#I used it in my nightstand the longest as a catch all for my shit

[vitusxaydin]

Three Secrets (Vitus Aydin, c. 2010s)

A quick short story, written from Vitus's POV. A collection of moments from when he was living in the city in his twenties.

(Warning: this piece is dark and contains mentions of and metaphors related to death, addiction, overdoses, suicidal ideation, dissociation, and familial trauma.)

Three secrets. Boil me down, leave me to simmer, let the excess of my life evaporate like love leaving first thing in the morning. Listen hard, then, and you’ll hear them:

#1: Ribcages hold wild animals. I’m afraid to touch mine.

I bought a bottle of mama’s perfume three months after she kicked me out. I should’ve been saving my money. I should’ve been finding a second job. I bought perfume instead.

It sits on my nightstand. I’ve never used it on myself. There’s plenty left, but I’ll always be afraid to open it. Each time I do, I’m convinced whatever little bits escape will have left the bottle permanently. I’m on a clock, and it ticks loudest when I open that little bottle. When I close my eyes and remember the way her collarbones used to smell whenever she hugged me. Like rosewater and violets, a field of flowers for me to drown in.

I scraped together some cash and bought it in a panic after my duffle bag stopped smelling of her. I’d been rummaging around in it one night, searching for a clean pair of socks, when I realized I couldn’t smell a thing. Not a goddamned thing.

I sit, curled up on my side in a bed that doesn’t belong to me, and I stare at the perfume each night until I fall asleep. Luca’s letting me crash here until his roommate gets back from visiting family overseas. I’ve never met his roommate, but I have questions for him, whenever he shows. I want to ask his name—Luca’s told me already, but I want to hear the way he says it, in his own voice. I want to know where he’s been. I want to ask if his family’s doing well, or if his grandpa is as sick as Luca says. I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. But really, I want to tell him I’m scared I won’t find another place to live after this. I want to ask him to look in my duffle bag and tell me if he can smell violets, or if she’s really gone forever. I want to ask to trade places. I want to scream at him, this total stranger, just to see what he’ll do.

I want, I want, I want.

I turn over in my secondhand bed, trying to breathe.

--

#2: Anhedonia is a symptom, not the cause. I was never taught how to treat causes.

Noor stands in the kitchen, reading off the reasons why she’s leaving me. She’s written them down, and her hands shake while she holds the half-crumpled notebook paper and speaks. I bought her that notebook for Eid al-Fitr, because she’s always liked lists. She’s filled it with love notes. She’s made lists of the shit I say that makes her laugh hardest; lists of each place we’ve gone on a date together; lists of her favorite moments with me, like those moments we steal in grocery stores and on park benches at midnight and in the backseat of her eama’s car. 

This list is one of those love notes, even if it’s ripping her apart as she reads it. I suspect her tremor has nothing to do with fear.

“You’re never home anymore,” she says. “Even when you are here, you still aren’t. I can’t be the only person in this relationship, Vitus. Where do you go all the time? Where do you go?”

These, and other questions, but I don’t catch all of them. I’m studying her face, those hard edges I fell for almost eight months ago. She’s the love of my life. Just like all the others were before her.

Eight whole months. It’s the longest anyone’s stuck around in years, and now I’m watching us blow up in slow motion like a mushroom cloud I’ve spotted in the distance. Nobody else around me has seen it yet. They don’t know we’re about to die—not the parched house plants, or the half-empty bottle of Jack on the table, or the watch on my wrist, the one my baba gave me for my twenty-first birthday that ran out of batteries years back. I sit, and watch, and wait for a tidal wave of radiation to burn through me, right down to the bone. I hope it hurts. I need it to start hurting soon, or I’ll go insane.

“Are you even fucking listening?”

Yes.

Her shampoo and conditioner are on the floor of my shower. She can’t use mine, because her hair is thicker and coils harder. I bought her another bottle of conditioner last week because hers was running low. It sits beneath my sink, never to be opened.

Her step-brother’s birthday is July 17. She’s always been jealous that he’s a summer baby because she likes warm weather best.

Her eyes look brown at first, but up close, in the light of dawn, you can see bits of hazel too. I used to tell her I loved her every day, but I always meant it most at sunrise. I don’t know when I stopped saying it. Maybe it was a while ago. Maybe I’ve only been thinking it lately. I can’t remember.

Yes, I think.

“No,” I say. “I’m not listening.”

--

#3: I’ve made a survival guide. I’ll never share it with anyone.

On nights you spend pressed up against strangers, hide your face in their hair so they can’t find your eyes. 

Fake-laugh with false friends over drinks you won’t remember mixing. This will make them look at you, but without looking too close.

Hundreds of mouths, maybe thousands, bitter or sweet, it won’t matter. You’ll hang on them for hours but you won’t remember the taste of them come the morning. 

Mourn when you realize you can’t possibly count what you can’t remember. 

Watch your latest lover do a line in the bathroom, but don’t get up off the couch to stop them. Wonder if this will be the one-line-too-much that ends it. 

Spit yourself out in blood splatters on kitchen sinks and street corners because the alternative—the swallowing, that forceful ingestion of everything you’ve let past your lips—will poison you to death. And you want to live, don’t you? Haven’t you told them all that you want to live?

This is your body. It once belonged to your mother, and if you keep it alive for just a little longer, maybe she’ll remember.

This is love, rotting as it slips through your fingers. 

This is life in exile.

#drugs tw #suicidal ideation tw #overdose tw #abandonment tw #addiction tw #death tw #self para

[notveryshrugemoji]

It dawned on me thay this basket was from my ex-boyfriend’s mom and the basket had a (high school) graduation gift in it. I don’t know why the basket has made it through numerous moves, a cross country move, my entire next relationship + marriage and through every purging of stuff I’ve ever done.

#it’s because it’s the perfect size! #it has stored my bathroom toiletries #it used to be in my dresser and it’s where I kept my socks separate from everything else lololol #I used it in my nightstand the longest as a catch all for my shit #when I say perfect size I mean I’ve never been like *this is too big for the task I require* #now its where I’m putting my winter hats and mitts a #on my new shoe rack lol #this is completely meaningless but also I wanted to pay tribute to something that has been useful AND durable #that shit looks brand new! #it’s somewhere in the 10-12 year old range hahahaha #and it’s 100% from dollarama I have no doubt in my mind #the gift that came in the basket was awesome though #Carolyn planted the seed of my love of candles with that gift hahahaha #my mom was not pleased #she never EVER allowed us to have candles hahaha #like my oldest sister would sneak them and it was ww3 in our house #lots of thoughts connected to a $3 basket lol

[moldisgoodforyou]

reunion (i)

warnings: smut !!! 

wordcount: 3.2k lmfao why is it always longer when it’s sexual 

_____

When he finally came to visit - the longest three months of her life, Sophie thought - she saw him from a distance and picked up her pace, heart pounding in her chest, feeling a weird mix of nerves and anticipation. He was clearly lost and glancing around at all the Spanish signs with a confused look, trying to decipher where he should go, until he collided chest-to-face with something - no, someone. 

“Shit, sorry - er -” He racked his brain for the Spanish word she had taught him but came up short once he realized it was Sophie herself, purposely bumping into him. “Sophie!”

She slipped her arms around his waist without hesitation, laughing. “Hi! You’re here!”

And god, if that laughter wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d ever heard. Rafe wrapped both arms securely around her, pressing her to his chest, and inhaled. She had changed some, hair highlighted from the sun and tanned skin all around with some new freckles dusted across her nose, but she still smelled like the lemon and lavender perfume he always loved and her smile was exactly the same, making him feel warm inside almost instantly. 

"God, I missed you so fucking much." He mumbled against her hair.

“Missed you too.” She lifted her head and kissed him, for much shorter than he liked, and he nearly whined when she pulled away. 

"That's all I get after three whole months?" He teased and she grinned, slipping her hand in his back pocket to retrieve his phone and playfully squeezed his butt as she did. 

"You can get more when we're not in the airport, you look like a prime pickpocket target right now." She flicked the collar of his polo - a pale blue, her favorite color on him - with a teasing smile. "C'mon, we have to catch the train. Was your flight okay?"

“Yeah, easy.” His hand found his way to hers like a magnet, not wanting to let her go for a second. “You look incredible.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself. Summer looks good on you.” She grinned, squeezing his hand as they wove their way through the busy airport. Nothing compared to the feeling of being back with his girl.

Rafe refused to let her take his backpack or suitcase, shouldering everything himself. He had left his suitcase half empty, expecting to take home some of her clothes and souvenirs after she had nervously told him she wasn’t sure if she could afford to check another bag. When she showed him some of her favorite things she was going to have to leave behind, over FaceTime with a pout - a unique silk dress and that damned leather jacket - it was easy for him to sacrifice his own space. 

Once they got on the train to get to the city’s center, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to press a kiss to her temple. “I’m never letting you leave me for that long again.”

She furrowed her brow, peering up at him. “What if I wanted to travel?”

“Then I’ll go too, if I can.” He declared with a grin. “I don’t think I’m a fan of not having you around.”

She blushed, ducking her head down with a shy smile. “I can’t believe you’re actually here and not just on my phone screen.”

He nudged her chin up with one knuckle, giving her a short kiss. “All real. What are our plans today?”

Sophie brightened, eager to tell him. “We’re meeting my friends for brunch later, but we have time to drop by my apartment and you can shower, if you want. That okay?”

“Yeah. You’re not gonna let me nap, I assume?” He hid a yawn behind his fist. 

She checked her hip against his with a grin. “No sir. We’re doing brunch, then the beach, then I thought we could go to the market and get things for dinner, I’ll cook. Deal?”

He beamed, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Deal. I wanna hear your Spanish skills too, I’ve only heard it when you’re drunk so far.”

She laughed, tucking her head closer into his chest. “That can be arranged.”

_____

After navigating the metro successfully, they made it to Sophie’s apartment that she shared with her three roommates. Rafe scowled when she presented him with his three-day metro card, already paid for. “How much was this?” 

“No te importa.” She told him with a grin. 

“English, please?” He was already swiping for the Venmo app on his phone but she plucked it out of his hand, shaking her head. “None of your business. I don’t want a reimbursement.” 

“C’mon, I’ve missed out on three whole months of not paying for you. I gotta catch up.” He protested, taking his phone back. 

“No. Too bad.” She unlocked the door to her apartment and swung it wide open, smiling. “Welcome to mi casa.” 

He’d already seen the majority of it on FaceTime, but it was nice to be re-oriented. “I love it, Soph. Very cool, it’s very you.” 

“Thank you, thank you.” Sophie then showed him into her room - and immediately cringed at the state of disarray. She’d been attempting to pack before he came and there was a pile of dirty clothes in one corner, her shoes scattered around and some photos and posters piled up to take home. “Shoot, um, sorry. Let me just get this real quick.” She excused herself, flitting around the room to pick things up as he watched, amused, and took a seat on the unmade bed.

“Didn’t think you were the type to have a messy room.”

“Yes, well, I’m much cleaner with roommates around, and you've never seen my room at home.” She replied, satisfied as she tossed her laundry into the hamper. “Oh, can’t forget that -” She walked past him to try and grab a spare water glass on her nightstand, but he grabbed her around the waist, stopping her in her tracks. “Sophie.”

“Yeah?” She had to remind herself to breathe, not used to him being so damn close - and seriously, how the hell did he smell so good after that long of a flight?

“It’s been an hour.” He trailed one hand down to rest along the small of her back, tracing one finger down her spine along the way.

“An hour...?” She bit her lip, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“It’s been a whole hour since we’ve been back together and you haven’t properly kissed me yet.” He declared, a wide grin spreading across his face, and her cheeks tinged pink. “Is that so?”

Rafe laughed at her embarrassment, resting one large hand on the side of her face to cup her cheek and pull her in. “C’mere, angel.”

She felt her stomach flutter as she kissed him, shortly, then pulled away with a smirk. “Will that do?”

“Absolutely not.” He leaned back onto the bed, pulling her on top of him abruptly and laughed when she let out a surprised squeal. When he rolled them over, kissing her hard, she promptly hooked an ankle around his legs to draw him closer. “Fuck, I missed you.” She mumbled against his lips, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“I love you so damn much.” He murmured breathlessly, pulling away only for a second to yank his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Hers followed shortly after, along with her bra. When he started working at the drawstring of her shorts, she grabbed his hand abruptly. “Wait, no - I said we’d meet my roommates at brunch -”

“Fuck brunch.” Rafe stated, placing hot, rushed kisses along her throat.

Sophie moaned, scratching lightly along his back. “Rafe.”

“We can be late.” He bartered, reaching down and rubbing two fingers across her through her shorts. She bit her lip hard, trying her best to think of an argument. “I...I told them...”

“I’ll be quick.” He promised, pushing her up the bed and grinned up at her from between her legs. “Judging by the look of you, you will too.”

She huffed, indignant, but it quickly turned into another moan as he nipped along her inner thigh. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Sophie Flint.” He tugged her shorts down along with her underwear in one fell swoop, then licked a wide strip up her entrance. She yelped in surprise, fisting her fingers in his hair. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay, you can just call me Rafe. Cameron works too. Too fast?” He lifted his head, both hands gripping her thighs, but she practically pushed him back down, scowling. “Shut the fuck up - no, no, more. Just not used to it.” She pleaded, moaning again when he got to work.

“Be good.” He flicked her inner thigh when she nearly clamped her legs around his head. “Fucking - sorry -” She barely got out before she was whimpering, trying her best to keep quiet. If her neighbors heard her, both apartments with students in her program, she’d never hear the end of it.

“Wanna hear you.” He mumbled against her, sliding a finger into her entrance and groaning when she clenched around him. “So fucking tight.”

She whined, tugging at his hair. “Need you. Please.”

“M’ right here. Not letting you go again.” He soothed, teasing with small kisses everywhere but where she wanted it as his fingers worked at her core.

“Rafe, please.” She practically begged, trying her best to pull him back up the bed while her brain was going into overdrive.

“Patience, angel.” He admonished, slowing his pace.

“We’re going to be late.” She argued, pressing her hips up into him. “Need you, now.”

“Use your words, angel.” He grinned, loving the way she twisted and whined under him.

“Don’t make me say it - oh, fuck, right there -”

He withdrew his fingers immediately before she could come, smirking as she cried out in frustration.  Rafe then sucked them both into his mouth, down to the knuckle, and she just watched with wide eyes, until she came back to her senses.

Sophie pulled him up the bed and flipped him over so he was flat on his back, her knees on either side of his hips. She worked at his shorts quickly and unbuttoned them, shoving them down his legs just enough so she could pull out his cock. He hissed at the contact, jerking into her hand, and she grinned at him. “Eager, aren’t we?”

“Soph - I’m gonna cum in like, two seconds if you keep moving like that.” He bit out, watching as she slid her thumb gently back and forth over the head of his cock.

When she nodded and knelt down, tongue darting out to wet her lips, Rafe shook his head quickly and nudged her back up. “Not gonna last.”

“Oh. Oh.” She grinned, proud she was still able to work him up so easily. “Fuck, I don’t have any -”

“In my backpack.” He hurriedly interrupted her. “At the bottom, there’s a strip of them.”

“Prepared.” She commented with a smirk, then crawled off him to grab a condom, running her hands down his thighs as she went. He sat up on his elbows to watch her bend over, grinning sheepishly as she caught him when she turned back around, gold foil in hand. “Quit staring.”

“I can’t. I haven’t seen you in this high definition in ages.” He joked, hands automatically going to her hips as she crawled back on him. She took care of rolling on the condom, making him let out a strained groan, before rocking her hips against his. “Alright?”

“Yes, let me - oh, fuck -” He breathed out as she sank down on him, his grip tightening on her hips. She winced, lifting up a little with her hands braced on his abdomen. “Okay, angel?” He asked with concern, reaching up to tug the end of her hair a little.

“Yeah, just, one second.” She sat down on him, slower, and her eyes fluttered shut as the feeling went from a pinch of pain to pleasure. 

“There you go. Good girl.” He murmured as she started rolling her hips against his, slowly picking up the pace.

“Fucking hell.” She mumbled - she’d never quite expressed how much good girl turned her on, but he had seemed to pick up on it over time. He kept a firm grip on her hips or just under her ass, nearly bruising the skin as he helped her ride him, but she didn’t mind one bit. “So full, fuck.”

“Yeah? Doing so good for me, Soph. So good at riding me.” He praised, one hand going up to toy with her nipple while the other went south to her clit, making her gasp when he rubbed steady circles across it.

“Baby, I’m - I can’t -” she started, her pace becoming a little more frenzied.

He was struggling to hold it too, nodding. “I know. Come for me, angel, show me how good you can be.”

His words were enough to push her over the edge and she whined, letting her head drop back as she came, digging her nails a little into his chest. As she clenched around him it triggered his own release, and he groaned, breathing heavy. “Fuck, Soph.” 

They both lay there in silence for a few moments, her head nuzzled into his neck and their pants filling the air. When she moved a little, attempting to get off him, he grabbed her hips suddenly, hissing - and she paused, a little incredulous. “Are - are you seriously still hard?”

He gave her a slow, cocky grin. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god.” She giggled, pressing a kiss to the column of his throat and her phone chimed, making her wince. “God damnit. What time is it?”

Rafe was willing himself to make the erection go away - a difficult task when he was literally still halfway inside her, and she kept shifting on top of him. “No idea. Do I need to take care of this...or...?”

“Um.” She carefully crawled off him and reached for her phone on the nightstand. Sophie bit back a grin and glanced at her phone, shaking her head. “Okay. If we leave in eight minutes, we can make it to the metro stop and get to brunch only fifteen minutes late - Rafe!”

He had gotten up and scooped her off the bed in a bridal carry, then kicked open the door and paused. “Where’s the shower?”

She squirmed, fighting his grip until he put her down, then pushed open a door. “Here. But we can’t go together, it’s tiny. I’ll go first, but I’ll be quick -”

“You’re never quick.” He nudged her from behind, pushing her into the bathroom and followed her in, locking the door. She flicked on the shower then turned around, eyeing him over as she waited for it to get warm, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re staring.” He accused, smirking.

“I can’t believe you’re still hard.” She mumbled, taking a mental picture.

“Well, I - can you blame me!” He blushed as he gestured at her body, hand going to wrap around his cock. “I’ll get rid of it, just let me -”

Sophie watched with her mouth slightly parted for a moment, acutely aware of the tiny bathroom beginning to fog up and the sight in front of her, unsure if she was lightheaded because she hadn’t eaten yet or - well - because of him. “Let me.”

He looked up at her with darkened eyes and a teasing smile, still slowly stroking himself. “Think you can handle it?”

She sunk to her knees in front of him, sliding her hands up his thighs. “Shut up or I’ll bite,” she threatened.

He laughed, but it turned into a choked groan when she took him completely in her mouth, not wasting any time. “Soph - fuck, I’m seriously not going to -”

She bobbed up and down on him, steadily increasing her pace as her hand worked at the base of his cock, the other hand digging her nails into the back of his thigh. “S’okay.”

“I can - d’you want to -” he struggled to think of a complete sentence, wrapping his hand in her hair and tucking it aside.

“Hm?” She pulled off him to ask, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Don’t wanna - your mouth -” Rafe panted out, leaning back against the bathroom counter for some stability, weak-kneed.

“Oh.” She put her mouth all the way down on him, holding him for a second before pulling away with a shy grin. “Um...you can cum on me. If you want.”

“Fucking - you’re serious?” His eyes went as wide as saucers and she could tell he was seconds away from the edge as she nodded, trying not to look too eager to please. “Gonna shower anyway.”

“Angel. Fucking angel.” He muttered, only pumping himself a few times before coming on her chest, groaning probably a little too loud. She grinned at the way he went slack and reached to pull her up and bring her close immediately, always cuddly post-orgasm.

Sophie dipped her finger in the mess across her skin and licked it with a smirk, holding back a laugh as his jaw nearly dropped open. “Mm. Breakfast.”

“Oh my god.” He leaned down and kissed her, hard. “Careful, or I’ll have an issue again.”

She laughed and shoved him away, pulling back the shower curtain. “We’re so fucked. So late.”

“I am.” He agreed, trying to step in behind her and wedge himself into the tight space. When she poured soap into her hands and began to wash her chest, he shook his head quickly and stepped back, snapping the shower curtain shut. “I’m gonna wait.”

“Rafe, we can just hurry - I’ll wash your hair -” She protested, reaching her soapy hand out for him. 

“No, you’re the problem here.” He laughed, a little strained. “Do your thing and I’ll hop in after, you’ll have to get clothes and whatever anyways. Pull something out of my suitcase for me to wear?”

“You can’t get your mind off sex for three minutes to shower?” She teased.

“I’ve literally been waiting three months for this again. No I cannot.” He smirked, leaning back against the bathroom wall with his arms crossed as he waited.

“I’ve done just fine.” She told him, as if to prove a point. He scoffed. “I think you’re forgetting about when drunk you left me a voicemail about how you missed me so bad, then a separate one - and I repeat - for my dick, because you missed it too.”

“Shut up.” She finished her shower and stepped out, dripping wet, and Rafe had to shut his eyes while he got in, making a show out of looking away. “Tease.”

“Would never tease. Ever.” She grinned and pulled the curtain back just enough to stick her head in, and maybe ogle for a few seconds. “You have two minutes.”

By the time they were out of the shower, dressed, on the metro and walking into the restaurant, it was obvious what they had gotten up to as she met up with a big group of her friends. Luckily, as per the Spanish way, half of them were just as late as Rafe and Sophie and a few didn’t even show til after they arrived.

One of Sophie’s roommates, Isobel, grinned knowingly as Sophie slid into the seat next to her, Rafe in tow. “Metro on strike?”

Sophie suppressed a grin, squeezing Rafe’s hand under the table. “You know it.”

 taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #obx #obx fanfic #college rafe #frat rafe #rafe x sophie #mine #rafe cameron smut #obx smut

[littlespoonevan]

Will you write about the aftermath of exhausting day Mickey and Ian had in 11x06? My heart needs it💕

okay i literally wrote this in 40 mins so it probably definitely needs some edits but i hope this helps fill ur heart, bb! happy valentine’s day <3

*

Mickey feels like he’s been hit by a truck by the time he finally crawls into bed that night. It’s not exactly unexpected when he thinks back on the day he’s had – god, how the fuck has it only been twelve hours since his dad came home from the hospital? He lets out a bone-weary sigh, dragging a hand down his face and picking absently at the blanket pooled around his waist. Ian comes out of the bathroom then, pulling the accordion door closed behind him and turning off the overhead light so the lamp on the nightstand is the only thing keeping the room bright.

He climbs in beside Mickey without saying anything but the second he’s settled on the mattress he’s reaching for him. And maybe on another day – in another lifetime – Mickey would pull back, wouldn’t let Ian manhandle him into his arms, but not anymore. And definitely not today.

Mickey moves, letting Ian pull him into the circle of his arms and curling himself into Ian’s chest. Ian’s still half-sitting up against the wall but Mickey’s more or less lying down now so he reaches for the blanket and pulls it up over them both before reaching his arm back around Ian’s middle.

“You doin’ okay?” Ian murmurs, hand running over the top of Mickey’s head and sweeping a gentle path down his back.

Mickey closes his eyes at the comfort, breathes in the familiar scent of Ian’s shirt and nods against his chest. This has been the longest fucking day of his life. He still can’t really believe how close he came to pulling the trigger on Terry earlier. He would’ve done it – almost fucking did – but he’d meant what he said to Ian. He doesn’t want to be like that piece of shit.

He doesn’t need to be.

Not when he has a husband and people who fucking care about him. He’s not a scared teenager anymore; he doesn’t want to let his dad have that kind of power over him now. He has too much else to live for.

“I am now,” he mumbles after a minute too long, feeling his breaths start to slow in time with Ian’s hand moving up and down his back.

Ian kisses the top of his head and keeps his lips pressed to the spot as he lets out a quiet, “Good.”

Mickey kisses his chest in response before replacing his mouth with his cheek once again. When he turns his face his eyes catch on his own hand resting on Ian’s side, on the ring he’s worn on his finger for almost a year now, and he wishes not for the first time he could go back in time to his teenage self. That he could just fucking tell himself to hold on, to let Ian in, because it’s so much better than he ever could’ve imagined it would be.

He supposes it doesn’t matter though; everything worked out in the end anyway.

“Y’know what I was thinking?” Ian asks after a moment and Mickey hums in response.

“If we do end up selling the house and getting our own place, it’ll be the first time we get to live together on our own.”

Mickey pauses, heart suddenly pounding harder in his chest. In all their half-imagined discussions about moving out he doesn’t think he’s ever really stopped to think about what it would actually mean. Freedom. A space that’s completely and utterly theirs. Somewhere safe.

“What about prison?” he jokes to hide the thickness in his throat and he can feel the way Ian rolls his eyes.

“Doesn’t count,” Ian says, smacking his back lightly. “I’m serious. No siblings. Or siblings’ partners. Or ex-wives-“ Mickey can’t help his grimace at that “- Just us.”

Mickey shifts slightly on Ian’s chest, leaning up on his elbows and raising his head to meet Ian’s eyes. And there’s so much sincere emotion pouring out of Ian’s expression, it’s all he can do to keep his voice steady. “I like the sound of that,” he murmurs, pressing the hand that’s resting on Ian’s chest a little more firmly over his heart.

Ian smiles and there’s a whole fucking world of memories behind it. “Maybe we should start looking,” he suggests softly.

Mickey nods because he doesn’t trust his voice anymore, moving forward to meet Ian in a kiss before letting his head drop back onto Ian’s chest.

They can start looking tomorrow. For now, Mickey’s ready to fall asleep in his husband’s arms.

He thinks he’s earned it.

*

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #season 11 #asks #anon #my fics

[roseabelle21]

Synopsis: Every anniversary spent with your partner are always unpredictable, joyous, and exciting. You never know what a certain blond has planned every year for your special occasion. And after five years of being together, this might be the best one yet. 

Pairing: Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Fem! Reader

Status: Unedited

Genre: Fluff🐰🐇🐰

Tagging: @jazzylove @babymilkawa @cloudsinthecosmos @withlovefromjo @unicornlover25

The ambience of the local cafe never fails to soothe your nerves. The work of a Hero is neverending. After all, no one can tell when a villain might show up and cause destruction. The Hero business is relentless; they will call you up when the job becomes too much for your sidekicks, even on your days off. Of course, you know what you are getting into the moment U.A reached out to you for recommendation trials, and peoples lives are at stake, it was understandable.

The sidekicks are still learning though that doesn't mean that they are not progressing, being the most experienced in the field, they still need your help. You love helping people, don't get it wrong, their smiles and relief noticeable in their faces and posture, the ease they felt when you show up because they knew you are capable of taking that villain down, is enough to make it all worth it. But the reports you have to type up after the fight is less than exciting. Sure you have someone who can do it for you, but that damned Hero Commission wants it to come from you. 

So no matter how little time you get to relax, you take advantage of that. Now, here you are, catching up with your best friend since birth in this small, homey cafe. It's rare to have the same day off with someone from class, when you found out that Momo also has her day off today, both of you immediately agreed to meet up. Both of the women practically running up to each other the moment you caught sight on the other side of the road. Wrapping your arms around each other in a tight, and overdue hug, almost squealing in public. 

The giddiness from your bodies did not stop even after 30 minutes later, laughing and telling stories from your work and personal life. Even though you already know from your weekly - if not nightly - calls from each other. Bakugou once jokingly said you and Momo act more like in a relationship rather than the both of you do. To tease him back, you wondered out loud if both of you are, you would already be married. Let's say he did not like that one bit, informing the office the next day that you are sick, unable to move your legs and sore body. Fucker just gave you a smug look before leaving to work, Bakugou did cook you breakfast though. 

Speaking of him, "Hey- Uhm, I have something to tell you." 

Momo looked at you through the top of her mug and gave you a nod. She grew concerned when you bit your lip and traced the rim of your  glass with a finger, "what's wrong?" 

"It's silly," you chuckled. Nervous to tell the truth, but you knew you had to take this feeling off of you, and there is no one better to tell your problems to other than your ride or die. 

"Is it about Bakugou?" she took your hand and intertwined your fingers together, rubbing her thumb along the back of your hand. 

You nodded, "it's just that we haven't spent time with each other as much as we want to. We always find time to eat together, breakfast, lunch, and dinner if one of us is not asleep. We always find time for each other. Now," you gulped. "Now, that rarely happens." 

Momo listened to your story silently, smiling softly when your eyes met. "It's not silly (N/n) you miss him. And that is normal for couples, have you talked to him about this?”

"No," you shook your head, embarrassed, "I can never find the right time to swoop it in." 

She hummed, tapping her chin in thought. You swear you can see her eyes lit up for a split second before it disappeared. Maybe it was just the trick of the afternoon light, so you shake it off. 

"I won't be too worried about him cheating on you if that's what you are implying," your eyes immediately widened and hastily shook your head. Embarrassed flushing red on your face as you frantically waved you hands in denial, "n-no! It's not like that!"

Momo giggled and motioned you to calm down. She's only teasing, no one in class - and the whole world - will question the blond's loyalty towards you. 

