#red faced holding my sides wheezing pressure in my cheeks laughter

[brainrotdotorg]

is someone going to get mad at me for saying this

[whenisitenoughtrees]

this cup of yours tastes holy (this lie is dead)

“I think you might have missed the part where I said that you almost died,” Logan says, and his voice is steady, but his hands are not, trembling where they have balled into fists on his lap.

He blinks, at a loss.

Janus attempts to save Logan from being poisoned. In the moment, switching out their glasses seems like a perfectly rational idea.

It is not, in fact, a perfectly rational idea.

Content Warnings: poisoning, mentioned blood, mentioned death (no actual death though), mentioned violence

Word Count: 5,772

Pairings: Loceit, background Prinxiety

Written for Whumptober2020 theme no 22. "Do these tacos taste funny to you?" with the more specific prompt: poisoned.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

The banquet hall is bright, noisy, and crowded, full of laughter and music and talking, and Janus is almost certain that the ambassador from Halledrin has just slipped poison into Logan’s wine.

No one else seems to have noticed. Janus can’t say he’s surprised. The formal dinner is over; now is the time for mingling, and everyone is deeply involved in their own conversations, their own social circles. Roman knows how to throw a good celebration, if nothing else, and now that the pressure is off of him to preside over all the little details, Janus spots him off to one side, shamelessly chatting up Virgil, who seems… exasperated, if not entirely displeased. He spares them a glance before turning back to Logan, who seems to be doing his level best to escape the conversation, but the ambassador— and just what is his name? Janus has entirely forgotten— is persistent, and Janus would think it no more than an annoyance if he weren’t fairly certain that he saw the man brush one hand against Logan’s wine glass while gesturing broadly with the other.

Which, no. That is absolutely not permitted.

He makes his way across the floor, snagging a glass of his own on the way.

“If I might cut in?” he says, as soon as he’s close enough. “I’m afraid I have a pressing matter to discuss with our illustrious court sorcerer.”

Logan inclines his head toward him, and Janus doesn’t think he mistakes the relief that flashes in his eyes. The ambassador stammers a bit, trying to come up with an excuse to stay, but a pointed look takes care of that, and the man retreats sullenly. Janus smiles at him, thin and knife-sharp, and then takes Logan by the elbow, escorting him to the other side of the banquet hall.

“Was there actually something you needed to discuss, or was that a rescue?” Logan asks dryly, and Janus laughs.

“Oh, you seemed like you were having so much fun,” he replies. “Here, switch with me.” And he presses his wine into Logan’s hand, taking Logan’s for himself. Logan frowns at him, but Janus shakes his head. Not here, that means, and Logan can read him well enough to understand it, little though he likes being unable to ask for clarification. In any case, as soon as the potentially-poisoned glass leaves Logan’s grasp, Janus finds himself able to relax.

“I’ll admit, the man is… long-winded,” Logan says. Janus sniffs at the wine as surreptitiously as he can. He can’t smell anything, but there are plenty of odorless poisons out there. “And yes, I am aware of how that sounds coming from me.”

“You’re not that bad,” he says, trying to keep track of the ambassador out of the corner of his eye. He’s positioned himself at the edge of the room, now, and he is staring at Logan, not even bothering to hide it. “At least you actually know what you’re talking about.”

“I would hope so,” Logan says, and then narrows his eyes. “Just what is Roman doing over there?”

Janus turns his head in that direction, but he’s too preoccupied to pay much attention. The problem with this is that he’s only about eighty percent sure that the drink has been tampered with, and the remaining twenty percent is enough unsurety to prevent him from being able to confront the perpetrator brazenly. Not that that would be his style anyway, but it also means he can’t go to anyone else with it; if he told Roman his suspicions, for instance, his sword would be drawn in an instant. And on the off chance that the drink isn’t poisoned after all, that would irreparably damage relations with Halledrin, and they can’t afford that.

So, he’ll have to be careful with this. Keep hold of the cup for the rest of the night and have it tested for toxins as soon as he can. Take the results, and move from there.

“Oh, dear Fates,” Logan groans, and Janus snaps his attention back to the present. It doesn’t take long to figure out what has Logan annoyed.

Roman’s climbed on the table. And as king, he can do what he wants, of course. But generally speaking, he’s supposed to keep the table-climbing to a minimum.

“My dear guests!” he calls out, his voice rich and booming. He doesn’t sound as drunk as Janus would expect from this kind of behavior. “If I may have your attention, I would like to propose a toast! To my dearest friend—”

“Oh my gods, Roman, stop,” Virgil groans.

“—Virgil of the Western Isles, who single-handedly—”

“Roman.”

“—rescued me from the clutches of the dread Dragon-Witch Alcara, thus saving this kingdom from utter disaster and ruin, and once again proving himself to be a man of the highest courage and determination, yes, courage, stop glaring at me like that, and also, did I mention he did this all by himself?” Roman raises his glass high, cheeks flushed red. Virgil has stopped protesting verbally in favor of trying to strike Roman down with his eyes alone, it appears. “So! To one of the best heroes this land has ever known! To Virgil!”

The crowd echoes the call, most of them smiling good-naturedly, a few laughing at the antics; if nothing else, Roman knows how to play to an audience.

“Not one of his best speeches,” Logan mutters.

Janus shrugs, and finally manages to catch Virgil’s gaze from across the room. He smirks, sardonically saluting him with his glass, and Virgil turns the full force of his glare onto him, mouthing something that is either I’m going to kill you or I’m rowing to mill two; really, Janus can’t tell which.

And then, he realizes that he has a problem.

It’s a toast. Everyone is bringing their drinks to his lips, taking sips, swallowing. Obviously, he can’t do any of this, as he rather likes being alive and unpoisoned. But the ambassador is still watching Logan intently, and Logan is sipping from Janus’ old glass; if the ambassador is expecting something to happen, and nothing does, he will turn his attention to the people around Logan, trying to figure out what went wrong. If that happens, there is a chance that he will notice if Janus doesn’t drink. From there, he will be able to suppose that Janus has caught onto his plans, has caught onto him, and from there, he will become more desperate.

Janus doesn’t want that. A desperate man becomes unpredictable, uncontrollable. A desperate man might act as though he has nothing to lose.

His mind racing, he brings the goblet up to his lips. It shouldn’t be too hard to feign a sip. He’s overthinking this.

He tilts the glass back, stopping just short of letting the wine touch his lips. He swallows a bit of his own saliva for realism. And then, it’s done, and he can relax again.

“Really, he should know better then to put Virgil in the limelight,” he says, keeping the ambassador in the corner of his vision. “He’s going to make him pay for that later.”

“If he would stop being so reckless, he wouldn’t be captured by his enemies so often, and Virgil wouldn’t have to hare off after him at all,” Logan sighs. “I will never understand their intricate courting rituals. Why don’t they just say they have feelings for each other and have done with it?”

The longer Logan goes without succumbing to some kind of terrible sickness, the paler the ambassador’s face grows. Janus is almost enjoying watching him.

“Some people are incapable of saying what they mean,” he says, and Logan looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that the case?” he says, pointed, and Janus grins.

“Why, my dear master sorcerer, you can’t possibly be implying that I—”

His left arm goes numb. Suddenly, all at once, and he cuts himself off, trying to shake feeling back into it. But it’s not like pins and needles, and as the seconds pass— only a few, surely, but the quick, rabbit-beating of his heart makes it seem otherwise— the sensation spreads, creeping toward his chest.

“Janus?” Logan asks. “Is something wrong?”

He sounds worried, very concerned, and Janus would be flattered, but he’s a bit busy being concerned himself.

“I don’t,” he starts, “I’m not—”

And then, his lungs are set on fire, and the rest of his sentence is lost to a wheezing scream as he doubles over, hands flying up to his chest, the wine glass clattering against the floor, half of it shattering and drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity, but he can’t care about that because he’s trying to force his lungs to inflate, but he’s burning up from the inside out and he can’t—

“Janus!”

There are arms, around him, steadying him. He looks up to meet Logan’s face, painted with fear and blurry, strangely blurry, and he doesn’t think that he’s crying so why is Logan blurry? But he is blurry, and the rest of Janus’ limbs have gone numb, and standing is becoming increasingly difficult, and the fire is there, growing hotter with each moment, and he opens his mouth to say something but all that escapes is a gasp, and then a strangled squeaking sound, as if the sounds are being wrung from him along with the last of his air.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

It’s almost funny, Logan swearing. He’s usually far too collected for that.

His center of gravity tips. Everything spins, and then, he feels himself being lowered to the ground. The floor is cold against his back, soothing, though it doesn’t help much after the momentary relief.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?”

Virgil, now, hovering over him, frantic.

“I don’t know,” Logan says, and he sounds scared, and that’s wrong. Logan is never scared. “I don’t know, poison, I’d imagine, but I don’t know what—”

“Well can you figure it out?”

Roman’s here too.

“I’m trying,” Logan snaps. “If you’ll give me a bit of room—”

The pain rises to a crescendo, like it’s eating his flesh away, and he lets out a whimper. An honest-to-gods whimper, and no. Absolutely not. He has more dignity than this. He has faced worse than this and come out alive, and he trusts Logan to do all that he can. So he breathes, shuddering breaths, breaths that twist and hurt and seem to move in places that they shouldn’t, and he wrests his mind back under control.

“The wine,” he gasps out, and his voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “I saw— the ambassador from Halledrin— he put it in the wine—”

“So you switched them,” Logan says, and scratch fear. This is fury. “How could you possibly have been so stupid?”

“I didn’t drink it!” he cries, and the exclamation is ripped from him, too harsh, and the exertion sends the pain flaring up, the flames licking at his heart, and he chokes on air. “I didn’t— I faked it, I didn’t drink, I don’t know—”

“Well, how the fuck did you get poisoned, then?” Virgil shrieks, and then, Logan fills his field of vision. He’s chanting something in the Old Tongue, and then slapping his hands on his chest, and just like that, the pain fades as magic rushes through him, warm and sparkling and steady and very, very Logan, and his head clears enough to think properly.

“The Halledrinian ambassador?” Roman snarls, and in that moment, he looks exactly like his brother. “I’ll be back.” And then he’s stalking through the crowd, and Janus wishes he didn’t feel so drained; he’d love to watch Roman make the man sweat, but he can barely muster up the energy to raise his head to look at Logan.

“I was going to keep it until I could get it looked at,” he says. His mouth is dry, painfully so. “I faked a sip, for the toast, but I didn’t take one. I didn’t touch it.”

The magic is still buzzing through him, lending him strength. He’ll ride it for what it’s worth.

Gods above and below, this is embarrassing.

“Are you sure it was the wine?” Logan asks. “It couldn’t have been anything else?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” he says. “I’m sorry, I probably should have—”

“Told me?” Logan cuts in. “I should think so. Honestly, why would you think keeping it from me was a good idea?”

The magic is still buzzing through him. It feels more intense now, almost uncomfortable.

“I didn’t want him to think that I knew anything,” he says. “I didn’t want to risk him trying something else.”

Logan shakes his head. “You’re too clever for your own good, do you know that?” he says, and he sounds completely exasperated, but the anger is fading, and Janus is glad of it. He doesn’t regret what he did, just how it turned out, and he never likes it when Logan is annoyed with him, because somehow, Logan has the ability to make him feel like a child, chastised for trying to sneak dessert out of the kitchen.

“I think I’m just clever enough,” he retorts, and then frowns. “Out of curiosity, what spell did you use?”

“A general cleansing incantation,” Logan tells him, “though at twice the power I would usually put into it. I’m just glad the poison wasn’t more specialized. Some toxins are resistant to magic, you know.”

Janus does know, and under any other circumstance, he would be more than willing to listen to Logan going on about the subject for days. But the buzzing of the magic in his system, Logan’s magic, has graduated from relieving to uncomfortable to something approaching pain, and it’s been a long time since he had to be healed with a spell, but he doesn’t think this is right.

He opens his mouth to tell Logan about it, about the way it feels as though there are ants crawling under his skin, but then—

then—

his body—

seizes—

and rational thought flies out the window as his muscles lock and pain tears through him, biting and sharp and ripping and buzzing, and his limbs jerk and this is a seizure, he’s having a seizure, and his head slams against the ground hard and white lights flash across his vision and he can hear shouting, and something soft is shoved underneath his head to soften the impact as it hits against the floor again and again and again and he can’t speak, can’t breath, and there is blood bubbling in the back of his throat, so much that he fears he’ll choke on it, and all the while there is the buzzing, curling in him and forcing his bones from their sockets, it feels like, scrambling his innards, and it feels like there is something inside of him, something eating him, and perhaps he’s eating himself, has turned into the serpent that consumes its own tail—

He doesn’t know.

There are still voices, panicked and loud, and he should know them, too, but he can’t. Not now.

He just knows that it hurts, in waves, each one worst than the last, and it won’t stop. A strangled scream is ripped from his throat, high and thick, forcing its way past the blood that’s gathered in his mouth, and someone is cursing, swearing up a blue streak, and the people around him sound scared, and he thinks that he is too.

Each wave worse than the last. Once he screams once, he can’t stop.

Unconsciousness, when it comes, is a blessing.

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

Awareness comes and goes in flashes.

He wakes, his body thrashing, trying to escape. Pain like red hot pokers pressing up against him and into him. He wheezes, and there is someone holding him, trying to restrain him, and he’s too weak to push them away.

“Please,” he tries to say, but the word comes out garbled and mangled beyond all recognition.

“Remus,” the person growls, and it must be Virgil, but he can’t pry his eyes open to see, “knock him out.”

“On it,” says someone else, and there is a hand on his forehead, blessedly cool, and then nothing.

Then, again: his entire body on fire, but lacking the energy to so much as lift a finger. He gasps for breath, each inhalation a struggle, and past the white noise in his ears, he thinks he hears someone speaking. Muttering. Praying? He wrests his eyes open, and his surroundings are a blur, but it is Patton sitting at his bedside. Holding his hand, too, he thinks, but he can’t feel it.

He didn’t even know Patton had returned to the castle.

He tries to say something, anything, but he doesn’t have the air to spend on speech. So he lies there, panting, and finally, Patton looks up, and Janus can’t make out his face but he hears his gasp.

“Oh, gods,” Patton says, and leans in closer. “Jan, can you hear me?”

He can’t respond. Can’t so much as nod.

“You hold on,” Patton says, and he sounds like he’s fighting tears. “You hear me? You don’t die from this. You hang in there, and everything’s gonna be a-okay. You got it?”

It’s a sweet lie, a pretty lie, and Janus can’t begrudge him for it.

Darkness again.

And then:

“—cking be giving up!”

“Of course I’m not giving up!”

Logan’s voice, sharp and angry and lined with despair, and his heart skips a beat. Or perhaps it’s not the sound of his voice that does it at all, but the poison, wrapping around his heart and squeezing. He still hurts, every inch of him, but it’s distant, far away, and it should worry him, he thinks, because that probably means that he’s far past the point of pain that his body can actually handle. But his mind is too fuzzy, everything indistinct.

“I’m not going to give up. I would rather die. But without knowing what the poison was, or better yet, having a sample of it, I’m left to flounder, and attempting to use magic has done more harm than good.”

Gods. He sounds so broken.

“Roman said he was gonna try and get answers out of the shithead.” That’s Remus, uncharacteristically serious. “No luck so far, apparently.” A bang, like a fist against a table. “He should let me at him. I’d rip it right out of him, reach my hand down his throat and pull out his fucking vocal chords—”

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to shut up right the fuck now—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that too much for your delicate sensibilities—”

“Enough, both of you!”

Logan again, desperate and exhausted, and with a labored, stuttering breath, Janus pries his eyes open. A wave of dizziness assaults him, and the light is far too bright, but he holds out, turning his head to the side in a motion that takes more effort than it should.

His vision is swimming, coming in and out of focus. But it’s Virgil, Remus, and Logan, all standing and arguing with each other.

And it hits him, then: Oh. I’m dying.

“The fact remains that we’re all in the dark here. I’m in the dark. Without knowing what the poison was or how he ingested it, I can’t deconstruct it to find a cure. All efforts to use a spell to detect the toxin have failed, and all efforts to use a spell to heal him have only aggravated his condition.” Logan makes a sharp motion; Janus isn’t sure, but he thinks he’s scrubbing his hand down his face. “It makes sense,” he continues, more subdued. “I was the original target. So of course the poison would be undetectable by magic. Of course it would—”

He breaks off, and Virgil reaches out to him.

“This isn’t your fault,” he says lowly. “Janus made his dumb fucking decision himself.”

“He wasn’t trying to get poisoned,” Remus interjects, sharp. “So how about you take your dumb fucking decision and shove it up your—”

His mind is whirling. Something about the description of the poison, the fact that magic cannot be used to combat it, seems familiar, but his mind refuses to dredge up any memory that he might have of a poison that fits those qualities.

He doesn’t know. Or, worse, he might know, but the poison that is killing him is preventing him from coming up with the information that could save him.

But there’s something else. Something just beyond his reach, something that flits from his grasp when he tries to think about it.

“And there was nothing in the wine,” Virgil says. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing that the chemists could find.”

“And I checked it for good measure!” Remus says. “Nadda. Zip. Fucking nothing. So how we got here is beyond me.”

That’s it.

That’s it.

He didn’t drink the wine. It wouldn’t have mattered if the wine was poisoned. He didn’t have any.

But he remembers swallowing. His own saliva, just to make it realistic.

There’s only one place the poison could have been.

He tries to speak. But his throat feels full of razor wire, and the effort is enough to bring the rest of the pain back into focus. What starts out as something that might, possibly, be a word devolves into a high, keening whimper, and he can’t muster up the energy to be embarrassed about it, because gods. His back arches, and his fists clench into the bedsheets as he tries to ride it out, but there is no riding it out, because it just won’t stop.

“Janus!”

Suddenly, they’re all very close.

“Shit, shit, you’re gonna be okay, just give us a second,” Virgil says. “Remus, you—”

“Right—”

And no, because Remus is going to knock him out again, but he can’t, not before he tells them what he just figured out, because if he goes under again he’s scared that he won’t get another chance.

“No,” he gasps, and his voice is absolutely wrecked, and speaking hurts, but— “No, don’t. I need—”

He breaks off with a ragged gasp, his throat refusing to cooperate with him, and he could scream with frustration, really would scream, if his voice was working. But then, Logan is there, his face close to his and his eyes very blue.

“What do you need, Janus?” he asks, his voice low and urgent, and Janus gathers his breath, and try again.

“Test the rim,” he says. “It wasn’t— wasn’t in the wine, and it wasn’t a spell. But I—” His words strangle themselves, but he can see the light dawning in Logan’s eyes.

“You put your lips to the rim of the glass,” he finished. “It was on the—” He turns to Virgil, the motion whipcord sharp. “Virgil, go find the glass and have it sent to my— no, actually, bring it here. Time is of the essence.”

Virgil is off like a shot almost before Logan is finished speaking.

“And Remus,” he continues, “I’ll need—”

“You’ve got it, specs,” Remus says. “Whatever support I can give.”

Logan nods, and meets Janus’ eyes again. At least, he thinks he does. His vision is growing dark, shadows curling around the edges like fire-blackened paper, eating away everything he can see. The pain is distant again, and even his own heartbeat seems to be slowing. Logan’s voice sounds as if it’s coming to him through deep water.

“You can rest now, Janus,” he says. “You’ve done well. I’m going to cure you, I swear. This will all be over soon.”

One way or another, he agrees, but doesn’t say it out loud. Even if he could, he thinks it would upset Logan to say something like that. Would upset him to remind him of the very real possibility that this will not end well, that it is already too late. Because his vision is blackening and his heartbeat is slowing, and everything feels so very, very far away, and he doesn’t want to die but he might not have a choice in the matter.

Logan’s face is still hovering above his, and he thinks that if this is the last sight he will ever have, it’s the best one he could have asked for.

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

He wakes to a pressure against his side and a bone-deep exhaustion, and he takes a moment to simply breathe, staring at the ceiling and reveling in the ease of it. He is so very tired, but his lungs inflate and deflate without pain, without anything catching and setting him to coughing, without having to fight his own body to get the air he needs.

Then, he turns his head.

Logan is asleep on a chair next to his bed, slumped forward so that his head is resting against his side, effectively trapping one arm. He is pale and drawn, his brows furrowed and hair sticking out in all directions, as if he’s been running his fingers through it repeatedly. His glasses are still on his face, terribly askew, and on instinct, Janus reaches across his body, trying to correct them, perhaps, or to take them off entirely. But at the movement, slight though it is, Logan startles awake, eyes blinking wide open, lips parted as if to call out.

Then, his eyes meet Janus’.

“You’re awake,” he breathes, and it sounds uncomfortably like a revelation, like the answer to every prayer Logan has ever offered— and Logan isn’t religious, Janus knows, has never seen much point in worshiping distant gods. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he offers, wincing at the sandpaper-quality of his own voice. It’s the truth, though; he feels drained, mentally and physically, and he aches terribly, but the pain is nothing compared to what it was. “I assume you figured it out.”

Logan pushes his glasses back into position on his face, a little more aggressively than the motion should require. “Barely,” he says. “If you had consumed any more than you did, or if I had been even ten minutes slower, you would have died.”

He hums. “I certainly felt like it,” he murmurs, glancing away. “Thank you for saving me.”

For once, he means exactly what he says, but Logan’s expression darkens. “I shouldn’t have had to,” he says, sharp. “That poison—” He breaks off, sucking in a breath, looking away. He vigorously jabs at his glasses, pushing them even farther up his nose. “That poison was meant to target magic in a person’s system, and because you don’t have magic inherently, it turned to attacking your internal organs instead. Every attempt to heal you only fueled its effects. Do you know how I—”

He breaks off again, but Janus is stuck on something else, is stuck on targeting magic, and he has always been good at reading between the lines, so he knows exactly what Logan isn’t saying. Logan lives off magic, breathes it, practically is magic in every sense of the word. Had Logan taken a poison that destroyed magic, it would have destroyed him.

The Halledrinian ambassador chose his toxin well.

“In that case,” he says, “I suppose that this turned out as well as it could have. Obviously, getting poisoned myself was far from ideal, but better me than you, in this scenario.”

He knows immediately that this is the wrong thing to say; usually, he would have realized that before the words left his mouth at all, but his mind is still sluggish, his mouth looser. Logan’s face twists, becomes something thunderous and angry, and the warm candlelight that fills the room— his room, he notices, though he’s fairly certain he was in Remus’ infirmary before— flickers and dances as the air stirs, a slight wind buffeting the bedsheets.

“I think you might have missed the part where I said that you almost died,” Logan says, and his voice is steady, but his hands are not, trembling where they have balled into fists on his lap.

He blinks, at a loss. Were he in better form, he would know what to say here, how to soothe Logan’s worry and wash the past few— well. He has no idea how long it’s been. But he would be able to turn it all around, put the event behind them, if the words would only come, but they don’t, so here he lies, feeling powerless and a bit stupid.

“I didn’t,” he points out, and knows that the rebuttal is weak, that this won’t help. “Clearly.”

“The point is that you could have!”

It’s a shout, and Logan pauses, seemingly surprised at his own volume. He deflates, then, his shoulders slumping, all the fight flowing from him like water from a sieve. He hunches in on himself just slightly, his expression fading from fury to something much more tired, much more worn.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Janus can only watch as he scrubs at his eyes, almost viciously, and then stares at his hands. “I just— you nearly died. From poison that was meant for me.”

He sounds wrecked, as if that is the worst possibility he could imagine, and— oh.

“I would have died,” Logan murmurs. “It would have decimated my magic before I could do a thing about it, and me along with it.” He looks up, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears, and Janus wants nothing more than to wipe them away. He would try, he thinks, if he felt as though he could move enough to do so, if he thought Logan would allow him the liberty. “But instead of me, it was you. And I had to watch as you died in my place. If you hadn’t been able to communicate how you’d ingested it, I would have been helpless. I would have—” He breaks off suddenly, closing his eyes. “I would have lost you.”

Oh.

He wrenches himself into a sitting position, ignoring the way his muscles scream in protest, ignoring Logan’s startled exclamation. He pushes himself up, reaches out, and snags Logan’s hands in one of his. Too late, he realizes that somewhere along the line, he was divested of his gloves, and his bare skin makes contact with Logan’s. It’s like a bolt of lightning shooting up his arm, and he struggles not to show his shock on his face; he is no stranger to touch, but not like this, never like this, with his bare hand. And from the way Logan is staring, from the way Logan’s lips have parted, just slightly, he knows it too.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, as fierce, as vehement as he can manage. “And call me selfish, but I am infinitely glad that I didn’t have to lose you.”

He meets Logan’s eyes. As difficult as this level of honesty, this level of vulnerability is for him, it needs to be said. He needs Logan to know, needs him to understand, needs him to realize that he cannot possibly regret this, if the alternative was watching Logan choke on his own blood.

Logan makes a sound, soft and wounded, and turns his hand so that he’s grasping at Janus’ just as tightly as Janus is grasping him. And then, he leans in close, bumping their foreheads together and then staying there, and Janus doesn’t dare to move. He can feel Logan’s breath on his skin, ghosting across his lips; an inch or two closer, and they would be kissing.

With one hand, Logan continues to hold his. The other curls around the back of his neck, keeping him in place.

“Never,” Logan says, “do that to me again.”

“I assure you,” he replies, “I don’t plan on it.”

For a moment they stay like that, foreheads touching, breathing together, and Janus’ eyes slip closed. Like this, he can almost forget that anything happened, can forget the pain, can forget how weak he feels. He’s here, and Logan’s here, and nothing else matters.

And then, the door slams open. He jerks back, startled, and Logan’s hand slips away from his neck.

Remus is standing there, gaping.

“Holy shit,” he says. “You’re awake.” He turns to call to someone down the hall— “He’s awake!—” and then, he’s rushing into the room, and Janus doesn’t have any time to prepare before he’s jumped onto the bed, wrapping his arms around him like a particularly clingy octopus, and he’s chanting a litany of words under his breath, things like, “You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay holy shit,” and other words that he can’t quite make out, and the hug is a bit too tight to be comfortable, but he accepts it anyway. He’s still holding one of Logan’s hands, and he is loathe to let go, but he wraps his free arm around Remus’ back.

“Everyone’s been very worried about you,” Logan says quietly. “Patton returned from the coast in the middle of it all, and he was quite distraught. And that’s not to mention how… irate Roman has been, and Virgil—”

“Speak for yourself,” Virgil says, leaning in the doorway. He crosses his arms, but the relief on his face is poorly disguised, and he must have truly been in a bad way if Virgil was that concerned. “Roman and Patton are on their way up, I think. They were talking to the asshole. The ambassador,” he adds when Janus tilts his head in a silent question. “Piece of shit admitted to everything. He’s not even the real ambassador; he killed the real one and took his clothes, tried to go after Logan to spark war between us and Halledrin.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Remus says. “Roman said I could, if I wanted to. He was real mad so I dunno if he meant it, but he said it, so it counts. I’m gonna stick a knife in his guts and pull out his intestines and feed them to him and—”

“That’s more than enough, I think,” Logan interjects, and Janus is glad of it. He’s used to Remus’ gory tangents, can deal with them well, normally, but he’s exhausted, and he thinks that consciousness will slip away from him any moment now. He can feel his eyelids beginning to droop, his body leaning against Remus’ more and more, and he highly doubts that he will make it to see Roman and Patton.

But that’s alright. He’ll wake up again and see them then. For now, he has Virgil here, and Remus, and he is still holding Logan’s hand, and he is tired and he aches, but he’s alright.

He meets Logan’s eyes, squeezes his hand, and smiles. And Logan smiles back.

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[kirausamaria]

Preening Time (Stolitz’ Fanfiction)

This is why I can’t never sleep early. Finally finished this fanfic I started writing weeks ago. Hope you’ll like the sillinesss.

Blitzo woke up just in time to find Stolas sitting at the very corner or the bed humming some unknown tune he didn’t know. They were staying in a hotel for the weekend, which was much fancier than a regular motel. Stolas had chosen this one not only because of the romantic atmosphere, but because both the bathtub and the bed were big enough for him to rest properly and have a good time with his partner.

Stolas was still humming his song, but he was also brushing the feathers of his head with a shinny, elegant brush. The first sunshines from the day reaching him from the window made his feathers look like they were shining, almost changing to a white color. Blitzo would never admit it, but the view of this overwhelmed him for how beautiful it was. Holding the urge to hold Stolas once again he crawled to the end of the bed in order to talk to him:

‘Hey, what are you doing now?’, Blitzo asked him bluntly.

‘Oh, Blitzy, awake already? I tried not to wake you up this early but I needed to preen my feathers’.

‘WTF is preening?’, Blitzo asked while yawning and stretching out.

‘Oh, right, you don’t do that yourself. Every couple of days I must clean and straighten up my feathers with a brush’.

‘Well, that’s weird, it seems annoying as f* to do it all the time.’

‘It’s not that bad...at least when you don’t have to do it all by yourself...usually a partner helps you to do it quicker as a sign of affection with her beak…’ Blitzo noticed Stolas suddenly making a sad face. ‘Not that I know how that feels though’.

‘Sooo, are you telling me that in almost 20 years you were together, didn’t you get preened by your wife, not even once? How pathetic!’

‘Yes, it is’.

Blitzo suddenly realized the sadness in Stolas’ voice. For one moment he thought about how lonely those years may have been for him: not receiving any affection from anyone, feeling always alone, unable to leave the arranged marriage in order to keep the throne and to be at his child’s side...that’s why Stolas was so clingy at him, asking him to kiss him and hug him so hastily, moaning with every caress he received from him like it was his first time experiencing love...and maybe it was. 

Blitzo acted as composed as possible before asking him:

‘Hey big bird, would you let me try brushing you instead?’

Stolas’ eyes widened in surprise at first, but then he put a very enthusiastic face that took Blitzo unguarded. ‘Would you do that for me?’ He asked.

‘Yeah, why not? I mean, don’t get it wrong, I just don’t have anything else to do inside this hotel room’, Blitzo answered, trying to hide his intentions of cheering Stolas up.

Stolas happily sat on the bed looking at Blitzo’s direction, offering him the brush. Blitzo took it and slowly started brushing Stolas’ head. His hands were shaking a little for getting flustered while looking at his face. Stolas was utterly smiling with closed eyes and making happy bird purring noises when his cheeks and chin were getting preened. He was so cute, and that was driving Blitzo nuts.

Stolas squirmed and giggled a little when his neck was being brushed, but he didn’t try to move away and instead was doing his best to stay still and enjoy the attention. When Blitzo moved on to his chest he started to moan a little. 

‘Ohh nope! Stop moaning or I’ll leave the room!’ Blitzo complained. 

‘But you’re so good at it, my dear Blitzy’, Stolas replied in a sexy voice.

‘You know what? Just look the opposite way! I’ll just preen your back now!’, Blitzo said while turning Stolas’ body around so he wouldn’t see him blushing out at the innuendo.

Blitzo then started brushing Stolas’ shoulders and arms, he could feel his body getting more and more relaxed from the soft strokes. However, when he started brushing his back he heard some giggles from Stolas and he was also arching his back at every stroke of the brush.

‘Hey, why are you squirming so much? I thought you were enjoying this’.

‘I am!’Stolas struggled to say with a clear voice. ‘It’s just that it feels a little funny, that’s all’.

Blitzo then brushed Stolas’ low back with a little more pressure, making him squirm and let out a little laugh.

