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heehoonieluvs · 4 months

Text

Nights with you

Parents Jay x reader

Smut

The way that the members are depicted in this story has nothing to do with how they really are or how I feel they are. It is all solely for the storyline so please bear that in mind 🫶

Summary: Your husband had been working so hard and you wanted to give him a nice little treat to show your appreciation

Warnings: cursing, pet names, switch! Jay & reader, use of 'mummy' and 'daddy', unprotected sex, oral (f & m receiving), squirting, use of silk rope for handcuffs (please let me know if I need to add any more 🤍)

Series masterlist

Masterlist

It was a late Friday evening and you had been moving around non-stop. You had dropped your babies off at your parents' this morning as they had been missing them, so you decided to tidy up the house and spoil your big, hard-working baby who was about to return soon. The kitchen smelt heavenly as you finished up his favourite foods and by the time you looked at the clock, you saw that you had just enough time to get yourself dolled up before your husband's arrival.

You made sure to scrub and shave every inch of your body before stepping out and applying your favourite strawberry-scented body lotion. After debating in your head for a bit, you decided on putting on a light touch of makeup to accentuate your features in a natural way. Then you quickly got changed and as soon as you tied your silk robe, the sound of your front door's keypad rang through the house. You took that as your cue and made your way downstairs to greet your husband

"Baby I'm h- oh wow"

Your husband stood there with his mouth wide open as he took in your presence. You were pretty sure that you could also see a little bit of drool on the corner of his mouth which made you giggle

"Darling, you're catching flies" you cooed at him as you gently grabbed his chin to close his mouth

Jay still remained speechless as he looked at you, so you decided to grab his hand and pull him into the dining room. You sat him down and made him comfortable so that you could bring his dinner out. Once everything was plated up, you brought his plate and drink out to him and when you placed it on the table in front of him, he pulled your face towards his and brought you in for a long-awaited kiss. It was so delicate and sweet that it took all of your might to pull away

"Thank you for this my princess. Are the babies sleeping right now?" he asked whilst tucking your hair behind your ears

"I dropped them off at my parents' house this morning since mum wanted to spend some time with them for the weekend. Is that ok with you darling?"

He flashed you his signature smirk at your question "Of course that is more than ok with me baby. They miss their grandparents, and I miss my wife"

It didn't matter how many years you had been with Jay, he still had a way with his words that made you blush non-stop. So to save him from the satisfaction, you quickly pulled away and got your food from the kitchen. Of course your husband knew you too well and laughed at the quick sight of your bright cheeks when you ran away

Dinner ran smoothly as you and Jay were immersed in each other's company. There were a few exchanges of words but for the most part, you were in a comfortable silence. When you would look up from your plate every so often, you were met with the loving gaze of your dear husband who just could not keep his eyes off you as he rested his chin on his unoccupied hand. You could tell that because you were out of reach from him, he was making the most out of it by outlining the shape of your body with his eyes rather than his fingers like he oh so wished he could. As you flashed him a soft smile, the corner of his lips raised more than they already were and he sent you a flirty wink. You both laughed at his little cheesy gesture before you got up to clear the table

He grabbed your hand to stop you and said that he would do it, but you just told him to sit back and rest. Seeing you demand him to sit made something stir inside him. And as you turned away to take the plates away, you best believe he watched your ass saunter with lustrous eyes

When you returned after a few minutes, you grabbed your husband's hand and dragged him upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once the door was shut, Jay wasted no time before grabbing you and smashing his lips onto yours. His hands wondered all over your robe, loving the way the silk felt over your delicious curves that he couldn't wait to kiss all over. He smacked your ass which made you gasp and he took the opportunity to snake his tongue into your mouth. As you swapped saliva, he trapped your tongue between his lips and delicately sucked on it as his fingers wondered lower. But before he could cup the heat between your legs, you stopped his movements and pulled away

"Uh uh. You don't get to touch there yet baby. I need to give you a little show first" you cooed at him

Jay felt like protesting but he held himself back as you looked so sexy and he wanted more. So he didn't fight against it as you pushed him to fall back onto the bed. He picked up on your actions and moved up he bed so that his head rested on the pillows. As you crawled up over his body and made yourself comfortable, he held back a moan by biting onto his bottom lip. You looked like a goddess, looking down on him as you sat on his throbbing crotch. There was a sultry smile on your face as you leaned over to your bedside table and presented to him a silk robe

"No baby please don't use that! I want to be able to touch you" he looked up with puppy eyes as he begged

"But I want you to enjoy my service to you with no interruptions" you pouted back to him in a teasing matter

"Of course I'll enjoy anything you give to me. Just don't tie me up please princess"

"Hmm, I don't think so. You're way too greedy with these things so I want you to behave like a good boy. Now hands up handsome"

Jay didn't want to anger you as you had been spoiling him so well, so he obeyed your orders and brought his hands above his head. He started to slowly regret his decision as you bent over him to tie his hands to the headboard and he got a slight glimpse of your round breasts peeking from under your robe. They looked so mouth-watering as they bounced with your movements so he decided 'fuck it' before lifting his head off the pillow to suck on the exposed bit of soft flesh that had been taunting him. You let out a small gasp from the unexpected feeling of your husband's wet mouth on the top of your breasts. As he was clearly desperate, you let him have his moment to enjoy himself but it was extremely short-lived, especially for him

You tutted at him in a teasing way and his eyes lowered from your stare

"See baby, I told you that you are too greedy. Maybe I'll have to punish you so you learn how to keep your hands and mouth to yourself"

As you finish your sentence, you grabbed onto the belt of your robe and undid the knot. Jay waited patiently underneath you and swallowed his saliva as he silently begged for you to carry on. You teasingly opened the front of your robe to reveal the new lingerie set that you had recently bought secretly. The soft, (colour of your choice) lace hugged your body so perfectly and it was topped off with a garter belt that wrapped around your thighs. It was all too much for Jay and he threw his head back before crying out

"Oh please baby, let me touch you! Please? I promise I'll be good. Oh fuck you look so fucking beautiful my baby" his hips automatically thrusted up into your clothed core and you moaned from the feeling

You bent back down so that your lace-covered breasts were over his face again

"You want it baby? You want to touch me? To kiss all over me? Yeah you want it so bad don't you?"

Your husband didn't care about putting up a front in front of you "Yes! Yes I do princess! Please untie me"

It was so entertaining to you, watching your husband be so desperate for you. So you bent down a bit more to slot his face between your soft breasts and moved side to side to rub them all over him. But when you felt his head move up to feel more, you moved away, making him whine. He tugged on the silk that bound his hands together, in hopes of getting out of them but there was no hope. Just when he was about to beg you again, he was quickly silence when you stood up on the bed and turned around to hover your crotch over his face

If he wasn't already drooling before, he for sure was now at the sight of your wet core that was barely covered by the pathetic excuse of fabric. Your soaked thong slotted so perfectly between your folds and Jay wanted nothing more than to rip his hands out of the ropes and pull you down to suffocate him

He thought that he could try his luck again by raising his head again and sticking his tongue out to sneak a little taste. But you already expected his actions and moved away from his tongue. He whined and tried again but you repeated the same action

"I want a taste. Sit on my face and suffocate me with your juicy pussy, baby"

With that, he raised his face again to try and lick you but you weren't gonna give into him that easily. Jay was starting to get frustrated with you depriving him of his dessert and it didn't help that you were letting out the cutest giggles, seeing him suffer

"Fuck baby just untie me. I swear to you, once I get my hands free, I'll make you smother my face with your pussy till you beg me to stop. I will make you sit on my face and squirt all over me for hours"

You looked down at your husband and it was fair to say that he looked extremely worked up. Sweat was beading on his hairline and his veins were popping from his temples. It was like you were playing with a feral animal who was out for blood, the way he was practically panting at the sight of your hypnotising pussy. However, you knew that you husband loved this so much and would get over his little tantrum once you let him get a taste of you

His animalistic antics only heightened when he saw you bring you your fingers to pull the crotch of your thong to the side to reveal what he had been dying to get a taste of. He stuck his tongue out and licked the air, in hopes of getting a small taste of your essence.

"Fuck baby, you look so creamy. So delicious. Come on, I know you want me to tongue fuck you so good. Just lower yourself a bit more onto my face and I'll eat you the way you deserve"

Even though it sounded so tempting, it wasn't the time yet. So you used your middle finger to make circles around your soaking entrance, before tapping on your hole to gather your wetness. The string of arousal that connected from your entrance to your fingers made Jay feel so envious. That should be his tongue doing that job and your wasting it by teasing him!

You experimented by dipping your finger into your wet hole and let out a moan. That alongside the sound of your wetness made your husband groan in frustration and looking forward, you could see his bulge fighting against his tight dress trousers. Once again, he lifted his head again with his tongue out but you were out of reach. You didn't let him hinder your actions though, as you continued to finger yourself on top of you husband's face. You added two more fingers and slowly started to speed up, making the squelching get louder. At this point, your husband just stared helplessly from underneath you with his mouth hanging open. He desperately wanted to be the one giving you pleasure but he couldn't help but admire the goddess who was moaning so beautifully on top of him

He was in such a trance that he was completely caught off guard when he felt you squeeze his hard bulge. It was like his body was jelly when you rubbed him. You ran your hand firmly up and down his covered length and it made his mind go blank. There was no stopping your hands as one was frantically pumping into you whilst the other gripped onto his cock. You quickly unzipped his trousers and tugged his thick, leaking cock out of his boxers before pumping him at the same speed as your other hand. His head threw all the way up from shock that his face was able to make contact with your pussy. He quickly took the chance to get a lick in before his body gave up. The small taste of your juices that he managed to get was like a drug and he was determined to get more

"Baby I think I'm gonna squirt. I'm gonna squirt all over your face and mark you as mine. All mine"

"Yes baby squirt on me. Let me taste you"

Both of your hands sped up and you curled your fingers to reach your g spot. The wetness built up and started to fall onto your waiting husband's face. He remained panting with his mouth wide open as you carried on fingering yourself, and finally you squirted all over him. Every drop that came out, showered over him and he caught as much as he could in his mouth. You brought your shaking fingers out from your pussy and spread them apart to show off your essence to your husband. And because you were feeling generous, you stuck them into his mouth for him to suck on and he was more than eager to do so

You were still jerking him off as he licked all over your fingers and he moaned so deliciously that you really wanted to sit on his face to feel him moan into your pussy. When you stood up from him, he whined in protest but instantly shut up as you pulled your thong off

"You better not throw that into the wash yet princess, I'm gonna need to take that to work so I can jerk off with it on my lunch break"

Even though you knew that he was being serious, you still laughed at him because only your husband could be so down bad for you (and your pussy)

You knelt back down over his face and he finally got to see your bare pussy that had been freshly shaven

"Do you want me to sit on your face darling? You've been such a good boy for me"

"Yes please mummy. Sit on me. I want a taste"

And with that, you finally sat. Jay had been waiting for so long and he was not going to mess around. He was quick to lick up every inch of your soaking cunt and when he got every last drop, he stuck his tongue right into your hole. You could feel it wiggling around inside and it was getting deeper. Every so often, he'd remove his tongue so that he could suck on your throbbing clit that had been neglected. The suction made you scream from overstimulation. But now that he got his mouth on you, there was no way he was going to let you stop him from licking and sucking on your clit

Your mouth was starting to feel empty as it was open from all of the moaning, so you bent down and took the entire length of your husband's dick into your throat. The sudden feeling cause Jay to suck even harder on your clit, which pushed you to suck on his length further. You kept on bobbing your head to suck him off and you made it your goal to get your husband to cum all over your face

Jay honestly felt like he was in heaven right now. His beautiful, sexy wife was deep throating him whilst sitting on his face. But of course like you said, he was greedy. He wanted you to put your entire weight onto his face and cut off all of his breathing with your pussy. Perhaps it was because you didn't want to hurt him because you were an angel but right now, he wanted you to be the complete opposite and completely smother him without a care in the world

"Princess, sit on my face properly. I know you want to. Put your entire weight on my face and let me breathe in all of you"

You reluctantly took your mouth off his length with a pop to tease him

"Yeah? Daddy wants me to suffocate him?"

"I want nothing more baby"

As you took him back into your mouth, you sat completely on his face and Jay confirmed that if there was any way that he was going to die, it was going to be like this. His eyes rolled to the back as you rocked yourself over his eager mouth

You were both sucking on each other and you could tell that you were both going to cum soon. Jay started to thrust up into your mouth whilst you started to grind onto his face. The movements didn't stop till you both came over each others faces. He slurped up every bit of your juices that he could whilst you tried your best to keep as much of his load in your mouth. It seemed that your husband had been keeping in this load for ages as it carried on spurting. So you pulled your mouth off and let the rest of his cum shoot over your face and onto his thighs

The two of you were shaking and you could feel Jay pressing light kisses to your inner thighs, taking caution to avoid your sensitive clit with his movements

There was no time for resting though as you slowly got up and turned around to straddle your husbands cock that was still hard. You knew that he had an extremely high sex drive so he wasn't going to deny more sex

He hissed as your soft hand grabbed his length and lined it up to your entrance. You took your time to savour the way his girth stretched you out and Jay swore that he could've came right there at the sight of you rolling your eyes back from pleasure. There was no stopping your moans as you started to bounce on his length. Jay couldn't take his eyes off you as you rode him perfectly. Your breasts were bouncing along with your movements and he just couldn't believe that you were all his. He wanted, no needed to hold you and fuck you the way that you deserved

"Can you untie me princess? I promise to make you feel so fucking good. Let me treat you like the most spoilt princess ever"

"Yes daddy. Fuck me please"

Jay was cheering in his head as you reach over to his bound hands and untied his sore wrists. As soon as he could move, he instantly brought his hands to your waist and pulled you down over his body, making your chests make contact. He held you firmly in place as he put his feet on the bed to thrust up harder and faster. His movements were vigorous and he was angled perfectly to hit your g spot with every thrust. Your clit rubbed on his pubic hair which was completely soaked with your juices. If you had neighbours, they would definitely be putting in a noise complaint with the way that you were basically screaming bloody murder and you husband was moaning like your personal pornstar

Jay felt you pulsing around him and took it as a cue that you were going to cum soon. He felt his orgasm approaching as well, so he cradled your neck before flipping you over to tower over you. His hips never faltered as they carried on pounding into you. He looked absolutely breath-taking with the way his hands were placed either side of your head and his necklace that you gifted him dangled in your face. It was like a reminder to the both of you that you belonged to each other

As you got closer and closer, you felt an overwhelming need to have your husband close to you. So you brought your hands behind his neck and gently pulled him down. He caught onto what you wanted and lowered himself onto his elbows. The new position allowed him to stroke your hair lovingly as he got lost in your tearful eyes. When he leaned down for a kiss, he mumbled into your mouth

"Are you gonna cum baby? Gonna let daddy cum in you and fill you up. I'll fuck another baby into you yeah? Give our babies a little sister to protect. Fuck, you look so fucking sexy with your breasts so full, leaking with milk for me to suck on. You'll let me suck on your milky breasts when they get all full and sore won't you baby? I'll be such a good daddy and take care of mummy so well. Come on. Cum with me my love"

You held onto each other tightly and he kept his mouth on yours as your orgasms washed over you. Jay stayed over you on his elbows as he stroked your sweaty forehead. His forehead rested on yours as he whispered 'I love you' and how well you did for him. He'd occasionally press kisses over your face till your breathing calmed down

"I'll just quickly get a towel to wipe you up and when you feel ready, I'll run a bath for us. Is that alright baby"

You couldn't muster up the energy to say anything so you nodded with a tired smile. He was extremely gentle when he cleaned you up and carried out the same routine of bathing and pampering you the same way he did every night

As you were both ready to fall asleep, the two of you laid in bed naked as you loved the feeling of the skin contact. You rested your head in the crook of his neck as he ghosted his fingertips over your spine

"You know, I was kind of being serious when I said that I want to give you another baby. I know that (youngest son's name) is still young but I just can't help imagining us with a little baby girl. I know she'd look so beautiful like her mummy"

He was smiling so dreamingly at the thought of expanding your family. You chuckled from how adorable he was

"Well, we still have an entire weekend so we have plenty of time to try darling"

Author’s note: Yay a new fic! I really hope it was worth the wait 😭🫶

I do apologise if you wanted part 2 to be a continuation of the storyline of part 1 but I honestly just thought that this would be a better story 😅

I’m going to start working on the next requests so I hope you look forward to it! Basketball bf Heeseung pt 3 is next 🤭

Once again, thank you so much for taking the time to read and support my works 🩵

#heehoonieluvs #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen oneshots #jay x reader #jay smut #jay hard hours #jay hard thoughts #jay oneshot #jongseong oneshot #jongseong x reader #jongseong smut

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lady-of-the-lotus · 1 year

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Stymied!

Xiao Xingchen would have caught Xue Yang long before the Chang Manor massacre...if only he'd stopped getting distracted by doing good deeds.

Read on AO3 - T - xuexiao cracklette

* * * * * * * * *

“After, you madam. I insist.”

The old woman smiles up at Xiao Xingchen. She’s entering the inn as he leaves it, her arms laden with bags of fresh produce. “Thank you, young man.”

Xiao Xingchen steps back inside the inn, graciously holding the door open. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a flash of black and gold.

Xue Yang, escaping out the back window.

One leg over the sill, Xue Yang stops to wave at him before dropping out of sight.

If Xingchen hurries around the building, he can still catch him—

But, “The rain isn’t easy on these old bones,” sighs the old woman, and suddenly he’s offering to carry her heavy bags of vegetables to the kitchen.

“You remind me of my grandson,” she says as he sets the bags on the table. “Such a lovely young man. Just last week he brought me a new hat, and the week before, my granddaughter, A-Ling, came over and had—”

Ten minutes later, Xingchen manages to politely excuse himself.

The rainwashed street is empty, Xue Yang gone.

Stymied!

This is the tenth time Xue Yang has gotten away this month. But what was Xiao Xingchen supposed to do, _ not _offer to help the old lady with her bags? Shove her out of the way and race into the inn when he first caught sight of Xue Yang through the window?

Impossible!

They next cross paths three days later in Yitang.

Xiao Xingchen is drinking tea when he glimpses a familiar gold-leaf hairpiece through the teahouse door.

He quickly searches his coin purse for the appropriate change (including a tip for the busboy, after carefully searching his robes for extra coins), neatly arranges his cup in the exact center of the tray (like a well-mannered gentleman), wipes up a spot of tea the waiter spilled on the table (the poor busboy works hard enough!), and hastens out of the teahouse.

Xue Yang is nowhere to be seen.

Xiao Xingchen is looking around, hoping for a hint of black and gold, when he hears a hair-raising cry in the distance, the heart-rending sound of a strong man in torment:

_ “My cabbages!” _

Blood turning to ice, he flies off towards the sound. A man kneels in the dirt, his cart overturned, surrounded by loose cabbages.

Xue Yang must have been here! This has all the hallmarks of one of the many devastating scenes of tragedy the delinquent has left scattered in his wake.

“Sir, what happened?” he asks, righting the cabbage cart. “Did you see where the culprit went?”

“He came out of nowhere!” the man whimpers. “He said—he said—” A fresh burst of sobs wracks him. Xiao Xingchen hands him a cabbage and the man cradles it against his chest, drawing strength from the soft green ball. “He said, ‘Sorry, grandpa, but I don’t have all day to wait around for him.’ What does that _ mean _ ? And then—and then—” He draws a long, shuddering breath. _ “And then he kicked over my cart and flew off!” _

A familiar giggle.

Xiao Xingchen looks up. Xue Yang stands on the roof, grinning down at him.

“Took you long enough,” he says.

Xiao Xingchen is about to fly up and arrest him when he’s distracted by a fresh whimper from the man at his feet.

“The cabbages will be trampled—trampled—”

“Don’t go anywhere!” Xingchen calls up at Xue Yang. “Consider yourself under arrest—” Quickly he starts gathering cabbages and piling them into the cart. “Just stay put for two minutes—”

Laughing, Xue Yang flies off.

Xiao Xingchen works faster, but it’s too late. By the time all the cabbages are back in the cart, Xue Yang has long since disappeared.

Stymied again!

“He’s simply too devious,” he complains to Song Lan when they meet later that day. Song Lan hunts ghosts and demons while Xingchen hunts Xue Yang, but Song Lan keeps in the same general radius and meets Xingchen as often as possible. “I’ve never met anyone so crafty. Just when I have him in my grasp, he slips through my fingers!”

Song Lan nods sympathetically. He’s heard this before, and would help Xingchen if only he too had a spare month to faff around tracking a single half-trained hooligan across the jianghu.

“Do you remember last week, when he slaughtered that caravan?” Xingchen continued. “I was just about to nab him when he released a puppy that exactly matched the description of that lost puppy in Hujindian! I had no choice but to return her to her owner, and by the time I returned, Xue Yang had vanished like smoke on the gentle breeze!”

Song Lan shakes his head. The depth of Xue Yang’s depraved ingenuity never fails to shock and appall him. He still has chilling flashbacks to the time when, just as the righteous net of justice was descending upon the signature-color-stealing miscreant, Xue Yang somehow got Xingchen roped into judging a local poetry contest, allowing him to evade punishment for yet another day.

“And that time is always!” Xingchen had protested when Song Lan suggested that there was perhaps a time and place for poetry contests. “Education is important, and how could I refuse my services after the villagers had been so gracious and hospitable?”

Song Lan had just shaken his head, but perhaps Xingchen is right. Song Lan has been questioning himself ever since he’d been struck by the idea that, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Xingchen is _enjoying _ the chase. A ridiculous thought. Song Lan has simply spent too many late nights hunting ghosts, perhaps, or there hasn’t been enough time spent in silent meditation, or perhaps too _ much _time spent in silent meditation.

Whatever the reasons, his judgment has obviously been a bit skewed lately.

_ Obviously_.