He won't even spare a second glance at any girls who are throwing themselves at him. That was proven when someone tried to flirt with him at a class field trip during your third year of U.A. Bakugou and you only being in a relationship for less than three months, the blond shut her down rather harshly. You almost feel bad, had you not been telling her he had a girlfriend for 10 minutes straight. 

You laughed in your head evilly at her tears. 

Do you give a fuck? No not one.

How many fucks do you give? Zero. 

Were you mean for thinking that? Absolutely. 

Do you regret the minuscule smirk of victory forming on your lips once she ran off, crying? Nope. She had it coming. 

"Then there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of," she cooed. "You and Bakugou-san have been inseparable ever since your accidental confession," you groaned, embarrassed. "Maybe he's just busy on a mission? You know how obsessed he is with becoming the number one hero. And now that he's so close to achieving it, he might be losing time for you, but that doesn't mean he loves you any less." 

A small smile graced your lips at her, thankful to have Momo as your friend to confide in everything. She was and will always be your safe person, other than Katsuki. 

After going through that enemies-to-lovers arc? Did she think that Bakugou would easily sway to another person's pursuit of him? Nah, both of you fought for the other to give that up easily (either together or against each other). 

"Make sure to tell him what you feel in all of this. Communication is the most important quality in a relationship." Momo reminded with a stern yet soft voice with a wag of her finger, which caused you to giggle. 

"Thanks, Momo," the ebony-haired girl only responded with a grin. Her eyes sparkled, excited about what's to come in the next couple of months. 

~*~*~*~*

Right now, you felt like the worst person on the planet. With only three days away until the five-year-anniversary with the love of your life, finding the perfect present is almost impossible. Curse you and your perfectionism!

Not only that but the last couple of weeks had been hectic. You think your manager and agency is purposefully doing this to make you suffer. Villains attacking were the farthest reason for your stress, surprisingly. Sure there are petty crimes here and there, nothing your sidekicks couldn't handle, but the media stuff are the ones weighing you down. You grew accustomed to taking a quick shower, at times, dinner with the blond before crashing down on the bed passed out. 

Commercials, photoshoots, travelling, sponsor partnerships here and there, it was almost as if you were back in rising to fame. It was exhausting and frustrating at the same time. You can never seem to find a break anymore. The only time you can rest are lunches with Katsuki and coming home late at night, sleeping. 

However, both of you made the most out of it after your lunch with Momo a few months ago. You took her advice and told Katsuki how you felt. No surprises, he understands how you felt, gave you a tight hug and explained everything. 

Sadly, he can't tell you the mission. It was confidential. Only the higher up's and the rest of his teammates knows it. You understand it's part of the job at the end of the day. And to keep you from worrying too much even though you know he's capable of taking care of himself out in the field. 

Both of you miss each other, and with breakfast and lunch is the only reason you get to see your partner, it was slowly becoming regular to you, much to your dismay. "A small price to pay for becoming a Hero" is what your manager would say. 

Waking up in the morning to either you or Katsuki making breakfast, taking turns to visit each other at their agency to bring lunch despite the limited time, it was more than enough.

Being in the mere presence of the other is more than enough. 

"(Y/N)! Five minutes left till you have to go!" 

The voice of your manager snapped you out of your trance. Turning your gaze from your phone screen to their place in the doorway, clipboard in their grasp, hair messy and dark bags forming under their eyes. 

A small, sorry smile formed on my lips. Well, at least they're not the only ones. 

"You know, both of us would look much, much better if you reject a sponsorship or two." you teased, walking up to them and patting their shoulder as you walked past them.

They smiled sarcastically in retort.

"I wouldn't have too if not for getting a raise," they mumbled under their breath. Tiredly rubbing their face, reminding themselves to suck it up, only three more days, these will all be over. A raise and a week vacation promised, the ones to look forward too. 

"Ah, shit! Almost forgot," they pulled out their phone and typed in another errand. 

Accompany (Y/N) today, tomorrow, and the next day to find a gift. 

~*~*~*~

You found it, the perfect gift to give your explosive man. 

You clapped your hands excitedly, placing the carefully wrapped box on the nightstand atop your beloved night book, away from the possible dangers of the world. 

Sighing peacefully, a flopped down your shared bed. Curling up the warm blankets and cuddling with Katsuki's pillow, enjoying the peaceful afternoon day. 

Finally, a day off. 

The day of your anniversary. 

This day would have been perfect if your other half was here, you know, spending the rest of your day off together. Waking up with his arms wrapped around you, cooking breakfast with his arms still around you, even walking around with his arms around you. 

However, you can't find it annoying. After months of being apart, that was the most and longest physical touch you both have experienced. 

Unfortunately, the office called him for an emergency. The phone call was urgent. Katsuki furrowed his brows in annoyance and concern as he listens to his sidekick give him the information. To put the cherry on top, he only answered calmy. That's how you know it was severe; they need desperately need Dynamight in action. 

Katsuki was reluctant to leave, telling you he's already been away from you for too long. His eyes screamed for forgiveness, hesitant, and something else you can't quite place. 

You pushed him to get dressed, told him if he can finish the mission early, the earlier you can spend the rest of the day together. The fire in his eyes sparkled brighter than ever, accompanied by his menacing grin, accepting the challenge of beating the damned villain who ruined his day faster than they can blink.  

He pulled you in for a deep kiss before heading out the door, running back for a quick kiss before finally leaving. A giddy giggle erupted from you at his actions, watching him ride away with his motorcycle. 

With nothing else better to do, you decided that a quick nap wouldn't hurt anybody. You know that Katsuki will be back soon, safe and sound. He's come so far, and stopping him right now when he's so close to achieving his dream would be an insult. You have so much faith in him, one of the many reasons he loves about you. 

You were ready to drift off into dreamland; had it not been for the insistent and rapid knocking suddenly coming from the front door. Groaning, you muffled your scream in your pillow, wanting to cry from annoyance and stress. 

Only one person could be doing that. With their strong voice chanting your name over and over again at the same rhythm as the door knocking, your manager must have something important to tell you. 

Their bright smile greeted you when you opened the door, in contrast to the annoyed and tired look you gave them. Telling you what is needed to be said, you dramatically collapsed, landing on their chest. Another commercial to shoot!

"Don't you know what today is?!" You questioned dramatically, flailing your arms around to exaggerate your point. 

They smiled apologetically at you, rubbing your back for comfort. "Believe me; you're not the only one dying to sleep right now."

You pouted at them, tiredly rubbing your eyes to chase the sleepiness away. 

"Don't worry (Y/N)! It will be the last one for a long time! I've made sure to give us both a break for the next couple of months to give you time to discuss something important with Katsuki!"

You tilted your head, confused at their cherry voice and excited smile despite the darkness under their eyes. 

"What-?" 

"Let's go! No need to change, costume and your hair and make-up team is already waiting for you, no script needed since you only have to be there, answering the question naturally. And then -"

They continued babbling about what to do the moment you got in the car and towards your destination. As you drive for almost an hour, you noticed the changes in scenery. Gone are the tall skyscrapers and bright lights of the city, now slowly replaced by luscious green grass fields, strong thick trees and clear blue sky that you rarely see nowadays. 

It was satisfying, seeing the wonders of nature even in it's simplest forms. You sighed, feeling at ease compared to earlier this morning, wishing that Katsuki was here to enjoy this with you. A nice picnic here or at the park will be enough. 

You noticed a large, white tent approaching your view when the car started to slow down. To your surprise, Momo and Mina were there, waving at you excitedly, with bright grins adorning their faces. 

"I forgot to mention," your manager started, stopping the car. "A few of your friends will be joining you in this."

You nodded, getting out of the car, wishing you could have changed into something decent other than your sweatpants and Katsuki's shirt. 

The girls were immediately shoving you eagerly towards the tent, noticing that they are already dressed and ready for the shoot. 

"I'm so excited for this shoot!" Exclaimed Mina excitedly, bouncing up and down carefully as to not ruin her hair. Incoherable noises left her lips as she continued guiding you. 

The dark-haired girl beside you, although much more calm and collected, couldn't stop the giggles, holding your hand firmly as they opened the flap of the tent. 

A surprised smile painted on your lips when the rest of the girls in your class greeted you.  

"(Y/N!)"  Ocahako ran to you, giving you a giant bear hug. 

"We finally get to be together on a shoot, kero!" Tsuyu added with an excited clap.

"Hurry and get ready!" Hagakure pushed you towards the chair. You would have tripped on the way there had it not been for Jiro holding you by the shoulder. 

You let it slide with a happy chuckle. It was almost impossible to get all of the girls together for anything. If they try to plan anything together, one of them will always be busy or on patrol that day. 

It was nice being together once again, as in the good old days. Everyone was already ready and dressed in their complementary colours, you noticed. They chatted with you as you get your make up ready, some going out and coming back in for picture taking outside. 

Again, you can't help but feel sad that Katsuki is not with you. These would have been perfect if he was beside you. No matter, you told yourself, I'll be with him after this. 

"Whoa, (Y/N)," the girls cooed at you simultaneously when you got done. Looking you through the mirror with soft smiles and - were those tears welling up in some of them? To say you are confused will be an understatement. This is not the first time they've seen you glammed up.

"Are you all okay? What's the matter?" 

They only smiled at you, dabbing the corners of their eyes to prevent tears from further falling. 

"Whooo, enough of this," Mia sighed, fanning her eyes whilst looking up. "Get dressed honey, your dress is already there." 

When you entered the dressing room, a beautiful white knee-length cocktail dress greeted you placed on the mannequin. It was off the shoulder with sheer sleeves designed in flowers and a flowy skirt. When you touched the material, you are shocked that it was silk. 

Now, you are beyond confused and highly impressed. Then you wondered, what kind of commercial are you making? The company must be loaded to get all the well-known woman Pro Heroes together for this one shoot. 

Your brows furrowed in thought but ended up letting it go. Slipping on your dress which hugged your figure perfectly, doing a little twirl to watch the dress flow. You are feeling yourself in this dress. 

Once you exited the dressing room, you were surprised when you recognised one of your classmates in dance class there, wearing a bright costume along with the other dancers. They grabbed your hands and guided you to the centre; the music suddenly blasted from somewhere and danced around you. 

You were beyond confused as you looked around. None of the girls except Momo was in the corner of the room, laughing and taking a video of you. You are so confused. 

What is going on?

They prompted you to dance along with them, and you did, albeit softly; the dancers still cheered you on.

You laughed as they twirled you around towards Momo. "Come on," she pulled you out of the tent, dancers continued cheering you on from the inside. 

You walked out towards the open field. The trees decorated in pastel shades of your favourite colours, the ground littered with the petals of your favourite flowers, your heart started to beat faster and faster with every step you take. 

You swore you felt your heart leap out of your chest when you spotted more of your classmates came into view. A hand covered your mouth in sheer shock, happiness, and confusion. 

Tables and chairs surrounded the open clearing. Red linens covered the tables along with silverwares, the surrounding trees decorated in lanterns and ribbons, a buffet filled with your favourite food on the side, a fucking swan ice sculpture beside it, chocolate fountain. But the one that caught your attention the most was the gazebo: built in the middle of a tree with beautiful white leaves at the tip of it. 

You didn't know that you are now standing alone at the entrance, still frozen in shock as you looked at everyone with wide eyes. 

What the fuck? 

Kirishima then approached you with his usual bright smile, although this one might be brighter than the rest. He chuckled softly at your expression before offering you his hand.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm about to faint and vomit at the same time," you answered shakily with a laugh. "What the heck is happening, Kirishima?"

"Well," he shrugged his shoulders, "why don't you ask the planner of this event?" 

The pounding of your heart reached your ears, your face glowing bright red, as he led you towards the gazebo tree; only then did you see a single stool in the middle. 

"Wait, the fuck?" You questioned a bit loudly. The rest of the crowd only laughed at your nervousness. 

When you sat down, the table to your right; seated two crucial people in your life; your parents. They are smiling at you, tears running down your mother's eyes with your father's arm draped over her shoulder, both of them wearing white clothing like yours. 

You mouthed a 'what are you doing here?' with a teary smile. Your father responded with a shrug of his shoulders. Your eyebrows flew when you saw the couple beside them: Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou, both reacting the same as your parents. 

The sound of a microphone caught everyone's attention. Aizawa came into your peripheral vision on the left, wearing his usual black colours. He is nicely clean today; his hair tied away from his face; it looks like he shaved as well. The most surprising of all was the small smile he wore. 

What is going on?

Your mind raced at the possibility, a hand resting on your chest as if it can calm your racing heart. It was all too much to take in. 

"It's been a while since we're all together," Aizawa started, gaining everyone's attention, soft background music playing in the background. 

"I'm not surprised by the length's this man is willing to go; he does want to be the best at everything- which explains everything." Everyone agreed silently. "He will never do anything half-assed."

He then walked up to you with a gentle smile, "now (Y/N), do you know what is happening?" 

"No, I don't even know what's happening anymore," you answered shakily. "This is like a joke: Is this a joke?" you joked, albeit shakily. 

Aizawa only smiled when you continued, "I'm just waiting for the director to shout 'Cut!' I don't know what to do, am I going dance? Will I start acting? There are camera's here, but they're not giving me instructions."

"You have no idea what's going on?"

"No! I'm already getting scared," you chuckled, voice already starting to reveal that you are about to cry soon. You chose to laugh it off. 

"In all honesty, I know that you know and everybody knows and agrees; that you are the most beautiful woman today." You responded with a silent thank you, deeply flattered. 

"You know (Y/N), all of this happened because of one person only. Just one person," you swallowed your heart back down, tears starting to escape your eyes as your heart and mind screams of that person's name. 

"So don't be surprised; because this is how much he loves you."

Tingles ran down your arms once the background music stopped and Aizawa stepped down. You held your clasped hands in front of you and placed them on your lips, tensing up a little, waiting in anticipation. 

"Sir, I'm a bit nervous about being here today." 

The world stopped turning when you heard that line. The tears escaped along with a happy sob. The figure of Katsuki Bakugou emerged from behind the tree at the entrance, holding a microphone to his lips. The other hand, resting deep in his pockets. 

"Still not real sure what I'm going to say," he walks up to you. Not once tearing his eyes away from yours when he met them. The smile on him was nothing like anyone has ever seen before; nervous, happy, content, love. 

"So bear with me, please, if I take up too much of your time." 

He was nothing short of perfect. No words could ever describe how beautiful he is right now; of course, he's always beautiful, but now, he is taking your breath away. 

It was already rare when you see him not wearing his baggy clothing; it's considered a blessing to see him wear a formal white tux that suits him too well. 

When he neared you, he took out a red velvet box in his pocket: gripping on it tightly as he angled it towards you. 

"See in this box is the ring for your oldest. She's my everything and all that I know is. It would be such relief if I knew that we were on the same side."

Everyone watched in anticipation as the blond finally reached in front of you, kneeling on one knee as he continued to serenade you. 

"Can marry your daughter, and make her my wife. I want her to be the only girl that I'll love for the rest of my life. And give her the best of me 'till the day that I die, yeah." 

At this point, you don't care if you look like a mess. The love of your life is looking up at you like you are the most beautiful person he has ever seen; it's probably true. 

"I'm gonna marry your princess, and make her my queen. She'll be the most beautiful bride that I've ever seen. I can't wait to smile; as she walks down the aisle; on the arm of her father. Till the day that I marry your daughter."

You told him about your dream proposal; it doesn't have to be anything special as long as the song is there along with your family. And you know Katsuki, you give him an inch, he'll take it to the moon.

Katsuki stared at you with a soft smile, reaching his arms to wipe the tears off of your face. Laughing at his actions, you held on to one of his hands, placing it down on your lap. Both of you took in deep, calming breaths to ease your nerves before smiling at each other again. 

"Hi (Y/N)," he called with a soft, shaky tone. A short laugh left you at his adorable nervousness. "Hi, Katsuki."

"You already know what the fuck is going on," the crowd laughed at his bluntness. "I'm not gonna beat around the bushes any longer. I want to make this official." 

He opened the velvet box; a gasp left you as you saw the ring inside. A beautiful red ruby gem immediately caught your eyes as it shines in the sun. 

A large smile adorned your lips as Katsuki looked at you with a tender expression. Everyone wiping away their tears at the moment before them. 

"I'll save all the sappy words at the wedding vows, now, (Y/N)," when his eyes met yours again, you are sure. 

"Will you do the honour of making me the happiest man alive by being my wife? Will you marry me?"

Despite the tears falling like a waterfall, your answer was clear and sealed. No matter how many different worlds there might be, how many different lifetimes are there in this universe, nor all the possible scenarios this proposal can take in, you will never get tired of saying the answer over and over again. 

"Yes." 

One way or another, Katsuki Bakugou and (Y/N) (L/N) will always find a way to be together. Herein is arms and the ring on your finger; all is well and where it should be. 

Even though you can't give him his present now, I'm sure the box is still safe and sound on the table. 

After all, you are the one carrying the most important gift. 

The two strips of pink line on the stick only confirms it. 

A/N: This is the longest and hardest story I have ever written for a one shot so far. Wedding?

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x you #bakugou imagine #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou x you #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou fluff #fluff #bnha fluff

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Sleepy Sex Part 12 - Liam (Nikita)

A/N: I’ll be honest I had no idea who Liam was and then my darling friend @yespolkadotkitty​ sent me the link to @dornish-queen​ video of Liam and I read her story and then like the next day @artemiseamoon​ wrote a Liam story and I was like ok I can do this now! You should check them out because they are amazing! Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting and liking. 

Pairing: Liam x F! Reader 

Warnings: 18 + NSFW (Oral (language, F! Receiving, P in V sex, angst, major character death, gunshot wound, cauterizing a wound, mentions of blood)

Word Count: 2.2K this is the longest of the Sleepy Sex series I have written 

My Masterlist 

The dinner was cold, the candles had flickered out, and you sat dejected on the couch working through the second half of the wine bottle. The television flickered across your face, but the sound was muted. Reaching for the remote, you flicked it off and let out a large yawn, downing the remainder of your glass. You should clean up the mess, put away the leftovers, shower, change your clothes, but your energy was depleted. The hours of waiting for him to come only to be disappointed again was heartbreaking.

You knew who and what he was, but it still didn't lessen the blow each time you wound up disappointed and alone. You kick the door closed behind you and approach the bed peeling back the covers and crawling in. You clutch his pillow close to your face and inhale, but no trace of him is there anyone, just the fresh linen and lavender of your detergent. Liam never left any imprint. There were no photos of him in your home, no extra clothes, or a favorite mug. He was a ghost. He had to be for the life he lived.

No one could know about him either. Your friends, family, colleagues, everyone thought you were going to end up alone, even you thought that yourself most of the time. His work was dangerous; he'd admitted that to you one night after you both realized it was becoming more. More than two people who fucked each other's pain away, more than two people who had an occasional meal together. Just more.

 Liam wasn't one to put a label on things, but you knew you were his person, just as he was yours. The altogether fact making it more gut-wrenching every time he snuck out in the early morning on your fire escape without waking you. The ghost of a kiss on your forehead before you could even open your eyes.

You feel the tears stream down your cheek, and you bite your knuckles hard to prevent the sobs from overtaking. You loved him. You loved a ghost. Eventually, your tears subside enough for you to enter a restless sleep, continually tossing and turning. You dream of the life you want with Liam, something stable and normal. A life where the man you love is not a cold-blooded murderer. You barely hear the sound of the window opening over your tumultuous thoughts.

You keep your eyes shut tight and reach towards the nightstand where you know the knife is hidden. Liam had gotten it for you after he told you what he did, never wanting anyone to harm you because of his life. He'd taught you how to use it, sharpen, clean, and conceal it. The hilt is light in your hand, and you drag it beneath the pillow. 

It could be Liam, you know, but the odds of it being someone else with nefarious intent enters your mind. The bed dips behind you, and you strike quickly. Your arm swinging low to slice open the belly of your possible attacker. Liam's voice ringing in your ears, "aim for an artery or the belly; they will bleed out faster that way."

"Fuck," Liam's voice hisses as he shoots back off the bed and meets your wild gaze. He flicks on the light on the nightstand and looks down at you. Knife poised in your hands the way he taught you and lip between your teeth, hair wild, and panting. "I don't know whether I should be proud or concerned that you almost stabbed me." You put the knife back into the nightstand, and he lowers his hands from the defensive pose.

"You could use the door, you know, like a normal person." He smiles at your annoyed tone and finishes removing his shirt as he had started. You reach forward and place a hand on his torso, "What's this?" Your fingers graze the gauze pad held on with tape, and he sighs.

"I got shot," he says it so casually, like someone telling you about a paper cut at the office.

"What?" Your voice is hollow, and he pulls your hands off him and sits down beside you. "What do you mean you got shot? How could you let someone get that close?"

"Y/N, it's a part of my job. Sometimes people get hurt at work." You feel the rage rise up in your chest, and you pull your hands away from him like a burn.

"You don't have a normal job, Liam. You are an assassin; you kill people. An accident at work for you could be your death. You don't make mistakes, ever. Now tell me what happened?" He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, and scoots back to lay against the headboard.

"It was nothing. Just some old friends who wanted to say hello. Don't worry about it."

You scoff, letting out an unamused chuckle. "Don't worry about it...how can you even say that?" You stand up and pace the floor of your bedroom. "Every single day, all I do is worry about you. You missed dinner again, and you want to know what I thought? That you're dead. You never call, text, hell, I'd be happy with a goddamn smoke signal! Anything to let me know you're okay. That you're alive." You throw your arms up in exasperation, and he watches you with those cold, calculating eyes from the bed.

"Do you want me to leave?" his voice is calm and quiet.

"No. No, I want you to stay with me. Move-in with me, go out to dinner, meet my parents. I want to be with you! Not spend every night wondering where you are. Worried you're being buried in an unmarked grave in the desert with a gunshot wound to the head. I just want you to be with me."

He looks at you, and your hands tremble; he suddenly looks so exhausted. His eyes droop, and his skin becomes pale. "Liam? Baby?" You surge forward and catch him before he falls off the bed, collapsing. You scream for him and lay him on his back, pulling off the bandage soaked with blood. "Shit, shit," you try to think of everything he's taught you, and you notice the knife sticking out of the drawer.

He's bleeding heavily, and you grab the knife and run to the kitchen turning on the flame on the stove. You pull down a bottle of Ever clear and take a quick swig cringing at the burn. You put the knife over the flame and watch it turn red, the flame flickering in your eyes. When it's hotter than hell, you walk quickly back to the bedroom and pour alcohol over the wound.

"I'm so sorry, my love," you whisper and place the knife to his stomach. The smell of burnt flesh fills the room, and he lets out a pained groan as the wound closes. You rush to the bathroom and grab the first aid kit doing your best to give it air before you patch him up.

You pull the chair close to his side of the bed and collapse into it. Holding your head in your hands. His breathing returns to normal, and his face, once scrunched up in pain, softens. You lean forward in the chair and reach for his neck, making sure he still has a pulse, and pull away relieved.

You stay up watching him for hours but eventually fall asleep, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. When you come too, a blanket has been draped over your body. The shadow of a figure is moving beneath it up and down. You clench around the fingers dipped inside you, warmth floods between your legs, and you hear hi sucking as your clit is pulled into Liam's hot mouth.

"Liam," you moan and pull the blanket off, revealing the predator devouring your body. "Baby, what are you doing?"

He doesn't respond, only quickening the pace of his fingers and licking at your pleasure point, making his tongue swirl just the way you like. Who knows how long he's been between your legs but his large hands move your thighs over his shoulders and pulls you closer. The cascade of pleasure erupts, and you're cumming on his tongue as he continues to work you through it. When you're shaking so bad you can barely speak, he lets go and gives you a soft smile from between your thighs.

"I'm thanking you for saving my life," he's quiet, and both of you are lost in one another's eyes. Until he moves up to kiss you softly. "Let me make love to you," he whispers against your lips, and you shake your head no biting on his bottom lip.

"We can't, your stomach," he cuts you off with another kiss before pulling back to your haunches.

"What if you rode me, baby?" You look at him wide-eyed, feeling more awake. Liam was always in control of every aspect of his life, including his sexual one.

You nod slowly as he gets up and lays down on the bed. You carefully straddle his hips taking extra caution not to touch the wound on his stomach. His hands reach forward and line you up with his cock. Guiding you slowly down onto him. You both moan at how well he fills you, the tight warmth of your cunt clenching around him.

He holds on to your hips, and you slowly rise up and almost pulling him out entirely and then impaling yourself down on him. The two of you moving in sync together as you chase down the high of being together. It's impossible to tell where he ends, and you begin both of you connected in such a way beyond the physical.

His eyes bore into yours as you rock faster and move a hand down to rub your clit. The other hand on his chest to brace yourself. "I'm close," he pants, tightening his grip with one hand and slapping away yours as he takes over, rubbing your clit. "I need you to cum with me baby, soak me with those delicious juices."

You feel your high reaching a boiling point, and he takes his hand off your hip and brings it to your chin, forcing you to look at him. The tears in his eyes have you slow down, but he bucks up into you, keeping up the pace. "Hey," he breathes heavy, "I love you." You feel the crash of ecstasy crash into you like the waves upon the sand. Him spilling into you at the same time, painting your walls with his cum.

"Liam," you cry out, "I love you." He smiles so brightly his entire face is illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window. You fall to his side, being careful of his wound. His arm curls around you and brings you tight to his side, placing his lips on your forehead.

"Sleep," he whispers, "I love you."

"I love you, Liam," you yawn, "so much." Your eyes grow heavy, and everything darkens as you drift off to sleep.

In the morning, the bed is empty and cold. He's been gone for a while, you surmise, and your heart clenches thinking upon his confession. You knew Liam loved you, but that was the last time he'd ever said it. You get up to shower and clean up the mess from last night, knowing that whatever came next, all would be okay because he loved you and knew you loved him back.

****** 

Two days. He'd never gone that long without communication before, and those same feelings of fear begin to grow in the pit of your stomach. The doorbell shocks you out of your stupor, and you run to yank it open. A woman stands there, her arms folded behind her back, and you feel the tension in the air. Whatever she was here for, it wasn't good.

"Are you," she pulls out an envelope with your name on it and reads it to you.

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"I hate to have to tell you this, but Liam is dead." The world stops spinning. Instead, you are now the dizzy one. Nausea rises in your throat, and you fall back into the apartment and land on the floor. A sob ripping from your throat, the woman stands awkwardly in the doorway. "I know this must come as a shock, but he left something for you." You look up at her in confusion, and she hands you the envelope. You take it from her hands and hold it close to your chest. Inhaling the scent of lavender and linen from your own bedding.

"I'll leave you to grieve. I'm sorry for your loss. I left the card for the medical examiner's office in the envelope if you wanted to make arrangements." She backs out of the door and shuts it disappearing down the stairs.

Your hands shake as you rip open the envelope. Liam's handwriting sticks out amongst the page, the slight curl of his letters. The one thing that was always distinctly him.

My love,

You told me last night that if anything happened to me, you would never know. But if you are reading this, then you'll know it has. I'm not one who can spout poetics and write you long letters filled with my undying love. So I will keep it simple. 

I love you. 

I love you.

 I love you.

I want you to live your life. Fall in love, get married, buy the house, make babies, and forget me. I'm gone.

But for the moments, I was on this earth. I loved you, and only you.

Goodbye, my love,

Liam

Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @mrsparknuts @ghostwiththemostbitch @zannemes @xjaywritesx @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @lunarthoughts @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell​ @chicken-ona-stick​ @agirllovespancakes​ 

#liam nikita #Nikita #Female reader #Liam Nikita x reader #Pedro Pascal #Sleepy sex series #Autumn Writes

[yuthoe]

Time (MONSTA X: Chae Hyungwon)

a few things:

1. yes i'm a monbebe now too and i fully blame fatal love era hyungwon for it. he has my multistan ass whipped

2. THIS IS THE LONGEST FIC I'VE EVER WRITTEN FOR THIS BLOG HOLY GAWD

3. i'm back to going to the office everyday for work, so we're back to infrequent posting lmao

ok so. i've wanted to write a vampire fic for so long now (the previous/first one i wrote was back in 1st year high school and despite my massive vampire kink i didn't attempt to make any other vamp related stories haha), and when i saw hyungwon in that red suit with the long hair and the eyebags and the turtleneck i just kinda went feral. this thing took me like, almost a month to write; it's been hard to cook up writing brain juice between work and trying to be healthy and keeping up with the pan de manila.

i fully intended for this to be like, sexy suggestive and leading to something more for the ending, but like. it turned out soft. somehow. the premise was perfect, but somehow my brain was like, "no make it soft" and we have whatever this is.

this is unedited bc i wrote it half-asleep and wanted to get it out there

PAIRING: Chae Hyungwon x reader. GENRE: vampire!AU, some fluff, modern fantasy. WARNINGS: vampire-typical injuries—biting, blood—some very mild sexual themes. WORD COUNT: 3,589 (holy shit).

