally able to close your legs tightly once Hoseok removes his fingers from you. 

They both caress you softly as tremors wrack your body in waves, and once you slowly come back down to earth, you feel your eyes slip shut, the voices of your boyfriends filling your ears.

“Is she out?”

“I think so. Fuck, Hobi, I thought you were gonna fucking kill her with that last one.”

A fond pat on your thigh. “She loved it. Or did you miss the point where she squirted all over me?”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “It was a team effort,” he insists begrudgingly.

Hoseok laughs tiredly. “Sure thing, good cop. Why don’t you play your role some more and get our princess a drink of water?”

Namjoon huffs a little but leaves, and you crack your eyes open sleepily when Hoseok wiggles your ankle playfully. “Are you ready to confess now, or should I force another orgasm out of you?”

You know he’s joking, but you can’t help but shiver. “Fuck that,” you groan out with an aching throat. “I’ll confess. It was Mr Mustard in the study with a candlestick.”

Hoseok lets out a loud laugh. “You little brat.”

“Love you too. But next time, I’m bad cop.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil (Part 24)

Got this chapter done, now lets see if I can get the Azula & Alcina one done lol.

She is nearly certain that they are drawing closer to the spirit who now owns her voice; the jungle is growing denser--at points, almost impassably so--and the lesser spirits are tormenting her with more fury than they have in a while.

Her neck is a mess of pinch marks and her legs, arms, belly, and face are riddled with claw marks. She is beginning to fear infection, with so many welts to have to keep clean. She is frustrated to tears by the petty injuries.

“It’s alright.” Seicho reassures softly as she dabs a wet cloth to the princess’ arms. Though the water has come from the spirit pools and their crystalline, pure surfaces, she still doesn’t trust the water. Azula feels as though Seicho is rubbing bacterias into the cuts. Her legs are freshly bandaged and her arms are getting there. But they are running low on bandages, they’d only anticipated a few minor cuts or, perhaps, one or two larger accidents. They hadn’t accounted for a steady flow of superficial wounds.

Seicho sets her other arm down and Azula lifts her shirt. Seicho wrings the cloth out and brings it to the largest gash on her belly. This is the largest gash on her body. She cringes at the stinging flared up by the cloth. Water trickles cool and uncomfortably down her torso. The only worse discomfort comes from the second largest cut, a sharp throbbing on the back of her knee that hurts more and more every time she bends her leg. She is the most concerned about this one, alongside a decent clawmark near her armpit, this is the slash most likely to get infected.

“You doing okay?” Zuko asks.

Azula grits her teeth and nods. She is doing as well as she can. At least she has people to care for her, to help her cleans her wounds. She dabs a different cloth to her cheek and reaches for her parchment. Zhang-Zin hands it to her. ‘I hope that we find it soon.’ More so she hopes that their trip won’t be in vain. Agni forbid they’d come all this way just to be turned away.

She imagines a scenario where the spirit kills her for her audacity to approach it.

“It can’t be too far.” Mai shrugs. “The little ones wouldn’t be chittering this much if we weren’t getting close.” She confirms Azula’s own suspicions.

Azula climbs back to her feet and sighs. She is surprised that she can do even that. Seicho takes her hand and gives it a decent squeeze. This time it does very little to reassure her. With each step she feels that she is growing closer to her own complete and irreversible undoing. Closer to the second biggest mistake she’d ever make.

“That looks like it hurts.” Seicho remarks of one of the scratch marks on her arms. It is leaking quite steadily, three parallel trails of resentment gone unchecked.

‘It is more of an annoyance.’ She writes as she walks, nearly tripping over an unearthed root. It is more than just an annoyance though it isn’t quite pain either. Or perhaps it is and she has just grown used to it.  She has grown used to pain of several varieties and each is as unpleasant as the next.

“Are you sure that you’re going to be alright, Azula?” Zuko asks.

She gives him only a small nod. She is alright for now, though she isn’t certain that, that will be the case for much longer. She pushes aside a curtain of lichen and vine to reveal an enchanting jungle oasis. A dazzling spot where the veil between the physical and spirit worlds is precariously thin.

The water of the swimming hole is somehow purer than the pools that she has seen prior. Crystalline to the point where the ripples glitter and gleam regardless of how the sun hits them or if it hits them at all. At the edge of the treeline, plantlife is mundane, ordinary. It grows stranger and stranger still the closer it grows to the spirit pool. Azula steps over glowing flowers and fungi until she comes to iridescent plants that she has no name for. The smallest of the spirits linger around these plants, either eating from them or nesting within them.

And their music is sweet; their voices like the tinkling of chimes and the ringing of bells. Like the whisper of a breeze through a moonlit forest and the shimmer of the sun on the back of a toad-squirrel. Each sound is lilting and gossamer. Each sound leaves her with a sense of longing. Deep within her soul she knows what she is hearing.

She is listening to the timbre of voices long since stolen. Voices of people who have since come to pass. Voices that have, overtime, become something of nature rather than of humanity. She wonders what her own voice will sound like, what nature noise it will come to emulate if she can’t reclaim it. Or maybe it will simply remain with the spirit that had taken it, a fate iller than the other voices face.

She puts only a foot into the clearing and a dozen tiny heads turn to face her. Almost involuntarily she moves closer to Seicho. She has the decency to feel small in the presence of the spirit that assembles itself before her. Iridescent wisps rise from the flowers, the fungi, the moss, and the pool. They ebb off of the waterfall and coil down and away from strands of ivy. Each and every one coming together to form the tall, sylphlike figure of the spirit.

“It’s beautiful.” Zhang-Zin gasps.

She wishes that she could disagree, but it is. It is sublime, alluring, one of the most beautiful things that she has ever seen alongside one of the most frightening. And it is pretty in its fearsomeness. She finds herself feeling faint but she steps forward to meet it. There is a tingle on her tongue, an itch in her throat.

She wonders if she will be able to talk even if she gets her voice back, having sliced her own tongue so deeply. What if she has ruined herself beyond repair. What if she has always been ruined, broken at birth--destined for some sort of shattering.

The last wisp comes to rest at the base of the spirit’s throat shimmering a vivid golden blue. Her heart aches and her tummy flutters. She touches her fingers to her own throat.

She feels Seicho squeeze her shoulders. “Go on, Azula.” She whispers and Azula creeps away from her, parchment and brushes in hand, though she has a feeling that she won’t need them. The spirit knows what she is here for.

The smaller spirits gather around their guardian, hissing and spitting at her--slowly whittling her bravado and courage away. She has already pushed her luck so terribly far. She wonders if it would really be so bad to live a very quiet life with Seicho. Seicho who has already demonstrated that she is willing to work with and around her mutness.

She puts her brushes to the parchment and tries to work out how best to address the spirit.

She thinks that she has taken too long for its liking because she hears it, charming and chilling all at once--her own voice. Mixed amid several others it meets her ears. “You have come for your voice.” She has never felt such a ravenous longing.  She sees Mai and Zuko shift with discomfort. Seicho and Zhang-Zin don’t know just what they are hearing. And she thinks that they are lucky for it, they can stand idle and unflinchingly.  

She nods at its question.

“Why should I give it to you? What are you going to use it for?”

There are many things that come to mind. She would like to apologize to TyLee, would like to have easier discussions with Mai, would like to test how it feels to let emotion slip into her speech when she converses with Zuko. It dawns upon her that she has never really used her voice to its fullest--working only with careful and level tones and inflections. She wants to know what she can do with her voice. Yearns to know if she can do as much good with it as she had done sinister.

She thinks that these are fair answers, but the one she writes down is quite different. Put on parchment before she can stop her hand. ‘I want her to hear her name on my tongue. I want to tell her that I love her.’ Her fingers brush over the back of Seicho’s hand as she holds the parchment up.

The strand of her voice glints, she thinks that it does so with a degree of mockery. A smile splays over the spirit’s face, “I love you…” the rest of the voices fall away until it is just her own “...Seicho.”

It runs like a shiver down her spine. She feels almost sick. Somehow, Seicho smiles. And when she speaks she turns away from the spirit. She brushes Azula’s hair out of her face and replies, “I love you too.” The princess very nearly weeps, perhaps it handn’t come from her own lips but at least Seicho got to hear it. At least Seicho knows now, how delicate her words could be, what her voice sounds like. At least, in some way or another, she had gotten to tell the girl that she loved her. At least this venture won’t be completely without pay off.

She tucks the parchment away and touches her throat once again. This close to her voice, she feels a beating at its base. She holds her hand out and reaches for the golden-blue wisp. One final gesture of longing.

Seicho gently lowers her arm before she can do it herself. “It’s alright, Azula.” She smiles. “You got to say it.”

Azula nods. Faintly she thinks that she should put up more of a fight.

“That’s it, you’re just going to give up?” Zuko asks.

But he doesn’t understand; it no longer matters. The most important thing has already been said. She gives him a small smile and gently tugs on his arms. Mouthing that they should leave the spirits in peace. Leave before their patience burns away.

“Can you mouth the words?” Seicho asks.

Azula furrows her brows.

“Mouth the words, ‘I love you’.” She requests. At Azula’s nod she turns to the spirit and requests, “say it again.”

It returns with a question of its own, Azula’s voice comes back to her sounding perplexed, “do you love her.” It points at her.

Seicho slings an arm over her shoulder and nods. “Very much.” She pauses. “I want to hear her say it again.”

The spirit stoops down, low enough to be at eye level with her. Azula swallows, the tingling in her throat intensifies. Intensifies until she is met with an urge to claw at her throat to alleviate the itch. The golden blue wisp writhes on the spirit’s neck as it breaks away.

She watches it meander on the soft breeze, shimmering and flashing as it crawls over her own throat. It works its way up like a fingertip trailing up her neck until it slips between her lips. She hadn’t thought that her voice would have a taste. But it does and it is sharp like cinnamon and cool like passionfruit.

There is a beating and a pulsing at the base of her throat, an almost uncomfortable undulation. A new wisp moves to cover the one that the spirit had shed.

She can feel the vibration of her vocal cords but she can’t bring herself to make use of them yet.

[katsukis-sad-angel]

Love Yourself (please)

Ok, so I’m not the skinniest person but I wouldn’t say I’m fat either

I’m about 135 lbs and about 5’5” ~ above average weight and height for my age

This fic is for people like me who suffer from ‘every other girl that exists has visible tits and can wear tank tops and leggings and I’m just tryna eat my salad and cover up my armpit fat at the same time’ disease

This fic was a fat mood for ya boi, so I feel u

🖐😞🖐

Enjoy!