Xue Yang trails Xiao Xingchen from afar until Song Lan leaves to go investigate a nearby haunting. He's more than a little bored. It’s been days since he’s crossed anyone off his revenge list, but when it comes to outright murder he likes to get far enough ahead of Xiao Xingchen to make sure he’s not interrupted, and being days ahead of Xiao Xingchen means he'll have to sit around waiting for him to catch up, and sitting around, even in anticipation of seeing Xiao Xingchen, is dull.

It’s not that it’s not fun to draw Xiao Xingchen after him. He wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t. He stays up nights planning the little clues he leaves for Xiao Xingchen, trying to be as creative as possible to impress the cultivator in white. After all, he’s sure Xiao Xingchen has many other people he can be chasing through Yunmeng, and Xue Yang needs to make sure he doesn’t regret choosing him.

Perhaps he’s been _ too _ creative lately, though. Or not creative enough. Or not obvious enough. Or _ too _ obvious. After all, last week, while distracted by replacing the tanghulu he had knocked out of a child’s hand, Xiao Xingchen missed the embarrassingly pedestrian clue he’d left after disemboweling a farmer who had refused to feed him as a child—a headpiece-shaped leaf he’d painted on the side of a building in blood. He'd anticipated righteous fury and perhaps a footchase, but Xue Yang had to spend three days waiting for Xiao Xingchen to pick up his trail after _ that _one.

All this stopping and waiting, stopping and waiting, is ruining his flow. He needs something to really spur Xiao Xingchen to action, make him put a bit more effort into the hunt, get the blood pounding. Perhaps an actual swordfight instead of all this cat-and-mousing around. Impress the self-righteous cultivator in white with his swordsmanship, show him that you don’t need a fancy education to succeed.

Perhaps if he tripped a little old lady trying to cross the street—?

No. Enraged as Xiao Xingchen would be, he’d still take too long helping her to feet and escorting her home. He might even stop at a food cart and buy her lunch, and Xue Yang would need to send him an anonymous letter tipping him off as to his whereabouts again.

Sneak into Xiao Xingchen’s room at night and write “kick me” on the back of his pristine white robes?

Naw. He’d probably think that was funny, if he even noticed. Xiao Xingchen would hear a crying child five blocks away, could detect a butterfly landing on a blade of grass six feet behind him, but he tended to miss the obvious. Xue Yang would never forget the time he spent two hours sitting three tables away from Xiao Xingchen, forced to listen to endless teahouse poetry about moons and swans and cherry blossoms, fruitlessly waiting to be noticed beneath his false mustache.

Song Lan had been there too, but the unnecessarily tall hanger-on in black had never actually seen Xue Yang and hadn't noticed him. Xue Yang is glad he’s not the one after him. He doubts Song Lan would find him half as charming, intriguing, and attention-worthy as Xiao Xingchen must, to chase him for so long. He can’t remember the last time anyone who didn’t want something from him has given him this kind of attention.

Still, just in case, Xue Yang always avoids showing himself while Song Lan is around. No point in risking that attention-hogging priest becoming too fascinated by Xue Yang and following Xiao Xingchen around even more than he already does, which is an annoying amount.

Xue Yang is finishing a bowl of honey-fried dumplings when he realizes that he has the perfect thing right there in his qiankun sleeve. He’s been saving it for a special occasion, but fertilizing a budding relationship is just as important as adding spice to it later.

Besides, it’s always best to be direct with what you want from a relationship. Communication is key. This, he thinks to himself, is the perfect way to up the ante.

He changes into one of his better outfits before heading out to intercept Xiao Xingchen. If they’re going to swordfight, he wants to make sure his robes will have the maximum dramatic spin. He still doesn’t go for those long, flowy, I'm-so-aristocratic-sleeves—too easy to get them caught on things as you’re fleeing the scene of a crime—but he appreciates a good dramatic robe swirl.

Perched on a rooftop, he waits for an hour before Xiao Xingchen steps out of his inn, looking radiant in the bright morning sunlight.

_ This is it! _

“Catch!” Xue Yang tosses him a severed hand.

“Ugh!” Xiao Xingchen bobbles the hand like a hot potato. “Xue Yang!”

“Good morning, daozhang!” Xue Yang grins at him. Xiao Xingchen’s hand looks even more delicate and dove-like against the mottled purple of the bloated hand. “Race you to Yunping!”

He flies off towards the city gates, letting a trail of wadded-up papers, apple cores, and tanghulu sticks spill from his qiankun sleeve.

“Stymied!” he hears Xiao Xingchen saying from far below him as the white-clad cultivator stops to pick up the scattered litter. “Stymied yet again!”

Shaking his head, Xue Yang lands atop the city gate.

After all, some things are worth the wait.

#xiao xingchen #xue yang #xuexiao #fytheuntamed #theuntamedaily #mdzsnet #song lan #lotus writes #lotus posts

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riotwritesthings · 3 years

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I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

#my fic #bucky/tony #winteriron #starkbucks #everybody loves vampire bucky AMIRIGHT #anywhooo HAPPYBIRFDAY 😘

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slashingdisneypasta · 3 years

Text

Human!Freddy Krueger x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: What The Fuck Now, Freddy!?

Notes:

This is not inherently romantic, at all. Or sexual. Just... Freddy being a bastard, and you are caught in the crosshairs- and are forever linked with him because of it.

I've been listening to Lizzie, a lot lately- and this is inspired by 'What The Fuck Now, Lizzie!?'

Also- I'm thinking this will have a part 2. Due to the ending not being quite enough. Maybe a part for the court proceedings!

Plot: Many will know the story of that terrible day Krueger essentially snapped- killing his wife, Loretta Krueger. She saw the basement, they say, and he didn't like that. Their daughter saw the whole thing and suffered a traumatic response to seeing the sight of her mother, strangled to death, by her father- and forgot the whole thing.

But if she were to remember something, one day.

She may remember something no one knows about that day, aside from Freddy himself.

She may remember, that someone else was there.

She may remember you.

Alternatively- you're being blackmailed by Freddy who found out you, another supposedly Plain Jane in Loretta's 'mothers club', is cheating on your husband and calls you up to help deal with the mess he made. Because who else did he have?

Warnings: Okay lemme see, its basically a potluck of triggers. Hm. Murder, swearing, cheating (You, on your husband. Not with Freddy), getting rid of a body, a child gets traumatised (Obviously, Kathy/Maggie), Freddy himself, mention of the basement and all that entails, reader with a very questionable moral compass. Look, I think if you can watch Freddy's Dead, you're good here.

I'm just heading out the door, to go grocery shopping - or, at least, that's the story I tell my husband. When really I don't do the grocery shop until the day after tomorrow. He never notices... - when the phone rings. By very nearly tripping over my feet in my endeavour to catch it before the ringing stops, I manage pick up the phone with very little injury besides an achy, slightly twisted ankle. "Hi! Hi, sorry, I'm here. Hello?"

Pouting, I sit down at the kitchen table; Rubbing my poor ankle to sooth the pain, which would soon diminish anyway. Still- I'm sorry, ankle. I'll try to chill.

When the voice on the other end reveals who it is who's called the house, I lose all need to be pleasant. Damn. I really need to memorise this goddamn number... so I can not answer it. "Whatcha wearin'?"

"Thank god Harrison didn't answer this, you fuck." I deeply roll my eyes. Thank god Har's out. No, this is not my mister, not the man I was going to meet just now- but its bad, enough. In an entirely different way. Its stupid, blackmailing, son of a... hundred maniacs. "What do you want?"

"What a way to answer the phone, Y/N. Gee, seems like every time I we talk, I'm learning how you really aren't in the right place, are you? Cheating on your poor husband, swearing... These aren't really signs of the perfect suburban house wife, is it?" Gritting my teeth, I keep from lashing out. I've learned, if you stay real quiet, Freddy wont have anything to pull from and will get bored quick. "Why so silent, hm?"

"... " Oh, fuck me. I cant help it. "Wondering where you get off judging me on being 'suburban', actually."

"Anywhere I like, thanks."

Oh... oh. Gross?

He doesn't see the disgust tearing my face into two perfect halves right now, but my silence must be enough as he laughs. The sound is directly into the phone, and harsh on my poor eardrums. Ugh... "Oh for gods sake... What are we? Fourteen years old?? Come on- why'd you call?"

"Uhhhh... " Quickly, midway through that drawn out 'um' sound, Freddy's voice transitions, and gets a whole lot darker. Something deep in his chest dislodging, to make it so. Perhaps, his heart. "Well... you might wanna come and see for yourself."

"Uh, I don't think so. I have somewhere to be right now- "

"Oh well you don't, anymore." And its clear what he isn't saying- or else I'll tell Harrison about Carter and set your life on fire. "Tell your boy toy you're takin' a reign check for the day. I think you'll last. In fact... after you come over here, you might be out of the game for a couple a hours at least- maybe days."

Hold on, hold on Freddy what the fuck- "What!?"

"... Believe it or not, I didn't actually mean for that one."

Moron.

Nevertheless, no matter how just... off setting, Freddy is, I had to when he asked. I had to jump when he said so.

Because if not, then he would tear my life apart.

So here I am, about to knock on that big red door he lives behind, wondering what I'm walking into. Where's Loretta? Where's Kathy? How long will the visit be? I told Carter I'd be an hour or two late- any longer and I wont see him at all today. Which would absolutely suck.

Just after my knuckles come down on the wood the first time, a hand comes down on my shoulder and I immediately jump out of my skin... then slowly look around.

There's Freddy, a cheeky grin on his face. It does nothing to set my nerves at ease. "Ugh... Why are you out here?"

"We're going to the backyard. Lets go." Taking me by the shoulders, he marches me around the side of the house, instead of through it for some reason, and into the familiar backyard. I've been here numerous times, as Loretta likes to hold our club meetings here - Barbecue's, tea's... that sort of thing. Just to let the kids play together and so the adults can enjoy some adult conversation. Its a nice yard... but depending on what her horrid husband is about to show me, it may not be considered as such anymore... - , but I'm now starting to develop a sick feeling in my stomach.

Honestly- I don't know much about Freddy at all. Yes, I went to school with him, but that doesn't mean much when he was a freaky loner kid the whole time. I remember he killed the class hamster once- that's about the only splash he ever made in the news pool; But it definitely stuck.

Yes, Loretta cleaned up his image a fair bit since getting married, but now he's blackmailing me, and as far as I know I'm now alone with him.

Suspicious of him suddenly, I slip out of his grip with a dirty look flashed his way. Don't touch me.

He just rolls his eyes, leading me around some hedges.

And then everything stops.

Him, me, the air; The air around me, the breeze, the breath in my throat.

There lays Loretta, on the ground. If I was really really naïve, I could imagine she were sleeping... or passed out, at least, due to the way she's sprawled out. No one would lay down like that willingly.

But... her eyes are open.

For a moment I'm tempted to kneel down; Take a closer look. Find out how, myself. Is she bleeding anywhere that I cant see now? Are her lips turning blue? If I moved some short red hair out of the way- would their be marks on her neck yet?

But then I come to my senses...

And freak. The fuck. O u t.

"What, the fuck, did you do!?" I whip around, looking at Freddy now which entirely new eyes. I mean, before I sure wasn't fond- but now I'm filled with something new, looking at him. Something a lot worse, something that makes me want to run. Run, and hide, and stay there.

And all these, even though he hasn't really changed. He still wears a mischievous smirk, stony blue eyes eating up my reactions... like always. But this time its just so so much worse. "Made some dead weight- now you're gonna help me get rid of it. So!" Finally, though its been only a matter of seconds, he turns his gaze off of me and I'm glad. That gaze is far too heavy. "Ideas?"

Only for a moment am I lost for words, struggling to push anything out. "I... I'm sorry??"

His gaze returns to mine, but this time my eyes are hard as his are dark. "Help. Me. Get rid of her. Fucking. Body. Or do you want your dirty laundry aired for the whole community to hear?"

Before I can help myself, I let out a sharp laugh, only succeeding in making Freddy's scowl deeper. "Freddy- this secret's a lot bigger, then mine. Sure, I might get divorced- but you're going to prison!" Does he get that? He's g o i n g to j a i l. Crossing my arms, I try to avoid looking at my ex-friend's body. I cant. "I'm sure as hell not gonna be in there with you, for being an accomplice."

I really cant look at her... I can only focus on Freddy. And that takes a lot of energy- its taking everything in me, in fact. Everything I have. But I have to. If its him or her, there's no choice.

But... then a creepy smile spreads across his face- a vast polarity to the frustrated glower of before. It makes my blood run cold.

"Ohhhh..." He looks almost ferocious, even in his composed state. Like a monster. Like any moment a fanged, inhuman creature is going to burst out of him and I'm going to wake up, and this will have been a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. The kind where that creature haunts me for a long time, after its over. After this over.

He's going to haunt me.

"You must think this is my first time... " My heart turns to ice, mouth hanging a little open... what the fuck have I found myself a part of!? Suddenly all the children's disappearances on the news lately come to the forefront of my brain... "Sweetheart, give a man his dues. I'm a hard working kinda guy... " I watch his gaze flicker to a door - the back door? No... The basement door, - and when a filthy smirk pulls at his mouth, my heart flies up into my throat. God, it makes me feel sick. I want to be violently ill. "My first was my adoptive Dad... pretty sick, huh?"

The fact that he didn't say anything about the basement, makes my imagination go wild. I swallow it down, though.

I just need to get out of here, and never think about this again.

And to do that I need to help Freddy get rid of this goddamn body- and... probably... testify at court... As the panic starts to finally rise up in my, right up to fill my throat, I immediately take in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Okay... " No time to freak out. Now's the time for action.

Gaze flickering to Loretta again, I try to acclimatise to the sight. I think its a lost cause, though. "How did you get rid of him? Your Dad?"

"No, that's not gonna work. He was a drunk dead beat, and I just had to tell the police some guy's he owed money to came over to the house." Freddy grins happily at the memory, but then just as quickly, scowls at his poor deceased wife's body- that certainly cant fight back. I just tack this onto the long list of reasons I hate him. "Lore's such a goddamn goody goody- we cant do the same thing. You don't think I woulda thought of that??"

"Hey." I snap, hands braced on my hips as I flash a glare his way. "This is not the time to get defensive!"

"Whatever... "

Then- suddenly, something occurs to me. Confused, I look around; A deeply horrified feeling disturbing my stomach. "Hold on... Where's your daughter?" Seeing no sign of her anywhere, I definitely start to panic again- especially when I look to Freddy and just see a pert look in his eyes as he looks back at me, a smile that strikes something horrid inside me. My eyes narrow. "You sick fuck- where the fuck is she!??"

"Under the bed."

"What the fuck does that mean!?" I exclaim, frustrated and freaking out. He did not- he did not! Killing your spouse is one thing, but the kid?? Your own kid??

I don't wait around for him to be cryptic some more, and rush right into the house to look for her. Under the bed, under the bed, under the fucking bed...? Which fucking bed!? Forcing ferocity out of my voice, I carefully call out to Kathy. Hoping to god she answers. I try to sound normal. Maybe a little bit cheerful; Excited.

But my voice wobbles.

"Kathy?? Sweetheart, its Y/N! Are you hiding? I have something for you... " ?? You have something for her, Y/N?? God... now you have to figure out some kind of treat.

You know what? Whatever. We'll figure that out later.

Lets just hope we aren't searching for a corpse. I'd definitely be sick, seeing a child... the way Loretta is...

Shaking my head and clenching my fists, I try to focus on Kathy.

I check under the bed in the guest room because it comes into view first and she isn't there, then her bedroom and she isn't there either... and get a sick feeling as soon as I enter the last bedroom. Freddy's and Loretta's.

God, I've never been in here before but its like a museum peace now. A horrible one. Like if you would walk into the Titanic... or the Borden house.

"Kathy? You in here?" Flicking on the light I kneel down on the ground, and check under the bed.

And something immediately crashes over me, as the sight of her covering her eyes down there. It isn't exactly relief, because this whole situation is still phenomenally fucked up for her, but I am selfishly glad to not have to see her body... crumpled, just like her mother.

"Hey sweetheart," My voice quivers slightly now, but I quickly swallow. No. No. Now, you must be strong Y/N. "Its just me. Your Daddy was looking for you, and couldn't find you! It got him worried!"

"I... I don't wanna see Daddy. He hurt Mommy." Kathy doesn't remove her hands from her face, and stays firmly by the wall- too far away for anyone to grab. My heart sinks.

Slowly straightening up again, I try to take that piece of information in. Turning to the doorway, I see Freddy there. he must have followed me. I didn't even notice. Slowly, and quietly ferociously, I say; "She saw?!"

He has the good sense to look embarrassed, even if it is just to make fun of me. "It was spur of the moment... " He shrugs. "I didn't have time to get a babysitter!"

What a fucking excuse. For gods sake.

I'm definitely dealing with a psycho- if that was even a question before now.

Swiftly, I look down under the bed again, because I'm afraid that if I continue to engage with him- I'll scream, and I'll lose my breath, and I'll scare Kathy even more. She's at the forefront of my mind; That's all I can think about.

But what to do with her after I get her out from under this bed, I don't know. I cant give her back to her father... but I cant hand her over to the police either because that would involve telling them about Loretta, and... Freddy will definitely kill me, for that.

This is a nightmare of a situation.

I'm just opening my mouth to say something - what, I don't know yet, - when she speaks, instead. "Is he there?"

"... Yes." I wont lie to her; That would be treating her with not nearly as much respect as she deserves.

When she takes a deep breath and rubs her eyes, as if just trying to keep herself together, my heart clenches. God... and to think I might not have picks up Freddy's call today. I would have been leaving her with this. For the first time today, I'm morbidly glad I came.

She speaks in that loud, hissy way that kids think is a whisper. "Can he... can you please make him go away?"

Immediately I straighten back up and look to Freddy again, my eyebrows raised halfway up my forehead. Like well? "Get out."

"I don't think you're in a position to make demands here, bi- "

"Do you want Kathy to live down there now!??" I snap, trying not to be scared. Not really feeling scared, actually. Just happy to have a reason to tell him to get the hell away from me.

A deep frown creases his mouth, deeply unhappy about the situation, but steps back. I only hear him step out of the way of the door, but its good enough. Quickly, I get up and close the door - fighting with myself not to slam it, - and lock it.

Then I return to the floor, and see this time Kathy has uncovered her eyes. She looks so small, smaller then she actually is, and she looks like she's shaking. Little red bows and piggy tails in her hair are messy from crawling under the bed. "He's gone, sweetheart. And I locked the door."

She just nods, so I take the silence as a chance to offer my hand to her. "Take my hand, sweetie? Come on out from under the bed. Its cold down there, and no one wants you getting sick." I need to upkeep the family friend bit, I need to sound caring and collected. I need her to trust me.

Her big eyes, not Loretta's colour or Freddy's, look nervous as hell. And she shakes her head.

Taking a deep breath, and I conjure all the sincerity as I can. And mean it. My eyes soften and I try really hard, to resent myself as someone trustworthy- which is hard, seeing as I've never really been that. I mean, I'm cheating on my husband. I told Carter today the same lie I told Harrison when i knew I was going to be late. The only person I think who knows the truth behind all my lies is Freddy. That says something about a person, that the only person who knows them is a psychopath.

But I want to, I need to, be good for this little girl. And there's no time for me turn my life around so it has to start with this. How fucked is that?

"... I promise, I'll take care of you. He wont hurt you."

After a few whole minutes, in which I stay silent because yes she's a child, but she's still thinking, she crawls over and takes my hand, letting me lead her out. Crawling into my lap as I cross my legs under her, she buries her face in my shirt- hiding. "You promise?"

Taking a deep breath, because I've really done it now, I offer my pinky for her to see if she turned her head. I know Freddy's listening to all of this through the wall, but I try not to freak out. "Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear." She peaks out from my shirt, and curls her little finger around mine. Okay... "Y/N... I'm scared."

"Yeah... Me too, sweetie."

What am I going to do?

#Freddy Krueger x Fem!Reader #Freddy Krueger x Reader #Slashers #Slashers x Reader #Fem Reader #Freddy Krueger #Loretta Krueger #Katherine Krueger #Kathrine Krueger #Maggie Burroughs #Oneshot #Freddy Krueger x Reader Oneshot

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waywardimpalawriter · 3 years

Note

“Kissing me breaks the promise… remember?" with Javier and can I please have a happy ending, I know it's angst prompts but.... :D Thank you!

Crazy Love

Pairing: Javier Peña x Plus Size Female Reader

Characters: Javier Peña, Steve Murphy, mentions Connie Murphy

Setting: After season one episode 7 ‘You will cry tears of blood’, five months after the events in ‘Heels’,

Rating: M (Mature), E (Explicit), NSFW, 18+ only please

Warnings: mentions of gun violence, almost killing a child, self hatred, smut, unprotected sex, Angry Javier (yes he needs a warning), angst, slight fluff at the end,

Summary: One slip up, reacting too quickly he could’ve ended the life of one way too young to fight the wars of old men. Thoughts filled with darkness, what if’s and self degradation. Wanting to loose himself in the only way he knows. To find because of you he can brave the dawn and the coming war.

Word count: 5,985 (with lyrics)

Notes: Thank you so much for the request sweetie, @autumnleaves1991-blog I hope you enjoy. Prompt in bold. The song used is ‘Crazy Love’ written by Van Morrison and preformed by various artists. This also a sequel to “Heel’s part 1” written some months back.

Tag List:

Forever’s: @chickensarentcheap @jedi-mando

Knuckles white with the grip he’s got on the steer wheel, eyes darting between the thin packed streets and Murphy with the baby in his arms. “What about the kid? Any ideas where to take her?”

Missing the shrug, with his eyes back on the road, “For now I’ll take her with us.” Smirk twitching his dark blond mustache with the look Javier pins him with at a stop light. “Don’t worry Javi she ain’t gonna stay with you. Poor darlin can’t live on whiskey and cigarettes. Though the parade of women might slow with her at your apartment.”