---

The entryway is lit by the two dim overhead lights, casting an orange tint to the concrete floor. You take care to slip your shoes on quietly, not wanting to accidentally wake the slumbering man in the other room; he just got home a few hours ago and you didn’t want to cut his sleep short, remembering how he slowly slipped under the covers with you, winding an arm around your midsection and releasing a heavy breath before passing out.

So with a glance at your watch—the one he got you for your birthday a few years back, the one you’ve worn almost everywhere since—you grab your work bag and try to slip off the chain lock with as little sound as possible.

“Are you leaving for work?”

You flinch at his voice, huskier now with remnants of sleep. Hyungwon has a thing about soundlessly walking into places and surprising you by suddenly speaking. Your face scrunches at your failed attempt to slip out unnoticed, and a loud sigh escapes your lips as you turn to face him.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask, stepping right to the elevated wooden floor that separates the entryway to the living area. Hyungwon is wearing a white shirt that completely swallows his slender frame and loose pajama pants. You cup his soft cheek, drag your hand to his neck, his shoulder, down his arm, until you’re intertwining your fingers.

“Pretty much since you left the bed,” he mumbles, taking his other hand and wrapping it around you, pulling you to his chest. You feel him rest his face on the top of your head and breathe in your scent.

“Aw,” you reply quietly, smoothing a hand down his back. “And I thought I was being super quiet this time.”

There’s comfortable silence as Hyungwon basks in your warmth and you can swear he’s close to falling asleep where he stands. You think there’s no other place you’d want to be right now, but unfortunately, you need to work and he needs to sleep.

You let go of the strap on your bag and tap his side gently. “I have to go,” you murmur.

Hyungwon groans, lowers his head and tilts it to the side to whisper directly into your ear. “Do you really have to? Because there’s something more important you need to do here.” He noses at your temple, his cold breath fanning against your ear.

“Oh? And what is that?” It’s too early in the day for goosebumps, and the faster you force him back to bed, the better your chances of resisting the sweet pull of his voice.

“Mmm…,” he groans again, and you feel his smile as he kisses your ear. “Sleep.”

You snort, pulling away with a soft smile, free hand coming to cup his face. You pass your thumb over his cheekbone and watch as he melts at your touch, dark bangs falling over his closed eyes. “I’ll be home early today, love,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips.

Hyungwon’s eyes open unhurried, and he leans down to return the peck, lips moving slow against yours like honey. “Hurry back,” he mumbles against your lips.

***

A quiet sigh leaves his lips as Hyungwon toes off his shoes, leaving them at their designated space at the entrance. He hangs his bag and coat on the hooks before silently walking through the apartment to the bathroom, eager to scrub himself clean of the aggravating scents and grime of the club.

Hyungwon loves his job, he does. The people he interacts with there, though? Still up for debate.

The hot, almost scalding water seeps into his skin, warming him up from the outside. He’s used to the cold, he himself being below the normal human temperature for nearly a century now. The droplets sting a little, but it’s the pain that grounds Hyungwon to reality, a sort of proof of life in his years of floating along the endless river of time, never knowing when and where his journey would end.

There’s another pain, a burning in his throat, that reminds him well of his immortality. It assaults him every few days, and over the years has dulled from hurting so bad he nearly claws out his neck, to just being a pain in the ass that makes him cough if he doesn’t slake the thirst.

Hyungwon’s body cools rapidly when he shuts off the water, the soft April chill helping it along so that he’s mostly dry when he grabs his towel.

The bedroom is silent when he slips in, quickly dressing in the huge shirt and loose pants from yesterday, before he ducks out again to make a beeline to the kitchen, folding his tall frame into a crouch as he opens the refrigerator. There’s a space just for his blood bags in the far corner of the fridge, that he immediately scans and finds empty. Hyungwon groans and slaps a hand over his face.

Of course he forgets to stop by the blood bank tonight. He vaguely remembers taking the last bag four days ago and making a mental note to call Kihyun for his refills, but there must have been something that distracted him at the time because at present, he can’t recall contacting Kihyun about it at all, despite exchanging messages regularly.

He stands to his full height as he closes the door, leans his head against it as he mulls over his forgetfulness that never went away in all his years of living. And before he slips back into your bedroom and into the sweet realm of sleep, he rummages in his bag for his phone, texts his friend, gets a short scolding about his poor memory, and then sets a date to pick up his food.

Hyungwon quietly pads back to the bedroom and closes the door soundlessly, careful not to wake you. He slides in next to you, pulling the comforter snug against him as he rests on his elbows. He takes a few seconds to gaze at your sleeping figure, something he does every night. The random thought of coming off as creepy on the off chance you wake up runs through his head, but at the same time he thinks he wouldn’t mind if you catch him watching you sleep.

You know Hyungwon loves you, and he’s told you before that you’re one of his anchors to his hold on humanity. Never once in your two-year relationship did you take his vulnerability for granted, and he’s (quite literally) eternally grateful for your kindness and love.

He settles in on his side, and his shuffling has got you adjusting to his shape under the covers. Hyungwon feels you turn to face him and reach for his arm. You groan small, pull at his slender limb to wrap it around you, and he just lets you move him the way you want, an amused smile on his face. His other arm slides beneath your neck, and you nuzzle closer to him, breathing deep when you’re finally satisfied. He counts five seconds before your breaths even out in slumber.

Hyungwon presses a kiss to the crown of your head and inhales your scent, relaxed now and ready to follow you into sleep.

***

His alarm wakes him at noon, the shrill tone making him jerk and tighten his arm around the warm body in front of him, brows scrunching as he groans softly. Hyungwon stretches an arm towards the nightstand and turns off the alarm with an expert swipe of a finger. He buries his nose into your hair, not wanting to enter the land of the living yet. You respond with a hum, shifting and turning so your back is pressed against his chest.

You both try to doze off again before Hyungwon realizes two things:

One—It’s a Friday.

Two—You’re still in his arms.

“Love,” he mumbles against your hair.

You reply around five seconds later, with a simple grunt.

Hyungwon snorts a laugh, eyes still closed, but mind slowly waking with every passing second. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

Another grunt from you, this time louder and longer. You shuffle under the sheets to turn to him again, eyes persistently closed and brows knit slightly. “Took the day off,” you mumble and slither your arm under his, scooting closer to bury your face in his neck. “Wanted to spend some time with you.”

At this Hyungwon smiles, rests his cheek on your head. “So we have until tomorrow night to do whatever then.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before your head shoots up. The movement startles Hyungwon and makes his eyes pop open. Bleary eyes meet, yours equal parts confused and suspicious. “What do you mean? You took the night off, too? But it’s Friday—the club’s gonna be packed.”

He levels you with a casual shrug. “Yeah,” he says, sliding his hand up your arm that’s around him, and stopping at your neck. His large hand completely covers your neck, long fingers splaying onto your cheek and winding into your hair. “I wanted to spend time with you, too.” He clears his throat. “I’ve missed you.” Hyungwon can feel the steady pulse under your skin and he clears his throat again.

You smile, lean down to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

And another one.

And another.

And you would have rained more kisses on him had he not started coughing and turned his head away. The ache in Hyungwon’s throat wasn’t that bad when he was asleep, but now that he’s awake, it’s irritating to the point of annoyance. He knows the thirst is his fault, but damn, would it kill him if he could have a peaceful morning (noon) with you before his body complains about being hungry?

He feels a hand smoothing down his back as the coughing goes down. He takes shaky breaths as he sits up and leans on the headboard. After a big exhale from him, you say, “Are you okay?”

Hyungwon looks at you and smiles tightly. “I’m fine. Just a bit hungry.” He sits up, only to scoot closer to you and wind an arm around your back. He rests his forehead on your shoulder as he talks, voice low and scratchy. “Ran out of my supply and I forgot to call Kihyun about it, and it’s been a few days since I had a drink. And it’ll be a couple more days before I can stop by the blood bank for my refills.” A cough.

Your arms are around his wiry frame, fingers running up and down his spine and making him drowsy. He’s still tired and sleepy, but the thirst is keeping him awake.

“Do you want a drink?” you ask quietly. “From me?”

Hyungwon stills, a shiver running down his spine. It’s not all the time he gets to drink from you; in fact, he makes it a point to not do it because he doesn’t want to scare you off. You’ve been living together for six months, known each other for years before that, but he still worries, silently waiting for the day you decide that being with a vampire isn’t worth it after all.

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “I’m fine.” He pushes down the cough building in his throat.

You card your fingers through his long hair. “I know you try not to, but I’m okay with it. You sound like you’re really hurting.” You rest your head against his. “We’ve done it before, and it didn’t really hurt. And I trust you, Hyungwon.”

Hyungwon is tired. Is sleepy. The thirst isn’t all that bad, but the coughing is aggravating his already dry throat. He hasn’t gotten a sip of blood in five days and nothing else could quench this particular thirst quite as well.

A small cough. “Are you sure?”

Your head is still resting on his and he feels you nod. “Yeah. Besides, I…” You clear your throat before speaking. “I like it when you drink from me.”

The vampire freezes, not quite knowing what to do with this newly revealed information. He’s not sure if what he feels right now is mild lust or genuine surprise. In the (very) rare times he drinks from you he thought he saw a twinkle of anticipation in your eyes, like you’ve been craving it, too. He thinks maybe his view of himself is clouding whatever opinion you have of him, bad and good alike.

Hyungwon’s lips purse, trying to keep himself from laughing because he can tell you’re serious about this, just as worried about him as you are excited about the prospect of being bitten; it’s still a bit unbelievable. He finally raises his head and looks square at you.

“You’re really okay with this?” he asks again. “You really want me to drink from you?” He crosses his legs under the blankets and pulls you with the arm still around your back.

Sometimes you forget Hyungwon is so strong—he doesn’t make his strength known to you, unless you both need it a little rough in bed. Now, he practically lifts you onto his lap, emboldened by your declaration. You straddle him, sitting snugly with both his arms around you; your hands naturally find themselves on his broad shoulders.

“Mhm,” you simply say, nodding your head. Adrenaline is running through your veins, and you’re sure Hyungwon can clearly hear how loud and fast your heart is beating right now.

It also seems like he can read your mind because he takes one of his hands and rests it softly against your chest, right over your heart.

You see him swallow. “Your heart is beating so fast,” he says, dragging his hand up to your neck, fingers soft on your skin, and you shiver. “Your pulse is racing.” Hyungwon is looking at you like you’re a meal he can’t wait to devour. “You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you say, even though you don’t really know if what you’re feeling is excitement or embarrassment or lust of fear. You can’t recall any of the previous times he fed from you being this tense—it was always out of desperation and pain that he reached out to you for this, and despite this moment being along the same lines, it’s… very different.

The loose collar of your sweater—one of his you pilfered long ago—is pulled to the side, and you shiver again as his fingertip brushes against your skin. Goosebumps raise on your arms as Hyungwon trails that single finger over your collarbone, up your neck again, to cup your chin and pull you in for a kiss.

His lips are gentle, but you can feel he’s holding back, trying to take it slow in case you change your mind. When you respond and bite his lip, he growls and pulls you by the back of the head to kiss you deeper. The arm around your back tightens, and you feel his fingers tangle in your hair as he angles your head the way he wants.

Tiny moans spill from your lips as Hyungwon’s tongue explores your mouth. When he pulls away, your sight is flooded with his red irises, gold specks swimming in the pool of his eyes that almost glow in the dark room. So chillingly beautiful.

You’re breathing hard, unable to look away from Hyungwon’s captivating gaze. A thought passes through: No wonder humans just fall at their feet—who could look away from such a mesmerizing sight?

“Last chance,” he mutters, wetting his plump bottom lip, his scarlet eyes fixed on your neck. “You really want this?”

You card your fingers through his head and tilt his face up, dropping a kiss to his closed eyes, his nose, his pretty lips. You cup his cheek and give him a small smile. “Do it.”

Hyungwon takes a deep breath and kisses your cheek, trails his lips to nip your earlobe, and then lower… He goes slow, building up your anticipation, getting your heart rate up with every kiss and nip and suck.

He laves his tongue over a spot on your neck, and you let out a sigh, relaxing in Hyungwon’s firm hold. The hand still tangled in your hair guides you, tilting your head to the side. He noses at your neck and gives you a final soft kiss, before he draws his fangs and punctures your jugular.

You squeak in pain; the bite stings, but it goes away as fast as it came. You feel Hyungwon draw back his fangs and begin to suck, dragging his tongue over the wounds, and groaning low in his throat at the sweet taste of you.

It occurs to him how much he misses feeding from you. Because of the rarity of these occasions, your blood becomes a treat to him, a sort of delicacy that he deliberately denies himself of. It didn’t take him too long after that first taste of you long ago, to realize that your blood is dangerously addicting.

Hyungwon focuses on drinking your blood, drinking in the small moans you make as he marks your soft skin. He feels your restless hands clawing at his back, the other winding through his long hair—pulling him close or pushing him away, you don’t know.

Your senses are heightened and dulled; you’re acutely aware of every miniscule movement of Hyungwon’s lips on your neck, but the rest of your body feels like it’s floating. He groans against your skin and the vibrations send a jolt of lightning up your spine and you whimper.

Hyungwon immediately pulls back, worried he hurt you. His mouth is stained red. “Are you okay?”

You’re nodding before he finishes, cupping his cheek with a hand. “I’m fine, Hyungwon.” You give him a small smile as he melts into your hand, one of his coming up to keep it there. “Did you want more?”

He shakes his head. “I’m feeling better now. Thank you, love.” He exhales, and you think he does look better than earlier—his skin is brighter, the bags under his eyes are gone, and he’s even breathing more easily. “Let me go clean you up,” he says, and lifts you gently off him, setting you down on the soft comforter just in front of him. He pats your knee before getting up and padding to the bathroom.

You gaze at him as he leaves, the sight of his model-like figure waddling like a penguin amusing. Hyungwon stops at the door and turns to you, smiling at you softly.

He returns a minute later, warm damp washcloth in hand, mouth clean and eyes a lovely brown. He sits at the edge of the bed and cleans your neck with gentle swipes. The bleeding has stopped and the wound is closed, but the surrounding skin is blooming with black and purple bruises. Hyungwon clicks his tongue. “I’m sorry, love. The bite’s gonna leave a mark.”

You carefully tap the wounds, smoothing fingertips over the raised marks. They sting a bit, but it feels more like the soreness after getting a vaccine shot than anything. “It’s okay, love. They’ll heal over the weekend.” You catch his lips in a soft kiss. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

He sets the bloody rag on the nightstand and moves closer to you, kissing you back, cradling your neck for support as he coaxes you to lie on the bed. You smile through the kiss, giggle as you wind your arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your lips. “You looked so beautiful earlier… Thank you for letting me do that.”

You hum. “Anytime, you need, babe. I enjoyed it.”

Hyungwon is propped above you, a thigh slotted between yours. Lazy, slow kisses against the soft sheets seems like the perfect activity for the rest of the day. But you have other plans.

“I gotta admit, though,” you said, brushing his long bangs from his eyes. “That was… kinda hot.” You try to fight a smile, embarrassed at the admission, despite the compromising position you were in just minutes before.

Hyungwon chuckles, ducks his head to press a soft kiss to the puncture marks, the underside of your jaw, your earlobe. “I didn’t expect you to be so into it,” he whispers, his baritone voice seeping into your bones and making you shudder.

You laugh loud at that. “Well, my boyfriend is a hot vampire, what did you think was gonna happen?”

Hyungwon laughs with you, rests his forehead on yours and kisses you again. He buries his face into your neck, the unmarked side, and snakes his arms around your back and rolls you to your sides.

Fingers trace mindless shapes on his back, play with his long hair that’s tangled from your restless hands earlier, relax in the quiet of the afternoon. Your heads are at the foot of the bed, legs tangled together. From the top of Hyungwon’s head, you can just barely see the sun peeking through a slit between the dark curtains, but all you want to do is sleep.

You’re close to dozing off when Hyungwon suddenly speaks. Three words. Your favorite.

“I love you.” He squeezes you slightly and breathes in your scent.

You smile and reply, “I love you, too.”

The world outside your window keeps turning; the weather looks nice today. But you’re not stepping out, not when your whole world is right here, snuggled in your arms.

#kdiarynet #monsta x #monsta x hyungwon #chae hyungwon #monsta x hyungwon scenario #hyungwon scenario #hyungwon scenarios #hyugnwon imagine #fic: mine #fic: hyungwon #fic: not spicy #but it's mildly #monsta x smut #just putting that tag there just in caseee #BABY IS FINALLY DONE #i hope yall like it

[milkyjeon]

❝let me SEE you❞ kth ― s.

+ pairing: daddy!taehyung x female!reader

+ genre: smut

+ warnings: voyeurism, taehyung is daddy as fuck, mention of alcohol, degradation, masturbation, tae-big-dick-hyung, he is just sadistic let's be real, choking, hair pulling, creampie, multiple orgasms, whisper kink (?) and a little size kink.

+ author's note: this was a request from @peachyunjinnie! i hope you like this babes~

+ wordcount: 1.3k

"Babe, I'm h-" Taehung has stopped mid-sentence to hear the sounds coming in through our shared bedroom. The various noises and loud panting that was being echoed through the whole apartment. He was intrigued, so took off his still dripping wet coat and placed the umbrella to the ground. He licked his lips and was smiling at my cowardly try to masturbate and to expect for him to not know.

He wanted to make himself comfortable, to achieve that Taehyung spotted the red wine on the kitchen counter. He swiftly got a wineglass to fill the red liquid in. He was actually excited to see what will happen next and listened to my whines and groans.

"T-Taehyung, please." I moaned out, trying to reach my sweet spot that magically only he could reach. This dildo could not satisfy me in any way he could, ever. But I have to somehow feed the hungering lust I had to ignore the whole day at work.

He sneaked himself inside the room and somehow managed to sit down the makeup chair to face me. He took a sip of the Chianti and never left his brown eyes off my twitching and shaking body. The lights were turned off except the nightstand lamp that gave a golden-ish color in the room. Taehyung felt his pants growing smaller and a hard outline could be seen through. He was absolutely and utterly lost on my body, my hair being stuck on my face from the soft layer of sweat, my exposed breasts that were decorated with perky nipples, my completely nude body that was convulsing by the pleasure that was brought by the wand in my left hand.

"A-Ah Fuck!" I screamed as I set the setting higher on the vibrator. Taehyung unbuttoned his shirt and as well unbuckled his belt. Being surprised with his already wet boxers, he let out his cock and stared into my direction.

"Set it higher." I heard a voice in the corner of the bedroom and got the shock of my life.

"Tae? Are you here?" I was in trouble. Jerking off without letting him know or asking for permission was a huge violation against his ruled he has set for me.

"Babygirl, It's Daddy for you." His raspy voice sent shivers down my spine. I turned around to face him and to see a soft silhouette of his body. He stood up and took off his pants completely. His dick literally growing in front of my eyes, he smirked at my big eyes. I turned off the vibrator and stared at him, scared but still excited what will happen next.

Taehyung crawled into the bed and snapped at my hair. His face calm and relaxed, other than his grip on me. "What a dirty little kitten you are. Mhh, you like when I pull your hair like that?" He smiled at my whines and moans. He spanked my ass hard to get a reply from me and I immediately gave him a whispered 'Yes'.

He pushed my face into the bed and yanked my ass up in the air. I couldn't help and I couldn't tell if I am crazy for it but a smile has creeped up my face. He pushed himself in without any warning and deeply positioned his dick in me, hitting that one spot that was only reachable for him. The sweet sensation made me scream out loud.

"Fuck, scream louder. Cum slut." His raspy voice haunting me in my state of fulfillment. I was out of breath and loudly screamed into the mattress.

He thrusted into my dripping core, the sound of skin clapping together being heard mixed with my whimpers and Taehyungs groans. He pushed my back down and I could feel my spine breaking at his underestimated strength. I felt my orgasm finally getting closer and closer, my thighs shaking and trembling into a mess. My legs giving up on me and I collapsed into a pile of moans and cries. He pushed my ass back into position again and jerked himself in me and has reached my G-Spot repeatedly and I finally could reach my climax.

"Who's your Daddy?" He yanked my hair once again and kept my back against his unbuttoned shirt. His whispers being next to my ear and thd deep breaths giving me a hard time to function.

"Y-You! Daddy!" I screamed out loud and he snickered. His hands suddenly on my throat and squeezing my esophagus together and taking away my ability to breath with such an ease. Taehyungs big hands on my small body were such a turn on for him, his huge palm almost covering my whole neck.

"Who the fuck owns you, you little slut?" He spat into my ear and pushed himself balls deep into me, I winced at the stretch of his huge dick in me.

"Y-You-" But before I could even get out the whole sentence he has already spilled his load of warm semen inside of me and the sensation of his cum spilling out of my core was so arousing that I almost uncontrollably and unexpectedly came again. The second orgasm hitting me like a punch in the face and getting the best of me.

Taehyung pushed my head into the cushion and his grunted out curses were circulating in my mind. It took us a couple of moments to catch out breaths and to calm down. He pulled out and pushed his two fingers into my abused pussy. "My cum all in you, claiming you as mine. Shit that's hot."

I giggled as best as I could but failed at my sad attempt. Too tired and exhausted from my sex drive being unbelievably high and strong.

"Did you cum twice?" He smacked my ass and smacked his lips at the sight of me. Underneath him, my ass in the air with my head being pressed into the mattress. He had to focus on something else before he got another boner from just looking at this display in front of him.

"Y-Yeah." I laughed a bit and realized that I actually had the best orgasm in a long time.

"But before that, I saw you were having a lot of fun with that little thingy." Taehyung massaged my ass before he smacked it again and I jolted at his big palm now hitting my butt harder.

"About t-that, uhm-" I stuttered more than before and was genuinely terrified of what will happen now.

"You know the rules, babe now don't you?" The only words I heard before I got the longest and dirtiest night I could have ever asked for.

#bts smut #taehyung smut #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #bts scenarios #bts taehyung #bts #kim taehyung #bts v smut #bts taehyung smut #smut #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #bts taehyung fanfic #kth

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter Eleven}

I lied, this is the longest chapter. They just keep getting longer ya’ll

Master List

Comfortable, Not Easy

Word Count: 2010

    I spent the next two weeks avoiding everyone and everything thing, especially after I slipped and invited Jared over. Not my proudest moment. Robbie dropped by a couple of times to coax me out of bed, but it didn't work. I felt dirty, used, and stupid. I called Jared after he assaulted me in front of my house like a whore and let him stay over for nine days.

    It wasn't necessarily comfortable being with Jared for nine days, but it was familiar. I knew what to expect from waking up to going to bed. Tom was texting to check in as well, and I ignored every sweet text he sent me. I couldn't face the fact that he was there, waiting for me to recoup while I was living with my ex again.

    Robbie finally kicked Jared out on day ten for me. I told him about the kisses and how horrible I felt letting Jared stay on day nine. Jared was gone before I woke up, and Robbie was trying to pull me out of bed. Literally.

    Robbie pulls on my ankle repeatedly, trying to loosen my hold on the headboard. "Come," pull. "On." He pulls again. "You can't stay locked in your room because you've made a mistake, Stella." He scolds, sitting next to my feet. I grunt in response. "I swear to all things LA, I will make Stevie do a house call." I moan louder, pulling a pillow over my head. The space next to me dips down, and Robbie throws an arm over me.

    Whenever I'm in a lousy mood, Robbie's first response is forceful eviction of my room followed by snuggles. If either won't work, he calls Stevie. In our ten years of friendship, he's gotten to know me inside and out. He's my closest friend and my most relied-on confidant. He knows more about me than anyone else in the world. He knows the darkest places in my head and knows how to help me navigate them better than myself. He was the only one who was there during my entire marriage and divorce. Hell, he was my bro of honor.

    I turn to lay on his chest, curling in to feel his warmth and wrapping my arms around him so tight I thought he'd turn purple. I never, ever, want to lose him. "I hate seeing you like this, Stell." He mumbles. "You're so hard on yourself. I know it's easy with Jared; you guys have a routine. He's easy, and Tom is hard. I understand why you did what you did." The sobs rip out of me in violent bursts. I hate how well he knows me some days, especially when he says things I know I need to hear.

    He remains quiet as I sob, rubbing my head and holding me tight. He's the rock in my twisted life, and I'd be lost without him. Robbie makes me feel seen, heard, and appreciated even after my undesirable days.

    When the sobs turn into small whimpers, Robbie continues, "I think you need to talk to Tom; he's genuinely worried for you. He's dropped by the studio to ask about you. God, you should have seen him, Stella. He's a fucking god. Don't even get me started on those eyes dude, they're so blue." I can't help but laugh at Robbie's fanboying. "They hold so many emotions I didn't know they could do that. He looked so worried and concerned. He really cares about you."

    "I know he does." I manage. "I just don't want to bring him into this fucked up life I've created for myself. He deserves so much better." Robbie sits up quickly, grabbing my face to look at him. His eyebrows are pulled together, and his face is set in a stern look. His father look.

    "You deserve better, Stella Thompson. You deserve a man like Tom. You deserve Jesus himself for all I care. You need someone who will treat you ten times better than Jared ever could. Someone who loves and cherishes you as you are, broken, sharp pieces and all." Robbie runs a thumb over the new tears leaking. "You are the most beautiful person I have ever met, Stella. You care so deeply about people that you let them continue to be in your life even after they've fucked you over a dozen times. Stella, you deserve to start over with someone like Tom."

    I swear to God, the universe was listening to us because, as if divine intervention stepped in, my phone begins to buzz on the nightstand. Robbie reaches to hang up before going over the name again. "Here. Talk to him. I'll make you some food." With that, Robbie leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

    With a grounding breath, I answer the phone with a meek hello. "Oh, thank heavens you're okay." Tom breaths out a sigh of relief on the other side of the phone. "I was beginning to worry. More. Worry more than I already was."

    "I'm sorry I scared you," I mumble. "And I'm sorry I've been MIA for so long. It's been a really rough two weeks after everything happened, and I tend to shut down when things get hard." I admit, brushing my mangled hair out of my face.

    "I understand, Love. We all have bad habits. I was worried I had pushed too hard, and you were ghosting me. I was actually going to call and tell you I would give you some space if you hadn't picked up. I can still give you space if that's what you'd like?"

    "No," I answer quickly. "No, please. I really like having you in my life, and I love the way you make me feel. But I have to tell you that Jared spent the week with me. It doesn't mean anything. He's just..." I pause, trying to find the right words to make my asshole move sound less assholey.

    "Easy. You're used to him. I understand that, Love." I take in a shaky breath. "I appreciate you telling me. Is there anything I can do to help with your rut?"

    "Can you come over sometime today? I could kinda use a hug from you." Fucking crying making my defenses turn to mush. It always makes me a ball of emotions and fussy needs.

    "I'd be delighted to. Would you like me to bring some lunch?"

    "No, Robbie is here making me some. You called at the perfect time, actually. We were talking about you. Everything good, though. Nothing bad." I reiterate quickly. Tom chuckles on the other end.

    "Well, I was just thinking about you and hoping you were at least alive."

    "The heart's still ticking, so the body is alive," I joke. "Brain could use a jumpstart, though."

    "I'll be over in about ten if that's alright with you?" I confirm with him and hang up. Pulling myself out of bed for the first time in fourteen days, I make my way to the kitchen.

    Robbie stands over the stove, cursing and shaking his left hand. "Burned yourself again?" I ask. If you'd lose a year off your life every time you got burnt, Robbie would have died at age five.

    "Fuck off." He mumbles, going back to the grilled cheese he's making. "How'd the call go? It seemed pretty short." I nod as I sit on a barstool.

    "Fine, he's coming over in a few minutes." It hits me. Tom Hiddleston is coming over to my depression pit of a house after I've had two weeks of nonstop crying and zero hygiene. "Fuck, I need to shower." I curse, rushing to the bathroom. A quick shower will help everything. Hopefully.

    Robbie pokes his head into the bathroom as I wrap my towel around me. "Tom's here. I'm going to keep him company while you  get changed." He states before winking and shutting the door again. I don't feel like I have the energy to put on any form of makeup to cover up how deathly ill I look, nor the power to care what I look like besides the clean part. The shower did seem to wash away the residual guilt and shame I felt about everything. Though it didn't clean off everything.

    After changing into some comfortable clothes, I make my way into the living room, where Robbie is watching Tom talk with nothing less than homosexual love in his face. "Robbie, out," I demand, catching both boys' attention. He leaves after a quick goodbye and non-discrete wink.

    Tom walks over to meet me behind the couch, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're doing better," He mumbles into my hair. "I've been worried." We stand like that for a few minutes before my stomach growls loud enough for him to hear. "Here, Robbie left your food on the table." Tom leads me to the couch and sits next to me, our legs touching.

    "Thank you for being so understanding, Tom. I know I'm pretty fucked, and I really appreciate you being understanding of it all." He smiles as I take a bite of the grilled cheese. Robbie should be made grilled cheese God the way it melts in my mouth.

    "Of course, Love. We are all pretty fucked when we think about it. I haven't felt this way in quite some time. I know I can be a bit pushy, but I really enjoy your company," Tom says, sending those all-too-familiar shivers down my spine. "We can take things as slowly as you'd like. We can stay friends if that's what you need to heal as well." I shake my head while finishing a bite.