Pairing: Eijirou Kirishima x Insecure!Reader

Summary: Kirishima wants to take you to the pool (bc your dating and we wants to spend time with his pretty girl (you)) but you keep telling him no cuz ur rly insecure and you don’t want him or anyone else to see what you view as disgusting and ugly. Kirishima comes to get you but you don’t answer the door, so he comes into your house. Hearing your voice upstairs he peeks into your room to find you crying. He finally understands why you didn’t want to go to the pool.

Contains: Mentions of nudity, kiri being shirtless, angst, language? cursing? not really...

NOT MY ART!

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

Texting POV

💞🌠Manly Red Riot Man🌠💞

Hey baby!

It’s kinda warm today!

How about we go to the pool?

/

🌠💘🥰💐Beautiful Baby Girl🌠💘🥰💐

Ummmmmmmmmm I don’t think so

You can go with your squad

You’ll pave plenty of fun

/

💞🌠Manly Red Riot Man🌠💞

That’s why I want you to be there

The whole Bakusquad wants to meet you!

I kinda already told them I’d be there in an hour

Sorry babe

/

🌠💘🥰💐Beautiful Baby Girl🌠💘🥰💐

It’s ok Ei

I guess I’ll come, I don’t really feel like swimming though

/

💞🌠Manly Red Riot Man🌠💞

Awwww! Come on!

My friends are gonna love you!

I’ll be over in a few to help you pick out a suit ok?

See u in a minute😘😘😘

/

Regular POV

You groaned tilting your head back into the cushions of the couch.

You really didn’t want to go to the pool.

The other day, after taking a nice, long, hot shower, you got on your mother’s bathroom scale to see how much you weighed.

You were stunned at the number.

It was then you realized, looking in the mirror, that you weren’t as cute as you thought you were.

Every time you looked into that stupid piece of glass, all you saw was a disgusting, overweight oaf who didn’t deserve such a hardworking and perfect boyfriend.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung on your wall, turning around and around, touching the places you saw imperfect, tears of exasperation dripping off your chin and down to splatter your pretty much non-existent chest.

Your hand came down and squeezed the flesh of your thigh, the soft skin bulging upon pressure.

You cried even more.

Plopping down on your ass, you fell backward on the floor where you waited for something to happen.

Little did you know, your silent soap opera had an audience.

Kirishima had entered your house after knocking for several minutes without an answer.

Now he stood peeking into your room through your door.

There you lay, naked except for figure-shaping panties, on your floor, crying.

Kirishima knew it wasn’t manly to peep in on a girl, even though you were his girlfriend, and it wasn’t manly to just watch a girl cry.

He had seen the way your beautiful face contorted with disgust as you scanned your figure.

Kiri couldn’t understand why though.

What did you see that he didn’t?

He thought your soft tummy, arms, and thighs were cute!

Plus, you didn’t need big boobs, he liked your adorable little ones. He hadn’t gotten to touch them yet, but still…

“Hey, hey Y/n?” He asked softly, knocking on your bedroom door, “You ok?”

You sat up quickly, large, frightened eyes landing on your shirtless man.

You yelped and dove under your bed, cowering into a trembling little ball.

Kirishima lifted the bed skirt.

“Baby, come out! What’s the matter?”

“Nothing!” You whimpered in a muffled voice, “Go to the pool and have fun! I… I can’t go!”

“Look at me.”

Kirishima lay on his stomach and lay his head sideways on his hands with the bed skirt held back by his spiky locks.

“Mm-m!”

“Y/nnnnnnnnnn. Let me see you, pretty girl.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Y/n, I’m gonna pull you out of there kicking and screaming. Look at Eijirou.”

You turned your head begrudgingly, settling your darkened (e/c) orbs on his crimson ones.

“Come out.”

It was a simple command, but more easily said than done.

Blushing, you crawled out from under your bed and quickly covered yourself up.

Kirishima led you to stand and guided you to the mirror.

You turned your head in distaste.

Kirishima tugged at your wrists, “Come on, move your hands sweetie. I’m not gonna do anything, ok? I promise.”

Your hands fell to your sides.

Kirishima exhaled.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He breathed, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I… I said d-don’t say that.” You whispered, hanging your head.

“Why not? Look at you!”

“I’ll go blind. Either that or break the damn mirror.”

“No no no!”

One of his warm hands came to rest on your side and the other touched your stomach.

Your (s/c) skin was supple and velvety, pleasing to the touch.

His warm digits moved to your plush thigh.

He paused.

“Why’re you crying sweetheart?”

Kirishima turned you around to face him, but you refused to meet his eyes.

“You deserve better.” You murmured, wiping your eyes, “You need a pretty, skinny 11/10 girlfriend that will impress your friends. I’m sure there’s plenty of them at your hero school.”

“You are my 11/10 girlfriend! Why the hell do you think you’re not?”

“Are you blind?” You yelled, stomping your foot, “Just look at me, idiot! I’m… I’m disgusting.”

The tears returned to sting your eyes and flush your skin.

“Where?”

You sighed.

Turning to face the mirror again, you pointed first to your face.

“Yuck.”

Then to your armpit fat.

“Yuck.”

Then your padded torso.

“Yuck.”

Then to your thighs and ass.

“And yuck.”

“I don’t see anything.” Kirishima whistled, trying not to stare at your cute pink nipples, “All I see is my cute girl. Why don’t you see that?”

“Cuz it’s not there.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes Y/n, it is. You don’t need big tits or what you think is a ‘perfect body’ for me to love you. As your boyfriend, only my opinion matters, so if I say you are beyond perfect, you are. If some bastard says you’re not, come tell me so I can kill him.”

“You’re j-just saying that.”

“Whenever I put my hands on you while we’re in public, it’s usually because I wanna show off my pretty girl.” He turned you around so faced him once again, lifting your damp chin so you were forced to look him in the eye, “If I had a choice between a room of bimbos and a room with just you, I’d pick you.”

“Really?”

“Really. No one could replace you, ok?”

“O-Ok.”

He wrapped you in a tight hug.

“Do you still wanna go to the pool? We don’t have to.”

“N-No. I’ll go. I… I need to make sure no one tries to take you from me.”

Kirishima smiled, “I said I’d pick out your suit right? Where do you keep them?”

[mimiwrites2000]

Legends

Chapter Twelve ~

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa/ Levi x Hanji (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)

Words count: 7119

* spoilers for chapter 127 and up

Summary:

an injury

a miracle

an understanding

and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims

~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds

“Annie, you know I would do anything for you, right?”

“Father…?”

“I love you, and I want you to be happy, no matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side, you know that, don’t you?”

“I… I know, but… what’s going on?” Annie knew what was going on, as her father led her further into the forest, the sun barely creeped out from behind the mountains, and it was freezing cold, Annie’s fingers were like sticks of ice that were going to snap at any moment, her legs were numb, and the suitcases they were carrying made her feet dig deeper into the dew dirt.

She tried deflating the balloon that swelled in her throat, she took deep breaths, she was aware that this was coming, she told herself that she was ready for it, and yet…

The thick trees were getting scarce, bushes and weed overthrowing them, not before long, the tangled branches no longer blocked her vision, and Annie found herself at a clearing, the stream running by it.

The place where she peaked at Armin dancing with Mikasa.

Someone was already waiting for them.

If Annie wasn’t sure that Armin was still passed out in the cottage, she would’ve wished it was him.

It was Eren, his long brown hair messy around his face, and his suit disheveled.

Annie glanced at her father, and her breath hitched in her throat when she saw tears glistening in his eyes.

“You took so long,” Eren said, crossing his arms, as he strode a few steps towards them.

“But here we are, the past doesn’t matter anymore,” Mr. Leonhart said, he tried to walk, but the cane in his hand wobbled and he almost fell, but Annie caught him; the ground closer to the stream was even wetter, cold moisture seeped into Annie’s boot, bruising her toes, freezing them until they almost fell off her feet. She could see her breath turn into a white mist right after it left her mouth.

Propping her father up, she exclaimed: “What is going on? And Eren aren’t you supposed to-”

“Annie,” Eren stopped Annie, it was only then that she realized the dark shadows framing his eyes.

Mr. Leonhart turned to Annie, clamping his hands on both of her shoulders, he looked her straight in the eyes with such intensity that made Annie want to step back, but she didn’t.

“Annie, my daughter, do you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“Answer me.”

Annie glanced at Eren; the prosaic look he wore made her hand itch to slap it off his face. She turned her eyes to her father and said: “I do.”

“You know that I love you, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Mr. Leonhart knelt down and picked up his cane, after he steadied his footing, he gestured for Eren.

Eren stepped towards Annie, she raised an eyebrow at him before she said: “Isn’t it rude to leave your wife alone at your wedding night?”

He didn’t acknowledge her comment, instead he lifted up his hand.

“Annie, I’m sorry,” he said, his fingers hovering an inch away from her forehead.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” her voice was wobbly, and she hated that. Her eyes begging Eren to be done with it.

“Goodbye.”