‘Oh, I see what’s going on’, Blitzo said while showing an evil grin that Stolas was unable to see from behind, ‘You know what? This f*ing small brush works too slow for me, I’d rather use my claws instead!’

‘Huh? No Blitzy, just with the brush is ok! I…’ Blitzo suddenly raked his claws on Stolas’ back all the way down and wiggled his fingers when they reached his lower back. Stolas just jumped letting out a burst of giggles. ‘Blitzy, dohohohon’t do that!’

‘Why not? This is much more effective! Also, I’m bored!’. Blitzo started scratching Stolas’ sides, making him fall completely into the bed and curl up on himself.

  ‘Nohohohohoho! No my sides! It ticklehehes!’

‘I knew it! This is tickling you!’ Blitzo answered. ‘Ohh, this is going to be good…’. He then scratched Stolas’s ribs in an unbearably slow pace, looking for loose feathers, from the lower to the higher ribs, making him laugh harder and harder.

‘Ahahaha! Nohohoho! *hic* Nohohohot there! *hic*’. It seemed Stolas’s upper ribs were too ticklish for his own good.

‘Not there? Why not? Is this too much for you?’, Blitzo teased while suudenly pinching Stolas’ upper ribs, making him let out a high pitch hoot, followed by louder giggles. Blitzo was determined to have fun torturing his poor bird partner.

To be fair, Stolas wasn’t suffering or anything. He was kind of flustered and very squirmy, but he wasn’t really fighting back or begging Blitzo to stop. Blitzo was himself amazed that Stolas didn’t seem bothered at all, and his laugh sounded so genuine and happy it was really flustering him.

He tried to keep it together and proceeded to ‘preen’ his stomach. Stolas left out a belly laugh and tried to grab Blitzo’s hands while laying to one side of his body.

‘Ahahaha! Don’t scratch me like that! It’s too much!’

‘Aw, c’mon! Nothing is too much for you! You can’t also lie to me, you’re enjoying the attention!’, Blitzo said while squeezing Stolas’ hips. Stolas just hooted in laughter while getting closer to him, actually making Blitzo’s job much easier. When he stopped for a while allowing him to get some air Stolas looked at him with playful and smiling eyes, with a ‘I’m having fun’ expression. Blitzo tried not to blush at the sight.

‘Oh, I just forgot!’ Blitzo said, trying to snap out of the owl’s charming eyes, ‘I still need to work on those legs and hips!’. Stolas’ eyes widened when watching Blitzo wiggling his fingers over him with a mischievous smile, proceeding to show a wide smile that gave him away.

‘Nohohhohoho, please! I won’t be able to take it!’, Stolas said with a nervous laugher and half heartedly putting his hands in front of him.

‘Sorry, I must do it now! I don’t do half-assed work!’ Blitzo then holded one of Stolas’ legs and started scratching the inner thighs, and he literally jumped from the waist down. He grabbed the sheets trying to stay still while laughing loudly. Blitzo wasn’t only scratching his thighs, he also started digging his fingers on them, making him go crazy.

‘AHAHAHAHA *hoot*! HAHAHAHA *hoot*!! Plehehehehehease, it tihihihihihihickles so much!’

‘I know, isn’t that great?’, Blitzo replied, trying not to laugh at Stolas’ contagious laughter. ‘Now I can torture you like this any time I want!’ Then he held his leg tighter and scratched over and behind his knees, making him laugh so much his face was really red.

Blitzo did the same thing with his other leg, and tears started building up in  Stolas’ eyes. When he started to whine and wheeze constantly Blitzo knew he had to stop soon. ‘I was having so much fun though’, he said to himself.

‘Ok, just a quick whole body’s revision for good measure!’ Blitzo suddenly skittered his fingers all over Stolas’s body, making him squirm all over the bed while squealing with joy.

‘Plehehehehehease, I cahahahn’t take anymore! *hic* *hic* Enough!’

Blitzo finally stopped, letting him rest while laying in bed. It took a long time for Stolas to regain his composure, until he could calmly breathe and stop giggling.

‘Hey, you look so overjoyed after all that torture! I would have passed out a long time ago!’, Blitzo pointed out.

‘Hehehe, sorry, I was having so much fun right now.’ Stolas replied with a soft smile, ‘I had never been tickled like this before’.

‘Even as a child?’

‘No, I was always surrounded by nothing but adults when I was growing up. I didn’t spend time with other children nor played with anyone. My mother would sometimes hug me, but that was all’.

Blitzo again felt bad for him. Even when he belonged to royal family he barely got any attention or any touch from anyone his whole life. Not receiving any caring physical affection was painful, and he knew that too.

‘You know what, if you ever need me for another preening, I wouldn’t oppose the idea’, Blitzo said in a lower voice.

‘Really Blitzy? That would be lovely! I will let you know then!’ Stolas then hugged Blitzo’s waist while still laying down his stomach on the bed. ‘Can we stay little this for a little longer’, he whispered, becoming sleepy.

‘Alright, but at the moment I get hungry, I’m out this room’, Blitzo answered while laying down on a pillow making himself comfy.

‘I want to stay like this forever though’, Stolas said in a weak voice before falling asleep from exhaustion.

Blitzo made sure Stolas was completely out before starting to caress his head while staring at the ceiling.

‘You silly childlike owl prince…’

THANKS FOR READING GUYS! IF YOU ENJOY MY ART OR SILLY FANFICS FEEL FREE TO SEND ME A LITTLE TIP TO www.streamlabs.com/kirausamaria . HUGS!

[spritewrites]

Day 2 - Diego

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & Lila Pitts

Word Count: 766

Author’s Note: Day 2 of @anasticklefics​ TUA tickle fic week! Information can be found here. Enjoy!

“FUCK!”

A leg thumped against Lila’s back as her fingers tripped up trembling ribs and dug into Diego’s armpits. He snorted on a laugh, nearly choking.

“Please, I – I can’t, I can’t, I really – shit!” he cried, jerking as her hands slipped nimbly out from under his arms and sending him tumbling back into giggles with ticklish pokes to his sides.

“Language,” Lila chided, giving an electrifying squeeze to his left side. Diego jumped, shrieked, and kicked out once more, only succeeding in getting his legs tangled in the sheets. Another squeeze, another yell.

“Okay, okay, just – god, please, Lila!”

The dreadful squeezing stopped and her touch lightened, but she kept her hands on his sides, giggling and tracing designs up and down as he caught his breath a little. “Okay, yeah, prioritizing oxygen, fair enough.”

Diego chuckled at that, then groaned. “God, my abs hurt.”

“These?” Lila poked gently at his stomach, and Diego sucked in a harsh breath. 

“Watch it,” he growled, but Lila only laughed.

“Threats from the most ticklish vigilante known to man? I’m terrified, sweetheart.” Finally, finally, she let go of his sides and collapsed on top of him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Diego hugged her close and buried his nose in her hair.

“Mmm… squishin’ me,” he mumbled, squeezing around her middle. Lila snorted.

“You don’t mind.”

“Might mind. If you keep being so snarky.” His arms tightened.

“Okay, knife boy, lemme go,” she wheezed, wiggling and trying to burrow her hands between his arms and her body to release his hold. In her efforts, her fingers wormed their way over his triceps, and Diego – well, Diego snorted. 

Lila stopped short. “What was that.”

“Nothing.” His eyes were as big as hers, and he could feel heat creeping up his neck to his cheeks. 

Lila raised one eyebrow, and Diego gulped – or at least, he tried to, but he ended up almost choking on it as her fingers, trapped between his upper arms and his ribs, wriggled again.

“Oh?”

In an instant, his hands were back over his head in a pin that he knew from experience was nearly impossible to break. He bit his lip.

“Lila…”

“Now this—” a nail dragged slowly from the joint of his elbow about halfway down – “This is interesting.” Diego let out a whine, drawing Lila’s gaze back to his face. “You’ve been keeping this from me.”

“I haven’t, I swear,” he stammered, trying to subtly detangle his legs from the sheets. The muscles in his arms clenched. “Listen, I—”

Lila wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were locked on the soft insides of his upper arms, the plane of quivering skin that stretched between his elbow joint and his armpit. “Arms, Diego? I thought you couldn’t get any cuter.”

“M’not—” he started, then broke into a peal of giggles as she trailed her fingers gently down his right tricep. Christ, that was even worse than he thought it was going to be.

Any hopes he had of keeping himself even somewhat under control vanished as Lila’s ticklish touch reached the edge of his underarm and lingered, drawing little shapes right at the edge of the hair there and driving Diego nearly out of his mind. Exactly at the point where he was certain he couldn’t take anymore, that his arms or his lungs or his brain would give out, her fingers turned and traveled back the way they came, up toward his elbow.

He kicked, squealed, squirmed, and tried his best to beg, but Lila seemed relentless. At one point he let out a noise akin to a squeak as her nails touched the curve of his inner elbow, and he felt his face burn at the amused scrunch of his girlfriend’s nose.

Eventually, right when he felt his ribs start to ache from the endless giggling and his eyes had closed long ago in an effort to stop the tears of laughter, he felt the grip on his wrists slacken. A quick pressure on his nose – a kiss – shocked his eyes back open, where he met Lila’s smiling gaze.

“Have fun?”

“Fun?” he choked, still taking in air. “You tortured me!”

“Not what I asked,” Lila shot back, grinning. “Did you have fun?”

Diego opened his mouth to answer, closed it, opened it again. He felt his face turn red. “Not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war sweetheart,” she laughed, kissing him on the cheek and resuming her cuddling position.

Diego grumbled to himself, hiding his smile in her hair. “I’m so getting you back for this.”

[jewish-space-laser]

Miles & Black Coffee - Part Two

“If you’re thinking about taking the high road,

I can tell you that you’re doing it wrong,

There’s a better of way of letting it all go,

‘Cause you’ve been running from the feeling too long….”

-Highroad by Sir Woman

Hiya everyone! Sorry this is up a bit late, inspiration really just runs on its own clock. I’ll keep this short- giant thank you to @oh-honey-styles​ @andwhenshesays​ @for-fucks-sake-h​ for beta-ing and being so so SO supportive. If you haven’t read their fics yet, go check them out! As always, I adore feedback! (4.1k words)

xoxoxoxoxoXO Tile 

You and Harry would never be friends. You were up and down, night and day, oil and water. You just didn’t mesh. He was your roommate’s insufferable older brother, and that is all he would ever be. Well, at least that’s what you thought before….

or

the one with campfire conversations, cabin getaways, and enemies that were never really enemies after all.

Read Part One here!

TUESDAY

Charlie was still sleeping soundly on her side of the bed when your alarm went off, so you tried your hardest to sneak out of the room without making a sound. Spending all day in the sun yesterday had been amazing; your heart felt full, your muscles were relaxed, and you were ready to do it all over again. 

Unfortunately, you also felt a bit gross. Between the warm weather, lakewater, and sunscreen, your skin was feeling like it needed it a good rinse. The thought of showering in the showerhouse wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was that or the garden hose, so you gathered up your shower caddy and a change of clothes before making your way out of the main cabin. 

It was a beautiful morning, the perfect setup for another day of summer. Dewy blades of grass tickled your ankles as you cut across the lawn, a pleasant chill running through you at the contact. You’d tried to wake up early enough to have the shower house to yourself, not wanting to have an awkward run-in with anyone before you’d had a chance to fully wake up. 

From the look of it, you’d succeeded. You listened for signs that anyone else was out and about, but all you could hear were the sounds of birds chirping and bugs buzzing, the nature around you having yet to be disturbed by rowdy college students. 

Smoking on the boat the night before had turned out to be a great idea. The group had stayed out till the moon was the only light in the sky, only turning in when none of you could stop yawning. You hadn’t slept that deeply in a long time; it felt amazing to be so rested after a full school year of late nights and early mornings. 

When you finally reached the shower house, you moved to pull the door open to have it swing forward and smack into you. You stumbled backwards, balancing yourself against the wall as you stared wide eyed at the person who’d nearly knocked you over. 

“Whoa, sorry,” Ryan rushed apologetically, “I didn’t think anyone else would be up this early.”

“That’s okay,” you gulped, “I didn’t think anyone else was awake, either. I wanted the showers to myself.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he chuckled, running a hand through his wet hair, “I’m all finished though, so it’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” you giggled, “how was the water pressure?”

“Honestly?” He shrugged. “Better than I expected, but not great.”

“Lovely,” you sighed, slinging your towel over your shoulder. Ryan dragged his eyes down your frame quickly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You blushed as you realized that you were still in your pajamas. At least they were somewhat cute, little blue shorts with rubber duckies printed all over them and a plain white tank top. 

The two of you were quiet for a moment, switching places so you were standing in the threshold of the shower house. He was too cute, sleepy eyes squinting in the sun as it grew brighter out.

“So, um, I was thinking of checking out this hiking trail today,” he blurted, cheeks tinted red, “Archie was going to come with me, but he drank his weight in white claw last night, so I’m thinking he might be too hungover to stomach it.”

“Where’s the trail?” You questioned. 

“It’s on the other side of the lake, about two miles north. We were just gonna borrow a couple bikes from the shed,” he explained, playing with his hair some more, “but anyway, I was like, well, I was wondering if maybe you would wanna join me. I’d hate to go alone.”

“I’d love to!” You said eagerly. When he smirked at your excitement, you tried to play it cool. “I mean, uh, yeah. That sounds like it could be fun.”

“Great,” he chuckled, “I was thinking of leaving around eleven, gives us time to relax and have some breakfast. The trail itself should only take a couple hours, but there are a few detours I wanted to see. Is that cool with you?”

“Sounds awesome,” you nodded. 

“Fantastic. I’ll find you in a bit?”

You nodded, bidding him farewell as he made his way back to the guest cabin. The moment the door shut behind you, you let out a quiet squeal. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, and already you had a date with a cute boy. Plus, you were genuinely interested in the hiking trail; if it was anything like the forest around the cabin, it was sure to be gorgeous. 

Ryan was right about the shower pressure. It was enough to make you feel clean and refreshed, but certainly left much to be desired. At least there was hot water. 

By the time you made it back to your room, Charlie was up and about, playing upbeat music on her phone speaker and digging her toothbrush out of her bag. 

“I can’t believe I forgot to brush my teeth last night,” she pretended to gag, “I literally passed out so hard. Didn’t even hear you get up this morning.”

“It was a long night,” you laughed, feeling amused as you watched her flit around the room to get ready for the day.

“And it’s gonna be another long day,” she sighed, “long, but fun. Olivia and I were gonna tan on the docks for a bit, if you wanna join?”

“Actually,” you tried to act nonchalant, “Ryan and I are going on a hike.”

You sat on the corner of the bed, sucking your lips into your mouth to keep your giddy smile at bay. You were really excited though, and Charlie seemed like just the right person to gush to.

“Ryan, huh?” She said, face scrunching up in confusion. “I would’ve thought you’d want to spend as much time with Harry as possible.”

You widened your eyes, letting out a loud burst of laughter that had you wheezing. “Harry? No way!”

“You and him aren’t a thing, then?” She asked, zipping her suitcase shut. “He was asking after you at the bonfire yesterday, and then insisted that he should check on you when you didn’t come down.”

A frown formed on your face. You specifically remember him saying that he’d just been using the restroom. Why would he want to check up on you, anyway? Surely he was just using it as an excuse to bother you. It was his favorite activity, after all. 

“Well, no, we’re not a thing,” you said firmly.

“Ryan’s cute, too,” Charlie shrugged, “James and I had a moment yesterday, too, so hopefully we both get our cute summer romance this week.”

“Ooooh, James?” You waggled your eyebrows, happy to change the subject. Charlie flushed, biting down on her lip.

The two of you gossipped for a while longer, with Charlie organizing all of her belongings while you lounged on the bed. It was nice chatting with her; you weren’t the closest, but you’d always gotten along really well. 

New romance, new friends, sunshine and nature. You could already tell that this was going to be a week to remember.

~~~

By the time you made your way into the kitchen, almost everyone had already had breakfast. Dishes were piled high in the small sink, streaks of what looked like pancake batter smeared across the countertop. You hated when people didn’t clean up after themselves, but you chose to ignore it for now. 

What you couldn’t ignore, however, was Harry, who was sitting by himself at the table. He was also pouring a bowl of cereal, which wouldn’t have been a problem if your name wasn’t written across the box in black sharpie. 

“Is that your cereal, Harry?” 

You had a hand planted on your hip, eyebrows raised expectantly as you awaited his answer. He lazily glanced up from his phone, looking you over from head to toe before shrugging. 

“Dunno, found it in the cupboard,” he muttered, jamming a spoonful into his mouth.

“Interesting, interesting,” you droned, biting the inside of your cheek, “did you stop for a moment to think that it might belong to somebody else?”

He shrugged again, not bothering to look away from his phone this time as he chewed slowly. You could tell he was holding back a smirk from the way his dimple indented into his cheek. He knew what he was doing, he always did.

With a huff, you walked over to him and snatched the box off of the table, turning it around and pointing at your name in bold letters. 

“I wish you’d asked,” you snapped, opening the cabinet with more force than necessary to grab a bowl. 

“Just figured we were all sharing food,” you heard him say. 

You wanted to rip his breakfast out from under him, anything to get a reaction, but you just took a deep breath insead. Getting you worked up is exactly what he wanted, and you’d never give him the satisfaction

“If you’d read your sister’s e-mail, you’d know that any food that isn’t labelled is up for grabs. That cereal has my name on it.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged again, “I don’t really look at my e-mail.”

“Clearly,” you rolled your eyes.

He didn’t respond, and even though your skin was crawling with irritation, you figured it was best if you stopped talking. Even though he was being a pest, this behavior was relatively tame for him, and it would be a shame to ruin a perfectly good morning with a fight.

Well, that’s what you told yourself before you opened the fridge. 

“Harry,” you warned through gritted teeth, “did you finish off the milk… and then put the empty carton back?”

“No,” he locked his phone, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning, “there are a few drops left in there.”

That was it. The absolute last straw. 

“You are literally the most inconsiderate person I’ve ever met,” you seethed, shaking the empty carton in his direction before throwing it into the recycling bin. It didn’t seem to phase him.

“I think-”

“I don’t really care what you think,” you interrupted. 

“-that you’re being dramatic.”

You were scowling so hard that your cheeks were beginning to hurt, but you couldn’t help it. Not when he was pushing your buttons in all the wrong ways. You dumped your bowl of dry cereal back into the box.

“I’m not being dramatic,” you hissed, “you’re just being a dick, but what else is new.”

“You really need to calm down,” he snorted, “a bunch of us were going to break out the kayak and race across the lake, do you wanna join?”

You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the idea that you’d want to spend more time with him, so you just shot him a dirty look, deciding to just skip breakfast. Sure, you were starving, but anything was better than spending one more second in Harry’s presence. 

“I have other plans,” you snarled, turning your back to him and leaving the room. 

“Really?” He asked, following you down the hallway. “Do they involve… I dunno, pulling the giant stick out of your ass?”

You practically growled, stopping so suddenly that Harry nearly ran into you.

“No,” your voice was strained, “Ryan asked me to go hiking with him, if you must know.”

For the first time all morning, the unbearable smirk on his face dropped into a frown. 

“Just the two of you?” He prodded. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. Why was he suddenly so interested? 

“Yes, just the two of us,” you sighed, turning to walk away again, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be as far away from you as possible.”

He didn’t follow you this time, but you could feel him watching you go up the stairs. It bothered you to no end that he could get you so riled up. Next time, you would walk away at the first sign of trouble, because he truly wasn’t worth your energy. 

Once you finished packing up a drawstring backpack with the hiking essentials, it was just about to time to meet Ryan, so you made your way over to the guest cabin. On the way there, you saw Harry pulling a kayak off of a metal rack, passing it to James like it weighed nothing. He looked a bit ridiculous, with his tie-dye shirt and a bandana in his hair.

“Hey,” you jumped at Ryan’s voice, “you ready to head out?”

You didn’t spare Harry a second glance when Ryan started raving about this amazing waterfall that he wanted to see. The day could only go up from here.

~~~

The rain had come out of nowhere. 

It had been blue sky for miles for the entire hike, but the second you got back to the bikes at the trailhead, dark stormclouds had already started sprinkling. It had quickly turned into a downpour, soaking through your thin t-shirt in record time. Ryan wasn’t much better off as he pulled his helmet off, hair matted down on the top of his head. 

Not to mention, it had been extremely buggy. Even with bug spray, they had been relentless. You were sure you had at least twenty bug bites all down your arms and legs. 

Despite everything, you’d enjoyed yourself. You’d stayed out even longer than you planned, sitting by the waterfall and chatting. As soon as Ryan found out that you skipped breakfast, he’d given you half of his sandwich. He’d been a complete gentleman, taking your hand frequently to help you over a rough part of the trail, and even though neither of you specified, it felt like a date. 

Conversation with him was easy, which was a major improvement from your awful morning. In fact, you barely even thought about Harry all afternoon, so distracted by Ryan and his nature commentary. The only time he’d come up was when you stopped for lunch.

“So what’s the deal with you and Harry?” Ryan had asked.

“Ugh,” you’d snarled, taking a pull from your water bottle “can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Oh,” Ryan had raised his eyebrows, “so, you’re not together?”

Immediately, you had choked on your sip of water, slapping your chest until you stopped coughing. 

“Together?” You guffawed. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

He had blushed crimson, playing with the hair on the back of his head. “He talks about you a lot… and sometimes I notice you watching him.”

His comment had confused you, but you’d shrugged it off, assuring him that you and Harry weren’t, and never would be, together. 

Now, the two of you were ditching your bikes in front of the cabin and sprinting towards the door to escape the awful weather. You found yourself giggling as you stumbled into the kitchen, wet, muddy footprints trailing behind you as you dropped your pack to the ground. It landed with a loud squelch, which only made you laugh harder. 

“I had a lot of fun today,” you said, “I’m really glad you invited me.”

“Really?” He chuckled, catching his breath. “I thought it was a bit of a disaster, between the mosquitos, the rain… the mud….”

You both laughed, shaking your heads at your bad fortune. You were being truthful about having fun, though. Even though the day hadn’t gone according to plan, it was exactly the kind of adventure you’d wanted.

“Whatever,” you shrugged coyly, “I had good company.”

Ryan’s cheeks flushed crimson, and a sweet smile crept up his face. Even with mud caked across his neck, pine needles in his hair, and angry pink bug bites down his arms and legs, he still managed to look adorable. When his eyes darted down to your lips, you stepped forward.

“I’m really glad we’re both on this trip,” he said softly, placing a hand on your waist.

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning in closer. 

Just as your lips were a hair away from brushing together, a crash from behind you had you jumping apart in alarm. You yelped loudly, your heart stopping for a beat before you spun around to face the culprit. 

Of course it was Harry. 

The first thing you noticed was his sunburn; all he was wearing was a pair of light gray sweatpants, so you could see how pink his chest had gotten. He resembled a deer in headlights as he stared at the floor below him, which was currently covered in the broken remnants of a shattered plate.

“Sorry,” he slurred, tip-toeing out from where the ceramic shards had scattered. Once he was clear, he stumbled over to the broom closet, swinging it open harshly as you and Ryan watched on awkwardly. After digging for a few seconds, he emerged with a broom and dustpan that looked like they were older than you.

“You scared us,” you bit out, heart finally slowing down to a normal rate. 

“Oops,” his shoulders lifted in a shrug, He turned to start sweeping, but quickly did a double take. “What hap-… you guys look horrible. Why are you covered in mud?”

Irritation took over you as you watched him gape drunkenly at where you and Ryan were standing. Not only had he interrupted what was sure to be an epic kiss with Ryan, but then he’d nearly given you a heart attack by sneaking in and dropping the plate. Sure, it was an accident, but that didn’t make you feel any less angry. And now here he was, telling you that you looked horrible.Your foot started tapping against the floor rapidly on its own accord. 

Just as you were about to chew him out for being a complete thorn in your side, he stumbled forward and hissed, lifting his bare foot into the air. 

“Harry, you’re stepping on glass,” Ryan warned, rushing forward with a worried expression over his face, “and you’re barefoot. Why don’t you start getting ready for bed… I’ll clean this up, okay?”

He took the broom from Harry, shooing him away from the mess. You knew it was the responsible thing to do, but part of you was still disappointed that your moment with Ryan had been ruined.

“Will you help me up the stairs?” Harry asked you sheepishly, half-limping over to you, “can’t get the glass out of my foot….”

“Well, don’t try to take it out here,” you sighed with an eye roll, “let’s go up. We’ll have to clean it, too.”

“Aww, y’gonna take care of me?” He smirked.

“Don’t push your luck,” you snapped. He held his hands up in surrender, but you still wanted to slap the smug look off of his face. You turned to Ryan, who was still sweeping the plate shards into a pile, and shook your head apologetically. “See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, a sad little smile on his face. You made yourself a promise that you’d kiss him next time you were alone. It was only the second day, after all; you were positive that you’d find another moment. For now, though, you had to deal with a certain drunken fool, who was currently limping down the hall, tripping every other step as he tried to grip the wall for support. 

“Hold on, you dimwit,” you sighed, rushing forward and slipping a hand around his waist. 

“Ooh, we’re getting cosy,” he hummed. You weren’t going to dignify him with a response.

Harry’s skin was warm to the touch, a bit sticky with sunscreen but still smooth. You tried to ignore the shock that ran through you when you felt his back muscles shift… you knew he was in good shape, but you hadn’t expected him to be so… firm. Your mouth went dry.

He leaned practically his entire weight on you, nearly forcing your knees to buckle. Fortunately, you were able to find your balance and walk with him, taking one stair at a time.

“Now who’s being dramatic,” you muttered.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Harry slurred, frowning in your direction. He had one arm slung over your shoulder, and the other hand gripping the railing as he hopped on one foot.

“You called me dramatic this morning,” you reminded him, “and now here you are, needing help up the stairs because of a teeny piece of glass….”

“Heeeey,” he protested, stopping in his tracks to look down at you properly. 

A scoff escaped you as you rolled your eyes, gesturing for him to continue hopping. You were nearly at the top now.

“Is there a first aid kit somewhere?” You asked, relieved when he removed his arm.

“Yeah,” he scratched at his head, “I packed one, but it’s still in my room.”

Honestly, you were a bit surprised that Harry packed a first aid kit. You’d never stricken him as the responsible type; Callie had always seemed more put together despite being younger. 

You followed his hobbling figure into his room, which was much cleaner than you expected. He clearly hadn’t changed it much since he was young, evidenced by the lego figurines lined up on his shelves. There was also a cute framed photo of him and Callie at her high school graduation, which was admittedly adorable. 

Getting the splinter out of Harry’s foot hadn’t been a problem, but cleaning it was another story. First, he insisted that he could do it himself, but then he accidentally got neosporin all over his bedsheets. Then, he wouldn’t stop flinching away from you when you tried to stick on the bandage, claiming that he was ticklish. 

“Can you please just cooperate,” you sighed. 

“Can’t help that it tickles,” he giggled, twitching away from your hand again, “your hands are too soft.”

If he pulled away from you one more time, you’d rip your hair out. This was not how you foresaw ending your night.

Eventually, finally, he stayed still long enough for you to finish. You glared at him as you gathered up the bandage wrapper and used alcohol wipe. He was gazing at you with wide eyes, bandana slightly crooked on top of his head.

“Did I interrupt something downstairs?” He asked all of a sudden, sheepishly looking out the window.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shaking your head in frustration. “You know, Harry? I don’t understand what I did for you to hate me so much.”

He squinted his eyes in confusion, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if he hadn’t spent countless hours intentionally getting on your nerves. 

“What’re you talking about?”

“Please,” you laughed sarcastically, “It hasn’t even been two full days here, and you’ve already called me a wet blanket, eaten my food, and ruined the end of my date. You do nothing but antagonize me… why?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, and it was then that you remembered how truly drunk he was. He probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning. You don’t know why you’d asked him about it in the first place.

“I mean, I…” He stuttered, apparently unable to articulate his thoughts. 

Truthfully, you didn’t even want to know.

“Maybe we should just stay away from each other,” you told him, “I’m not a huge fan of you, and you clearly have a problem with me….”

He looked completely taken aback.

“Just… go to sleep, okay?” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I left the painkillers out, so… take those in the morning if you want.”

You were waiting for him to say something, but he just sat there, silently gaping at you with cloudy eyes, so that’s how you left him. He was still staring at you when you fleetingly made eye contact on your way out the door, but didn’t say a single word.

From what you knew about him, that was out of character. He always had something to say, another jab, another comeback, absolutely never letting you have the last word. And his eyes… the way he’d been staring at you, like he was offended and guilty and confused. You’d never seen him look like that before. 

As you got ready for bed, you tried to shake the entire interaction off. He was drunk, he probably had no idea what you were saying. The entire conversation wouldn’t even matter in the morning. 