“There’s no parade jackass,” trying to focus on the road ahead and off what almost occurred three hours ago.

Subtle tick to his jaw knowing something’s bothering his partner about what went down. More to the point of how it went to shit and letting two high ranking Sicario slip through their fingers. “Wanna spill what’s eaten at you?”

“No just take care of the kid don’t need you play shrink in my head,” pulling up to the embassy, Javier kills the engine turning fully to look at Steve. “Care to share your explanation to Noonan or will you wing it?”

Shrugging Steve glances down into her sleepy eyes trying to figure out just what he’ll say. More importantly what he’s going to tell Connie. “I’m not,” looking back over at Peña seeing a raised brow. “I’ll take her home to Connie, figure out this shit as we go.”

“I’m sure Y/N would babysit,” mentioning you name cut deeply as the last month he’s put distance between the two of you. Continuing the relationship based solely on your sexual needs instead of the feeling he keeps buried.

“Doubtful, she’s working on transferring out. Packing I’m sure takes her time up right now,” seeing the scowling confusion drawing his brows down. “You knew she asked for a transfer right?”

“When?” Curses fill his mind. Directed fully at himself for letting the situation spiral out of control to the point you’ve become that notch on his bed post. Telling himself he’s going to let you go but never finding the courage to actually cut the strings. “She never mentioned taking a transfer. ”

The nights spent together you never mentioned a transfer. But then words rarely left either of your lips that’s not in passionate pleas wanting more or demands for completion. Conversations the first to go in the crumbling relationship, embraces followed not long after and the final straw added a month and a half ago. No kisses on the mouth anyway a promise you made him invoke to separate the past pleasures from the present stalemate.

Revisiting those thoughts often, Javier understood why you made the decision. One he hated but respected. Wondering most nights why you still let him inside your soft plush body instead of putting up a wall between the two of you. Shoving him out of your life fully. But then the transfer you didn’t speak of talked louder than any uttered words could.

“Two weeks ago, something about returning back to the States. Damn shame Y/N’s a fucking amazing secretary even better person. Why’d you go fuck things up for us both?” Wanting to knock some sense into Javier but a part of Steve understood the other man’s reasons for pushing you away. “Just let her go man this job she’s not fit nor can put up with the stress. I know I pushed at first but whatever you did to shover her away it’s for the best.”

“She’s a lot stronger than you know,” said more to himself than Steve. Other mans words hitting deeper than Javier would say, his fingers tightening around the leather steering wheel. “You don’t know shit Murphy.”

“I know a month ago things changed between the two of you.” Switching the baby to his other arm cradling her close to his chest. “Whatever happened she become withdrawn, stopped smiling as much,” piercing him with a hard stare. “Reverting back to the woman I first met when coming Bogota.” Glancing out the windshield Steve drag a hand over his face exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “ piece of advice either fess up explain what’s eaten at you or let her go.”

Selfishness claws at his mind wanting to keep you from leaving. From getting away not only from Columbia it’s self but from him. The realistic half needing you safe a world removed from the war starting to build back up. This afternoon’s events flash through his mind of how he almost killed a kid. A fucking kid who tried to protect the Sicario scum he chased and cornered. Would’ve had him had the kid not pulled a gun on him. The decision not to pull the trigger an easy one this time. But what about the next? Making him no better than the men he chases if he decided to take the shot so easily. Affirming those thoughts to let you go for your greater good and health.

“Javi?” Snapping fingers to gain his attention. “Deep in thought or just swimming the shallow waters?”

Scowl taking up home over his features, “Don’t worry about it doesn’t concern you.”

“Fuck you say, she’s my friend to Javi.” Shaking his blond head wondering how much pushing it’ll take before Peña would break. “Besides I think Connie has a good chance at kicking your ass if you do anymore damaged. She’s wanted to get her hooks into you for a while now.”

Almost chuckling at those words though it’s mirthless and self deprecating. “She’s next in line,” tossing the words out while starting the Jeep. Silence reigns on the drive over to their apartment, pulling up to the curb and letting Steve out.

Who pauses in the open door, “Heading to Y/N’s? Or back to the Embassy?”

“Paperwork,” impatiently waiting for Steve to shut the door.

Eager for some peace and time to think. He sees you standing in the doorway arms crossed under your generous breasts. For once actually studying your features taking in the fact you look somber, dressed in well loved jeans and baggy T-shirt. No makeup, though Javi told you a thousand times how beautiful you look without all those cosmetics painted on your face. Heart kicking up at the way your staring at him. Barely seen with you so far away but he knows there’s a softness shining in your eyes. Emotions he’s never tried to decipher in other women till you. Thoughts now run into each other, fears chasing after wanting so much but feeling undeserving.

Soft chuckle echos around the Jeep’s cabin making Javi glance at Steve, “Time better served explaining than useless paperwork.” Looking over his shoulder to find you gone, “Before it’s to late and she’s gone.” Door slamming shut, Steve leans in through the open window with a meaningful expression on his handsome face. Patting the inside slight nod of his blond head before turning to go inside leaving Javier with to many thoughts.

Pulling away from the curb happening to glance back towards the apartments catching you standing at the window. Hand pressed to the glass unreadable look on your face one he’s sure shows signs of displeasure and anger. With a blink your silhouette disappears heart clenching at the thought he’s just imagined you standing there. Another curse flies from his lip, palm forcefully slamming down on the steering column doing nothing to temper the anger boiling inside his mind. Instead Javier guns the engine taking off at a high rate of speed receiving numerous honks in irritated warning.

*************************

Letting the curtain fall back in place wild thumping of your heart pulsing out a rhythm that aches with every pound. Partly hating yourself for getting involved with a man incapable of having any kind of relationship other than sexual. Asking yourself why you keep letting him back into your bed, into your heart knowing it’ll just break in the end. Only one answer comes to mind and you push it firmly back into the dark abyss. Focusing on what you needed to done. Having struggled for the last two months with the decision to finally put in for a transfer home, away from Columbia and Javier Peña. Never an easy choice especially when you’ve fallen in love with a man who would never love you back.

Heavy knocking makes you jump in spot leaning against the wall by the window. Hand coming to rest against the quickly beating organ threatening to thump right outta your chest. Taking a breath trying to calm down from the freight you take small steps to eat up the distance towards the door. Another round of pounding has a scowl appearing wondering who would beat your door down at this time of evening.

“Hold your horses I’m comin’ already,” raising you voice loud enough to at least pause the noise.

Grasping the doorknob right when, “Hermosa,” his voice pulls your hand back almost as if the knob burned you with that very endearment. “Open up you can’t hide I know your there.”

“Go away Javier I’m not in the mood,” arms crossed glaring at the door. Pivoting on bare feet to track towards the kitchen going back to sorting through what your keeping and leaving behind. Freezing in place the unmistakeable sound of a key sliding into lock. Cursing the fact you never asked for the spare back and giving him one in the first place. Try as you might to make your feet move instead there rooted in spot when the door opens. “I didn't invite you in Javi turn your ass around and leave.”

Breath escaping quickly, eyes narrowing after searching the apartment he’s spent the last months in. Catching sight of half filled boxes, newspaper scattered over the coffee table, before landing on your furious features. Hands gripping wide hips, soft chin jutted out in annoyance while eyes spit anger burying the true feelings deep. “It’s true?”

“Why do you care?” Countering his words biting the inside of your cheek to keep tears from sliding coldly down your cooling skin. “Leave Javier,” exasperated and tired just wanting to move on, putting the relationship in the past.

Not two steps away his warm gun callused hand incloses around your wrist tugging and turning your plush body around to face him. “Not till you answer me.”

“We don’t talk about feelings remember Peña, your rules,” yanking your wrist free glare firmly in place.

Flinching at the harsh tone eyes scorching him with there intensity, his own somber and filled with regret. Deserving of those very words no matter how much they hurt. He moves forward for you to take one back reaching to grasp both shoulders. Taking another step out of his reach slow two step pattern finds your back pressed against the bar counter. Reminiscent of the first time you made love all those months ago. Except this time you’d stand strong push him away and not fall prey to those warm russet eyes filled with so many indescribable emotions.

“Stupid rule I never should’ve put in our relationship,” three feet of space between the two of you. Both chests heaving breaths eyes locked and searching. His eyes close drawing in your familiar scent letting it wash all the days stress clean for a single moment in time. Ear’s picking up the quick beating of your heart wishing as his eyes open a smile would bloom over those kissably soft lips.

“But you did and there’s no taking it back now,” firm stance starting to crumble under the weight of emotions filtering through his dark eyes.

Half way to reaching out his hands drop back to fist at his sides, “I’m sorry hermosa I didn’t mean…” unsure how to fix what’s broken. Never good at speaking his feelings even when the need presents its self.

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles

And the heavens open every time she smiles

And when I come to her that's where I belong

Yet I'm running to her like a river's song

“What’d want from me Javier?” Pleading tone arms crossed to close your body off. Putting up a defense against the one man who’s managed to crumble every wall surround your heart. To starve off the bubbling emotions threatening to spill over and consume you.

Closing the small gap, callused hands cup both cheeks, fingers spread from apples to jawlines. Brushing his thumbs under your eyes his own pleading and soft ‘the puppy’ look you nicknamed it two weeks into the relationship. “To kiss you.”

Swallowing harshly, “Kissing me breaks the promise… remember?" Willing your body not to react, not to turn and place kisses to his palm. Nuzzling the warmth drawing peace from his comforting touch. “We made rules you know how I feel about kissing Javi.”

Almost two months ago things started to fall apart. Always asking yourself why you still let him into your bed and body. Part of you knowing the space carved Javier hole in your heart will never close. Not even denying the both of you those intimate kisses could change the fact he’s wormed his way through defenses long held too fall in love with your DEA agent.

“I know mi amor,” sliding one hand down from your face to wrap his arm around your thick waist. Pulling you flush into his embrace and against his body. Turning the both of you so it’s his back pressed into the counter. Savoring the softness wishing you’d hold him. Run your fingers through his hair and chase away the stress currently resurfacing with your tense posture. “I don’t want you to leave.” No truer words spoken ones that cut his very soul with the implications of what could happen if he didn’t take Steve’s advice.

Agony rips a new hole in your heart at his words, at the endearment dripping from those sinful lips. “You don’t mean that.” Eyes close to keep from staring into russet browns. Trying not to give in and foolishly hope he means what he speaks.

“I do hermosa,” eyes popping open at the barest brush of his chapped lips against yours, widen orbs find his shut, brow furrowed. “I don’t want to loose you.”

“Javier,” breathlessly whispering his name. The intensity of Javi’s declaration scares you not wanting to believe for a second his words ring true. Not when so many broken promises lay at your feet. Yet, if there’s one thing you know about Javier Peña he’s honest, never lying to you about what he wanted. Holding back sure, not letting you in those tightly held defenses of his own fuck yes, but lie to you never. Those thoughts make others chase after. Ones that scare you into thinking you’ve made a huge mistake by asking for the transfer. Could you leave his man who holds your heart? Walk away from a relationship that’s possibly just hitting a rough patch? So engrossed in those thoughts you don’t realize he’s tipping your chin up to angle your head in the prefect position to slot his mouth over yours.

Javier’s restraint having snapped with his name slipping from your bitten lips, wanting to meld the two of you together in the only way he knows how. Showing you with his body what his words couldn’t express. Javier captures your mouth in a bruising kiss filled with demands. Teeth biting at your lips, dragging plump bottom in to abuse with nibbles and soothing over with his tongue. Harsh gasp blown from your mouth giving him access to the warm cavern. Drinking from your well, tasting your flavor on his tongue always returning for more. Tangling together as his arm tightens around your soft waist.

Garnering a moan of need from deep within your chest. Attacking his mouth with your own, fingers coming into play by carding through those thick mahogany strands tugging harshly. Receiving a growl in return that vibrates down to your very core clit throbbing in response to his rough actions.

Mouths parting to gather air, “I need you hermosa please,” desperation coloring his tone foreheads resting together. The hand still cupping your cheek slides around to gently cup the back of your head. “I need…” swallowing hard, fighting to keep from taking you hard and fast right there. Burying the fear and pain, the anger and worry into your soft gentle body. Letting you sooth the demons threatening to consume his soul. But he couldn’t, promising to never show that side of himself to you.

Those thoughts in mind Javier moves in to kiss you only to chase your mouth till you place fingers over his searching lips. Seeing a spark of need in he eyes that’s closed away before fully blooming. Leading you to remember a conversation the two of you had at the on set of your relationship. Knowing what he needed and how, you step back watching his features fall with his arms to the side.

Only to have confusion replace the crestfallen expression as you tug the t-shirt up and off your body. Standing in just your panties and jeans, “I told you a long time ago Javier I’m not made of glass this body…” hands gliding up from your waist to soft tummy and generous breasts. “Won’t break if your rough with me.” Heat sparking in eyes that will him to listen, give in and take you. “If I’m staying and we work this out you’ll have to let me in.”

Each word hits him hard square in the heart, “I don’t want to hurt you cariño.”

“You already have Javier,” head dropping you go to tug your shirt back on. Only to have it ripped from your hand and tossed somewhere unseen. That soft gasp making his heart beat triple time. Strong arms wrap around your body to bring you back into his warmth. “Fix what you broke.”

There’s no gentleness to the possessive kiss Javier captures your mouth with. Large warm hands grip your plush ass to press into your tummy the thick ridge of his jeans covered erection. Low growl slipping passed parted gasping lips that angle for the right spot to draw those whimpers and moans he can never get enough of. Separating long enough to have you rip his tan button up open, little plastic disks pinging off the wall and tiled floor. Scoring your short nails over his soft tummy, toying with the button of his jeans.

“Fuck,” hissing through kiss swollen lips that attack your neck with bitting teeth. Wanting to mark each inch of you in reminder to himself of who you derive your pleasure from. “Do that again,” demanding cadence gets a soft smirk to spread over your bitten lips.

Keeping your eyes lock, breath existing quickly because of the passionate kiss. Short nails rake up his chest and leave little red lines behind. Detouring to pinch his pebbled tight nipples receiving another low growl against the skin of your collarbone. Where his mouth sucks a purpling mark laving his tongue over the bruising skin. Enjoying the shutter he feels race down your spine.

Pushing the shirt from his shoulders Javier raises his head to stare into your desire darken eyes. “Fuck me Javier till I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Simple words ignite a passion and deep seated need inside his body to claim and wreak you. Clothing becomes nothing more than obstacles in the way of having naked skin against his own. The two of your fumbling with buttons and zippers. His parting on a sigh of relief as you push the fabric to pool around his ankles. Nimble fingers brushing through course little hairs. Leading your hand to wrap around his shaft. Thick girth barely covered by your hand that you pump along heated velvet skin.

Smirking at the groaning string of Spanish curses falling from his lips. Only replaced by the pout, when he brushes your hand away. Mouth still just inches from yours brushing taking another sip from your lips. Drowning in the taste of your mouth, the feel of your plump lips against his. Devouring the pout and only breaking to whisper, “Later princesa.” Toeing off boots and soak covered feet pressing out of jeans, naked as on his born day for your eyes to devour.

Becoming insnared with his beauty far too long for Javier’s liking. Lips licked slowly watching the bob of his jutting cock. Mouth watering in want of a taste. Quick breaths expanded his soft covered muscular chest your hands itch to dust over. His handsomeness distracting you to the point a squeal issues from the back of your throat when he pulls you by the belt loops towards the couch. Skilled fingers making quick work of getting your jeans undone warm palms sliding the fabric down your body.

Javier drops back into the couch bringing you between his spread knees and placing kisses to your tummy. Nuzzling the underside of your breasts. Looking up to ensnare your vision with his own desire filled gaze. Strong arms holding you in place while eyes close, nose rubbing into your soft scantly skin resting his head on your tummy. Hands coming up to card through his hair gently this time tugging the locks and wrapping his shoulders with your arms. Emotions clogging your throat burning with the need to release the tears of mixed feelings.

Moaning head tossing back when his warm tongue peeking out to teasing the taut nipples his hands tug your panties down. Becoming impatient and ripping the thin cotton from your body. Making you gasp and look down into those desire blacken eyes you choose happily to drown in. “You’ll…” swallowing your words on a moan as those thick skilled fingers draw through your folds. Tapping your clit several times and retreating to slide inside your clinching walls.

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down

And when I come to her when the sun goes down

Take away my trouble, take away my grief

Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

“I’ll buy you more cariño and go with you to help pick out certain ones,” giving you a cheeky wink. Groaning with the feel of slick coating his fingers, smirk in place when your hands brace on his shoulders to keep from tipping over into his arms. Pulling his fingers out to suck them clean making sure your watching his every move. The resounding whimper he draws out brings the same smug grin too tug at his lips. Gripping the back of your thick thighs to spread your stance and slot his own knees between.

Pulling you down against him knees on either side of his thighs. Hiss issued at the contact of your dripping folds coating his shaft trapped between your bodies. Rolling hips to tease your own hands gripping the back of the couch to brace yourself while raising up. Deep moan breaks from your chest when Javier draws the fat cock head through your folds. Circling your clit as your hips match the movements. Waiting till he’s notched himself at your entrance before slamming down against him.

Head tossing back at the stretch and burn of him splitting you open gasps of delight echo and play with the groans from Javier. Who grips your hips, holding you against him for a time face buried in your chest. Hot mouth searching out blindly latching onto your right nipple to bite down just hard enough to make your quivering channel squeeze him tightly.

“Fuck,” single word mumbled against your skin. When you start to move setting a quick pace that’s hard and demanding. Head dropping back between your gripping hands. String of curses and praise leave his lips. “Just like that hermosa, so fucking wet for me,” grunting into your mouth that came to fuss to his. Sharing breaths while you move against his body.

Taking possession of his pleasure with a kiss that’s deep and hungry. Devouring the sounds he makes with each quick roll of your hips. Pressing your generous breasts against the hard plains of his chest, nipples brushing his skin as his own hands grip your thick soft waist. Leaving behind bruises with how tightly he holds you. One hand gliding over sweat slicked skin to cup a full ass cheek giving a squeeze before landing a hard slap.

Movements falter with the stinging pleasure coursing through your veins, “Javi.” Kiss breaking breathlessly to catch his eyes. Seeing the indecision clearly written, you nod leaning to brushing your lips over his ear, “Again please.”

Mouth buries against the spot where shoulder and neck meet, planting his feet firmly to thrust into your welcoming cunt quicker. Letting a moment pass till he lands another smack to the other ass cheek. Soothing the pain with his warm palm, “Like that princesa?” Drawing his nose over the sweaty expanse of his throat tossed back on a gasp. Bearing your neck to his hungry gaze and mouth.

Taking advantage to bite and suck, thick mustache abrading your skin in the most delicious of ways. Sending tingles to dance across your skin making your clit throb with each hard pound of his cock deep inside your quivering walls. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders for leverage as your knees sink into the couch and you bounce on Javier’s cock. Thick thighs shaking as orgasm builds quicker than you thought possible.

“Yes,” whimpering out in answer. Both hands cup your ass helping you move against him. Sweat slicked shoulders make for a tough grip movements becoming choppy and sloppy. Low whine bubbles from the back of your throat needing more but unsure how to say.

Javier picks up on the destress, pulling out making the whine lengthen. “Lay back on the couch for me hermosa,” seeing the confusion in your gaze. Javi tugs you to sit in the corner of the couch, pulling till your almost flat and he crawls between those thick thighs he wants wrapped around his waist.

Sliding back inside of you on a groan, “Still so tight for me princesa I could stay buried in your pretty pussy forever never growing tired of having your surround me.”

“Javi,” heat flares across your body at his words, face buried in your palms. Only to have them pulled and placed on his chest. Shocked yet pleased with his sentiments, the way he growls out the words setting off tingles dancing down your spine.

Gasping when he pulls out resting just the tip before surging back angling to hit that little spot only he’s managed to discover inside you. Right leg draped over his hip left dangling off the couch as your hands scrap and grope at his shoulders. Strong arms press on either side of you holding himself up while rocking his hips into yours. Setting a fast and hard pace that has you gasping, moans of incoherent words tumble from your mouth that hangs open trying to gather breath.

Watching with hooded eyes, drinking in the way you look, the passion morphing your features never wanting to let you go. To always see you in the throws of pleasure he delivers to your body. Praying to whoever will listen that you’ll stay. Those thoughts creating a fire inside his body that moves quicker.

Wanting to show you his feelings by repeatedly burying his cock deep inside your throbbing cunt. Loving your soft thick body with his mouth latching onto a breast. Nipping skin and taunt nipples, curling his tongue before biting down and switching to the twin. Feeling your nails score his back and shoulders only driving on his own pleasure.

Needing you to cum first though, Javier slides one hand between your slick bodies to caress your clit with tight circles of pressure. Smirking into your flesh when you gasp and squirm under him. His name breathlessly spoken to the heavens your back arching off the couch. “That’s my girl cum for me amor soak my cock.”

“Javier,” fingers card through his hair pulling his mouth back to yours. Tender and sweet nothing like the previous kisses as you pour your heart out to the man pounding you into the couch. Foreheads rest together, moans dripping from your lips brushing against his trying to hold back to draw out the pleasure. Afraid of the final moment he finds completion and walks out of your life maybe for good this time. “I love you,” unable to stop those three words from tumbling out. Orgasm slamming through your body with the hard thrusts of Javier’s hips. Crying out his name, arching against him breath stuck along with tears in your throat.

Swearing he heard things, Javier’s pace stuttered but his heart pounds quicker. Hips having a mind of their own as his body rushes to completion. Cumming harder than he’s ever in his life, filling your clinching walls with hot stick seed. Strength evaporated from his arms collapsing into your embrace. Burying his face in your neck, hot moist breath fanning out over your skin. Small after shocks roll through both your bodies garnering whimpers and moans from both of you.

Time, unsure of how much passes while you card fingers through his sweat slicked hair. Enjoying this moment, basking in the after glow of your love making while praying it’s not the end.