Eren touched her forehead.

~~~

When Armin woke up the day after the wedding, he had a head-splitting headache, he couldn’t even lift his head up the pillow, like a ball with some thick, heavy liquid inside, chaining his head down- or it wasn’t even a pillow, it was a rock-hard surface, and now that he was thinking about it, it was unbearably dreadful, and cold, and-

Why was he stretched out on the floor?

Armin looked around himself, what is this stinking smell? He got the answer soon enough when he noticed a foot dangling right above his head, Armin wrinkled his nose, pushing the foot away but retreated immediately when his fingers touched the surely-is a dripping sweat sock.

Through groans and multiple failed tries, Armin figured out a way to prop up himself on his elbows without pouring his brain out of his skull, he squinted his eyes, inspecting the room, the sun barely creeped into the place, decorations were up, glasses and liquor bottle were thrown around the floor, some shattered, their sharp splinters waiting for an unlucky foot to pierce through.

Human bodies scattered around the room, their bodies inflating then deflating like the failed attempts of a kid trying to blow up a balloon, some were snoring like an elephant, belching foul-smelling breath through their noses and their opened, drooling mouths. Someone was whistling through their nostrils.

A bolt of pain pulsated through Armin’s head, before he dropped back down on the floor, only to jolt at the sudden impact, then memories from the day before rushed into his mind, the wedding, drinking, Annie, a lot of drinking, Annie, more drinking.

These were his final thoughts before he drifted into another wave of restless, uneasy sleep.

The next time Armin opened his eyes, the sun was going down behind the mountains.

Armin covered his eyes with his elbow, not tolerating the harsh yet soft light, fighting the nausea induced by the vomit taste in his mouth, the headache was still there but he surely didn’t feel like passing out anymore.

“It’s about time you woke up, you look like shit.” Someone said from above him, Armin shifted his elbow off his eyes, just enough to see who was talking, once he saw Connie’s face, Armin dropped his elbow and closed his eyes again, “you kinda fucked up, didn’t you?”

“Connie, what are you talking about?”

“Kissing her while drunk? Dude, even I have enough brains to not do that,” Connie gulped down the rest of what might be leftover coffee, grimacing at its bitter taste.

Armin stiffened, the headache departing him for a second: “What?” his voice cracked.

“I saw you, it’s not like you were hiding, anyone could’ve seen you if they looked outside the window.”

“Oh, God,” Armin let out a shuddering breath, rubbing his forehead, are there any pain killers around?

“You don’t have to worry about her, they had already left.” Connie twirled the residual of his coffee around, he pouted when he imagined its much stronger taste on his tongue.

The headache came back at full force pounding Armin’s head, he thought his head might as well blast, and what was that about Annie leaving?

“What do you, nngh… mean, aah, she left?” Armin breathed out, as he rubbed his head and tried to sit up.

“So, she didn’t tell you? Sheesh, man, she must have been pissed at you.”

“Connie would you please stop and actually answer my, ugh… question?”

Connie snorted, not taking Armin seriously in the slightest: “She and her father, they left before the sun even was up, I’ve never seen anyone franticly pack like her father, he was steaming.”

“And you were awake and didn’t bother to wake me up?” Armin had finally managed to sit up, and he was looking around the room as if painkillers would materialize if he wished enough for them. If his head kept on thrashing like this for one more minute, he might go crazy.

“After all the drinks you had yesterday? You wouldn’t wake up even if I kick down that wall on your big head,” Connie said as he pointed with his thumb at the wall behind him, he sighed and stood up, “besides, I saved your ass from a very embarrassing confrontation.”

“Where are you going?!” Armin asked, his voice louder than he intended, sending a bang of pain through his head, he grimaced and massaged his head, trying to subside the sting.

“To get you some painkillers! Idiot,” Connie turned away from Armin and vanished into the kitchen, a few moments later, he reemerged with a cup of water and some oh God finally medicine. He silently gave them to Armin and sat again on the couch, his head dipping low.

“Whatever you’re hiding, are you planning on telling me?” Armin said before chucking the white circular tablet into his mouth, swallowing painfully.

Connie’s eyebrows rose on his forehead, he thought he was covering up really well, I did a great job, Armin is just a genius. Connie cleared his throat and said: “I can’t.”

Armin was quiet for a moment before he said: “Okay, whatever,” he plopped back down on the floor.

One

Two

Thr-

“Annie didn’t let me wake you up.”

Ah, that’s the Connie Armin knows, can’t hide a thing if his life depends on it… wait what-

“Annie did what?” Armin coughed a few times, feeling the tablet he just swallow climbing up his throat.

“She swatted my hand arm right before I shook you,” Connie said, and showed Armin the red spot on his forearm, which was forming into a muddle of blue and purple.

“Well then… I guess she really is mad at me…” Armin sighed, rubbing his forehead, maybe in a minute I’ll wake up and all of this would turn out to be a dream or something…

“What did you do to her? Did you say anything… I don’t know, offending?”

“I…” Armin ruffled his hair, noticing how it was matted with sweat, his nose accidentally got closer to his armpit, and he gagged at the pungent aroma, he needed an urgent shower, “I can’t remember anything,” Armin lied as he headed to the bathroom.

He wanted to rip off the suit of his body the moment he closed the door behind him, but he only managed to lean onto the sink, all energy drained out of him. His hands griped the edge of it so tight, he imagined crushing it into sand, flowing between his fingers. Armin squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.

Now she was gone.

Forever.

Armin threw his head backward and groaned, he fucked up, just like Connie said, he fucked up badly, there was no better way to say it.

Armin was frustrated, he was mad at himself, at his stupidity, he couldn’t even fathom an explanation why Annie didn’t just shove him away from the beginning, from the moment he wrapped his arms around her, but now he knew the taste of her lips, the scent of her skin.

He felt her hands on his chest and her fingers in his hair, he sensed her pulse on his lips, he ran his fingers through her hair, and he tasted her tears on his lips.

Armin’s fluttered his eyes open, and he was met with his reflection in a crocked, palm-size mirror, all he could see was how horrendous he looked from the outside, and how disgusting he felt from the inside.

He shook his head and was about to take off his shirt, but he stopped when his hands felt something in its chest pocket. His fingers tremulously sought out two rings, silver, almost identical.

His own ring, and Annie’s.

Armin stared at the two circular metals on his palm, the corners of his eyes were itchy and his throat tight.

She didn’t take his ring with her, and she left her own ring with him.

Annie made it loud and clear that she didn’t want any of his memory, she desired a new life, away from this place, away from the past, and away from him.

Armin stared into the mirror once again, and saw tears streaming down his cheeks.

~~~

Three years later

It was dawn, the sun creeping from behind the trees, night creatures scurried to their hiding places under rocks and between crocks in trees trunks, the birds tweeting, hoping from a branch to another, warming up for whatever struggle this day withholds for them,

Armin was sitting on the swing, which took the majority of his small porch, but it was worth purchasing; Armin usually wakes up before sunbreak, makes a cup of coffee -this precious beverage that the outside world introduced to them, was the only catalyst to manifest enough energy to start the day- then he would admire the sun rise, slowly, as if the whole world stopped for a moment, all silent and serene, before rolling back again into its endless storm.

Armin watched the stars as they faded, and he had to remind himself that they were still there, holding up, just a larger star robbed them off their spotlight and took all the glory to itself.

He thought about what he would do during the day, attempting to schedule his remaining free hours into a useful time; it was his day off; he should probably be productive and work on a few side projects he was putting to the side for the past few months.

He tried to conjure an excuse to not work on them; maybe he should run some errands in the village, or write letters to Connie and Jean; he didn’t see them in months, last time Connie wrote to him, it was to inform him that he’s opening a small business with Niccolo. And Jean… well, he was still trying to settle on a job.

A mix of guilt and stress was growing in his stomach, he was so used to deadlines and bolting to get things done in time, to rush with tremulous hands and shaking legs from one office to the other. It was still alien for him to leisurely check off his tasks, one after the other, slowly, until all were gone, and then a new list would arrive, and he would go through it again, patiently.

No point in rushing, Armin comforted himself, he got all the time in the world.

He spent an extra hour admiring his surroundings, even though he lived here for about three years, he could never get bored of this place; there were countless, colorful birds living on the branches in the forest ahead of him, he tried once to track them down and study them, but their engraved wild nature made it impossible to catch, after all, it was used for predators hunting it down, not a mere, harmless human.

Reluctantly, Armin went inside his house.

Hanji did offer all of them mansions in the most prestigious parts of the city, to hire servants and cooks for them, to pay for any entertainment facilities they ever dreamt of, saying that ‘your efforts when you served as soldiers can never be thanked enough.’

All of them refused.

Instead, Armin, Eren and Mikasa sought a place with a serene atmosphere, some place where they can live in peace for the rest of their lives, and they found this village.

It was a new place, outside the walls, the far north of the island, its summers were scorching, and its winters were freezing, just like Shiganshina, and without hesitation they agreed that this place was exactly what they needed.

Armin’s house wasn’t big, nor was it fancy, in fact, it was in a dreadful state when he first got it, its past owner was trying to sell it for years, but it was half an hour walk from the village, and people can’t spare any extra time to get to their work, to the center of the village, where life was buzzing with people who have families waiting for them back home.

But Armin loathed noise, he hated packed places, where people are too busy to appreciate a butterfly passing by.

But here, at the outskirts of the village, closer to the forest, it was quiet, and Armin never worried about the rush hour, getting to work on time didn’t even cross his mind, or even getting enough sleep for a hard working day.

Armin got the house for half the price.

Even though everyone pictured Armin in a cabin by the ocean, Armin himself decided to live away from it, if anything, he wanted to get the jolt of happiness each time he saw the ocean, he never wanted to ever get used to it. The waves shall always make his breath catch in his throat, the cold water up until his ankles shall always send shivers down his spine.

Armin walked to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room, he was hesitant about having them disclosed; worrying about the cooking smell, grease and all, he surely didn’t want his couch smelling like fatty food, but he ended up rarely cooking anyway, so it wasn’t an issue.

He deposited his empty cup in the sink, before heading towards the stairs, its wood lighter than the rest of the place; it wasn’t here when he first moved, but he built a bedroom on what used to be the roof, this way, he had an extra room he could use as an office. Armin didn’t ascend them, but merely touched the handrail, he was making his way to where he should be longer, stretching his journey to his office as much as he could, where what he dreaded the most was waiting for him, taking a physical form in blank, pure white pages, and scraped, unfinished outlines.

He finally ran out of tasks to idle on, and there was nothing else to do but get in that office, and do the excruciating, agonizing task of all time.

Armin sat by his desk, finding interest in anything that passed across the opened window, a butterfly, a bird, a falling leaf.

The moist, dew dirt’s aroma wafted through the window, a branch from a near tree made its way through it, poking at the ceiling, Armin asked for Eren’s help to cut it off, but lately, procrastinating was Armin’s inseparable shadow.

He had been wondering the forest since he stepped into the office, avoiding to look at the page laying vacant on the desk, the pen in his hand tap-tap tapping on the hard surface of the wooden table, accidently drawing dots from where it plopped on the blank page laid in front of him, as blank as my mind.

Sometime his eyes would linger on a certain notebook on the desktop, it was the only notebook he had filled from cover to cover, his handwriting cramped in it, filling every single line. Beside it, there was a small, wooden box.

Armin knew that living alone was the best choice for him, solitary was his method of functioning, even though Eren and Mikasa suggested having a two-stories house and all can live together, but Armin refused, saying that he didn’t want to intrude on their privacy, and it didn’t help that they were a bit too “touchy” for Armin’s comfort.

It’s not like Eren and Mikasa lived far away from him, they preferred to get a house in the village, its atmosphere depicted their childhood, and they found that soothing; another sugar cube to their new life, a place that reminded them of one of their best times, a proof that they were living a new life without forgetting about their past, the past that gave them this present, and hopefully, a brighter future.

Armin would hop through the vast lands of daydreaming, a fantasy overlapping the other, and when he was confronted with reality, the empty papers within his hands, a big, long wall hindering him from getting to the next imaginary place- he would grow wings and fly over it.

Armin snapped out of his dreams when he heard knocks on the front door, he got up, wiping the drool dripping down his chin with his sleeve, at least now he would have an actual reason to not work.

“Uncle Armin!” A kid yelled, their pitchy high voice stealing the serenity of the place in a second, Armin shook his head and laughed.

At the door, stood Eren, Mikasa, and little Ymir, all beaming at Armin, and all of them holding something in their hands.

“We figured you would want some company on your day off, we hope you don’t mind.” Mikasa said in her never-changing calming voice, waving a basket in front of her.