Yet, for some reason, the image of his wide eyes and crooked bandana were all you thought about until you drifted off to sleep.

~~~

If you made it this far, thank you! What do we think? Any thoughts, theories, questions, comments? Let me know! Until next time, xoxoxoxoxox Tile

[vinylhazza]

Honor To Us All (G.D)

Summary: Grayson and Y/n watch Mulan, turning movie night into one of playful banter, serenades, and talk of a bigger life through mouthfuls of popcorn. Grayson confesses his real image of his girlfriend - a warrior in his eyes.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: Silliness, Fluff, Disney, literally so cheesy I’ll provide the wine: 🍷

“Do you think Mulan knows she’s a bad bitch?” Grayson ponders, stuffing another handful of cheesy popcorn into his mouth.

“I mean...I think she figures it out in the end. Or at least faces the fact that there is no other choice but the brave one. The confidence comes with her achievements - bringing honor to her family and country,” Y/n explains thoughtfully, smiling at how genuine of a question it was from such a big man that’s nothing but a softy that loves Disney.

Grayson sits for a moment longer, watching as Mushu rambles on about putting shame on a cow and what not, giggling at the small dragons rant. It’s always been his favorite character because of his perseverance to be seen as something more than a small sidekick. Plus he makes him laugh uncontrollably hard for being a cartoon and looking like a little lizard. And anything that can make that angelic smile and laugh of his come out is a gift from God, in her opinion.

“Good point. It’s just interesting that she goes into this war zone with all of this grit and dedication without ever being actually exposed to a lifestyle that requires such high expectations,” he mumbles through another mouthful of his snack. She knows he’s only saying this because he spends his time singing the songs instead of actually listening. Yes Grayson Dolan singing Mulan songs is one of the greatest sights she’s ever been blessed with. It’s a sound that bursts from him like he genuinely can’t hide his happiness, airy and with an adorable wheeze that leads to a puff from his inhaler. 

“Well that’s not entirely true. Before she went with the army she was expected to bring honor to her family in a different way: find a husband, be a perfect daughter, a perfect wife, a perfect mother in the future. She was always held to a high standard even if she didn’t live up to it sometimes. The pressure prepared her for it, I believe. It can be brutal to be scrutinized by your own family...belittled for your clumsiness and uniqueness when you’re meant to be so proper and uniform. She was constantly second guessing everything she thought was right and locking her real self away just to maintain an image was never destined to have. The army brought out the individuality in her - even if she was disguised as a man,” she finishes with a huff, out of breath but satisfied with her lengthy answer, popping a few Skittles into her mouth and smiling when she realizes they were all her favorite ones - red and yellow. The superior Skittles. 

The two sit wrapped in each other, scanning their eyes across a screen filled with fighting soldiers, a heaping pile on top of Mulan’s small frame. He takes a moment to comment “ouch” quietly without thinking, ignoring her small giggle at his innocence.

He’s so pure when he wants to be, serious when he has to be, and so totally himself all the time. It’s refreshing in a world so fake. There’s not a lot of men that will sit down and watch a movie like Mulan and actually think about what it means instead of teasing and making fun of the movie the entire duration. He’s not interested in being a douchebag for an image. 

“Be a man, we must be swift as the coursing river, be a man, with all the force of a great typhoon, be a man, with all the strength of a raging fire, mysterious as the dark side of the mooooooooon,” he sings along, laughing at the way she’s watching him scream the lyrics like he really means them, joining in at the end. 

“Fuck them Huns,” Y/n wheezes, slapping at his thigh as she laughs joyfully.

“Literally fuck them Huns,” he agrees through popcorn, hand pressed against his mouth in fear of spilling some due to her own rolling laughter.

When it returns to the calm silence he speaks out again with so much serious she thinks he might be being sarcastic. But no, he’s all serious and curious as always.

“Also he’s a fine ass man how is she not blushing?” he tuts once again, eyebrows dipped down as Li Shang all but sings in Mulan’s face. This is a question she’s thought nearly every time she watches the film, but never had the mind to speak allowed. 

With a chuckle she simply fired back with another question, “She can’t fall over herself everytime she’s with him. She has a purpose for being there. Do you see me blushing every time I’m with you?”

“Yes,” he snarks, grinning again as she punches him in the arm playfully, snuggling into his black sweatshirt he hasn’t changed out of since they woke up a couple hours prior. 

“Shut up,” she giggles like a schoolgirl, hiding in the fabric of his hoodie further, “it’s not my fault you insist on walking around shirtless most of the time.” 

“Well so does Li Shang, so you see my point? The girls just can’t resist the bod,” Grayson gloats, a proud smile with lots of pearly white teeth on his face again. 

“Men are vile creatures.” Her amused mockery get’s her another chuckle before it grows silent once more, both enjoying the company that doesn't need conversation, “and did you just say bod?”

“Mmm mostly and yes, yes I did,” he agrees with a nod, not even finding a good rebuttal that could prove her wrong. He’s good at that, letting her have a peaceful moment. Because that’s what it was - a peaceful moment between two lovers, joking about Mulan on a couch they’ve sat on for far too long, in clothes they haven’t the urge to change, with hearts that won’t stay steady. 

Grayson stops when Mulan shouts from the speakers, covering herself as the soldiers pile into the water, and inevitably laughing as she scurries behind her horse. With a tug on his hoodie he’s yanking it over his head and handing it over to a shivering Y/n, knowing she could get a blanket, but his hoodie is so much better. 

They settle into the comfortable silence, Y/n stealing tiny handfuls of Grayson’s popcorn whenever she got the chance, belting out laughter when it was too much to hold in. He joined in the majority of the time, loving how blissful her laugh sounded, cherishing the way it stuck to every nerve of his heart and had it skipping beats from being overwhelmed. That was what she loved so much about the love they shared, it was plentiful but pure and full - never a dull moment even when they are essentially doing nothing. 

— — —

“I think you’re the Mulan of the world babe,” Grayson remarked with a love struck smile towards the end of the movie, having been silent for most of duration of the film since their little discussion in the beginning.

He’s hurrying to lean in and give his girlfriend a kiss on the cheek before she can question him, suddenly overwhelmed with a strong sense of devotion for this girl he gets to wake up to every morning by the grace of God. He would be so embarassed if anyone knew that he just geinuinely thought to himself just then that she was dreamy. But she was, she really was in every way, the most dreamy.

She smirks, turning as he backs away to quirk an eyebrow at him in question, “Oh really? Why’s that?”

Sitting back against the plush couch he explains the truth behind his claim, even if he’s going to sound cringe and too deep to have just watched an entire Disney movie.

“You never give up, even when things are hard. You keep pushing past all the failures in search of that success that has to come at some point. Even if it means making a sacrifice at your own expense to save someone else or protect something bigger than your ego,” his voice is strong, sure and pure, “you really do bring honor to us all. Even if most people choose to ignore it.”

“If I did everything in life to please other people, I would never be truly fulfilled, and yeah I might relate to Mulan the most but you, my dear, have Li Shang written all over. You’re always going on about duty, honor, making your family proud, even the country, always thinking outside of the box, owning up to mistakes and making sure you don’t make them again. You’re not easily defeated. You see purpose in all things, understand the rules and instead of trying to defy them like myself, you bring balance - hence why we are so good for each other.” Y/n strokes her fingers through his luscious hair,

“Well I would go to war for you, love,” he teases, rubbing his nose against hers for a tender eskimo kiss. He rarely uses that pet name, but loves her reaction when he does. 

“Hmm and I would do the same for you, darling,” she hums back, holding his face close with both of her hands, cupping his face right under the strong bones of his jawline. It’s a gag worthy moment, sappy and cliche, something that if walked in on, they would both blush and cower in embarrassment. But in this moment, with the two of them sitting still, foreheads touching, with the ending credits of a fairytale rolling, they couldn’t care less about lingering eyes that might see their moment that means so much.

“You’re like fire, unstoppable and warm, you never let anyone ruin it for you...I wish I could be that way,” Grayson gulps, stroking her temple with his thumb.

“You are that way. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. You’re exactly like all of the strongest charcters in every movie and honestly fuck Li Shang right now because you’re better because you’re real.” Y/n is observant. Always watching. Not in a weird, stalker way. She simply likes to know the details, little things that make someone who they are that they might be ashamed of at some point, or maybe things they don’t even notice.

She notices. She notices that his leg in bouncing right now because he’s wondering if she liked the kiss, even if he’s kissed her a thousand times and she always pulls away blushing. She notices the way his left hand has dropped to rub at her thigh like he does when he feels comfortable. She takes note at the small smile he gives when she laces her fingers with his to soothe his nerves, knowing it makes him feel better to be touched when he’s nervous. She notices his love language so she can meet him halfway. He’s her prince and she’s not ashamed to show it.

People say fairytales can’t be real, but Grayson proves them wrong every single day.

He’s looking at her with that grin, the one where he looks sneaky. He wears this smile when he’s excited, so completely happy, or getting ready to tickle you. There’s no in between, but right now, with the remote waving in his hand, you know exactly what page he’s on.

“So...Tangled?”

[kinsbin]

Bubble Bath

Title: Bubble bath WC: 3285 Ship: Timeless Love [11th Doctor/Self Insert]

Summary: After a rough trip to a cold planet, The Doctor and Kinley decide to warm up with a comfortable bath together. 

A/N: Did I write a 3k word fic about me and the Doctor taking a bubble bath together? I did! Minor warning for mentions of nudity but there’s nothing explicit, we just playing with bubbles and falling asleep together ;w;

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

Kinley groaned as they heaved themselves back into the TARDIS, their entire body aching with protest as they all but fell down onto the stairs with a wheezing gasp. Their form was caked with sweat, but that was hidden beneath the water that clung to their body like an unwanted parasite. It made their clothes stick to skin and their flesh dance with goosebumps, the heat of the TARDIS doing little to actually stave away its chill as they bent their body against the all-too hard steps. Shutting their eyes, Kinley only heard the sound of the Doctor’s footsteps careening into the TARDIS after them, the heavy slam of the doors echoing in the borderline headache they were feeling throb behind their temples. There was the scream of something frustrated, eldritch in its tone, before it faded into silence save for the sound of their heavy breaths echoing together.

The Doctor shuddered as if realizing his chill for the first time, rubbing his hands over his arms as he jumped around in the same spot, trying to bring some warmth back into his ice cold legs.

“Right, so, wasn’t the best idea trying to solve an arctic planet’s sea serpent problem with just a rowboat and a plastic fishing line, I’ll give you that one. To be fair we were hunting for some sort of fish, I wasn’t actually expecting a MONSTER.”

“I,” Kinley gasped out, “Didn’t expect to be plunged into arctic waters while running away from the sea monster so I guess we both got some surprises today, didn’t we?”

His reaction was a breathy laugh that they returned in unison, the noise interrupted once in a while when their teeth chattered together violently through their cold spell. The Doctor found a seat beside his companion and leaned next to them. Together they used one another as balance to stay up, what was left of their heat transferring from one body to another and making the chill slightly more bearable as they did so. Kinley’s head fell against the Doctor’s shoulder and they bit at their lip to stifle the continued chattering.

“Next time,” They muttered, “I want to go somewhere HOT.”

“Deal.” The Doctor agreed with a nod, “First, though, we have got to get out of these wet clothes. We’ll only get colder if they stay on, you know, so come on. Up and off, let’s go.”

“I appreciate that you’re that eager to get my clothes off, Doctor,” Kinley laughed, “Just… gimme a minute… God I would kill for a hot bath right now.”

“You should take one,” The Doctor agreed, “Might hop in myself if I don’t warm up through the TARDIS, honestly. Right after we just-”

“We should take one together,” Kinley suggested with a roll of their shoulder, “More body heat.”

The Doctor’s ears turned red at the suggestion, his eyes widening in shock as he looked down at the person to his side. Kinley was smiling now, their gaze looking upwards at him with nothing short of amusement and adoration. The emotions mixed together in a slurry of rosy cheeks and excited dimples as they smiled up at him with expectancy laced in their expression. The look they gave only made the Doctor’s own face melt into a soft, fond sort of smile that curled easily against his lips as he leaned forward, pressing them into the wetness of Kinley’s hair with a sigh.

“Alright, together then.” He agreed in a soft whisper against their skin.

It wasn’t long before the two found the energy to stand up from the stairs, bones aching from the cold as they hobbled together towards one of the TARDIS’ many bathrooms. The old machine, taking pity on the travelers within her, helped to guide them through the walls and into one of the larger master bathrooms. All fine tile and quartz, the bath tub was the size of a jacuzzi with its multiple jets and set of ivory faucets hanging on either side of it. An array of bubble baths and soaps, tied neatly in labeled bottles and bars, lined the edge of the fine granite hull with intricate organization. Towels rested only a little ways on a towel rack, the softest looking things Kinley had ever seen in such a grandiose bathroom in their life.

They sighed with relief at the sight of it, hurrying over towards the massive tub and turning the water on as hot as it could go, immediately steaming up the room with the warmth of it. The Doctor frowned and followed forward, allowing the cold water to turn on just a bit and ignoring Kinley’s wines over it.

“We’re taking a bath not making ourselves into soup!” He declared incredulously, “Let’s not boil ourselves alive now.”

“I want to be soup though,” Kinley whined as they reached out towards one of the vials, squinting at it through their slowly steaming up glasses, “Soup is warm and I want to be warm.”

“You can be warm without being soupy.” The Doctor declared as Kinley dumped half a vial of bubble bath concoction into the slowly filling tub, grinning as soapy bubbles began to form in the wake of the stirring current. Once they were sure the bubbles would hold through their evening, Kinley shifted to stand up straight and began to peel off the layers of their clothing bit by bit.

They had shed their sweater off and made quick work of their shirt as well, leaving them in their binder and pants after they kicked their socks and shoes away as well. The Doctor watched them for a long moment, his gaze transfixed on the curves of their spine and the divots where their stomach hung over in a soft puff of fat. He watched the dip in their back and the flexing of strong shoulder blades that tapered into equally strong arms. Not muscular, but he had seen just how much pressure they could hold and it only made the Doctor blush all the redder.

Kinley paused and turned around as they reached to slide off their binder, quirking an eyebrow at the other with a blush on their own face.

“You can’t take a bath with your clothes on, silly…”

It was a soft statement, whispered in a way that the Doctor could tell they were a little nervous about this as well. It wasn’t more than a whisper. An invitation to do so only if he really did want to. A soft statement that edged itself with gentle kindness, the type that made his muscles relax and his hearts throb with awe at how one being - how a single human being - could be so kind to someone like him.

So he joined them in the removal of his clothes. By the time the bath was filled to the brim, with its lavender scented soaps and plethora of frothing bubbles that hung over the side of the entire tub like the foam of beer, they were naked and ready to enter. Both of their skins were clammy and wet with the residual water that stuck to their skin, forming small divots of ice the entire time they stood in front of one another.

Kinley hopped in first, the sigh of relief leaving their lips was borderline orgasmic in its echo. The heat engulfed their body like a hug from an old friend, pulling the chill of the previous waters out of their pores and away from their worry as it burned their form with delight. The Doctor stepped in shortly after, and Kinley could not stop the grin that spread on their face as the same reaction was provoked within him. Soon the two were sat up to their chins in bubbles and their shoulders in the water, enjoying the intensity of the heat that curled in steam rivulets around their form.

Looking over the sea of bubbles around them, Kinley couldn’t help but smile brightly over to their partner. The Doctor smiled back, the wide expression sweet on his face as they chuckled with one another, too tired and too warm to complete too many shenanigans together in that moment. Instead, Kinley stretched a leg until it touched the Doctor’s underwater, prodding softly with it an a sign of affection. The Doctor’s leg returned it, their toes aimlessly fighting with one another under the cover of the bubbles as they leaned back to relax in the steam together.

“Why don’t we do this more often?” Kinley wondered with a slur of comfort to their words, “This is nice.”

“Showers are quicker and we have lots to do,” The Doctor returned with a small smile as he looked over at them, “Besides, never was one to sit around and watch my fingertips get all pruney. Do you know why they get all pruney? I’ll never understand it, I know it’s a human thing but why is it a me thing too?”

To prove his point, he sat up and took his hands out of the water. Though they were covered with bubbles, he stared where the tips of his fingers would be as though they held the answers within them. Kinley laughed as they sat up too, burying their face for a moment in the fluffy foam and coming up with some stuck to their face like a beard. The Doctor, looking up to see the sight before him, grinned and giggled at the sight.

“You were right, you look pretty solid with a beard I’d say.”

“Oh really?” Kinley posed slightly and made pretend to stroke at their ‘beard’ with a thoughtful expression.

Excited to try himself, the Doctor gathered as much of the bubbles into his hands as possible and threw some on his chin, looking up with a bright gaze to his partner as he posed with them.

“Suits you,” Kinley laughed, “Maybe you should grow a beard or something in the future.”

“You think so? I always thought it’d emphasize my chin too much.”

“Your chin’s already emphasized, trust me, it won’t make a difference.”

“Oh that’s a low blow, Jonsey!”

Kinley laughed as the Doctor gathered bubbles in his hand and blew them directly at them. There was a giggling bark of laughter that came from the human before they, too, gathered and blew the suds at the other rman. The bubble war that broke out threw water and thick layers of bubbly foam over the edge of the tub, sending it splashing to the floor and rolling on the edges, soaking whatever bottles and soaps were on the sides of the granite surface. Their laughter echoed over the endlessly tall column of the bathroom ceiling, bouncing off of the tiles and around the space as it fueled the echoes of their existing giggles.

The fight was ended when the two of them ran out of breath to blow them at one another, the resulting truce finishing with bright smiles and breathless gasps as they relaxed back against the edges of the tub. Reaching out, Kinley took a vial of shampoo and moved to pour some onto their fingers, readying to wash at the short locks of their hair with a tired gaze to their palms.

“Here, let me.”

The Doctor plucked the vial from the other’s hand and motion for them to turn around. Kinley’s eyes widened in surprise, but a soft smile of appreciation soon replaced the look as they complied with his request. Turning around, their back pressed against the Doctor’s own for a moment as they sat comfortably between his open legs.

The timelord was careful as he wet his lover’s hair, soaking the locks in the warm bathwater before pouring some of the shampoo from the vial against his own hands. Lathering it up, he reached down to rub his long fingers through their locks, itching against their scalp. It resulted in a groan of appreciation from Kinley’s mouth, their head lolling back further as their eyes screwed shut in pleasure. The Doctor couldn’t help the smile that pressed on his lips as he continued his slow ministrations, watching every reaction of the other with nothing short of adoration in his eyes.

“Your hands are magic,” Kinley moaned softly as he massaged their scalp with his fingers more, “How are your hands so magic.”

“I went to beauty school, you know,” The Doctor returned matter-of-factly, “On the planet I trained on it was an esteemed position. You could make millions knowing how to wash the right hair.”

“Did you?”

“No, I got kicked out three days in for giving the Professor of Fine Hair Dyes and Cultures the wrong idea at her 9am class. Was a little messy at the end. Needless to say I’m forbidden from practicing there.”

“Hm, well, it’s their loss,” Kinley laughed, “You can practice it on me whenever you want to.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” The Doctor laughed as he finally released their hair from his grasp, accepting that it was sudsy enough to be  considered washed. He held Kinley’s neck gently in the palm of his hands, guiding them backwards with gentle words as they dipped their hair into the water below. It came up soaked and free of the shampoo a few seconds later, the Doctor’s fingertips combing through a final few times as he made sure that all of it was clean and thoroughly rinsed.

While their head was still tilted back, he pressed a kiss to their forehead. Kinley could feel them curling in as a smile, making them smile in return as they gazed up. There was nothing but love in that man’s eyes. Love and an edge of sadness that always seemed to be there. That always seemed to make him look older in these quiet moments together as they curled around the crows feet of his eyes and the edges of his brows. Sitting up, Kinley faced him, their knees hitting together as they tilted their head.

“Can I do yours?”

“If you’d like.”

The Doctor leaned his head forward, wetting it and then keeping it bowed so that Kinley could lather up their hands the same as he had done to them. Soon their fingertips ran through the mop of hair on top of his head, massaging in the shampoo and gently scratching at his scalp the whole time. The Doctor hummed in soft enjoyment, his eyes falling shut and his shoulders relaxing as he soaked in the attention from his lover. Kinley smiled at him, running their hands through his hair as the warm silence of the bathroom surrounded them, the occasional drip of water from the faucet echoing.

It was rare to have him be this silent. The world normally had to be filled with noise. Of chatter that he offered and of stories he could share. Now, though? The quiet spoke volumes for them both as they reveled in their intimacy.

When the Doctor’s hair was rinsed, he scooted up towards Kinley, wrapping his arms around their waist and burying his face into their wet shoulder with a sigh. Kinley accepted the gesture of affection, holding him close as their bodies pressed into one another tightly. They traced patterns up and down his spine, sending a shiver up his body as they smiled into him, burying their face in his shoulder as well.

They sat like that for a while, eventually separating to wash their skin and then hop out of the tub to dry off. Alongside the towels left for them, the TARDIS had found the time to gift them each with a set of thick, warm woolen pajamas. Kinley’s were red, little shapes of polka-dots of various shades of pink and white across. The Doctors were light blue, with darker blue strips running vertically up the fabric, a very him sort of design.

“Dunno why she gave me these,” The Doctor admitted with a raise of his eyebrow as he examined the piece of clothing before him, “Can’t expect me to fly her to the next place in my pajamas now should she?”

“Maybe it’s her way of telling you that you need a little break,” Kinley hummed as they slid on their own pajamas, the warmth of the fabric making them sight with delight, “We’ve had a busy day, Doctor, why not get some sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep,” The Doctor guffawed, but Kinley’s hand reached outwards to stop any more words from falling from his lips. They held his arm for a moment, the feeling of their skin on his giving him pause as he looked over at them. Kinley’s eyes sparkled with a tired sort of adoration. A gentle smile spreading on their lips as they continued to stare at him and - oh - never has a man so big felt so small.

“Let’s rest,” They insisted again, “Please? I’ll even let you tell me a story before we fall asleep, okay?”

The Doctor chuffed at this, his smile growing tired in its own way as he finally relented, sliding the pajama top on with a hum, making Kinley’s own grin go wider.

The two found themselves dressed and heading into one of the bedrooms of the TARDIS, a big room with sparse furnishings but a lovely bed in the center, big enough for them both to lay comfortably together. The sight made Kinley sigh as they made a move towards it, finding the covers, pulling them open, and crawling into their heated comfort.

The Doctor watched from the side of the bed, a smile on his lips as he observed his partner curling up in the warmth of the space, sighing as they stretched their limbs like a cat and purred at the feeling of simply being. There was a pause in their movements as they looked up at him, reaching out to make grabby fists at him as a small whine left their lips, a tired signal that he was needed at their side.

Never one to keep Kinley waiting, the Doctor relented and slid himself into the bed as well, the both of them tangling their limbs up together until they rested with their foreheads touching and their legs tangled beneath the thick comforter. The weight on top of them soothed them both as they pressed as close to one another as they could get, hugging tight and letting no space pass between them as they shut their eyes.

“I like this,” Kinley murmured, “I like you.”

“I like you too,” The Doctor smiled as he looked into their eyes, “A lot a lot, actually. More than a lot. Dare say I even love you.”

Kinely giggled and leaned forward pressing their noses together in a soft movement before letting their lips fall together in a kiss, their eyes shutting as they cuddled into The Doctor’s shoulder and exhaled softly into the soft fabric of his pajamas. The Doctor wrapped his arms around Kinley’s waist in return, pulling them close and kissing the top of their head as their bodies slowly became one.

It didn’t take long for Kinley to drift off into sleep, the lulling of the Doctor’s two heartbeats providing the perfect soundtrack for rest as they let their body relax after an exhausting day. The Doctor simply remained awake, petting the head of the human he had in his arms and smiling as he watched them sleep. He put another kiss to their still damp hair and chuckled, shutting his own eyes.

“Oh, Kinley Jones. The things you do to me.”

It wasn’t long before he found himself asleep as well, the both of them warm and safe together at long last.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Three (Bad Ideas) - Part 2/3

Jensen Ackles x Jared Padalecki (pre-J2 x reader)

Word Count: ~3470

Warnings: It’s not super explicit, it doesn’t get much farther than some groping and grinding on-camera, but there’s some decidedly adult content here. 

A/N: The second part of the prequel to Everything. The first part is right over here. All my gratitude to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for the reading and encouragement, as always, and also for the J2 spamming esp. possessive!Jensen. 

“What, like, hot alien threesome?” Jensen laughs. 

“All those different species, with like. Droids. And fuckin’... Wookiees and shit.” Jared tries to make a Wookiee noise but he’s giggling too hard to get it out. In his defense, it’s two in the morning and he’s very drunk. 

“Hutt porn?”

“Hentai with actual tentacles! I mean, come on, you could scroll through category menus for hours.” 

Jensen snorts and shakes his head. “I always thought the green chick was hot.” 

“The twi’lek! Fuck yeah.” 

“You are such a dork,” Jensen laughs. He goes to elbow Jared, but Jared dodges, stumbles, and almost walks into a streetlamp. 

“Dude,” he splutters. “Dude, fuck, can you imagine… holy shit! If somebody liked to be choked, and -” 

“Hate to break it to you, but that barely counts as kinky in this universe,” Jensen says, with a wicked grin. 

Jared’s brain stores that away with a neon sign saying we are going to think about this later! but manages not to short out completely. 

“No, no, you know how Darth Vader -“ Jared stops in the middle of the sidewalk, mimicking the Force-choking gesture, trying to imitate a stern Vader-y expression and failing miserably. He clutches his stomach, wheezing with laughter. 

“Such a dork,” Jensen repeats, trying to hold back his laughter. “Get your ass moving, I’m fuckin’ freezing.” 

Jared falls back into step. “Your fault you’re already dressed for Austin.” 

“Vancouver in April might as well be Hoth,” Jensen says, and Jared cracks up all over again. 

“Who’s the dork now? I’m rubbing off on you!” he crows, and immediately adds, “That’s what she said.” 

Jensen huffs, mock-exasperated, but he sneaks a sideways look at Jared, grinning. 

One second they’re walking side by side, and the next, Jensen’s grabbing him, hand tight on Jared’s wrist as he crowds right into Jared’s space. Jared steps back instinctively, almost stumbles, but Jensen just follows, walking him backward with this wild-eyed intensity on his face. 

Jared’s back hits a cold brick wall. Jensen’s mouth is hot and desperate when it collides with his. 

The kiss is clumsy and messy and perfect, and it’s like Jared’s brain gets stuck in a loop: what, what, what, because they’re kissing, and he’s paralyzed by the shock for a long frozen moment while his stomach lurches and his heart pounds and his head spins. Then Jensen’s teeth catch on his lip, stinging in a way that sends electricity skittering along his synapses, jolting him back into the moment like a fucking AED. 

Jensen’s kissing him like he wants to devour him, sucking and biting like he could eat Jared alive, and Jared’s stomach flips with every ruthless drag of his teeth, every deep lush lick, every new brush of those pillowy lips. Jared pulls him in close and kisses him back with everything he’s got. 

Jensen slides both hands into Jared’s hair, strong fingers twining through the strands and tugging sharply just as his leg shoves up between Jared’s, and Jared lets out this ragged, needy moan, the most ridiculously slutty noise that’s ever escaped his lips. He should be embarrassed by how fucking desperate he sounds, but Jensen’s hips jerk forward, grinding up against him as he hisses out an answering curse. If Jared wasn’t being shoved up against the wall he’d probably fall the fuck down with the way his knees turn to jelly. 

Jensen pulls away. Before Jared’s brain can catch up with his body, he’s swaying forward in an attempt to follow his mouth. 

“Yeah?” Jensen growls. His voice is even deeper than usual, a barely-there rumble, and Jared shivers. 

Jared doesn’t know what the fucking question is, but he manages, “Yes.” 

There’s one more searing kiss, teeth and blistering heat, and then Jensen’s grabbing his wrist and tugging him away from the wall and down the quiet sidewalk. Jared feels like his muscles aren’t quite working right, floppy and uncoordinated as he staggers after Jensen. 

He can still feel the residual heat of Jensen’s body all down his front, and the Vancouver night feels even colder in the wake of all that fiery pressure. His lips are bruised and puffy. His skin is jumping with… god, he doesn’t even know what to call it: disbelief, lust, wonder, need, shock, too fucking much all at once, more than Jared can take. 

He sneaks a quick look at Jensen, and Jensen’s staring right back at him, eyes smoldering as he looks up through his lashes. He flicks his tongue out over his red, swollen lower lip and shoots Jared a little half-smile, and Jared has to stop again to reel Jensen in and kiss that smile until Jensen’s gasping against his mouth. 

“Bed,” Jensen says roughly. “I need to get you in a bed right fucking now.” 

“Yeah. Okay. Bed.” 

“You sure about this?” Jensen asks. He’s staring at Jared’s mouth again. 

Jared’s not sure what to say to that. Instead of admitting that no, he’s not sure about anything, and in fact he’s scared out of his damn mind, and this is probably a bad idea, he just ducks his head to kiss Jensen again.   

*

Jared’s spent so many hours reliving the feel of Jensen’s mouth against his, Jensen’s skin under his hands, Jensen’s low moan and shuddery sigh… there’s a million and one fragments of visceral gut-punch memory embedded in his nerve endings from the night Jared got drugged. 

He’s gotten better at pushing them away. At first it was every time, every time he got too close, every time he smelled Jensen; a feverish flash of sensation would hit him hard and fast. Now the memories mostly come out at night, when he’s alone. They’re still almost too intense to bear. 

It’s surreal, the way those memories pale in comparison to the real thing. 

Jensen’s on top of him, hips twisting, and they’re both hard in their jeans; they haven’t managed to stop touching long enough to get their clothes off, and the drag of too-rough denim-on-denim friction is driving Jared insane. The little growl in the back of Jensen’s throat is the same. The incredible mix of grace and aggression in the way he moves is the same. The way he makes Jared feel is the same: this all-consuming need through his body, fierce and dizzying, like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. 

He blamed it on the drugs, the electricity and mind-melting heat of the first time. He convinced himself that it was partly in his head, that it was the chemicals: the perfection of it, the way they slotted together like they were made for each other, the way every goddamn touch felt like a revelation. 

He was wrong on all counts. He feels drugged all over again. 

Jensen sits back on his heels abruptly, tugging his shirt over his head. Jared can barely take his eyes off the freckles and the muscles and the fucking hipbones long enough to deal with his own shirt, but it’s worth it when he pulls Jensen down again and feels all that smooth bare skin on his. 

Jared rakes his nails down Jensen’s shoulder blades and then flattens his hands on Jensen’s back to squeeze him closer, arching up, rolling his hips. Jensen pulls back just long enough to inhale, quick and sharp. 

“Sure about this?” Jared asks breathlessly. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Jensen says no, but he feels like he should ask. 

Jensen doesn’t answer. He ducks right back down, sinking his teeth into the spot under Jared’s ear that makes him whine and twitch. 

Jensen’s hand curls around the other side of his neck, thumb fitting right under the line of his jaw and forcing his head back, exposing his throat and leaving him at the mercy of Jensen’s mouth. Jensen’s tongue swirls over the skin he just bit, soothing the sting with a soft tickling lick, before nibbling the same spot again, gentler this time. Jared already feels strung-tight and shaky. 

He can feel how hard Jensen is, stiff heat straining against the front of his jeans, but Jensen’s taking his time. His fingers press harder, holding Jared down, holding him in place, and the pressure of his hand is doing devastating, crazy-making things to Jared’s insides. He nips and sucks and works sensitive patches of skin between his teeth until Jared’s twisting and gasping under him. 

Jared bucks up, frustrated, and grits out, “Please.” 

The way Jensen groans, low and helpless, might be the hottest thing Jared’s ever heard. He grinds down again, so fucking good Jared’s eyes roll back in his head, and then he finally pulls away, fingers sliding up from Jared’s neck to grip his hair instead. 

Jared blinks up at him. Even after all these years, he can’t believe it, sometimes; Jensen’s too beautiful to be real. He’s even more beautiful now, hair sticking up, lips swollen, looking down at Jared with his pupils blown and his cheeks flushed, something like surprise in his eyes. Jared’s too stunned to even wonder what his own face must look like. 

“Tell me what you want,” Jensen whispers. His voice is a barely-there rasp, steely and dark, and it makes Jared want to get on his knees, spread his legs, beg for anything and everything Jensen might choose to do to him. 

“You,” he manages. It’s always been the truth. 

*

Jared makes it less than forty-eight hours before he snaps. He’s in the car before he can think about it, driving the familiar roads to Jensen’s house on autopilot. 

He almost turns right around when he pulls into the driveway. The reality of what he’s doing sets in, and it’s so huge and overwhelming that there’s this rushing in his ears and this wheezing in his lungs and everything else fades away for a moment. He parks and leans forward, crossing his arms on the steering wheel and resting his forehead on them. He tries to breathe. 

Gonna see if I can catch an earlier flight. Just need to think.

Sorry.  

He woke up alone two days ago, and he’s read the note so many times since that it’s like those three sentences are just on a constant loop in the back of his head. He’s not sure he can face Jensen right now; hearing the words in person might just kill him. It was bad enough the first time. 

Don’t worry about it. What are brothers for? 

But at least that time there was an excuse. Jared could write off all his neediness, all his desperation, on drug-induced temporary insanity. 

Jensen must’ve just figured there was nothing wrong with a casual fuck. They were drunk, they were horny, they’d done it before, might as well. But then he’d seen the way Jared looked at him, and he must have finally realized. He panicked; that’s the only explanation Jared can think of. 

Jared knows himself. He knows that everything he feels shows in his expression, clear as fucking day, and if he didn’t have so much practice hiding that particular emotion, Jensen probably would’ve noticed a long time ago. Jared let his guard down that night, drunk, in the heat of the moment. Jensen must’ve seen it plastered all over his face. 

Thing is, though, Jared couldn’t live without his best friend. Doesn’t matter that he’s in love with Jensen. Doesn’t matter how he feels. The simple fact is, even if it’s never anything more than friendship, Jared needs Jensen in his life. If he screwed that up because of his stupid inconvenient feelings, if he really did scare Jensen away this time… well, he can’t think about that. That train of thought leads to cold sweats and sheer panic. 

Jared sits up. He grips the steering wheel, white-knuckled, then releases it, stretching out his fingers as he sighs. He looks guiltily at his hands. He stopped biting his fingernails a long time ago, but right now his nails are gnawed to the quick and his cuticles are edged with scabs. 

It’s eating him up inside. He feels raw and achy and shredded, and he needs to just bite the bullet and hear the words so that he can apologize. He has a whole speech planned out. Then maybe they can just go have a beer or something and it’ll all go back to normal. It has to go back to normal. 

Fuck. 

He grabs his phone and texts before he can think too hard about it: Can we talk? 

Jared sits up and looks at himself in the rearview mirror quickly. His eyes, sunken in bruised purple-blue rings, are puffy and red-rimmed. His hair is a greasy fucking mess, tangled where it peeks out from under his beanie. He looks like absolute shit. Doesn’t matter; Jensen’s seen him at his worst, and his looks aren’t really the point right now. 

His phone buzzes and Jared’s stomach lurches. 

Yes. I’ll come over. 

Jared almost chokes on his borderline-hysterical giggle. He gets out of the car, texting as he walks to the front door. 

Um okay but I’m maybe in your driveway?

He steels himself with a deep breath. The door swings open before he can knock. 

Unlike Jared, Jensen doesn’t usually wear his emotions on his face. It took time and trust before Jared could read the little nuances of his expressions, and he knew, even then, that it was just as much Jensen letting him in as Jared figuring him out. 

Now, though, Jensen might as well be a fucking billboard. He looks terrified and desperate and hopeful, and there’s something tender and familiar shining in his eyes. He looks just like Jared feels. 

Jared had a whole fucking speech planned, and he can’t remember a single word of it. He blinks, paralyzed, before taking one hesitant step forward. 

They both move at once, abrupt and clumsy, crashing into each other so hard it knocks the air from Jared’s lungs, and if he thought Jensen kissed him hungrily before, he’s starving now, teeth clashing and tongue plunging in deep, with this deep, gorgeous whine in the back of his throat when Jared just parts his lips and lets him take what he needs. 

Neither of them bother asking this time. They’re sure. 

*

It’s a bad idea and Jared knows it, even as he hauls Jensen in by the belt loops, but this is the longest he’s gone without kissing Jensen since they got together. He’s pretty sure he’s going to lose his goddamn mind before they make it to the last panel of the day. They’re near the green room in a relatively secluded little nook of the hallway, so at least there’s no danger of fans spotting them, but someone from the cast or Creation staff could walk by. It’s a stupid risk. 

They still haven’t told anybody. They want to try to keep it from the press, at first, for the sake of privacy, and there’s going to be a shitstorm of epic proportions when the fans find out, but they don’t have any illusions about being able to hide it from anybody involved in the show. Still, they wanted to at least tell the important people on their own terms, Singer and Speight and the ones whose opinions actually matter, before it gets out. They’d be assholes to let their friends hear it third-hand through the production gossip grapevine. 

But he’s not thinking about any of that. He’s not thinking at all, really. It’s the first time in over a week that Jared’s had to hold back, to be careful about how and when and where he touches Jensen, and it’s driving him a little bit crazy. 

Jensen’s feeling the same way, if the way he returns the kiss is any indication. He makes a rough, eager sound in the back of his throat and tucks his fingers into Jared’s back pockets, squeezing his ass and rocking up against him, before sliding his hands under the hem of Jared’s shirt to splay over his lower back and pull him closer. Jared runs his hands up Jensen’s arms, gripping his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex under his fingers. 

They break apart just an inch, enough to breathe, both of them panting, noses still brushing. Jared knows they should stop before they get caught, but he can’t bring himself to put any real space between their bodies. 

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to have you to myself again,” Jensen growls, and he pushes up on his tiptoes, lips right against Jared’s ear as he whispers, “Gonna bend you over the desk and make you watch in the mirror. Should see how pretty you look when I get my fingers in you.” 

Jared lets out a frustrated grunt, cock twitching as Jensen nips his earlobe. 

“You’re killing me,” he mutters. 

Jensen kisses him again, gentler this time, but it makes Jared shiver with the strain of holding back. 

Blame Jensen and his mouth for the way Jared’s so lost he doesn’t hear the door handle right across the hallway. He’s not sure what Jensen’s excuse is. 

He practically bites through Jensen’s lip with surprise when he hears the quick little gasp. Jensen stumbles back hurriedly, wiping his mouth, eyes huge in a way that would look comical if Jared didn’t feel icy all over with panic. 

“Oh thank fuck,” he breathes, when he sees who it is. He’s so relieved that it takes him a second to process the expression on her face; she’s bright red, looking down at her feet, flushing and avoiding eye contact instead of giving them shit about it like he would’ve expected. 

“Sorry,” she squeaks. “I’ll just… yeah. Give you some privacy.” 

She’s already bolting when Jared finds his voice again. 

“Wait,” he manages, and she grimaces as she turns to face them again. 

“We haven’t told anyone,” Jensen says. 

“Secret’s safe with me,” she says, with a too-bright smile, before she’s whirling around and rushing down the hall. 

Jared stares after her, puzzled, and more than a little disappointed. 

“What was that about?” he wonders out loud. “If it was anyone else I’d assume homophobic freakout, but…” 

“You really can’t figure out why she might not want to see you kissing someone?” Jensen asks sharply. His lips are swollen, red and shiny and distracting as hell. 

Jared’s heart is still pounding with the leftover adrenaline. He shakes his head, feeling slow and stupid. 

Jensen sighs. “Never mind.” 

“I should talk to her,” Jared says unhappily. “I… I missed her. I didn’t think -” 

Something that looks like hurt flashes through Jensen’s eyes. “We gotta get to the next panel. I’m sure you’ll see her tonight.” 

“Right. You’re right. Okay.” Jared runs his fingers through his hair and tucks it behind his ears. He feels fidgety and strange. 

Jensen grabs him, lightning-fast, and captures his mouth in one last kiss.

“Mine,” he whispers. 

“Yours,” Jared agrees softly. 

*

After the panel, Jared finds her right behind the stage, sitting cross-legged in the corner and rolling a water bottle between her palms, deep in thought. When he drops to the floor and sits next to her, nudging her with one elbow, she smiles at him warmly. There’s no trace of the awkwardness from earlier. The knot of anxiety in Jared’s chest loosens slightly. 

“When?” is all she says. 

“Hooked up again the night we wrapped, pulled our heads out of our asses two days later,” Jared says, grinning down at his lap. “You okay?” 

“Just surprised me, that’s all,” she says, studiously avoiding eye contact again. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird about it. Just felt bad interrupting.” 

“Missed you,” Jared says, honestly, and tilts over to rest his cheek on top of her head. She twists around and gives him a sideways hug, squeezing hard, and Jared feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. 

“Missed you too,” she whispers. “Happy for you.” 

*

She’s so soft under his hands. She melts into him and the kiss stretches like taffy, slow and sweet. He runs his hands up and down her sides, feeling how warm she is, and slides his palms down to cup her ass. 

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers, and then Jensen’s staring back at him, eyes flashing, furious. 

Jared wakes up, wrapped around Jensen under the thick hotel comforter, rock-hard and panting. Guilt twists in his stomach. He feels feverish with it, hot and cold all over. 

Jared lets out a shaky sigh, hips rocking forward ever so slightly; he can’t help himself. Jensen stirs and hums contentedly, squirming back against him. 

Jensen’s all he’s wanted for so fucking long. There’s something wrong with him, thinking about someone else when he has this. 

“Good dream?” Jensen whispers, his voice gravelly with sleep. 

“Yeah.”  

“What was it about?”

“You,” Jared lies. 

.

.

Next part HERE. 

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message here! 

[kbstories]

Diachronic

dia·chron·ic (adj.)

Occurring over time; historical.

Kidd is torn apart and Killer is (almost) too late.

(Or: Remember that nebulous Kidd vs. Shanks fight? Yeah, that.)

Tags: Angst, Blood and Violence, Mild Gore, Kidd Is Straight Up Not Having A Good Time, Shanks Is A Bit Of A Bastard

Post-Summit War setting, during the Timeskip. Content warning for lots of blood and some gore. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

“Fight me!”

A shout like a gun going off, sparks flying, black powder catching fire. Two words, bang bang, and the world stops spinning in the silence that follows.

Kidd is grinning, teeth sharp and eyes alight, near-feral with bloodlust. “Did ya hear me, Red-Haired Shanks?”, he calls across the beach, the Victoria Punk behind and an Emperor’s lair ahead. They’re outnumbered, surrounded already, blood seeping into the sand that shifts beneath their boots.

“I want a duel. Just you and me.”

At Kidd’s back, Killer stares at Benn Beckman, watches him raise an eyebrow and continue to smoke. They haven't moved, him and Shanks’ other officers, content to stand by at the very edge of the jungle where the sun struggles to breach its gloom. Something about how casual it is makes Killer lock his jaw, raise his scythes like fangs.

A glance is all he’s worth, an amused uptilt to thin lips. Beckman exhales, breath hazy with smoke, and nods at his captain. Watch and learn.

Next to him, Shanks takes a swig of whatever swill is in that dusty old bottle of his. Eyes, black as obsidian glass and just as sharp, fall on Kidd, track lazily over the fur draped across his shoulders and how his fingers curl around the thrum of magnetism they command.

Shanks sighs.

“My, my, a duel… Listen, kiddo, it’s not even noon. It’s too early for this stuff, don’t ya think?”

Around Killer, the crew bristles. Underestimated, disrespected, dismissed at every turn: It’s more of the same, a mistake the mighty make before they inevitably fall at their hands. Kidd sneers.

“You Emperors are so fucking pathetic. Letting those Government dogs do whatever they want while you hoard the scraps left behind. The world doesn’t need your kind anymore, Shanks! It’s our turn now.”

Shanks’ mouth shapes itself around a low ohhh. “So harsh! I can’t let a speech like that go to waste now, can I, Benn?”

Beckman replies, “Guess not, Captain”, flicking his cigarette to places unknown. Just as bored, he reaches for the bottle in the same instant Shanks pushes it into his waiting hand.

This is it.

“Kidd”, says Killer, little more than a breath between them. Kidd looks over his shoulder, meets Killer’s eyes despite the mask, the grin softening to a smile, no less deadly. This is the moment they carve their names into the sky, the very fabric of the world; the moment they become infamous enough to reach even the junkyard that gave them a beginning and nothing else.

Broad-shouldered, head held high, Kidd is every bit the man Killer knew he would become as he walks into the space their enemies open up for him. A flame chasing away wolves, ready to blaze a path through whatever obstacles remain.

One step, two – Kidd is out of reach and Killer lets him go. This is the moment they’ve been waiting for. 

*

Killer watches it all unfold in snapshots, blink-and-you-miss-it glimpses he will remember to the end of his days:

A ring of surprised looks as weapons of all kind tug free, drawn to Kidd’s outstretched hands;

Red-Haired Shanks, drawing his sword, cloak fluttering where an arm should be but isn’t;

The audible crackling of Haki clashing against Haki, Kidd’s cackling laughter in the air–

There Killer stands, arms crossed and all his senses trained on every move his captain makes. Strike, counterstrike, an engine roaring to life in streaks of red and gunmetal grey, firing from all cylinders. Action, reaction, the indulgent curl of a smile on Shanks’ lips that is the antithesis to that razor-edge gaze.

Shanks lets Kidd come and Kidd does so hard. Over and over, snarling, “Fight me!”, metal claws hooked and closer to drawing blood with every swipe.

Then fabric tears, one long gash from shoulder to wrist if Shanks were whole. “Ah, hell”, the Emperor mutters. Taking the time to pout at his ripped cloak as if Kidd isn’t right there, lunging for his throat without hesitation–

Shanks side-steps it without a single look in Kidd’s direction. “Y’know what? Fine. Make it worth my time, welp.”

And Shanks’ presence, already heavy, already suffocating, drops like a mountain on them all.

Killer grunts out a breath his lungs struggle to take back in, even at a distance. Vertigo paints his vision in smeared black and fading colors within seconds. Shanks moves, and that pressure moves with him – the Kid Pirates breathe as one, a hitched inhale as Kidd staggers mid-step and pulls up his arm just in time.

Metal clangs against metal, and blood splatters the ground.

Yet the grin on Kidd’s face goes nowhere; when Shanks pulls, his sword is slow to follow. The call of Kidd’s powers is strongest at close proximity, even for the blade of an Emperor, and for an instant their eyes lock, at a standstill.

(C’mon, Killer thinks. Kidd strains, and Killer’s arms tighten across his chest to stop his hands from shaking. Hold on, c’mon–)

Shanks smirks. “Huh. Not bad.”

The tension breaks, and Shanks– He lets go. Kidd blinks, draws back, sure on his feet again if cautious. From afar, Killer can see the gears turn in Kidd’s head, sweat trailing down his temples and breath labored while Shanks looks virtually unchanged. The glare of a sun at its zenith is reflected by Shanks’ sword; it shifts, is fully encased in the fist that rises against its master once more.

It cannot last, this tentative lull. They’re in the eye of a hurricane, a realization that finally registers in Killer’s mind, waiting for the storm to hit. They’re mice scuttling straight into the maw of a beast and Killer gasps, jolts forward.

“Captain–!”

A fraction of a second, and Shanks is upon Kidd. Haki sizzles where they meet, metal against bare skin: It’s brutal, it’s vicious, it doesn’t fucking matter that Shanks is missing an arm and a sword, not when his hand bursts Kidd’s fists into their individual pieces and keeps reaching.