“Don’t leave,” words whispered into your skin so low there barely caught. Wondering if you’ve heard things your fingers pause watching on stuttering breath as Javier raises his head to stare into your eyes. Wondering if you meant what you said or just caught up in the pleasurable sex and let it out. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask when you beat him to the punch.

“I… I…” words lost in the jumble of your mind unsure what to say. Fearful your passionate declaration went unheard or worse ignored.

Cupping your cheek surprised to find tears tracking down your cheek, “Don’t leave me Y/N please.”

Searching his bright russet eyes confused till you see what he’s really saying. Realization blooming across your mind your own hand coming up to embrace his cheek. Thumb swiping over the apple, “I’ll speak to Noonan.” Bringing his mouth down to yours for a soft sweet kiss.

“Do you really love me?” Foreheads resting together breath held, his eyes closed tightly fearing the answer.

Shocked he’s asking. Remembering the times you tried to get him to talk about his feelings becoming shut down pushing the conversation away or distracting you with kisses and sex. With the lengthening silence Javier dares to open his eyes catching the soft expression in yours that cracks his frozen heart.

“I wouldn’t say those words if I didn’t mean them Javi you know that,” continuing to brush your fingers over his stubbled jaw. Up into his soft sweaty hair to gently scratch his scalp knowing how much he enjoys when you do. Rewarded with a low purr from the back of his throat. “What happened today baby?”

Fear keeps him quiet for a moment till, “I almost killed a kid.” Lowering his stare to map your skin with his eyes adding the marks he left behind to his memory. Fear returning now that you’ve heard how much of a monster he’s turning into.

“Did you shoot?” There’s no accusations or incrimination, voice softly seeking a way to help sooth the demons you saw when he first arrived.

Carefully pulling from your warm depths and embrace to sit on the edge of the couch face buried in his hands. Missing the whimper at loosing his touch. You grab for the blanket draped over the back to cover yourself in self consciousness. Moving carefully to sit up and lean against his shoulder. Fingers carding through his hair slowly while placing the other around his waist. Waiting till he’s ready to start speaking not wanting to push.

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

Yes I need her in the daytime

Yes I need her in the night

Yes I want to throw my arms around her

Kiss her hug her kiss her hug her tight

Welcoming warmth enveloping his body that cleaves into you. Baritone rough with emotions, “No I couldn’t pull the tigger, didn’t want to shoot some kid who’s stupidly following the orders of a man who doesn’t care about him.”

“Listen to me Javi you’re not Escobar you’ll never have that narcissistic attitude.” Turning his face to look at you, brushing the stubble with your fingertips. “Yes you’ve done some questionable things for good reasons to take down this asshole who would gladly see all of Columbia burn just to get and keep what he wants.” Leaning in to brush your nose against his, “I couldn’t love a man who killed people for kicks Javier. That’s not what you do. You save people, protect them as best you can.”

Unworthiness filtering through his thoughts never expecting to find someone who loved him faults and all. Intertwining his fingers with the hand previously on his cheek bring the back to his lips to place a kiss. “I don’t deserve you hermosa,” swallowing harshly letting your hand go to stand. Unconcerned with his nakedness Javier stretches popping his back then looking down at you.

Worry etched in those beloved eyes that stare unblinkingly at the spot he just vacated. “Leaving now?” Biting off the words tears clouding your vision mistaking his declaration as rejection pulling the blanket tighter around your plush body.

Forefinger and thumb pinching the end of your soft chin raising your gaze to meet his, “Why would I leave when everything I want and love rests with you.”

“Javier?” Voice wobbling with unshed tears.

Pulling the blanket from your body taking in the curves and dips, the softness he’s itching to get his hands back on. But right now Javier brings the nearest hand to his lips, brushing the knuckles with his mouth mustache tickling your skin. Keeping your eyes locked as he tugs you up into his arms. “I’m serious Y/N I don’t deserve you but without you I’m a shell of a man,” bringing his free hand up to cup your cheek deep russet eyes burning with love staring into yours.

“What are you saying?” Fear coating the words, afraid it’s all a dream and you’ll wake without Javier beside you.

Drawing your mouth closer, strong arm wrapping around your thick waist, “I’m saying I love you Y/N and if you’ll have me I’m yours till you kick me out for driving you crazy.”

“You already do that Javi,” watery giggles escaping your lips that brush his twice. Reaching up to card fingers through the soft strands at the back of his head tugging just a little harder than normal. “Say it again.”

Grunting at the tugs sliding a hand down to cup a generous bare ass cheek to give a squeeze. “Drive you crazy.”

Just barely holding in the squeak, “No,” eyes rolling at his cheek. “You know what I mean Javier Peña.”

“I do,” slotting his mouth against yours stealing the breath from your lungs as he kisses you with a passion never felt before. Barely breaking to mumble those three simple words into your lips, “I love you.” Getting lost in your kiss while silently vowing to never let you go or break your heart.

And when I'm returning from so far away

She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day

Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole

Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul

#Request #Sequel to Heel's #Javier Peña x Plus Size Female Reader #Javier Peña x Plus Size Fem! Reader #Javier Peña x Plus Size F!Reader #Female Reader #Smut

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foxghost · 3 years

Text

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 109

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 24 (Part 4)

Lang Junxia swings his leg over the horse’s back in the dark, and hurriedly leaves as the rest of them stare off after him.

Out of the four, Zheng Yan is the only one looking battered and exhausted. He’s plainly the least involved, yet he’s spent all night running around, swimming one moment and getting injured the next, even jumping into the river twice.

“Come over to my house and let’s get you bandaged,” Duan Ling says.

Zheng Yan hums an agreement absentmindedly, clearly still thinking about something. Duan Ling notices that all of them are out of sorts, though the one who really ought to be preoccupied has to be himself. Wu Du still seems pretty normal, but Chang Liujun and Zheng Yan look like they’re sleepwalking. Duan Ling gives Chang Liujun a pat on the back. “Hey, Chang Liujun? You alright?”

“Just leave me alone!” Chang Liujun flies off the handle.

Chang Liujun has clearly had one too many surprises, and he can’t even walk straight anymore. First it’s Mu Qing getting kidnapped, and him spending most of the night on edge over it, then it’s the crown prince being taken hostage, and finally right before Amga left, he threw them a bolt out of the blue. All this has left him in a state of extreme shock.

But he doesn’t ask any questions at all. As soon as he returns to the estate, he leaves them to report to Mu Kuangda. Duan Ling had been drunk earlier, and the situation changed too quickly; it took him almost an hour of getting windblown by the river before he sobered up and began to feel terrified about the evening well after the fact. He must sort out everything he has learned as soon as possible, for too much has happened this evening.

Once they step through the door, Duan Ling goes looking for an ointment while Zheng Yan ignores them and sits down. “Bring me some wine.”

Meanwhile, Duan Ling gives Wu Du’s chest a pat, and Wu Du nods back at him to let him know he still has the stuff. “I’ll head over to the estate and find him some wine to drink.”

Zheng Yan strips himself down to the waist, leaving his robe bundled up around his waist, revealing an expanse of pale muscle; he’s still deep in thought.

Duan Ling gets the ointment ready and kneels down at his side, planning to apply it to his wounds. “How did you get hurt?”

“Got hit with a sabre underwater,” Zheng Yan replies absentmindedly. He seems rather distracted.

Out of the four assassins, Wu Du held back and bided his time through the entire affair, Chang Liujun didn’t draw his sword, while Lang Junxia dallied over how Cai Yan was on one side and Duan Ling was on the other. Only Zheng Yan threw all his strength behind saving this “crown prince” as though his life depended on it. Why did you work so hard to save him? What did Cai Yan ever give you?

Of course he wasn’t given anything; Zheng Yan had merely fulfilled his duty. Duan Ling did think that the first to jump into the river when Cai Yan fell in would be Lang Junxia; he never thought Zheng Yan would be the one to jump in without any hesitation. As he thinks about this Duan Ling can’t help but feel a bit moved; it may have seemed like the one Zheng Yan saved was Cai Yan, but in reality the one he carried out of the water was actually Duan Ling himself.

Zheng Yan is immersed in his thoughts, a deep furrow forming between his brows. Duan Ling knows that he must have heard what Amga said before he left, and he’s meditating on it now. Has he had some inkling that something isn’t quite right? Duan Ling isn’t sure whether Zheng Yan knows his dad or not, and whose side he’s really on.

Before Duan Ling does anything else, he cleans Zheng Yan’s wound, swollen and pale from all the time it spent in the water. Then he grabs a plate and dissolves the medicinal powder in the ointment. Finally pulling himself back to the present, Zheng Yan turns and stares unblinkingly at Duan Ling.

“What did Amga say in the end?” Zheng Yan says suddenly, “When I came out of the water all I heard was splashing water and I didn’t quite catch it.”

Duan Ling falls silent for a moment before he says, “I didn’t quite catch it either. Let’s take off your glove.”

Zheng Yan puts his hand on the table, and Duan Ling slides his finger under the edge of the glove to take it off. It’s woven with thin silk-like strands of metal, presumably for catching concealed weapons and fighting hand-to-hand against a blade. There’s a black-inked white tiger tattoo in ancient script on the back of Zheng Yan’s hand.

It’s this tattoo again; Lang Junxia’s tattoo is on his arm, Wu Du’s tattoo is on his neck, while Chang Liujun’s tattoo is on his face.

Noticing that Duan Ling has caught sight of his tattoo, Zheng Yan gives him another look.

“It’s the same as Wu Du’s.” Duan Ling leaves the glove in a wooden basin to dry, and cleans Zheng Yan’s arm and palm with a dry cloth before applying ointment.

“Did Chang Liujun catch what he said?” As though he’s turned into someone else, Zheng Yan says coldly.

“I think … he may have caught it.”

And thus Zheng Yan stops talking, and they both fall silent for a bit. Duan Ling finishes applying ointment, wraps Zheng Yan’s arm in bandages, and Zheng Yan’s gaze turns to Duan Ling’s face again.

“You’re rather pretty,” Zheng Yan murmurs, then putting one hand against Duan Ling’s chin to make him look up a little, his eyes focused on Duan Ling’s lips. As he does so his expression changes as though he has a mind to try something. Duan Ling’s heart is drawn all the way to his throat in an instant.

It all happens in the blink of an eye; the corner of Duan Ling’s mouth curls into a half smile, and raising a hand against Zheng Yan’s, he moves it aside. Zheng Yan’s eyebrow draws together in a frown again.

“What are you trying to do?” Duan Ling backs away from him. He wonders if Zheng Yan has discovered anything in that brief moment earlier. He still remembers his father telling him before that the shape of his lips is hereditary. Zheng Yan is familiar with the Marquess of Yao’s family, so he must have met Duan Ling’s aunt as well — would he ever associate Duan Ling’s features to hers?

“Being with Wu Du is boring.” Zheng Yan is back to his usual self, smiling roguishly at him. “Why don’t you come have some fun with me? Let me take good care of you for three days and three nights and you’ll never be able to leave me, I guarantee.”

“Did you teach His Highness how to have fun? I noticed that you were quite ready to jump into the water earlier.”

“Now that’s not something you can just say. You think your head’s attached to your shoulder too securely, I’m afraid?”

Duan Ling wants to change the subject to Cai Yan to get a handle on Zheng Yan’s attitude towards him. “Who was the one that was with him today?”

“That guy’s name is Feng Duo. Treacherous as hell. Don’t get on his bad side.”

Wu Du has come back, and he puts a jar of wine on the table. “Drink it, then hurry up and go. We’re damn sleepy.” Then he starts stripping and changing into the casual clothes he wears at home as if Zheng Yan isn’t even there. As it occurs to him, he says to Duan Ling, “Get Zheng Yan a clean suit of clothes.”

Zheng Yan waves to tell him there’s no need. He picks up the jar, takes a mouthful, and promptly spits out the whole lot.

“What is this? Your piss?” Zheng Yan says with his face contorted.

Wu Du has finished changing his clothes, and folding up those sheets of paper, he puts it in his sword case. “Why do you talk so much? It’s the middle of the night. Where am I supposed to find you good wine? I got that from the kitchen.”

Duan Ling has a headache from the wind, and so he goes to lie down on the bed to listen to their conversation. Wu Du asks Duan Ling, “You asleep?”

“I’m awake.” Duan Ling turns over, facing Wu Du and Zheng Yan. “Who’s Feng Duo?”

“A criminal,” Zheng Yan replies. “He colluded with a foreign power. He was sentenced to death and scheduled to be executed after autumn, but the capital was relocated in autumn so he relocated along with us to Jiangzhou.”

“What was the crime he committed?” Wu Du isn’t really informed about stuff that happened at court either.

Zheng Yan replies languidly, “Thirteen years ago, Southern Chen set up a plan to sow dissension in Liao. Fei Hongde lobbied the Yelü family to accuse the Liao capital’s literati Cai clan of ‘awaiting an opportunity to commit treason’. Before he joined the Shadow Guard, Feng Duo’s older sister married a Cai, and in order to save his sister he leaked this information to Cai Ye. After that he was sold out by someone in the shadow guard and off to jail he went …”

Duan Ling and Wu Du exchange a look, communicating silently that they’re both aware of why Cai Yan chose Feng Duo now. And seemingly not paying any attention, Zheng Yan drinks another mouthful of wine.

At the same time, candle flames flicker in the darkened palace.

As though he’s scared out his wits, Cai Yan keeps gasping for breath. Even after he’s changed his clothes, there’s still nothing but fear in his eyes. His lips have gone pale; he couldn’t calm down.

Lang Junxia is sitting before the table, quietly pondering over his tea.

Cai Yan finally calms himself down, and with a few steps he’s already in front of Lang Junxia. The very moment he reaches out, it’s to slap Lang Junxia across the face in one ringing, clean smack.

“How … How dare you …”

Lang Junxia doesn’t say anything at all, and the next thing Cai Yan does is to kick with all his might, turning over the table in front of him, sending it crashing against the floor.

“Say something!” As though he’s gone mad, Cai Yan howls at Lang Junxia, “Say something —!”

“It’s gotten quite late,” Lang Junxia replies, “you should get some sleep, Your Highness.”

“You traitor!” Cai Yan howls. “You double-crossing turncoat! You scoundrel!”

In a flash, a sword shimmering with cold light is up against Cai Yan’s throat; he hasn’t even noticed when the sword actually left its sheath, and Lang Junxia is already gripping firmly onto the other end of the sword.

He realises then, that he’s dismissed all of his attendants, and Lang Junxia can at any given time run through his throat with a light touch of his blade.

Cai Yan takes a half step back, but the Qingfengjian follows him the same distance, as though it’s his shadow.

“Your Highness mustn’t make so much noise.” Lang Junxia lowers his voice and says solemnly, “Otherwise all that’s going to happen is get us both killed for no good reason.”

Cai Yan calms himself and backs away another half step. This time, the blade does not follow him.

“It’s too late … It’s too late.” Cai Yan says, trembling. “They all heard what he said. Especially Zheng Yan. He’ll definitely tell my uncle.”

“That’s not your uncle.” Lang Junxia sheathes his sword casually, and his tone is without emotion. “That’s someone else’s uncle.”

“You’ll kill him for me, won’t you?” Cai Yan says, gasping. “He got lucky and managed to escape, so you’ll help me kill him again, and then kill everyone who heard those words. Lang Junxia, just like what you promised me — as long as I’m in this position, no living person will ever know.”

“Humans can only do so much,” Lang Junxia says thus, “I’ll try my best. Drink some calming soup and get some sleep. Once you fall asleep you won’t be scared anymore.”

“Kill him. Go kill him now. I’m begging you! Lang Junxia!”

Cai Yan throws himself at him, but Lang Junxia spins around, grabs Cai Yan by the collar, and pushes him to the edge of the bed. He whispers in Cai Yan’s ear, “Your Highness, killing a random person who has nothing to do with you will only make Mu Kuangda suspicious. Don’t forget, Chang Liujun also heard what was said tonight.”

With some difficulty, Cai Yan swallows. Lang Junxia doesn’t say anything else, and he turns to leave the room.

Over and over again, Cai Yan is thinking about how Duan Ling is still alive one moment and the thought fills him with unimaginable fear, then the next moment he’s thinking about how Amga has yelled the truth at them, and how he’s going to have to answer if Li Yanqiu asks him about it. Amga is just trying to throw confusion into the mix! Slander! It’s clearly slander!

On his initial return to court the rumours had been flying as well, and ultimately it was Wu Du who made the final judgement and verified his identity. Yet how has Duan Ling made it to Wu Du’s side?! Wu Du called him “Wang Shan” … Is Wu Du aware of who he is?

Wu Du had never met him before, and Duan Ling also had no way of proving his own identity, so how on earth did he manage to survive?

Cai Yan sits up again, and says to the attendant standing outside, “Send for Feng. Hurry. Send him in.”

Feng comes in, and he’s come in such a hurry that he hasn’t even had a chance to change his clothes. He stands outside the bed curtains and asks, “What does Your Highness require?”

Cai Yan thinks it over for a long time. The words are at the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know where to begin. Finally he can only say with exhaustion, “Sit over there. Just sit down.”

And so Feng sits down nearby. Cai Yan heaves a long sigh, leaning against the pillow, pale and wan, staring weakly at the ceiling of the bed.

“Does Your Highness need to summon the imperial physician to take a look?”

“No.”

He’s already thinking about how he can escape from the palace and leave it all behind, but where can he ever go? Zheng Yan, Wu Du, Chang Liujun … every one of them are experts in the martial arts. Without Lang Junxia’s protection, chasing him down would be child’s play. He has violated the oath he made before Li Jianhong, and it torments him as though he will live in a raging fire for eternity, never shall he find peace.

And even so, he never once thinks about begging for Duan Ling’s forgiveness. He knows that Duan Ling won’t forgive him — even if Duan Ling acquiesces, Li Yanqiu would definitely make mincemeat out of him. Worst comes to worst, he can always poison Li Yanqiu … kill him too … kill everyone … An extremely hideous thought flashes across the recesses of Cai Yan’s mind, and the thought seems to drain him of all his strength, making him fall asleep in a daze.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

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ariadneamare · 3 years

Text

a different name | levihan

synposis: hanji is on tiktok too much

hanji loves to scroll through tiktok and find challenges, and levi has tried his best to take her phone away from her at times

she does not do these pranks at levi alone, but everyone else as well

erwin had a handful of these as well, and if they didn't have years of friendship behind them he would have been angry but this is hanji and everyone has a soft spot for her

so one afternoon, hanji is scrolling through her fyp when she sees this video

and then she just goes "this is the best idea!"

so while levi is away to grab lunch for them, she sets up the camera

and because he has caught her many times, she did her best to hide it somewhere he would not foresee

the camera is set up, and only 5 more minutes until levi arrive

she goes in their office and sit at her desk to act busy

when she hears the door click, she puts on a stoic mask on

hanji could hear the muffled shuffling by the kitchen but she does not move to greet him, she takes a pen and scribbles down on her journal. she tries her best to look busy because levi is an impressive man, and if there was anyone in the world who could read her inside out, that would be levi ackerman.

"oi hanji," he calls out from the kitchen, taking the food out from their container and transferring them to a bowl. "come here, it's time to eat. stop spending too much time with work."

hanji takes a deep breath before replying, "gabe, wait a while okay?"

the kitchen and office might be meters away but levi could have sworn he heard a different name, he tries to call her again to see if he heard right. his chest starts aching, afraid that his guts were telling the truth.

"hanji, i'm not going to say it twice."

she silently curses, not wanting to say the name again but has to for the prank to work. hanji intentionally lets out a loud sigh before answering him, "gabe baby, just a few more minutes."

this time levi knew he heard right, who the fuck was gabe and when the fuck did they use "baby" as nicknames.

he slams the towel on the counter and as soon as hanji heard this, she hurriedly stood up to close the door. before the door shut, levi's foot blocked it and hanji saw her life flash before her eyes.

"who is gabe?" this would have been easier for hanji if levi was shouting at her, she would have preferred it if he did. but no, his voice was small and barely audible. like a pained whisper.

"what do you mean?"

"don't 'what do you mean' me, i know what i heard." levi bites back, folding his arms.

"i said babe," hanji argues while sitting back down. she could see his pained expression but she didn't know when to stop the prank, now or a bit more? "trust me, i never said gabe. i don't even know a gabe, i mean who has that kind of name?" she laughs.

levi stares at her for a good whole minute before clearing his throat, "okay. i must have heard wrong. come, let's eat."

she stands to grab his hand but he flinches, "levi?"

"hmm?"

"it was a prank."

he turns to look at her, and she laughs at this because levi has sharp senses but he looks so confused.

hanji grabs his face and plants a kiss on his forehead before running back to get the phone that was recording.

"tada! i was on tiktok again," hanji grins widely at him.

but levi has a sharp glare, "no lunch for you." he exits the room and holds on to the knob so hanji could not open the door from the inside.

"levi, stop being childish!"

"you started it, four eyes."

"i'll go call gabe then," she mutters while stepping back. already knowing his next step.

the door flies open and he has the same glare he had seconds ago, "come here."

she laughs as she intertwines her pinky finger with his, placing a kiss on his head and muttering an "i love you."

#hanji zoe #levi ackerman #levihan #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi x hanji #levi x hange #levi and hanji #levi and hange #thats levi and hange ;))#tiktok

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patchies · 3 years

Text

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not... Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: slight mentions of amnesia and returning memories

Word Count: 1.5+k

Author's Note: the story's a bit changed now and as you might notice, I deleted the third, fourth and fifth chapter, because I plan on adding more things into the story line that are behind their events. I hope it doesn't bother you, guys, but I promise there won't be anymore changing. Fingers crossed.

Wattpad link: here

story masterlist - main masterlist

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Chapter 3: The Art of War

You both decide that the best course of action is to take advantage of the daylight and get to work on fortifying your base with items you'd found beforehand. Nick proves to be lot of help as you dance around each other in sync and ask for assistance whenever it's needed. You didn't think that you'd be working as a unit even after knowing each other for barely twenty-four hours. The chemistry between you is uncommonly good, but it might be because of the events of last night.