“Of course, he wouldn’t mind, he should be grateful we brought him lunch, better than his awful cooking.” Eren stepped past Armin inside the house -Mikasa rolling her eyes in the background- Ymir following him, but not before hugging Armin, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Historia trusted her daughter with these two. 

Historia would send Ymir every now and then to visit Eren and Mikasa and stay for a few days, she was so attached to Eren, and would cry and thrash in her room if she didn’t see him at least once a month.

Armin didn’t have to tell his friends to make themselves at home, he never did, they would just invade the house and do whatever they felt like doing, and it’s not like Armin minded in the slightest, as long as they didn’t step into his office.

It was already lunch time, Ymir helped Eren set the table, as Armin went into his forbidden office, to repack whatever he tried to work on.

“How’s your project going?” Mikasa asked, leaning on the door frame, her arms crossed. She already got her answer when she saw all the blank, new papers, however, one notebook caught her attention.

“Which one?”

“The book.”

“Oh… not so well,” there was no point in denying the truth from Mikasa, he couldn’t lie to her anyway, besides, she was the only person he told about all his failed projects. Armin organized his desk, even though it wasn’t exactly jumbled up, still, he put pens into a cup, and papers -mostly new and untouched- in their arranged folders and into drawers, but he kept one notebook on the desktop.

“Hey Armin, why is that notebook… different?”

“Oh…” Armin peered down at what she mentioned, it certainly was different; its cover worn out, some papers out of their place, and the pages that once used to be white turned into a brown-ish color, “nothing, I just… write more in it, I guess,” Armin took the notebook and hid it in one of the drawers.

Mikasa decided to feign belief in Armin’s feeble lie, she looked around the office from where she stood, it looked more like a small library than an office to her, shelves surrounded the four walls, bending at the weight of the myriad books on them.

The place smelled of old books and a combination of floral and apple pie fragrance Mikasa was sure didn’t come from the opened window. The crimson rug under her feet had four flattened spots from the desk’s chair. Mikasa knew that Armin spends a lot of time in his office, probably all his free time…

“I’m really glad you guys came today.” Armin said as he sorted out a pile of papers into three separate files, “it does get lonely in the forest sometimes.” He let out a breathless chuckle but bit his lip when it sounded like a pathetic wail of a wet dog.

“Our house is always open for you, and you know that.” Mikasa said as she bit her lip, taking a step into the room, she looked up, noticing the invading branch, it suited the office’s aesthetic, “but, you know that having someone here with you would make a difference-”

“Mikasa, we’ve already went through this,” Armin rolled his eyes and tried to ignore Mikasa by concentrating on the papers in his hands.

“You can’t just stay alone forever.”

“I’m fine by myself for now, and it’s not like I’m on the verge of the grave, I’m twenty-two years old.”

“Even Jean and Hitch are dating!”

Armin blinked in surprise: “When did that happen?” So Jean finally moved on from Mikasa, huh?

“Well, everyone knows they’re dating, except for them.”

Armin slapped his forehead: “They’re not even official and you guys…” he sighed, since when did people’s personal life regale others entertainment?

“One failed relationship doesn’t mean that you should stop trying,”

Armin dropped the thick files he had in his hand, and it fell right on his feet, he hissed in pain, but Mikasa ignored that as she went to read some books’ spines on the shelves, her hands clasped behind her back, making sure to not touch anything; she was aware that Armin doesn’t like guests in his office, and she already crossed that line, she trespassed into prohibited territory, she might as well be wary.

“You know who I’m talking about,” Mikasa wasn’t planning on dropping the subject.

Armin froze, a lump was forming at the back of his throat but he couldn’t swallow, he was cornered in his own place, sieged by Mikasa’s words, and he never thought Mikasa would mention her, in all the three years after the practically apocalyptic events they went through, he couldn’t recall Mikasa or Eren ever talking about-

“Sophie, I know I introduced you guys, and I don’t regret it, but you two just don’t work out with each other,” Mikasa’s fingers trespassed on an especially old book’s spine, they trailed the engraved title, what’s beyond, it said, Mikasa’s fingers were getting curious to what it could hold inside.

Armin closed his eyes, and almost choked a sigh: “That was a year and a half ago, I’ve moved on, and I’m sure she did too, and it’s not like we held any real emotions for each other-”

“But if I’m being honest, you did neglect her,” Mikasa picked the book from the shelf.

Armin hands slipped and a particular sharp edge of a paper sliced through the not-any-longer calloused skin, he did steam it in a second, but the nasty pain from a paper cut could never be topped, “It only lasted for a couple of months and both of us decided that we aren’t a match! It was mutual!” Armin stuffed the rest of his papers into one file, not caring if they were in the wrong order, he just wanted to get Mikasa out of his office as soon as possible-

Mikasa opened the book, or more like it flung open by itself on a certain page, as something metal and shiny fell off from it, landing with an unimpressive thud on the rug.

Armin reached for it, but it was too late, Mikasa was already inspecting the circular polished metal, she held it in the light, and saw a small notch on its side, she flicked it, a thorn popping from the ring, the tip ever so sharp, ready to cut into flesh.

Mikasa turned her eyes to the opened book in her other hand, the ocean, the title said at the top of the page, in cursive delicate writing, Mikasa scanned the page, at the bottom, a hand drawn picture of the ocean was fading, this book must be too old…

Armin tried to concoct a retort, but he ended up sputtering from where he was still crouched on the floor: “Th-that’s my ring! I just s-store it there!”

Mikasa put the ring back where it was, closed the book on it, and placed it back to where it was cramped with other books.