    "I don't want just friends, Tom. You make me feel like a better version of me. Less dark and gloomy." The anxiety of actually communicating and talking about feelings causes my knee to bounce. Jared never let me talk so candidly, and I'm afraid I might overstep. "Can I be honest?" Tom nods quickly. "I have absolutely no idea how to communicate in a not toxic way.

    "My whole life, it's been demonstrated that yelling and cursing is the only way to get across what I'm feeling. What I do know is that I like who I am when I'm around you, and I don't want that feeling to ever stop." Tom presses a kiss on my forehead.

    "Then let us work it out together. I like who I am when I'm with you as well." The absolute zoo that took residence in my stomach could wipe out the entire human population. Tom motherfucking Hiddleston likes being with me. "Bloody hell, I fancy you, Stella."

    Tom chuckles as I start to choke on my own breath. He reaches for the Caprisun set out and hands it to me. Tom likes me. He like likes me. Tom Hiddleston. Who would have guessed my damaged ass would land someone like him.

    For years after my breakup with Jared, I thought all I deserved was heartbreak and pieces of shit men. Maybe I could really turn my life around here. Turn it into something wonderful and perfect. Something made just for me.

    "I, uh, I fancy you too, Tom," I admit after controlling my breathing. His smile in this exact moment will stay with me forever. No ill-meaning behind it, wide and bright, and absolutely dazzling. Tom was as close to perfect as one man could get.

    The kiss. The kiss that followed behind our confessions was just as magical, if not more magical, than the first. Only this time, there was no Jared to ruin it. It was just Tom, me, and the ugly off-white sofa I stole from Jared when I moved out.

    How do you even end a chapter after that? Like, I impressed myself with that shit. We still own that couch too. It's where our little love story started, truly. I mean, no, we didn't go exclusive at that moment, but it's where it began.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #i got 99 problems and tom hiddleston could fix everyone of them #jared leto #Jared Leto imagine #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #love #romance #fanfiction #fanfic #Original content #original character #oc #og #Chances #fiction

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Heartbreaker- Part 3

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 6332. Yikes.

Warnings: Sexual content, language, angst

Moodboard@peterquillzsblog

AN: The third part of this thing I did for @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I’m a bit insecure about this part, and it was hard to write but I hope ya’ll like it. Shout out to my girl @shannygoatgruff for helping me and encouraging me with the writing process. You da best.

Part 1, Part 2

...

The stars were mocking her, she was sure of it.

Her eyes were glued to her ceiling, the stupid LED’s sparkling brighter now that the sun had completely set and the moon had taken its place. She started learning her constellations when she was 10, the age when shit at home started to hit the fan. It was her attempt at an escape to avoid her parents fighting in the other room. She ignored the yelling and banging against the walls by running to her tiny window and staring out into the sky in the hopes of catching sight of Orion’s Belt or any of the dippers. The stars were nicer then, comforting her as she did her best to drown out her mother’s screaming. They weren’t so visible now that she lived in Oslo, the city lights blocking everything that glowed in the sky. She had to settle for the cheap projector she purchased off amazon when she first called the city home, and it had been enough for her to get by until now. It ridiculed her, the fake stars shimmering together as if to form a smirk.

Fuck that.

She reaches behind her nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall with force, cutting off the starlight and leaving her ceiling pitch black. The candles were still flickering as the only light source, the scent of roses still strong. At least it smelled nice. Flopping back against her pillows, she runs her hands down her damp face from her salty tears, dropping her arms to her sides and dragging the sheets over her still naked body. She hadn’t moved since he left. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her body felt rooted to the mattress, her skin glued to the sheets. She gives the dark ceiling one last glare before rolling to her side, burying her face into the pillow where Ivar’s luxurious hair had left the fragrance of his coconut shampoo and his Armani cologne. She was fucking pathetic.

Sending him away felt like a mistake.

She wanted to feel powerful kicking his ass out. She wanted to feel in control and confident watching him leave, but she didn’t. He wasn’t even angry. As soon as she told him to leave, he silently gathered his wrinkled clothes thrown about in their haste. In rigid movements he dressed himself, grabbed his crutch, and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shape of her body under the thin sheets. He said nothing, just stared at her with this look of longing, like they were the most unfortunate pair to grace the earth. It certainly felt that way. Then he reached over, holding her head gently to place a kiss on her temple before leaving her bed. All she wanted to do was to cry and call him back as soon as she heard her front door close with a soft click.

The facade immediately collapsed and the smirk slipped from her lips, settling into a deep frown. Her eyes welled up with tears and cascaded down her cheeks without so much as a fight. She had felt a heaviness in her chest, a burning that ached over her as if Ivar himself had reached inside her and ripped out her heart. He had broken it, so why did it hurt just as much when she tried to hurt him?  

Because she loved him. She loved Ivar.

She was in love with him. Completely and hopelessly and stupidly in love. Like a fucking idiot. She loved him when he visited her at the museum. She loved him when he took her home. She loved him when he took her to bed. And she loved him more when she watched him leave, his expression forever implanted in her mind like a photograph. She’d never seen such a look on him before.

When the hell did it start to get to that point? She wasn’t too sure. It started simple enough, boundaries were set, and they were both happy with what they had. The sex was great, and even greater still when she realized her feelings were getting involved. She found love in the simplest things. She felt it in their little touches whenever she handed him something, in the smile that lit up his face when she made his favorite meal of steak and potatoes, or the way he looked at her when he knew she was wearing something particularly naughty under her clothes. Or maybe she loved him from the moment they met at that fucking party. Apparently it only takes the brain 2 seconds to fall in love with someone. She couldn’t even remember where she’d read that. Probably from that corny lifestyle magazine she picked up while waiting her turn at the dental office. Whatever. The damage was already done.

She fights to ignore the delicious throbbing between her legs, her body craving more of him and his touch. It bothered her, how her body was betraying her. With a sigh, she shifts away from Ivar’s scent, curling into herself and making a mental note to wash the bed sheets as soon as possible. A bath would be nice, preferably with lots of bubbles, but she was too lazy. She’d just have to wake up earlier.

She takes even breaths to calm her heart rate as she watches the candle on her nightstand flicker, hoping she’d find sleep soon.

.

Morning came a lot quicker than she hoped.

She was the epitome of a zombie, which meant she’d need her morning coffee. Her eyes were sensitive against the morning light and her body ached from more than just a sleepless night. She took a quick shower, fed Benji, and made her caffeinated drink. She was in complete autopilot, that is, until there was a knock on her door. Irritated at the early disturbance, she goes to the door with half a mind of what was on the other side of it.

Pink daisies. Twice as many as before. This time, they were arranged in a stained glass vase, much like the windows of a cathedral, with vivid colors of green, blue, and red, depicting a simplistic design. It must have cost him a pretty penny no doubt, but money was never a problem for him. It was lighter than the porcelain vase, but still heavy in her hands. She places it on the counter, her fingertips skimming over the silky petals as gently as she could without damaging them. They were beautiful, but she found herself unable to admire them. She had a melancholic view of them now. They couldn’t be her favorites anymore.

There was that white card again, hiding within the stems of the bouquet. She hesitates, her fingers grasping the rough textured paper, reluctant to peer inside in fear of another hurtful message. With a shaky breath she flips it open.

I’m sorry.

Love, Ivar.

The words were written messily, unusual for him as he had perfect penmanship learned from his years in boarding school. Again, the water from the vase dotted the card, causing the black ink to bleed a bit. Her fingers follow the streaks down to the edge, picking up some of the faded pigment. It was as if he were the one crying this time, asking for forgiveness with fucking flowers. Either this solution worked for him in the past or he was just really fucking stupid.

She bites her lip, fiddling with the card before opening her junk drawer and tossing it inside. She didn’t have the strength to get rid of it. She carefully takes the vase in both hands, setting them down on her coffee table and arranging her candles and other knick knacks around it until it pleased her. She sits on her sofa, watching Benji put both his paws on the surface of the coffee table, curious of the new scent in the flat. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she searches her contact list, going to her blocked numbers. Ivar’s name was the only one on that list.

Unblock?

She pauses, her finger hovering over the button. One tap, and she would be signing up for more heartbreak. Then the image of the blonde appeared in her mind, her in bed with Ivar, smirking and devious. Mocking.

It wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clack, the corner smacking against the edge of the vase and spooking Benji. She sucks her teeth.

Forget it.

…

Ivar runs his large thumb over the smooth cream colored domino piece, watching Hvitserk deal the pieces out to him and Sigurd. He’s been in a foul mood since the night he left her flat and he’s been hugging alcohol and cigarettes to his side like long lost friends, specifically Patrón and Marlboro. They dulled whatever strange feeling he felt that fluttered in his chest whenever he thought of her.

Normally, women were never a problem for him. It was always the same routine. He’d find himself a pretty girl, date her for a bit, and find another one when he got bored. He’d tell them that love was out of the equation and that was it. There were a few that grew attached, but he’d nip it in the bud before it could escalate. Others were understanding. They’d have their fun and go on their merry way to do it over again with some other asshole. It was supposed to be simple. So why was she making things so fucking difficult?

Well, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he had to admit. They were both difficult. She had fallen in love with him after he warned her not to, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep away from her after he’d sent her away. He had a routine, dammit, but now all he finds himself wanting is a fucking routine with her. Like maybe a normal one. He had gotten use to her, her smile, her touches, her scent, fuck. How long had it been? A year? The longest he’d ever been with a girl. Seriously. And now Freydis was up his ass for attention. He knew the bimbo didn’t feel anything past physical attraction for him. It was just for his time and money, which he didn’t mind at first, but the bitch was terrible in bed and an unpleasant person to be around.

And so he hoped she’d appreciate the flowers. Women loved flowers, right?

Ivar gives the longest sigh he could muster in order to keep his thoughts at bay, deciding to stare at the domino in his hand. It had 2 giant black dots, and the longer he stared at it, the more they appeared like scrutinizing eyes, judging him and his decisions. He slams the piece face down on the table with a glare. Fuck, he was going crazy.

"Where'd you even get these?" He grunts, snatching up his forgotten beer and taking a sip. It wasn’t tequila but it’d have to do for now.

"Bjorn bought them for me from Cuba." Hvitserk says pointing at the little wooden box they came in with the Cuban flag expertly painted on the surface.

"He brings domino's but no cigars?" Sigurd grumbles, arranging his pieces away from the prying eyes of his brothers, “I’d rather cigars.”

"Domino's are way cooler than cigars, Sig," Hvitserk argues, "And maybe Bjorn doesn’t like you enough to bring you fucking cigars, but forget that. What I really want to know is why our baby brother here looks like fucking shit." Both the older brothers turn to look at Ivar with knowing looks, ready to tease if need be.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ivar argues, slamming his first piece down to commence the game. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much these last few days. And maybe he had bags forming under his eyes and wasn’t eating much, preferring his alcohol and chimney sticks, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say he looks like shit. Then again, he wasn’t looking into his bathroom mirror much either.

“Hvits is right. You look like a kicked puppy, and not even a cute one.” Sigurd snickers, placing his own piece down with that stupid little smirk on his face.

“There is no such thing as ugly puppies.” Was the grunted reply.

“Point is, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping? We know how much you love your beauty sleep.”

“And fucking,” Hvitserk chimes in, placing down his domino, “I think Ivar has us beat. He’s competing with Bjorn at this point.”

“Or maybe it’s that little vixen of his causing trouble. How is she doing by the way? We haven’t seen her in a while.” Ivar flares his nose at the nickname that Sigurd had given her. He fucking hated it now more than ever.

“Shut. Up.” He snarls, sliding his domino piece hard enough to push the rest off the table.

“What the fuck, Ivar! If you break my shit, I’ll-”

“So this is what you guys do when I’m not at the office?” Ubbe bursts in through the door of their little lounging area, a frown forming on his lips as he eyes them in pure displeasure before they settled on the game pieces, “Who’s idea was it to play dominoes when we have clients blowing up our fucking phone’s? And drinking beer? That’s just brilliant. Assholes.”

“That’s why your girl is the secretary, Ubbe, she can handle it.” Sigurd waves his hand around, glad that Ubbe’s outburst overshadowed Ivar’s. When the youngest got mad, it wasn’t pretty, but it was fucking entertaining.

“It was my idea, by the way,” Hvitserk chuckles, placing all the pieces that fell back on the table top, “Wanna play? There’s more beer in the mini fridge.”

“You’re all fucking garbage.” Ubbe mutters, but heads over to the fridge to pull out a beer before plopping down on the empty chair beside Ivar with a sigh, “Before I forget, Ivar, Torvi says some guy just came by to drop something off for you.”

“I’m not expecting a package.”

“You sure? I’ll tell her to bring it in.” After a few minutes, Torvi peeks her head in through the crack of the door before fully opening it, a bouquet of wilted pink daisies in her hands. The color drains from Ivar’s face as the blonde approaches, handing him the flowers with this odd look on her face. Who would send Ivar fucking flowers anyway? And dying ones at that. His brothers immediately start to laugh at Ivar’s stunned look, another session of teasing on the way.

“You have another admirer, little bro?” Hvitserk chortles, mixing the domino pieces for a quick shuffle before dealing them.

“The flowers look like shit.” Comments Sigurd, leaning back against his chair. Ivar, still bewildered into silence, blinks stupidly. He stares at the wilted daisies, the petals easily falling off when he brings his fingers to touch them. They really did look like complete shit. Just like how he felt.

“There’s a card clipped in there. You gonna read it or what?” Ubbe taps his youngest brother's shoulder to elicit some kind of reaction from him. Ivar composes himself before quickly snatching the white card. It was one he had already written a message in by the looks of it. The card was bent at the edges, and he recognized the black ink from his favorite fountain pen.

Finally summing up the courage to read the message, he flips the card open, his previous simple apologetic words were crossed out. A new message was written below it that had his little cold heart hammering in his chest. He bites his lip, his blue eyes scanning the 4 words over and over again.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

…

The Tune ship is a fast sailing vessel able to transport passengers quickly across 100 meters. It is speculated that the vessel was a warship, able to carry its passenger and light cargo farther distances at a much faster-

“Ahh, there you are. In the library just as I assumed.” She quickly removes her eyes from her laptop screen in favor of the intruder that addressed her. She immediately stands, pushing it aside and placing her hands behind her back. The museum director, Mr. Kent, chuckles at her nervousness, smoothing a hand down his pale beard. He must have been a blonde in his youth as his hair had a faint yellow glow when under sunlight. He was a decent man of English origin, specifically from Winchester, who had taken over as the museum director about a year ago. He was a man who loved to dress well, fancy suits and shoes to demonstrate his abundance of money, but it wasn't haughty, not like the Ragnarsson’s. Mr. Kent came from even older money, and apparently from a line of kings that ruled England centuries ago. He had a massive reputation, to say the least. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m actually in need of a favor. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Kent, what can I do for you?”

“Please,” He chuckles, “Ecbert is fine. As for the favor, my grandson will be moving from Winchester in a few short weeks, right before the gala for the Tune ship exhibit. I’d like for him to shadow you during your tours, if that is alright with you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It would be an honor.” Fuck no, it wouldn’t. The last person that shadowed her was super fucking annoying and ended up getting fired anyway, but since this was Ecbert’s grandson, it would be different, he’d have privilege. Hopefully he wasn’t douche.

And shit. The fucking gala. She’d almost forgotten about it. It was the only event that the museum held in which she could attend, dress up, and feel pretty, but it was the one event that made her more nervous than anything else. She’d be surrounded by the richest people in the country, patrons of the Viking Ship Museum and other prestigious institutions and universities.  And champagne, lot’s of champagne. Rich people knew how to party.

“Excellent,” He smiles, clapping his hands together as if to solidify their agreement, “Don’t let me take up more of your time, I know you're doing your research for the new exhibit. I’ll be happy to give you access to the archives if you’d like? You might find something of interest that isn’t in the scholarly journals online.”

“That would be fantastic, Sir, thank you.”

“Have a great day.” She watches the older man leave, before plopping back down onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. He wasn’t as intimidating as their last asshole director, but she still treads softly around him. You can never get too comfy with those above you.

She did some more research for another half hour before checking her watch. Another tour of the Oseberg ship was scheduled in a few minutes and she would be free to go home and feel sorry for herself and her love life. She puts away her laptop in her purse, quickly rushing over to her office to freshen up before the tour. It was a busy day at the museum as they were now at the start of tourist season, which meant the museum allowed for bigger groups to be guided, and more people meant more noise and more irritation. Walking toward the entrance of the museum, she scans her eyes over the group of the afternoon, suddenly hoping to find a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. But that wasn’t the case. She frowns. He wouldn’t come looking for her after that fucking stunt she pulled. She shouldn’t want him to look for her anyway.

She sighs, plastering the fakest smile on her face before greeting the group.

.

Her phone was truly the devil. Honestly, did it intend to constantly notify her on Ivar’s posts and images? And since when did he post so damn much? She’d have to turn off her notifications, or block him off of Snapchat. Actually, why not just throw the whole fucking phone away? Ridiculous. She grumbles to herself, wondering why she hadn’t deleted him off of any social media apps yet. There was an answer to that, she just didn’t care to admit it. She was never into that stuff anyway, just keeping her accounts for communication purposes for her friends and family back home. It was getting rather lonely. Her time was mostly spent with Ivar, and now that they’re having their little rift, she realized her lack of friends. Had she really revolved her life around him? Shit.

Stretching her legs down the length of the sofa, she makes herself comfortable for the stupid shit she was about to do. She grabs her phone, scrolling through her apps and goes on Instagram. Ivar had posted 3 new photos. He was out at some bar in the city having a good ass time it seemed. His best friend, Heahmund, was in all of them, probably as a chaperone since Ivar couldn’t handle his liquor much. Heahmund was a good friend for that and Ivar was lucky to have the British fuck look out for him.

Ivar’s story was filled with clips of him goofing off. He was totally drunk, she could tell by how lidded and unfocused his eyes were, and how pink his lips were from constantly pursing them over a glass. His hair was all fucked up and out of its usual bun, as if he were fucking someone right before the video was recorded. Almost immediately after the thought, a drunk Freydis comes into the shot. That explained it. She should really throw her phone away.

Freydis giggles at the camera before placing her lips to his cheek, trailing them down his neck in sloppy kisses.

A rage boiled within her and she felt her fingers tighten around her phone. She needed to calm down. He was doing his own thing and she might as well do hers, though it was much easier said than done. The other videos he posted were of him taking shots of whatever it was, most likely tequila, and grinning into the camera like an idiot. Or maybe she was the idiot. Why should she mope around while he was having the time of his life? She knew how to have fun!...Right? Well, sometimes. Okay, maybe not. That party she met Ivar in? It was an invitation she had refused countless times. She couldn’t be bothered with the guy who begged her to go, but she went anyway due to her lack of socialization at the time.

Going out and partying was never fun when she was always the sober one. She did drink of course, but her tolerance was a lot better than most, say, like Ivar. She couldn’t count with her fingers the amount of times she had to call an Uber to get his ass home. The very few times she’d gone out with his brothers, it always ended with the same outcome, except Ubbe would end up saving their sorry asses.

Ubbe was the sweetheart, why couldn’t she have felt this way about him instead? Right, he had a girlfriend. She grumbles to herself, thinking she's better off alone.

…

“Where are you going?” The scent of alcohol had rooted itself deep within Freydis’s pores, her breath tickling his ear in an unpleasant manner. She stops him when he slips off the bar stool, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him or the look she wore. He didn’t like any of it. The loud trap music that blared from the speakers had activated him earlier that night, but now it made his head ache something terrible. The bass seemed to be vibrating right through him and he rubbed the side of his temple to subdue the growing headache. He reached out to stabilize himself on the bar counter. He was so fucking drunk.

“I gotta pee. Get off me.” Ivar grumbles, pushing her away with little grace. Clingy bitch.

“What?” The blonde scowls, her eyebrows arching and her lips set in a tight line. Shit. He said that out loud?

“Nothing.”

“I think he called you a clingy bitch, actually.” Heahmund repeats Ivar’s demeaning words, a chuckle escaping his red stained lips from the wine he was drinking. This was the fun part of the night for the older man. Ivar had no filter when he was drunk. Well, he never really did have a filter, sober or not, but it was a lot funnier when he had alcohol in his system. He could be ruthless.

“I fucking heard him, asshole.” Freydis snaps, seemingly sobering up now that she was angry. Heahmund breaks out in a smile to which she glares in return.

“I gotta pee.” Ivar announces again, not bothering to look at Freydis before stumbling towards the restrooms. He belches after letting out a series of hiccups, pausing to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so fucking drunk. How many shots of Patrón had he taken? 3..4..? He started counting out loud, bringing his unoccupied hand to his face in order to use his fingers. Wait, there weren’t enough fingers on that hand. He stumbles again when he lets go of the wall, using the other hand to make his calculations. 5...8? Shit, he lost track. Forget it. It was a lot of Patrón.

Using his shoulder, he bursts in through the restroom door, mumbling an apology when he runs into someone. Ignoring the blurry image of the guy scowling at him, he makes his way into a stall and pisses his life away, his head resting against the cold tiled wall as he scrambles to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t happy. The alcohol wasn’t making him happy. Freydis wasn’t making him happy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a simple man with simple pleasures yet for some reason, a basic routine and a basic girl weren’t enough anymore. This was all her fault. Why was she torturing him without even trying? In his intoxicated state he could still remember how her voice trembled when she cried and how her eyes looked when they glossed over with tears. How drunk did he need to be to admit that he had hurt her? Really fucking drunk. Like now.

He slams the red door of the stall open, not even flinching when it banged against the stall beside it, maneuvering himself clumsily over to the sink. Gripping the porcelain, he leans forward to get a good look at himself through the streaky mirror. His eyes were so low he could barely see himself, cheeks flushed bright pink and lips matching in color. When did his bun get loose? He looks at his wrist hoping to find a hair tie but scowls when he finds none. He grunts in annoyance, turning on the tap to wash his hands before dragging his wet fingers through his hair. The cold water felt good on his heated face and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gazes at himself one last time before coming to a decision. He needed to talk to her. Right now.

Digging in the pocket of his simple denim jeans, he whips out his phone, struggling to find her contact name before pressing the call button and bringing the device to his ear.

You have reached the voice mailbox of 45-

Fuck. He forgot. She blocked him.

He wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did she block him? Did she not understand that he needed to talk to her right now?

Oh wait. Snapchat. Snapchat has video calls. That’s it. Ivar immediately takes a fat finger to scroll to the app, forcefully pressing down on the little ghost in haste. Finding her name in his contacts list, he presses the little video icon, hoping she’d answer. After a few seconds he almost gives up, but then his screen lights up, and he is rewarded with her tired eyes.

“Hey,” He breathes, noting the dim light in her room, “Were you sleeping?” He slurs, and immediately curses himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat in the hopes of gaining his language skills back.

“Ivar?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. It was exactly how she sounded when he used to wake her up in the morning with soft, lazy kisses to her shoulder. He missed that. “It’s like 2am. What are you calling me for?”

“I...I don’t know. Missed...your voice.” The words poured out his mouth like vomit. Actually, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten to that point. He threw up at least once after a hard night of drinking. His eyes fell shut as he leaned his head back against the wall beside the sink. God, this speech impediment was bad. He hears her snort tiredly on the other end.

“You’re drunk.”

“Mm...noooo, no. Mm not.”

“I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes pop open as he brings his phone closer to his face. He couldn’t focus all that well, but he could make out her sleepy features. Those pretty lashes of hers brushed over her cheeks with every lazy blink, and her messy hair was placed in a high ponytail at the top of her head.

“No.” Was her flat reply, pure irritation seeping through the word. Ivar stares at her displeased look for a moment longer, sighing in an almost dream like manner.

“You look beautiful.” He answers back, sliding down the wall to sit in a much more comfortable position. He didn’t care if the floor was dirty, he was drunk, and he didn’t want his legs to start hurting like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” She says, “Words of a drunk.”

“I’m being serrrrious,” Ivar whines, “You always look amazing, you know that?”

“Right. Is Heahmund still there?”

“Yeah,” He pouts, “Why? You’d rather talk to him? You like him or something?” Ivar had never been the jealous type, but he was whenever it involved his brothers or Heahmund. When he had started seeing her, their interest zeroed in on her like fucking hawks, and so he made it abundantly clear to them that she was off limits. She was his conquest, no one else’s. So no, he wouldn’t consider himself the jealous type, but everyone else needed to stay the fuck away from her, even if she wasn’t his to play with anymore.

“No, Ivar, to make sure you’re gonna get home okay.” She sighs, shifting in her sheets and rubbing her face in frustration, “And it seems you will.”

“Aw, you worry about me?” He grins stupidly, his mood shifting wildly as he rubs his phone on his sweaty cheek as if to send her affection.

“No more than you do for me. How’s Freydis by the way?” The bitterness in her tone was enough to bring him down from whatever high he was feeling. Ivar scowls, shifting the phone back so they were now directly looking at each other. He blinks, trying to clear his head again. Freydis. He forgot about her already. And he didn’t really care anyway.

“Clingy bitch,”  He muttered his words from earlier, “I don’t wanna talk about her. I wanna talk about you.” He almost laughed when she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“What about me, hmm?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, his eyes searching hers through his fingerprint covered screen before passing them over her visible form again. She was wearing that one t-shirt she favored, the comfy one with the large neckline that always slid down enough to expose one of her smooth shoulders. Her messy hair and tired eyes reminded him of the many nights spent together tangled under his sheets. It made him swallow thickly as he brought a hand down the center of his jeans to ease the growing ache. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. Still, in their silence he conjured up images and ideas in his head that he certainly shouldn’t at that moment, but fuck it. He licks his lips, feeling the sly grin stretching across his face at the words his brain had given to him, ready to spill from his mouth, “Maybe I just want to talk about the way your back arches under my hands, or the sounds you make when I-”

“Ivar,” She stops him immediately, her face blooming that pink color he loved, “Kindly shut the fuck up.” She looked like she was about to say something more, something much harsher and meaner, but she stopped herself. Instead, she takes in a breath, rubbing her eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t seem all that tired anymore. “Did you like the flowers?” She asks instead.

“Huh?” His eyebrows curve in confusion as his hazy mind tries to decipher the meaning behind the question. What was she talking about? Flowers? What flow-Oh. Right.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. He could hear the transition of trap music out in the bar to some basic pop he hadn’t heard on the radio in years. He was in no mood for Kesha.

“I hated them.” He mutters truthfully. The wilted daisies made his heart sink. He’d never felt that way before. Was that how he made all those other women feel? He chews the inside of his cheek, ignoring the pulse behind his eyes and the ache in his head. Finally, the nausea kicked in and his stomach churned for the inevitable. He swallows thickly, running his hand through his messy hair, her eyes following his every movement trying to read his expression. Even in his intoxicated state, he made it hard for her to read him.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He says miserably. Why does he fuck everything up? If he had never gone to that stupid party in the first place, he would have never met her, and he wouldn’t be feeling that way he does now. Like complete trash.

“What a shame,” She says, cocking her head to the side, her ponytail brushing against her cheekbone, “Just take your own advice, and try not to fall in love.” She gives him one last look before she hangs up, having him stare at his screen for a few seconds to understand what just happened. He remains seated on the dirty bathroom floor for a few moments longer, continuing to ignore his churning stomach and the tightness of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Heahmund bursts in through the door, immediately grabbing hold of Ivar’s arm and helping in lifting him up to his feet, “You’ve been in here for 20 minutes. Freydis left in a cab.”

“Good for her.” Ivar grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He pushes Heahmund away, going back to stand in front of the mirror. He looked sick, sweat building up near his hairline.

“What’s wrong with you, hmm?” The older man questions, crossing his arms and using that tone on him as if he didn’t have 4 fucking older brothers already.

“Being a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Ivar says, closing his eyes as his chest burned with that familiar sensation.

“Finally feeling bad about what you did, huh?” Heahmund questions, “You know, no amount of fucking flowers and alcohol is gunna fix anything or make you feel better. You needed a reality check. She gave it to you.”

“And you call yourself my friend, traitor?” Ivar managed to say before pushing past him and into a stall, heaving out all the contents from his tequila filled stomach.

…

The Tune ship exhibit was coming together.

The fragments of the ship were strategically pieced together to form the remains of the ancient ship to its former glory. Well, most of it anyway. It was a fraction of what it once was in the past, but it was still an impressive archeological find, and although it wasn’t as massive as the Oseberg or the Gokstad, it was still considerable in length. She felt like a speck of dust standing beside it despite its lack of framework. She observes the rotted wood and the grooves within each ancient plank, wishing she could reach out and touch it; to feel what they must have felt like a thousand years ago. It’s been 2 years since she began working at the Viking Ship Museum and she still found herself in awe at every artifact that entered their exhibits. She supposed it was the bookworm in her. Ahh fuck. That’s what Ivar calls her.

She immediately frowns, her face twisting in displeasure. Somehow, her thoughts always went back to him, and that irritated her greatly.