You sometimes bump the other's arm, but Nick has an exceptional number of questions and requests thrown your way every time it happens.

Though, one of his requests seems unusual.

“Hey, mind handing me the paint brush from the shelf?”

Your gaze shifts from his figure and the aforementioned item quizzically, wondering what he'd need it for. Although your confusion seeks answers to your silent question, you slowly move towards the shelf, not daring to turn your back towards him as the neutral and almost bored look his face sports tells you he has something mischievous on his mind. Or strange.

The feel of the brush is surprisingly very familiar in your hand, light as a feather. It's as if it was speaking to you, tempting you. Foggy memories buzz around your mind space and as a spark flies through your head, you grimace uncomfortably. Nick gives you a worrying glance, but doesn't approach you further. Nor does he speak to you since he can see the slight pain going across your features.

With a noticeable shake of your head, you push the thought away, opting to focus on the matter at hand, “What exactly is it that you want to do with a brush that serves for painting the walls?”

“I was thinking–“

“That's dangerous for you,” you interrupt, “don't want your brain to fry, do we?”

“As I was saying, I was thinking,” he playfully glares at you, “that we could paint few signs with threats to ward the intruders off.”

“Nick–“

“Hold that thought,” he advances towards you with a grin, waving his hands to help himself articulate his plan better, “I know it sounds stupid, which I don't think it does, but let's go with that, you gotta trust me. How many people would decorate their outer walls with childish signs that warn them?”

“Exactly–“

“Nah-uh! It does sound dumb when I say it like that, but it's worth a shot, ain't it?”

You sigh loudly and, with the acceptance of loss, hand him the tool. He squeals a small 'yes!' in victory and pumps his fist into the air, doing a little dance. You huff out a laugh, finding the situation funny despite him asking for a small and unimportant thing.

“Indeed. Truly a child at the heart, aren't you?”

“I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

With his small victorious moment over, he bounds from your view and you can hear the ruckus of pans and pots banging in seconds, only imagining the man-child ransacking the whole kitchen for who-knows-what. You return to your assigned job and wait for him to come back, opting to busy yourself with work as he searches for what he supposedly needs for his plan.

• • •

After what feels like an hour, Nick returns with buckets of various colours. Three hanging of each arm as he stabilizes his body to prevent the disaster in the form of bright pink, purple and red along with their neon variables. He motions towards the buckets with his head, prompting you to help him get them down. You cross your arms across your chest, sassily pointing to the sofa you've moved to the corner of the room, “You can put it there, can't you?”

“Oh, damn. That's what I get for helping you?”

You roll your eyes, but go slip the heavy containers off of his arms, carefully putting them on their respective spots on the ground near the wooden boards, “Where did you even find these, Nick?”

He puts his finger to his mouth, shushing you in the process, “A magician never reveals his secret, does he now?”

“You're not a magician, dude.”

“Let a poor guy dream, will you?”

Rather than answering his rhetorical question, you squat down before flopping onto the floor on your bottom, beckoning him to do the same. Nick follows, unhooking another brush from his belt hoops and presents it to you with the handle pointing towards you.

“Why thank you for this beautiful stuff I can wield with exceptional power,” you take the tool from him and instantly bend forward to tap both his shoulders with the bristles, “I now pronounce you as the Majesty's guard.”

“Who's the child now?”

“Still not me,” you press the handle to your sternum proudly, mischief flashing across your eyes, “We better start painting or we'll never get anything done. How exactly do you imagine the finished product to look?”

“I don't know,” he shrugs, “Improvise.”

“The instructions I, oh so, craved,” you shake your head, dipping the brush into the bright red absentmindedly. Nick slides one board over to you and you apply the first stroke, paint gliding across the surface smoothly.

The same faint memory flickers in your mind.

This one is clearer and you can even distinguish an image forming.

Confusion etches onto your face unknowingly to you, but the man across you catches onto your expression when he lifts his head. His eyes observe your own clouded orbs and he gently sets his brush on the floor, cocking an eyebrow as yours furrow together. He watches for any signs of you returning back to the present despite him not knowing what's going through your head.

He'd very much like to know, but of course, he'll wait until you will be ready tell him what's up.

Before he knows it, you're shaking your head to get rid of the picture in your mind. Nick gives you a worrying glance, silently asking you if you're okay with a quick raise of his chin.

“I'm fine, don't worry.”

With your disorientation and slower reaction time, you hardly get to register his movement and it takes your brain a couple more minutes (having to cross your eyes to confirm his actions, too) to realize he's booped your nose.

With neon pink paint.

Neon.

Pink.

Paint.

Instead of an outburst like he seems to have expected, you let your face stay stoic.

Silence envelops you both, sitting there and waiting for the others' move.

Few of the birds you have around the neighbourhood happily chirp and only after a while does a sinister smile appear, “I see. A death wish.”

Nick scrambles to his feet as quickly as he can, but you're faster, curling your nimble fingers around his ankle and harshly pulling him back down to the floor.

He lets out a small 'oof!', eyes wide with fear when he gets a glimpse of you.

For a reason, might you add, as you swing your arm at his head with a bright red paint brush in your hand, striking the right side of his hair.

An offended look crosses his face, “You did not.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You'll pay.”

“Bring it,” you challenge and have just enough time to duck out of the way, barely missing his attack of purple. You crawl away from him on all fours, before standing up swiftly and booking it down the stairs, Nick's yells following you as he chases after you with a readied brush.

Though, just before you get to the stairs, he tackles you to the side and sits on your back to prevent you from running away. You feel the paint glide across the back of your thighs, “Another point for me.”

“We're doing points now?”

“You better catch up, slowpoke, or else I'm going to destroy you–”

The answer he gets to his call-up is a strike of red to his torso and a laugh as you dash down to hide, the signs left forgotten.

• • •

By the end of your small war, you come out with multiple colourful splotches on both the back and front of your thighs and few on your arms and face. You have basically come out unscratched compared to your human counterpart.

He's very close to being a living highlighter.

You have mainly struck him with neon colours and the occasional red that he rightfully deserved. His whole torso, chest and back now adore beautiful variants of pink and purple with some places being neon red.

His painted arms are actually not your doing, despite him throwing the blame at you in the heat of the moment. With how he had declared the war in the first place, you were surprised he was the one who called truce in the end.

After washing up (which, to be truthful, didn't do much), you went to tidy everything up and got back to building defences as the sun has not gone down yet.

At the end of the day, you've done quite a good amount of work on your base, but you can't take away the fun Nick made with the paint war you had. You can only hope it'll be enough to keep away the Shadows and not attract more attention than you can fight off.

You fall asleep quite easily, exhausted to the brim from the day's events.

#technoblade #dream #sapnap #apocalypse au #reader insert #mcyt x reader #mcyt #techno #dream team #dream x reader #dreamwastaken #l'manburg #shadows #??? x reader

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

Written for @fade-touched-obsidian‘s birthday, which was....nearly two months ago. BUT IT IS DONE NOW, and quite frankly two months is better than some of my other late-birthday posts 🤣

The sedan is stifling.

It may be the luxury size, purchased through the deep pockets of the Wisteria’s business accounts, but the real leather interior presses in too tight, crushing her beneath the weight of her choices. This is what Shirayuki’s leaving behind: plush seats and plastic dividers, penthouse views and double ovens, the sort of security only money could buy.

She’d never wanted it; it had all just come part and parcel of being with Zen, the baseline for orbiting in the same stratosphere as his social circle. None of it had ever felt natural; guilt dogged her every time she slipped into the back seat of an empty car instead of the front, every dish left in the sink for the cleaning service smacked of superiority, and having a doorman--

Well, she’d been late to more than a few galas because she got caught up chatting. It was rude to just blow by someone without even a hello, and if Antonio had a new picture of his granddaughter, she couldn’t possibly pass without a coo or two over the sweet Sharpei of a baby his daughter, the light of his life, had given birth to.

Haruka had frowned at that one, digging the corners of his mouth to new depths as he told her, one is not late to a charity gala because they are indulging The Help.

Shirayuki tightened her arms around her diffenbachia, burying her face in its spotted leaves. It’s so clear now, so obvious: she was never going to fit in. There was never going to be room for her in Zen’s life. She was never going to be able to turn off the parts of her that saw other people as people; even if she could, she would never want to. Not even for him.

The radio flicks on, the smooth strains of Clair de Lune tumbling through the air, making the cab lighter, more spacious.

“Debussy?” she hums, the diffenbachia rustling with her curiosity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a classical lover.”

Obi huffs, affront entirely feigned. “I’m a man of many depths.”

Shirayuki lifts her head, looking at the console’s digital display. “It was a preset, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “It was a preset. I thought you might like it better than smooth jazz or whatever else comes standard with wood interiors.”

“Probably.” She shifts back, removing her whole head from her leafy escape and settling it on the rest. It’s fine; she’ll be fine. Maybe it took six years to figure out what she should have known in six months, but she knows better now. No compromising, not like...that. Not with how she lives her life.

“So.” Obi’s gloves tighten on the wheel, leather creaking against leather. “You’re single now.”

Shirayuki nearly drops the whole vase. Not that it has far to go from her lap to the floor, but her plants have been shaken up enough the past few days. “E-excuse me?”

“For a whole--” he checks the dash with a grin that can mean nothing but trouble-- “forty-five minutes.”

“It’s been a week,” she reminds him primly, squeezing the diffenbachia for support. “Ever since--”

(”I can explain,” Zen says, fingers spiking runnels through his hair. “I wanted to do this in person--”)

“Sure,” Obi interjects smoothly. “But it’s only been forty-five minutes since you moved out of your sugar daddy’s apartment.”

“Zen was not my-- my--” the sedan is soundproof; Obi informed them all of it the moment he’d driven it off the lot, even if the way he said it had made Mitsuhide snap his name like a whip crack. She lowers her voice anyway. “Daddy.”

Obi’s hum does not fill her with confidence.

“He was only seven months older than me!” she huffs. “It’s biologically impossible for him to be a big brother let alone a-- a father.”

“Daddy is a state of mind, not an age gap. Though I’ll grant you--” his teeth flash, quick as a bear trap-- “boss doesn’t have much of that going for him either.”

It would undermine her point entirely to start arguing this one-- lord knows she doesn’t have a single horse in the race on how daddy Zen is anymore, if she ever did-- but her gut instinct is to hunker down on this hill and die on it. One she stifles successfully.

It’s not her job to staunchly defend Zen Wisteria anymore, and certainly not from Obi. And to be fair, out of any of them, she trusts Obi to have the most sense of...daddy, whatever that may be. Hopefully, he’ll never enlighten her.

“I didn’t take any of his money.” Every word tips stiffly from her tongue. “Nothing...personal. Only what was given to me as an employee.”

Beneath his shades, Obi softens. “I know that, Miss. I wasn’t trying to say...” He sighs, leather gloves flexing on the wheel. “That wasn’t my point.”

Her fingers ease where they splay over the pot. “Then what was?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His mouth twitches at a corner, and--

“Isn’t it about time to find a new one?”

“You know,” Obi hums, fumbling with the guest house keys. “You can’t ignore the question forever.”

She squints up at the sky-- it’s a pure blue here, not covered with the haze that settles over most of LA, the one way to tell they’re no longer in the city anymore-- and sniff, “I think you’ll find I can.”

“Come on, Miss.” With a bump of his hip, the door swings open, the bags dangling from his shoulder helping it complete its arc instead of clapping back on him. Because it’s not a thin little beach screen, made to shiver open at the slightest touch, but a solid, weighted thing, made to hold up against everything but an LAPD battering ram. And maybe even then.

Shirayuki spares it a concerned glance, nearly missing as Obi adds, “You need to secure your future.”

“I thought that was what I was doing,” she mutters, toeing off her tennis shoes by the door. “Or am I working for Izana for my health now?”

Obi clucks his tongue, unceremoniously dropping their bags in the hall. “Well sure, but you should be doing it the fun way.”

Her eyebrows climb up the short jaunt to her hairline. “Am I to take it that the ‘fun way’ is on my back?”

“Can’t think of many things that are more fun,” he laughs, like she should know, like at her age this is an experience they must be able to share. She pads down the hall after him, shoulder rounding over her cross arms. Clearly she’s had the opportunity. Six years in a relationship; anyone else would have, but--

“At least,” he continues, words scattering her thoughts like crows on a wire, “you should be able to live off being pretty.”

She coughs out a laugh. “I think you have to be a good deal prettier than me to manage that.”

He hesitates at the end of the hall, natural light limning his long limbs, making him seem taller, broader than he is. His head turns, just enough to catch her in one eye, and the look he rakes up her--

“Maybe in this town,” he rasps.

Her hands fall numb against the twill of her trousers, and she begs them to do something, anything but lay there boneless; to reach out the scant space between them--

But the moment’s gone, quick as it starts.

“Ooh, look at this,” Obi says with a whistle. “There’s a kitchen.”

“The apartment had a kitchen too, you know.”

Obi barely looks up from the drawer he’s inspecting, fussing with something that looks both like a corkscrew and a garlic press. “Yeah but this one’s bigger. It’s got double ovens.”

“We already had double ovens,” she deadpans. “There’s only two of us, we don’t need a kitchen the size of--”

“Ooh,” he sighs rapturously, “there’s a gas range and a cook top.”

“What?” She scurries over beside him, playing a hand on the cold metal. Opa would have killed for a set up like this. “Oh, now that can make a lot of pancakes.”

“And bacon,” he adds, giving it a solid tap. “And check out that view.”

His arm snakes around her shoulders, turning her. “Wha--?”

Oh. Oh.

“The beach,” she murmurs, watching the surf crash against the rocks, right at her feet. Or beneath her feet, from how the cliff is shaped. “It’s right down there.”

“I bet it’s private,” Obi murmurs, voice rumbling against her ear. “Except for paparazzi and their telephoto lenses, of course.”

She waves him away, like a horse does with flies. “Beaches are public property, and trying to restrict access is wrong on an ethical level, never mind that--”

“Right, but consider,” he hums, batting away her hands and her protests, “that you don’t have to share it with anyone else.”

Well, he does have a point there. “But public beaches always have the best snack stands.”

“We can just bring our own snacks.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You could have one of your weird little veggie boards down there because you can just carry it.”

“There’s nothing weird about enjoying vegetables.” Her elbow prods at his side; it’s solid beneath the cotton of his button-down, barely flinching even when she nudges him square in the oblique. “You just have the palate of a kindergartner.”

Obi presses a scandalized hand to his chest, silk tie rumpling askew beneath his palm. “Please, Miss, you wound me. I select my snacks with no personal regard for health or authority, which is fourth grade at least.”

She bats away his hands to slip her fingers around the knot, tugging it straight. “You’ll eat hummus.”

“Because it tastes good with pita chips. Now, Miss...” He casts a quick glance toward the second floor, mouth already twitching. “Do you think our rooms are adjoined?”

Shirayuki blinks, trying to imagine a purpose for it. The guest house itself was mystery enough-- after all, any business partner Izana wanted to impress would stay at a property of their own, or failing that a hotel, somewhere they could guarantee no Wisteria would be listening when they went to decompress from the day. And a personal guest of Izana--

Well, all his family lived within driving distance. And his friends were...few and local, if his soirees were any indication. “Why would they be?”

“For old time’s sake.” His smile’s all trouble as he saunters to the stairs. “Just like Tanbarun.”

“Hopefully not just.” Although Shirayuki can firmly say that having the breaks cut at Vitsjo was the worst experience she’s ever had with a millionaire, a double kidnapping ranks somewhere in the top ten.

She nearly says so; the quip is hanging at the end of her lips, poised to jump. But she glances up first, just in time to see every muscle in Obi’s body gone stiff, his jaw locked tight and his gaze a hundred miles away.

No. Five years. His body might be here with her, standing in a guest house the size of her childhood home, but his mind is back there, in a room that’s empty and a balcony door hanging on its hinges.

“Obi...” she breathes.

His body jerks, like someone’s yanked all his strings, and when he turns his smile hangs wrong from his mouth, never quite reaching his eyes.

“I hope the beds are those big fuck off kind,” he says, words hurtling from him joylessly. “That seems like His Majesty’s style. The kind that can fit five people and all their emotional baggage.”

His knuckles are white where they wrap around the wrought-iron banister, clenched so hard she’s sure black will flake off when he moves it. She takes a single, painful step toward him. “Obi...”

“Oh dear,” a voice hum, pleasant and smooth like suede. “I’m so sorry to disappoint.”

Haki Arleon-- no, Haki Wisteria now, leans in the doorway, smile just as radiant as when all her billboards. “But they’re only kings.”

(“So when are we going to meet the lady of the hour?” Obi asks, tie already loose around his neck. His waistcoat’s still neat, pressed so it clings to the narrow curve of his torso, but his jacket’s well on the way out the door. It hardly makes sense; that’s what he wears usually, easy as breathing, but with two drinks in him it hangs limp on his shoulder, just asking to slide off them. “This mystery Mrs Wisteria.”

“Future Mrs Wisteria,” Mitsuhide corrects, tugging at his cuffs. “And you’re not strictly supposed to know that. This is just Ms Haruto’s retirement party.”

“Right, and her retirement plan is grandkids,” Obi huffs, scanning the ballroom. “So where is she? I want Miss to start murmuring to me about Punnett.”

“I would never.” Shirayuki wobbles on her heels-- too tall, but Kiki said that anything less than three inches would be informal in this crowd-- relaxing when Obi’s hand grips her elbow. “Besides, Punnett squares only work for Mendelian traits. Once you get into eye color there’s at least eight known alleles involved--”

Obi’s hand slides to her back, hot even through the silk of her dress. His eyes are the same, that molten honey they melts to when he’s been frequenting the open bar and-- and maybe it’s about time she quits her cosmopolitans too, if she only feels steady holding onto the hem of his waistcoat. “Save the pillow talk for the bedroom, Miss.”

Her teeth snick shut. She can’t remember what she was about to say anyway.

“If you’re so interested in seeing her--” Zen jerks his chin over to the head table where Izana sits, Haruto radiant beside him, wearing an inoffensive smile-- “she’s already over there.”

Obi cranes his neck-- well, they all do, but he’s the least subtle about it, not even trying to cover his gawking. “It’s all just some old fogies your family does business with and-- no way.” His head swings back, eyes round as saucers. “Are you kidding me?”

Shirayuki squints, and the blonde head to his other side resolves into a pretty woman, her smile twice as bright and a hundred times more genuine. It’s her the men are flocking around tonight, but she hovers at Izana’s side, a hair’s breadth away from touching. “Oh, isn’t that the woman who was running the funding drives at Lilias? Ah, what was her name...?”

Gold eyes fix on her, no longer molten honey but hard flashes of coin. “Haki Arleon?”

Silly of her to forget; she shook her hand and everything. “Oh! Yes, that sounds right.”

Kiki shakes her head. “Only you, Shirayuki...”

“Wha--?”

“That’s Haki Arleon,” Zen tells her, as if Obi hadn’t said it already. “She’s--”

“The top of Maxim’s Hot 100,” Obi offers, followed by Mitsuhide’s stern, “Obi!”

Zen sighs. “She’s Hollywood royalty.”

“One of the most famous actresses of the last decade,” Kiki continues at her blank look. “She won an Oscar at sixteen...?”

“Oh.” She certainly looks magazine perfect now, every fold of her dress laying just right along the curves of her body, not a pinch of mascara out of place. “I don’t really watch movies.”)

That Haki Arleon is not the one that stands before her now. Though to be fair, she’s not the same Shirayuki Lyon she was then, either.

“You’re here.” America’s Sweetheart slumps across their spotless hardwood floor, flopping onto the sectional. “Finally. Save me.”

(”Is this where you ask me to sign an NDA?” The limo’s hardly pulled away from the curb, but Shirayuki’s temper is already boiling, rattling the top of the pot. “Do I need to sign an affidavit to say nothing happened between us? Should I send the Inquirer a note about how I no longer exist?”

Izana hums, his annoyance a dangerous buzz beneath his tongue. “There’s no need to be quite so melodramatic, doctor.”

“Isn’t there?” She rattles the tabloid in her hand, every word from her mouth so waspish it could sting. “This is your work, isn’t it? You’re the reason--”

He leans, one long-fingered hand plucking the paper out of her grasp. “There are reasons more innumerable than I can mention as to why the future folded out into this particular pattern, but if you are accusing me of holding the scissors to my brother’s apron strings in order to gt my way, I must gladly disappoint you.”

Her whole body aches from the rictus she holds it in. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that I did not ask you into this car to talk about my brother’s inability to properly navigate his love life,” Izana replies, sour, one leg crossing sulkily over the other. “I asked you here to offer you a proposition.”

She takes in one deep, steeling breath, then another. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not interested in any of your--”

“It is a professional proposition,” he informs her swiftly, nipping her complains in the bud. “I would like to hire you. For...in-house care.”

“Are you ill?” For how much rage had been rattling in her bones for the last half hour, it’s strange how quickly it evaporates in the face of her concern. “Does Zen know? No, is it your mother--?”

He raises a hand, quieting her. “No, not me, nor my mother, though I appreciate your concern. It’s...” Izana may have his reputation as a man who mountains find impassive, but for a moment she sees it, true fear flashing across his eyes. “...My wife.”)

There is no photoshop perfection as Shirayuki kneels in front of her, fingers pressed to the racing pace of her pulse. “Are you sleeping?”

“A little.” Haki squirms under her touch, her body angled as much away from her as she can manage. “Some. Barely.”

“But you’re tired?” She’s wan underneath her natural tan, the sort of stark white that says anemia. Already Shirayuki’s riffling through panels in her head, wishing she had a phlebotomy department at her fingertips. Then again, maybe she does; she’ll have to ask Izana just how much medical care will be magically available to her. “Have you been keeping anything down?”

“Hm...” She coughs, delicate. “Yes?”