“Yeah, I know that,” Mikasa said as she side-eyed a small wooden box on the desk, where she was sure Armin’s ring laid untouched, then she turned and walked out the office.

~~~

“In a week or so, it will be the third anniversary of the end of the war.”

“Oh, is that so…”

Eren and Mikasa chatted as Armin silently listened to them, all sitting around the dining table, they were having spaghetti and meatballs for lunch, a Marleyan dish Niccolo taught them how to make, with Mikasa’s own twist and tips from when she watched Carla in the kitchen, everyone agreed that nothing can beat her recipe.

“I think they will hold a festival in the village,” Eren said before he stuffed a meat ball in his mouth.

“Fun!” Ymir chirped in, and Armin smiled; this kid did bring enormous joy to the trio, and Armin never thought that a child would change their whole lives like that.

“Yes! It’s gonna be so fun!” Mikasa said in a high pitchy voice to Ymir, who was grinning, her teeth all red from the sauce, “mama would surely let you spend it here with us.” Ymir nodded, before she was immersed again in her food.

“Armin,” Mikasa acknowledged him, he hummed, “me and Eren are going for sure, do you wanna tag along? We’re gonna have a lot of fun, I promise.”

Mikasa’s voice was soft, so soft, it reminded Armin of the summer fluffy, white clouds, and when Armin looked into her eyes, they were pleading for him to say yes.

“What do you mean?” Eren inquired, raising a confused eyebrow at Mikasa, “he won’t be here anyw- mmpph”

“What?” Armin asked.

“Never mind him,” Mikasa said, a forced grin on her face, as if she didn’t just knock the air out of Eren with her ‘playful nudge’, “so, you’re in?”

“I…” Armin wanted to say no, that he had a lot of work to do, and that he’s not in the mood to party, not to mention that there would be enough liquor for the whole village to get knocked out, and Armin was trying so hard to stay away from alcohol; he didn’t taste it in three years.

“I’ll think about it,” Armin decided to settle on a vague answer, he learnt to not give away promises like they were free postcards.

Mikasa’s lips twitched upwards in half a smile, a part of her ignoring the fact that Armin would most likely come up with an excuse to not go.

“How’s work?” Eren asked Armin, as he stuffed meatball number who-even-knows into his mouth.

“Good, I guess, less pressure, ever since I started working from the shadows.” Armin answered, even though the mouth-watering food was waiting on the plate, Armin’s fork idled at an olive on the side of the porcelain dish.

“Hanji did give you the option, yet here you are, don’t you ever think of retiring soon? I mean, me and Mikasa are pretty much living stress free-”

“I can’t just sit around, besides, I would be unemployed if I leave the military, and it’s not like creating strategies from a cabin in a forest is dangerous,” Armin repeated the answer he always replies with whenever this tirade of retirement is discussed, it worked every time and made them shut up-

“But don’t you ever consider-” Eren’s mouth was full of food, he chewed quickly and swallowed, his mouth stained with red sauce, “don’t you ever consider starting a family?”

Armin choked on air, he felt that olive stuck in his windpipe, except that he didn’t even eat it, Mikasa offered him a glass of water but he only waved her hand away and said: “Did-” a cough “the two of you” another cough “plan this?”

The shared silence told him so.

Armin got up, taking a napkin and wiping his mouth, only to realize that he didn’t eat anything: “I’m gonna go for a walk, and when I get back, I don’t wanna hear any more of this bullshit.”

The screech sound of his recently-vacant chair echoed through the room, before Armin left the house, holding himself from slamming the door behind him.

“We… went too far… didn’t we?”

Mikasa nodded, looking at little Ymir who was devouring the rest of what was left on her plate, oblivious to her surroundings.

Armin had to muster all the remaining self-restraint to not send the door flying off its hinges; they both knew that these topics ticked him off, and they went through this dialogue more times than he would care to count, but still, they insist on doing it over and over-

His raging thoughts halted in his mind as well as his feet when he was met by an unexpected guest, frozen at the bottom of the two steps leading to the porch was Connie, a suitcase on the ground beside his feet.

“H-hey, Connie, what’s up?” Armin internally slapped himself at the feeble way he greeted his friend, but electric zips were still thrashing in his mind, sending jolts to his tremulous hands.

Armin shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to Connie, and this seemed to wake Connie from whatever trance he was lost in, then, a current of words were hastily flowing out of Connie’s mouth, overlapping and incoherent, and Armin couldn’t make a single word out of it.

Worry and concern shoved anger out of Armin’s nerves, in a second, he was in front of Connie, shaking his shoulders, and that quaked his jostling words into a cohesive sentence: “Do you want to go on a walk?”

Armin was taken aback by this sudden request, they didn’t see each other in months, and Connie didn’t write to Armin that he was going to visit, he merely just popped up in front of his door.

This wasn’t like Connie.

“Sure, but do you want to go inside? Maybe rest for a bit? We were just having lunch, so the food is probably still warm,” Armin tried to ease Connie off whatever he was struggling with, to clear his mind for a minute.

“No, I don’t feel like eating, and I need to get this off my chest, thanks though.”

“Ok then, let’s go.”

Armin walked side by side with Connie, he knew a rout in the forest long enough for Connie to talk with no pressure. Even though concern was chewing at Armin’s patience, he couldn’t force Connie into saying a word, he knew his friend for so long to know not to do so.

However, Armin bit the inside of his lower lip, holding his tongue from snapping at Connie, who didn’t stop fidgeting in his place; a hand would shoot up from his pocket up to caress his short grey hair, before it rubbed his temples and hid back into his pocket, his steps were out of rhythm, one short step, the next long enough to make Connie take a small step backwards to stay beside Armin. He was playing with the skin around his fingernails, Armin glanced at them and saw how red they were, with a darker shade of brown inside the edges of them, dried blood.

Armin crossed his arms, as if this would restrain him from saying anything he would regret.

“The predators are far into the forest, don’t worry,” Armin couldn’t hold himself back from saying that, he tried to keep his voice even and unbothered; but irritation seeped into his tone because Connie kept checking behind them as if someone was following them.

Connie stopped dead in his tracks, and Armin did a small dance of joy in his mind that his friend finally decided to speak out.

“Sasha.”

Armin’s arms dropped beside him.

One word, and it made Armin know exactly what was coming up next.

“I can’t- she just- I don’t know, I thought I was over it- it’s unfair-”

“Hey hey hey,” Armin clamped Connie’s head in his hands, steering his head so he could look into his eyes; they were a light shade of a dreadful pink, “take a deep breath, and don’t pressure it, I’m not going anywhere, I’m here to listen,” Armin didn’t waver his eyes off Connie’s, his words anchored Connie down, made him stop for a second.

Armin didn’t let go of Connie until he nodded, then Armin motioned for a large, fallen tree trunk on the side, and both sat on it.

“I don’t know from where to start.”

“It’s fine, take your time.”

Connie was silent for a moment, he swallowed and rested his elbows on his knees, his back arching with the weight of words he had yet to unleash.

“She… ever since she was gone, she pops up in my sleep, but… most of the time it’s really just a dream that doesn’t make any sense,” Connie mumbled, he was apprehensive, trying to remember one of these dreams, and when he did, he jolted back, startling Armin, who sprung out his arms in his direction, thinking he choked or something, but the wide smile on Connie’s face made Armin retreat back his hands.

“Th-there was that one dream! I don’t know where I was, but I remember that I was calling her, and I was getting irritated because she didn’t answer, and suddenly, a mountain of a steamy, hot potatoes emerged from nowhere! Like from no fucking where!”

Armin nodded his head rapidly, permitting a hesitant smile on his face despite a few droplets of spit splashing his face.

“Then the mountain just split open and there she was, she was floating? I guess she was, and she held out her hand to me and said in a decent voice I’ve never heard her speak in before,” Connie puffed up his chest and held out his hand to Armin, acting out his dreams, with a thick voice he mimicked: “come with me, my dear fellow, to the land of food,” Connie broke his demeanor and was laughing so hard, birds were abandoning their spots on the trees around them.

Armin laughed alongside Connie, and he tried to look over the hint of sadness in Connie’s voice, and he didn’t persist on the small cracks interfering with his tone, his shaking fingers, or the tears glistening inside his eyes.

Connie laughs subsided gradually, and then he wiped his nose on his sleeve, his vision was getting a little blurry, but he kept going, his voice calmer and quiet: “It was like this, all along, just laughs, but for the past four months, or maybe five, all I see are nightmares, one where her neck split open, or when the bones in her body snap, or blood pour from her eyes.”

Tears were rolling freely down Connie’s cheeks, his words choked, half of them battling their way out with his tears, and Armin could barely understand what his friend was saying anymore, but one single sentence was the same as a big stone dropping down Armin’s stomach.

“No matter where I see her or how it starts, she dies each time.”

A deep part of Armin knew that this was coming, he knew a dead person usually visits the living ones’ dreams, sometime it’s just a recall of a good memory, or a comforting hug, Armin once had a dream of his grandfather hugging him and singing him to sleep, however. Sometimes these long gone people haunts your dreams and turn them into nightmares, like some sort of a reminder that they didn’t deserve dying, retelling you that they will have a long last effect on your life, some sort of a witchcraft that will trap you for as long as you keep on breathing, to the point where it makes you want to-

“I want to forget about her,” Connie let this one single sentence out, and looked straight into Armin’s eyes.

Armin was still, not moving, he just stared back into Connie’s eyes, waiting for them to blink, but they seemed to turn into an unmoving sculpture. Armin shook his head, unbelieving and agitated.

Connie wanted to forget about Sasha,

Connie wants Eren to wipe off his memory.

Armin’s heart was beating in his ears, he didn’t notice his fists tightly clutched until he felt a nail digging excruciatingly into them. He tried to speak, to let out a rational reaction, some right-headed reaction that Armin was known for all his life.

Memories, memories, memories, memories, Annie-

Pain.

“Don’t start with some noble speech about ‘letting the dead keep on living in your mind’, I can’t,” Connie kept going, his eyes veered up at the sky, “those nightmares are ruining the good memory I have of her, and I don’t want that, she doesn’t deserve that.”

Armin only watched his friend, his head up to the sky, his eyes wide open, tears gushing down his cheeks, trickling off his chin before dripping onto his open hands,

“Well, Eren and Mikasa are actually visiting me today, we should… go back and… talk.”

Connie regarded Armin as if he grew a second head, he thought that Armin would give a long ass tirade about all this memory tempering shit, it didn’t cross his mind that he would be so easy to talk to about this specific topic.

Three years ago, the day following Mikasa and Eren’s wedding, Connie found Armin in the shower, soaked wet with freezing water, hugging himself and shedding tears… silently.

After that, Armin caught a very bad cold and had to stay in bed for five days straight.

Connie was certain that this memory crossed Armin’s mind too as they walked back the same path to his house.

Each step Armin took sent dozens of electric shudders into his body, he tried to calm himself by watching the birds flying from one branch to the other, or by the sound of his and Connie’s feet scraping against the dirt, but his ears magnified the voices into deafening thuds and screeches, the veins in his forehead were throbbing

What exacerbated it was that he couldn’t hide from the guilt growing inside of him at how he snapped at his friends, he didn’t mean to, he surely didn’t and shouldn’t have, after all, they were doing that out of concern.

Even though he was pissed at them, he had to apologize, but he would save that for later, there were more pressing matters. However, when Armin and Connie reached the house, Eren and Mikasa had already left.

Armin took Connie’s suitcase and walked inside his house, but Connie tried to stop him: “You know it’s fine, I can just go straight to their house-”

“Connie you look like shit, take a break first, maybe sleep for some time, and we’ll discuss everything later.”

Connie followed Armin silently.

Armin found a plate of food wrapped in a towel waiting for him on the table, he smiled, there goes Mikasa being the mom again, but he wasn’t hungry at all.

“Hey Connie, want something to eat?” Armin said as he walked to the table.

“Uh… what do you have?”

Armin unwrapped the towel: “Spaghetti and-”

A folded paper fell from it.

Armin put down the plate and unfolded the paper, only to find out that they were two papers folded together, one was brown and looked somewhat formal, while the other had scrabbles on which Armin immediately recognized as Eren’s messy handwriting.

“Spaghetti and what?” Connie asked, but Armin didn’t answer.

The paper wrinkled underneath Armin’s grasp as his eyes scanned the content of it, his jaw tightening with every word.

[biillyhargroves]

Hey there! May I request a fic, please? :) Some Harringrove angst, please. :). Something like Steve taking a drunk and half frozen Billy after he finds him stumbling along in the snow in the middle of the night. That's all.

you got it, sweet anon!!! I hope you enjoy this!!!

winter passing(fic requests open)

Billy is missing. 

He went to a party. He hadn't wanted to go, but Steve had convinced him. “When was the last time we really blew off some steam, huh?” Billy had suggested another way to blow off steam, and Steve convinced him they could save that for later. “You never go out anymore,” he’d told him, and Billy got quiet the way he always did when the great unspoken it hovered in the air around him. (It, of course, being Starcourt; he doesn’t name it, doesn’t speak of it, but he knows when Steve is thinking about it - knows when Steve is testing the waters, dipping a toe in to see if now might be a safe time to broach the subject. It never is.) “It’s no one you know,” Steve shrugged. “Not really. My class, mostly. College kids home on break. You don’t even have to talk to them.” 

It was fifteen minutes of the same back-and-forth, but Billy did give in. He went to a party. He spoke to no one. He drank. He drank a lot. Steve watched him warily. He tried to slow him down, but there is not stopping Billy Hargrove when he sets his mind to something, so he settled for swiping Billy’s keys. This, at least, would keep him from safe - or so Steve thought.

Billy had slipped away.

Steve isn’t sure when it happened. He asked everyone he passed if they had seen him, and they all said something different: “He was headed for the bathroom”; “I think he was getting a beer”; “He was doing shots in the kitchen, man. Dude’s a bottomless pit.”. 

Steve checked and double checked his pocket, because Billy is sly and smooth and slick and Steve wouldn’t strike pick-pocketing off his list of hidden talents, but the keys never moved. Steve checked the house, the yard around it, and then the house again, but found no sign of Billy.

Now, he is looping around Hawkins in wider and wider circles, white-knuckling the wheel of the Camaro that they took on Billy’s insistence. His foot hovers over the gas as he eases the car slowly down the streets. It has started to snow and he fumbles to flip on the wipers.

Steve’s eyes keep flitting to his watch. The more time passes, the more worried he grows. He swings past the party once or twice, just to check, but Billy hasn't returned. Steve can’t remember if he was wearing a coat; he remembers how harsh Billy’s first Indiana winter had been. California had not been so frigid, and Billy hates the cold. Steve hadn’t thought he’d ever see Billy more miserable - not until Starcourt, and what came after. 

It is well past midnight when Steve spots a hunched figure stumbling in the street. As he gets closer he recognizes the thin denim jacket stretched over hunched shoulders. Steve rolls down the window as he draws nearer, slowing the car to crawl.

“Billy!” he calls, but Billy doesn’t hear him. Steve pulls up to the curb and calls his name again but Billy only shivers and wraps his arms tighter around his middle. He isn’t walking well; his feet catch on the snow, his boots snagging on the ice beneath. He almost falls two times. Steve, heart-racing, throws the car in park and darts to Billy just in time to catch his third fall. 