“Hello?” The unrecognizable voice echoes throughout the empty exhibit. She looks over her shoulder at the intruder, her gaze gravitating to meet the clearest blue eyes of a boyish young man. The blackest hair she’d ever seen frames his blushing cheeks and the tips brush softly over his shoulders. She blinks at him, cocking her head.

“Uhh, hi?”

“I’m sorry,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, looking around the unfinished exhibit to avoid meeting her eyes from his embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He had a gentle voice, a hint of shyness in the undertones. And extremely British.

“No it’s fine,” She approaches him, sticking out her hand to greet him with a handshake and a small smile, “You must be Mr. Kent’s grandson. I wasn’t expecting you so soon…?”

“Alfred,” He answers, grasping her hand and offering her a timid smile back, “It’s a pleasure.” 

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff​ @syrenak @soleil-dor @walkxthexmoon​ @zuxiezendler @homeyzeus @redenzione​ @mariaenchanted​ @laricebabe @hecohansen31

There are some of you that Tumblr won’t let me tag! They are in bold. I’m sorry 😭

#ivar #vikings #vikings ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivarfanfiction #vikings fanfic #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Sixteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Eventual Bucky x Reader

Warnings -   Unrealistic expectations of best friends

A/N - I’m sorry. Trust me. 

Through His Eyes Masterlist

“Ow. Shit.” Bucky’s voice pierces that blissful sleep bubble you were in with a pop. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s too early for you to be this loud.” You open one and eye and half peer at him, find his face a lot closer than you expect.

“Why is there a gun under your pillow?” He asks, holding it up for you to see like maybe you didn’t know it was there, a stowaway in the night. 

“Put Bob back, he’s been in my bed a lot longer than you have.” You grumble and roll over, pull the covers up over your ears in the hopes you will find sleep again.

“You sleep with a gun under your pillow? Here?” He asks again, incredulous and he has a point, you know this. 

“I have issues, sue me.” You answer carelessly, sleep already beckoning and it’s only when he goes silent beside you that you think about what you just said and turn back to face him, “I had these issues before you came along, believe me.” 

You take the gun from him and place it on your nightstand, slip your fingers around his wrist and tug him back down beside you, distract him from those dark thoughts with your lips and mouth. 

When he leaves, you find the paper bag sitting exactly where he left it. Was it meant for you? Curiosity gets the better of you and so you open it, find your heart beating strangely in your chest when you see your favorite cookie waiting at the bottom. You try and fail to remember when you might have told him, wonder if he plucked the thought directly from your head along with the beats from your chest. 

It goes like that, weeks pass in a blur as you ignore all common sense and take solace in these moments with Bucky. Usually a nightmare or a mission has you at his door, no longer knocking and simply slipping inside like you dared to belong, never longer than a few days in between. 

The days are filled with sidelong glances and lingering touches. If anyone notices, they say nothing, not even Sam who knows exactly what those touches mean. You think of the Soldier even less now, nightmares consisting of everything and nothing, missions and faces but nothing of that time spent behind the green door. You are filled more everyday with cautious hope, the other shoe still waiting to drop but it gets closer to the ground with every minute, the impact of the fall lessening with each full nights sleep.  

You are making yourself breakfast one morning, humming along to the song stuck on repeat in your head as you do when Sam takes a seat.

“Well, good morning, sunshine.” He says, smiles enough to show all his teeth, “Someone’s in a good mood.” 

“Hmm...am I?” You tease, toss him a piece of bacon from the stack, “Or am I always this delightful?”

“Do I have to answer that?” He ducks back out of reach with a laugh when you try to shove him. You turn back to the eggs in the pan, sprinkling in some cajun spices and Sam watches quietly, a small smile on his face as he takes in the relaxed droop of your shoulders and shining eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you eat a real breakfast, you know. That sorry excuse for coffee not included.” 

“Some of us like to taste the caffeine, alright?” You smirk at him, show him your teeth again like it’s normal to feel so happy about eggs and bacon. Maybe it is, you think, as you pop another piece into your mouth and hum. 

“I assume you never ended things with Bucky?” He asks like he already knows, watches your face like he's watching for the answer instead of listening. 

You sign, make a small noise of admission, “It’s not like that, though.”

“What’s it like, then?”

“I don’t know, a distraction?” 

He doesn’t say anything for the longest time, simply sits and watches you avoid his gaze and stir your eggs into a paste in the pan, his face mild like spring sunshine. 

“You know, I wouldn’t have chosen him for you. Not because he’s a bad guy or anything, he’s not, but I wouldn’t have chosen this complicated path for you, not after everything you’ve endured.” You look at him then, find him watching without reproach and instead something else, “But, I like this look for you.” 

“What look?” You ask, curious but also a little afraid.

“Happy.”

Sam words haunt you for the rest of the day, leave you distracted during training with Steve, so much so that you take a particularly nasty hit to the face, one you should have easily avoided. You have to remind him of that several times over as he apologises for the fifth time. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” 

“Don’t be, it’s on me. I wasn’t paying attention.” You say, gingerly touching your cheekbone to assess the damage. It didn’t feel broken, at least, which was good considering it was a super soldier on the other end of it. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, his eyes so full of concern.

“I’m fine, Steve, don’t worry. I’ve taken worse hits.” You smile and then wince at the sharp pain that follows it.

“No, not that. Are you okay? I haven’t seen you distracted like that for a while?” You hate that look in his eyes, the one that he created just for you. 

“Hey.” You say softly, step up close and lay a hand on his arm, “I’m ok. I promise.” 

“It’s just that lately you’ve been…” He trails off like he isn’t sure how to finish that sentence, “uh, you again.” 

“I feel like me again.” You admit, smiling softly, letting the truth of the statement chase away some of that marrow deep doubt. 

Later, in your room, you think about both conversations again. You think about the last few months, and then closer still, the last few weeks. Are you happy? Has it been that long since you truly were, that you can no longer recognise it? Maybe you aren’t there yet, but you consider, for the first time, that perhaps you were on your way. There’s a few more miles to go along the road, but yes, happiness might be for you after all. 

When you find yourself slipping quietly inside Bucky’s room that night, there’s no nightmare to blame or mission to burn off. There’s just you and the miles you’ve already walked, a newness to your steps and your smile. Bucky turns when you enter, even though you know you never made a sound, is pulled towards you by those invisible strings you both seem to carry.

He doesn’t notice the smile or match it with his own, his face is instead several things at once and yet, furious the most.

“What happened?” He asks quietly, fingering cupping your face in that gentle way of his and tipping your head back to get a better look, his actions so entirely at odds with his expression. You are struck by how different the furious face is, how so unafraid of it you are. 

“Oh shit, I forgot. Does it look bad?” You say suddenly, remembering the earlier hit you took and smiling a little at why you forgot. He doesn’t answer and so you add, “It was an accident, during training, my own fault. I’m OK.” 

“Your own fault?” He repeats more than he asks, still unable to take his eyes from your face long enough to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I was distracted.” You explain, and then smile again, catch his eyes with this one and watch him relax in response.

“You seem awfully happy about it.” He smiles back at you now, hand still cupping your face and you turn enough to drag your lips over the inside of his wrist, watch his eyes roll around in the tenderness of it.

“Lets call it cathartic.” He laughs, light enough to float in the air around you, bubbled moments like drifting gold. 

Everything is different and yet nothing is different, he’s still looking at you that way he so often does, his ocean eyes reflecting all the stars within their depths and you feel it, that inexplicable pull, the riptide carrying you away. When you drift off to sleep, it’s not the usual sation and sweaty sheets, no, this time it's softly, held within Bucky’s arms, the TV still on with some forgotten movie playing. 

It’s exactly what you didn’t know you wanted. 

It was fragile, this feeling. 

Breakable. 

The screams wake you.

TAGS:  @manawhaat @theashhole @captainrogerss @higherfurtherfasterbby  @peculiar-persephone  @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @samingtonwilson @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @avengerofyourheart  @carriefish-er @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv   @angelicthor   @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787    @sexyvixen7 @jobean12-blog  @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @timeladylaurel @badassbakers @earinafae @tardis-is-mine​ @httpmcrvel​ @bucky2-0​ @mocking-rain​ @sociallyimpairedme​ @jezzula​ @bless-my-demons​ @ign-is​ @indominusregina​ @-supernatural-coffee-llama​ @alwayshave-faith​ @itsonlysarah​  @shifutheshihtzu​ @mizzzpink​ @yknott81​ @haven-in-writing​ @xtina2191​ @reniescarlett​ @notsoprettykitty​ @wickedwerewolf​ @ayeputita​ @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky​  @tatalopes23​ @pineapplebooboo​ @mizzezm​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @memory-of-a-goldfish​ @supernatural-girl97​ @standing-onthe-edge​ @ruinerofcheese​ @mysweetcookie99​

#through his eyes #kale writes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel fanfiction

[stahlop]

Making a Memory (2/?)

I’m so thrilled with the response this story had been getting. Thank you all so much. Here’s chapter 2. We catch up with Emma and Killian and see what’s going on in their lives. 

Thank you to @profdanglaisstuff​ and @thisonesatellite​ my amazing betas. And thanks to @gingerchangeling​ for the amazing artwork.

Also, thank you @cssns​ for putting this whole thing together.

Chapter 1

Read it on Ao3

Emma eased open the door to her apartment, her shoulder aching as she did. Her stupid skip had tried to run and had rammed her right into a brick wall. She’d broken his nose for that stunt. She just wanted to get inside, get a bag of ice for her shoulder, pop open a beer, and watch Netflix.

She was still getting used to the silence of the apartment now that Hope was at camp. It had only been two weeks, but it still felt like she was walking into a tomb when she came in the door. She honestly couldn’t remember a time when it had been so quiet. It was either Henry or Hope who was always making some kind of sound; whether it was watching television, talking on the phone, or laughing at something online. Heck, Emma would even take when Henry used to pretend to chase Hope around the apartment just to listen to her baby shrieks (even if it did annoy Mrs. Pendergast next door, God rest her soul). Maybe she’d give Henry a call later just to see what he was up to.

Emma closed the door behind her, locked it, and kicked off her heels before heading over to the freezer to grab an ice pack. It was still weird to her sometimes that Henry didn’t live there anymore, but he was 28, too old to live with his mother and teenage sister. He’d stuck around much longer than she expected him to anyway, not moving out until he was almost 25 and had got his first book deal. She was incredibly proud of him for that.

The ice pack was cool against Emma’s skin, as she had worn her tried and true black tank dress which made her skin look almost porcelain and her blonde hair almost gold, a look that many of her skips went for. She could already see the bruise that was starting to form. Luckily, the dress was still intact. Luckily, the dress still fit her at the age of 45 and she still had her figure. Luckily, she still looked young enough to entice men off the internet for a date that were Henry’s age who had skipped their bail. Her face didn’t have too many wrinkles, and her hair was still a lovely blonde color and she didn’t need to color it yet. Her feet weren’t too happy with her though, having had to chase him down in the 4 inch heels. She was finally beginning to believe she might be too old for this shit (as Murtaugh used to say. God, how old was that movie? Now she really felt old.). Her boss didn’t like her using the honeytrap ruse anymore. Emma thought it might also be because he had a crush on her and he got a bit jealous, but maybe she would take him up on the offer to just work on the research end of tracing bail jumpers and leaving the trapping and chasing of skips to her younger coworkers.

She opened her fridge and grabbed a beer with a twist off cap, just easier in the long run, before heading into her bedroom (ice pack in one hand, beer in the other) to change into sleep shorts and a tank top. As she set down the beer and ice pack on her dresser, she remembered that she hadn’t checked her phone since calling the police to pick up her skip. He’d been cursing at her the whole time after she’d handcuffed him to a bike rack. He’d called her a bitch and a cunt, told her where she could shove a few things, and then detailed what he would do to her if he ever found her again. He talked pretty big for someone who was wanted for embezzling.  Emma had learned a long time ago not to engage once the cops were on the way. It only led to injuries she couldn’t always explain on someone who was cuffed and couldn’t fight back.

Emma quickly changed into sleepwear, fixed the ice pack onto her shoulder with some medical tape, and got on top of the covers, ready to watch some of her favorite old tv series. Once comfortable, she finally checked her phone and was shocked to see there were several voicemails. One was from Henry, but the others were from numbers she didn’t recognize.

Grabbing the notepad and pen off the nightstand where she always kept them in case a call came in about a skip, Emma pressed the play button for the first voicemail on her phone and put it on speaker so she could write down whatever she needed to with ease.

“Ms Swan, this is Director Hatfield from Camp Evergreen.” Emma’s heart instantly seized. She could not think of a single reason the director of Hope’s sleepaway camp would call her that wasn’t bad news. “I am, unfortunately, calling with bad news.” There was a pause, what seemed like the longest pauses in the history of pauses ever after someone told you they had bad news. Who taught this lady how to deliver bad news? She’d barely said two sentences and Emma was about to tear her hair out in anticipation. “At this time we are unable to locate your daughter, Hope Swan.” Panic gripped Emma, her whole body tensing up. What the hell did that mean they couldn’t locate her daughter! “We went into town today, something we do once a week for the older campers, she failed to meet us at the designated time an hour ago. Please know that she could not have gone far and we have the local authorities searching for her. I don’t want you to worry. Here is my personal cell number for you to call me when you receive this. Thank you.” Emma quickly wrote down the cell number and listened back to the message again. Her heart was practically in her throat in fear and her jaw was clenched so hard in anger that she thought she might break a tooth. How dare this woman tell her not to worry when her daughter was missing. How could Hope be missing? How could someone lose her pride and joy? Her little girl. Before she could really work herself up, Emma remembered there were several other messages. She prayed one of them was telling her that Hope had been found.

“Ms Swan, this is Director Hatfield from Camp Evergreen again. It’s been two hours since Hope was supposed to meet us and we still haven’t found her. The authorities have been searching the area and I’m sure you will be getting a phone call from them as well. Please know that we are doing everything we can to find her. I’m still confident that she must still be in the area and just lost track of the time. I will continue to update you on her whereabouts. Once again, here is my personal cell phone number. Thank you.”  Emma checked the times the messages were left. The first had been at 6PM, right when she had arrived for her date, the second exactly an hour later at 7PM, a little before the time she’d gotten rammed into the wall by her skip. She’d remembered hearing a church bell ring down the street signaling the time.

The next message was from a different number received at 7:15.

“Ms Swan, this is Chief Mike Donnelly from the Evergreen Police Department. Ms Hatfield has informed me about the disappearance of two girls, one of whom is your daughter.” Two girls! Emma paused the voicemail trying to collect her thoughts. Had Hope and another girl run off together? Emma’s mind was racing. If it was just Hope gone Emma figured she had just lost track of the time, even though Hope never lost track of the time. Hope was always punctual, but Emma had figured there was always a first time for everything. She was almost 14 and teenagers weren’t the most reliable people, even though Hope was one of the most punctual people Emma had ever known. She sometimes used to joke about where the punctuality genes had come from since neither she nor Neal were ever on time for anything. But there were two missing girls. There was now another factor. Had this other girl convinced Hope to run away from camp? Was there something between the two of them that they felt the need to run away? Had the other girl taken Hope by force? Emma didn’t think they could have got far seeing as they were on Cape Cod. So many questions were swarming around in Emma’s head. She pressed play. “We are on the lookout for both girls, but if you could please give me a call back right away so we could go over some details to help us out that would be greatly appreciated. Here is the station’s number and please ask for Chief Donnelly. Thank you.” Emma quickly added the chief’s number to her notepad trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

The last message was from Henry. Emma debated whether to listen to his message or not. It couldn’t nearly be as important as calling back the chief or the director of the camp, but something compelled her to listen to Henry’s call anyway. The voicemail had come in about a half an hour after the sheriff had left his message.

“Hi mom.” Henry began and Emma’s skin prickled immediately. She could already tell by the tone of his voice that he had something to tell her that she wasn’t going to like. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now that Hope is missing from camp and the reason I know that is because she’s with me.” Emma was positively going to kill Henry. She was going to murder him. What the hell was he thinking taking Hope from camp without permission. “And if they’ve mentioned that there’s another girl missing, well,” Henry gave a large sigh, “I have Alice too.” Oh shit! This was worse than she’d thought. It would have been easy to explain taking his sister without permission, but now he’d taken another girl? What the hell had Henry been thinking? “Please don’t send the cops after us. There is a perfectly valid explanation for this, just not one I can give over the phone.” Emma highly doubted that. “I’m going to need you to contact the other girl’s father and convince him not to press kidnapping charges. I know that’s a lot to ask, but I promise I can explain everything once you two meet us at Chantey’s Lobster House in Maine. Once again, mom, please don’t send the cops. Just get a hold of Killian Jones and bring him with you to the Lobster House. Here’s his number. And mom…. I love you.”

Emma stared at the phone as if willing it to tell her more. What the hell had Henry gotten himself into? What did Hope have to do with it? What did this other girl have to do with it? Emma couldn’t see any way this was going to end well. And now she had to contact this girl, Alice’s father? What was he going to think when the mother of the man who kidnapped his daughter called him up and told him not to worry and they had to go to some lobster house in Maine?

Emma quickly jotted down the number and tried to think of a way to justify what Henry had done when she talked to this Killian Jones. But first, she had to play the concerned parent and call back the chief and the director before she murdered her own kid.

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

Killian Jones was absolutely beside himself. After several phone calls from the director of the camp Alice had gone to and then a call from the chief of police, it seemed they were nowhere nearer to finding his daughter. He couldn’t lose her. He just couldn’t. She was all he had left after Milah. He couldn’t lose her too. The gods wouldn’t be so cruel, would they? All he could do now was wait by his phone for someone to contact him.

There was nothing he could do in his small house that could distract him from the fact that Alice was missing. She was all around him. Photos lined the hallway and every available flat surface of their two bedroom house. He’d missed her fiercely since she left for camp almost two weeks ago, having never been apart for more than an overnight sleepover. Killian hadn’t been that keen on Alice going to sleepaway camp for six weeks, but she had been so excited to go, having secured herself a scholarship all on her own (sneaking into his financials after he’d gone to bed and copying his tax forms to send, modern day pirate she was), that he just couldn’t deny her. Having just been the two of them for so long, he was already having trouble adjusting, but now that she was missing it was like his heart had been ripped from his chest. Never, in his 49 years, had he ever remembered feeling like this.

He subconsciously ran his fingers through his graying hair (silver, Alice called it), while he tapped his false hand on his leg, a nervous habit he’d picked up when Alice was a child.  It had been two hours since the last phone call from Chief Donnelly and Killian wasn’t expecting another phone call from him that night. He couldn’t possibly think what had happened to Alice. He knew she was a little flighty, but he couldn’t imagine that she would purposely leave camp on her volition. Not with the way she’d been so excited to go. Unless something had happened.

Suddenly, Killian remembered that he’d received a letter in the mail from Alice, but he hadn’t actually opened anything as he had checked the mailbox while checking his messages. He had almost forgotten that he’d received the letter.

Quickly, Killian ran over to the kitchen counter where he’d dropped the mail and sorted through the bills and junk mail that had also been in the mailbox. He finally spotted it. The pale blue envelope from the stationary that Alice had insisted on buying for camp so she could ‘write him a letter a day’. While he hadn’t received a letter a day, he had received at least four in the time she’d been at camp, this would make the sixth. He hurriedly ripped open the letter.

“Ow!” he said as he stuck the now cut finger in his mouth. He pulled out the letter to see Alice’s swirly script, very similar to his own. He hoped this letter gave some insight into her disappearance.

Dear Papa,

I am sorry it’s been awhile since I’ve written. I know I said I’d write a letter a day, but a lot has been happening.

Hope and I really got into it yesterday. We’ve been secluded from the rest of the camp. We’ve been put in the Get Along Cabin in order for us to get along. Neither one of us is happy about it. But it is what it is. I’m not even sure how it got so far that we ended up in this situation, Papa. It’s like we were magnets that just couldn’t be near each other and the closer we got the more we wanted to repel the other and it just got completely out of hand. I hope you are not too disappointed in my behavior. I’ve felt really bad about everything since we’ve been placed in solitude. Hopefully, we will work things out with no outside interference.

I hope you aren’t too lonely without me there, Papa. I miss you and can’t wait to come home in a few weeks.

Love,

Alice (your Starfish)

Killian’s eyes brimmed with tears. There was nothing in the letter to indicate why she had run off or been taken. Could it have something to do with this Hope girl she wasn’t getting along with. Alice may be a little unusual, but she usually got along with her peers with no problems. He recalled that Alice had mentioned that she and Hope looked very similar in one of her previous letters. Had whomever taken her thought she was Hope? Had they taken both her and Hope because they weren’t sure which was which? Was Hope the other girl who was missing?

Killian had no idea how he was going to try and sleep with his daughter missing. It turns out, he didn’t. He tried, he really did, but all he ended up doing was tossing and turning and randomly checking his phone, even though it was plugged in and the sound was on so he’d hear if someone called him. Finally, when he saw the sun barely starting to peek through the curtains, he gave up. He checked his phone again, cursed that there were no new notices, and decided his best course of action was to take a shower and wait until he was contacted. He’d never taken one the previous day, and he was sure he still smelled like fish after having worked at the fish cannery all day, even if he was a floor manager, and didn’t work directly with the fish anymore. Which also reminded him that he would need to call out of work. He’d never be able to concentrate with Alice missing.

After calling work and a ‘sorry’, ‘take all the time you need’, and ‘keep us updated’ from his boss, Killian started to head to the bathroom to take a shower when he heard a soft knocking on his door. It was 6:15 in the morning and he couldn’t imagine who would be paying a visit this early. His heart skipped a beat when he realized it had to be about Alice. Maybe they’d contacted local law enforcement to take a statement from him, or canvas their house for clues. He forgot that he was still in his blue plaid sleep pants and graying white undershirt when he answered the door to find a nervous looking, but extremely gorgeous blonde woman standing on his front porch.

“Can I help you?” Killian asked warily. Her eyes darted around nervously, and she was wringing her hands together. She kept opening her mouth to speak and then closing it, as if she couldn’t think of the right words. Killian started to get annoyed. He crossed his arms and looked at her sternly.

“Look, ma’am, if you’re here selling something I’m not in the mood.”

“No, I…” The woman took a deep breath and started again. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you all night. My name is Emma Swan and I know where your daughter is.”

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

Emma was not sure what she expected when Killian Jones opened the door, but she definitely did not expect for her heart to immediately start fluttering and her stomach to fill with butterflies. She chalked it up to having to tell him that her son had effectively kidnapped his daughter, not because he was devastatingly handsome, with piercing blue eyes and silver streaks threaded through his dark brown hair. She really needed to focus on the task at hand.

His eyebrows had both raised into his hairline and Emma thought she saw tears in his eyes. She recognized the look of hope in his face, and then, just as quickly his face became very strained, his eyes tiny slits, and the color of his face went from nicely tanned to practically purple.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he practically yelled into her face. “Did Donny send you to mess with me, because that’s really low, even for him.”

Emma flinched, afraid that he might even hit her. This was not the reaction she had hoped for. And it kind of pissed her off that he thought she was joking with him.

“Um, no,” Emma said shortly. “My name is Emma Swan, my daughter is Hope Swan.” She saw a spark of recognition in his eyes when she mentioned her daughter’s name. Good, that was good. “I believe… no,” she stopped and corrected herself. “I know that our daughters have run away from camp together.”

His face immediately changed back to the face of hope Emma had seen when she’d first mentioned knowing where Alice was. The purple slowly drained away, leaving his face a more normal shade.

“Look, I don’t know a lot of details Mr. Jones.” Emma wasn’t sure why, but it felt really weird to call him that. Her instincts were telling her that Mr. Jones was the wrong thing to call him, but until he said otherwise, she was going to keep this professional. “All I know is that they’re with my son, Henry.” She saw him raise one eyebrow and lick his lips, which in any other circumstance she was sure would be sexy as hell, but right now, it was plain intimidating. “I have no idea why he has taken it upon himself to take them away from camp,” she said quickly, “or what the circumstances behind this whole adventure is. All I know is that he called me, told me he had his sister and your daughter, and that I had to find you and meet them at a crabhouse in Maine.” She looked up at him, sure that he was going to think this was all a sick joke again, but instead she saw him open the door wider.

“Please come in.” He was watching her like a hawk, looking for some sign that she wasn’t who she said she was, and that this was all a colossal joke on his behalf. Usually, he read people pretty well. Friends had said he probably should’ve gone into law enforcement or become a lawyer with the way he was able to just look at a person and know all about them. It’s what made him a good manager as well. It helped him spot good people to hire whether they had the experience or not. He’d rather have people who had motivation to work rather than people just there for a paycheck. Made for much more productive workers. A gorgeous woman like her should be walking with confidence, not slack shoulders, not with the slight curve in her back, and her emerald eyes should definitely not be searching his to find the same meaning and understanding about what was happening. The whole thing unnerved him quite a bit.

“Take a seat while I change into something more, er, presentable, and then I’ll get some coffee started while we sort this whole mess out,” Killian said, pointing with his hand toward the couch in the other room. Emma nodded.

It was every parent’s worst nightmare, Killian thought as he pulled on fresh boxers and jeans, to be told that your child was missing and to find out she had run away on her own accord. Or had she? Killian couldn’t help but think that from the last letter Alice had sent that she wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere near this girl. What had possessed her to run off with her? He finished getting dressed quickly (realizing only too late that he had dressed himself completely in black, including black leather glove on his prosthetic hand) before heading back out towards the kitchen to get the promised coffee started. It was once he pressed the on switch that he heard the crying coming from the other room.

He came around the corner to see her holding a picture of him and Alice. He knew exactly which photo it was. It was Alice at the harbor last summer. They’d gone down to check something at his office before heading to the actual beach, but Alice had insisted on an impromptu photo shoot because of the way the shadows were hitting the docks. She looked almost as if she were caught in a spider’s web the way the shadows of the masts from some of the sailboats were hitting her. It was an absolutely stunning picture, but he wasn’t sure if it should evoke the tears that were pouring down Emma Swan’s face. He could tell that tears did not come easily to this woman.

Her tears were interrupted by the beeping of the coffee maker. Emma looked up to see him staring at her, which made her immediately wipe her tears off on her sleeve, and the little bit of the real Emma Swan that he had seen was now blocked by walls a mile high. She promptly straightened her shoulders and flicked her hair behind her back.

“How do you have this picture?” she asked in an accusing tone. The change was astounding, Killian thought. It was almost as if she was a completely different person. And now he was getting angry. Who the hell was this woman coming into his house, telling him that her son had kidnapped his daughter, and now was accusing him of, he wasn’t sure what exactly, but it was definitely an accusation of some sort.

“That,” Killian said, plucking the picture from her hands and placing it back down on the side table in its proper place, “is my Alice, so that is why I have that picture. As you can see, there are plenty of pictures of her around this house.” A look of shock crossed Emma’s face, but Killian stomped back into the kitchen, grabbed two mugs from the cabinets in his good hand, and poured a cup of coffee for himself and his guest. He automatically poured in a good amount of sugar before he realized what he was doing and was about to offer her the black coffee, when she took the over-sugared coffee from him and took a sip. She smiled, apparently satisfied with it. She looked back over at the picture and then looked at the other pictures that were around her, her eyes getting very big. Eventually, and with a bit of anger, she opened her purse, took out her wallet, grabbed something out of it and threw it on the counter.

“Care to explain this?” she asked heatedly.

Killian took the item to see an almost identical picture of who he assumed was Hope in the shadows. He could tell it wasn’t the same picture, the shadows were all wrong and the girl in this photo had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, plus, she was dressed in a way that Alice would never dress, but Killian could see why Emma had possibly mistaken her Hope for his Alice. And this revelation made him even more upset because she was looking at him like he had somehow invaded her life because of the similarities between their daughters.

“Look, Mrs. Swan,” Killian said curtly, “I’m sure that…”

“It’s Miss,” Emma said, even more irritated.

“What?” Killian asked, his blue eyes flashing.

“It’s Miss Emma Swan, not Mrs. Swan. I never married Henry and Hope’s father.” And why Emma felt the need to reveal that last part was beyond her. It’s not like she needed to defend her choices to this man. But something about him made her want to tell him all her secrets, even if they had only just met, so she added, “I didn’t trust Neal enough to marry him. He left me in a bad way after Henry and he only came back into our lives when Henry was 11. I didn’t want to let him back in, but I did, and then Hope came along.” God, why was she just vomiting her whole life story to this man?

“But he left you anyway?” Killian asked seeing as there was no way Hope’s father wouldn’t be here with his daughter missing.

“He died,” Emma said softly. “Apartment fire when Hope was two. It’s why we ended up moving to Boston. We’d been living in New York before.” Killian’s ears perked at the mention of an apartment fire.