Haki might win awards for her acting, but it will take a better liar than that to fool her by omission. “Have you been eating?”

America’s Sweetheart gives a very unphotogenic grimace.

“I had a yogurt.” Shirayuki sits back, waiting for the list, but it doesn’t come. Instead Haki just slips from her grip, palms pressing into the cushions as she strives for a casual lean. “And some of that tea you sent me. That stuff’s been great.”

“Oh, that’s just-- it’s ginger tea.” She sits back on the cassock, waving off her praise. “With some lemon and a few other things. Nothing special.”

“Miss is being too humble,” Obi rumbles from his corner, slinking out to perch on the sofa’s arm. “She stayed up all night making that stuff.”

“It’s important to get the proportions right,” Shirayuki informs him, prim. “Both for effectiveness, and preg-- er....”

Haki’s brows raise, and for a moment, she looks just like her cover on Vogue, arch and pleased. “Well, I see that cat’s out of the bag.”

“Ah...” She sheepishly rubbed at her cheek. “Izana did mention it...”

(”You understand nothing I tell you can leave this car, correct?” Even in his vulnerability, Izana is implacable; an unmovable edifice between her and his loved ones, as unnecessary as it is. “We had only just heard the heartbeat before this all started, and if word were to get out and we...she...”

For once, Izana Wisteria flounders, at a loss. “It’s rare for a fetus to fail after seven weeks,” she offers, biting back the actual number. Five percent only seems low to people already in the other percentile. “A miscarriage--”

“Can’t ever get out.” He huffs, agitated. “I am aware that you do not follow celebrity gossip avidly, but my wife...”

Shirayuki had always been under the impression this had been an arrangement, something forged from good business sense and perhaps a hint of mutual trust. They’d grown up together, after all-- at least that’s what Zen whispered in her ear at the wedding, watching them sweep across the floor. But now--

Now he falters again. “Every moment of her life has been for public consumption, even her grief. I won’t give them this.”

If it were anyone else, Shirayuki would lean forward. She’d put her hand over theirs, giving a comforting squeeze as she told them just what they needed to hear, the way they needed to hear it. It was her gift, after all, knowing how to tell both the best and worst of news.

But instead she looks at him, steel in her spine, and tells him, “You won’t have to.”)

“I take it the vomiting is still frequent, then?” Shirayuki takes in the dark circles around her eyes, the dull sheen of her skin. “Even though you’re not eating.”

She at least has the grace to look abashed, caught out like she is. “I am...it’s just better when I don’t.”

Her palms tap absently on her knees, fingers wishing they had a keyboard to key entries into while she thought. “We’ll have to go over your full medical history before I make any recommendations, but you need fluids-- plenty of them.”

“I drink--”

“No, I mean IVs,” Shirayuki clarifies with a shake of head. “We’ll have to call the hospital, see if--”

“No hospitals.” Haki stares back at her firmly, unmoving. “That’s how the tabloids find you.”

“Izana mentioned that too.” She sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “We don’t really like doing IVs out of the hospital without some support staff, but I might be able to get someone to come out...”

Haki waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Just ask for what you need, and Izana can get the hospital to make it happen.”

Oh, how she’d love to be a fly on Garrack’s wall for that conversation. “We’ll see. Until then, let’s just make sure you’re comfortable.”

Twelve hours later, Obi closes the sedan door after Haki, making sure the bucket is appropriately situated in her lap. “Comfortable, huh?”

She sighs. “It was a nice thought. You can get her to the hospital--?”

“Well.” His teeth flash white under the lamps. “I certainly know the way.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #seven swipes #seven suitors #modern au #ans #listen i still struggle with whether ENOUGH happened this chapter #and then i realize that like #if you did not already read seven suitors #OR you're you know...not me #there is a BUNCH of new info in here #this is the hardest thing about adapting this...i'm a much more proficient writer #so i know how to keep the story more active #but also i feel like i have to retread SO MUCH #but it actually stands just fine on its own #DEEP SIGH writer problems

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

The Killing Cure (Part 12)

It’s been a hot minute but I’m back from my vacation. I mentioned on my other fic that I just got a new job so updates will still probably be slow as I now have a job on top of art fight, a zine, two other fics, and an original story. So a big thanks to everyone who sticks with this one and for all of the patience.

Out of all of the beings that roam this godforsaken Earth, humans, monsters, mutants...it is Winters. Winters who has been on her mind since she kissed him. She wishes that she could call it an impulse but is it really an impulse if she had been thinking--however loosely--about it for several days before?

She wishes that he would do something to make her irreparably mad. But he doesn’t, he only ever seems to make her feel a sense of comfort. Even now when she is cringing at the sight of herself in a pair of pants, the man stands behind her with a collection of compliments. “You look great.” He promises. “It’s going to take some getting used to, you being dressed down, but it’s nice.”

Nice. He thinks that she looks nice. It is such a simple word, so plain, ordinary. But it means everything to her. Everything when she has felt anything but nice or attractive… “I’ve looked better.” She waves the compliment off. But, by God, it has taken at least some of the edge off of her mild sense of self loathing.

Ethan shrugs. “You just have to get used to streetwear.”

She chances another look in the mirror; she supposes that it isn’t quite so horrible. The shirt is loose and breathable though the linen fabric isn’t as kind on her skin as many of her gowns are. The pants are less comfy, more restrictive than her dresses but are easier to maneuver in without tripping. And she supposes that they don’t look too unflattering on her.

She jerks when Ethan suddenly thumps her hat onto her head. He laughs at her little jolt. “Do not test me, Winters! We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“Just trying to help.” He replies. “I didn’t want you to forget your favorite hat.”

He favorite hate is actually several sizes too big for her and sits draped over a chair. But with an exact replica of it, she decides that the technicalities aren’t worth mentioning. “Are my girls ready?”

“They’re your daughters, you check on them.”

.oOo.

He watches Alcina make her way out of the room. Words and hissed out promises aside, the woman has become increasingly less hostile since she’d kissed him. He smiles to himself, at least he isn’t the most awkward of the two of them anymore. At least, he isn’t alone in his conflicted, affectionate feelings.

She comes back with her daughters in tow; Bela has a grip on her left hand and Cassandra holds the left. Daniela, untethered, zips about, occasionally cutting in front of the other three before falling behind once more. The three of them are bundled up heavily, almost absurdly so. Alcina comes to a stop at the center of the room and Daniela takes the opportunity to lift her off of the ground.

“Daniela…” she grumbles through clenched teeth, “we talked about this…”

The woman cackles and puts her mother back down before bursting into a cloud of flies and rebuilding herself several feet away. Ethan has never seen anyone look less amused than Alcina in that moment. “We’re ready, Ethan.”

A jolt of adrenaline pulses through him, it is once again real. His mission is once again in sight and the dangers are once again going to be pressing. He wonders if Alcina is nervous now that illness has taken the place of a powerful mutation. She is just an ordinary woman with very basic gun skills. She gives no indication of nervousness, regardless of how she feels within.

Having grown used to the warmth of Castle Dimitrescu the cold stikes Ethan’s face as tough tendrils of the aurora borealis have reached down and coiled around his face. His is overcome by shivers, he can only imagine how the fly beasts are handling it. He doesn’t have to imagine it, one look behind him and he knows that they are recoiling. He thinks that he can hear faint crackles.

His speculation becomes knowledge when he sees the panic on Alcina’s face. Without a word of warning, she grabs all three of her daughters and, with more strength than he realized small Alcina has, ushers them back into the warmth of the castle.

Ethan follows her back inside. Her face is twisted in distress and concern, her breathing hastened. “Oh, my poor dears.” She mumbles more to herself than any of the three. “My poor little darlings…” She sandwiches Daniela’s hands between hers. “Winters, you get them some blankets, now.”

Stress pinches her tone and he elects to ignore the snappiness of her request. She holds Daniela to her chest, letting the woman drink in her body heat.

.oOo.

Were she herself she would be more efficient. She would mostly envelop Daniela until the frost retracts from her skin. Having skipped the test steps and thrown herself headfirst into the frosty outside world, the woman had taken the worst of its merciless frigidness--she is too bold for her own safety.

Alcina holds her so close--feeling the woman’s shivers and shakes--and brushes her hand over her hair. For once she finds herself thankful for her softness, it gives her an added warmth which she extends to Daniela. She has the urge to squeeze the woman but she must handle her with care, she is so terribly fragile right now.

Ethan comes back with three blankets which he wraps around Bela and Cassandra and then over Daniela’s. “Thank you, Ethan.” She murmurs as she continues to stroke Daniela’s hair. “We will have to see if the Duke will be a gentleman enough to look after my daughters while I’m gone.”

Ethan nods.

“Mother, it’s so cold.” Bela whimpers.

“It hurts.” Cassandra adds.

“I know dears, it’s going to be alright.”

“I think that I’m dying, mother.”

Alcina shakes her head, “no, Daniela. You’re going to be just fine, dear. We’ll get you nice and warm again.” She kisses the top of her head.

“I saw a deer pretty close by, I can get them some warm deer blood.” Ethan offers.

“Yes, Ethan, that would be ideal.”

With only a nod, he makes his way outside again. There is a new fluttering in her belly alongside the anxious tickles. She isn’t sure what to make of these flutters. But she knows where they come from. She watches Ethan through the window, watches him chase the deer down, likely cussing and shouting. She observes and she can’t help but let her mind wander. She barely knows him beyond the very basics. She has mostly tormented the man, mocked him. And yet he is good to her. He is kind to her girls. They aren’t even his own and yet he is fetching meals and warmth for them.

.oOo.

Ethan is completely drained by the time he gets back from his deer hunt. Physically and mentally--he can’t hold it against them, it isn’t the fault of the daughters that they can’t endure the cold. But it is still a setback. Still one more day away from finding Rose. One more day that leads her closer to a heinous sort of death.

He leaves the deer on the table, decidedly the girls can eat it raw and he can fix himself and Alcina a meal. Or perhaps she’d be willing to do the cooking this time. He opens his mouth to call for the daughters but the flies are already gathering. Three identical swarms that take shape.

“Where’s your mother?” He asks at the shaping of Cassandra.

The girl shrugs, “either the kitchen, having a bath, or the bedroom.”

“I’ll check the kitchen.” He knows that she is there before he reaches it. He isn’t exactly sure what she is cooking but she has added what smells like an overabundance of spice.

“What are we cooking?”

“I am cooking soup.” Alcina sets a bowl on the table. “Just a little recipe that Donna showed me.”

“She really loves her spices.”

Alcina shakes her head, “I like spices. Donna cooks her food quite bland. Donna favors simplicity.”

“Your daughters seem like they are recovering well.”

She sighs, “they should be in bed resting.” She clicks her tongue. “I can never get them to rest well. Daniela wakes up and then all three of them are awake.”

Ethan laughs, “sounds about right, kids are just like that no matter how old they get.” He pauses, “do you need rest?”

Alcina thinks for a moment, “I will be fine for now. The medications are working quite sufficiently.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You sound unhappy.”

“I was hoping to be well on our way to find Rose.” He sees the vexation flash across her face but before she can rave at him he adds, “it’s...fine, it isn’t their fault. Just frustrating circumstances.” This answer seems to placate the woman. She silently continues eating her soup. He has to admit that it isn’t bad at all. Perhaps a little strong for his tastes but he is just thankful that he didn’t have to cook this time. “You don’t seem all too happy either.” He comments after pushing his bowl aside.

Alcina stares into her empty soup bowl. “I’m afraid of losing my girls. Today was a reminder of just how easily it can happen. They’ve been in more danger lately than they have been in, in years…” She stands and beckons for him to follow. Once upon a time, perhaps only a week or so ago, he would have hesitated. This time he trails closely behind her.

“I have a feeling that everyone will be too preoccupied trying to kill us to go after them.” He shrugs. He supposes that that isn’t all too reassuring. He is surprised to see her smile slightly and nod in agreement. There is something comforting about her willingness to die in place of her daughters, to put herself in danger to keep it far away from them. Humanity, he realizes. And he realizes too, that she would have done the same prior to his arrival. Humanity in a woman who, at that point, hadn’t been human in so long.

He watches her climb onto her bed. She gives a rather dramatic sigh and mutters, “I should make sure that my girls are…”

“I can get them into bed.” He doesn’t allow for protest. Rather, he slips out of the room and herds the three of them into their room.

“Do we get another bedtime story, Winters?” Bela asks.

“I wasn’t planning--”

“We need a story to sleep.” Daniela insists. “Mother always reads to us.”

And thus he finds himself suckered into reading them to sleep a second time. Alcina, he finds, has nodded off in his absence and jolts awake at his sudden reappearance. She grumbles something, that he can’t quite catch, about knocking first. “Sorry.” He mouths. Truth be told, he isn’t sure why he has come back to her room instead of going to the guest bedroom. “They’re all tucked in and read to.”

The smile she gives him this time is much softer than usual, sleepier too. It is pleasant, inviting. He finds himself wondering, again, who she had been before the mutation. What she had been like prior to Mother Miranda. She pats a spot on the bed next to her.

“Thank you for caring for my girls. They can be...difficult to manage when it is just me.”

“You’re…” he feels her weight shift onto him. “You’re welcome.” He chances holding her with his right arm. When she doesn’t jerk away or protest, he strokes her hair, trying to ease her stress away. He thinks that it is working.

It must be... She said it wouldn’t happen again, he knew that she was lying, he just didn’t expect her to stray from her promise so soon; she kisses his neck. And when she closes her eyes and rests her head against him, her curls tickle his neck. He holds his hand against her cheek--he supposes that he will be spending another night in her company. A night with her in his arms.

#Alcina Dimitrescu #Lady Dimitrescu #Ethan Winters #Alcina/Ethan #Fanfiction

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

Whatever It Takes : RELOADED

More safe house shenanigans as the gang looks for leads.

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : My Damsel in Distress

Delayed Flight

John 'Soap' MacTavish

Task Force 141 - Disbanded

Safehouse 110197, Brazil

Soap haven't slept like this for quite a long time. He almost felt guilty that he's peacefully sleeping all while the world was in chaos.

Slowly got up after noticing that Alex and Ghost were still asleep beside him, they looked like they just slept and he didn't bother waking them up for breakfast. Another scan of the room indicated that everyone else is downstairs.

John quickly tiptoed across the room and swung the door open. On the other side of the door was France who looked focused while carrying two mugs of coffee.

"Oh! You're up!" she said in surprise as her coffee mugs wobbled. John's quick reflex immediately caught her hands and held them tight until it stabilized.

"I'm sorry I surprised you. Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, a smirk escaped his face as he noticed a faint blush from the female's cheek.

"Yeah. I brought you coffee since the hot water was almost out and you were still asleep." she stammered, not making eye contact to him. Soap looked curious, where was the woman that confidently rejected him yesterday?

"Aww. So you are concerned!" he mused, holding her hands tight, drawing the steaming coffee mug close to him.

"Not really. I just thought that you're the last one to drink some so the kettle would finally be empty. Don't get your hopes too high, MacTavish." she gently shoved him the mug and carefully stormed off. There she was, back on her guard.

"Well, thanks for the concern." He greeted as he stepped down the stairs while sipping his coffee and met with everyone in the living room.

"Aren't we supposed to do recon for Samantha?" He asked, addressing the leaders who were casually reading a newspaper.

"Negative." Jack said, not looking at the Scottish soldier.

"We still have fuel from Nikolai's plane but we can't waste in on suspicion alone. We have to get solid intel." Price added.

"So we're like chilling here. Doing nothing." He said.

"Not exactly nothing. Ghost might have a lead anytime soon. For now, why don't you run some errands. Maxine needs some things for us here." Price replied, eyes still focused on the paper.

"John?" Maxine peeked from the kitchen and both Price and Soap turned to her.

"I meant Price." she dismissed, making Soap turn away from embarrassment.

"Can I come with them instead of making a list?" she asked, Soap could see Roach behind her eyeing on the interaction.

"Sure. You've got three bodyguards with you. Just make sure you're always with at least one of them." he muttered. Beside him, Jack stood up and placed the paper on the table.

"All-righty then, I'll lead you to the town just this once. Next time out, you'll be on your own. It's quite a long walk. And you lad, dress less suspicious." he pointed to Soap's camo pants. Soap actually felt scared at Alex's former CO. His very being still intimidated the Scot.

"I'll be back in a minute." he mumbled and dashed upstairs while France walked by Maxine to the door.

"I know Price told us to wear civilian clothing but for some reason you still have the ability to stand out and raise suspicion." France announced as the small team of four exited the safe house en route to the nearby town.

"Is it the hair?" Soap quickly placed one of Price's bucket hats and flashed a grin at the two ladies behind him. "Happy now?" he asked.

"Aside from the fact that you're wearing a t-shirt too small for your size? Yep. When did you last buy clothes for yourself?" France replied sarcastically and asked. Maxine giggled as she walked beside her sister, something she started to accept and try to recall.

"You're just finding an excuse to look at me." He muttered as he dashed to catch up with Jack, who was peacefully enjoying the walk.

"I'm amazed as to how you two act like you're not soldiers right now. How do you do it?" Jack chuckled as he rolled his eyes to Soap's direction, trying not to laugh at the Scot. If he was being honest, the hat did him a worse job. It made his head look small and unproportional to his bulky build. He turned back to France and Maxine who were silently signaling him to keep quiet.

The road was quite long and Soap finally found a small puddle of water to look at how he looked. No wonder they were giggling. He looked like a teddy bear who had a small head.

He then shyly took off his hat and glanced back at the puddle. Maybe it was time for him to buy larger clothes.

"Yeah. Guess someone has to help me pick some clothes as well." he muttered, while France paced beside him and gave him an assuring smile.

"I could always help, John." she said cheerfully and their eyes met. John slowly felt the sincerity on her smile, his heart sped and he found himself inching his face closer to her.

"The town's almost there!" Alex yelled from the distance as the two broke their gazes toward each other and quickly caught up with the two.

Awkward silence. They walked together behind Jack and Maxine who were now discussing what Jack's interests were back in the day. Not that it mattered to John, as all his mind was thinking was this pretty lady walking beside him. He wanted to graze his hand against hers, just to feel her smooth touch, he wondered if she'd let him hold her.

But he insisted, France was more of a slow but steady kind of person. She pointed it out to him multiple times and if he really wanted them to work, he had to do it the old-fashioned way. Sure the kiss was sudden, but what they had back at the Gulag was something worth waiting for and kissing her anytime now would never feel the same as the first.

Jack and Maxine quickly split off toward the market while the two of them remained by the center of the plaza. John scratched his head as he stuttered to ask her where to go.

"So… um… where to?" He asked.

"Looks like they got some cool jackets over there! You think you look good on those?" She asked excitedly.

"What do you think?" He asked shyly.

"Hmmmm.. Maybe… I'm not quite sure." She replied. John expected the classic you'd-look-better-without-any joke but she's not that kind of girl, and he's digging it.

When they say time flies by when you're having fun, John resonated with the quote. They spent most of the time laughing over clothes whose designs didn't make much sense and ended up buying most of them. Despite all the things going on around the world, John felt normal when he's with her, something he hasn't felt in quite a while. He'd even imagined that they're actually boyfriend and girlfriend whenever people around look at them. He was happy. He could get used to this.

It was about lunch time when they returned to the Safe house, and the scenery inside was the most unexpected thing ever.

Price was sleeping by the couch, his whole head was covered by a newspaper which had "End' times" written as the headline. Ghost and Roach were fighting over a piece of broccoli on the table while Alex sat by the stairs, wearing a shirt with a huge whale printed on it, playing with a lighter, flicking it open then closing it back as he stared at the flames.

"So that's where Smokey went." Soap muttered.

"Smokey?" France asked.

"My lighter." Soap replied confidently.

"Really?"

"Yep." he said, popping the 'P' as he unloaded most of the supplies to the kitchen.

"What happened here?" Jack asked, taking off his jacket, completely regretting wearing it in a tropical country.

"Roach ate my broccoli!" Ghost complained.

"Ghost ate my pie!" Roach complained back as Jack sighed and placed a palm on his face.

"We had pie?" Soap asked, his eyes beamed at the table, only to be disappointed that there was none.

"Technically it's a tart and it's supposed to be for Maxine." Ghost smiled shyly eyeing at Maxine.

"Well, it didn't have her name on it so I assumed…" Ghost replied.

"You don't have to assume! You should've asked!" he yelled.

Soap was amazed at the spectrum of the team, which ranged from very righteous and courageous warriors to actual toddlers. It made him happy that he joined this little group he could call family.

Another day had passed and they still had no leads. But Ghost looked like he was onto something as Soap found him with Price as they discussed matters that sounded serious. He just hoped it was a lead. He's starting to worry about Alex who was constantly moping around. With nothing to work on, all he could focus on was Samantha.

"Guess you liked playing with that lighter so much." Soap leaned by the door, looking concerned at his comrade.

"Hey man. How was the market." Alex asked, his tone was nonchalant, almost lifeless.

"Well, it was busy. Jack led us there because you were asleep all morning…"

"Yeah. I couldn't go there. We shared so many memories in that town. I just can't handle it at the moment." He frowned and tossed him the lighter which Soap caught immediately.

"Thanks for this. And if you ever need someone to talk to… We're here for you, pal." Soap said awkwardly. The term pal was very American and he thought it'd be appropriate.

"Thanks, pal." Alex chuckled and stood up.

"Let's go get dinner." Alex added, his eyes were fueled with determination. And Soap was happy that he's taking small steps to recover.

Next Chapter : Lurking in the Shadows

Notification Squad my Beloved

@beemybee @smokeywhalee @enderio @samatedeansbroccoli @ricinbach @whimsywispsblog

#horRAYfic #whateverittakes #reloaded #ilysm #john soap mactavish #john price #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #alex echo 3 1

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

Text

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (2/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fighting, mentions of violence

Word Count: ~2.6k

Part Summary: Y/N is starting to get used to her role in the Summers’ house and with the Scoobies in the days following her arrival in Sunnydale. Much to her surprise, she enjoys predictability of her new routine and the normalcy of it. That is until a troublesome figure in Sunnydale makes his acquaintance and knocks Y/N through an unforeseen loop.