“The fuck,” Billy snaps. “G’off!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve asks, struggling to keep hold while Billy fights for freedom. He is shivering all over. His teeth are chattering and when he takes Steve’s hands to try to pry Steve off of him his fingers are ice cold. Steve thinks they must be numb because Billy can’t find his grip. “Billy,” Steve tries, but Billy elbows him in the chest in his scramble to escape. Steve holds him tighter, closer, repeating his name as the fight ebbs from Billy’s bones. “Billy,” he says. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Get off,” Billy slurs. He speaks like his tongue is swollen, like his mouth is too small to fit the words inside. He sounds tired, too. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Steve tells him, exasperated. “Do you even know how long you’ve been gone? Jesus, Billy, I was really fucking worried about you.” Billy is still struggling, but with much less force. He nearly sags against Steve as Steve pulls them both to their feet. He turns Billy around and when he does he sees blood dried beneath Billy’s nose. 

Steve’s tone softens and he says, “Hey.”. He reaches to touch Billy’s face and Billy ducks his head. His hair, full of flurried snowflakes, falls over his eyes. “Hey,” Steve says again. “What happened?” Billy keeps dodging him, jerking his head away until Steve gently brushes his hair away and touches his thumb to Billy’s chin. Billy reluctantly peeks up at him. “Where did you go?”

“H-Home,” Billy says. 

“Billy,” Steve says. “Did he-” he starts, but he stops when Billy drops his gaze. Steve relents; he lets Billy look away, lets him lower his head. Steve doesn’t need an answer; he can put the pieces together. A drunken kid stumbles home in the middle of the night, wakes up the angry father that hadn't permitted him to leave. The ending is ugly; it’s always ugly. That’s how all of Billy’s stories go, so why would tonight be any different? 

Steve keeps one hand on Billy’s arm to hold him upright and he sighs the heaviest sigh of his life. The snow is still falling, and Steve thinks Billy will freeze to the sidewalk if they stand still much longer. “Come on,” Steve says. “Let’s get you warm.” 

With some difficulty, he gets Billy into the Camaro’s passenger seat. He blasts the heat and keeps one comforting, steadying hand on Billy’s shoulder as he drives. 

The Harrington house is dark and quiet. Steve’s car sits alone in the driveway, and Steve parks the Camaro beside it. Billy picks up his fight when Steve tries to help him inside, insisting on walking on his own even though he can’t seem to keep his feet beneath him. Steve tries his best to steer him away from ice, He gets Billy upstairs and into the bathroom. He begins to draw a bath, then sets to work getting Billy out of his now-wet clothes. The snow completely soaked through his jeans and left melted patches all over Billy’s jacket. There are still some flakes clinging to his hair. When Steve undresses him, he finds Billy’s skin cold to the touch, and Billy seems to brace himself against the sting of the air around him.

“You need to start dressing for the weather,” Steve says, tossing Billy’s flimsy button-down to the floor. Billy grumbles something unintelligible. Steve isn’t sure he’s even using real words. In his drunkenness, he seems to devolved into some form of primitive speech. 

“What’re you doing?” Billy complains as Steve tries to get his jeans off of him. He tries to twist away, but he is clumsy and only manages to pin himself against the wall. 

“Don’t get excited,” Steve says. “Just don’t want this shit to freeze to you forever.”

“Fuck off,” Billy says. He staggers when Steve nudges him toward the bathtub, and protests when Steve tries to guide him into the water. 

“Come on,” Steve says. “Come on, you’re freezing. Just get in.” 

“You coming?” Billy slurs. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Steve tells him. Once he succeeds in getting Billy into the tub, he tells him, “Stay here. I’m going to turn up the heat.” 

“Yeah you are,” Billy mumbles.

“You’re impossible,” Steve tells him. Billy mutters something that Steve doesn’t quite catch. Steve excuses himself, leaves Billy to turn up the thermostat, to gather clean clothes, to find extra blankets for the bed. When he returns, Billy is dozing in the tub. Steve lingers in the doorway for a moment, watching him. There is still blood dried up by his nose and Steve can see a bruise blossoming over Billy’s cheek. His eye, too, looks puffy and Steve thinks it will be black and blue by morning. He feels a tightness in his chest- guilt, he thinks. It makes his queasy  and he hopes that he can quell it before Billy wakes up with the mother of all hangovers.

Steve lets himself into the room. Billy doesn’t notice him. His lips, chapped from the cold, are parted slightly and his eyelids flutter when Steve’s shadow falls over him. 

“Shh,” Steve says. He brushes Billy’s hair behind his hair and traces the line of Billy’s cheekbone, carefully, gently, over the purpling skin. He finds a washcloth, soaks it, and uses it to dab the blood from Billy’s nose. 

His eyes drop down to the scars on Billy’s chest, the ones that snake and curve down his sides and toward his hips. The ones Billy tries to hide. The ones he doesn’t let Steve touch. The ones that give him nightmares that wake him screaming in the dead of the night, the ones that still ache when Billy moves the wrong way. Steve hesitates, then rests his fingers against the largest one, the one nestled at the center of Billy’s chest. Billy stirs at the touch. He groans, and he blinks wearily up at Steve. Feeling caught, Steve drops his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers.

“Hm?” Billy hums. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again. He sighs. “I’m sorry for dragging you out tonight. Maybe if I’d just dropped it, this wouldn’t have-”

“It’d happen anyway,” Billy murmurs. His eyes are closing against, and Steve rouses him by splashing some water over his chest. Billy groans, grumbles, sighs. He fixes Steve with a sleepy sort of look that he tries to make serious. “It would,” he says. 

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks, pointing to his cheek where the bruise is forming on Billy’s. 

“It’s not bad,” Billy slurs. 

“You’re gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow,” Steve tells him.

“No shit,” Billy says. He sighs, and his eyes slip shut again. 

“Hey,” Steve says. “Why don’t we get you to bed?”

“M’not in the mood,” Billy groans.

“You’re impossible,” Steve says again. He rises, looming over the tub to haul Billy up by the armpits. Billy’s breath hitches and he gets water on Steve as he tries to get himself out of the bath. Steve has to hold him tighter than he means to, and Billy tries to tear himself away. “Hey, hey, hey,” Steve says. “Stop fighting me, asshole. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just trying to help.” 

This seems to calm Billy at least a bit. He lets Steve dry him, dress him. He lets himself be lead to Steve’s bedroom and wrapped up in blankets. 

“I really am sorry” Steve says when they are lying in bed together, Billy dozing against Steve’s chest, Steve playing with his damp hair. “I’m sorry for making you go tonight.”

“Quit the guilt trip, Harrington,” Billy murmurs. His voice is muffled as he nuzzles his head against Steve. Steve holds him closer, rubs his back, tucks Billy’s head beneath his chin. 

“I’m serious,” Steve says. 

“I know,” says Billy. 

“Do you need anything?” Steve asks him.

“Head hurts,” Billy groans.

“I can get you-”

“Just shut up,” Billy says. His words are harsh, but his tone is light, and it makes Steve smile. He squeezes Billy closer; kisses the top of his head. 

“You got it,” he whispers. Outside, the snow falls quietly on their hushed little town. The windows fog from the high heat of the house. Billy burrows beneath the mound of blankets Steve has built for him. He nestles as close as he can to Steve, and Steve lets him. He listens as Billy’s breath evens out. He counts each little heartbeat until he falls asleep, too. 

[annelesbonny]

queliot & 12?

#12- things you said when you thought I was asleep

read on ao3!

                                            let there also be hope

“You love me. You love me not. You love me. You love me not.”

Eliot sighs, drops his head against the back of the couch and tries not to think about...things. It’s a little hard to do when “things” is currently sleeping on his bicep, breathing softly into his armpit.

Quentin’s hair is a little longer now, and Eliot is big enough to admit that’s probably due to his own subliminal messaging. What can he say, he likes a little something more to grab on to. Not that there’s been any grabbing going on to speak of, not for awhile now, not since Eliot’s been— back. Honestly, the fact that he’s even getting this, Q slumped over and snoring on his arm, is nothing short of a miracle.

The last nine weeks have been rough, for lack of a better word. Or, a better word isn’t lacking so much as all the appropriate ones are too depressing for Eliot to think about right now, words like ‘agonizing’ or ‘heartbreaking’ or ‘soul-rending’.

More than anything though, it’s just been hard. And it’s hurt, more than he ever imagined it could. The averted eye contact, the poorly stifled flinches, and the fun, careful dance they’ve been engaging in, the one that ensures that Margo or Julia or Alice, even Penny or Kady are in whatever room Quentin’s in if Eliot happens to be there as well. There’s only so much Eliot can do (see: nothing at fucking all ) when it’s his presence, his body that’s the problem in the first place.

He can’t undo the damage done by the monster, but he’ll love Quentin through it anyways.

The apartment is empty now, save for them. Margo is in Fillory with Fen and Josh, Kady’s tits-deep in a hedge rebellion, Alice is in Modesto for some fucking reason, and 23’s sulking after Julia, who’s off somewhere doing demigoddess related activities. So that leaves Eliot, neck growing stiff from the awkward position against the too short couch, and Quentin, who’d somehow how found his way from his earlier position several cushions down to drooling on Eliot’s silk sleeve. He knows he should move Quentin, get him settled on a pillow or something, cover him with that tiny yellow throw he likes so much and take himself out of the room because Quentin’s not conscious to do it himself.

Because one of them has to leave; that’s how the story goes.

But Eliot is a selfish man, and Quentin Coldwater, soft and sweet, asleep on his shoulder is not something he possesses the capacity to resist. He just doesn’t have it in him anymore. The denial and the resisting and the self-sabotage is what got them here in the first place, and while he doesn’t know if he can fix it, or even if there’s anything left to fix, what he does know is that he is far too selfish a man to accept an ending like this.

If the last time he kissed Quentin is a memory, there isn’t a single part left of his heart to break.

“You know, I dreamt of you when I was— when I was gone,” Eliot says softly, speaking more to the ceiling than the man sleeping against his arm. “That’s what it felt like; a dream. A dream about a memory of something else. No wonder I came to with such an atrocious headache. That’s not the point though. The point is. Well.” He laughs a little, and closes his eyes.

“I guess the point is, I love you. And soon I’ll be brave enough to say it to your face. Promise,” he whispers.

Nine weeks and he still hasn’t said it. He’d like to put all the blame on Quentin’s avoidance act, but that isn’t fair. Because Eliot is a selfish man, not a brave one.

“I can pretend to be asleep again if you’d like to practice some more.”

Eliot’s eyes fly open and he sits up so fast Quentin almost falls off the couch. Eliot catches him, of course, but it would have served the fake-sleeping, declaration-hearing traitor right.

“Q, what the hell. ”

His voice drops into an unhappy growl and his face feels hot. Quentin blinks up at him sleepily, face lightly lined from where he’d pressed into Eliot’s side. He still looks more tired than Eliot likes, but there’s a mischievous look in his eyes that’s been missing for so long, bringing back a little of that light Eliot loves so goddamn much, that he wondered if he’d ever really see again.

“Sorry.” Quentin doesn’t sound sorry at all , the unrepentant brat. “You’re just so much more relaxed when, um, you don’t have to look at me or when you think I can’t hear you. But I really was sleeping for most of it.”

Eliot slouches back against the couch, summons his most unconvincing glare. “What did you hear?”

Quentin bites at his bottom lip, cheeks taking on a delightful blush. “Oh. Just, ah, about the dreams and, um, that you— love me, I guess.”

“That was all of it, Quentin!”

Quentin starts to curl in on himself, away from Eliot, which is the last thing in the entire fucking multiverse that he wants at any given time.

“Fuck. Sorry.” He reaches for Q, pathetically grateful when it’s accepted, and he doesn’t think he imagines the soft, little sigh from Quentin as he lays his hand carefully on the junction where neck and shoulder meet. “I’m not mad, Q, I’m— Fuck. How am I so goddamn bad at this.”

It’s not a question, but Quentin answers anyway.

“A lifetime and a half of repression coupled with a shitload of trauma?” He offers with a tiny smile.

“Hey, I thought I did alright at the mosaic.” Eliot feels the need to defend himself at least a little.

“El, we were practically married. We had an actual kid together, and you said that you loved me exactly once over the course of fifty years . ”

Eliot inhales sharply; unfortunately, he knows exactly what moment Quentin’s referring to despite his best efforts to forget.

Q, baby, please. I love you. Come back. You have to come back.

“You never told me you heard that. You were— I thought you were—” Even now, over fifty years and at least one alternate timeline later, Eliot still struggles to say it.

“Dying?” Quentin touches his hand to draw out the sting. “I was sick, not deaf, Eliot. And you practically shouted it in my ear.”

“Yeah, well, I was fucking terrified so,” Eliot says, jaw clenched tight against the memory of Q, death-pale and impossibly small on their bed, caught in the thrall of a vicious Fillorian fever that had already killed at least two people in the village.

Teddy had been beside himself, the memory of Arielle still too fresh in his little boy mind, and he’d clung to Eliot in the early days, refusing to let him out of his sight or beyond his reach. When Quentin had gotten worse, he’d finally broken and allowed Ari’s mother to take him for a few days. It had almost killed him, watching his son have to be carried away from him, almost ten years old and crying desperately for his fathers.

Q  got better, of course, but there’d been a moment before the fever finally broke when Eliot truly thought he wasn’t going to make it, that Quentin was going to leave him alone. He remembers crawling over Q and wrapping his arms around him, adding body heat to the stifling mound of blankets on top of Quentin’s slender, shivering frame. Remembers shoving his face into damp, curling hair and pressing kiss after kiss to the soft skin behind Quentin’s ear, feeling more useless and terrified than he ever had in his entire life.

Q, baby, please. I love you. Come back. You have to come back.

But that was in the past of a life they never got to live. This is the present of the life they’re still figuring out how to live, and in this life, Quentin sighs and looks down at his lap.

“I know. That’s why I never mentioned it then, and why I almost— almost didn’t say anything this time either,” Quentin says quietly, still looking down.

Suddenly, Eliot can’t stand not being able to see his eyes for this so he moves his hand until his fingers are under Quentin’s chin, tilting upwards.

“So, why did you?” Eliot asks.

What made this time different? Tell me what made you brave so I can be it too.

Quentin finally looks at him. “Because I love you. And I— I let it win. The monster. Every time I don’t look at you or flinch away from you or make one of our friends stay in a room if you were already in it, I was letting the monster win. It didn’t want me to love you, Eliot. Hated that I did. It wanted me to give up on you and I think, I think if I’d let you get away with avoiding this again, then I would be. Giving up. Um, so I love you and you— I know you love me too.”

And then, and fucking then, Quentin raises his chin in a clear, familiar challenge and Eliot, well, he’s big enough to admit that he fucking melts.

Because Quentin loves him, he loves him and he’s daring Eliot to love him back, to love him honestly. Eliot’s always enjoyed a good dare.

His thumb strokes the gentle crest of that stubborn chin, watches as Quentin’s beautiful eyes flutter shut for a moment. Eliot leans in until his mouth hovers just over Quentin’s, their breaths the only thing left between them.

“Open your eyes,” he whispers. “I love you.”

[tobythewise]

Angelic Captain America

Written for @always-alec <3 I hope you enjoy! 

Magus takes care of Alec after he's injected with a serum during a hunt. Alec wakes up, having to learn to deal with the after-effects, which he learns, isn't all bad.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” Magnus says, holding Alec’s face between his palms. “I need you to promise me.”

Alec rolls his eyes, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “Of course, Magnus. I do this job everyday.”

Magnus sighs because this isn’t the first time he’s heard this. He nods, giving Alec one last kiss against his lips before pulling back and watching Alec leave the loft.