Kidd’s eyes go wide; he grabs for Shanks, the red of his nails leaving bloody lines on the Emperor’s arm. Nothing moves in Shanks’ face, nothing as he digs fingers gone black with Haki into Kidd’s skin and watches it split apart.

Killer’s world narrows down to that, a sight that freezes the blood in his veins while Kidd’s spills from his neck and chest and soaks into the sand. “Kidd”, Killer whispers, “No, no”, and he’s tearing away from his crew and towards his captain. Not like this, not like this, until his arm catches on something and he can’t– He’s stuck–

“Kidd!!”

Shanks looks up at that, eyes dark, and it’s all it takes for Kidd to dislodge that grasp. To lurch away and back on his feet, throat working around a groan, a hand on his face. His fingers are drenched in blood.

“Stand back!”

And Killer stops, heart beating up his throat so hard it’s choking him. Kidd doesn’t look away from Shanks, the one eye left uncovered in full focus despite it all. “Knew you’d get serious eventually”, he spits, voice raw from the pain. He wipes his cheek against his shoulder, spreading the mess around.

Shanks merely raises an eyebrow. “Come on, then. Let’s finish this.”

“That kid is done for”, mumbles someone next to Killer, and only then does he realize he’s being held back by someone. Straight blond hair, a bandana, sunglasses – it doesn’t really matter who it is, just that they’re in the way.

Killer growls, scythes snapping out and starting to spin. The guy sighs, “Man, you have bigger problems than me right now”, mildly annoyed at most. “Look.”

Only his captain is allowed to give him orders but– Killer looks, the split-second he wasn’t lingering as Kidd recovers from a hit Killer didn’t see, and Shanks’ torn cloak billows behind him as he approaches in measured steps.

“This is why fighting you rookies is no fun. Got lucky with a fruit and then what? It’s so boring.”

Kidd’s hand goes for the dagger strapped to his chest; goes for it and doesn’t make it, Shanks’ fingers already there around his wrist, crushing. “Fuck you”, Kidd hisses, teeth painted crimson by the blood dripping into his mouth.

Even before the second word is out he’s knocked to the ground, sinking inches into the sand with the force of the boot pinning him there. “It’s not your turn just yet”, Shanks tells Kidd, mournful, almost.

Then he pulls. Kidd’s shoulder snaps out of its socket with a sickening noise, and Shanks keeps pulling, and Killer can only watch as muscle and skin and sinews go taut, are stretched to their limits and beyond. As, fiber by fiber, they give way to the white of bone underneath–

Kidd screams.

No!

Pain radiates up Killer’s side and his arm burns but he doesn’t care. Killer doesn’t care about the yell of “Hey, what the hell!” and the desperate calls of his name – his crew, his friends, so far away now –, doesn’t care it’s his captain who called for a duel and told him to stay away.

He sees Kidd on the ground, and he sees Shanks picking up his sword again, and Killer breaks through all lines drawn in the sand.

The killing blow is struck and Killer is there. Scythes crossed, sparks spraying where blade meets blade: Killer’s arms shake and his knees threaten to buckle yet he preservers through that infinite moment, feels the pressure double down before it lifts and time ticks on, heartbeat for frantic heartbeat.

“Enough!”

His voice rings out despite how rough it is, how every inhale aches all the way to his core. “Enough”, Killer repeats, standing between his captain and certain death. “You made your point.”

(Behind him, Kidd wheezes his name, “Kil”, garbled, weak. It sounds like No, like Get the fuck out of here, and Killer never imagined himself breaking the loyalty he swore to his dying breath and yet there is one imperative that stands above even that.)

Shanks’ head is tilted to the side, a twist to his mouth Killer would call petulant if it weren’t a fucking Emperor he’s talking to. There’s blood on his face, dotted in an abstract pattern up to the scars across his eye. Arterial spray, still wet.

“I don’t think your captain is very happy with you right now.”

“That’s for my captain to decide”, says Killer, coldly. Barely turns his head to call, “Heat! Wire!”, and with familiar steps shuffling closer and Kidd’s agonized gasps of “No, n-no, Killer” growing fainter, Killer takes a stance, scythes ready and lithe body poised to strike.

“You’re fighting me now, Red-Haired Shanks.”

Shanks just sighs, rubs at his brow with stained fingers. “So you know you don’t stand a chance and yet, here we are. What a mess.”

Surrounded by enemies on all sides, Killer doesn’t cower. “Eustass Kidd will be the man to become Pirate King”, he tells Shanks, tells the world, boots firmly planted on the ground thoroughly steeped in Kidd’s blood. It’s the fundamental truth they sail by, the dream they came up with, together.

“He will be King, and I’m the man who will get him there. My life’s as good a price as any to pay for that.”

It’s then that Shanks looks at him, fixes him with that stare like he’s only now bothering to take note of Killer’s existence. “One Piece, huh? Haven’t heard that dream in a while”, he muses, a certain softness there that seems– out of place, somehow.

“Listen. Just ‘cause Whitebeard’s gone now doesn’t mean you kids can waltz in here and start shit you’re not ready to finish. Got it? Playtime’s over. If it's a new era you want, stay alive long enough to carry it.”

There’s an out there, Killer can see it. A line of flight he doesn’t deserve, not after breaking every code of honor their kind adheres to. Shanks sheathes his sword, gestures over his shoulder for the bottle that lands in his palm an instant later. A messy gulp, and Shanks chuckles, all smiles now.

“Your captain’s got some potential, I’ll give him that. The arm’s a goner but it’s not the end of the world. Builds character, and all that.”

Killer should say something about that, about the chatty tone the Emperor strikes as if he wasn’t ripping Kidd apart bare-handed just minutes ago. Beyond the beach Benn Beckman lights another cigarette and he nods at Killer, a pointed gesture. Get out of here.

Nothing. There’s nothing left to say, and so Killer turns his back. Leaves his pride right there in the sand where his captain almost lost his life, and follows the trail of blood through the parting crowd of Shanks’ crew and into the sea’s uncaring arms.

>>Chapter 2.

[flightofaqrow]

kiss with a fist

qrow + James ( @caeloservare​ )

“Let me remind you, how exactly I run my army is none of your business and you are not allowed to sniff around in Atlas.”

“what makes you think i care about how you run your army? i’m more worried about what you do with it. or is that just more guilt i hear?”

...qrow has a split second to dodge the punch.

everything about it is feral and raw, because that’s what happens when words don’t work.

They needed this.

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Just cause that’s what I did doesn’t mean you have to accuse the others, Jimmy.

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“Oh, shut up, I bet you all did!”

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“yeah? and i bet you run background checks on alla your men, don’t you? this was just more of… an informal process.”

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“Let me remind you, how exactly I run my army is none of your business and you are not allowed to sniff around in Atlas.”

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“what makes you think i care about how you run your army? i’m more worried about what you do with it. or is that just more guilt i hear?”

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Qrow has a split second to dodge the punch. And to pray his cheek can take impact of metal prosthetics well enough, because crossing highly personal borders with shoes on is rewarded with this kind of greeting.

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qrow and Ironwood on similar grounds of skill, and yet even though qrow wins by leagues when it comes to speed versus strength, he never saw it coming. not from James, not from the barest of bait.

uses the tiny window to draw up aura while he takes it right on the cheek; iron-fisted by Ironwood in the most unpleasurable way. head knocked to the side, and body knocked back a few steps, he rubs a stinging pressure where metal knuckles landed and resets burning red vision.

“oh, ho ho ho…” a gutteral, rueful chuckle crawls up from his chest. so it’s come to this? of course it has. it always does.

…fine.

if there’s one lesson the tribe ever taught him too well, it’s that there are more ways to work out problems than with words.

qrow puts his fighting face on with a grin and glint in his eyes, and rocks back on his heel with the last of the energy sent at him before pushing off in a long-limbed lunge forward to return the sling; goes for the guts (the softer half) while Ironwood still has arms elevated.

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If anything, laughter and so confident, so pleased posture drives James even more angry. Not only this little shit dares to act like an absolute idiot and hit where he was trusted not to, but seems he has fun while doing it.

Sadly, Qrow is a little bit faster than James. He folds in half with a grunt, but that gives him a good position and little space to ram into Qrow, head first, push him out of closest proximity or maybe throw off balance.

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no one punches right to the face without intention to hurt, qrow knows better than anyone. especially with an opening declaration like that, if James expects him to play fair instead of dirty, taking whatever opening he can get, he knows him even less than how a spy’s job works.

a spy, allied under the same man as Ironwood, that’s supposed to be on the same side. a little trust would be nice.

partially metal forehead bashes against qrow’s shoulder eliciting a heave of air and pained groan. with the blood-colored web of his aura awake and glowing from the hit, he lets it wash across his chest and down his arms; falls backwards from the force, but grabs fistfuls of jacket and shirt with misfortune-laced hands to yank with him, turning lost balance into in a suplex.

Odds of escape not in the other man’s favor as entangled limbs crash into the floor loudly cracking beneath them, fractured and dented around their bodies, but not caved through - yet; windows rattle in the wake.

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Well, the training grounds would be a much better spot for an impromptu wrestling session, but it’s bit too late to relocate now. Pulled down, James tried to avoid landing on his head, as someone’s luck was apparently aiming to let him knock himself out. He meets the floor with a pained grunt, but rolls over right after hitting the ground. Not wasting any second, James springs forward to slam into Qrow, pin him down with his weight, lock him in a any lever hold if possible.

From all possible types of problem solving, they chose this - least pleasant way to tangle limbs on the floor.

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as James rolls away, qrow uses the space to roll out, knocking into a table leg which bumps the surface off kilter and send a lamp crashing to the ground; its bulb pops and fizzles out. a little less light in the apartment, now.

he scrambles to all fours just in time to take a charging clothesline right to the chest with a throaty wheeze. but lanky, loose legs accept the shockwave and recoil to keep him steady, pushing right back as pairs of shoulders lock. arms raise to grapple with the man; muscles strain and sweat starts to drip down his face - full of focus and surprisingly calm, considering - from dogged effort of trying to push James down or roll him over while qrow growls in rough cadence along with the entropic pulse of his semblance flashing, threatening to drag everything down with; framed artworks clatter against the walls and ornamental figures fall from shelves.

chaos to combat order.

and while qrow is resilient, determined to break through, and awfully good at breaking things, James is stubborn, more than any other person on Remnant, solid in ways beyond just metal flesh.

grit clenches qrow’s jaw and grounds his feet, braces the entire frame of his physique, prepared to hold out and lash out as long as it takes for James to burn out.

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Looking from time perspective, James might think they shouldn’t have gone this feral. He might be wealthy, but most definitely doesn’t sleep on money and renovating most of his apartment’s main room was not in his spending plans for this year.

But at the moment he doesn’t think about it, assuming he thinks at all in between anger and adrenaline running through him in pulsing waves, getting lost in pure fighting instinct. Rarely he allows himself to dive into something this far, to lose head and his cool, analytical thinking and yet, here they are - engaged in punching, kicking, wrapping and pulling each other so far, that nothing else matters. No snapping, crumbling and crushing around is relevant. Whenever dark blue eyes meets pale red, it’s like a challenge is thrown anew and another round starts, even when more and more exhaust creeps into muscles. Fatigue is too slow to cool the raw determination down.

Thrown on his back, James lands hard again, but this time, something stabs him between the shoulders. He bites down his own pained whine as impact echoes through his entire spine and body. Only then he realizes that his aura is in fact gone. Must have been for a while. He stops, letting his weight slide him to side, a little away from whatever part of former coffee table tried to impale him. Still keeping his grip on Qrow, he finally notices large amount of aching all over and how heavily they both are breathing by now. Brothers, this is bad. Slowly, he just lets go, not moving from the spot. They’ve had enough, haven’t they… He’s not sure what got into him, but sure he’s glad it got out.

“Enough…” He breathes out quietly, squeezing eyes shut. Doesn’t dare to look around yet, he knows already that externalizing inner mess went all too well. Only now he feels various swelling and aching in way too many parts of his body, blood dripping from his nose and a cheek burning wildly. He doesn’t want to think what’s left of his shirt and jacket. Just hopes Qrow’s semblance didn’t use him as outlet to hurt its bearer to play a bigger number on him. “You okay..?”

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everything about it is feral and raw, because that’s what happens when words don’t work. people speak just as well with their bodies, the flesh and blood container of their heart, and beneath all the titles, despite all the metal, James understands that better than anyone. if qrow has to surround him with collateral damage to show him how little meaning all this wealth and power has in the end, if he has to rip and tear apart every bit of pomp to remind him how human James Ironwood really is, then so be it.

qrow’s quite practiced in being climbed on, brow-beaten, deceived, and shoved aside by the people who are supposed to be protecting him. and still he reaches out a hand and an extra leg to stand on; maybe in the form of a fist or boot to the head, but little else needs to be noted about his intentions than the fact that Harbinger still rests idle on the sidelines.

qrow, belittles himself so easy, doesn’t mind being beneath, has no need for reputation or glory or having all the right answers all the time.

the only follower left in the midst of too many frantic leaders, and meanwhile getting shit on and actively having his clothes and his skin and his soul torn apart for being just that. who he is. just like always.

but qrow can think for himself, and this he makes his own call on, refuses to back down from. if James cannot work within the gray, only sees black and white, then this is a time to push, to push to their absolute limits, until they’re too exhausted for anything but the messy truth.

and qrow comes out on top as the last dregs of misfortune summon piercing blows from broken parts, spent in the from of aura flickering away just before the other’s dissolves, and he can only close his eyes and grunt. down to the fibers of every firing muscle, he knows how to tense and relax to absorb the hits, roll with the punches that never really stop. he takes the final desperate flails of James’s blows on the chin.

qrow can do that for him. knows what it’s like to have a semblance get in the way of things.

somehow manages that the only twist of fate to come back on him is how Ironwood gets his chance to ruin a pretty face wearing a smile with an iron fist, just how it started, after all.

qrow steadies as James squeaks, down on one knee, aching, tired, and heaving breaths as if he resurfaces in the middle of an ocean after going about a thousand miles too deep, sees shimmering yellow stars as the ring of a black eye blooms on his cheek, and red oozes to pool across the white of sclera as he stares the man down. sharp eyebrow raises as if to say are we done here?

Enough

they’re finally on the same page, then.

“just fine,” he hisses, even though the act of answering sends an acrid metallic copper draining down the back of his throat, “passed up enough from the start of it, James.”

he wipes his mouth, pokes tenderly at the side of his head, and sniffs against the stinging all over his body; plops down to take a seat, a breather, right on the spot. no energy left to move an inch. perfect.

“…so i think the real question here is, are you okay?”

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James covers his eyes with a crook of an elbow, at least mechanical hand comes of use now. Much easier to move than the flesh one, significantly devoid of pain. Takes a longer moment, time just for the labored breathing, before peeking at Qrow from under the hand. Mess. Now the guilt is real and it stings fiercely.

“Ice’s in freezer.” Doesn’t seem either of them can move much anymore, but he had to offer. Good he had separate small kitchen, toilet and bedroom. At least something survived.

Awfully lot of mess.

“I don’t know.” The confession is quiet, not much louder than a whisper over sudden lump in throat. He hides in the hand again. Can’t face bare truth, can’t face Qrow nor mess they caused because of him. Because of him, his pride, his stubbornness and fear that he’s mistaken, that he can sacrifice everything, do his absolute best and more, and it won’t be enough. Because she found a way in before and was a step ahead all the time. He pulled every string he could to assure it won’t happen again, but somehow, sometimes, he just couldn’t be certain.

Time passes as James just grits teeth and lays there, trying to focus on slowing down breaths and just resting.

“Qrow..?” He tries once he’s sure his voice won’t tremble. “I’m sorry.”

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yeah.

qrow is a mess. James is a mess. it’s always a mess.

but sometimes upside down and inside out adds new perspective. and James finally sees what he started. created a nice picture of how he feels. meanwhile qrow looks towards the kitchen, the freezer, and while first aid is certainly called for, it’s so far. maybe in a few.

more important things right now.

James, suddenly small and quiet, knocked off his high horse. he mutters three words, so very hard for a leader to admit. last time qrow heard it was from Ozpin, and it wrecked his world. somehow hearing it now gives him hope. hope that James can still be reached.

he’s closer than the freezer.

qrow crawls on all fours, drags himself with slow movements and griping groans, but he gets there, and flops over on his back next to his friend, shoulders of flesh touching. and they don’t need to talk, qrow doesn’t need to pry painful thoughts from his mouth, doesn’t need to hear what James faces in his own shadows, or the realizations he finds in twisting colors on the back of his eyelids; a metal arm over his face reflective enough of his state of mind to prove qrow’s plan a success. satisfaction rushes over him and salves what stings. he doesn’t like talking until he’s blue in the face only to be ignored, but maybe James will see reason if most of the words come from himself.

“don’t be sorry,” qrow grounds out, turns his head to look at the other man, and so his burning cheek finds some relief against the cool floor, “be a better person. listen to your team and your friends. things don’t have to be as unilateral as you’re makin’ ‘em, James. …and for brother’s sake, get some sleep before i conk you out for real.”

soon enough actions will demonstrate whether all this was worthwhile or not, better than any heart to heart they could have here.

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James lets out a quiet relieved huff. The touch is strangely reassuring, much more than he’d expect it to be. It answers the question, he’ll probably never ask out loud. It’s good to not be alone, especially in a very rare moment when he can’t be the leader and protector, because he’s exhausted, frustrated and insecure, and finally let it out. When he can’t keep anyone else safe and sound, because he’s crumbling himself. And yet, he’s clearly wrong to think he’ll have to face everything on his own. Mistaken that serving as kingdom’s pillar, he’s not allowed to falter and can’t be supported without any higher purpose to it.

It’s so strangely good to be wrong.

It’s good to have a friend by his side, even when he wishes Qrow didn’t have to push him this far to prove a point. But same, he’s glad he did. All the thoughts slowly settle - being ready and having plans for the future is one thing, but worrying about it should come only once it’s present, not earlier.

Snort and a quiet chuckle raises in his aching chest, releasing remains of tension.

“Please do. I could use it from time to time.” The longer he thinks about it, the funnier vision of Qrow knocking him out seems, especially now, laying down in the wreckage they created in a quite long fight.

“Fine.” That’s not much, but it is a promise. He will try to be better. The hand is dropped to side, as he leaves mental hide out and turns to finally meet Qrow’s eyes. James was never fond of repeating himself, especially when he’s told not to, so he’s not going to apologize again, but the lack of accusations nor impeachment in the pale red gaze, makes him relax more, washes the guilt away.

Something right above catches his attention and he reaches to carefully get a wooden splinter out of Qrow’s hair.

“Hmm…” A bit of bright paint indicates it once was a bookcase. “You got me good, didn’t you.” He chuckles again, throwing the splinter away. “Please don’t do that again though. I don’t want to sell family estate to afford living.”

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deep chuckles roll from his throat as James agrees to the terms for a solid sock to the noggin for a solid sleep, without more broken noses. still qrow hears only the surface of thoughts, but he can dive deep as he likes into everything unspoken when dark blue eyes meet his own, a shine of honesty and gratitude beaming through otherwise exhausted features. and yet his whole body looks better this way, scuffed up clothes and broken down postures compared to rigid structures built on a grounding of false securities.

the bigger they are, the harder they fall. and qrow doesn’t wonder if James has made himself an empire too oversized to carry on one man’s shoulders. bound to collapse in a heap.

he already said his piece, and offered his shoulders to help, and alights with laugher anew as his face goes soft and cross-eyed to watch a strong hand which swung out at him not long ago, affectionately groom him, until it pinches swollen tissues forcing a release of focus, but he can’t help to think again, please see the signs around you.

“You got me good, didn’t you.”

he huffs while fluffing palms through graying black plumage to knock any more debris out.

qrow breathes; takes air into his lungs like he hasn’t in a long, long time, while the weight of misfortune is still lifted from his chest, even if his sore muscles groan from a stretch unaccustomed to. soon, aura will creep back in and bad luck will stick stubbornly to his skin in blood red tendrils, warping surrounding realities once more, but for now he takes the long shot gamble of still believing some can turn away from a path of self-destruction.

of all people, qrow has. so why not.

“did i, James?” he goads, goofy grin flashing as his head flops back down, and his fingers lace together to rest over his chest, mirth looking perhaps out of place with the rest of qrow so busted up, but since when was anything he ever did appropriate?

“it was good for me. was it good for you?”

a response all joke and no promise.

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“Yeah.” James chuckles and shrugs, only metal shoulder doing the full movement. “You definitely did and I take no complaints that I was the one to start the fight.” That’s half a lie - he knows he’s just as much to blame for the mess, i not more. He is the one who should know better than to let wounded pride and frustration get out like this.

“I’ll tell you once I’ll see the bill for repairs.” He huffs. There already was so much to do and now there’s even more. And the more he settled down after the fight, the more weary he felt. Can’t sleep on the floor though, however comfortable it was getting.

“I’ll fetch us the ice.” Relying mostly on his right side he sits up with a groan. Brothers, it aches. So he takes time for each movement before standing up and making way to the freezer.

They needed this. Time, vented mess, ice, all of it.

They also needed a shower and rest, but only one task at a time.

Takes some time to get back there and sit down by Qrow’s side. A bit ironic how fast can be destruction and how slow is the healing.

[barsformars]

winter wonderland

a snowball filled white christmas with boyfriend!san

Wonderland — white skies, snow powdered on pine trees like icing sugar, boots buried deep in thick white snow, the relaxing crunch of the thin layer of ice at the very top with every step you took, the barely audible humming of the biggest Christmas hits coming through your boyfriend's lips as he held your hand and swung it with every step he took.

There was not a single shrewd caw of a damned raven, nor any sightings of a Yeti or Sasquatch or Bigfoot (or whatever people like to call their figments of imagination) footstep on the little hill behind the cozy wooden cottage that San had found on Airbnb for your winter getaway. And you would say it was perfect, though judging on how there wasn't a single soul out and about, even in town, it seems like the residents and other visitors would like to disagree.

Nonetheless, it was still a freeze-a-body-and-preserve-it-for-a-century kind of cold, so it was not cute when San scooped up a handful of the powdery snow and dumped it right on your beanie-less head, the snow falling into the cracks of your knitted sweater and melting very rudely down your back, literally sending chills down your spine.

"Fight me." San said as he broke into a dimpled Chesire Cat grin, already bending down to pick up another fist full of snow and smashing it into a ball with his one free hand. "Ready, Rudolph?"

The red nosed reindeer.

You sniffed, the cold stinging your nose.

Oh, he didn't…

"You'll go down in history, baby!" You yelped as you escaped his snowball by a mere millimeters, releasing yourself from his grip.

With it being almost physically impossible for you to run through the deep snow, you pranced away from your supposed love of your life and grabbed your own handful of snow. You pulled your elbow back behind your ears, ready to launch your own attack.

But your snowball crumbled the moment it left your hand, snowing down on San instead of hitting him hard like you'd planned. This, of course, was peak comedy gold for him, San wheezing as he threw his head back in laughter.

On the other hand, you were standing right where you were in utmost embarrassment, lips pressed together firmly and your eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed. You feel two strong hands wrap around your not-so-muscular arms before it slowly slid down to unclench your fists.

"Don't be sad, my little cutie patootie-" San brings your hands up to his lips and kissed the back of each hand before he gave you a bunny kiss, warming up your nose a little-"Look at me, I'll teach you."

San gently lets go of your hand and scooped up more snow, pressing the snow with a lot of pressure to form a firm ball which he then proceeded to catapult at a nearby tree.

"The key to a good hard snowball that is made to kill, is in how much pressure you put in, darling." He dumps another handful of snow in your palms, motioning for you to try it out yourself.

"I know how to snowball, boyfie." You whined as you tried your best to somehow magically turn the soft fluffy powdered snow rock hard with your tiny hands, even jumping up and down in hopes that more pressure is put on the ball. Sadly, your second throw was not much better than your first and you hear San stifle a laugh. Not wanting to give up, you tried over and over again as San stood beside you in silent amusement until your whole upper torso was aching from the constant squeezing.

It wasn't until you aimed your most promising snowball at him did you see that he was smiling at you like an idiot so much so that his eyes were shut tight into little crescents.

You just looked so adorable to him.

But that didn't stop you from throwing it at him anyways, it barely making a sound when it made contact with San's chest. Still, San held a hand over the spot where you had hit him at and dramatically lunged forward towards you, causing the both of you to fall onto the snowy grounds.

"Oh my baby, you're so good at this." San cooed as he rolled over to the side with his eyes closed, face up. You lay beside him and poked his cheek lightly with your index finger, earning a smile from him which revealed the dimple you had been looking for.

"Okay, we snowball fought, now let's go back. I'm freezing cold!"

San feels you trying to get back up and so he pulls you on top of him, saying softly, "Usually, when the princess is unconscious, don't their true love pass by and give them a kiss to wake them up?"

"And who's the princess here, Mr Choi San?" You teased, tickling his chin.

"Me, obviously. Now, hurry up." His lips already puckered and ready for your kiss. You rolled your eyes and leaned down to give him a peck, only to be taken aback when he flipped you over and paused to look you in the eye. Feeling the heat rise up to your once numb cheeks, you turned your head away, averting your gaze. "Baby, look at me."

You did as he asked and he grins, angling his head slightly to the side before brushing his lips against yours, and you feel your breath hitch. But the kiss never comes. Instead, San holds your face with his hands and brought his forehead down to yours, a soft chuckle escaping from his parted lips.

"That was a lame ass fight, by the way." He said, caressing your rosy cheeks with his thumb. "My one and only beautiful snow queen with the heart of a hot cocoa. And also speaking of hot cocoa…"

San shifts his weight back into his heels and stood up, patting the loose snow off his clothes, not even extending a hand to help you up.

Oh no no no…don't you dare…

"Race me back!"

And there he goes, charging down the hill the same way the both of you came up from.

"CHOI SAN!"

a/n : hey there! hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing! thanks to the anon who requested this ❤️

[fluffy-lee]

The Discovery

Part 2 of the series “Keeping Her”

This is a TICKLE series. If you’re not into that, you don’t have to read. 

PLATONIC Avengers x reader

Warnings: really fluffy? 

Summary: 

Tony and Steve find out the reader is ticklish in an unexpected way.

2013, Avengers Tower, 4 months after Y/n’s rescue

“Y/n! We’ve got to go up to the medbay for your check up!” Tony called as you came out of your room. 

You loved your room. It was very cozy with lots of pillows and fuzzy blankets. Beautiful lights streamed around the room which made it look magical in your eyes. You had only ever known windowless, gray, dull rooms with nothing but a bed and a small table. Your new room had big windows over-looking the city. Pepper, Natasha, and Steve had decorated it and surprised you a few weeks after you were rescued. Your favorite thing about your room though, is that it was right across the hall from Steve’s so if you needed him in the night, he was there. You were always kind of afraid to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. for anything. He could be kind of loud, and he’d probably alert Tony for whatever you needed. You really didn’t want to disturb Tony.  

 “Okay, Tony. No shots this time right?” You asked quietly, looking up at him. 

“Oh absolutely not! Not on my watch!” He exclaimed, making you smile.

 Tony meant so much to you. He was one of the new lights in your life. He let you help him in his workshop and he taught you so many things. You were interested in just about everything he had to say. You were always grateful to him for taking you in, but you were shy. Especially in the first few months of living with the Avengers. You weren’t able to communicate how you felt about things and how you felt about each of your new family members. You never had to to anyone before. Most of what the Avengers saw from you were “puppy dog eyes” as they called them. You didn’t talk very much, but you often wanted to be with at least one of them at all times. Occasionally you did enjoy being by yourself in your room, but mostly you wanted to be with either Steve, Tony, or Natasha. You had grown very attached to each of them, but then again, it was hard for you to open up.

“Come on y/n/n. Let’s see how you’re holding up.” He said as you followed him to the elevator. 

…

You sat on the exam table, with Tony and Steve also in the room, conversing. You waited patiently for your check up to start. You weren’t nervous. You had been seen by Bruce a lot during the last few months. He was very nice and you definitely considered him family. 

“Well looks like Bruce is running a bit behind, so he told me to go ahead and start,” Tony said, checking his phone. 

“You can do whatever it is he was supposed to do?” Steve asked.

“Cap, I don’t know if you are aware, but I’m a genius.” Tony said, raising his brow cockily. 

Steve rolled his eyes and shrugged. 

Tony did the usual. Checked your blood pressure, heart, ears, eyes, and throat. Everything was fine, until he asked you to do something different. 

“Alright y/n. Lay down.” Tony said, while reading the clipboard. 

You slowly did as instructed and gave Tony and Steve a questioning look.

“I need to do palpation.” Tony said to Steve.

“What does that mean?” Steve asked.

“It means I press on her abdomen to see if her organs are normal and that there isn’t any pain.”

That didn’t sound bad to you at all. It should be helpful, you thought.

“May I?” Tony asked, in which you in turn gave your consent. Tony nodded and pressed on the middle of your tummy, causing you to jolt rather harshly. Steve and Tony both look very alarmed by your reaction.

“Y/n, are you okay? Was that painful?” Tony asked.

You shook your head “no” and your cheeks were burning red. It didn’t hurt you… it tickled you. 

You were absolutely mortified that Steve and Tony might now figure it out. You secretly liked being tickled even though you were extremely ticklish, and you never understood why. The last time you were tickled was by a friend you had met during an assignment. That was many years ago. You always wanted Steve, Tony, or Thor to tickle you, but you were too shy. Now that it might actually be happening, you were super embarrassed and nervous by how you might react. You were afraid they would think you’re weird or babyish.

“Y/n, you need to tell Tony what is wrong, okay? It is very important.” Steve scolded you.

“Nothing is wrong.” You replied quietly, looking up at Steve.

Tony seemed to believe you and tried again. It took everything in you not to curl up laughing. His hand pushed in a particularly sensitive spot and you shot air out of your mouth harshly, which alarmed Tony and Steve once again.

“You need to tell me what’s the matter y/n. Did it feel painful in any specific area?” Tony asked, seriously concerned. Steve had the same worried look on his face. 

You were in such a dilemma. There is no way you were about to admit that it tickled, but you also didn’t want them to think you were sick when you were really fine. 

“I-I’m not hurting, Tony, I promise.” 

“Then why do you keep reacting weirdly as if something’s wrong?” Tony said, almost annoyed. He knew you were hiding something. Steve had his hands on his hips and was giving you a stern look that made you feel guilty, but you still were too nervous to admit your ticklishness. 

“I’m going to continue.” Tony said and began pushing your tummy. You tried so hard to be strong, but eventually you let out a squeak and jolted. Tony decided to keep going in order to hopefully get it out of you that it was hurting, but before he looked up, Steve noticed something that he didn’t. It was your tiny smiles that you kept struggling to hide. 

Steve burst out into his adorable giggles and put his hand on Tony’s shoulder to try to talk, but couldn’t get any words out. 

“What Steve?” Tony asked, surprised by his sudden outburst. You burned red and sat up on the table.

“Ihihihi kn-know what’s wrong!” Steve wheezed. “It’s so cute, Tohohohnyy! You were tickling her!”

A huge grin spread across Tony’s face as he laughed. “Y/n, is that true?” 

You hid your face in your hands and muffled a “yeah.” 

Steve caught his breath. “Well isn’t this a nice discovery! Our little y/n is ticklish!” He then went to squeeze your side, but you hopped off the table and ran out of the room with an embarrassed smile on your face.

“Oh no you don’t!” Tony yelled as he and Steve ran after you. 

You turned a corner and hid in a closet, trying your best to quiet your breathing. You were actually having fun but were still nervous to be tickled by them. Before, you didn’t know if it would ever happen. But now, once they found you, you knew it was going to be bad. 

“JARVIS. Where’s y/n?” Tony cheated. JARVIS notified Tony of your location without you knowing. 

Steve swung open the closet door. “There you are!” He said evilly as he dragged you out by your ankles and threw you over his shoulder. You were quietly giggling and trying to slip out of his grip but he was too strong. He dropped you on the couch in the living room and he and Tony towered over you. You used a throw pillow to protect your torso. 

Tony reached down and gave your knee a squeeze, earning a squeal from you. He and Steve could tell you were having fun. They had barely seen this side of you before and really wanted to see it more often, for your own good, even though it was adorably entertaining to them as well.

“Let’s see how ticklish you are, okay y/n?” Steve said sweetly and dug into your sides and tummy. You screamed and then began laughing like crazy. It actually took Steve back, to where he slowed down his tickles. Both he and Tony were shocked to see you react this way. They had never heard you laugh so hard. 

“Awwww!” Steve said, adoring this sight of you. He looked at Tony and ceased his tickling. “You want to try?”

“Of course,” Tony said and gently scritched under your arms while you let out high-pitched giggles and clamped your arms down. The sensation was unbearably ticklish as you felt his fingers wiggling against your skin and through the material of your shirt. Tony chuckled at you and stopped his tickles to let you breathe. “You are the most ticklish person I have ever seen!”

“Let me try her… ribs!” Steve exclaimed as he began to wiggle his fingers on and between the spaces of your ribs. You shrieked with laughter and tried to speak but couldn’t. You also really didn’t want to stay “stop” because, as bad as it tickled, you were secretly loving it.  

You had forgotten what it feels like to be tickled, but also, you had never been tickled this much before. You only ever endured a few seconds of it. This was minutes.

“Let’s try.. her thighs!” Tony said and began squeezing up and down your thighs and it tickled you so bad that after a few seconds, your laughter went silent. Tony let you breathe and then went back to tickling as Steve attacked your tummy. Your laughter went up an octave and you couldn’t even fight back anymore. You just took it. 

Tony and Steve kept tickling you. Both of them had different tickling methods, but both tickled like crazy. Just when you really couldn’t take it anymore, they let up, laughing along with you as residual giggles poured out of you. 

“Are you okay?” Tony asked you sweetly. 

You nodded and smiled at them. They smiled back and you hid your face in the couch, bashfully. 

“Oh come ‘ere you!” Steve said scooping you up in his arms in a cuddle. “Well, do we need to continue her check up?” Steve asked Tony.

“No, she’s all done. That was the last thing.” Tony said, still smiling at you.

After a minute or so, Happy Hogan entered the living room. “Hey Tony, Steve. You’re needed in the conference room.” Tony and Steve nodded and looked down at you. 

“How about you stay here and watch a movie? Is that alright?” Steve asked you. 

“Yes! I love movies!” You exclaimed. At that moment, Steve and Tony saw that the ice may have finally been broken since you had been in their lives. Your shyness had begun to fade, and the tickles seemed like they did the trick. 

Tony put on the movie for you while Steve covered you with a blanket. 

“Let JARVIS know if you need anything, and he will let us know, okay y/n?” Tony said as he and Steve began walking out of the room. 

Your heart swelled. “Okay, thank you… I love you, Steve and Tony..” You said.

They both stopped in their tracks and turned to you. They were not expecting to hear that. That was the first time you had ever told them you loved them. 

“I love you too, y/n.” Steve said softly, as he stood near the elevator, pressing a button. He felt like he may tear up, but held it back. 

Tony walked back and kissed your head. “I love you too, y/n/n.” Tony said and joined Steve. You then focused on your movie. 

    As Tony and Steve were riding up the elevator, they stood in silence until Tony finally spoke up. 

“So... Tickling was all it took. Huh.” He stated, rocking on his heels.

“Yep.” Steve said with a smirk.

[ikesengoficss]

The Innocent Butterfly, with Thorns in her Wings // Lucien x Reader {MLQC}

choking is my,,,, big kink. and after seeing that karma (i think it’s karma? could be a CG) i just had to write this... though in context to the karma, what I’m writing is most likely not at all what is happening ;/ wheeze

he’s a creepy bastard and I love him! 😤

@alloveroliver

Kinktober Challenge, October 8th: Breast Worship | Pegging | Choking

Game: Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice

Rating: +18, NSFW

warning: choking, dom/sub theme, rough vaginal sex, dirty talk

please do not read if any of the sorts make you uncomfortable

Word Count: 2,186

The Innocent Butterfly, with Thorns in her Wings // Lucien x Reader

He never expected for his girlfriend, so sweet and innocent in his eyes, his darling butterfly, to have such a request of him. Even as you mustered your small request, your cheeks were a bright red and you couldn’t meet his eyes.

Asking him, in such a meek voice none-the-less, to do something so rough, so out of character for you. In bed Lucien was already somewhat rough, and definitely was the dominate one. In fact, he considered himself to be rather gentle with you in his love making. But there was no denying he certainly held back on his darker desires with you. One of which included wrapping his hand, a hand that can cover the whole of your face mind you, around your throat.

But now you stood in front of him sheepishly asking him to release those desires onto you. Your fingers twiddled with your skirt, your head bowed and you swayed back and forth on the heels of your feet. He walked towards you, one hand coming out of the pocket of his lab coat to cup your chin, tilting your head up. “Is that really want you want?” You nod but Lucien shakes his head. “Tell me.”

“It’s what I want.”

“Tell me exactly what you want. Exactly so I can get it right.”

You gulp. There is no way of escaping his intense gaze, but why would you want to, when that intensity was only for you. “I want… I want you to push me down on the bed, and--and to be more rough, and…I want you to be in control. I’d also…,” the way you fumbled through your words only made his grin wider, and the tent in his pants more obvious. “I would like you to choke me… please.”

“Silly girl,” he says, chest rumbling with laughter. “You can barely muster the words. What makes you think you can handle such a thing.”

You take a hold of the collar of his shirt, surprising him slightly as you suddenly yank him towards you to crash your lips against his, sloppily. He grins into the kiss and sensation of your tongue trying to find his. He opens his mouth slightly, finally allowing you that entrance for your crazed kiss, and tangles his tongue with yours in the kiss’ violent dance. You pull back with your face flushed and lips swollen; it’s such a pretty sight, he resists the urge to reach out to you. “I can handle it.”

That was the only confirmation he needed to finally let himself go on you. He wondered if you really could take it, if you were really up for the challenge. He was of course, more than willing to test those limits. “Remember that you asked me to be more rough,” he says, voice husky and seductive, his finger stroking against your cheek bone before trailing down your neck, stopping just at the lump of your throat. He pushes against it lightly, adding only slight pressure. “But you can always tell me to stop if you become uncomfortable at anytime. Don’t feel forced to do anything you don’t want to. Understood?”

He waited for your affirmation. Your lips quivered the word, “yes,” so softly, that he almost didn’t hear it. But he did, and the moment it was uttered from your lips, his hand was wrapped around your throat. The sudden grab caused your head to fling backwards slightly in surprise. He used your throat to pull you towards him, his large hand, long fingers, tightening around your neck to bring you only just on the border of being unable to breathe.

“Good,” he grins, his breath tickling yours. He presses a little kiss to your slightly parted lips, nibbling a little on your bottom one. He uses his grip on your neck to fling you onto his bed and your body bounces when it hits the mattress. It squeaks pitifully beneath you. Lucien presses his thumb to his bottom lip as he admires you sprawled on his bed; hair scattered around you, some strands covering your face, and your skirt hiked just up enough your legs to reveal the edge of your panties.

He chuckles lightly, slowly getting on top of the bed, on his knees, trapping you beneath him. You are surrounded by him. Your skin is a beautiful, floral red from where he choked you. With placing his hands besides your head, he leans down to press little, light kisses against the red skin. The gentleness of the kiss tickles, and you sigh, pleasantly. However, those gentle kisses are soon gone as he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, breaking the skin with his bite and enlisting a squeal from you. Laughing he tells you, “I don’t think you realize the spark you’ve enlightened within me with your request… y/n.”

You pant heavily beneath him, looking up into his dark eyes through hooded lids. “I can only hope you’re prepared,” he continues, his hand finding it’s way back to your neck, fingers curling around it once more to block just a bit of your airways from collecting air. “You’re an innocent butterfly asking to have your wings tugged and torn apart. You have fallen into a trap of thorns, and there is no escaping it now, you see. Is it frightening?” He watched above you as you gulped and gasped for breath. And though the small sounds that escaped your pretty lips could be mistaken for ones of agony, pain, or fear? The lustful gaze from your eyes told him how much you were enjoying the feel of his large hand wrapped around your throat, and the strength of his grip that left you know room to wiggle free.

Lucien releases you suddenly when your eyes started to bulge, and he feels satisfied knowing quite the burn he gifted your lungs. You use the opportunity to take in big breaths. Arms that were limp at your side weekly try moving upwards to reach for him but you hold such little energy to do so. Lucien lets out a deep chuckle, his hand romancing down from your throat and to your breasts, cupping the right globe. He can feel your heart beating wild in your chest due to excitement, pleasure, and anticipation. “How do you feel?” he asks, hand pulsing as it squeezes your breast. “Take your time,” he whispers as you struggle to find your words.

“I feel… I feel numb.” He nods at your answer. His fingers deftly move to the buttons of your blouse to undo it. Even with the buttons undone, the shirt tears still as he rips it off your body. He frees your right breast from the constraints of your bra, bending down to blow on your pink, allerted nipple.

“Anything else?”

He tweaks your nipple between his forefinger and thumb whilst studying your face. Impatient waiting for your answer, he tugs it painfully resulting in an almost agonized groan at the sting of the tug, but it quickly subdues to a pleasured moan. “I feel… I feel hot. I feel really good. I want more.”

He hums, releasing your nipple. “That’s what I want to hear.” Before you can take another breath, with one hand delved in your hair, yanking your head forward, and other gripping your waist, he tosses you over onto your stomach. The force winds you slightly and taking notice, he gives you a moment before he is yanking your hips backwards against his pelvis, and with his hand clutching the back of your neck only to shove your face down into the sheets.

He doesn’t waste time in pulling your skirt and panties down, chucking them aside. He has a perfect view of your bare ass and hidden treasure between your legs. “Knock it off. Don’t be naughty and stay still,” he commands. He grabs your hips, fingers bruising your skin in his painful grip as he stops you from wiggling. “Just Relax.” Your juices trickle down your thighs, glimmering in the light that blares from above. You shiver as he runs his fingers up your legs to collect whats dripped down from you. There is no need to look back; you know he is licking his fingers clean by the slight suckling sounds.

“How cute,” he chuckles, running a finger through your folds. “You’re already so swollen and puffy, and I haven’t even shoved my cock in you yet.” You grunt as he presses two fingers inside of you, curling them just right, that it’s so perfect it’s painful. “Maybe you aren’t such an innocent butterfly after all.”

“Lucien… please.”

Oh, how he loves to hear you beg. Moving his fingers back and forth between your folds, he relishes in your moans that you try so hard to muffle by burying your head in the sheets. But no matter what you try to do, you can’t get any sounds you make past him.  “What, y/n? What do you need?”

“I need…” with the methodic way he pumps his fingers, going faster and faster, the sounds of your juices squishing ringing in your ears, forming the right words becomes impossible; “me— fuck… please, please, I…OH!” The palm of his hand comes hard across your bottom, the shock of it and sting vibrating up your body. There is no room for reaction of course, as your world spins till you are suddenly laying on your back again.

Towering over you, he makes sure you can see him slowly unzipping his pants, a smirk plastered on his face. He holds his cock out in his hand, stroking it for you to watch. It’s thick, pre-cum leaks from the tip, and you want more than anything for it to be inside of you, pulsating and reaching every deep place in your body it an reach. The moment he see’s your hand itching towards your core, he’s snapping, “Don’t you dare!” throwing himself onto you with both hands wrap around your neck this time. His hands continue to squeeze, stopping your breath short. “I think this enough foreplay, don’t you? You’re becoming naughtier and naughtier. It’s time I nip it in the bud.”

He thrusts into you. There is no slow making his way into you, careful not to hurt you and shove too deep, like he has done in the past when making love to you. No, he sheaves himself all the way in, and immediately begins to pound himself against you, his hips smacking against you and his hands tightening around your neck that you start gagging for air.

Lucien presses his thumbs into your neck a little more. He wants to feel you claw at his wrists. He wants you desperate for air and desperate to get it back. He wants to feel the pain of your nails digging into him. All while he can see the look of ecstasy on your face as your breath is literally stripped from you. When you finally do, and you draw blood too with your desperate clawing, he lets out a loud and deep moan.

It doesn’t take long for you to come around his cock. He lets go of your neck to take favor in lifting your legs and putting them over his shoulder so he can go deeper, all while you go limp as you come down for your high and take in the air you were previously deprived of.

Lucien wants his release. He wants you to milk his cock dry, so he’s not holding back as he slams himself with in you, cause the bed to move against the floorboard. As he finally reaches his peak, he tugs on your hair and empties himself inside you, grunting into your ear as he gives a final thrust so even the last drop can find its way inside of you. Though he collapses on top of you, he’s careful now not to completely crush you with his weight. He’s panting, lips just above your forehead, and he’s resting on his forearms which cage your head.

He looks down to see your eyes closed shut and your chest heaving heavily. Your neck is very red, and he can already picture the dark, purple and blue bruising that will paint your delicate skin; even if you did ask, he’s beginning to feel a pang of guilt. He quickly pulls out of you, standing up from the bed and pushing himself back into his pants. He goes to get wipes and cream from his bathroom, coming back and grinning slightly at your quivering form. You’ll be unable to move for days.

As he helps to clean you, taking extra care between your legs, and gently massaging some cream onto your neck, he praises you. He praises you for being a good girl, a sweet girl. For holding yourself well and for making him feel so good— he felt so good, he could not express it properly to you. Pride preventing him for doing so either way.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and collects you in his arms. He rubs your back, rocks you a little back and forth, hums in your ear. He holds onto you tight, afraid that if he lets go for just a second you might disappear. You’re still shaking and he laughs, pressing gentle little kisses around the crown of your head. “Are you ok, y/n?” he asks earnestly.

You look up at him and beam, it’s almost child like. “I am, Lucien. Thank you. I didn’t know if such a request would make you uncomfortable.”

He holds back a snort, deciding to just hide your face in his chest by tucking you underneath his chin so you cant see the devilish smirk on his face. “By now you should know, silly girl, I’d do whatever you ask for. If my darling butterfly asks with her sweet voice,” he whispers. Combing his fingers through your hair, he now stops to cup the nape of your neck, “she will be granted anything. Even if it’s for thorns in her wings.”