Masterlist

Aunt Joyce being surprised to see me is an understatement. It took Buffy and I both pressing her back down on the hospital bed to keep her from leaping up. Then, she thanked me up and down for coming. Which lead to her insisting she’s fine. She’s been covering at the hospital the last few days, but now she’s finally home. Her surgery went well, thank God! With everything going on, Joyce needs to be well. I don’t think Buffy could take another blow and poor Dawnie needs her mom. I know what it’s like to lose a mother, not fun. It’s Buffy and I’s goal to keep life as normal as possible for Dawn. The routine is I drop Dawnie off at school while Buffy plays Slayer. Then, I come back here and take care of Joyce. From there, I pick up Dawnie and prep dinner. In truth, I’m liking the predictable schedule. It’s odd, I thought I’d hate it here. I’ve never been the sort for the mundane lifestyle, but I haven’t been around family in years and it’s nice.

While I prepare lunch for Joyce, I listen to the rock station through the boombox they keep on the counter. The house has been rather quiet since Buffy and the other Scoobies have been out doing researching Glory. Giles’s Magic-Box shop is their headquarters. Well, here and there, sort of double at meeting spots. Whenever the house is this quiet, I have to have music or the tv playing in the background. Otherwise, everything gets all noisy. Sunnydale has so much pent up energy, both good and evil, that it messes with my head. All I hear are the voices in the silence, so many voices that it starts to sound like static. I have mentioned this Buffy, I wouldn’t want to stress her anymore.

My peace is abruptly disturbed as the kitchen door swings open and someone flies in hiding under a blanket. I jump, dropping my knife on Joyce’s sandwich. Smoke radiates from the figure like they’re a walking fire pit. Tilting my head, I watch in awe as a bleached haired man struggles to shut the door, knocking around the blinds. Who the hell is he? He dramatically flails his arms around to get the blanket off with a huff. Instantly, I see the green aura glowing around him. His eyes meet mine with a tilt of the head like a confused puppy dog, granted I did it too.

“Who in the bloody hell are you?” He curses sassily.

His accent is enough information to tell me who he is, Spike. So, this is the pain in the ass, psychotic vampy who is tangled up in a love-hate relationship with my cousin. She’s all caught up on Riley, Mr. G.I. Joe, when she has this dude pining after her? Boy, Buffy needs my guidance in more than one department.

“Good afternoon to you too, Spike,” I greet him by name, much to his surprise.

Cautiously, he moves into the kitchen as I continue about my business. “How do you know my name? Where’s Buffy?” He asks, peaking around the house for her.

“Don’t worry,” I assure him calmly. “Army Barbie is with her team of misfit toys working on Glory stuff.”

Before I have the chance to blink, Spike is across the room has me pinned against the fridge. His face scrunched and his fangs daunting. While gripping my neck until I can hardly breathe, he leans forward and presses his body to mine to keep in place. I struggle in his grip, clawing as his hands. “You’re Glory, aren’t you?! Hm?! Messing with me?! What did you do to Buffy?!” He shouts.

“Spike,” I choke. “You have to-” I gasp for air as he squeezes tighter.

As a psychic, every time I have skin to skin contact with someone I can enter their mind and memories. It’s like watching a montage of someone’s entire existence. The recipient relives the memories too at the same pace as me. This allows them to kick me out if they so wish, all they have to do is realize what’s going on. However, like being in a dream, it’s rare that they do. I have little control when it comes to entering, it’s like falling. If I wish to leave, it takes a kick, like waking up from a dream. I have to be terrified by a memory or experience immense pain, those are the usual triggers.

The moment Spike touched me, he opened the gate for me to see, feel, and hear everything he ever has in the form of visions. I can feel my mind slipping and images begin to flash before my eyes like bursts of light. Then, my vision goes black...

A woman in 19th century clothing stands before with big eyes and brown hair. She’s so beautiful.... Suddenly, a pain pierces my neck.

Next thing I know, I’m sat on an old blood soaked sofa with a dead woman in my lap, bleeding from the neck. I feel hungry for more.

“My wicked, wicked, Willy,” Dru purrs, peering up at me from her position on the floor with longing eyes. I shove the body off of me and crawl to her. God, I love her.

I jump through time, landing in the middle of a fight with a young Chinese woman who I recognize as the Slayer. I manage to grab her and bite her viciously. She mutters something in Chinese to me.

“Sorry Love, I don’t speak Chinese,” I state, tossing her to the side.

Then, on a subway trained with a later slayer. I’m on top of her, gripping her neck as I twist it, killing her. For good measure, I steal her leather coat. I’m quite fond of it.

I hover over the most recent Slayer, and perhaps the most annoying one, Buffy Summers. I raise the plank of wood in my hands to kill her. Suddenly, I’m hit over the head and fall to the floor.

With a jolt, I’m back in the present moment. “Jesus and Mary!” I yelp, the back of my head throbbing. What the hell did Joyce wack me with? Or should I say Spike.

The vampire stands before me wide-eyed, confused by what just happened. Having had enough reminiscing, I press my hands around his that grip my neck and send a powerful shock, causing him to drop me to the floor. I cough as I catch my breath. God, I can see why Buffy doesn’t like him! Spike recovers quickly and picks me up by my hair. I scream at the surge of pain and dig my nails in his hands. Soon, I’m against the wall and I bump my head.

“Where are they?!” He barks in my face. “Tell me or I’ll kill you!”

“If I were Glory and I had taken Buffy, how would killing me help you find her?” I question his logic amongst the fighting. For being over a hundred years old, he’s not exactly wise.

Spike growls, not finding humor in my mockery. I’m not exactly threatened by the big-bad-bleach-crazy ole chap with the winkley-vampy face. I could have him on his undead ass in two seconds if I wanted.

“Spike!” Joyce’s voice interrupts our altercation. Both of us turn our attention to the archway to see my aunt standing there in horror. She wraps her robe around herself tightly. “Let Y/N down! She’s my niece!”

“Oh bollocks!” Spike swears, releasing me instantly.

I fall to the floor on my knees again. Well, this fun- what’s wrong with people in this town?!

“I… uh…” Spike stumbles over his words as he helps me up by the bicep. He brushes down my shirt and hair nervously. “Sorry about that. I thought-”

“You thought I was Glory,” I finish for him, slapping his hands off of me.

“Are you okay, Y/N?!” Joyce checks worriedly, staying cautiously in the archway between here and the living room.

I hum, reaching up and running my fingers through the back of my head for any bumps or bleeding. Whatever she hit Spike with it fucking hurt!

“Did I hurt you?” Spike asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Not really,” I admit quietly and look to my aunt who’s the real reason my head is pounding. “If you ever hearing banging like that, never come downstairs! You hide!” I command of her. “Even if it did sound like I was getting murdered,” I grumble, glaring at Spike.

“Well, as long as you’re alright. I’ll head back up,” she complies quietly. “But only if you’re sure!” She checks.

“I’m fine, really!” I try to ease her nerves. It’s not good for her to worry. I shove Spike out of the way to approach her. “I’ll bring your food up soon. I might have to remake it,” I tell her as I spot her sandwich on the floor behind Spike.

“You don’t have to do that,” she insists.

“It’s okay! If you can wait one moment, I’ll just use some magic,” I announce, holding out my hand toward the counter. I conjure up a turkey sandwich just like I created before. I could’ve whipped one up this way earlier, but I was enjoying the task. “There you go!” I hand the plate over to my aunt.

Spike blinks rapidly, stepping forward to stand beside my aunt. He stares at me in astonishment, “you’re a witch?!”

“No, that shock you felt earlier was all in your head,” I sass, looking at him like an idiot.

“You didn’t tell me there were witches in your family,” he says to Joyce, sounding offended.

“We didn’t know ourselves until Y/N arrived a few days ago. She’s here to help out until I’m all better and… well…” Joyce shifts on her feet uncomfortably. “That Glory girl is gone.”

On that note, Joyce thanks me one last time and heads back upstairs. I relax once I hear her shuffling upstairs in her room. Taking a scan around the kitchen, there are broken plates and food scattered across the floor. I was so far into Spike’s head that I missed the reality and all the ruckus. Of course, I felt his hands around my neck, but my vision was impaired with his memories.

“Let me clean up,” Spike requests, already squatting to pick up the bits of broken porcelain on the tile.

“No need,” I state with a flick of the wrist. Within seconds, all the broken plates and scattered food is gone. The boombox that we’d knocked on the floor and caused to skip is now all fixed neatly on the counter. Soon, Nirvana is coming out of it without a problem.

Spike rises from his position quietly starring at the perfectly spotless kitchen. I move around him toward the living room, already thinking of the next item on my agenda. I still have a few loads of laundry to go through and there’s cleaning that needs to be done. If I set those going with some magic before I head out everything will be done before Buffy’s birthday party tonight. Except, one issue, in this town, I don’t feel comfortable dividing up my power in case of an emergency. I could be attacked on the way to Dawnie’s school with the track record of this town. Plus, I’m Joyce’s sole bodyguard during the day, I need all my energy.

“Hey wait,” Spike calls as he jogs to block my path. He holds up his hands as if that’s going to keeping me from walking away.

With raised brows, I wait for the important reason he must have to be interrupting my to-do list.

Wait... ew, I hate that! I have a to-do list! What am I, a 1950’s housewife?

“Are you honestly Buffy and Dawn’s cousin?” He asks, still not convinced that it’s possible for the Summers’ to have family other than each other.

“No,” I answer calmly, causing him to perk up. “I’m really Dolly Parton in a disguise!” He rolls his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. “You know, the rumor is the blonde hair is a wig,” I ramble to add more spice to the sarcasm. “And she just walks around Tennessee without anyone noticing her!”

“Yep, you’re definitely related,” he determines unenthused, stepping aside.

“I’m glad I’ve convinced you. Now if you don’t mind, I have stuff I need to do!” I step around him to head out and pick up Dawn.

“I’m coming too,” he declares, following on my heels.

I snicker, stopping in my tracks. “You’re coming with me to pick up Dawn from school? In the daylight... ” I add.

“Yeah uh… just meet me at the crypt,” he decides, already heading back to the kitchen.

“Wait, what?” I blurt out as I grab his wrist. “Why would I do that?”

He glances over his shoulder, “I came to show Buffy something, but you’ll do I guess.”

“I’m not Buffy though, I’m no Slayer,” I laugh lightly. “If it’s important I’d show it to her.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” He asks the obvious.

“Well yeah,” I shrug.

“Can you fight?” He continues, clearly leading somewhere.

I stutter, “I mean I know spells and-”

“Then you’ll do,” he declares. “We can tell Buffy about it later,” he adds, walking away.

Buffy is made for this, literally! Unsure of myself, I shake my head. “Spike, I-”

The vampire rolls his head back with a huff of annoyance. “All you God-forsaken women!” He groans under his breath. “I swear, one of these days I’m just going to lose my patience and kill all of you,” he sasses, facing me. “Except Joyce... and maybe Nibblet,” he determines as if that’s generous of him. “But definitely Harmony and that bloody annoying Cordelia if she ever comes back from LA!” He points at me sharply. “And you missy are testing me too!”

Um, excuse him! He didn’t not just say that to me! “Oh buddy, you’re testing me!” I laugh mockingly. Little vampy here has another thing coming if he thinks he can threaten me.

Spike chuckles wickedly and his face changes back to vampy style. He growls to reveal his fangs. I step back cautiously. I didn’t mean for him to take me literally! Abruptly, he comes charging at me. Oh great, not again!

_____________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream

#spike #btvs #fanfic #spikexreader #dawn summers #buffy #buffy summers #buffy s5 #spike fanfic #spuffy #spike x buffy #spike x reader #btvs imagine #btvs fanfic

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everythinggeeky · 4 years

Text

Back To You | Javier Peña

Javier Peña x f! reader

Warnings: angsty, a tinge of fluff, alcohol, divorce/separation

Word Count: 1.8k

Request: Okay but uhhh 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 Javier Peña where he has a kid back in Texas with his ex and he flies in to see them 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 and maybe they uhhhh get back ✨together✨(anon)

A/N: this is it. I’ve plummeted myself into the Javier wormhole. I’d appreciate feedback! Texas Javi is the reason I breathe.

masterlist

You had to keep reminding yourself that this was just a conventional meeting. A meeting to satisfy the requirements of the courts, fulfill the needs of the custody agreement. You rocked your daughter Sofia side to side in your arms, desperately trying to get her to soothe herself back to sleep. Perhaps she sensed your unease; this would’ve been the first time in three years that you’ve seen Javier since he ran off to become DEA and ignore all of his life’s problems that came along with being married to you.

Something itched in the back of your mind; he had ignored the court’s previous attempts to get him to come home, but for some reason, in the thick of Escobar’s destruction on Columbia, Javier had decided that now was the best time to see his daughter for the first time since her birth.

As you watched the clock tick, your pulse elevated one point. There was less than an hour left until his estimated arrival. God help you if he was on time, or early. You quickly whisked the thought away. Javier Peña was never on time, let alone early. He always found something...or someone to occupy his time.

There was a moment in both of your lives when that was each other.

It was a photographic life of domesticity: you had a beautiful ranch on a piece of land that once was owned by Javier’s father, whom he was very close with. Papa would make loving visits to say hi, share a meal, or just to bug Javier about fixing the leaking faucet in the powder room. You would have dinner on the kitchen table by 5 pm, and Javier would drop his keys in the bowl on the credenza next to the front door.

You had gotten married in the backyard of the ranch. It was a special ceremony; just for the two of you and your closest friends, family, and Javier’s coworkers. The ranch was your happy place; there were so many special memories that were kept there.

It was the stereotypical American dream, and it felt like bliss….until it all came crashing down around you.

A year after you had gotten married, you found out you were pregnant in the bathroom of the Piggly Wiggly. You had been feeling sick for the last week and when you missed your period, you decided it would be best if you bought a test on your weekly outing for groceries. The anticipation was practically eating you alive, so you bit the bullet and took the test in the grocery store bathroom. You nervously bounced your feet against the faintly sticky floor and flashed your eyes to the test two minutes later.

You watched the two faint lines develop and before you could process it for yourself, your whole life had changed forever.

You brought the test home to Javier that afternoon, passing it over after dinner.

“This is yours?” he met your eyes.

You nodded, smiling a toothy grin, “you’re gonna be a daddy, Javi.”

“Shit!” he stood, excitedly, a wide smile on his own face, pulling you into a tight embrace.

As happy as Javier was on that day, the fresh excitement dwindled and was replaced by the harsh reality of parenting.

The months leading up to Sofia’s birth had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Javier would come home from work, drop his keys in the bowl, but the drop became more half-hazard and louder with every passing day. He came to expect a perfectly cleaned house and a hot, well-balanced meal on the table, and when your health slowly deteriorated because of your pregnancy, things had gotten harder for you and it just wasn’t as easy as it was six months ago. Javier was frustrated with the little things, and in your naivety, had contributed it to the stress from work. Those two combined created the perfect scenario for life-altering meltdowns that ultimately ended your marriage.

The screaming fights were ugly, ending in one of you crying and breaking down, as Javier typically took a breather in his Jeep with a loop around the neighborhood. You pushed one another away, the distance eventually caused him to find an apartment in the next town over, file for divorce, and encouraged him to leave for Columbia before the divorce could even be finalized.

Javier had left your life just as easily as he had come into it.

And suddenly, Javier has weaseled his way into your life once again.

His invitation had come in a letter, and as unconventional as it was, was endearing. He admitted to his shortcomings, wanting to make up for them and make a consistent appearance in his daughter’s life. Perhaps foolishly, in a lapse of judgment, if you will, you accepted his offer and allowed him to make the visit.

He was due to arrive in just over half an hour, and you were dreading it, but you also couldn’t deny that a part of you had a grim curiosity about what his visit would entail.

You heard the Jeep putter outside, and silence after Javier parked on the street. You inhaled a deep, cleansing breath, hoping to rid yourself of the anxiety you had been carrying for the last week. Sofia stirred once again on your hip, looking out the window and gawking for herself.

“That’s daddy, baby…” you hushed to her.

“Da-...?” she stumbled over the foreign words.

“Yeah, Dad,” you sighed, walking to the front door to greet Javier as he knocked.

“Javier,” you reacted plainly, swinging the door to the modest three-bedroom rancher you now kept to yourself, a town over from the ranch.

“Y/N…” he sighed, looking to you first, and then Sofia, “Sofia…you’re so big.”

“Wanna show daddy how old you are, Soph?” you modeled three fingers, to which she mimicked with her childlike chubby fingers.

“Wow….” he sighed in a dreamlike tone, his absence suddenly becoming real.

He had missed what every first time father hopes to see; the first birthday, the first tooth, the first peanut butter (Sofia had handled that one like a champ, scraping the residue off the roof of her mouth, immediately begging for more) and of course, the big ones; the first steps, first words, and so on. You had held those precious memories close to your heart. Sofia was your precious princess; and you had wanted her to blossom into an amazing girl, even if you had to do it on your own.

“Come on….we can go sit in the playroom…” you led Javier into the playroom which neighbored the kitchen.

You sat Sofia down for playtime, to which she immediately seized the opportunity and started playing with her favorite toys. You sat down on the couch, and Javier sat next to you, a comfortable distance between you two. Too close for friends, too far for partners who once shared the same bed.

“Y/N…”

“Listen, Javi….I know you’re here to make good...but I’m happy, and so is Sofie. And we’re doing just fine.”

“That the thing, Y/N, I’m not.”

“That’s not what you said before you left us to chase drug lords in Columbia….”

“I know.”

“Then what? Why are you here?”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Listen...I forgave you a long time ago, Javi….but I’m much better off now. And maybe that’s because you’re not here.”

“I want to be here. For Sofia.”

“You don’t get to decide when just to come into her life and then leave again when it’s convenient for you.”

He sighed before starting again, looking down at the toddler playing with a stack of blocks on the rug, “I realized when I was down there how much I needed this….needed a family.”

“What? The War on Drugs is changing your heart? Just like that?”

“Y/N...let me. While I was down there I realized that I was bigger than myself, that I needed something else to live for. My career is about me and what is the best for me, and who knows...maybe someone else. But when I go home at the end of the night to my empty apartment and my empty bed….I can’t help but think back to you. I’ve been thinking about this a lot...and what it means to be a dad...and I want to be that again.”

You inhaled a deep breath, considering his proposal. If you were as naive as you were when you first met him, you might have believed him, but the two years where you were actually married to the man eventually dwindled into the most catastrophic two years of your life.

The fights were incredibly violent when Javi was stressed; he would pour himself a heavy glass of bourbon and would suck it down before you could say anything. Of course, as you floated around him, tending to his every need, he poured another glass, and another, eventually rendering himself intoxicated in the pale light of the hood above the stove, long after you had decided to go to bed. He would stumble up the stairs, mumble something about how the ranch was “too damn big for him to manage like this” and you would roll over in bed and hope he wouldn’t try anything in his current state.

He never touched you when you said no. He was a respectful man. His father had raised him well like that. As a matter of fact, when things started to go downhill, Papa was one of the first people you reached out to, before your own parents. Papa mentioned something about “talking some sense into the boy”, knowing what was best for him; you.

Nevertheless, you fought with Javier. And it went beyond your average, everyday couple domestics. Your fights were brutal and dug deep, riddled with personal attacks and jabs that left a heavy scar in their wake.

As Javier begged for his place back into your life, you couldn’t help but think of the lonely nights spent crying into the duvet of the queen sized bed, while he slept on the couch downstairs. You didn’t think you could bear anymore nights like that, and you staked your claim.

“Javi...I can’t just let you waltz back in here on the promise that you’ll become a better man. I just can’t do that to Sofia.”

“Y/N...I promise I’ve changed. I mean it. I’ve seen what happens to the world when men become too powerful...and I can’t raise my little girl in a world like that without a father.”

“I’m going to need you to prove that to me.”

“I promise. I’ll do anything. Absolutely anything. Once this is all over, and there’s a bullet in Escobar’s head...I’ll come back to you and Sofia and I’ll be the man I’ve always promised to be.”

“Javi?”

“Yes, mija?”

“You better not be lying to me.”

tagged: @smokahuntis

#javier peña x reader #javier peña drabble #javier peña oneshot #narcos netflix #narcos #javier peña #texas javi #javier peña x reader angst #javier peña angst #javier peña fanfic #javier peña fanfiction #back to you #everythinggeeky

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

Text

I Want Us Part 4

Fandom: SVU / Chicago PD

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing: Carisi x Reader

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,273

Summary: When a child abduction case crosses state lines in New York, Intelligence flies out to meet the Special Victims Unit and track down the missing boy. With the clock ticking, both units decide to mix up partners in order to combine their knowledge of the case with knowledge of New York City, pairing Intelligence’s newest member Y/N with Detective Carisi. After successfully catching the suspect and saving the missing boy, Y/N ends up spending a little more time with Carisi than expected before returning to Chicago.

You woke up slowly, stretching with your eyes still closed as you enjoyed the comfort of the bed you were in, many, many steps up from the motel bed you’d dreaded going back to last night. But you hadn’t, instead, you’d spent the night with Detective Carisi instead, something that had worked out in your favour in many different ways.

The smell of bacon and fresh coffee filled your nose as you eyes fluttered open, smiling contently as you looked to find the other side of the bed empty. Slipping out of bed and throwing on Carisi’s shirt you made your way into the kitchen, following your nose until you found the man in question working away at the stove.

He smiled brightly when he saw you, a look that made you feel warm inside as he took in the sight of you in just his shirt. “Hey, morning, you sleep alright?” He asked, tossing the bacon.