~~~

Alec swings his blade to his left, cutting the demon down with ease. What started as a simple patrol with Jace has become a full on battle with a hoard of Ravener demons. The demon at the end of his blade disintegrates as he pulls it away, only to plunge it beneath his left armpit where another demon was coming behind him.

“Fuck,” Jace gasps as they continue to fight, their movements like a well practiced dance. “Where are they coming from?”

Sweat drips down Alec’s forehead as he turns sharply, his blade running through another demon on his right. His breathing is coming out in pants, adrenaline running through his veins. A demon in front of him clasps his wrist, keeping his blade from killing it. Alec grits his teeth, readying himself to counterattack the hold when something grabs him from behind.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp sting in his neck. His eyes widen as the pain slowly radiates from the point of the sting until it’s surging through his throat. He drops his blade as the demons all begin to back away from them.

“Tell my son I say you’re welcome,” a voice whispers into his ear darkly before he’s shoved onto the ground.

Alec’s hand comes up to his neck, touching the point where he was pricked. His breathing speeds up as pain lances through his neck down to his chest now. His heart speeds up, banging against his ribs. Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong. He tries to move but realizes he’s on his knees in the dirt. He looks around and finds the demons all gone, the world around him slowly turning murky and muddled.

“Alec!” Jace gasps, on his knees in front of Alec. His face looks worried and it makes Alec’s stomach sink further. The pain is getting worse. Whatever he was injected with is turning his insides to fire.

“Jace. Fuck!” Alec gets out through gritted teeth.

Dark spots begin to play around his vision and he clenches his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything that’s not the all consuming pain taking over his body.

“We gotta get you to Magnus and Izzy,” Jace says, putting his arm around Alec’s back, trying to help him up.

“Jace, I can’t. It’s too much.”

He hears Jace murmuring to himself but it’s all too much. He can’t focus. He can barely even breathe. His finger nails dig into his neck.

“Magnus. It’s Alec,” he overhears Jace say. His arms give out and he falls onto the pavement in front of him. The dirt is cool against his cheek compared to the inferno going on inside of him. Alec closes his eyes and focuses on that feeling before the heat overtakes him.

~~~

Everyone bustles around Magnus’ loft. Nerves are hectic and frayed. Everything happening at once. Jace carries Alec through the loft as Izzy and Clary walk through a portal. Magnus is there to catch Jace as he falls to his knees, almost dropping Alec onto the ground. Jace grits his teeth, his face contorting in agony as he hands Alec over. Magnus carries him the rest of the way into their bedroom, placing him gently onto the bed.

“What the hell happened?” Izzy demands as Clary helps Jace follow them all to the bedroom.

Instead of answering, Jace screams.

Magnus looks over Alec’ face. He’s passed out, his skin clammy with sweat. He’s paler than usual. His fingers fall into Alec’s sweaty hair, pushing it away from his forehead.

“Someone ambushed us,” Jace finally gets out through panted breath. “Said to tell you something, Magnus.”

“Tell me what?” Magnus asks, his stomach sinking, his eyes never leaving Alec’s face.

“You’re welcome,” Jace gasps out, falling to his knees, clutching his throat in both hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s like he’s burning from the inside out!”

Magnus’ heart skips a beat before going into overdrive. He conjures a vile from his work room, getting on his knees before Jace and helping him sip. Within seconds, Alec’s parabatai is falling back into Magnus’ arms.

“What did you do?” Clary asks, her voice laced with fear.

“I just put him to sleep. Whatever is happening to Alexander is hitting Jace through the parabatai bond. He was in pain. This way he’ll sleep painlessly.”

Izzy activates her strength rune in order to carry Jace out to the couch.

With a snap of his fingers, Magnus conjures all the tools Izzy will need from her lab at the Institute. They need to figure out what Alec was injected with and what they need to do to make him better. Izzy storms into the room, pulling on a pair of gloves and picking up a needle, but before she can do anything more, something happens.

Alec’s runes all begin to glow. It starts softly at first but soon becomes brighter and brighter until both Magnus and Izzy need to shield their eyes from how bright it is. The glow shifts from Alec’s runes until it encompasses his entire body before stopping completely just as quickly as it began.

~~~

“Is that my shirt?”

Magnus turns around, a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. His hair is a mess, his face void of any makeup. He’s beautiful. And Alec is the only one who gets to see him like this.

“It is,” Magnus answers with an easy smile. The shirt in question is one of Alec’s old black ones. It hangs loosely on Magnus’ slightly smaller frame.

“You should keep it,” Alec whispers. “It’s cute on you.”

Magnus turns his back to Alec as Alec steps up to him. His arms go around Magnus’ middle, his chin landing on Magnus’ shoulder. He lets out a content hum as Magnus leans against his chest. There’s an extra cup of coffee on the balcony ledge that Alec gratefully grabs, letting out a happy sigh as he sips it. The fact that Magnus even had one waiting and ready for him has Alec’s stomach fluttering with happy butterflies. No one’s ever taken care of him quite like Magnus does.

Alec doesn’t resist the pull to kiss the side of Magnus’ neck. “I love you,” he whispers, his cheeks hurting from how big his smile is.

“And I love you, Alexander.”

Alec takes another sip of his coffee before tilting Magnus chin, taking his lips in a gentle kiss. They’re both still a little sleepy, a little lax. The kiss makes them both smile against each other’s lips.

Magnus turns around in Alec’s arms, leaning against the balcony and looking up at him with a fond smile. It makes Alec lean down and give him one more kiss before going back to his coffee.

“Do you ever think about it?” Alec asks out of nowhere. He’s not even sure why it’s on his mind. They’ve talked about his mortality before but always just put it on the back burner. For some reason, his mind is drawn to the idea of never leaving this man who he never dreamed of loving and being so loved by. “Forever, I mean?”

Magnus tilts his head in the most adorable way, his lips twitching up in amusement. “Of course, Alec.” He lifts his left hand, showing off a simple gold band. “It’s in our vows; til death do us part. You can’t get more forever than that, sweetheart.”

Alec takes a step back, his heart racing. He lifts his own left hand, finding a matching gold ring on his finger. He shakes his head, trying to clear it of some of the confusion. He follows his arm higher, realizing his runes are gone. This isn’t right. This isn’t real.