~~~~~

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[piamio]

Drabble

For the new followers, I´m also a wannabe writer and will find a few drabbles along this blog. Tagged with #allen writes . This one in particular covers a story I have made a comic off before, called Bad Blessed. Which you can read here. 

This scenario has been on my mind since I conceived the idea and it was so gratifying to write it after so long of being trapped on my head.

Hope you like it~

The barred windows of the cell allowed him to stare at the sky. It had been three days since he had been taken there after the werewolf attack. He put his fingers lightly on the scarring skin of his abdomen. Three deep lines, still red, stinging at the touch.

It wouldn´t have been too much of a deal if his status wasn´t so bad already. He snorted, letting his head rest against the cold stone wall. Elf halflings were already hated enough to then become a werewolf.

Werewolves were creatures that were catalogued as “tools”. Becoming one was one of the worst disgraces a magician could go through. They would enter a soul selection realm, so then another magician could use their magic until they ran out of it. It was the perfect chance for his enemies to just get rid of him. To his bad luck, he had a long list of people who wanted him dead for over half a century.

The halfling had been wounded by another magician´s werewolf. One he knew well, both personally and his intentions. He would need to proove it, but he doubted the court would let him use memory magic to show them.

He had fallen on his trap.

The door to his cell opened, four soldiers armed with spears entered and made a circle around him. An old human witch entered after them.

“You´ve not aged a day, Roahn” her voice was raspy “We´ve known each other for 50 years and you still look like a little boy” she said getting closer. He hummed as reply.

“You look old like a raisin, Shirley” he joked. The guards not being very keen of his humor to one of the most powerful witches in the land, pulled up their spears “whoa, whoa, raising your weapons against a defenseless prisoner? that hurts” he put his hands up dramatically, the effect slightly dimmed thanks to the handcuffs. The witch pulled up her hand with a sweet laugh.

“Defenseless?” her laughter was of a young lady. “The guardian of the infinity pond? Not a chance” she grinned putting her fingers together and pulling them up to his face. Starting to trace sigils over his nose, cheeks, arms and chest. He knew her bonding sigils hurt like hell and was reminded of it once she pulled her hands back to her pockets. Wheezing slightly at the sudden feeling of both electricity going all around his body and a fever taking over his head.

“That´s a bit too many sigils for a single person, Shirley” He panted before inhaling deeply. He could take it  “Are they so scared of me now?” She snorted at the question, ordering another soldier to pull him up.

“I don´t think they ever lost their fear, Roahn” she exclamed before walking her way out the cell. Hearing Roahn´s naked feet stumble on her back.

Roahn was kept in the middle of the formation. He was handcuffed, had binding sigils to stop him from using magic and hadn´t been treated for his wounds yet. Honestly, he should be in the ground unable to move an inch. But he kept walking as if he was absolutely unbothered.