“Same with Alice’s mother. Apartment fire when she was two. It’s also how I lost the hand.” He lifted the gloved hand and got a little bit of recognition from Emma that she hadn’t realized until this moment that he was missing the hand. “What are the odds?” Killian wondered aloud as he thought of Milah and how he’d tried to get her and their young daughter out of their apartment, but the smoke had become too much for her and she’d collapsed halfway down the stairs. He thought they’d been safe then, firemen coming up the stairs to help. He’d handed Alice over to one of the firemen when the roof above caved in, effectively trapping Milah under it and severing his hand in the process. If it hadn’t been for Alice, he wasn’t sure if he would have had the strength to move on. “We were in Boston. I decided, even though I worked at the docks, we needed to be away from the city. That’s how we ended up on the outskirts. It sucks to drive an hour away for work, but we have this little house, and a yard, and everything Milah and I had dreamed of for Alice.” He put his hand over hers as a comforting gesture. Emma initially tried to pull her hand away, but she recognized the gesture for what it was and relaxed into it.

“Hope and Henry are the two best things to happen to me, even if their father was a bastard. I don’t know how I ended up with two great kids like them. I just don’t understand what Henry was thinking, taking our daughters with him on this insane adventure. It’s one thing for him to have stolen off with Hope, but to take your daughter as well. I can’t even begin to know what was going through all of their heads.” Emma fought the tears that were welling up in her eyes. This was not the way she’d raised her children.

‘I’m sorry for practically accusing you… I don’t even know what I was accusing you of,” Emma said looking around the house at all the pictures of Alice. “It’s, just, they’re practically identical, don’t you think?” Killian nodded in agreement. “It just seems so weird, that’s all. And when I saw the picture of Alice, so similar to the one of Hope, it just felt like you were involved in this whole thing somehow.”

“Look, Swan.” Killian didn’t know why he decided to just go the last name route, probably because he didn’t want to get back into a semantics argument with her, but something about just calling her Swan sounded right to his ears and felt correct in his mouth. “Why don’t you tell me everything your son, Henry was it, told you and we can go from there?” She certainly didn’t seem like the type of woman to have raised a son that would kidnap people for nefarious purposes.

Emma pulled out her phone and cued up the voicemail. They listened to it together. Emma closed her eyes and wet her lips while they listened to it. Killian felt the stirring of something in his lower extremities and he almost had to pinch himself. This was not the time to be aroused by a beautiful woman in his house, especially when the look on her face was not one of seduction (although he’s sure the way she was concentrating with that little crease between her eyes was extremely sexy when in the bedroom), but of hoping to the gods that her son’s voicemail would end on any note other than I’m with my sister and another girl, meet us at a lobster house in Maine.

Killian requested listening to it a few more times before he was satisfied that the voicemail was not some type of hoax from Emma’s son, nor was it a real kidnapping requiring some kind of ransom.

“And you have no idea what possessed him to do this?” Killian asked Emma who shrunk further and further behind her walls everytime she listened to her son’s voice telling them he had the girls.

“Not a clue!” she said rather defensively. “I raised him better than that. I mean, I wouldn’t say this is technically kidnapping. I mean, I don’t know Alice, but I feel like they both went with him willingly. I just don’t understand why! This could kill his career.” She stopped, eyes blown wide. “Oh, god! What if this is all some publicity stunt?” Killian questioningly raised an eyebrow. God dammit was that sexy. No, focus Emma, focus. “Henry is an author, and his next book, the sequel to a very successful first book, comes out next month.” Emma explained. “I don’t know how this would tie into it, but that’s the only plausible reason I can come up with for him to do something like this,” Emma said, exasperated.

“Does your son write some type of crime novels?” Killian asked, not understanding how this could be a publicity stunt.

“No. He writes fantasy. He writes alternative fairy tales. So I have no idea how this would fit in. But I know that if this isn’t a publicity stunt that his career would be ruined if you charged him with kidnapping,” Emma lamented.

Something about what Emma had said about Henry’s book struck a chord with Killian. What was it? Alternative fairy tales, the name Henry. Killian knew the book Emma was talking about. The book Alice had been obsessed with for over the past year. Her art had completely changed from drawing landscapes to drawing characters from that book.

“Wait! Is the book you’re talking about titled Once Upon a Time?” Killian asked incredulously. Emma just nodded, pulling nervously on the ends of her hair. Killian paced up and down the room thinking. Could Alice have orchestrated this whole thing? Killian knew she was a huge fan of the book. Maybe she found out he and Hope were siblings and somehow arranged a meeting during their town day? And how coincidental that Alice’s favorite book author would have a sister that looked identical to her.

“I think we may have solved at least one riddle here. That is Alice’s favorite book. She’s almost bordering on obsessive. I think she would definitely, willingly go anywhere with Henry if he asked, especially if it was with her bunkmate at camp.” Killian sat down on the couch next to Emma and took her hands in his, putting his good hand on top. “I don’t think this is your fault, Emma. I don’t think you raised a psychopath, or that Alice was kidnapped either.” Emma looked visibly relieved at this admission. “But I do think that you need to call Henry and find out when to meet him so we can find out what the fuck is going on and why they’re in Maine of all places.”

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @cssns @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx​

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #csff #inspired by the parent trap #gingerchangeling #Captain Swan #captain swan ff

[spaceskam]

our fainted thrill carries on (5/13)

next chapter of my season 2 fix it!

ao3

“I can’t believe you were being a goddamn Peeping Tom at 3 in the morning at Flint Manes of all people. He’s not, like, ugly, but you can definitely do better.”

Kyle shook his head as he entered the motel room Cam was staying at, already yanking his notebook out of his bag. He dropped onto her bed and flipped it open to the page where he’d drawn the symbol from Jesse Manes’ hip.

“I wasn’t peeping for fun, look at this,” Kyle said. Cam sat beside him. “This is the tattoo that both Jesse Manes and Flint Manes have. I didn’t have a chance to check, but I would put money on the fact that at least one of Alex’s other brothers has it too.”

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“That’s the thing, I don’t actually know,” he told her, “There’s just something about it that’s off to me. It’s a combination of the male symbol and the Neptune symbol, which is three, like the trident, so I’m thinking it’s three men, right? Well, when Alex was talking to his dad earlier, he mentioned something called M.V.C.”

“Which is…?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

“You’re coming here with a lot of missing information.”

“Yes, but,” Kyle said, “I have theories.”

She eyed him before leaning a bit closer to get a good look at the symbol. It was a long shot, but he figured another brain might help piece shit together more. Besides, she was smart and thought like Alex without all of the daddy issues.

“So, originally, I was thinking that maybe it was just three different guys, but now I’m thinking it’s three different generations. Like, the generations of Manes Men that are hunting aliens or whatever. And it’s more symbolic that three actual generations, it’s more of like ���my father, me, my son’ type of deal. I have no way of seeing if Jesse Manes’ father had one, but the one on his hip looks aged enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if his father did it himself when he was, like, 15.”

“Jesus.”

“I mean, think about it, Jesse having a seriously controlling father would explain why he is the way he is,” Kyle said. He knew she didn’t know all the details about Alex’s relationship with his father, but she knew enough. “And the reason why Alex didn’t get roped in is because he showed early on that he was rebellious and it took more than intimidation to instill conformity.”

“Okay, nice theory, but I think that might be a stretch? Like, I think you’re trying to fit what you know about Cap and his dad into the box of what you think the tattoo means. What if it’s something completely different and you’re just veering really far off track?” Cam said. Kyle smiled at her and, if she wasn’t capable of killing him, he probably would’ve done something stupid like thank her for having a brain.

“Yes, absolutely! I am too wrapped up in this theory and I’m trying to prove it right rather than trying to find objective information,” Kyle said, “Which is where you come in.”

“I’m listening.”

“Thursday night, we’re having like a group dinner at Max’s, so I’ll know where everyone is and know that they’re safe. Do you think you can do some sleuthing in that time to see what you can find?” Kyle asked. Her face hardened and she leaned away from him.

“By sleuthing, do you mean seducing Flint Manes?” she asked cooly. Kyle immediately shook his head, though now that she mentioned it, it did sound like a good idea. 

“I mean, not necessarily,” he said. Cam fixed him with a look.

“I’ll look into things, but I’m not sleeping with Cap’s brother,” she said. Kyle nodded easily.

“Absolutely, I just need fresh eyes and ideas," he told her. She nodded, reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing her phone. She took a picture of the symbol. 

"I'll keep you updated. Now go home and go the fuck to sleep because you look like you haven't slept in 24 hours."

He didn't have the heart to correct her that it was 36.

-

"Michael fucking Guerin!"

Michael slowly smiled at the sound of Alex's voice as he climbed out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his hips and grabbed another one to dry his hair, throwing the bathroom door open. He sauntered to the kitchen where Alex was doing laundry. The washing machine and dryer were really out of place there, but Alex had rigged them up all by himself and who was Michael to judge.

"You called?"

Alex whipped around, totally unphased by Michael's level of nudity. That felt more worthwhile than when he got flustered. This… this was fucking normal. How cool was that?

"What is this?" Alex demanded, shoving his jeans in Michael's direction, "Is that wood glue?" 

Michael took it from him and gently scratched the rough, dull-colored patch on the fabric.

"Yeah, looks like it."

"You are a mechanic. What are you doing with wood glue? Why are you messing with wood glue when you're wearing my jeans? Stop ruining my jeans!"

“Relax,” Michael laughed, grabbing them out of his hands, “You got vinegar? That’ll usually get it out.”

Alex just continued to glare at him and Michael took a bold step forward, tilting his head in a slightly cocky manner. He licked his bottom lip and watched as Alex’s irritation slowly melted, his shoulders dropping. Not for the first time that week, he thought about kissing him, but he held off. That was a bad idea and they both knew it.

“Go put vinegar on it and then get dressed,” Alex told him, stepping to the side to go find a pair of not-stained jeans. Before Michael could catch himself, he grabbed his arm and leaned close. Alex couldn’t even hide his smile as he did so, still trying to force a glare. “What do you want?”

“Don’t be mad at me, please,” Michael said as softly as he could, pouting slightly and batting his eyelashes. Alex rolled his eyes and pulled out of his grasp.

“Dry off, you heathen,” Alex laughed. Michael watched as he headed to the bedroom and took a deep breath before he turned to put that section of his jeans in a bowl of vinegar.

It was weird to think that this was the most stable they’d ever been for the longest amount of time. Tonight would make it a full week of sleeping in the same bed, spending all their free time together, learning more about each other than they ever had. Michael didn’t realize just how much he didn’t know about Alex. Sure, maybe he still hadn’t mentioned that piece, but it was hard to be mad by that when Alex was right there and laughing through a story about a time in France where he accidentally walked in on his past CO getting off to a Lady Gaga music video and had been sworn to secrecy, but Michael was an exception.

Soon enough, they were in Michael’s truck, carpooling to Max’s house. He shouldn’t have felt so fucking giddy about going to his dead brother’s house for some pseudo-family dinner, but he was. It helped that Alex’s jeans hugged his thighs and Alex was right there, humming along to the radio.

“Oh, so, just a warning, Liz is probably going to ask you about what’s going on between us,” Michael warned, “Maybe Isobel too, but most likely Liz.”

“Why?” Alex asked slowly. 

“Because she thinks I’m, like, leading you and Maria on or something. But I’m not, right? Like, you don’t think that’s what I’m doing, do you?” Michael clarified. Alex instantly shook his head.

“We’re literally trying to revive a dead alien and trying to track down whatever my dad’s bullshit is, who has time for maintaining a romantic relationship?” he said.

“Exactly!” Michael scoffed. Alex huffed a small little laugh that was so much cuter than it had any right being.

“She hasn’t talked to me about it,” Alex admitted, tapping against his leg to the rhythm of the song playing on the radio, “Actually, neither of them have really talked to me at all about anything.”

“Wait, for real?” Michael asked, “You’re giving Liz a space to do all of her experimentings and she doesn’t even talk to you?” Alex shrugged like it didn’t matter. But it did. Michael was the first to admit he was shit at maintaining friendships, but Liz and Maria always claimed Alex was their best friend. They took care of each other, he was one of theirs.

But did that only apply for when they needed something?

“It’s fine.”

“Well, I mean, it’s just weird. Like, she acted like she’d talked to you about it like she was scared that you were gonna get hurt,” Michael explained, “Not that I’d ever hurt you on purpose like that again, by the way.” Alex snorted.

“Liz and I have never, and I mean never, talked about my love life. Which is fine, there’s not much to tell, but still, she’s never once acted like she was concerned about what the two of us are doing while cohabiting,” Alex said. Michael took his bottom lip between his teeth. Cohabiting. “And Maria and I used to talk about it, but that stopped once she found out it was you I had a history with. Then… after she came over, we haven’t really talked at all. Which is my fault too, I haven’t reached out.”

“I’m sorry I fucked things up between you two,” Michael said, glancing over at him. He had his head against the window, staring at the passing desert with interested eyes. It was just like he’d done when they were young and Michael didn’t know how to process that.

“No, we didn’t exactly try. One day I’ll talk to her. I sort of have to get up the courage because I feel bad about the way I acted,” Alex admitted. Michael huffed a laugh.

“Same,” he said, ��I was probably worse.”

“I would say we could go apologize to her together, but I think she might get the wrong idea if we’re within 50 feet of each other,” Alex said, biting back a laugh, “I did corrupt your straight white boy ass, you know.”

Michael shook his head with a laugh. “Cute.”

“Well, that’s what she thinks. Or, a lot of people think,” Alex said, “What is your percentage anyway? Like, a lot of bi people have a percentage or something, not always 50/50.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t fucking know,” Michael admitted. Alex actually laughed this time and Michael just smiled. He really didn’t know. He thought he was pretty 50/50, but it was hard to really conceptualize that on a human level. He guessed he could make a list of everyone he’d slept with and base it off of that, but even that felt skewed because most of the time he’d had pretty limited options in Roswell. If he counted everyone he’d been attracted to, though, that felt like an even harder thing. Did famous people count? Cartoons? At the end of the day, who really held a candle to Jessica Rabbit? “I just act on how I feel in the moment. But you aren’t the only man I’ve hooked up with if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex asked, “Who else?”

“Okay, it was only one other guy and it was just, like, giving head in the bathroom of a club, but still. You didn’t make me queer, you just made me know it was okay,” Michael said. Alex was quiet and when Michael glanced over at him, he saw him staring at him with that look. The one with the half-lidded eyes and the parted lips and his head tilted back. It had his stomach doing flips. “What?”

“Nothing,” Alex hummed, leaning forward to turn the radio up. Misery Business by Paramore was playing, still in it’s first few chords as if Alex had just sensed it was on.

“You can’t just ignore me for Hayley Williams,” Michael laughed. Alex cranked it up louder, the speakers thudding as the instruments kicked in. “Really?”

“I’m in the business of misery, let’s take it from the top,” Alex sang, leaning in instead of answering. Michael just rolled his eyes and joined in until they were both headbanging and scream-singing at the windshield. It felt good. Everything else in the world paled in comparison to just that.

He was almost sad as they pulled up to Max’s house.

-

Alex was not at all surprised when Rosa flew out of the door and immediately latched onto him as they walked up.

“Oh, thank god, save me.”

He laughed easily, wrapping her in a hug. He’d promised to see her more often, but he hadn’t really been making good on that promise. It was a problem that he definitely was going to put more effort into fixing. She was one of the only ones he could even tolerate at this point.

“Is it that bad?” Michael asked with a smile. Rosa looked over at him with a slightly judgy look in her eye, but he didn’t seem to take offense to it. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Can I move in with you for, like, a week?” she begged, “If I have to be locked alone or with Liz or with Isobel for any more time, I am going to lose it. It’s only been, like, a month.” Alex looked over to Michael and raised an eyebrow in question. Michael held up his hands.

“Hey, it’s your house. If you want a guest, don’t let me stop you,” he said.

“Mm,” Alex hummed in response. Michael flashed him a warm smile and then let himself inside the door, leaving Rosa and Alex alone. 

She waited until the door closed and they were, for the most part, out of earshot before pulling away. The look on her face was nothing short of intrigued and he was again filled with an old sense of belonging. Maybe he would let her stay for a while. Lately, Michael had been giving him that same welcome feeling, so why not add more to the mixture? It made him feel good.

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to slowly pull it out of you?” she asked. A confused smile fond his face and he tilted his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Alex,” she said, pouting her lips as she teased him, “Amor está en el aire.”

“Stop,” he warned despite her dramatic tone bringing a smile to his lips.

“Or should I say lust.”

“That would be even further away,” Alex laughed, looking up to double-check that no one was hanging outside the door and then casually scoping the rest of the perimeter that he could see, “We’re just friends.”

“Mhm,” Rosa hummed, crossing her arms and popping her hip out to the side as she judged him, “And there’s no residual feelings?”

“Okay, I didn’t say that,” Alex said, trying ignoring the way his cheeks started to burn, “But we’re just not in a place for that and, honestly, things are better right now than they’ve ever been between us. I’m not going to fuck with that especially when we’re still not done handling things with my dad.”

“When will you ever be done with your dad, though, Alex? Because even after he’s dead, he’s still going to haunt you and we all know it,” Rosa said bluntly. Alex’s smile dropped easily and he shifted his weight. “I don’t want you putting off your happiness for something that’ll never go away.”

“It’s not that,” he said, but he paused, “Well, it’s a little bit that. But mostly we’re just still in the thick of it, it’d be stupid.”

“Is that it or are you just scared to ask for what you want?” Rosa pressed. He scoffed.

“You’re just going in deep aren’t you?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she grinned, “No, but, for real, can I stay with you?”

“Depends, are you going to mock me for sharing a bed with him?”

Rosa’s eyes went wide and she scoffed, her jaw-dropping dramatically.

“I swear, if I could go back and tell baby Alex that he’d be sharing a bed with the boy he’s in love with, he’d tell me I was a liar.”

“If you told baby Alex a lot of things that are going on right now, he’d tell you you were a liar,” he laughed, “Let’s go inside and I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay, you harlot.”

“There it is.”

-

Isobel gave him that look that told Michael that he was in trouble.

“Oh, what the hell did I do this time?” he asked. 

She looked over to where Kyle and Liz were cooking before grabbing his arm, pulling him down the hall and sufficiently into Max’s bedroom. They both unintentionally upturned their noses at how much Liz and Rosa had just made it their own space. It was jarring no matter how much they understood that she had the full right to do so. Eventually, Isobel shifted her attention back to him.

“How are you?”

Michael blinked at her for a moment in confusion. “Huh?”

A small pout overcame her face and she sighed, “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Rosa and Liz and it’s come to my attention that I may have been a shitty sister. We used to act like them, or something, but now I feel like we’ve just drifted apart without Max. Which I have no excuse for because I can feel you a lot more now. You feel… better.”

Michael was hesitant to smile as he watched her. This felt like one of those conversations that was going to veer off into the other direction, but right now… Right now, she looked sincere. So sincere that he pulled her into a hug and she clung right back. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her. 

“Catch me up, what have I missed,” she urged, grabbing his hands and sitting them both on the bed, “I’ll go first so you don’t think I’m hounding you. I donated a few grand of Noah’s money to a woman’s shelter, I have been really good at being nice to both Ortecho sisters, and I’ve been working with Arturo to make a name for the Crashdown online whenever I’m not working on my powers or, like, my actual job. Your turn.”

Michael very quickly realized he had nothing for show and tell. He simply went to work, helped them at the lab, checked on Max, and went home to Alex, repeat. What was brag-worthy about that?

“I don’t really have anything to update you on,” Michael said. Isobel rolled her eyes. 

“You are significantly less stressed than you were even last week,” she said, “What changed since then?”

He didn’t know how to answer without sounding stupid. Open honesty with Alex had suddenly cured his soul? Well, it wasn’t that. He couldn’t even really articulate what exactly had caused him to feel like this.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging, “Alex just likes having me around and we talk about things. We never used to do that before, it feels good.” Isobel gave him a tiny smile, like she knew something he didn’t. 

“You’re really happy with him?”

“We’re not, like, together or anything. I don’t want that right now, we’re just good like we are. But I… I can’t describe why it’s so good right now.”

“Because it’s unconditional,” Isobel said, voice soft and eyes glassy. She didn’t usually give him that look or speak to him like that. They were usually playful, but she looked serious. He wondered if it had anything to do with Max not being around. “You’re finally feeling unconditional love.”

Michael swallowed hard as she just said it out loud. It felt like a good descriptor, honestly. He felt wanted and needed, but in a way that meant he could also want and need right back and it wouldn’t result in failure. Because Alex trusted him enough to call him when he needed him even after all the bullshit, he didn’t kick him out when he ruined his jeans, he didn’t yell at him for not understanding, he only kept one secret. Alex had said open and he’d thrown himself all in.

But now that she said it out loud, it sounded terrifying.

“Okay, you look like you’re going to throw up,” Isobel said, sniffling, “Sorry, I’m just, like, feeding off your emotions and you just… you feel really safe. I’ve never felt that from you before and I didn’t realize. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you’ve never felt safe, Michael.”

“It’s okay,” he said, still trying to process it for himself. Is this really what it was supposed to feel like all the time?

“No, it’s not. I’ve been a shitty sister.”

“I’ve been a shitty brother.”

Isobel just rolled her eyes and pulled him into another hug, one that lasted a little longer than the one before. He sighed easily against her shoulder, closing his eyes as he relaxed in her grasp. He missed her so much.

“So, are you guys back together?”

“What? No.”

The sweet moment ended when she slapped his shoulder.

-

“So, um, your dad,” Liz said, scraping her fork against the plate. 

When Alex had suggested this whole thing so he could get a feel on how Liz was coping, he had stupidly thought that maybe, just maybe, it would feel normal. They were all friends, all of them close and reliant on each other. And yet it was fucking awkward.

“Right,” Alex said, clearing his throat and putting his fork down, “So, we’re pretty sure he’s up to something on a deeper level. There’s something called M.V.C. that I’ve been trying to look into, but I’m not finding anything yet. I don’t know if I’m just looking in the wrong places or what, but, that being said, I think we all need to be careful.”

“I’m already being careful,” Liz told him. Alex nodded once.

“I know, I’m saying we need to be extra cautious,” Alex went on, “My brothers are in town and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’re tied up in this shit. With Max being gone and us focusing on that, it makes everyone a little more vulnerable.” 

“Us?” Liz asked, tone still clipped, “No, it’s me and Isobel and Michael working on Max.”

Alex blinked and refused to show any emotion, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. He knew that Liz wasn’t exactly his biggest fan right now‒God knows why‒but he wasn’t sure why she was being rude. He’d given her a lab and they were supposed to be friends, and yet it seemed to stop there. They didn’t talk. They didn’t do anything. How much was that for friendship?

“Anyway,” Kyle jumped in, “Right now, Jenna is looking into Flint and Jesse to see if she can get any separate information that we aren’t getting.”

Alex took the moment of attention being taken off of him to look over for some strength to keep his mind on track. He didn’t want to let whatever Liz felt towards him distract him from why he was here. He locked eyes with Rosa who raised her eyebrows and tilted her head just enough to say you got this. He wasn’t sure she even knew what she was supporting him to do, but she did it anyway without any hesitation. He loved her for that.

“Wait, Jenna’s back in town?” Isobel asked.

“Yeah,” Kyle answered, “And she’s giving me updates, but so far Flint isn’t budging. Apparently, he’d been warned about her.”

“Back up, you told her about everything with Max?” Liz asked. Kyle eyed her and then gave Alex a look that said ‘see?’. Alex’s eyes drifted to Isobel and then Michael, both of them looking like they didn’t belong in the conversation, then to Rosa who was trying to hype him up to get on topic. “Because that is not your business to tell.”

“Liz, you know you can trust us, right?” Alex said, “Because it feels like you think you’re on you’re own.”

“Is that right? Because the only one helping me with Max is Michael and Isobel,” Liz argued, “You and Kyle aren’t helping.”

“Liz, I am helping, I’m just trying to also deal with Project Shepard stuff,” Kyle said softly. Liz shook her head, clearly irritated with him saying that. Alex furrowed his eyebrows.

“Liz, my father is an actual threat,” Alex told her, “We don’t even know if Max has a chance. His heart is shredded. Can he even be revived, Liz? Honestly, can he? Or is this just false hope to distract you from mourning him?”

Liz stared at him with a look that was so distinctly Rosa that it was jarring. She shoved her chair back and got to her feet, abandoning the table. They all sat quietly for a moment before Rosa pushed back her chair.  Alex shook his head.

“I got it,” he said. Michael caught his eye, seeming a little too serious as he stared at him. That’d be the next thing he dealt with.

Alex followed Liz to the bedroom and found her standing there like she was preparing for a fight, face hardened and eyes set on him the moment he walked through the door. He took a moment to prepare himself as he shut the door behind him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Alex,” she said as soon as the latch clicked in place.

“The science part? No, you’re right, I don’t. But I do know that you’re being more than a little irrational. What happens if it doesn’t work? Is Max even getting better at all?” 

“Nothing exponential yet, but it’s something! It’s only been a month, Alex! We’re not going backward and that’s all I need to know that I can fix this!”

“Okay, and if you do fix it, then what happens? If you manage to resurrect him, then what? Because with the way you’re acting, I’m failing to see how you’re aren’t going to get some sort of power high from resurrecting someone.”

“The way I’m acting? Who are you, my dad? I’m just doing what’s right! He died to bring Rosa back, it’s my job to bring him back!”

“Is it, though? It’s not like you asked him to bring her back.”

“It doesn’t matter! I love him!” she yelled, tears brimming her eyes, “I love him and I hate him! He didn’t even ask me and he, he just left me as soon as I had something good! This can’t be the end of it!”

Things clicked in Alex’s head then and he took a step forward, holding his hands out so she could see them clearly. 

“I know,” he said, “I know how it feels to lose someone just when it gets good.”

“Oh, screw you, Alex, you don’t know how I feel. You can’t compare your stupid little affair in high school to this,” Liz spat. He nodded even though it rubbed him the wrong way.

“You’re right, it’s not the same,” he agreed, “But pushing everyone away isn’t going to help, and being in denial isn’t going to help either. You need to mourn and you need your friends.” Liz shook her head and took a step away from him.

“No, what I need is Kyle and Michael to focus on helping me instead of being at your every beck and call,” she told him. Alex let his hands drop, his eyebrows furrowing. “They’re the only ones who can help me and you’re just capitalizing their time.”

“You’re… mad at me for having friends? You lost me,” Alex said. Liz groaned, throwing her head back and wiping her head.

“I’m not mad at you for having friends, I’m mad that,” Liz said, stopping herself as she gathered her thoughts, “I’m mad that…”

“That things aren’t going your way?” Alex filled in, “That things aren’t like they used to be? That I’m not just going to fold and back away and let you and Maria walk all over me and take everything?” 

Liz scoffed, “We did not walk all over you.”

“Okay, maybe not, but you were definitely put first. Hell, you still are on some level. I know you don’t get it, but if I avoid my father, it won’t matter if you can bring Max back or not. We’re all fucked.  We’re breaking rules to accommodate you and Michael and Kyle are doing all that they can to help you even if you don’t see it,” Alex explained, “And, look, I know you don’t like me anymore, but I do still care about you and it’s worrying me that you aren’t thinking clearly.”

“What?” Liz sighed, looking at him like he’d lost it, “What do you mean I don’t like you?”

“I’m not stupid, Liz. You call me your friend because we used to be, but actions speak louder than words.”

“Oh, but that doesn’t apply to you?”

“Excuse me?” Alex asked. She gave him a look like he should know what she meant, but he had no idea. 

“You know that Michael has no idea what he wants and you’re still playing house with him,” she said, “I know you aren’t stupid, Alex, which is what I’m not getting. Why are you letting him in your house like that when you know he’s just trying to fuck you and Maria over? I like him, I do, and I know he’s charming, but he doesn’t care about anything but himself, Max, and Isobel at the end of the day. He is just like Max but even more destructive and all you’re doing is enabling him to hurt more people.”

Her words hit Alex like a blow to the stomach. He physically took a step back, trying to follow her ridiculous train of thought. 

“Don’t talk about something you know nothing about,” Alex breathed, shaking his head. She gave him a truly pitiful look like he was the one who should feel bad.

“I know enough.”

“Do you?” Alex scoffed, “Do you know that I love him? That he loves me? That I have spent over a decade keeping him safe and I am not about to stop now? Maybe that makes me a fucking dumbass, but I know what I’m getting myself into with him. He’s not trying to fuck Maria over, he’s trying to learn how to take care of himself before he dives into something. He is doing better than I have ever seen him and I’m not going to take that away because you don’t understand. And he is not like Max. Just because your little alien is murderous and self-righteous, doesn’t mean mine is. And, for God’s sake, don’t act like this is about Michael when it’s about me.”

Liz stared at him, his words slowly but surely sinking in. He waited and stared without faltering. He realized a little bit more about the benefits of having Michael Guerin staying in his house. After this was over, he didn’t have to be alone. After this, he was going to go home and curl up against his chest and listen to him breathe and be held until he fell asleep. That would make up for this.

“You’re in love?” she asked. Alex rubbed his hands over his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “What matters is you think I’m sabotaging things by going after my dad and monopolizing Michael’s time. That isn’t what’s happening and I don’t know how to make you realize that.” 

Liz stared at him, those frustrated tears coming right back.

“I don’t know who you are anymore, Alex,” she admitted, “Everyone’s changed since we were kids, but you’re a completely different person. I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to handle that on top of everything else.”

That stung, but Alex knew it was fair. He was still trying to see himself too.