“Sweetheart?” Magnus asks, his voice laced with concern. “I want forever with you. Do you want forever with me?”

Alec looks at Magnus. He nods his head. “Yeah. If I could choose. I’d always pick staying with you.”

Magnus smiles wide up at him before getting on his tip toes and kissing Alec’s lips. “Then go,” he whispers against Alec’s lips.

“Alexander. Please wake up.” Alec hears the voice, recognizes it. He puts all of his focus and energy on following that voice.

~~~

“Alexander. Please wake up,” Magnus pleads. Alec’s eye lids twitch and a small blossom of hope begins to grow in Magnus’ chest.

It’s been a week since Alec was ambushed. An entire week of worry and tests and waiting. Magnus can barely eat, barely sleep as they wait for Alec to wake up. Izzy’s been testing Alec’s blood twice a day and the results are equal parts astounding and terrifying.

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Alexander. All this worry and heartache. But do you know why I put up with it all? Because I love you.” He rests his forehead against Alec’s. “I love you so much. Please wake up, sweetheart.”

The hand Magnus is holding twitches in his grip and Magnus’ heart gets a jumpstart of adrenaline. He opens his eyes and startles as he’s eye to eye with not a set of hazel eyes, but instead, bright gold. Alec whispers, “Magnus.”

It’s enough to have a broken sob leaving Magnus’ throat as he falls against Alec’s chest, his arms holding Alec tight. Alec’s arms come up around Magnus’ back as they cling to each other.

“I’m here. I’m here, Magnus,” Alec murmurs.

Magnus finally pulls back. His hands grab onto Alec’s face, his cheeks in the palms of his hands. He stares into those bright golden eyes, feeling his own eyes losing their glamour. Gold staring into gold.

“I love you,” Magnus whispers, his voice shaky with emotion.

“I love you, too, Magnus.” Alec’s hand come up to hold Magnus’ wrists. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Nonsense. All that matters is you’re awake and that you’re okay.”

“Magnus,” Alec whispers, leaning up to kiss a chaste kiss against his lips before asking, “are you okay?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

Alec smiles and the sight makes Magnus weak, his insides turning to jelly. For a moment during this last week, he wondered if he’d ever see that smile again. Alec huffs. “You’re wearing two different shoes.”

Magnus looks down, laughing as he realizes Alec is right. “It’s been a bit of a stressful week, darling.”

Alec nods. “What happened?”

~~~

Alec sits on the couch, Jace right beside him. They’re touching from shoulder to thigh and the contact is soothing after what must have been such a horrible experience for Jace. Alec remembers the feeling of burning alive and he hates that his parabatai had to endure that pain as well.

“Well?” Alec asks, staring at his sister.

Izzy straightens where she sits across from him. “I’ve been doing tests on your blood since the attack. It seems someone injected you with a serum.”

“A serum?”

“Yes. It somehow purified your blood.”

“Oh my g-, holy shit,” Simon says where he’s sitting beside Clary. “You’re like an angelic Captain America! Someone used a serum to make you into the equivalent of a Shadow world superhero.”

Alec sighs as he rolls his eyes. “Who keeps inviting the vampire?”

“Alec. He’s not wrong,” Izzy says to his surprise. Magnus reaches his hand out, entwining his fingers with Alec’s and leans against his right side. “Your blood is practically pure angel blood.”

Alec shakes his head, trying to process this information. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Your cells are regenerating themselves at such a rapid speed. Alec,” Izzy says, leaning forward to touch his thigh. “Your blood is acting more like a Warlock than a Shadowhunter.”

Magnus’ hand tightens in his own. But Alec still doesn’t understand. His eyes find Magnus’ and watches in hidden delight as his Warlock mark reveals itself, just like any other time their eyes meet. Magnus must realize he’s lost because finally he speaks.

“Alexander. You’re immortal.”

Everyone in the room goes silent as Alec processes this. “And you’re sure?” he asks Izzy.

Izzy nods. “I’m sure.”

Jace sucks in a sharp breath next to him before shoving Alec. “Jesus, Alec. With all that emotion you’re sending over the bond I’m gonna end up leaning over and kissing him if you don’t do it first.”

Alec lets out an amused huff before leaning over and kissing Magnus.

~~~

It becomes a running joke between the two of them.

In the morning: “It’s too early for this.”

“Get up, Alexander. You have to go to work.”

“But Magnus! It’ll be there when I eventually get up. We have forever!”

During lunch break at the Institute: “I should get going.”

“Magnus, stay. Paperwork can wait. I mean, I have forever.”

And to Magnus’ delight, even during sex: “Please, Alec!”

“I think you can wait, Magnus. Afterall, we have forever.”

~~~

“Alec! Focus.”

“Damn it, Jace. I am focusing. Maybe you’re just a shitty teacher.”

Jace huffs as he rolls his eyes, sliding Alec’s coffee across the table. Alec picks it up only to sigh as it shatters in his hand.

“What the fuck?”

Alec looks up at Jace’s surprise face, frowning when he sees a burn mark on Jace’ hand. He activates Jace’s Iratze before looking back up at Jace. “That keeps happening. I keep accidentally activating runes without meaning too. That time it was a strength rune.”

“Dude.”

Alec looks up at the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m already too big and too tall and now I have to deal with this. I can’t keep breaking shit all the time. Yesterday I went to skip a step at the front of the Institute and jumped all the way up the steps and literally ran into the door.”

Jace shrugs. “We’ll keep practicing. No big deal.”

“Right. Magnus is gonna love finding another one of his mugs broken.”

~~~

“Alexander,” Magnus whispers as he steps out onto the balcony. He shivers against the cold.

Alec spins around, frowning at Magnus. “Why are you awake? You should be in bed.” He’s outside in the cold in only his boxers and a t shirt yet Alec doesn’t seem to be affected by the cold.

“As should you.”

Alec shrugs before pulling Magnus against his chest, letting him stay warm against his body. “I couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”

“Do you regret it?” Magnus blurts out.

Alec tenses and for a moment, Magnus worries. Thankfully, Alec puts those worries to rest immediately. “I don’t. Magnus,” Alec says, his voice holding such conviction. “I’m so thankful for this. I get to stay with you.” Magnus arms tighten around Alec as he continues. “But all this power. Magnus, I’ve never felt like this before and sometimes it scares me.”

“I remember when I first came into my powers,” Magnus says, tilting his head up to look into Alec’s eyes. He lets his glamour fall on purpose and Alec’s eyes shift as well, making him smile. “I was terrified. But look at me now, sweetheart,” he murmurs, flicking his fingers and watching as blue sparks come to life. “You’ll learn. And I’ll be here every step of the way to help you.”

Alec smiles wide at that, leaning down and taking Magnus’ lips in a kiss. He pulls back, running their noses together gently. “We do have forever.”

[justauthoring]

Pleading For Mercy - Stiles Stilinski

Ooooh go on then!! Can I request a stiles stilinski x reader where the big lizard thing (I can't remember what it's called!) gets her in the garage say she's working on stiles' jeep instead of the dude and he rescues her/pulls her away just in time before the thingy collapses? You can throw in some sarcastic stilinski at the end if you like :) hope you enjoy!!

can I have a stiles x reader where the reader and stiles aren’t together but she almost gets killed (whatever villain/ thing you’re dealing with atm ) and he saves her and just holds her afterwards and comforts her bc she’s scared.

Requested by: @creamychickenuggets

Author’s Notes: So, I wasn’t exactly sure how to write this, given that in that scene, the dude died. Therefore, it’s slightly different for writing purposes.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Word Count: 706

-

There was a sudden sting in the back of your neck. You felt the slightest touch of something, though you weren’t sure what, almost like a claw, before your entire body froze. You opened your mouth to say something, but found the words caught in your throat. Your body was more than just frozen, it was rigid and even though you tried, you couldn’t move your own limbs.

You felt back then, the last strength in your body being ultimately your down-fall. You thudded against the ground, the back of your head hitting the concrete and for a moment your vision blurred. You blinked, trying to see or spot something. Whatever had hurt you, it’d paralyzed you as well. And as you stared up before you, you saw Stiles’s jeep above, the machine it’d been on directly above you.

Even though nothing had happened, you knew, deep down, that that thing hadn’t just paralyzed you for the sake of it.

The only thing you could move was your head, but even then, only slightly. You felt your heart race, the frustration of not being able to move your own body only adding to the complete terror you felt. You tried to think of something, anything, that could help you. Then, you remembered - Stiles.

You tested to see if you could move your mouth, and you could. You hoped to God that the boy was still around, and hadn’t run off since your last conversation.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the familiar hum of machinery echoed. And as you slowly moved your eyes back out before you, you realized your fears were coming true. The lift that the jeep had been resting was slowly moving downwards, picking up velocity as it went. In mere minutes, it’d crush you.

Eyes widening, you used every last bit of your strength to call out; “Stiles!” Part of you wanted to just accept the fact that Stiles had probably already ran off, and there was no saving you. The pessimistic side of you at least. But the determined part of you, told yourself to fight. You may not be able to move but you could scream at the top of your lungs until your throat was raw.

And so you did. Repeatedly calling Stiles’s name as you watched it grow closer and closer, minutes, even less than that, away from crushing you to death. You pleaded for help and cried, desperation flooding your better judgement. There was absolutely no way to tell if Stiles was there, if he was coming to help you or not, because you could barely move your head. You just had to wait, lay there, unable to move; to either be saved or to die.

Then, seconds before the weight of the entire jeep would fall on you, hands slipped under your armpits, tugging. A breath of relief flooded you, willing yourself to help Stiles, or whoever, pull you out. But you couldn’t. No matter how hard you tried.

And then, you stopped and the arms disappeared. You heard a metallic clang, and figured that the machinery had lowered finally.

Stiles’s face appeared above you, wide eyed and panicked as he breathed heavily. “Jesus... fuck,” he whispered, “Y/N. Y/N, are you okay? Are you hurt?” You weren’t oblivious to the fact that he hadn’t asked what happened, or why you were paralyzed. But you didn’t really care either.

You just nodded, still stunned. Then, as if realization of everything came crashing down on you, you felt your eyes water. Stiles noticed almost immediately, and his hands fell on you once again, this time on your shoulders as he hauled you upwards. Before you knew it, and despite only knowing Stiles because he was in one of your classes, the boy wrapped his arms around you and held you tight.

You let him. Even if you could’ve moved your limbs, you would’ve let him. Right now, his comfort was the only thing keeping you sane.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Your eyes drifted to where Stiles’s jeep was, feeling your heart still racing madly against your chest. “Oh God, thank you.”

Stiles only grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you closer to himself as you let out a sob. 

-

let me know what you thought? remember, reblogging always helps!

requests are open!