“The trial will tell who will take over your spot” the woman told him from the front. Not even looking back. He hummed in agreement. “50 years later, a rightful magician will finally be elected guardian” she rejoiced at the words.

“Hopefully there´re no cheaters this time” he said staring at her hands become a fist. “We want a rightful, human magician to guard the pond, right?” the grin of his face could only be described as shit eating. Shirley just laughed it off.

“It would be delightful to see Graham-boy trying his best to take his dad´s spot” she laughed, some guards joining in. Roahn´s face went grim.

“Shirley” his voice wasn´t far from normal but the group suddenly stopped with a cold shudder going up their spine. The woman trembled. He shouldn´t be able to use magic but his natural pressure was that high even with suppresors. She had forgotten it for 50 years, but the fear made it pull forward from her memory. It felt like she was being swallowed whole. Suddenly the pressure vanished as he smiled “Don´t talk about my son, yes?” she gulped and kept walking. Pressing faster.

Red hair suddenly clashed on Roahn´s side. He had to hold the exasperated sigh forming on his chest when he recognized them. “Stay low” he had told him, but apparently that was too difficult of an order for him.

“DAD! W-Why does he have so many sigils? He´s not a criminal!” The red haired struggled with the guards two heads taller than him. It secretely warmed his heart to see him after three days. Unharmed. Roahn pulled those feelings down and talked to Shirley in something more than a hush.

“Let me speak with him. I´m not planning on running away. It´s not like I could anyways” he pulled up the handcuffs for the woman to see. She still had sweat on her forehead. She nodded but limited him with just two minutes. “Thank you” he smiled walking to the boy.

Graham, who had been struggling and trying to punch the guards to break formation, suddenly stopped when he saw Roahn´s hand pat his head.

“Ah, you´ve gotten so big” he said with a smile. The guards left them some distance away. But never losing sight of them. “I remember when you were just a baby. You were so small!” Graham kneeled so he could talk eye to eye.

“Dad, we both know who put this trap! You can´t let them take you to court!” the redhaired rushed his words shushing away his parent´s hand. “There´s gotta be some way to proove it! I can try memory magic for you! Dad please, for once in your life, fight against them” the boy´s brows were an anguished knot on his face. Deepening as the other simply smiled.

“I can´t” he whispered barely moving his mouth “I´m not his only target” he whispered pulling a hand up to his cheek “It´s gonna be alright, boy. Your old man is sturdier than he looks” he said in a loud voice. In order to be heard by everyone. “So please, hide” his lips moved without sound for only his son to see. “Don´t worry son! Your father will be ok!” he laughed, the boy just stared at him.

“Why won´t you let me help you? Am I that useless to you?” he asked making Roahn almost choke up on his fake laughter. His eyes fell on the boy looking beyond his years. “I should be able to do something and you don´t let me. I know I have weak magic but I’m not powerless!”

“Graham, that´s not...” he dropped the act, but when he tried to continue two guards yanked him away.

“Time´s up” Roahn damned on Shirley before trying to catch a glimpse of the boy. Back up again, but held back by the other guards.

“Graham! Don´t-!” the binding effects of the sigils suddenly soared making him scream “God damn it Shirley!” he screamed at the witch before jerking trying to pull himself closer to Graham “Go home! Don´t you dare follow me, Graham! Just-” he felt a guard´s hand shoving his head down but kept revolving “Let me talk with him!” he screamed helplessly.

“We already did. We´re late for the trial. Move it” she ordered to the guards who made him turn and keep walking despite his protests. Shirley swiped her fingers and the binding´s magic grew untolerable. He couldn´t help being dragged now.

His head turned back to where he had last seen him and watched with horror a familiar black hound on the boy´s shoulder. He jerked fiercely enough to shake off the guard for a second.

“Ah, this is gonna hurt” was his last thought.

His hand made a swift movement, in the shape of an ancient sigil, forgotten by magic creatures and magicians alike. The black hound exploded on the boy´s back as he kneeled down to dodge it. Graham looked back to the remains of it and whipped his head back at a ripping painful screech. After a second, Roahn collapsed into the floor unconscious.

He opened his mouth to scream but suddenly a cold hand covered his mouth. A voice deep and hazy whispered on his ear as he was slammed against a wall “You should´ve listened to your father, Graham”

The guards lifted up Roahn, Shirley drawing even more Sigils on his body as they rushed to check on the hound remains.

“Where did you sent him?” Shirley asked him after slapping him awake. The bindings were stronger so now even breathing hurt. “WHERE ROAHN?”

He looked at her with confusion.

Where? He hadn´t sent him anywhere. He had made the sigil for shadow protection. That´s why the hound exploded. He turned his head to the remains understanding too late.

He didn´t even have enough strength to revolve anymore. To scream that Graham had been abducted right in front of his eyes.

Not that it mattered as the person who did it was the trial´s judge.

The one and only person Roahn actually feared, the one who wanted him dead the most, was in front of him, assuming the charge of the most just. Not even attempting to hide the satisfaction on his smile.

He laughed when reaching the courtroom. Making everyone look at him with disgust. Roahn didn´t care if they couldn´t see the bastard´s real intentions, he would take back his son, even if it was only his dying wish.

Something strange happened.

A few mages started to protest in his favor. All friends from his apprentice days.

“Exceptional”, “meaningless”, “reform”. All words dancing indiscriminately on the air. Advocating to overlook the new nature of their friend, as his work as guardian had been peculiarly remarkable. Standing above the last millenia´ guardians.

“Strange”, “Meditated” also danced along the yells of various mage´s mouths.

The judge silenced them with utter authority. Roahn gulped with a scowl. The elegant, most powerful mage, sat on the highest chair. Enjoying to look down on him. Was the mage´s mother still alive, this trial wouldn´t have happened. The treacherous snake wouldn´t be sitting on her chair, directing a trial to take away his status in the result of years of envy as a sore loser.

“The court has taken as evidence to the felonies of treason, the three lines of the werewolf mark on his abdomen and the magician, Graham Gray´s testimony, to confirm, Roahn Gray, had lied about his half elf status to cover his werewolf nature fifty years ago and has sentenced the offender to the sanct status of the infinity pond guardian, to...” Roahn´s mouth started to open to protest. He was interrupted by the man sitting at the highest chair when he scratched his throat. Implying the announcer had missed something important. Roahn didn´t miss his hand movement in the air. Passing as just an elegant gesture.

His eyes darted around the room and found a sigil on every head of the court. Recognising it as a symbol only visible for elves. A secret sigil only used by dark mages who had turned their backs to white magic.

It was used to brainwash humans especifically. There was no magic creatures in the room besides himself.

“...And one more charge” the announcer continued, wearing the sigil on his forehead “for guardian´s apprentice, Graham Gray, kidnap and murder” Roahn´s mouth opened in disbelief. Elves hearing was the best of the best. He had heard him right “ The accused has been sentenced to be sent to the realm of soul finding immediately, as werewolf procedures dictates. A new guardian tournment will take place in six months from now to decide the replacement. The court´s decision is absolute”

His legs failed him suddenly.

He had never had a chance to begin with. More than half the court had seen him own the title himself on the tournment 50 years ago. He knew personally various mage´s children sitting on their chairs. They should know he wasn´t a werewolf back then.

But the real aching came from the second charge. His mind couldn´t process anything. As if the world suddenly had stopped moving and he was in the eye of the storm.

“Must hurt right?” the judge´s hand rested on his white hair. “Your son´s murder! I was exceptionally poetic about that lie” he laughed, Roahn slowly processing what he said “Don´t worry, you won´t remember this. Or him for that matter. He´s out there, but he hates the guts of the halfling Roahn Gray” the man smirked at the forming glare and intense pressure forming on the air. Then he started writing a shape on the air “Can´t wait for your emotional reunion” was the only thing he heard before a sharp pain hit his head and every memory from twenty years ago suddenly was washed away, tainted with hate and anger for his son.

Except one.

----

He was talking to a little boy. His face was blurry but he sounded as he was familiar with him. His own voice went off showing a symbol that looked like a compass drawn in a book along smaller doodles and notes. “If we ever need to find each other, we will know where to go with this ok?” he sounded soft, calm.

The boy nodded his head so vigorously it made him laugh. “And you will know its me?” the boy asked curiously. He felt himself smile in the memory. Closing the book with the title “Guardian´s log” on its cover.

He opened his eyes not sure of why was he crying over that dream again. He never knew.

Roahn had been on the realm for a full year. Every night having the same dream.

He hoped that today he finally found a magician who would sign a contract with him to become his werewolf. He hated it there. It was him and only him for miles on end. But before he could set foot down to the fluffy ground he was on a magician´s store. Seeing a boy that reeked of alcohol passed out on the floor.

“Congratulations” a redhaired suddenly clapped from the shadows “The infamous Roahn Gray, has become this young, just acquired magic, magician´s werewolf!” the man laughed at the scowl the halfling gave him “Oh, this idiot doesn´t even know what a sigil is. Wonder what will the master of hiding and pretending teach him?”

Roahn immediately hated the guts out of this guy. He had heard of him somewhere before and knew he was no white magician. But he was perturbed by the sigil on his forehead. Why did he have the brainwash sigil?

He didn´t have much time to say anything before the man took his hand and pinched it to sign the contract with his blood. A sigil appeared on his chest and on the boy’s. Now if the boy died he would follow him. Rules didn’t work the other way around, however. It was his duty to protect him now. Whoever that was.

“All done and in order. Good luck there mister werewolf!” he said making the sigil for teletransportation “And don´t forget to come to Graham Gray´s, underground and possibly illegal, wonders store later!” the man said before being pulled into a wormhole who knows where.

[chisie12]

Friends and Butterflies, An After Ending - Part 2

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490521/chapters/48666302

TAKE THIS NEXT PART! There’s fluff still, but this one has some angst to it. And hurt, and comfort. 

“Please protect my family.”

~~*~~*~~

Ever since Xie Lian had fallen out of the abyss, with only one believer in the world, life had been relatively peaceful and blissful, especially more so when he was proposed to a month ago.

Furthermore, recently around the same time, he began receiving a prayer, once every day at dusk.

“Please protect my family.”

He’d trace the prayer back to Ghost City’s QianDeng Temple every dusk and every time, he’d put the prayer aside.

It wasn’t because he didn’t care of his believer, but he put two and two together and figured it might have been Hua Cheng who prayed, so he never fully inspected the prayer. This was because said demon himself would be out whenever dusk rolled around and since Xie Lian would be his husband in two weeks, that’ll make him ‘family’, right? So taking care of himself was the best way to protect his family.

Which then reminded him of an important matter that Xie Lian had to do. Cleaning the table of the calligraphy papers and ink, he stood up and walked out Paradise Manor alone.

Next stop: Mount TaiCang.

~~*~~*~~

The milky speckles twinkled and pulsed above the Great Hall. His shadow flickered and danced under the faux starlight as he made his way down to the crypt at the very back. The solemn gaze in his eyes darkened at the sight of the two coffins. He quietly threw away the dried, shriveled fruits and cleaned the plates before placing new fresh ones atop it.

There was a soft thud as his knees hit the floor, and he bowed his head low in respect. “I deeply apologise for not visiting you sooner, father, mother.”

He resignedly lowered his head further at the silence, the floor cool against his forehead. What had he been hoping? That they’d respond?

But they couldn’t. He knew they couldn’t.

But he had to tell. Wanted to tell.

He stared at the floor, observing every contour and cracks from the passing of time, a heavy burden in his chest. Would they accept? Would they be happy with his decision? But he wished for them to know, even if he doesn’t receive their blessings for being such a worthless son.

Were they even proud of him? Would they ever be?

“F-Father, mother.” The fear and anxiety was hard and sharp in his throat, like a sword slashing at the words that he wished to utter, the pressure building and weighing upon him as though the Heavens were sitting on his shoulders. His fingers curled and tightened, nails scrapping against the floor in tiny shocks of pain. His eyes slowly closed, his body curling up smaller as he tried to calm his breathing. He could do it, right? Just a few words. Get it out, let them know – No… What if he disappointed his parents even more?

A small blush of red appeared in his sight, blurry and faint. When his gaze refocused, he noticed the red string that was tied around his finger, the perfect bow still untainted by a speck of dust despite being in such a dusty chamber. He made a mental note to start sweeping the place and warmth then tingled in his senses, filling up his heart. It’s as if he could hear Hua Cheng’s voice reminding him in his mind: Don’t worry.

And then he felt the pressure lift significantly, his muscles visibly relaxing. He sighed, though a small, tender smile was carved upon his lips. With a surge of confidence, of affection and support, the words that were stuck in his throat finally released themselves.

“Father, mother. I’m getting married to San Lang.”

The dam broke, waves of feelings started rushing out of his lungs, filling the silent chamber in a blissful yet somber tone. It felt physically warm, wet, but his mind had already gone astray.

“San Lang is a great guy! He’s been silently protecting me all these years and he’s always treated me very well. H-He… saw me at my worst and he’s still here. I was always scared that if he found out that I'm not the same person he worshipped, he’ll leave. But he’s still here. He’s still here… Father, mother, I really love him. I don’t know what I’d do without him. I – I get scared when he’s not around. I’m scared he’ll disappear from me one day. I believe he’ll always come b-back but… I don’t want him to ever go… I want to always be by his side. Looking at the same direction together…”

A silence filled the chamber. The air was stale, dusty, and it served to only magnify the fear in his heart.

“Ah… What will I do with you, ge ge.”

A pale slender hand, as cold as ice yet possessed an inexplicable touch of warmth, gently covered his eyes before he was suddenly pulled into a tender embrace. A sigh of contentment breathed upon his ears, flushing it red and hot.

“I’m not leaving you. So, please don’t cry?”

Xie Lian’s chest jumped at the short sob when he finally realised the thick streams of tears that cascaded down his cheeks. He sobbed again, wheezing through his lips because of the blockage in his nose. Had he really been afraid? Although he believed that this man – demon – would always come back for him, the thought that one day, just one day, that he would never return really brought an inexplicable wave of anguish.

Was this a blessing of the mortals? That they could part together in life with love by their side?

“S-San Lang!”

The sobs and tears came down harder. Did Hua Cheng hear every word that he said?

“Ge ge… your highness.”

Another hand snaked up his cheek, the thumb gently wiping the tears away while the hand from before stayed shielding his eyes.

“You wouldn’t want your parents to think that I'm bullying you now, would you?”

The teasing tone in his warm voice stole wet chuckles from his lips. He breathed in sharply, the sob cut short as he tried to smile. “No, I wouldn’t,” Xie Lian said.

Hua Cheng hummed in encouragement and Xie Lian sat obediently in his embrace as the hands wiped at the tears staining his cheeks.

“Let’s greet your parents properly, together.”

“Mm.”

Xie Lian rubbed at his face with his sleeves as Hua Cheng took the spot beside him.

They bowed simultaneously.

“Uncle, auntie. I'm San Lang.”

There was a pause, a slight hesitation of uncertainty. Xie Lian wondered if he was nervous, afraid of the same things that he was afraid of as well.

The slightest feeling of a touch against his finger caught his attention, warm like a brief kiss of a butterfly atop the flower. Hua Cheng glanced down and saw Xie Lian’s pinky finger stretched out to softly touch his, a small gesture silent support, but when he looked up, his husband-to-be was still looking at the coffins. A smile stubbornly tugged at his frown and he turned back to the front.

His voice was filled with a conviction that Xie Lian was familiar with, an unparalleled confidence and pride that only the Supreme Demon could wield. Yet those words he painted with his tongue called forth a fire to brush against his fair skin, to submit himself in utter satisfaction.

“Thank you for bringing Xie Lian into the world, for allowing San Lang to meet him. I promise you that I'll cherish and protect him always. He’s the greatest blessing that Heaven could give.

I vow that for all my life… in all my lifetimes, the one I’ll always love is Xie Lian.”

~~*~~*~~

 “You know, San Lang? I think I'll cook dinner tonight,” Xie Lian said as they walked hand in hand down the bamboo groves towards Ghost City.

They chose to walk back home instead of using the dices for the sun was bright, its heat greedily absorbed by the fluffy clouds that covered the blue sky. They’ve already journeyed for over a week, relishing in the short holiday they’ve given themselves.

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” Hua Cheng chuckled. “Should I always profess my love for you everyday? I really want to eat your cooking but you don’t cook so often.”

“That’s cause everything in Ghost City isn’t exactly edible. And I don’t want you to go out of your way to buy mortal ingredients.”

Laughter tickled his ears when Hua Cheng bent down to nuzzle at Xie Lian’s neck. “I would if you wanted them. It’s not like I'm personally going to go too.”

Xie Lian’s reply was cut short when something rolled down the hill of the bamboo grove, knocking him squarely at the back of his knees. He screamed in panic when gravity began to pull him back but large hands steadied his footing.

“Ge ge, are you alright?”

Xie Lian nodded with a slight daze. They both turned towards the bundle on the ground, curled and trembling in old rags dotted in holes, but he kept a tight hold on the bundle of cut bamboo in his arms. The small child, covered in cuts and dried blood, shook his head and slowly righted himself. His body was sickly thin, skin almost a pallid colour and he was already panting from just that action itself.

“Are you alright?”

Xie Lian’s voice was slow and gentle. He bent down to check on the child. The child blinked up at him before his mouth stretched into a beaming, sheepish smile. “Thank you, Bai ge ge! I'm okay. I just accidentally tripped on the way down. I'll be off now! I can’t keep pa waiting for so long or he’ll worry! Thank you! Bye!”

“W-Wait –!”

Before he could even get another word in, the boy had already stood up and continued running down the hill. Xie Lian sighed, a helpless smile playing on his lips. That child had spoken exceptionally fast and it seemed like he could run exceptionally fast as well despite his frail appearance.

“Do you think he’ll be fine?”

“I'm sure he will be, ge ge. He’s a strong boy. There’s also a village not far from here. He should be from there.”

Xie Lian nodded. However, just as they took a few steps forward in comfortable silence, a sharp scream filled with anguish and terror pierced the skies, shattering the peace that fell over them. The couple bolted down the hill following the sound and entered Panda Village. They briskly walked towards the group of people huddled together in front of a dilapidated house. They weaved through the crowd to see the same child from before kneeling beside a man by the door, sticks of bamboo strewn at the side. His wrinkled face was contorted in pain, tanned skin with an odd bluish tint sleek with sweat, but none of the villagers made a move to go forward, watching the scene unfold in a somber tone.

“That A-Shao ah… really pitiful. He’s already lost his mother and brother. His father’s also dying…”

“Don’t say such things! Old man Huang isn’t dead yet!”

“Who’s gonna take care of A-Shao now?”

“…I can’t do it. I already don’t earn enough for myself.”

“Same here…”

“Me too…”

Hua Cheng held Xie Lian back by the shoulder, bristling anger tremoring through his fingertips. The dip between his eyebrows, flames dancing in those soft eyes, and even clad in white, Hua Cheng fought to keep a straight face despite thinking that his lover looked very much like an angry bunny.

Xie Lian glanced at the taller man beside him, somehow finding it that he didn’t find it serious.

“Ge ge, do you wish for me to kill them?” Hua Cheng jokingly asked in his private communication with both eyebrows raised, his tone seemingly having misunderstood the glance.

“No, no. I didn’t mean that! San Laaang.” Xie Lian’s anger dissipated slightly as he dragged out his name in a slight whine.

“Alright, I'll stop teasing you,” Hua Cheng chuckled lowly and turned to the unconscious man. “Don’t worry. The man’s not dead yet. He’s probably going to soon though, in the next few days.”

Xie Lian’s smile instantly dropped at the second half. “What is it?”

“Some kind of injury. His skin is a little blue. I think he’s in quite a bad shape.”

They silently turned back towards Shao Qing and his father.

“Pa! Pa, please don’t leave me. I already brought the bamboo sticks for you!” the child cried, shaking his father’s limp body roughly. His tears fell faster, face blanching white when he received naught a response. “You said you were getting better. Pa! Pa!”

A shadow suddenly loomed overhead and Shao Qing tilted his head back. Xie Lian jumped in fright when more tears flowed out of those round chocolate orbs, snot dribbling out of his little button nose.

“Bai ge ge! Help me. Please. My dad’s not feeling well. Please, help him!”

“Bai ge ge? They know the kid?”

“Oh no, we better go away… who knows if the kid will bring more misfortune –”

“Who are you to say that!?”

An enraged roar bellowed through their ears, loud and rumbling like a thundering storm. The villagers jumped like frightened cats hissing in the alley, staring back at a fuming Xie Lian. All the short pent up anger came out faster than the magma that overflowed in Mount Tonglu and just as destructive.

“How can you say that about a child! He’s still young and innocent! No child is actually the bearer of misfortune! All of you are just ignorant –”

A hand slipped around his waist; a familiar act, a familiar chest, and Xie Lian’s words were eaten. A thumb rubbed at the curve soothingly in circles, a low voice murmured near his ear.

“Thank you, ge ge. But it’s all right.”

Xie Lian’s chest still heaved up and down with heavy pants, the unbridled anger still boiling on high heat flushing his cheeks a delicious red.

“If you keep blushing like that, I might have to eat you up on the spot.”

It was like a switch turning off the flames. The fury subsided immediately yet the dark seductive whisper promising a pleasurable moment brought the heat to rush upon his cheeks, colouring them deeper. Xie Lian lowered his head while biting his lower lip. He quickly turned back to crouch beside Shao Qing, leaving Hua Cheng to guard the door.

“What do you know?” A villager grumbled under his breath. “Ever since that child was born, all he’s brought was disaster!”

“Oh, really?” Hua Cheng asked nonchalantly as he leaned against the doorframe with an arm stretched out to block the door when Xie Lian bolted up to rush out in a fit of rage. At Hua Cheng’s signal, he glared at the villagers before dropping back down next to the boy.

It wasn't like he was protecting Xie Lian from the villagers; He's protecting them from him.

Like a gunshot marking the start of the race, the villagers began shouting.

“Yeah! He killed his mother when he was born!”

“Then he killed his older brother!”

“Then Old Man Huang had to make a new house cause he burned the old one!”

Hua Cheng nodded apathetically, though the smile remained to entertain them. “And so?”

“He'll just bring disaster to us all!”

“When Old Man Huang dies, I hope he di –”

The young villager’s words died in his throat when his head was thrown backwards at the sudden force hitting him. He stumbled on unsteady feet before dropping onto the ground in shock and confusion while those around him started to rebel. In his hand was a rock hard, half eaten steamed bun.

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that.”

The noisy villagers quietened down, frightened pale by the killing intent suffocating them. Hua Cheng’s eyebrows were raised in a pleasant surprise while he turned to look back at Xie Lian. His voice before had been dark and low, clear with a clear murderous aura, but Hua Cheng was more impressed at the fact that his highness swore.

“Telling a child to go and die, all you lowlife scums can go to hell instead,” Xie Lian’s tone turned sharp like the sword he wielded, slicing through their conscience mercilessly. Without a glance back, he turned to Old Man Huang to continue checking his condition properly.

Hua Cheng stared at his lover, inwardly groaning at the arousal growing in his pants.

‘Fuck, that was hot,’ came to his mind.

The villagers’ dissent fell upon deaf ears as his mind was filled with images of devouring the sweet bunny on the spot, to hear those pleasurable cries and moans fill his ears, to see that face flush in pure ecstasy –

“Are you alright, Hong ge ge?”

The soft voice jolted him out of his reverie. Glancing back, Hua Cheng looked at Huang Shao, noticing the paused onslaught of tears, yet more were threatening to fall were pooling at the corner of his eyes, the fingers tightly clenched by his sides, but he still gave him a smile full of gapped teeth while stubbornly holding back the tears. One of his heartstrings was plucked, a low hum vibrating through his body at the sight.

“Mm, I'm okay. Help Bai ge ge. Don't worry about me.” Hua Cheng returned the smile with one full of warmth and Huang Shao nodded seriously.

He returned his attention to the grumbling villagers who jumped at his sudden change into a frosty expression.

The two parties fell into silence, a tense showdown of stares and unwillingness to retreat. Hua Cheng contemplated his choices; to kill or not to kill? Killing was definitely out of the question cause his bunny might just bite him, even if that thought was definitely welcomed, while not killing didn't seem fun, didn’t seem to satiate… the odd desire for bloodlust. He wanted all of their heads to roll, to vent his anger out on these scum that would… oh.

Could it?

His mind played with the idea, flipping it over and over like a pancake. And his feelings seemed to have leaned more towards one side, probably an aftereffect of taking care of the Heavenly brats. He remembered how Xie Lian looked, having a baby in his embrace, looking so at ease and content…

Xie Lian probably did want a child, didn’t he?

Was he being selfish when he requested to not have babies? With a sigh, Hua Cheng broke the deadlock with a glance backwards at his lover who was smiling gently and hugging the boy as they checked over the father.

Perhaps he should have asked for Xie Lian’s thoughts beforehand?

His mind was made up, conscience clear and heart sure.

Hua Cheng looked at the villagers, with his chin slightly tiled upwards and a dark eye staring them down. He crossed a leg over the other as he rested a hand on his hip.

“If you don’t want them, we’ll take them.”

Just as his lips kissed those words, part of his shimmering anger and bloodlust did indeed melt away. It wasn’t that he wanted to be a saviour to those in need; he was no saint. But something about that boy, sickly and frail, cursed as unlucky, yet trying to be strong rose a sense of… a desire to protect; Protect someone other than Xie Lian.

That thought made his heart feel warm.

“A-Shao, right?” Xie Lian’s soft, gentle voice broke the stunned atmosphere. At the boy’s nod, he continued, “Do you want to come live with us? We’ll take care of you and your father.”

“Really? You will take care of pa?” Huang Shao’s face lit up and Xie Lian used his sleeves to dry those tears.

Xie Lian’s heart ached at his question. It wasn’t “take care of us” but rather “take care of father”, and he wondered what else did he go through.

“Of course. If you don’t mind where we stay,” Xie Lian replied, rubbing his head gently.

“Anywhere is better than here! Please take us away!” Huang Shao cried out, stubbornly wiping at the tears away with an arm while he clutched his father’s shirt with the other.

“Then quickly pack up what you need. We’ll help carry your father,” Xie Lian instructed before standing up.

Warm fingers crept upon Hua Cheng’s sleeves and slipped into his tightly curled hands hidden in the crook of his arms, slowly prying them loose before massaging at the tense muscles. It was at that moment that Hua Cheng realised he had been afraid; Afraid of being rejected by the boy, afraid of upsetting Xie Lian at making a decision without his opinion, afraid that he overstepped his boundaries.

But then he saw tender affection in Xie Lian’s warm gaze, the love twinkling like silver stars and he visibly relaxed, his fingers moving to hold his hand. “I’ve already tried stabilising Old Man Huang’s body with some medicine and he’s currently unconscious, but I don’t know how long more he has to live.”

Hua Cheng nodded in understanding and kissed his forehead, praising him for a job well done. They turned to the crowd.

“What are you waiting for? An invitation?” Xie Lian glared at the villagers, having no qualms at being rude. His bottom line was crossed twice today by the same crowd and he felt no need to be benevolent towards those that bullied the young and weak.

“That… Old Man Shuang was the one that usually creates the books made from bamboo in the village. And he was in charge of fixing the bamboo rafts that we use for fishing,” an elderly man said when he walked through the throng. He had a head full of white hair and a walking stick made from bamboo, carrying an air of authority. “You can’t take him away. He’s too important.”

“If he’s so important, why didn’t you take care of him better!” Xie Lian felt truly incensed now. “It just sounds to me that you're taking advantage of him.”

“He was the only one who knew the craft,” the elderly man said calmly.

Xie Lian bit back his words when Hua Cheng squeezed his hand and quietly took a step back. The elderly man took this as a sign of submission and smiled proudly.

“If I understood this tight, this means that none of you know how to craft using bamboo?” Hua Cheng inquired.

“That’s right.”

“Which means that all of you are practically useless despite being a village that lives so near a bamboo grove. Not only are you useless, you’re also lazy.”

“Now,” the elderly man frowned, “You can’t say that. Old Man Huang is the best at the craft. We aren’t.”

Soft thudding of footsteps stopped beside him and Hua Cheng noticed that Huang Shao was already done packing. The drawstring bag hanging on his thin waist wasn’t filled with much and the bamboo sticks were already neatly tied and strapped on his back. Xie Lian had Old Man Huang’s arm around his shoulders and he looked at Hua Cheng with a resolute gaze.

Smilingly, Hua Cheng turned back and said in a taunting tone, “Oh, my apologies. I clearly remembered you saying that none of you know how to craft using bamboo. Since you do know, then it isn't an issue to take a sick man and a child away. Now that's settled, let's go.”

“You'll regret taking that unlucky bastard with you!” the elderly screamed, knocking his walking stick on the ground in frustration when he realised he lost.

Xie Lian supported the limp man effortlessly while he walked through the crowd under heated glares, but he kept his head held high as Hua Cheng protected him by his side.

The man in crimson let out a confused gasp when a small bony hand slipped into his and he looked down to see Huang Shao’s hopeful gaze shining up at him.

“Thank you, Hong ge ge.”

Hua Cheng lightly squeezed his hand and smiled, feeling a warm soft sensation tease his heart. “It's alright. A-Shao can live properly with his pa from now on, okay?”

“Mm!” He nodded happily.

The group walked until they were out of Panda Village and Xie Lian shot the place one last glare before walking forward.

“What Panda Village... Not even friendly like pandas. Such a disgrace,” he grumbled under his breath, causing Hua Cheng to laugh while he picked up Old Man Huang’s other arm and slung it over his own shoulder.

The couple had discussed it privately before that they should probably try to not scare the mortals by travelling with the dices, not to mention that the city they’re going to wasn’t exactly… normal.

They walked in silence for a while, taking many breaks in between for Huang Shao to recover. Grass crunched beneath their feet, a cool spring breeze caressing their skin under the sun, and soon, they would be upon Ghost City.

“A-Shao, are you afraid of ghosts?” Hua Cheng questioned when they stopped for a quick break.

Huang Shao shook his head.

“You’re not? Why?”

“Because Qing-ge became a ghost and Qing-ge is a kind person! So, I’m not scared of ghosts.” He blinked at them once, twice before continuing. “Pa said when people never wake up, they become ghosts!”

Both Xie Lian and Hua Cheng turned towards him inquisitively, and Huang Shao began to explain. Roughly around a month ago, his brother Huang Qing and him were collecting bamboo in the nearby bamboo grove when a group of boys from the village came.

“They started scolding us and calling us stupid and poor, and we were fine cause that’s what happens everyday! But Qing-ge got really angry when one of the boys started pushing A-Shao. Qing-ge was always strong! He was always strong...” Huang Shao’s voice grew quiet, his fingers tightening their grip around the bamboo water container while his body shook. “A-Shao really wished he was stronger, then I could have helped Qing-ge. Qing-ge pushed them back and told A-Shao to run, but I didn���t want to leave him alone. A-Shao tried to hit them but they were bigger and stronger.”

Xie Lian tugged the boy and wrapped him in his arms, patting his back as he frowned at the wetness soaking into his robes. Huang Shao raised his hands to clutch tightly at the older man, the tears free flowing as though he was finally allowed to let loose the suppressed anguish and anger killing him inside.

“They killed him. They killed Qing-ge when he was trying to save A-Shao.”