“Okay,” Alex said, “Then I’ll make time to work closer with you.” 

“What?”

“That’s the problem, right? You’re struggling to trust me, but we’re both the ones discovering the most information about this shit. We should be working together,” Alex decided, “Then maybe you can re-get to know me.”

“Okay.”

“You need friends, Liz,” he told her, “Or you’re going to break.”

Liz took a deep breath and nodded, wiping away her tears.

“Okay.”

-

“I got the glue out of your jeans.”

“Thanks.”

Alex was already curled up in bed and rubbing his temples by the time Michael came into the bedroom. He was tired and hadn’t really talked to anyone since he argued with Liz. His skin felt too tight and he was irritable and he felt even worse when he realized Michael was feeding off his negativity. He’d been in a good mood before dinner.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as Michael quietly checked the closet and behind the curtains for him before shutting off the lights.

“You’re okay,” Michael said. Alex shut his eyes as the bed shifted and he waited for Michael to reach for attention like he usually did. Except he didn’t. “Hey, uh… Do you really think we won’t be able to bring Max back?”

Alex curled in on himself a little more. Right.

“I don’t know. I just want you all to be prepared.”

“Yeah.”

Micahel was quiet for a few minutes, long enough that Alex started thinking he was angry at him. Alex almost apologized a handful of times, longing to be forgiven for something he wasn’t actually sorry for. He just didn’t want to push him away, he didn’t want to be annoying, he didn’t want to be a problem. 

“Hey, Alex?” Michael said. Alex let out an unexpectedly heavy breath and he cursed himself for it. “Is there anything important you haven’t told me? Like, alien wise?”

Alex was instantly bombarded with documented torture he’d kept a secret, filmed dissections he’d hidden, videos of his mother trying to sweet talk guards that hit her or worse in response that he’d lied about, and that stupid piece of the ship that scared him more than anything. They were all stupid and small and out of Alex’s control in the grand scheme of things, but they were big and scary on their own. What if Michael stopped feeling safe? What if Michael left?

“No,” Alex said, “I’ve told you everything.”

Michael was silent again for a few seconds. Alex waited for him to call him out for being a liar, to call him out for being annoying and not the guy he actually loved. If Liz didn’t see him as himself, why should Michael?

Except then the mattress creaked as he shifted and slowly Michael’s arms encircled his torso. He exhaled in relief as Michael pressed up behind him, fitting against his form effortlessly. They fit together so well sometimes it hurt him. But he pressed his warm nose behind Alex’s ear and held him tight, using his body heat and willpower to shoo away all his bad feelings.

“You’re the strongest man I know, you know that, right?” Michael told him softly, “I trust you more than anyone in this entire galaxy.”

Alex didn’t know how to say he wasn’t worthy of that title. So he didn’t.

“It’s okay,” Michael added even softly, his voice hardly even making a sound at this point, “It’s okay to be sad. We all need a little help sometimes.” The words were Alex’s, but they fit in his mouth like they belonged there.

Alex’s body was flooded with emotion, that overwhelming feeling of everything coming for him and forcing tears to his eyes. None fell and he kept his eyes closed, but he knew more than ever that he loved him.

He loved him so much it hurt.

-

“Did you find anything?”

“Um, I think you should sit down.”

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows but did as Cam instructed and sat on her motel bed. He’d been spending a lot of time there the last few nights, usually after shifts so they could talk about theories. Right now, though, he was just drained from a very uncomfortable dinner.

“Did Flint tell you something?”

“No,” she said slowly, sitting beside him with a file in her hand. She kept it to her chest so he couldn’t see it until she wanted him too. “He was a dead-end and visiting hours with Jesse are over. He gets out of the hospital in a few days though, which you knew, and I plan to speak with him then. But I started thinking about it and I looked into something else.”

“And you found something?”

“Yeah,” Cam confirmed, eying him hesitantly, “I don’t think it’s three generations.”

“Oh?” Kyle said. Slowly, she pulled the file from her chest and held it in front of them, opening it to see the same tattoo on a brown-skinned hip. He grabbed onto the file.“Who is this?”

“Don’t freak out.”

He looked over to her in confusion. “Why would I freak out?”

“I was thinking about it and I was trying to think who was just as involved with aliens as Jesse Manes,” she said, “So I started searching through old military records and a lot of them had either pictures or descriptions of their tattoos, stuff to identify soldiers by if worse came to worst. We got lucky that the Valenti’s clearly have no problem with their bare ass being in a picture.”

Kyle’s eyes widened involuntarily as he realized what she was saying. And it definitely wasn’t generational. Instead, it was starting to look a lot more like a cult.

“So…”

“Yep,” she sighed, “Manes and Valenti. Two heads of Neptune’s trident.”

“Fuck.”

#malex fic #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #our fainted thrill carries on

[thiswasinevitableid]

#1 or #13 for indruck? sfw or nsfw, dealer's choice :)

I went with 13 and NSFW: “we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine”

The concert was a bust, Duck is learning that, at the ripe old age of 24, his body can no longer stand up to a mosh-pit, and Juno had to cut out early, taking the car. Which is fine, he can take BART home.

Except there was a fucking game tonight and everyone and their goddamn uncle is packed onto the train. He dips and shoves his way in, spots the sole empty seat towards the back and makes it there before it’s taken. He sighs, turning to sit, only for a black clad figure to slip in behind him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

The man looks up, startled, and Duck sees he has earbuds in and was staring at his phone when he sat down. 

“Excuse me?”

“That was my seat.”

“Clearly not, since I’m sitting in it.”

“I was about toFUCK!” The train jolts and he loses his balance, landing in the seat-stealers lap.

“Agh, hey!”

“Fuckin’ busted ass infrastructure.” God it feels nice to be off his feet. Fuck it, he’s staying here.

“Are, ah, you planning to get up any time soon?” The man is trying to push him off, so Duck puts all his weight into his lap.

“Nope, gonna stay right here because it’s my fuckin seat.”

“It is not! It is a public train, no one has claim to a seat!”

“There’s rules!”

“It was empty so I sat down. I have been up on my feet since four in the morning, for goodness sake, I just wanted to sit.”

“Join the fuckin club.” 

“Get. off” He grunts, continues failing to move Duck, “agh, why are you so heavy?”

“Hey!”

“Look, normally I enjoy having a bear in my lap, but not when you’re cutting off circulation in my thighs.”

“I’ll take my own weight again if you stop pushin me.”

“Fine.” The man crosses his arms, slumps back in the seat. Duck adjusts so he’s no longer just dead weight. 

“You’re really going to sit on me the whole ride?”

“Yep.”

The man grumbles something rude, shoves his earbud back in and stares angrily at his phone. Duck pulls his phone out, but keeps glancing at his new chair. The man’s hair is dyed silver, with black patches that suggest he did it himself. His ears are pierced, his glasses are dark red, there’s a weird orange crystal around his neck, and his jacket is covered in patches. Duck knows his type; some willowly gay trying to hard to seem edgy. He’s probably on his way to the suburbs on the other side of the tunnel. And he’s gotta ride in his lap for a fucking half hour.

He snorts in bitter amusement and turns on a video. About ten minutes later, he realizes he’s not watching alone. 

“Don’t you got your own phone?” He turns, finds the stranger’s head cocked in interest, still engrossed in his screen.

“Hey’ he snaps his fingers in front of his glasses, “I asked why the fuck you’re looking over my shoulder.”

“Because our positions mean your screen is right in my sight whenever I look up.” He glares, then adds, “although now I’m mostly just watching for fun. Who knew plants could be so interesting?”

Duck almost offers to share, then decides he’s not getting seat-stealer ear-gunk on his headphones. He turns back to his phone with another annoyed grunt. And promptly flicks on the closed captions in case the stranger wants to read them.

Twenty minutes into the ride his butt is falling asleep, so he shifts in the stranger’s lap. The man hisses, bumping an arm into his side to still him. 

“Stop moving.”

“I’m just--oh” he registers the unmistakable feeling of a denim-trapped cock bumping his ass.

“Jesus, man.” He giggles at how ridiculous it is; he spent half last week trying to get various guys into this position with him, and now some dipshit on a train’s done it by accident.

“I’m, I’m sorry” it’s still a hissing whisper, “it’s vibrations from the train plus friction, I didn’t mean for it to happen, so for goodness sake stay still.”

“Why? Ain’t my fault you got a hair-trigger down there.”

“You'd be singing a different song if our positions were reversed.” The voice is creeping up an octave.

A wicked thought enters his head, “Who say’s I ain’t in the same boat now?”

“Because I can see you, you jerk.”

“Eh, I ain’t all that big. Thick, but nothin’ to write home about, not to mention these jeans are kinda loose. So I could be getting wound up as we speak and you might not spot it.”

“Talking about your dick is not helping the situation.” The man is staring him down now, hunger flitting around beneath mortification on his face. 

He escalates the game, wiggles his ass slightly, “Might wanna rethink those tight jeans next time.”

“If, if nnnh!” the man stifles a moan against Duck’s neck, then giggles “if this is how you flirt, I think I might know an issue with your approach.”

“Naw, this ain’t how I flirt.” He turns, exaggerates his drawl, “if I were flirtin, I’d ask if a tall drink of water like you was in the mood for some bear huntin. Tell you I liked your style, liked the thought of you under me in bed,” he reaches his hand up, runs his fingertips along the man’s cheekbones, and from so close he sees an excited, playful glint in the eyes behind the glasses, “liked how that face is cut-diamond gorgeous.”

The glint disappears, “Please don’t tease. Not about that, anyway.”

“I ain’t.” The sincerity sparks between them without warning as he splays his fingers on a cool cheek to gingerly cup it.

“That, uh, that is, uh, I’d say all that if we we’re flirtin’.” He turns back around, flustered and wrong-footed by his own damn feelings. He wants the other man to start the game again. He wants to say he’s sorry, ask if they can start over. He wants someone, anyone, to make the decision about what to do next for him. 

The stranger obliges him, wiry arms slipping around his middle as breath tickles his neck. 

“Since we’re playing what ifs, were I flirting with you, I might say that the shirt you are wearing is very flattering.” He hesitates, and Duck realizes that in spite of being around him, his arms aren’t actually touching Duck. They’re waiting, patiently, for a sign to continue. 

Duck takes the bony wrists, drawing the arms close, and chuckles, “you did say you liked my type.”

“I did. Or, ah, I do.’ One hand pets Duck’s thigh. Keeping an eye out for onlookers, he guides the other stealthily under his jacket and shirt, shivering as cold fingers tease his skin.

“Well, uh, how do I measure up, ahehe, hey, no, was tryin to show off this bit.” He guides the hand currently petting his belly up to the noticeable muscle near his pecs.

“I know, and it is very nice” A purr in his ear now, “but I like this bit just as much.” His other hand rubs circles on Ducks belly through his clothes, “it’s all such a pleasing shape.” 

A kiss on his neck makes him sigh, and he fights to get the upper hand again, to not just melt, to make this a game again because the game feels safe.

“Seems like your dick’s calmed down some.”

“Yes, thank you for holding sti-AH” another moan in his shoulder, another high laugh as he jerks his hips without warning, “you dick.”

“Pretty sure that’s your dick.” Duck grins at him, enjoying the fact he’s still holding him, savoring how he can nuzzle his cheek even as he whispers, “sure as hell’d like to make it mine, though.”

“Is that so? I’d like to see you try.” The man practically snarls, lust dripping from every word. 

He doesn’t get to answer, drowned out by the voice announcing his stop. 

“Shit, that’s me, gotta, uh, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting off the train?” The man points at the opening doors, “this is my stop too.”

They make their way off and onto the platform. It would be easy to lose each other in the crowds, slip away and pretend nothing ever happened. Yet Duck keeps his pace slow and, when they do get separated, he finds his new friend has chosen the exit turn-style with the longest line, conveniently allowing Duck to catch up with him. 

When they reach the street, night air chilling with fog, Duck decides to be reckless. 

“How close is your place?”

“Six blocks that way.”

“Mine’s four this way.” He holds out his hand. The stranger takes it, grinning, and they’re off, stopping only when crosswalk and Saturday night traffic demands it.

“Almost thereah!” Duck jumps a little when, as they’re stuck waiting, the other man steps directly behind him, kneading his ass. 

“MmM, apologies, this has been tempting me ever since you sat down.”

“You were rubbin off on it, ain’t that enough?”

“That was on accident. This” he squeezes harder “is on purpose.” 

“C’mon.” Duck growls, dragging them across the intersection and to the door of his apartment. They’re stone cold sober but take the stairs like drunks, fumbling and mis-stepping as they laugh and grab at each other. 

Duck slams the door shut and shoves the taller man against it, making him stumble and bring them both to the floor. He kisses him hard, biting his lip and pulling silver hair while bony fingers dig into his back and ass. Their tongues tease together and he gets a hint of metal, pulls back.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Instant compliance as the other man reveals his pierced tongue through panting lips. 

“Damn, gonna have some fun with that later.”

“Why, why wait?”

“Because” he tugs a fistful of hair, making him whine, “you’re gonna get that nice cock out and get real hard so I can ride you.”

“Yes, ohyesyes.” He’s frantically undoing his pants as Duck stands and strips his own off, tossing them and his boxers into the laundry. 

“Stay.” He rifles through his tiny nightstand, finds two condoms and his lube, returns and barks, “legs out in front of you. 

Lean legs still half-trapped in jeans slide forward, red canvas sneakers scuffing the floor. 

“Now” Duck straddles him, tearing open a condom as he does, “you keep that dick nice and hard while I get ready. Then I’m, fuck, gonna use it like a toy.” He pushes the first finger deeper, moaning, grits his teeth trying to get the second in as the silver-haired man slowly strokes himself, licking his lips as he stares at Duck’s hardening cock.

“C’mon, fuck, there we go” he breathes deep, gets three fingers in and flexes them.

“Don’t, nnnn, rush on my account, I’m enjoying the show.” He runs his free hand up Duck’s body, purring appreciatively.

“Cute how you think you’re the one settin’ the pace.” He pulls his fingers out, grabs the second condom and rolls it down that perfectly average but nonetheless mouthwatering cock, “fuck, yeah, yeah,” he sinks down the first few inches and the other man’s head thunks back, hands flying to gratefully cup and paw his ass. 

“Oh goodness, ohyes, you, your ass is amazing.”

“Think so? Then how about you, nnfuck, thank me for the pleasure of fuckin it.” He sinks down nearly to the base, a high gasp coming from his partner when he does. Based on their exchange on the train, he’s expecting the man to tease, or maybe snark at him. 

What he gets is a desperate, blissed out expression and, “thank you, thankyouohgodthankyou” as his hips buck wildly, making Duck grunt with each thrust.

“There we, fuck, there we go sugar, now you got the idea, you be good and fuck me like youFUCK, mean it, maybe I’ll even cum on you.”

A whimper as the thrusts quicken, Duck bouncing as best he can with the angle and speed. He dips forward, kisses him messily, then switches to tender pecks up and down as face until laughter joins the moans. 

The he grabs the other man’s hair and yanks hard enough to pull some of it out, making him sob with pleasure and pump madly up into him, delivering two retaliatory smacks to Duck’s ass.

“Oh fuck yeah” Duck grins, “you like it rough, don’t you sugar?”

“Yes, god yes, AHnnnn” Duck bites his neck this time, chuckling when he hears his feet kicking against the wood floor.

“Good, I like it too.” He murmurs, kissing the new bruise before biting down on it a second time. 

“AHGOD, god, please, I’m, I’m close, I want to come, please sweetheart, please-”

“Duck.”

“W-what?” 

“My name, fuck, that’s my name.”

“Ohhhhh” the man nods, understanding, then tightens his hold on him, “Duck, please, you feel so good, so amazing, please let me cum.”

“Alright sugar, since I’m feeling, fuck, so fuckin generous, you can cum in my ass.”

Two more thrusts and a high, breathy cry signal the taller man doing just that, his whole body shaking under Duck. He’s fighting to stay upright, panting as he looks to Duck for direction. Duck grabs his left hand from his hip and places it on his dick, guides it swiftly up and down.

“Mnnff, yeah, like that, like that sugar, fuck that feels good.” 

A pleased whimper as a narrow nose and metal glasses frames presses into his neck, the man clinging to him with his other hand. 

“You like that? Like bein’ good for somethin?”

“Yes, yes, want to be good, want to be good for you.”

A pang of affection and he kisses his cheek even as he growls, “you wanna see just what you’re good for.”

A nod, and so he cups the back of the man’s head, shifting it so he’s gazing down as his cock. 

Duck snarls “That’s what you’re fuckin, fuck, good for, and goddamn you do it well, fuck, fuck, ain’t been this fuckin hard in months, fuck, shit.” He comes, dropping the cool hand as spend dribbles down their joined fingers. 

Then he slumps forward, hoping for a few seconds to catch his breath before the man up and leaves. But all he does is loop his arms around him, breathe shaky as he nuzzles and kisses Duck’s hair. So Duck takes his time, let’s his breathing recover, enjoys the feeling of fine hair under his fingers and heartbeat next to his own. 

“I, ah, I don’t wish to bother you, but could I have a tissue? I have, ah, eh, well-”

Duck sits up and immediately giggles; the man has cum across the left lens of his glasses.

“Shit, sorry about that. Here, I can get ‘em clean.”

A shy smile as the glasses are handed off, and he’s face to face with deep brown eyes, still glazed with contentment.

“Be right back.” He kisses him once. His search for a clean cloth, however, leaves him vulnerable. 

“OWFUCK, jesus Taco!” An enraged ball of blonde fur savages his ankle and his friend sits up, alarmed.

“Do you need help?”

“Naw, ow, he’s just pissed that we made a racket and woke him up.”

“Oh dear, that was very rude.” The man holds out his hand and, to Duck’s surprise, gets a headbump and a “mrrp” instead of a brush off. 

“My, aren’t you soft and lovely. You said his name was Taco?” He keeps scritching the cat’s head, smiling, as he looks at Duck.

“Yeah. And, uh, speakin of names, I, uh, I never got yours.” The admission is at once thrilling and shameful.

“Indrid.”

“It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you, Indrid.” He holds out the now clean glasses and Indrid slips them on, before tilting his head and sitting up on his knees to look at Duck’s thigh.

“I assume this tattoo is because of your name?”

“Eeesh, yeah. Long story short, ex of mine got tattoo equipment and offered me a hundred bucks if I let him practice one on me. I needed the cash, but I was a dingdong and let him choose the design. Thought he was real funny.”

“Please tell me he did not go on to become a professional” Indrid wrinkles his nose at the cartoonish image.

“Nope. Got bored with it. Like he did, uh, most things.”

“Ah.” Indrid nods with perfect understanding and sympathy, “you know, it would take a little design work, but I could correct this into something knew, something you might like.”

“Not unless you got a-”

“License? Almost. I’m finishing up my apprenticeship at Cobra over in the city. I might even be able to swing you a, ah, shall we say, friends and family discount.”

“Shit, really?”

“Of course. Why would I offer if I didn’t mean it?” He looks up, so sweet and genuine that Duck wants to fall to the floor and cuddle him up. 

“Do you, uh, do you want to shower? With me? We’re both kinda sticky.”

“Very well.” Indrid stands, following him to the bathroom, “though you’re warned, I like it hot.”

Duck turns on the water, kisses him playfully on the nose, “I gathered.”

Indrid laughs, pulls him into a kiss, smiling all the while. 

They swap tattoo stories as they shower, Indrid explaining the designs on his arms and complimenting the realistic pine tree on Duck’s arm. By the time they’re dried and bundled in various tray sweatpants and shirts, Indrid is asking him about what he does.

“Golden Gate Park. My, that must be a master gardeners dream.”

“It’s pretty damn cool, even if I’m still just low level help.”

“You must” Indrid yawns, leaning against him in bed, “you must tell me all about it.”

“In the mornin’, sugar.” Duck lays down next to him, grabbing his thickest blanket to compensate for the shitty heat in the building. 

“I don’t” another yawn “I don’t wish to impose, I can call a ride or something, or just walk home.”

“Do you wanna stay?” Duck asks softly.

“Yes. Very much.” Indrid nods, smiles sleepily when Duck gently removes his glasses and sets them on the nightstand. 

“Then stay. Please. Fuck, Indrid, I know we got off on a bad foot but I’m so fuckin glad you stole my seat. I wanna get to know you so bad.”

“Was my seat, but agreed.” Indrid smirks as he cuddles closer. 

“That’s good enough for me, sugar. Sleep tight.”

He switches off the light and curls up in the arms of the happiest accident he’s ever had.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #meet ugly #prompt fills #the author does not condone this method of conflict resolution

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Lick Your Wounds (part five; finale)

[Breakaway]

hope y’all got tissues ;)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TW: Blood, vomit, discussions of death

———————

In The Mouth of The Leviathan

Joan awoke to excruciating pain.

Her mouth opens to scream, but no noise came out. Only a strangled whine that grates the back of her throat like hot iron claws. She struggled to sit up and was met with even further discomfort- soreness in all of her limbs, tightness in her chest, cramps in her stomach, pounding in her head. It all added to her misery and she didn’t think it could get any worse, but then she looked at her hand and the blood all over her bed.

Red. Red on her sheets and blankets and pillows. Red soaked through the fabric and her bandages. Red dripping from the gaping hole in her palm.

The wound had opened back up in her sleep.

A choked cry worms its way out of Joan’s throat. She began to weep weakly as pain invaded all her senses. She wrapped her good arm around her stomach and wished Maggie was there holding her, rocking her, telling her that everything would be okay.

But it wouldn’t be okay, would it?

Joan was dying. She knew it. She could feel it. She could feel her cells shredding themselves and her blood tainting and her poor stomach lining inflaming from the infection that now coursed through her body. First, her hand went, now her stomach was being attacked by the bacteria...it wouldn’t be long until her heart was next, and then her brain.

And then there would be no more Joan.

Tears burned as they slid down Joan’s cheeks. She didn’t want to die. There was still so much she wanted to do, so much she wanted to see, so much she wanted to say. She wanted to sing all the songs she wrote herself, she wanted to learn how to swim, she wanted to finally beat Nightmare King Grimm in Hollow Knight, she wanted to get an apartment with Maggie and adopt a cat and argue about what kind of decorations they’d have in their flat. She wanted to tell Maggie how much she meant to her.

But she doesn’t know if she can anymore. Because her body is destroying itself and she can feel herself getting weaker and weaker as the seconds ticked by.

She knows her time is running out, so, with whatever strength she had left, she grabbed her phone and began to type in an empty doc. She typed and typed and typed until her vision started to blur and her hand burned and her stomach ached.

Then, her phone is back on the bedside table and she’s crumpled on the floor, kneeling over a pool of her own bloody vomit. Consciousness leaves her quickly and she finally gives in to her infection.

After everything, it’s nice to not feel.

———

Jane and Anne find Joan sprawled out on the floor of the cabin when they went to visit her with lunch. They rushed to her side and were horrified to find that she was barely breathing.

“She’s in a rhythm.” Jane declared grimly.

Before Anne can react, Jane’s threading her fingers together and pumping them against Joan’s rib cage with measured violence.

“Rhythm? What does that mean?“ Anne asked in alarm. She notices that Jane’s breathing a new number every half-second, counting off as she delivers CPR.

Jane reached fifteen and then looked at Anne. Her eyes are determined, but worried and scared.

“Listen to me, Anne. If we don't even out her heart rate, she’s going into cardiac arrest. I need to do this, okay?"

Jane goes back to Joan within seconds, putting her ear to her chest and beginning her straining pumps again. Again, she counts out to fifteen and puts her temple on her chest.

“Shit.” It's so quiet that it's hardly a word, more of a distressed noise. With sweat beading on her forehead she goes through five more cycles before her arms begin the shake visibly. “Come on…” She grunts into her motions. “Come on, Joan.”

Anne can just sit petrified, watching the queen struggle with her efforts. She claps her own hands together and prays silently.

“Come on, Joan!” Jane’s calls are slowly becoming louder, fighting the edge of desperation. She's coming up on her thirteenth cycle, pumping against Joan’s rib cage with weakening arms, and the beads of sweat on her forehead only serve to frighten Anne further.

“Joan, open your eyes.” Anne encouraged. She took one of the girl’s hand- it’s so cold in her own. “Don't do this.”

But Jane is losing her battle against Joan’s heart.

“You aren’t allowed to give up now, Joan!” The silver queen shouted between clenched teeth, and Anne agreed with her angrily.

“Joan, you’re so close,” Anne spoke back up, squeezing tightly to the small, still, freezing hand in her own. “You’re almost there. You can’t let go now!”

A sickening silence fills the room. Jane leans once more, ear pressed firmly to Joan’s chest. Anne swore she felt a twitch of pressure around her hand.

“Yes…Yes!” Jane’s exclamation catches Anne off guard. “That's it, sweetheart. Come on.” She’s beaming in relief.

“Is she…?”

“Yeah,“ Jane nodded. “She’s alive.”

Anne closed her eyes and smiled. She quickly wiped away tears that had been forming, then looked down at Joan.

“She’s still not waking up.”

Jane’s smile is gone, replaced with a dark frown.

“I don't think she has the strength to wake up.”

Anne swallowed thickly. Behind her, she hears the locking mechanism on the door click, but neither she nor Jane dare to face the one who steps inside. They can’t bear to see the stricken expression plastered on their face after what just happened.

“Do you think she’ll make it?” Anne whispered.

Jane does not answer as Maggie lunges down to their sides and takes Joan’s lax body into her arms.

———

The nurses in the ship’s medical wing stare pitifully when Maggie covers Joan up with blankets and sleeps huddled next to her in one of the beds, but they don’t say anything. It’s the only thing the guitarist can think to do, her little sister’s dear friend’s body too cold and too weak to fend for itself.

It's been six hours since Jane pulled Joan back from the brink of death. Maggie never thought she’d think such a thing, but she wished she’d stay unconscious until they got to land.

Instead, Joan operates in the between space, the little grey line between states of being. She wakes, but she is delirious with fever and confused every time. She talks, but never beyond a mutter of no significant meaning. Her eyes open sometimes, but only to stare at the ceiling in an empty way. If she were lucid enough to understand her situation, most would think she was waiting impatiently for her own death.

Maggie clung desperately to Joan’s side despite how disturbingly frozen she is, and listened to music alone. She tried so many times to wake her with it, but the bud wouldn't stay in her ear and eventually she gave up. In the back of my mind she realized that this is the beginning of their separation, when the pieces of the two of them disconnect in a long, painful way until everything pulls back and snaps suddenly.

When Joan is gone.

Maggie’s hand clenches tightly around Joan’s side, and for the hundredth time in the last hour she wills the girl to wake.

If you love me, you'll wake up.

If you love me, you won't make me go through this alone.

If you love me, you’ll open your eyes.

Nothing.

Joan doesn’t even stir.

Maggie kissed her forehead lightly.

Joan doesn’t respond.

Maggie wants her back.

———

Joan’s cabin feels haunted when Maggie enters on the sixth night. What used to be a cozy little safe haven that she loved to visit was now a dim, vomit-smelling den of pain and bad memories. Blood has turned rust brown on the bed sheets. The pool of throw up is still stained on the ground. Evidence of the torturous week that Joan so desperately tried to endure lied everywhere.

Maggie stands in the middle of the room for the longest time until her mind collapses. Her persona finally shatters to pieces and she lets herself crumple.

She remembers first meeting Joan, surprised to see that she of all ladies in waiting had come back to life. She remembers first getting close to the girl, how Joan would follow her around like a duckling from afar, but not have the courage to actually talk to her. She remembers boarding the boat, taking Joan’s hand in the process and leading her up the walkway, since the poor thing had been quite nervous about getting on. She remembers the way Joan practically leapt into her end after the very first performance and she cracked a smile at her excited, happy babbling.

Those were the days, the months in which they consumed one another. Even if they were platonic, more than that- sisterly, they changed each other. They fed on each other’s energy. They laughed together, smiled together, and everything in between those points. Friends left, lovers left, family left, but they stayed, always. Always.

Joan is all Maggie has. She was all of her.

And with Joan freezing and unresponsive in the medical wing, Maggie can already feel herself becoming nothing.

Through a beginning haze of tears (oh how it hurt to cry), Maggie noticed Joan’s phone on the nightstand. She gingerly picked it up and put in the password (1234...she would tell Joan to change it to something less guessable it it weren’t for their current situation). A doc is opened up to her and she begins to read what it said.

Dear Maggie,

I’ve never told you before, but I’ve always been searching for something. What I wanted was someone to laugh with. Someone to smile with. Someone to suffer with...even fight with. A true friend. That’s what I was looking for. And I finally found one. And that was you, Maggie.

We’re best friends, you and me. You really are my dearest friend. I wanted us to stay together forever, but...

Even if we won’t be able to see each other anymore, I’ll still be thinking of you everyday, wherever I go. No matter what the distance, no matter what happens to me, no matter where I go or if I disappear...I will never forget you.

Thank you. Thank you for being with me all this time. Thank you for holding my hand and hugging me and supporting me through this—and everything else. Your touch and your voice and your presence means more than you’ll ever know. It kept me going through everything that hit me. Without you, I don’t know where I’d be.