Their frowns deepened when the boy shook harder, his voice growing hoarse from the cries screaming into the Heavens. He couldn’t forget the scene, not when Huang Qing stood in front of him after blocking the barrage of stones thrown their way. They tried to run, slipping and sliding in the bamboo groves that were wet after the morning rain. “Father said you should never have been born! You’re an unlucky bastard!” were the words he last heard before Huang Qing pushed him aside.

And his older brother being impaled with the bamboo they cut the last thing he saw.

Huang Shao screamed at the memory, his fingers digging deep into Xie Lian’s skin. Xie Lian shook his head when Hua Cheng came over to pry the boy away and he could only sit and watch warily at the scene.

After a short moment, Xie Lian waved his hand for him to come over and he did, only to have the same hand reach out for his head and let it rest against his other shoulder, patting his hair affectionately.

It was as though Xie Lian was trying to comfort him too.

“A-Shao misses Qing-ge!” Huang Shao wailed, burying his head further into the crinkled, snot-laced robes. “I miss him!”

Hua Cheng laid a hand over Xie Lian’s that suddenly tensed. He looked up and he felt his heart ache at the unshed angry tears glimmering in those soft orbs.

“A-Shao wish A-Shao was never born! Then he would still be alive! And pa wouldn’t be sick. And ma would still be alive!”

“A-Shao!” Hua Cheng bolted to sit upright as Xie Lian lightly reprimanded the boy, pulling him away to look at his face but Huang Shao hid his face and cried harder. “A-Shao! Listen to me. Don’t think that, okay? It’s a blessing that you were born into this world! There’s so many beautiful things for you to see!”

But all his words fell on deaf words.

Xie Lian squeezed his eyes at the hysterical crying that filled the air, the emotional pain flowing from the boy’s every pore. From his mouth came a cry, so different from before, so raw that Xie Lian felt his own eyes suddenly pricked with tears.

“Why was A-Shao even born... A-Shao killed ma... A-Shao even killed Qing-ge...”

Then came a whisper audible enough over the cries.

“If you don’t know how to live on, then live for your brother.”

Hua Cheng frowned at Huang Shao, a pale finger reaching out to catch a tear; warm, sorrowful. “I have no answer to your question. But if you don’t know the reason why you were born, then make your brother that meaning, and use him as the reason to live.”

The atmosphere fell deathly silent but Hua Cheng was not perturbed by it in the slightest. Xie Lian was hit with a wave of nostalgia when he heard those words, embarrassment and pride welling up within, for were they not the same thing he told Hua Cheng many years ago?

Huang Shao sniffled at the words so different from what he’s been told before, looking at Hua Cheng with tear stained cheeks but no new tears fell.

“I... was someone born under the Star of Solitude,” Hua Cheng began. “Do you know what that means?” At Huang Shao’s shake of the head, he explained, “It means that I will only bring bad luck and break things to everyone around me. Evil always follows me around.”

“But Hong ge ge is such a nice person!” Huang Shao interjected in panic.

“Hong ge ge is happy that A-Shao thinks so,” Hua Cheng looked at the pair of hands hold onto two of his fingers, and an inexplicable feeling aroused in his heart. The hands were so small, so fragile.

He caressed Huang Shao’s head with a smile. “But the kingdom’s greatest fortune teller was the one that told me that. But you know who saved me?”

“Who?” By now, Huang Shao had completely stopped crying, reduced to only sniffles and puffy eyes.

Hua Cheng pointed at Xie Lian with a proud grin, only to have the subject in question flush red in embarrassment. Hua Cheng tugged at the arms covering his face and pulled him over. “Bai ge ge here told me the same thing I told you. And it looks like I grew up nicely, didn’t I?”

Huang Shao nodded his head thoughtfully.

“See? Don’t listen to what the crazy villagers said. Just think about your brother. He’ll be sad if you don’t live properly.”

Then, Huang Shao took in the words earnestly. “A-Shao… A-Shao will live for my brother. A-Shao don't want to make him sad.”

“That’s a good boy.”

Hua Cheng hesitated for a moment, locking a gaze of uncertainty with Xie Lian’s encouraging one, before nervously opening his arms. Huang Shao sniffled, watching him cautiously, and the man stiffened. His arms began to falter, inching slowly down when a small forced knocked onto his chest, thin arms wounding around his waist. Huang Shao quietly sobbed the rest of his anguish in his embrace.

Xie Lian watched the scene unfold with tender eyes, smiling when shaky hands raised to slowly pat at the back before settling to rub circles upon it. His eyes twinkled when Hua Cheng looked up with a proud smile, as if to say: “Look, ge ge! I'm comforting a child!”, and with a thumbs up, he nodded in agreement.

Leaving the two to their little bubble, Xie Lian then went to check on Old Man Huang whose face was no longer contorted in pain. His temperature and heart rate was normal, but he couldn’t really judge on the extent of internal injuries the man’s suffered all these years.

“A-Shao, are you hungry?”

Xie Lian’s ears perked up at Hua Cheng’s voice, quiet yet timid, as if the man was still slightly nervous when it came to dealing with children. When there came no response, he glanced backwards to check, only to quickly turn away after a short moment to stifle his laughter. The Supreme Demon, feared by many but feared no one, was being done in by a child! Hua Cheng’s smile had twitched at the silence, but as it relented, the smile dropped into one of panic and horror. His hands hovered above Huang Shao, unsure if to pull him away or to keep hugging him, or was the boy unwell? He was quite sickly after all!

Hua Cheng had sent a distress signal to Xie Lian with his eyes, but his lover had quickly glanced away. He saw the telltale signs of his suppressed laughter; of the slender shoulder shaking with bubbling giggles, where his head was lowered in an attempt to hide his grin and the exposed neck flushing a blushing pink.

‘Ge!’ He cried out mentally.

As though hearing his plea, Xie Lian turned around with a grin stretched from ear to ear, playful mirth dancing in his eyes. Hua Cheng repeatedly flicked his gaze down onto the silent boy, a silent plea for help and Xie Lian gestured for him to hug him and pat the back before asking the question again.

Hua Cheng obediently followed his instructions, keeping his touch light and delicate. “A-Shao, are you hungry?”

Huang Shao tightened his grip as his shoulders started to tremble.

Despite the panic rising, Hua Cheng tried to mimic what Xie Lian would do. With a hand patting Huang Shao’s back, Hua Cheng tried to gently pull him away. “A-Shao, it’s okay. Don’t be scared. Are you not hungry? If you’re not, then we don’t have to eat.”

Huang Shao let himself be pulled away while he kept shaking his head. “No, no… Hong ge ge… can… A-Shao really… tell you what he wants?”

Seeing the wary smile paired with a sparkling hope in his eyes, Hua Cheng’s smile grew. “Of course. Just tell us what you want.”

“Then…” Huang Shao glanced at his father. “Could we eat braised chicken feet when pa wakes up? He loves eating that.”

“Definitely! What about you?”

“A-Shao… is okay. As long as pa is happy. A-Shao can share with him.”

“A-Shao is such a good boy,” Xie Lian sighed wistfully. “I hope my son can grow up as good as you.”

Huang Shao shook his head. “No… it's better if he's like Qing-ge. Strong and kind.”

Xie Lian picked up Old Man Huang with Hua Cheng’s help and said, “If you want to, we’d like to know more about your brother.”

Huang Shao slipped his hand into Hua Cheng’s as they continued on their way to Ghost City. “Qing-ge was the best! He’s always smiling and was so strong! He could pick up this much bamboo when we were six!” He gestured with his hands while he described, one still holding onto Hua Cheng’s. “I could only pick up this little. And he was good at cooking porridge! I loved his sweet potato porridge the most!”

Apparently, Huang Shao and Huang Qing were twins, the former the younger twin. In their case, the younger twin had been born a lot smaller and with a weaker constitution. They did everything together and helped Old Man Huang with the bamboo business every day, totally inseparable. He was currently seven years old, yet he looked no more than five because of his body.

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian tacitly agreed to not bring up the topic of the mother, allowing Huang Shao to go on about his brother until they reached Ghost City. It was already near dusk.

At the sight of the bustling city, the boy’s widened his eyes in excitement, taking in the various pedestrians that occupied the streets. There were some in masks of different emotions and those without were even more bizarre; small heads with large bodies, some skinny like the bamboo sticks he collected for his father, and they were not all human-looking!

“Is that a rug?” Huang Shao asked innocently.

Beneath the throng of people was a shimmery white that crawled across the street.

Hua Cheng shook his head, answering, “Nope, that’s also a ghost.”

The boy gasped in awe, unafraid as they walked through the crowd.

“Chengzu! Chengzu’s back!”

“His highness is back too!”

“Who’s the man and kid with them?”

“Food? Sacrifice?”

“Entertainment?”

“A present for us, maybe?”

As the ghosts grew rowdier with their assumptions, the brave boy scooted nearer to Hua Cheng, his grip extremely tight on the pale hand. With a low chuckle, Ghost City’s Lord reassured him, “Don’t listen to them. They’re just speaking nonsense.”

Xie Lian chuckled alongside him, when a voice echoed in his mind.

“Please protect my family.”

Hua Cheng let out a sound of confusion when his lover halted in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Xie Lian stared at Hua Cheng. “I… just received a prayer.”

“Isn’t that good?” Hua Cheng beamed.

“Yes… but I always thought it was you.”

He proceeded to explain the happenings that he’s experienced over the past month and his thoughts on the matter. Hua Cheng was overjoyed at the new believer as well, but also grew worried because the content of his prayer was important. They hurried to Paradise Manor and set the Huang family in a room before Xie Lian quickly left for QianDeng temple.

Upon reaching the temple hall, the smell of incense wafted into his senses yet there was no one in sight. Pulling out the prayer, he carefully looked it over.

Huang Qing, age 7.

Please protect my family.

Huang Qing? Xie Lian pondered. Wasn’t that the name of Huang Shao’s older twin?

He rushed back to Paradise Manor, aware of a gaze constantly following him, however he caught onto nothing but a silver shimmer fading at every corner he looked. Having no time to dwell on this stalker, he entered the Huang family’s room to see Hua Cheng checking Old Man Huang’s body thoroughly. Huang Shao was standing at the foot of the bed, curious and worried. Seeing him come in, Hua Cheng dropped the robe and reassured Huang Shao that everything was alright before walking out with Xie Lian in tow.

“What’d you find out?” Hua Cheng asked once the door clicked shut.

“The prayer is from Huang Qing, as in A-Shao’s Qing-ge,” Xie Lian explained. “It would seem like when he died, he ended up at Ghost City?”

“And started praying to you because of the QianDeng temple,” Hua Cheng finished. “If he’s that driven to always pray everyday, it would make sense with what I found on Old Man Huang’s body.”

“What is it?” Xie Lian grew more worried.  

“He’s been beaten. A lot. I found at least ten older injuries and five fresh ones on his body. Some off his bones weren’t set right when they healed, but I think the worst one is the broken ribs.” With a sigh, Hua Cheng frowned and couldn’t help glancing at the closed door. “I can’t tell if his lungs are punctured or not. Whatever medicine you gave him just now helped stabilise his condition, but we’re no doctors. I don't know how I can help anymore.”

“If it was like that, didn't that mean he was abused back in the village? By who?” Xie Lian asked.

But who else could they think of except for that old man?

A murderous aura densely filled the hallway. A tall young man, as pale as the freshest snow, coloured bloody by his crimson robes smiled a smile so wide, yet his lips were thinly stretched as a blazing fury gleamed dangerously in his gaze. As though sensing the bloodlust, E-Ming’s eye started to dart around and tremble in excitement. Beside him stood a shorter man, clad in the purest of white, but his expression was icy like the winter plains. A sharp sword aura danced in the previously warm eyes as the smile faded away, his fists clenched tight enough to draw blood.

“I want to murder him,” Xie Lian bit out through gritted teeth. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together, especially when the words the elderly man said was the exact same as what the child bully had said to Huang twins.

��Let me do it, ge ge. You’re a Heavenly Official. You can’t attack mortals. I'll ask Yin Yu to look after them.”

“What’s another rule broken? It won’t be the first time I broke one,” Xie Lian grumbled under his breath as they turned to leave. Even if they don’t kill that old man, they (ahem, they meaning Hua Cheng) could at least take control of the village to prevent similar future happenings, right?

Was it because they shared a similar fate that the Supreme Demon felt compelled to obtain some sort of justice?

…

It’s probably just revenge actually.

As the duo was halfway down the hallway, atmosphere heavy with the desire for blood, the Huang family’s door was swung open.

“Pa’s awake! Hong ge ge! Bai ge ge!” Huang Shao called as he ran to catch up with them, tugging on their hands when he reached. “Come! Come in. A-Shao wants you to meet him!”

The murderous aura instantly dissipated at the first sign of his voice, flipping the tense heavy atmosphere and turned it light, jovial. They followed him back inside the room and saw Old Man Huang sitting on the bed with a gentle smile.

“I… don’t know where I am?” Old Man Huang chuckled nervously, cautiously watching the new pair that walked in. Waking up to a foreign ceiling, a foreign bed… Panic flooded his mind. His throat tightened, ribs heaving as if bound by rusty iron chains. A mocking musical of fears spun in his head, phantom silhouettes whose grins of scorn and ridicule flooded his ears, and a scream crawled up his throat when a small bony hand reached out to hold his shaking one. The familiar warmth halted the fears in place and his vision refocused to see his son watching him from the side.

“Pa! This is Hong ge ge and Bai ge ge! They let us stay with them! We’re in… uh, Paradise Manor! Everyone here is friendly!” Huang Shao gushed, running forward to his side.

“Yes, yes. Indeed,” Old Man Huang nodded happily until the words were properly processed in his mind. “P-Paradise Manor? Are you sure?”

“Yeah! The ghosts all called them ‘Chengzhu’ and ‘Your highness’!”

If he was suspecting before, that just affirmed it. Pulling his son away from the silent pair, Old Man Huang stared them down and said flatly, “What is it that you want?”

“Nothing actually,” Xie Lian stepped forward with a smile. “We just couldn’t stand by and watch you be bullied by the village.”

Old Man Huang was hesitant but Huang Shao immediately got into explaining everything that happened. After that, he visibly relaxed and gave in. They exchanged a few words when the old man told his son to go out and play with Xie Lian. Taking the clue, the Heavenly Official brought the child out so that the adults could talk.

“You saw my condition?” Old Man Huang started. At Hua Cheng’s nod, he continued, “I know myself how bad it is. I won't be able to live much longer. But when I do go, could you take care of A-Shao for me?”

“We will,” Hua Cheng solemnly agreed. “But how did you get the injury? It's nothing new, is it?”

He laughed bitterly at the demon’s question. “The damn village head. That's why.”

Hua Cheng’s expression fell a few degrees.

Apparently, the village head was jealous of Old Man Huang for marrying the most beautiful girl in the village, but she had already rejected him from early on, having only ever loved Old Man Huang. Life wasn’t easy as money was scarce and she hadn’t been able to conceive a child even after decades. When one day, she found out she was pregnant! They had been so ecstatic, only for the happiness to double because she gave birth to twins, but none of the villagers were experienced in delivering twins and she eventually died frim blood loss. Old Man Huang was worried for Huang Shao too, because he was born extremely tiny and frail. Who knew, after her death, the village head would start giving them troubles?

“I thought beating me up would be enough… but I didn't know they were abusing my children too. A-Qing… A-Qing even died at his son’s hands… monsters. They're all monsters,” Old Man Huang cried into his hands. “I know you could probably get revenge but could I request for you not to? The village is not worth your time at all. Please… please just take care of my A-Shao.”

Hua Cheng pressed his lips into a thin line, teeth grinding in fury, but he couldn't ignore the dying man's wish. “I will.”

Old Man Huang smiled sadly and descended into sleep.

That night, the couple ate a simple dinner with the Huang family. Old Man Huang cried silently as he ate into the braised chicken feet, warm and appreciative emotions overflowing from his eyes while Huang Shao stared at the sweet potato porridge in utter bafflement.

“It probably won't taste the same as how your brother makes it but I hope you will like it,” Hua Cheng scooped a small bowl for the gaping boy.

Huang Shao snapped up to look at him with tears collecting in his eyes before slowly reaching out for the bowl. He used the porcelain spoon to cut a chunk off the soft orange vegetable and brought some to his lips. He blew gently at the warm porridge, little puffs of air making the steam dance while old memories resurfaced, the reminiscing love warming his insides. His brother would serve him a small bowl of sweet potato porridge like this too, and it even looked the same. When he ate the first bite, seeing the phantom smile of his brother beside Hua Cheng’s, the first teardrop fell. His nose grew stuffy but he hurriedly wolfed down the porridge as the tears streamed down harder.

He'll live for his brother. He'll make his brother happy.

  ~~*~~*~~

 That night…

“Can we adopt A-Shao?”

Snuggled deep into the blankets, Xie Lian looked up at Hua Cheng who, in a rare moment, held a solemn expression. “Of course we can if you want to. I'll be happy too as well. A-Shao is a good boy.”

Hua Cheng delicately kissed his hair with an appreciative hum. “Did you agree to not having a baby for me?”

“Yeah, I did.” Xie Lian absentmindedly traced the contours of his lover’s naked chest. “It's fine if we don't have any because we're already a family without one. I’m pretty content as things are now. And I believe that our relationship is the one that'll come first before the babies because without our love as a foundation, the baby wouldn't have existed.” His arms wound around the chest as he nuzzled into the skin. “I'm also partly afraid that I won't be a good father. I don't want my child to not get along with me…” ‘Like my dad and I’, we're the words he left unsaid.

“I understand why you'd be scared but with the things that's been happening lately, I am 200% sure you'll be a great father.”

Xie Lian giggled when Hua Cheng flipped over to hover above him. Pulling the man down for a kiss, he wrapped his legs around his waist and pulled him down. “With you by my side, I believe everything will be fine.”

  ~~*~~*~~

 Ghost City was bustling the very next day as the colour red began to slowly paint the city like a wave of roses. Lanterns hung by the doorways, accompanied by long strips of red cloth that dangled across the beams and all the ghosts were merry while they brightened up the place.

Until someone screamed that Paradise Manor caught on fire.

Xie Lian who had been walking through the streets to find Shao Qing had his mouth agape at the news. Was the manor attractive to fire spirits somehow!?

Rushing back, he saw Hua Cheng standing before Huang Shao with his arms crossed by the scorched kitchen and he caught the faints words of “…tried cooking” from the boy.

“What happened,” he asked when he neared them.

With an amused chuckle, Hua Cheng pecked his cheek and explained, “Huang Shao wanted to try and cook lunch for us when he accidentally burnt the kitchen. It would seem our future son has a knack at burning kitchens!”

The teary eyed boy paled, a dark shadow of memories jeering at him from within, and he hid his face behind his hands. Xie Lian couldn’t help but laugh too. Bending down to face him at eye level, he said, “A-Shao ah, don’t worry about it. We can leave the cooking to Hong ge ge. Bai ge ge can’t cook either!”

Huang Shao looked up slightly. “Y-You’re not angry at A-Shao?” His voice was extremely soft, trembling and thick with fear. The emotion had clouded his mind, the ingrained instincts of self-blame rising in his throat and leaking through his nose. “B-But A-Shao destroyed the kitchen. I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt my pa!” He lunged forward and gripped onto Xie Lian’s sleeves, the frightened tears falling. “I’m sorry! A-Shao was a bad boy! I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to –!”

His words stopped there, as though an ugly realization reared its head and bared its fangs. With wide eyes, he released the sleeves and scrambled back on unsteady feet until his back hit the wall and he immediately curled up into a ball. Skinny arms were raised above his head as he repeatedly cried out, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have touched you. Please don’t hurt pa. Just hit me instead!”

Xie Lian was struck dumb at the sight. His fingers resting upon his bent knees twitched, once, twice, before they curled tightly. His expression maintained its friendly smile as to not further frighten the poor boy but he could feel the inky wave of dark murderous desire crawling up his spine from behind courtesy of his lover.

“A-Shao…” he softly called out but it only made the boy curl in tighter.

A cold hand on Xie Lian’s shoulder made him look up to see Hua Cheng’s fierce expression. “Let me try.”

Hua Cheng crouched in front of the crying boy as a silver butterfly materialized itself and landed gracefully on his fingers, its wings softly caressing the tear stained cheeks. At the cool icy touch on his skin, Huang Shao apprehensively lifted his head and blinked at the translucent insect. Realising it got his attention, the butterfly leaned forward and began nuzzling his cheek as though it was trying to give it as many kisses as possible. His tears involuntarily stopped as a giggle escaped his clutches. Distracted by the butterfly, he jumped when a similar icy finger poked at his forehead.

“Do you not like Hong ge ge anymore?” Hua Cheng asked. The killing intent dropped from his voice, leaving only a wronged tone that was paired with a pout.

“I do like! I do like Hong ge ge,” Huang Shao bent forward to latch onto the red sleeves and more tears spilled. “Please don’t hate A-Shao.”

“I don’t hate A-Shao at all. But Hong ge ge and Bai ge ge are sad because A-Shao is crying,” Hua Cheng dipped his head slightly. “We don’t like seeing A-Shao cry.”

The boy immediately wiped his face with his hands and put on the brightest smile ever. “A-Shao isn’t crying! See! I’m smiling!”

Hua Cheng made a gesture of looking up to see his face before the pout was stretched into a grin. “A-Shao really is the best when he smiles!” He opened up his arms and the boy dove right into his embrace. “Next time A-Shao wants to cook, can you call Hong ge ge or Bai ge ge to join? It’s more fun if we cook together!”  

The boy merely nodded his head obediently.

Hua Cheng turned his head back to smile proudly at Xie Lian, only to furrow his eyebrows in confusion. Chanting out the private communicate password, he directly spoke with his frowning lover.

“What’s wrong?”

“Those butterflies of yours are a cheat,” Xie Lian huffed and pouted with his arms crossed.

A teasing smile curled onto those kissable lips, one side higher than the other. “Why? Does ge ge want a hug too?”

“Of course!” he whined.

“Then come over.”

Xie Lian let out a confused sound. He then noticed Hua Cheng’s outstretched hand, his eyes travelling the tender affection in his gaze before dropping and catching sight of the puffy innocent, expectant eyes of the child who was buried into an embrace he was so familiar with. Not standing on ceremony, Xie Lian laughed and joined in.

If this was his life from now on, how perfect would it be?

He was going to marry the man that he loved in two more days and they were possibly getting a son as an addition to their family.

…He was going to stop there because who knew if he’d jinx his own wedding with what he was going to say.

(Though Hua Cheng’s luck would have probably neutralized it!)

  ~~*~~*~~

The night before the wedding, both Hua Cheng and Xie Lian were called to the Huang family’s room. Old Man Huang was sitting by the table, the fatigue hidden behind a bright grin and a straight back. Huang Shao was obediently sitting next to him while eating another bowl of sweet potato porridge.

“I apologise for not going out and visiting your city, my lord,” Old Man Huang said after he served them tea against Xie Lian’s protests. “It sounds like a nice city from what A-Shao told me. He’s also told me that your wedding will be soon?”

Xie Lian eagerly nodded his head, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Yeah! It’s tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow?” Old Man Huang was taken aback before he let out a relieved sigh. “Thank Heavens I finished this in time!” From his sleeve, he brought out a small unadorned bamboo box and set it before the engaged couple. “I know it’s not much but these were all I had with me in the past few days… and I wanted to thank you for everything. I hope this gift is enough.”

Xie Lian picked up the box and opened it, seeing a red silk lining the insides where a couple of rings laid within. They had a smooth surface and a thin grove carved along the center.

At this moment, Old Man Huang spoke once more, “With how poor I was, this was the only valuable gift I could present to my wife. I made them from the bamboo A-Shao brought. I noticed that you have a red string tied on your finger, so I carved out a grove for you if you ever felt like combining them together.” Then he grew flustered, bandaged hands tainted with fresh blood waving frantically before him. “I don’t mean that you have to wear it! It’s a very poor thing. Aiya, I feel embarrassed giving you such a gift for your wedding…”

“No, no. Uncle Huang, it’s a lovely gift,” Xie Lian leaned across to help Old Man Huang straighten himself. “We love it, truly.”

“Thank you,” Hua Cheng added before turning back to stroke the rings with a lift of his lips.

Old Man Huang smiled, relieved and happy, yet there was the slightest trace of bitter regret in the folds of his wrinkles. “I’m honoured that you do. I wish you a long and blessed marriage.”

That night, dinner was again lively and enjoyable as they ate. They were served braised chicken feet, sweet potato porridge with many other assorted dishes. There was laughter and smiles, a blessing that they could attain in life.

Xie Lian wished he had committed that moment into memory; It was absolutely picture perfect.

  ~~*~~*~~

 The entire Ghost City was covered entirely in red with dashes of pink to highlight its beauty on the day of the wedding. Lilies and orchids lined the streets, their sweet scent completely filling up the air for the breeze to proudly saunter around.

‘I’ll love only him.’

His warm eyes hidden behind the curtain of his bangs spoke of a beautiful soul, content and at bliss as he lowered his head to bow to the Heavens above, the place he had once dreamed for once upon a time. When he looked up, he turned towards his soon-to-be husband, delicate lips smiling at the peaceful joy reflected in his one eye. Their red wedding robes adorned with golden trimmings stood out against the flowering backdrop of spring as they shifted back towards the center of the golden pagoda where an ancestral plate was set up. Golden dragons curled around their hair that were neatly tied for the occasion, simple yet enchanting.

‘Father, mother…’ Xie Lian called in his mind, a little wistful and a little hopeful. ‘Will you agree to my choice for a partner?’ He secretly glanced at Hua Cheng who was still bowed as he was. ‘I sincerely hope for your blessings. Thank you for taking care of me and giving me this chance.’

They straightened their backs simultaneously as they remained kneeling when a breeze blew. The plum blossoms that lined the perimeter of the garden broke off their roots and happily danced in the wind, creating a blushing snowy scenery for those that attended the wedding held right by the QianDeng temple.

Once more, the couple shifted until they faced each other. Sharing tender smiles, they bowed low, their hearts soaring high in the skies as they completed the wedding traditions, officially becoming husbands. Heartfelt cheers erupted amidst the crowd as screams of “Congratulations, Chengzhu/Your Highness!” filled the air.

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian stood up from their spots, their faces stretched into wide, glowing smiles like the full blooms that carpeted the grass around them. Their hands were tightly clasped, their eyes locked in a silent declaration of love.

I love you.

They walked down the pagoda, smiles widening even more at the crowd that had gathered. Just for today, both Heavenly Officials and ghosts were standing shoulder to shoulder to witness the communion of the couple, and at the very front, Huang Shao was cheering loudly and jumping excitedly. Seeing him, Xie Lian chuckled and waved, his laughter growing louder when Huang Shao fervently waved back and Mu Qing admonished him gently at the side; The general couldn’t help himself but mother the child who was so frail and small despite being seven already.

The couple walked through the crowd, accepting their congratulations and gifts while basking in the pride of being married. All kinds of gifts were given, from more child-bearing pills to ornamental jades and gold.

However, there was one face that the married couple couldn’t find no matter what.

“Where’s your pa, A-Shao?” Xie Lian asked after crouching down.

Huang Shao blinked. “Pa said he will come soon. He will be late because he was very sleepy.”

Xie Lian frowned. Even though he knew Ghost City was safe, he didn’t feel right to have a small child walking alone on such a day where he could easily get lost! “Who did you come with then?”

Huang Shao pointed with a finger on each hand at both Mu Qing and Feng Xin. “A-Shao came with these two uncles. They were fighting on the road when A-Shao saw them! Then A-Shao found out they were coming for Hong ge ge and Bai ge ge’s wedding, so we came together.”

Xie Lian’s heart melted at the proud smile on the small boy’s face and praised him for being a smart child. At least that would explain why Mu Qing was with him and with him around, Xie Lian wouldn’t have to worry as much anymore.

Whether Mu Qing liked it or not, he still had a knack for taking care of children – unless he was a baby too.

Feng Xin spluttered, “Why am I an uncle!?”

Huang Shao blinked his eyes with a trace of slight confusion and innocence. He replied, “You look older than Bai ge ge.”

Mu Qing smartly stayed quiet and just kept a watchful eye on him while Feng Xin spiraled down into incoherent squawking as he suppressed his swearing.

Everyone congregated near the tables for the banquet as they feasted away. The crowds were split down the middle; On one side the Heavenly Officials and the other, the ghosts, for clearly the different tastebuds. However, Xie Lian noticed He Xuan sitting with Shi Qing Xuan near the Heavenly Officials as he inhaled every rare delicacy served there.

“Can’t even decently eat,” Mu Qing muttered with a roll of his eyes as he ate the meat with an air of arrogance and slight elegance to his movements.

He Xuan’s head snapped up, a challenging taunt in his dark, empty gaze as he snarled. “Of course you’d say that, pretty boy. You’re so skinny, I thought you were a woman!”

Mu Qing froze at his comment, his insult. Placing his chopsticks on the table, he turned towards the demon with a full heated glare. “Only someone as blind as you will see me as a woman!”

“…you would look pretty good as one though, Mu-xiong,” Shi Qing Xuan thought out loud with his chopsticks resting against his lips. “You should try, Mu-xiong! I’d like to see!”

Mu Qing’s eye twitched in annoyance as he slowly shifted his glare from the smug demon to the man by his side. There were no words he could use, not when anything more would result in a brawl. The irritation brewed in his blood, swirling like a giggling, taunting ghost.

A smile slowly crept onto his face and He Xuan felt a certain dread wash over him.

There was a sudden cloud of smoke in the blink of an eye that sent those near it into a coughing fit as they waved it away. When it gradually cleared, from beneath the smoke, bit by bit, it revealed a beautiful forehead curtained by shimmering silver locks, a pair of enchanting dark grey eyes that coquettishly winked atop a coy smile painted a seductive red, her long delicately curled eyelashes gently fluttering with the movement. The smoke cleared some more, this time revealing a slender neck that dipped into silk robes of a deep azure blue, lined with bright silver trimmings that was tightened around the small waist with a navy sash, which simply highlighted the full curves that she possessed.

“How do I look?” The woman gently asked, her voice soft spoken and timbre.

He Xuan’s jaw went slack at the transformation, just like every other Heavenly Official at the table. They had a hard time processing it and some were feeling their bodies heat up at the sight, some going hard. Feng Xin on the other side blinked once and slow, his mind crashing with “What the fuck!? Mu Qing!?”.

Shi Qing Xuan gasped in adoration. “A beauty!! Absolute beauty!”

Hearing that bubbly voice, He Xuan crashed back into reality, scoffing as he did with an eye roll. “Ugly.”

“You have shit tastes then,” Mu Qing immediately retorted before anyone could get a word in, returning that eye roll with one of his own as he crossed his slender arms below his chest that held a pair of tall peaks.

“Idiot.”

“Imbecile.”

“Asshole.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s not fight. There’s so much food! Let’s keep eating,” Shi Qing Xuan quickly interjected before the pair could continue their argument, dropping more meat onto He Xuan’s plate before doing the same for Mu Qing.

However, before he could lean over to do so, He Xuan stopped him. “Let me. Don’t overexert yourself. Eat first.”

Shi Qing Xuan was taken aback for a moment before he smiled and obediently sat back down and continued eating.

Feng Xin’s stunned state fell away slowly, his stare narrowing into a glare when he noticed the demon kindly take some meat and vegetables and placed them in Mu Qing’s bowl. He was gritting his teeth when a small hand tugged at his sleeve. Turning to look, Huang Shao was staring at him intently.

“Uncle, can A-Shao change places with you?”

A vein throbbed on his temple as the man smiled and nodded his head. “Of course.”

And so, they exchanged seats.

Feng Xin felt an iron taste of blood in his mouth as he raged. ‘Why is Mu Qing still a woman!? Change back! Fucking change back!’

“So pretty! How did ge ge do that!” Huang Shao asked excitedly.

And the man nearly spat out the blood when the blood raged like the tumultuous storm. ‘Why is he ‘ge ge’ but I’m an uncle!?’

…

Near the center of the banquet, hidden away in their own little bubble…

Xie Lian sat with Hua Cheng at the same desk in the center of the gathering; The connecting point for both sides. Under the desk, he reached his left hand over onto Hua Cheng’s lap and smiled when the demon held it with his own left hand. Lifting the spoon to his lips, he delicately drank the soup as he watched the bustling excitement surrounding them, before gazing at Hua Cheng once more.

The long eyelashes shielding his eye was lightly curled, the tips kissing the highs of the pale cheek. His warm eyes trailed down to trace the sharp jawline where addictive lips curled devilishly charming while he ate. He watched the lips pucker slowly and the tongue peeked out to lick at the bottom lip where a dash of sauce had stained it. A thumb was raised to wipe at the corner, bit by bit in a slow seduction.  

“San Lang, there’s still a grain of rice on your lips,” Xie Lian said, unknowing that his voice was thick with emotion.

“Really? Where?” Was Hua Cheng’s soft reply as he turned his head towards him, but Xie Lian’s gaze could only focus on those lips.

Xie Lian leaned forward, a hand lifted to wipe at the indeed present single grain of rice when the handsome face mirrored his actions. Before he could properly register what happened, Hua Cheng’s face was already mere inches from his.

“Where is it?” His usual teasing tone was gone, replaced by a deep husky voice that tugged at the feral desires within him, pawing and inviting him in for a pleasurable moment.

Xie Lian’s eyes were locked fully onto the grain and he felt his mouth go dry. There was a temptress’ call, beckoning to near it. Closer and closer… his eyes fluttered to a close as his lips affectionately kissed at the corner of Hua Cheng’s lips, where the rice had been. His tongue licked at the grain, lips lingering for a while longer upon the cold skin before he parted.

Did the weather suddenly turn warmer or was it just him?

“Mm, thank you, ge ge,” Hua Cheng whispered. He turned his head slightly to kiss at his cheeks that were as red as the wedding robes they wore.

“Y-You’re welcome.”

Xie Lian quickly sat back down on his seat and quietly continued eating his food while Hua Cheng chuckled.

The event lasted until dusk, when the Heavenly Officials had to finally return because of the piles of work that were growing on their tables. It was at such a moment that they wished they were as carefree as Xie Lian was! They all bid their goodbyes and the married couple returned to Paradise Manor with each of Huang Shao’s hands in theirs. They hadn’t spotted hide nor hair of Old Man Huang, and they were growing worried.

“Please protect my family.”

The same prayer came again, but Xie Lian frowned, feeling the guilt weigh heavier than before. A cruel reminder of his failed task. They hurried to the room.

The room was eerily silent as the door was pushed open, the creak exceptionally loud in their ears. They walked through to the bedroom but there was nothing to greet them except for an emptiness. Their brains stuttered for a moment, short circuiting and forced to pause while the realization sunk in, words leaving without a look back.

The fragile glass shattered when a terrified shriek punctured their minds. Wild eyed and blood draining from his face, Huang Shao ran towards the bed where a body laid motionless.

“Pa! Pa!”

As the child shook the body and cried for his father, both Xie Lian and Hua Cheng knew that the old man would never move again. Not when his skin was deathly white, totally drained of blood, the peaceful smile permanently carved upon his wrinkled, rigid cold skin. The child’s cries grew louder, each cry a knife stabbing repeatedly into their hearts, deeper and merciless in drawing blood and unshed tears.

“You said you were getting better!” Huang Shao screamed. “You’ve never lied to A-Shao. Pa! Wake up, please! Look! Hong ge ge and Bai ge ge are here too. They’re married! And they came to see you!”

Hua Cheng slipped his fingers to interlace with Xie Lian’s, his thumb rubbing at the skin. They shared a knowing glance, their celebratory mood dampened. They understood that Old Man Huang knew that last night was his… last night. It was no wonder he requested to eat his favourite braised chicken feet, that he gave his gifts yesterday instead of today at the wedding.

‘Old man… even if you wanted to avoid such a taboo for my wedding, we’ll still have to break a traditional belief,’ Hua Cheng sighed resignedly. ‘We’re giving you a proper funeral.’

Huang Shao’s cries gradually grew softer, his hopes growing dimmer and dimmer when his father didn’t reply or respond. “Please don’t leave A-Shao too…”

“Was A-Shao a bad boy? I promise I’ll behave. A-Shao won’t even try cook dinner for pa anymore so I don’t destroy the kitchen…”

“Does pa not want A-Shao anymore…”

Xie Lian squeezed his eyes shut when Huang Shao screamed at Hua Cheng for taking his father away. His heart jumped into his throat, the warm tears prickling and relentless. He tilted his head up, forcing the tears back and knelt down beside the child, watching him swat at Hua Cheng with his arms, pushing and screaming for the man to go away, that his father is alright, he’s perfectly healthy, that he’s just sleeping! Go! Go away!

“Stay away from my pa!!”

As though that screech was his final struggle, Huang Shao dropped to his knees, the thump echoing in the muted room and Xie Lian reached out to lightly tug for him to enter his hug. Huang Shao complied obediently, which made Xie Lian’s heart ache more. It was like Huang Shao had just completely given up, like he knew his father was truly gone… just like his mother and brother before him.

“A-Shao…”

What could Xie Lian probably say in this situation? He didn’t know.

Hua Cheng frowned as he locked gazes with his husband. What could he possibly say too?

  ~~*~~*~~

That night was dead. The birds stayed away, the insects went quiet. Under an old plum blossom stood two men and a child dressed in plain white robes. A marked grave was right by the tree, its soil freshly dug and filled.

It was taboo for a newly wedded couple to attend a funeral, but what else could they have done in that situation? Huang Shao was only seven with no other family in the world; There was no way in Hell they'd make him go through this alone.

After the final respect was given, Huang Shao crouched by the grave, his fingers blankly stroking the soil.

“Pa…”

At this moment, there was a heavy gaze that settled upon Xie Lian’s figure while he watched over the child. Turning around, he sharply observed his surroundings, his feet shifting so Huang Shao was positioned safely between him and Hua Cheng. Alerted by his husband’s actions, Hua Cheng drooped into a ready stance as well.

This might be his city but there were things even he could not control.

They remained silent as they rose their vigilance. The trees ruffled with the wind and Hua Cheng pulled Huang Shao back when the latter tried to peek out. After a few more tense moments, a silvery silhouette walked out of the cluster of trees. His steps were careful and measured, eyes warily observing the men before him.

Xie Lian stared at the ghost, feeling an odd feeling arise. His narrowed eyes widened, slowly bit by bit, when the light gradually illuminated its face; Round eyes with an adorable button nose.

A nervous expression had been settled upon its features, turning into one of shock and fluster when it recognised Xie Lian. “C-Crown Prince Xian Le?”

“Huang Qing?” The man in question perked up, his guess having been half confirmed, but before the ghost could affirm, a small white figure rushed out from behind him.

“Qing-ge!”

Huang Qing looked at the boy running towards him, his expression curved into smiles and relief, “A-di!”

Yet, just as they were about to embrace, the boy slipped right through, his vision filled with an expanse of silver before they returned to the dull colour of the night. A cold pale hand wound around his waist before he kissed the grass, silently and deftly picking him up and settling him right on his feet. Huang Shao was still reeling from the shock, his eyes wide and unresponsive, mouth agape like a fish.

It was a full five seconds before the boy finally registered what happened. Twisting in Hua Cheng’s arms, he looked at his forlorn brother with teary eyes. “Qing-ge! Why can’t I hug you?”

“I… I…”

Huang Qing looked down at his hands, his face contorted into unresigned bitterness, a hatred for what he’s become sprouting in his heart. Never since his death did he think it bad for he’s saved his brother, and he had found himself here suddenly at Ghost City. It was a lively place filled with other ghosts too, yet he was also different – a ghost without a physical form, but he accepted it anyway. And one day, he found the famous QianDeng temple that everyone was talking about, hearing stories of the God that was worshipped there.

And so he prayed for the first time ever in his life. Lit the incense and prayed every dusk for his family to be protected, for them to be safe because he was no longer there.

A God should help, right?

As the seed of hatred germinated in his heart, he whipped his head around to glare at Xie Lian who had kneeled beside them. If this was the God he prayed to, why was his father buried in the ground? Dead?

“Qing-ge…” Huang Shao cried. “Pa… pa didn’t wake up. But Qing-ge is here, so pa should be around, right? Pa said if someone died, they become ghosts! And Qing-ge is a ghost. So he must be here, right?”

Huang Qing’s thoughts had gone astray, only to be brought back to the present by his younger brother’s hopeful cries. He glanced up to look at the man with the eyepatch; the City Lord of Ghost City, but even the man was silent.

“What happened, A-di?” Huang Qing whispered.

And Huang Shao began to tell the tale of what happened, from the village head physically abusing their father to the couple bringing them away.

Xie Lian kept quiet the entire time, the guilt eating away at his insides. His incompetence was magnified in his mind, the blades piercing deep into him and every word of mockery and cackle of scorn filled his mind. He couldn’t move, couldn’t hear another thing.

‘I’m useless. I’m useless. I’m useless!’

‘Just some trash that couldn’t even fulfill one prayer!’

‘Trash! You’re always going to be worthless!’

‘You’re a disappointment.’

His knees were stiff, knocking together as he lost control of his limbs, the insecurity and hatred ripping at him little by little. His eyes squeezed together, a warmth gathering behind the eyelids while he tried to cover his ears, but the voices kept coming, louder and louder.

‘You’ll never be a good husband! Can’t even cook!’

‘You’re never going to be a good father! You’ll kill your children!’

“No no no. I won’t…” His voice was barely audible even in the silence, a very faint mutter under his breath as a feeble attempt in defend himself.

He didn’t hear the faint crunching of grass or feel the presence of someone staring at him, until a small hand patted his arm, jerking him out of the abyss. The jeers dimmed in his mind, the sound now incessant critters in the back as his focus was upon the innocence standing before him.

“Bai ge ge…” Huang Shao sniffled while he leaned forward. Xie Lian closed his eyes when the little fingers rubbed at the tears before he wiped them on his clothes with a pout. After that he held onto Xie Lian’s arm, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “Hugs can make you feel better. Everyone always gives me hugs when A-Shao cry. Can A-Shao give you a hug?”

With trembling lips, Xie Lian dropped onto the ground, his bottom pricked by the grass, and he opened his arms. He couldn’t find it in himself to smile, not this time. His heart was wounded, his mind broken and he truly wished to cry. Why was he so useless? Why was he so careless? If only he asked Hua Cheng about the prayer early on, if only he did things properly from the start, then Old Man Huang wouldn’t have died, Huang Qing would still be alive.

Why did he ascend if all he was going to bring was more misfortune? More deaths?

As the boy clambered into his lap, he felt thin arms wrap themselves around his neck, the face resting in the crook of his neck. His heart jumped when he heard the sniffle, his arms instantly hugging the boy back.

“Pa is never coming back, is he?” Huang Shao asked softly.

Xie Lian shifted his gaze onto Hua Cheng, the mournful frowns a mirror of each other. Hugging Huang Shao closer, Xie Lian could only whisper an agreement, that Old Man Huang decided to leave to Heaven so he could properly protect him and his brother more. But each word seemed to knife at his heart, each lie more agonizing than the one before.

Huang Shao tightened his hold, burying his face deeper into the embrace. “It’s okay. At least no one will hurt pa ever again. And Qing-ge is here! A-Shao… A-Shao thinks… A-Shao will be okay.”

Hua Cheng watched the scene unfold with a sad smile. He had nudged for Huang Shao to go over when he saw his husband derail into a mental madness, the blank agonised gaze extremely clear for him to decipher, and he felt a certain pride he never did before once the child complied, going over and pulled the man he loved back to reality like a little light at the end of the tunnel. He then turned to Huang Qing who was also watching them, just as silent as Old Man Huang’s grave.

“Do you regret?” Hua Cheng murmured gently.

Huang Qing opened his mouth but not a sound escaped. He dropped his head, casting a shadow over his eyes. Hua Cheng waited patiently.

“Yes,” came the reply a while later. “I regret not being stronger. I couldn’t protect my family.”

A smile curled on one side of the demon’s lips. “If I told you there’s a way to get a physical body, what would you do?”

Huang Qing’s head snapped up, a feverish emotion in his gaze. “I want to know!”

“Under one condition.”

“Anything as long as I can do it!”

Hua Cheng chuckled, the sound lifting the tense atmosphere. “It’s simple. A-Shao’s becoming our son since Old Man Huang passed but it would be nice if his brother wanted to join the family too.”

Huang Qing blinked his eyes in slight confusion and utterly innocent. The action was so similar to Huang Shao that the demon laughed again. Twins, they were twins after all!

“You mean… You want to be my father?” Huang Qing gulped, his feet taking a subconscious step forward. Someone to take care of them, to protect them and support them. It would give him the chance to be with his brother too, that they wouldn’t have to separate again.

“He will be too,” Hua Cheng gestured at Xie Lian with his chin.

Huang Qing paused, frowning.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hua Cheng’s voice lowered. “But it’s not his fault that Old Man Huang died. He did try and protect your family. A-Shao is here, isn’t he?”

“It was that old dog the village head’s fault, wasn’t it?”

Hua Cheng raised a brow at the sudden chilly tone in those words, impressed and amazed at the slight killing intent that seeped out of his form. “If I said yes, what would you do?”

“Kill him.”

This time, his laughter pulled Xie Lian and Huang Shao out of their reverie, the pleased sound a stark contrast to the gloom. “A-Qing ah, I like you already. Won’t you accept?”

Xie Lian and Huang Shao tilted their heads in confusion.

“I’ll accept only if you help me,” Huang Qing retorted.

Hua Cheng grinned, his canines bared and he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear as he said nonchalantly. “Why not? His highness and I were already going to do something about it. The more the merrier.”

“Then I accept,” Huang Qing pursed his lips.

“Huh?” The other two were still confused and Hua Cheng turned his head with the same grin.

“A-Shao, would you like to join our family?”

Xie Lian immediately caught on but the child in his arms was still confused. “What?”

“Would you like to be our son?” Hua Cheng patiently repeated.  

“Yes!/What!?” Huang Shao and Huang Qing respectively exclaimed at the same time.

“You said A-di was your son, that’s why I accepted!” Huang Qing argued.

“Ah,” Hua Cheng leaned back, “No. I didn’t say that. I said he was becoming our son.” Seeing the ghost boy opening his mouth, he hurriedly cut in, “You can’t take it back. The both of you are our sons now!”

At the last words, Huang Shao’s face brightened. “Qing-ge! Isn’t this nice?”

Huang Qing groaned at the smile, feeling his defenses crumble like sand in the wind. “…maybe.”

Xie Lian chuckled and turned towards his smug husband. “Did you… just trick A-Qing?”

Hua Cheng dramatically gasped like a woman wrongfully accused. “I did not,” he punctuated each word. “I just helped him make the right decision.”

Seeing the smile on that devilishly handsome face, Xie Lian couldn’t help but ask, “But I don’t want to force him if he doesn’t want to.”

Hua Cheng softened and said seriously, “He wants it. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Following his gesture at the twins, Xie Lian saw them deep in discussion as they finally caught up with each other. One quiet and one chatty, and he felt his heart melt at the loving gaze in Huang Qing’s eyes while his twin talked the night away.

His brother was his world, wasn’t he?

“You just wanted to skip the baby phase, didn’t you?” Xie Lian murmured as he nuzzled Hua Cheng’s neck, leaning into his embrace.

“Nope,” Hua Cheng shamelessly said. “After this, babies don’t sound so bad after all. I'm sure it’ll be good.”

“Because they’re your kids?” Xie Lian huffed, though the smile remained plastered on his face.

“Nah, it’s because they’re our kids.”

Xie Lian squeezed Hua Cheng’s hands at his words. He thought he couldn’t love the man anymore, but it seemed like he’d fall for him harder and harder each time.

They watched the children talk and play for a while longer before standing up.

“Alright, it’s already late. It’s time for bed,” Xie Lian said, bending down to pick A-Shao up.

“What?” the boy cried. “No! I don’t want to sleep!”

“If you don’t sleep, you’re not going to grow big and strong like A-Qing,” Hua Cheng casually commented as Xie Lian struggled to hold onto the boy, which instantly made him obedient.

With a pout, Huang Shao submitted himself to them, but not without saying, “Only if I get to sleep with Qing-ge.”

“You negotiating brats,” Hua Cheng affectionately sighed before he gave in, “Fine.”

The night in Ghost City ended peacefully henceforth.

 But that very midnight…

A silver wraith butterfly perched atop the open window. Sensing its presence, his eyes opened to glance at it before looking back at his sleeping brother. Seeing his steady rise and fall of his breaths, Huang Qing lightly smiled and carefully slid out of bed. He tried not to jar the blanket too much and he sighed in quiet relief once his feet touched the floor. Tucking Huang Shao in, he froze when his brother groaned and turned onto his side, but relaxed when the sandman pulled him back into slumber.

He followed the butterfly out the room, his actions silent and smooth in the shadows. When he landed, two men stepped out of the shadows, one in a beautiful red and the other in plain white.

“You’re pretty good,” Xie Lian remarked. “Did you practice martial arts before?”

Huang Qing nodded curtly. “Yes.”

Xie Lian sighed at the cold response.

“We can see if he’s good with a sword later, ge ge,” Hua Cheng added thoughtfully before saying in glee, “But now, let’s teach you how to ghost people!”

Huang Qing rubbed his hands together with an evil giggle, eyes sparkling in excitement, and Xie Lian couldn’t help chuckling at the sight. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought them as actual father and son!

  ~~*~~*~~

 It began as an eerie whisper, sharp and distant that crept closer in the night until it whispered just right by his ear. The village head squeezed his eyes shut, tried to steady his trembling body but there was a silver glow behind those eyelids that flickered and danced. Something not human. Goosebumps crawled under his skin, his breathing hitching in his throat when the voice sounded nearer, ominous, revenging.

“You… have caused the death… of my father, my brother! A family of murderers… A family of murderers!!”

The shrill scream shocked even the Heavens as the forest rumbled and its inhabitants scattered away. The village head screamed when it screamed, fear and panic planting deeply into his mind. Ghost. A ghost!!

“Murdererrrr!” it screeched again and the village watched in horror as it flew wildly and unrestrained in his room. “MURDERERRR”

The village head frantically scrambled out of his bed but the blanket seemed to have gained a conscience as it tangled and locked onto his limbs, sending him tumbling onto the floor.

“Father! Are you okay!” a young boy’s voice echoed muffled behind the door.

A cold sensation washed over his old mind that was ringing with the screams of the ghost. His eyes followed his every movement. The dread settling in deeper like a splinter buried under his skin as recognition dawned on his pale face. The large round eyes that were once so beautiful, the cute button nose that would flush pink in excitement; How could he forget even if it was twisted so sinisterly!?

They looked exactly like their mother!!

“Ahhhhhhh!!” A scream ripped itself from his throat, dry and hard as the air left his lungs, and he immediately bolted for the door.

The door swung open, an inch away from slamming into his son’s face but he paid it no heed, immediately running out of the haunted house.

“Father!”

…

“Murdererrrrrs! Murdererrrrs!”

Finally taking a good look at the apparition flying towards him, the village head’s son let out a high pitched scream and ran after his father like a headless chicken, crashing and stumbling into furniture before he actually made it outside where a swarm of people were already gathering.

Yet with his eyes staring at the ghost, he slammed right into someone. They both shrieked as they were sent hurtling onto the ground, and it was at this moment the ghost flew out with its eyes rolled back and dark mouth suddenly quiet when it stopped by the scene of the crime.

“M-Murder…”

The village head’s son turned his head slowly to look at the groaning person beneath him, eyes wide with fear. His heart leapt in his throat at the growing pool of crimson blood seeping out of his white clothes, but it was the knife embedded deeply into his stomach that caught his full attention. Steel glinted in his gaze, mocking and laughing at his miserable expense.

“W-Why…” The man groaned out painfully. Coughing out blood, the hands at the knife grew slack and fell to his side, limp and lifeless.

As if on cue, the ghost screeched “Murder!!” once again and circled around the stunned crowd, where the village head was trembling with a blanched face.

A warm drop dripped onto his skin. With shaky fingers, he touched his face and stared aghast at the sight of blood. It was only a second later that the place began to rain down heavily with blood.

“Curse of the deaaaad,” the ghost sang and followed after the running villagers as the crowd screamed and dispersed in panic. “A village of murderers…! None of you shall be spaaaared…!!”

“No, no! I don’t want to live here anymore!”

“Ahhh! Let’s get away!”

“Haunted! The entire village is haunted!”

Out from the shadows opened up a red umbrella. The man in red walked towards the fallen man, bleeding and lying motionless on the ground, and he tilted the umbrella over his face before a single drop of blood could touch the dead man’s face.

The once bustling village grew silent, save for the ghost ooh-ing in the sky. The villagers all left, except for two. Beneath the umbrella’s shadow, the village head could only watch a black silhouette tilt his head sideways, the smile white and creepy, large and sharp that took up half the shadowed face.

“A murderer?” The umbrella man inquired, his voice deep and husky.

“No, no! I’m not!”

The head tilted even more, his tone flat. “But your son killed my husband.”

“No! He’s not my son!”

“Father!!”

“Go away! You’re not my son! Cursed brat! Go away!”

The umbrella man watched the scene dully, their screaming reminding him of frightened chickens before slaughter. With a simple wave of his hand, their tongues were cut off. Blood flowed into their throats as they gurgled and choked on the thick liquid, tears and snot of despair and fear vividly carved upon their faces.

“Take this as a warning.” The voice sent shivers down their spines. “Or it won’t be the last time you see me.”

Bending down to pick up his husband with his free arm, he leisurely walked out of the village with the umbrella still above his head, and the ghost trailed behind with quieter cries of “murderers”. The village head and his son watched the group leave, a darkness befalling.

Before long, the same darkness consumed them.

  ~~*~~*~~  

“That was fun!” Xie Lian laughed heartily when they were far away from the village. He removed the knife and the smashed tomatoes from his robes and tossed them onto the grass.

“Yeah! I want to do it again!” Huang Qing flipped in the air, transforming back into a small boy and landed on the ground.

Hua Cheng smiled and lightly bopped his older son on the head. “There’s plenty of chances in the future. It’s already late. Let’s go.”

Huang Qing beamed at him, latching onto his hand. Xie Lian’s smile dropped when his other hand paused hesitantly just as he was about to hold his hand. Inwardly sighing, Xie Lian dropped his hand back to his side and walked forward first.

‘It’ll take some time before he would open up… I did fail in fulfilling the prayer…’

Even if he was sour because his own (adopted) wouldn’t want to hold his hand…

Huang Qing stared at the drooped shoulders and hunched back, feeling slightly guilty at the sight. He looked up at his demon father who gestured towards the sulking man with his gaze, as if to enquire, “Do you really not want to hold his hand?”

The boy looked back at his other father. “He looks like a depressed bunny,” he couldn’t help but mutter.

Hua Cheng chuckled at the comparison. “A depressed bunny because his son hates him.”

Huang Qing’s eyes flew open. “Who said I hate him!”

“Then, why wouldn’t you hold his hand?” Hua Cheng challenged with a cheeky grin.

…

Xie Lian sighed at the cold. He kicked at a rock, watching it tumble away as he continued to berate at himself, only to jump when a small hand slipped into his. Following the arm, he blinked at Huang Qing who scowled and looked away.

“My hand is cold! Warm it for me,” the boy huffed with a slight scowl.

A slow smile bloomed in Xie Lian’s face and he nodded, “Alright!”

He wouldn’t ever mention that ghosts can’t feel cold either.

“Let’s go home.”

[k-knightt-blog]

I barely knew I had skin before I met you

Title: I barely knew I had skin before I met you

Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Chapters: 3/?

Wordcount: 1,493

Summary: You are Susanne Bier’s, the director of Night Manager, on-set assistant who falls in love with her boss’ leading man. Now, why would you do something so stupid?

A/N: Hugh Laurie is no way a bad person, he just needed to be for this story. He’s probably a really nice chap. Forgive me. 

Part 1 Part 2

Everything around you slowly speeds up, but your own movements get slower. Tom's hand is now guiding you forward, his touch making you a little dizzy. The two of you were heading to the table furthest away from the entrance. It was the only table that was full and wasn’t looking boisterous, but still, you felt anxious. You knew that everyone had heard what happens yesterday. You also knew that a few people would be compelled to ask you how you were. You didn’t like being the centre of attention, and you felt embarrassment creep down your spine. Tom knew this about you, and you were thankful to have him by your side.

Elizabeth and Tom Hollander sees the two of you first and smile. As you come closer and sit down beside Tom, Elizabeth looks at you worryingly, “Are you feeling better?” Tom Hollander's eyebrows knit in a worried frown, he hasn’t heard. “Why would she be feeling anything but okay? Did I miss something?” His hand reaching for yours over the table. Bless this man, you were lucky to call him your friend. You giggle a little at his rather dramatic reaction, Tom chuckles too. When you realise that you actually have to tell the entire cast and the other people sitting at the table you go red. “I-ehm, had a minor breakdown. I haven’t been sleeping that well the past months.” You say trying to sound nonchalant. Tom probably spotted your awkward tone of voice and snaked his arm around your waist. He’s never touched you this much, well he has hugged you in the past, a goodbye kind of hug. This felt different, you didn’t know what to think.

All of the people who partook and listened to your conversation looked at you with sad eyes. “It’s really nothing. I feel better already. I guess I’m not used to life on set, early mornings and late nights, and then the night shoots. It got to me I suppose.” You say rather quietly earning a rather harsh huff from Hugh Laurie. The two Toms, Elizabeth and myself shoot our eyes over to him. You had a feeling that he had taken a dislike to you early on, but you didn’t have the faintest clue why. On the first day of the principal shoot, Hugh had nearly not let you in the studio. You remember him pressuring you to show him your pass and ID because you quote-unquote looked 18. Susanne had come just in time to reassure the acclaimed actor that you were, in fact, her assistant. A few moments after that you met Tom for the first time. You remember everything about that first encounter.

Hugh didn’t elaborate after that inaugural snort, actually he hasn’t even looked up from the paper he was reading. You looked up at Tom, the muscles in his face tight, he almost looked angry. Before either of us speak Elizabeth comes and saves the day, “Something to add Hugh?” She asks him sweetly, leaning forward, to defuse the tension. He looked up and almost looked confused like he hasn’t just dismissed your misery. Hugh folded his paper in half and leaned back in his chair, “I have been in this business for nearly forty years and I’ve never complained. Let alone had a nervous break down because of it.” His tone was cold and you were sure everybody was as shocked as you were.

You didn’t dare to say anything because Hugh obviously didn’t value anything you had to say. You looked up at Tom and he looked furious. “This isn’t about you though, is it?” He tried to not sound angry but you could tell that he was. Hugh just shrugged and ate some of the food that sat in front of him. Maybe he didn’t realise that he hurt your feelings just now, maybe he’s having a bad day. Tom’s fingers tightened around your waist and you leaned closer to him, ”Just leave it, maybe he’s had a bad day. People snap, it’s alright.” You whisper to tom who leaned his head towards your voice, but his glare still on Hugh. “Tom?” You say again, wanting him to stop staring daggers at his co-star. “He can’t talk to you like that,” Tom says, his eyes have finally found yours. You sigh, “Like my mother always said - you have to choose your battles, and if you do fight fire with fire.” Tom’s whole facade softens and you can almost detect a flash of embarrassment when he loosens his grip on your side. “Wise Woman.” He says giving you a sweet smile.

Suddenly you feel how hungry you are so you stand up, and begin walking towards the buffet. Tom shuffles to his feet and loudly tells you to wait for him. He can’t see it but your face breaks out in a wide smile. His hand ghosts your waist as he peeks over your shoulder, “Always the vegetables huh?” He chuckles earning a playful scuff from you. ”You are what you eat.” You shoot back, he’s now beside you filling his plate with Vietnamese spring rolls. ”Like those aren’t just all vegetable, hypocrite.” He laughs and brings one up to your face wiggling it. “Stop that! Sometimes I wonder about your age.” You say which only makes him laugh more and you follow suit.

You had to fetch a couple of files and your laptop in your office before you retired back to bed. Of course, Tom offered to come with you, although you insisted you’d be fine walking on your own. As you are walking you look up at him, his eyes found yours and they had a gleam of deviltry to them. ”Why do you look so cunning? I love it!” You say grabbing his left shoulder, consciously weighing him down. Tom quickly pokes your side which always makes you explode in laughter. He does it again and yet again. Now he’s the one having to hold you up because of the manic fits of laughter you were having. “Stop it! I can’t breathe!” You say as wheeze like mad. “I did, you’re simply being overdramatic now!” He laughs lovingly.

Your arms are now entangled; it feels like you’re the only people around. That is definitely not true, there are people all around you but you just didn’t care. Also, you’re still half on the floor and half in Tom’s arms. “On your feet soldier.” He said as he brings you up to your normal stance. The two of you now standing close, “What I was going to say before was that we’re all going to a bar tomorrow since it’s Friday. I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go, with me-“ His eyes grew wide at the realisation that he has said "with me" and quickly added, “with us.” You knew what he meant, and it was quite surprising that he had invited you since you're not part of the cast. You're only an assistant, sure the assistant to the director but still.

"I'd love to, but are you sure Mr I have monopoly on misery wants me to come?" You said and Tom looked a bit guilty like it was somehow his fault that Hugh had taken a jab towards you. "He won't be joining. It's you, me, Elizabeth, Tom, Alistair, David and of course, Olivia. And you know that they all think you are a perfect darling, and a hell of a good sport." You laugh and a smile dangled on the corner of your lips, "David Avery is going to challenge me in a tequila battle, and under no circumstances can you allow me to say yes. I've won over him once, a couple of years ago now, but the consequences were terrible." Tom's pupils dilated, "I cannot believe this. I want details, whe-" You shushed him, "No further questions." You say sternly as he laughs and follows you into the office.

"I'll just ask David." He said as he looked around your little workroom. "You'll get nothing out of him, we have a pact." You wink at him and leave Tom standing alone, nearly dumbfounded. "Come on!" He yelled after you, when he realized you weren't coming back he jogged after you. You snickered as Tom caught up to you, both of you now waiting for the lift. He wasn't even staying in this wing of the hotel, but he waited with you. The ding was loud as you step into the lift, "I'll see you tomorrow." You smile at him and he grins, "Sleep tight and I'll see you tomorrow. No more breakdowns, it's awful seeing you cry." Your face flush in crimson, a quiet "I can't promise anything" leaves your mouth. The doors close and you hear him saying, "Good night darling." Your heart and your cheeks are throbbing, maybe he did actually feel the same way you did.