I’m glad we got to meet. You gave me a chance to smile and laugh and live like I never had before. You gave me a purpose in this world. Nobody has ever loved me like you have.

I’ll miss you, and I know you’ll miss me, too, but promise me you’ll live your life. Don’t rush our reunion. Go live. I’ll wait a thousand years for you, Maggie.

I have to go now. I can’t keep writing anymore. But I had to leave something for you.

Goodbye, Maggie. I love you.

-Your darling Joan

Tears poured down Maggie’s cheeks as she sunk to the ground, sobbing. She didn’t care how loud she was being, she didn’t care who would hear or if this ruined her stoney persona. She couldn’t help herself.

It hurt to breathe. Her chest was aching with the weight of each sob. When she looked up, she could barely see through the haze in front of her eyes, but she just barely managed to make out a furry mass on the bed.

Maggie grabbing Sunny and cuddled her close to her chest as she wept.

Now she understood why Joan liked it so much.

———

The cruise ship docks in Cozumel the next morning on the seventh day. The nurses wanted to put Joan on a gurney, but there was no time. She had to get off the ship that instant, so Cleves scooped her limp body up and began running.

There’s an ambulance and a readied gurney pulled out in front of the docks. Most people know to move when nine Tudor women are charging in a herd, but some don’t and they are shoved without mercy. There was no time to ask them to step slightly to the right- they had a girl dying in one of their arms, damnit! Everyone could wait to get on the island and explore.

The doctors take one look at Joan when they get down to the ambulance and begin shouting commands at one another, taking her from Cleves’ arms and strapping her into the gurney. Maggie and Maria barely have time to climb in after them before they slam the back doors and speed off onto the interstate.

“What has happened to this girl?” One of them said to Maria in Spanish, urgent tone thinly veiled.

“A light fell on her hand.” Maria answered.

Maggie looked between them, not knowing what either of them were saying. She knew very little Spanish, which was why Maria was there in the first place, but it only took a little common sense to know what they were discussing wasn’t very good.

The ambulance was going so fast that Maggie could hardly stay seated without tumbling over. Shouting, clasping grips and stabbing needles, ad scribbling on white paper pads- there’s so much going on in such a small space. Flurries of abstract motion. That unnatural freeze that soaked beneath Joan’s milky grey skin is now a heat- burning up, boiling, blazing. Such a temperature spike so quickly, and they’re so close now to getting her help…Was she giving up now?

Or had she already given up a long time ago?

One of the machines to Maggie’s right began to beep rapidly, deafeningly, like some kind of angry force. It beats viciously in her brain and she screwed her eyes shut. She never was the most religious person, but she found herself praying to God and any other ethereal beings that may exist to save her little sister.

Not best friend anymore. Little sister. Joan was her sister and she wasn’t going to lose another one.

Not after Anne.

It takes a long, very long ten minutes before the ambulance finally pulled into the emergency station at the local hospital. The team is bursting through the doors in seconds, completely prepared, white jackets and blue gloves and silver chrome instruments. They crowd Joan, yelling. By Maria’s wide eyes, Maggie knows whatever they’re saying isn’t good.

The two follow them in, more running, more shouting, more needles. Someone orders for broad spectrum antibiotics. Doctors form a typhoon, a tornado surrounding the gurney as it’s rolled inside, and a collection of nurses egg Maggie and Maria with personal questions.

It isn’t long before Joan is wheeled off somewhere further into the hospital, somewhere not even Maggie can follow. She and Maria are left in the wakes of the panic, standing aimlessly in shock. The others arrive soon, but there was nothing they could do but wait.

And wait they do.

A nurse comes out, eventually. An English speaking one, thank god. If this lady was the bearer of bad news, everyone knew neither Maria or Aragon, the only Spanish speakers there, wanted to be the ones to translate and pass that onto everyone else.

“Is she okay?” Maggie asked instantly, jumping out of her seat.

“Joan. She’s in critical condition. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

Maggie couldn’t bear to hear anything else. Jane and Anne took over listening to the news while Maggie went to sit back down and pray alongside Aragon. And Bessie. And Cathy. And even Cleves, who teased Joan religiously. They were all praying for the girl’s recovery.

Surely God would hear at least one of their pleas.

———

Surgery. Surgeries. Surgery.

It’s a blur- Was it plural? Did Joan get one or two? Were two needed for a hold in the hand? Or was the other for something else?

Maggie didn’t know. Nobody knew.

Two days have passed. Joan hasn’t been seen by any of her friends. The cruise is being delayed, but the captain can’t promise for much longer.

They were going to leave Joan behind.

Not like they’ve failed her enough already.

It’s on that second day when Joan is allowed to be seen. Maggie rushes to the opportunity and nobody stops her.

Joan is so very pale in her bed and so very small, like a baby bird. Her features are sunken, but relaxed as she sleeps. Or, what Maggie hopes is sleep. Her left hand is still attached to her wrist- honestly, Maggie had been fearing it would be amputated. When an English-speaking doctor steps in, he relieves Maggie of that fear—the hand was still functional.

But then his face went very dark.

“What?” Maggie said. A chunk of ice stabs mercilessly into her gut.

“Joan is stable.” The doctor said first. “She will recover.”

Tears fill Maggie’s eyes. Tears of relief and joy, but all she can do it nod with a mouthed, “Thank you.” The doctor gave her a small smile through his grim expression.

“However—” He stopped and looked down at his clipboard. “She is a pianist, yes?”

“Yeah,” Maggie nodded. “We perform on that cruise. The show’s called SIX. She plays the keyboard and also is our music director.”

“She must love her job.”

Maggie actually managed a light, laughing breath. “She tries.”

The doctor nodded. He’s looking at his notes again.

“Joan will make a recovery,” He said again. “And her hand will still be functional. But there will be permanent nerve damage in it.”

Maggie swallowed thickly. The shard of ice presses in deeper- she feels like she’s being ripped open.

“What do you mean?”

“Things like writing, eating, simply picking things up with that hand will be difficult. Near impossible at times, depending on flareups.” The doctor explained. “She may never play piano again.”

Like that, Joan’s whole world came crashing down on top of Maggie, and she could only save some of it. She goes very still; the piece of ice has ripped a hole through her, just like the hole in Joan’s hand, and just like the permanent hole now opened up in the girl’s life.

“Or, at least she won’t be able to play like she used to.”

Maggie gets to be alone with Joan shortly after. She sits by the bedside, holding the girl’s good hand in her own. She murmurs to her, whispers to her, hums to her, and lets her know that she was there and she could take her time with waking up, but she just had to know that she will have to wake up and return to her at some point.

And, like before, like when this all started, she lies to Joan over and over again. She says she’ll be able to play her piano again soon and perform all those songs she had planned. But something tells her when Joan’s foggy eyes slowly open, that she already knows.

She knows and she’s pretending it isn’t true, just like Maggie was.

“Hey,” Maggie whispered.

“Hey,” Joan croaked.

Still together. There’s something new, now, and it has lurked into their lives like a snake or an unwanted guest, but they’re still together.

Or, at least Maggie thinks. It isn’t the same Joan looking at her. Not really. Not anymore. But she’ll love her all the same.

#six breakaway #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical #six fanfic #six fic #breakaway joan on the keys #breakaway maggie on the guitar #breakaway jane seymour #breakaway anne boleyn #breakaway anna of cleves #breakaway maria on the drums #breakaway catherine parr #breakaway catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #joan on the keys #maggie on the guitar #jane seymour #lick your wounds #tw: vomit #tw: blood

[shreddedparchment]

Man and Wife Pt.04

The Hurdle

04/11/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 4,725

*Masterpost in Notes     Warnings: language, angst, so much angst, adorable and clueless Bucky

A/N: This was actually going to have a lot more but I’ve decided to move that into the next chapter. This has enough in it to stand alone. I hope you all like it, despite the angst or because of it? I loved writing this chapter for it’s complexity so hopefully that comes across. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo I seriously appreciate it.

8:30 P.M.

9:30 P.M.

10:30 P.M.

11:30 P.M.

12:30 P.M.

1:30 P.M.

With a sigh you push yourself up and sleepily rub your right eye with a lazy right fist. Your shoulder is asleep from dozing off on it and as you stretch your left arm, it tingles unpleasantly, pins and needles making your muscles raw.

You reach for your phone, tapping the screen so that it burns bright with sharp white light.

Straining your eyes against the glare you angle the phone up to look at the time.

It's 2:46 in the morning and Bucky isn't home yet. He'd kept his word and he'd called you around five to tell you he was home safe.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Thanks for calling. Ugh, I’m so happy to hear your voice.”

“Me too, kitten. I can’t wait to see you.” He gushes.

“Y/N? You ready?” An easy male voice asks, kind and pleasant, like deep and slow-moving water.

You turn to look at Henry and give him a quick nod. He’s tall, not as tall as Bucky but close. His eyes are espresso colored pools, his skin dark warm chestnut with beautiful hues of gold and peach that make his skin glisten in an almost unearthly way. He’s attractive—you know that much—with a smooth bald head, and underneath his crisp white button-up, you can tell that he’s built like a statue, chiseled from black marble.

The women in your office drool over him during their breaks and although he’s very kind and a good friend, you’d be a fool to not admit that he’s easy on the eyes. The perpetual five o’clock shadow on his chin often reminds you of Bucky which just makes you want to go home that much sooner.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” You assure him. He gives you a soft, sweet smile and moves into he conference room.

“Who was that?” Bucky asks mostly curious, but there’s a slight edge to his voice that you can’t identify.

“My boss.” You sigh. “How long will the debriefing run?”

“Not long. I’ll be home soon, and I can give you a proper hello.”

“I can’t wait.” You admit, dropping your voice low so that no one can hear you hitting on your husband.

“Me neither. I’ll see you soon, okay? I gotta go.”

“Okay. I'll talk to you later.” You reply with disappointment.

You really wish you didn’t have a meeting of your own to go to and that Bucky could skip the debriefing.

“I love you, kitten.”

You had already been putting the phone down when his voice gently flowed from your phone's speaker.

Your stomach tumbles with large fluttering birds. He's been hanging up so quickly after these calls, you hadn’t been expecting an exclamation of love! Why is it so easy for him to woo you? One small declaration of his feelings and you’re burning and melting.

“Ugh, Bucky, get your ass home fast!” You growl at him, wanting him, not just physically but to feel him there in your arms. Safe and sound. He’s been gone for a week! His longest time away since you two got married.

He chuckles at the tone of your voice, hearing the rush of desire in your demand. He knows you want him. Cheeky bastard.

“Bye, baby.” He whispers, as if someone is too close for him to say it loudly.

“Bye…” You respond forlornly.

“Baby?!” Sam's unmistakable teasing comes through, twisting your lips into an amused smile.

“Shut up, Wilson.”

“Oooh, baby, I miss you so much. Mmmm, my little kitten, I can’t wait to get home, and have you grease my gears.” Sam says, in a mock voice meant to be Bucky's.

“I’m gonna kill you, Sam!” The phone hangs up as you continue to laugh and wander into your meeting feeling better than you have all week.

~~~~~~~~~~

You'd come straight home after your meeting, cancelling plans with Casey and her sister Jess, eager and desperate for Bucky. The more time you spent waiting however, the less excited you became.

Your lust seemed to shift into melancholy pining, and finally you simply settled onto the sofa feeling depressed and lonely for your husband.

You get up, arching your back and placing your hands on your waist as you stretch and listen to your bones crack. With a defeated sigh, you move for the bedroom, switching off lights as you go. It takes you ten minutes to shower and then you’re snuggled up in bed, clinging to your pillow as you stare at your bedroom doorway.

You drift off again in minutes, upset and just tired. You’re so tired of waiting but you can’t make yourself complain any more about it. You’ve told Bucky that you want to spend time with him. You’ve told him that it sucks that he’s back and not here with you.

You’ve told him that it doesn’t even have to be here at the apartment. It’s been a while since the two of you went out.

You fall asleep dreaming of being with Bucky outside, taking walks, going out to eat again like you had when he was trying desperately to make you happy because you’d had to cancel your honeymoon.

The trip didn’t matter, just like you’d told him. You loved being with him, tasting new foods, drinking good wine.

A sudden ding sounds, and your eyes flutter open. You look at your phone on your nightstand and reach for it quickly, sitting up to stare at the screen with squinted eyes.

The Perv: I’m on my way, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I know it’s really fucking late. I’ll explain when I get home.

Y/N: Explain now.

The Perv: You’re not asleep yet? Shit. Y/N…Tony brought in some S.H.I.E.L.D. trainee cadets and they wanted to pick our brains so, we had some dinner and I just lost track of the time.

The Perv: Y/N?

All you can do is stare at the phone as your hand grips it harder. It begins to tremble, and you feel the nasty sharp pinpricks of tears forming in your eyes. Yes, you’re sad, but you’re also really pissed.

The Perv: Baby, come on, answer me.

Your thumb itches towards the text box but you can’t bring yourself to press it. After what feels like hours of grueling torture as you try and convince yourself that this isn’t a big deal, you press the box and quickly type your reply.

Y/N: I’m going to bed.

The Perv: I’m about to leave. Please, don’t go to sleep. Wait for me. I’ll be there soon.

You see red and you blink hard as your tears finally spill over.

Y/N: You haven’t even left yet?!

You don’t wait for his reply this time. Instead you take it out on your phone and chuck it hard across the room. It hits the wall hard and then falls to the floor with a loud thud. The screen is probably broken, but you don’t care.

After you’ve huffed for a bit, tears spilling along your cheeks as your anger pulls them from you—you refuse to admit this is hurting you—you lay yourself down and force your eyes shut.

You’re not sure whether it’s because you’re tired from getting up so early or the sheer emotional exhaustion of dealing with this again after not seeing Bucky for days on end, but you fall asleep very quickly.

The next thing you know is the feeling of a cool hand pressed against your right cheek. Warm breath washes over your face, the sharp but fruity scent of wine coaxing you from your sleep.

Blue eyes, etched with worry and remorse greet you, and they’re so beautiful for a moment you forget that you’re angry.

Then it hits you all at once and your lip quivers. You push his hand away forcefully and turn your back on Bucky, wrapping your arms around your torso as you try to hold yourself together.

“Y/N…I’m sorry.” He pleads, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, trying to get a look at your face. You don’t respond. He sighs heavily, then the sound of metal on wood reaches your ears as he places something on your nightstand. “I’ll get your screen fixed tomorrow.”

Your phone. He picked up your phone. Guess it did break. New tears fall and you shut your eyes tight.

“Y/N?” He leans towards you, over you, trying to catch your eyes but you’ve got them closed. “Ah, damn it, Y/N, please don’t cry.”

What was that old saying that your grandma used to tell you? Don’t go to sleep angry? How can you not though? How do you get over this so that Bucky can sleep in bed beside you and everything can be okay again?

It can’t. You can’t ignore the way he’s made you feel. You ignore him and will your body back to sleep but you’re aware of every move he makes.

He gets up after sitting there for so long and disappears into the bathroom. You hear him shower and the slow way he gets ready for bed. You listen to him switch off the bathroom light and his light almost soundless steps towards the bed. He stands on his side, staring down at you before he climbs in and gets under the blanket.

He only covers himself up to his waist, wearing nothing more than his briefs. His hair is still wet, spread out on his pillow like a dark halo. He shoves his metal hand beneath his pillow as he turns to look at you.

For a while, you don’t know how long, the two of you simply stare at each other.

You’re so happy to see him. You’re so glad he’s safe. You hate him so much right now and love him so desperately all at once. Why is he being so stupid? Why can’t he see that he’s putting you on the back burner. You should say something.

You need to say something. You bite down hard on your bottom lip and refuse to say the words because once you say them, you can’t take them back. Is this worth fighting over?

As a last resort you try to think about all of this rationally instead of letting the ache in your chest take over.

It isn’t like he’d been out just for the hell of it. He’d been at the compound, with Tony and Steve and Sam probably, talking to a bunch of trainees. Maybe he’d tried to get away a couple times, but the guys wouldn’t let him?

You’re still crying as your blinking begins to slow. With heavy lids, you try to keep Bucky in focus. Smacking him is a possibility but you’ve also missed him so much that you just want to look at him. He doesn’t smile and neither do you.

Eventually, you blink and don’t open your eyes again.

It feels late when you wake up. You reach over towards Bucky’s side of the bed and sit up fast when you don’t feel him there. It should be familiar now to wake up and find him gone.

You look at your nightstand and see your phone sitting there. Still broken. What if he’s making you breakfast again?!

With a barrage of nervous flutters, you get up and move out into the living room and kitchen.

“Bucky?” You ask sleepily and move further into the space.

There’s no one here. Just you. As you realize this, the ache in your chest grows. You look towards the door and see that his duffel bag is gone again. Did he really go out to workout with Steve? Even after what happened last night?

You scoff. For a long minute, you stand there feeling useless, worthless, forgotten, embarrassed, ashamed, and then you’re back to angry. You get dressed and with steel determination, you leave to go see Casey.

Bucky runs hard. He pushes himself until he feels like he can’t possibly catch his breath then he slows and stops altogether as he clutches at the stitch in his side.

Steve catches up and stops beside him. “What the hell are you running from, Buck?”

Bucky shakes his head then moves to lean against a large sycamore. Their usual running route behind the compound is almost deserted. When Sam is gone and Bucky and Steve can let loose, they come here to really run.

As his chest heaves, Bucky turns his gaze down to his feet. “I fucked up, Steve.”

“What? With Y/N? What happened?”

Bucky nods then shakes his head. “I…”

He doesn’t want to say it out loud. He wishes he could go back in time and leave when he’d had the chance. In that fifteen-minute stretch before the cadets arrived at the compound, he could have slipped out and raced home.

Instead he stupidly stuck around, curious as to what the future of the new S.H.I.E.L.D. looked like. Then he’d gotten caught up in all the excitement and then the food and the drinks. Suddenly he’d looked at his phone and it was almost three in the morning.

He knew he’d fucked up the moment he saw the time. Guilt twisted his insides until he sprung to his feet and began to gather his things into his duffel bag as he texted you.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

What the hell does he say? Fuck!

Bucky: I’m on my way, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I know it’s really fucking late. I’ll explain when I get home.

Could that buy him some time? Maybe he doesn’t need to buy time? Maybe you went to bed already. He really Hope’s you’ve been asleep for hours and also that you waited for him.

God, he's such an asshole. How is he going to make this up to you?

He started to pack up more quickly, gathering his things when he noticed his gloves were missing. He found the first one quickly then began to look for the other but just as he was about to duck underneath the sofa to find it, one of the younger cadets sidled up beside him.

She was above average height. Taller than you—whenever he met any woman, he compared them to you, his model of perfection—with well defined muscles, tanned peach skin, a small uni-lip in blush pink, deep blue eyes, and long blonde hair gathered messily at the nape of her neck.

“Sergeant Barnes? Hi, um…I was wondering if I could pick your brain a bit? Captain Rogers said that you’re the best linguist on the team.”

Bucky scoffs, leaning back onto his ankles as he abandons his search for his glove, but holds his phone up to look at it. “I don’t think so. Nat speaks just as many languages as I do, if not more.”

My Kitten: Explain now.

Shit. Shit. Shit. What are you still doing awake? True, he’d texted you so it may be possible that he just woke you up. Bucky, you fucking idiot! But what if he didn’t wake you up? What if you’ve been awake this whole time waiting for him to get home?

The sudden urge to puke overwhelms him for a second as he carefully balances his phone in both hands to use both thumbs to type quickly. Luckily, his metal fingers work well with touch screens. He’s gotta tell you the truth. Lying will get him nowhere. Even as he types it, he knows that the truth sounds stupid.

He imagines you sitting on the sofa in the living room, wearing your pink bathing suit, the one you’d been wearing when he fell in love with you. It’s silly and childish but when he misses you and he pictures you at home, it’s always in that suit.

His heart gives a painful lurch as he hits send. God, he’s missed you so much. Your adorable chuckle. The way it shifts into a giggle if he teases you. The brightness in your eyes when you tell him about one of the stories you’re going over or your favorite part in whatever movie you’ve decided to show him.

The Perv: You’re not asleep yet? Shit. Y/N…Tony brought in some S.H.I.E.L.D. trainee cadets and they wanted to pick our brains so, we had some dinner and I just lost track of the time.

Why is he still here?! Bucky gets to his feet and decides to forget the glove completely. He can buy another pair.

“Agent Romanoff isn’t here.” The blonde says, Bucky looks up at her, having forgotten she was there. “I just have a few questions about the methods you used to learn the languages so quickly. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Um…” Bucky looks down at his phone, ignoring the way the blonde looks at his phone too. Why haven’t you answered? It’s been a few minutes.

The Perv: Y/N?

Did you fall asleep again? No. You must be mad. Jesus, you’re probably really pissed. What if you lock him out? Maybe not the apartment because he’s got that key, but he never had a spare key of the bedroom made.

Are you going to make him sleep on the couch? After a week away from you, the idea of sleeping anywhere but beside you is torture.

The Perv: Baby, come on, answer me.

Wait…you—no. You wouldn’t be crying again. Would you?

Bucky feels like hurling again. His phone dings, making him jump.

“Sergeant Barnes?” The blonde asks but Bucky isn’t listening.

My Kitten: I’m going to bed.

No! You’re going to lock him out, he knows it. With desperation taking root in his heart, he types furiously, then picks his duffel up and slings it onto his shoulder.

The Perv: I’m about to leave. Please, don’t go to sleep. Wait for me. I’ll be there soon.

Please, please wait for me, Bucky thinks. And moves to leave but the blonde blocks his way.

“If I can’t pick your brain tonight, can we meet up some time? I really just want to talk about your-”

“Fine, whatever. Yeah. Just…send me an email on Monday and we’ll set something up.” Bucky tells her, annoyed with the delay.

His phone dings again.

My Kitten: You haven’t even left yet?!

Bucky is running. He shoves the blonde out of the way and without a glance back at Sam and Steve who call out for him, he races for the garage, gets in his car, and quickly drives home.

The drive feels like It takes hours. He can’t stop picturing you with tears streaming down your face as you sit on the sofa in that pink bathing suit. Even in tears you’re beautiful, but it hurts. He doesn’t want you to cry. What if he’s made you cry again?

When he finally pulls into his parking spot, he nearly yanks off his seat belt as he jumps from the vehicle. Inside, he takes the stairs three at a time, gasping for breath by the time he reaches the right floor.

He doesn’t know why he’s half expecting his key not to work, but it does. He abandons his bag by the door and stomps towards the bedroom when he doesn’t see you on the sofa. He can see the throw pillows are all on one side as he passes though, so you had been out here at some point.

He can already smell your shampoo. You’ve already showered. He stops by the bedroom door and nervously takes hold of the handle.

He turns it. The door opens.

With a sigh of relief, he peeks in first and spots you, sleeping though soundly you are not.

As he moves over to you slowly, placing each step as silently as he can, he can begin to make out the details of your expression.

With your brow narrowed and the corners of your beautiful lips turned down forlornly, Bucky can see that you’re angry. As he gets closer, he steps on something hard and hears the muted shatter of glass.

He stops his advance and lifts his foot. There, underneath it, is your phone. There’s a large dent along the bottom corner. He looks at the wall and spots the dent there too where you must have thrown your phone in anger.

He scoops up the phone and clicks the screen on. Your wallpaper, a picture of you kissing Bucky’s cheek on the sofa shines up at him making his heart clench painfully. He moves towards you again, stopping once he’s reached the edge of the bed and slowly squats down so that he can be level with your face.

His eyes scan your cheeks, taking in the tear tracks. He made you cry again. How is he going to fix this? Can he fix this? Why hadn’t he just come home?! He reaches out with his left hand and gently places it against your cheek.

You twitch with his touch and he breathes a nervous sigh. You finally open your eyes and Bucky tries to tell you with his own as best as he can how stupid he is, how sorry he is, how he doesn’t deserve you and how lucky he is to have you, but it doesn’t seem to do anything but make you cry again.

Your lower lip quivers and Bucky’s heart shatters. He’s making that happen. He’s doing this to you.

You push his hand away and he understands why you hate him right now. But not forever right? He sits himself down behind you and tries just one last time.

“Y/N…I’m sorry.” He leans over you a little to try and see your beautiful face. Are you still scrunching it with sorrow in that heartbreaking way? Even in tears, he wants to see you. He’s missed you so much. You don’t let him see you and he sighs heavily then places your phone on the table by the bed. “I’ll get your screen fixed tomorrow.”

He should, he broke it by stepping on it. Or maybe it had already been broken from you throwing it? How angry must you have been to do that? Is that anger still in your eyes?

“Y/N?” Bucky leans over you once again, desperate to see you even if you’re raging at him, but what he finds makes his stomach twist painfully. Your eyes are shut tight but you’re crying again.

“Ah, damn it, Y/N, please don’t cry.” What does he do? What can he do? How can he fix this? He needs to fix this.

For what must be twenty minutes, Bucky sits there in silence behind you, wanting to reach out and touch you but afraid of what feeling you shrink way from him might do to his already regretful heart.

Bucky finally gets up, deciding that maybe what you need might be space. He takes a shower and dresses slowly, trying to give you as much time as possible but he’s done too soon. He moves around to his side of the bed and stares down at you as you continue to cry.

Are you going to kick him out of the bed if he tries to get in? He wouldn’t blame you if you did.

He gets in and for some reason, you don’t chase him off. He pulls the blanket up to cover his lower body and then lays on his left side so that he might look at you.

He doesn’t know what to say. How does he apologize for this? How can he possibly say anything that will make this better? You meet his eyes and Bucky’s breath stutters then evens out the longer you look at him. An hour must pass, maybe more, but you’re still staring at him with those penetrating eyes.

Slowly your blinks have gotten longer and longer. Your sorrow probably exhausted you and soon you shut your eyes and don’t open them again.

Bucky watches you sleep. Your eyes relax, your jaw loses tension, and your hands—which had been clutching tightly to the blanket—fall open.

Bucky reaches out for your right hand, slowly he attempts to place his hand in it, to hold you in some way while you sleep since he knows that if he tries to pull you into his arms you might very well kick him out of bed or leave it yourself.

He thinks about the slap you'd given him as your hand opens and shuts around his fingers. You sniffle, still emotional, but at least your tears have stopped.

He wishes you would rage at him instead. Like that slap at the water park. He’d rather you yell at him than to see you like this, defeated and sorrowful.

For what feels like the hundredth time, Bucky breathes in deeply and releases it with a heavy sigh. He scoots closer to you. As close as he might without waking you which means that there's still about a foot between you, but he presses his forehead against yours.

The soft breath you wash over him as you sleep fills him with aching warmth. He loves you so much…but he's failing at showing you. How does he fix this?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Jesus, Bucky. Why didn't you say something? We would have understood.” Steve places his hands on his hips while Bucky turns his eyes to his feet, leans forward and places his hands on his knees, then shakes his head.

“It's my fault. I wanted to stay. I lost track of time. I don’t want her to think that I don’t want to be with her or-or spend time with her. I do. Shit, you’ve seen me on mission, I think about her all the time.” Bucky gestures at Steve with his metal hand and shakes his head again as he speaks. “I fucked up last night. She knew we were back, and she'd probably been waiting. She was asleep when I got home but when she woke up…I’ve made girls cry before Steve, but not like this.”

No, the flippant rejection of girls in his youth, back before he'd “died" and became the Winter Soldier, it didn't compare to the agony he'd seen in your eyes.

Those tears tore divots in his heart as they fell.

Bucky stands up straight again, leaning against the tree as he meets Steve's eyes. He's got his brow furrowed; his storm blue eyes pulled to slits as he stares right back at Bucky.

“What?” Bucky kind of wishes Steve would hit him for you. Maybe it's left over from his asset days, but punishment feels like it should be imminent even though Bucky knows he's safe.

“Buck, you’re beating yourself up—and rightfully so, might I add—because you left Y/N waiting for you all night, right?”

Bucky's eyes shift from the surrounding trees back to Steve as he pushes away from his tree to scratch the back of his head.

“Yeah.”

“So, correct me if I’m wrong but, your wife,” He takes a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with air and they ache for oxygen. “Who is already feeling neglected and forgotten…maybe even unimportant, is at home right now, due to wake up at any moment to find you gone again?”

It takes Bucky two seconds to understand what Steve is saying. Steve might never have been good at managing his own personal life, but he'd always been able to shine a light on Bucky's.

Bucky's exhaustion from his run disappears as his chest heaves and his heart pounds for a whole new reason. All the blood in his face vanishes and this time he sees you clear as day, wearing that over worn navy t-shirt of his and only that t-shirt as you sit up in bed and look around for him. Your hair a mess, your lips beautiful and plump but maybe slightly dry from sleeping. That adorable scrunch you get between your eyes in the morning when you fight against the brightness of the new day streaming in through the window.

Then that gorgeous expression falls away as it's replaced by that heart wrenching lip quiver he'd seen last night.

“Fuck!” Bucky shouts and he's running at full speed back to the compound.

“You better not go back empty handed!” Steve shouts after him, hoping that the two of you can find a way get over this small hurdle.

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