“Yeah,” you told him, wandering over to where he’d put out a second cup of coffee, his own next to him on the counter. It smelled amazing, and a quick glance at the bag next to his coffee maker told you that this was the good stuff, Italian roast by the looks of it. “You always make breakfast like this?” You grinned, only just noticing what looked like biscotti further along the counter.

“As much as I can, feels like starting the day on the right foot,” he replied, a little bit of an awkward silence filling the kitchen as you sipped the heavenly coffee in your hands, making a mental note to get your hands on some of it when you got back to Chicago.

You glanced at each other, unsure of what to say, until finally you bit the bullet and said: “I don’t usually do... this,” you admitted, gesturing with one hand.

Carisi smiled, “yeah, yeah me neither,” he agreed, making you feel a little better about the fact that you didn’t really have much of idea about the etiquette in these situations. “Not that I regret it or anything,” he added, a little hurried, cheeks going slightly red.

“What? Oh no, no me neither,” you confirmed, laughing a little, “I had a good time, really good actually,” you told him and he perked up.

“Yeah? Good, me too,” he said softly, sliding the bacon off the pan and onto a plate and making his way over to where you were stood. He dropped the spatula into the sink near you and gave you a kiss, soft and lingering as images of the night before flashed through your mind.

You were so lost in the moment you hardly heard the beeping of his phone, Carisi breaking off the kiss and apologising to you as he switched off the alarm.

That’s when you saw it, the time.

Crap. Oh crap.

“Is it that late already?” You asked, eyes wide as Carisi paused, phone screen still visible in his hand. “Oh god, I didn’t even think-” you started to panic, looking around for your phone and spotting it on the other end of the kitchen counter.

Carisi let you past, “it was flat so I put it on charge, didn’t turn it on though, sorry,” he told you as you as the screen flared to life. “I probably should have woken you up...

“Thanks,” you said, only half listening, sighing at your own stupidity as about a dozen missed calls from Antonio came up on the lockscreen, “oh, and no no, I never mentioned my flight, that I am already going to be so late for... I am so screwed.”

You pulled the phone out of the charger and rushed back to the bedroom to throw on your clothes, feeling a little guilty about rushing out on Carisi. But what choice did you have? As much as you wanted to stay, if you didn’t get this flight you were going to be in big trouble with Voight, and you already had to rush back to the motel to grab your bags.

Reappearing out of the bedroom, discheveled but fully dressed, Carisi closed up a box of food and slipped it into a carrier bag. “At least take some breakfast with you,” he offered. You accepted it gratefully, patting yourself down one more time to make sure you had everything you’d come up with.

“I’m so sorry about this,” you apologised but he waved you off.

“I understand, don’t worry,” he reassured you

“I’m glad we did this though, and not just because we saved a kid and caught a bad guy,” you said as he walked you towards the door, grabbing your arm and pulling you back as you went to open it. You knew you’d be thinking about the kiss the whole flight home, feeling a little breathless when he finally moved away, brushing his lips against yours one more time.

“I’ll see you around Y/N,” he said, stepping back so you could leave.

“Bye Sonny,” you breathed, giving him one last smile before heading out the door, the feeling of his lips still tingling on yours.

“You’re late,” Antonio told you as you rushed to catch up to him outside the airport, hair a mess and buttons of your shirt most likely not done up correctly. You were supposed to meet up with your unit for breakfast before you headed back to Chicago, but you’d barely managed to grab your luggage and check out of the motel before rushing to catch up to them at the airport.

You’d had some of the food Carisi had made in the cab ride over, regretting how quickly all the romance from the previous night had replaced with a quick kiss and lots of panic. The food wasn’t helping, it was way too good to be eating in the back of a cab, and you wished you’d been able to spend more time there this morning.

You felt bad about leaving like that, especially after the night you’d just had, but you were barely awake as you half stumbled into the airport, the others having gone through to check in while your partner had waited.

“We were either going to leave you or call a manhunt, where the hell were you?” Antonio asked, falling into step together as you went to catch up to the others, just about having enough time to get to your flight.

“I was... sorry, I overslept,” you blabbed, not a lie but not exactly the whole truth.

Antonio looked you up and down, taking in your dishevelled appearance before letting out a telling laugh. “Uh huh, sure, where exactly? Because your motel bed was unslept in when we went to get you,” he said pointedly, as if sussing out exactly where you had been but wanting you to say it. Detectives.

“Oh, I er, well I...” Wow, you thought, smooth, no one would believe you’d even been undercover with how you were fumbling in that moment, finding yourself surprising flustered.

Antonio just laughed more. “Special Victims gave their regards, and another congratulations on a job well done by the way, you weren’t there but I guess Carisi already filled you in that,” he teased and you rolled your eyes, looking away as you started to blush.

It was going to be a long plane ride home, you thought to yourself, but you had no complaints. Still, you wondered if you’d ever see him again.

Intelligence and SVU had been brought together more than once now afterall, and you had a feeling that you’d find yourselves brought back together before too long.

#sonny carisi #svu #law and order svu #chicago pd #one chicago #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagine #svu imagine #law and order svu imagine #chicago pd imagine #one chicago imagine #sonny carisi imagines #svu imagines #law and order svu imagines #chicago pd imagines #one chicago imagines #i want us

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polaroid15 · 3 years

Text

Where you invest your love, you invest your life

Summary: Turns out, even the most broken things can be mended. Or, following tragedy, Tony and Peter learn how to be a family.

Read on Ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/28391286

----

Tony receives the call at 11:15 on a Wednesday.

It’s from Peter. A silly picture of the kid pops up on Tony’s screen and just like clockwork it pulls him away from the project in his hands. It’s unusual for Peter to call this late and a slight ripple of worry plants a seed in the pit of his stomach. Trying to ignore it, he answers quickly.

“Hey underoos. Homework troubles?”

For a long moment, there’s only silence. So long, that Tony is up from his seat and reaching for his suit before his brain fully processes what he’s doing. His mind races as it sorts through the millions of possible precarious situations the Parker boy has landed himself in this time. Kidnapping? Bleeding out? Concussion?

“Pete?”

Usually when Peter calls, the kid talks his ear off, youthful enthusiasm getting the best of him even in his stickiest situations. Literally.

Tonight is different.

“T-tony.”

A sudden chill enters Tony’s veins and he freezes where he stands. “Hey, kiddo. Is something wrong?”

A strange sound, half laugh half sob, travels through the phone and sticks a knife into Tony’s heart. The noise breaks off into short, laboured breaths. “C-can, can you help me?”

“Yes. Yes I’m coming right now,” Tony assures as the suit closes around him. “I’m on my way. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay, good. But I’ll be the judge of that. Just stay on the line, spider-kid.”

He’s in the air for eleven minutes. After a while Peter doesn’t respond no matter how many questions Tony asks, but true to his promise, he doesn’t hang up the phone.

He finds Peter sitting on the end of a crane 260 feet up in the air.

The height is dizzying, but Peter looks unfazed. He’s still as death, feet dangling loosely above millions of shining lights. His head is bowed. Tony can’t see his face.

“Peter?” Tony flies in front of the kid. He can see Peter in his entirety now, and for a reason Tony can’t explain, tears spring up and sting at his eyes. If his suit didn’t have more common sense then he did, he would have dropped right out of the sky.

Peter is covered in blood. It’s caked on his hands, travelling halfway up his forearms and staining some stupid pun on his tshirt. It’s under his nails and smeared on his face.

He’s not in his suit.

“Kid-” Tony gapes breathlessly as Peter stares up at him blankly. His young face is red and blotchy, and from the city lights stretched far down below Tony can see his cheeks are streaked with tears. “You said you weren’t hurt!”

At this, Peter’s bottom lip trembles violently and he bites it until it bleeds. There’s something clenched so tightly in Peter’s bloodstained hand that his knuckles are white.

“Pete, you’re scaring me. You gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

Perhaps despite himself, a sharp sob escapes Peter’s mouth. He hunches over himself and Tony catches him at his shoulders. “Tell me where you’re hurt.”

“It’s not my blood.”

Peter’s voice is empty and cold. Tony lifts open his faceplate and stares deeply into Peter’s eyes, but somewhere there’s a disconnect. Slowly, Peter uncurls his fingers from the object he’s been so desperately holding and Tony breaks their eye contact to look.

Amongst the red, a flash of gold and translucent glass. A pair of glasses. They belong to May.

All the air leaves Tony’s chest in one fatal blow. The noise from the city and the cold from their height disappears in an instant. All he can see is Peter’s face, something deep and foreign filling Tony’s chest like a flash flood.

“Oh. Peter-”

Tony isn’t sure who initiates it, but in the next second they’re hugging fiercely. Peter grips him so tightly that if he weren’t wearing his armour he’d be broken. Peter is shaking against him, and only after a second can he decipher through the sudden static in his ears that Peter is sobbing.

He’s not sure how long they stay there. An eternity, maybe. It doesn’t matter.

They’re family now.

---

The first few days are really hard.

Peter lays in bed but he doesn’t sleep. He barely eats. He stares sightlessly and cries. He never lets go of May’s glasses.

After the funeral, it gets better. Peter leaves his room and sits at the table and smiles, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. He watches movies with Tony but he doesn’t laugh at the jokes. He walks like a zombie and bumps into things and shakes like a leaf but always affirms he’s okay.

Around four in the morning each night, Peter wakes up screaming.

It becomes a twisted ritual. Tony sets his alarm for 3:55. He stares up at the dark ceiling and prays it doesn’t happen, but it always does. He races to Peter’s room and holds him tightly to prevent the boy from hurting himself and coaches him again and again how to breathe. Tony wipes away tears and talks until his voice is raw.

Three full days go by and Peter doesn’t wake up screaming. Tony thinks it’s getting better, that the cycle might be broken. Then he finds Peter slumped against a cabinet in the kitchen and finds out he hasn’t slept at all in the last 72 hours, reduced to nothing short of delirious, shaky, and panicked. They agree to a light sedative and Peter regains the color in his face twelve hours later.

Eventually, Peter agrees to talk to some professionals. It helps, but Tony still sets his alarm. Each night he stares up at his dark ceiling, hears nothing, and falls back asleep.

One night Peter drops a glass in the kitchen and bursts into tears. Tony helps him clean up the mess. Peter doesn’t talk for the rest of the night. The next morning, he asks if Tony wants him to leave. Tony says that he wants nothing more than for Peter to stay.

He does.

It’s a long road ahead of them, but they’re in it together.

---

It’s been two months and seventeen days.

Tony stands at the stove, stifling a yawn as he pokes at the eggs on the pan in front of him with a lazy half interest. His eyelids drop.

“Tony?”

Jumping, Tony jerks back from the pan and yells when he sees his eggs in smoke. He slides the pan away from the heat and wafts his hand over the wreckage, swearing like a sailor.

There’s a soft laugh, and Tony counts it as a win. Peter is looking over at him incredulously with his backpack slung haphazardly on the edge of his shoulder. “Nice eggs.”

For a minute, Tony just blinks at the statement. “Excuse me?”

“I said nice eggs,” Peter repeats, slowing down his words dramatically, still smiling.

“Hey, cut the sass kiddo. These were for you.”

Peter shakes his head, backing away from the charred remains. “Uh, spiders don’t eat eggs Mr. Stark. Strictly off limits.”

Tony throws down the spatula in defeat. “You had eggs yesterday!”

Still smirking, Peter shakes his head and continues his backpedal towards the door. “Gonna be late for school. Better get going-”

“Nope. No. You’re not skipping breakfast, kid.” Tony looks around the kitchen aimlessly before closing his hand around a peanut butter protein bar and throwing it at Peter’s still retreating form. The boy catches it easily, and stares at it with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

Peter opens his mouth, closes it, and then simply nods in appreciation. There’s an odd expression on the kid’s face that he can’t exactly pinpoint. Before Tony can psychoanalyze too much farther, Peter tucks the bar into the mesh pocket of his backpack and leaves with a warm thanks. Tony watches him go.

He throws away the eggs.

---

Later that night Tony wakes up in the lab to FRIDAY’S soft alert. There’s a paper sticking to his cheek and he rips it off hastily and rises on unsteady legs, heading up towards Peter’s room. He finds the kid sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes unfocused and blood in his hair.

For a minute, Tony just stands in the doorway. Peter is quiet. There’s an odd tension in the room, built up from weeks of Peter coming home hurt. He’s reckless now. It shows in his scars.

“Hey T’ny.” Peter attempts a smile but it stretches the deep cut in his lip and it bleeds. Tony walks over and it feels like his feet are trapped in cement. The mattress bends as he sits beside the young hero.

“What happened?”

Peter wipes the blood off his chin. “Nothing. The usual.”

“Stop with the bullshit. You never got beat up this badly before-” Tony breaks off in a choke. He doesn’t look Peter in the eyes.

“Before what?” Peter’s voice is sharp, daring Tony to say what he already knows. “I’m fine. Occupational hazard and all that.”

Something snaps. Tony looks up at Peter and when their eyes connect, Peter flinches. “Screw that. You and I both know damn well you’re getting roughed up like this on purpose. It stops now. Do you understand?”

Fire races in Peter’s eyes and he crosses his arms across his chest like a goddamn five year old. “No. Look, I’ll be fine in the morning! It’s not my fault you wait for me to come home every night like my d-” Peter breaks off, the word dying on his tongue as Tony feels his stomach plummet. Not waiting for Tony’s reaction, Peter pushes himself unsteadily from the bed to limp towards the bathroom. “I’m getting in the shower. Stop worrying about me.”

The door closes and the lingering worry in Tony’s chest sits heavy. He hears Peter crying through the running water. He sits and sits and waits.

---

The meeting had been long and exceptionally boring. Now, Tony is rewarded with an annoying ache in the base of his skull and a sharp pain behind his eyes. He walks into the kitchen and sees Happy and Peter sitting across from each other at the table playing checkers. Happy is winning. By a lot.

Tony opens the fridge then closes it. He looks swiftly at the clock and frowns. “Hey it’s only 1:00. What are you doing home from school?”

Peter flinches and hangs his head low as if to hide behind Happy. The glass of orange juice in his hand shifts. “Would you believe me if I said it was an early weekend?”

“No. It’s Tuesday.”

Peter sighs. He moves a checker but Happy doesn’t reciprocate, looking at Tony with wide eyes. Something’s up.

“Look,” Peter continues in exasperation. “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t feeling that good and they made me come home okay?”

Tony studies the boy, taking in his thinning frame and the dark shadows under his eyes. Call it his new paternal instincts, but it just doesn’t sit right. “Why didn’t they call me? I’m your emergency contact.”

“You were in a meeting. I told them to call Happy.”

“It doesn’t matter Peter. You know I would’ve come-”

“I had it handled boss,” Happy interjects, raising his eyebrows significantly. There’s still something they’re not telling him. Something dark flickers in the pit of his stomach and the pain in his head increases until he has to dig his nails into the skin on his palm to distract himself.

“Well, what’s wrong? Do you need Cho?”

“N-no,” Peter stutters. He swirls his juice and doesn’t look at him. “I’m fine. Just was a little nauseous.”

“He fainted in biology.”

Peter jerks at Happy’s words, spilling his juice on the checkerboard. He looks up at Tony timidly and if Tony didn’t have such a bad goddamn headache already, he would’ve been yelling.

“What? Why?”

“Happy!” The betrayal in Peter’s voice is evident. Tony sees the boy’s chest rising and falling rapidly as he pushes himself to his feet.

Of course, the kid’s Parker pride prohibits him from speaking. Happy does it for him. “Didn’t eat enough. Blood sugar dropped and so did he.”

Tony’s expression must extend past anger because Peter's deep breaths are audible now. He stumbles away from the table and races out of the room on shaking legs, leaving their unfinished game behind.

Tony and Happy stand in an uncomfortable silence, letting him go. After a beat, Happy breaks it. “He just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

A flash of anger rips through his chest like an arrow, but it fades just as fast. “Jesus. Never.” At Happy’s questioning look, he adds “I’m just so goddamn worried about him.”

Happy hums in agreement, looking somber. May’s death had been hard on him, too. On all of them. “He’s been through a lot. Give him time.”

“I just don’t know how to help him Hap.”

Happy shuffles over to him and places a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You are.”

---

A couple more weeks pass. Peter fills out again. He smiles more. He doesn’t miss school and he aces all his tests. Tony thinks they’re approaching a new normal.

As usual, he’s wrong.

It’s late and Tony walks past the kid’s door, noticing a light shining out through the cracks between the frames. Curious more than anything, he stops and knocks softly. When there’s no answer, he pushes it open and steps inside.

Peter is slumped over his desk and snoring softly. His right hand is resting against the dark wood and holding a vibrant red marker, as if he’d fallen asleep writing. Tony inches forward with bare feet, trying to justify his snooping on his journey across the room. It’s unsuccessful, and when his eyes reach what Peter’s been working on his breath catches in his chest and stays there.

Dozens of papers and news articles stretch out under the kid’s sleeping form. All the headlines are the same, tunneling back to May’s murder. Words like tragic, orphan, and suspect jump out in the sea of swirling black and grey. The group that had jumped Peter and May that night were never found. No leads had come up since. By the looks of it, Peter has been turning over every stone.

His heart aches. He lets it be.

Before he leaves he grabs a blanket off Peter’s bed and wraps it over the boy’s shoulders. He shifts in his sleep, but his eyes stay closed.

Tony tosses and turns the rest of the night.

---

Another week comes and goes. Tony doesn’t bring up the news articles. He should.

Peter brings Ned over for a movie. Tony is nearby and hears them as they laugh. When the movie ends, they talk in hushed tones and then Tony can hear it when they cry, too. Ned stays the night and eats Tony’s burnt eggs with a smile the next morning. The two boys share a complicated handshake as Ned leaves, and Peter spends the rest of the day in his room.

Hours pass. Happy helps him make spaghetti for dinner. They scoop it into three heaping bowls.

“FRI, tell Peter dinner’s ready.”

“Mr. Parker is not in the tower.”

Tony freezes in the middle of pulling out cutlery. He notices Happy studying him out of the corner of his eye.

“Well where is he?”

There’s a short pause. “He is currently at Queen’s cemetery.”

Tony drops the cutlery back in the drawer and flinches at the sound it makes. His throat tightens. “Oh. Is- is he okay?”

A longer pause. “Mr. Parker is experiencing acute signs of distress. He also has multiple contusions, two broken ribs, and a stab wound in his lower abdomen.”

Happy chokes and Tony’s vision tilts. “What? FRIDAY what the hell? Why didn’t you tell me.”

The AI’s mechanical voice rings out with innocence. “Mr. Parker asked me not to. Though painful, none of his injuries are life threatening.”

“Asked you to-” Tony breathes in deeply through his nose, holds it tight in his chest, and releases it slowly. Within three minutes he’s in a suit and Happy follows him on the ground. The journey is a blur, the stars above covered in dark clouds. When Tony touches the ground he falls out of the suit into the chill and stands still.

Peter is sitting in the dirt. He has a hand pressed into his side and another curled around the grass. In front of him lie four tombstones, each one sharing his name.

Heart breaking further with each step, Tony walks until he stands beside the boy. If he notices Tony, he doesn’t acknowledge it, and Tony sits down cross legged beside him. For a long time neither of them speaks. Tony stares at the headstones until the words are burned into his eyelids.

Peter shakes and it makes him cry out. Tony can see his hands, how they’re stained in red just like the night May had died. Except this time, the blood is his own. Upon closer inspection Tony can see tears on Peter’s face. He wonders how long he’s been crying.

Being cautious, Tony shifts closer to the boy’s side and pulls him into a half hug, helping Peter apply pressure to the sluggishly bleeding wound in the process. Peter blinks at the gesture, stiffening at first, then loses his resolve and melts against his mentor.

“I found them,” Peter reveals, voice light and airy.

Tony tries not to move. He leans his cheek into Peter’s hair. “Found who?”

“The guys who killed May. They call themselves the Vipers. I tracked them down but when it came down to it I froze. I just couldn’t-” Peter pauses to catch his breath. “They stabbed me just like they stabbed her. It was so hard to move and it felt like I was drowning. They- they got away.”

Tony feels his bottom lip quiver dangerously and he swallows down the tightness in his throat. When he speaks, his words are fractured like broken glass. “You should’ve told me, kiddo. I would’ve helped you.”

Peter sighs as if it had been the answer he had been expecting. He straightens up and only barely catches himself when he loses his balance and lists to the side. Through half lidded eyes, he studies each grave and another tear drips off his chin.

“I just can’t believe they’re all gone,” he whispers, voice haggard. “I’m- I’m the only one left. God. I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to figure it out. Did- did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Tony says immediately, tightening his grip on the boy. He tries to keep his voice steady. “You’ve done nothing wrong Peter, I promise you. Okay?”

“What if something bad happens again? If it’s you or Happy or Pepper or Ned. I would never be able to forgive myself.”

“Hey,” Tony says softly. He sacrifices the pressure of his hands on Peter’s wound to turn his face towards him, leaving two red fingerprints on his jaw. “Nothing bad’s going to happen, Pete. I promise. We’re all okay.”

“Ben used- used to tell me that with great power comes g-great responsibility. What if I’m just not good enough?”

“You are good enough, you hear me? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to this goddamn world. Sometimes bad things just happen. It’s what we do with the aftermath that matters. You hear me?”

Peter’s eyes well with tears. Before he can respond, gravel crunches behind them and twin beams of light fall onto them, casting their shadows across the cemetery. Happy practically leaps out of the car, eyes wide and spiked with concern. Together, he and Tony help Peter to his feet.

Once he’s vertical the last bit of color in his face drains away and his eyes roll up in his head. Tony swears and Happy yells. They catch him easily and fit him snugly into the backseat, head on Tony’s lap.

The young hero drifts back to consciousness by the time they get back to the Tower, but he can barely walk. They manage to make their way up to medbay and Peter checks out again when they give him stitches. Thirty minutes after Tony finishes knotting the string, Peter blinks awake and tells him he’s okay, though it doesn’t convince either of them. Together they walk to Peter’s room and he collapses into bed and is asleep again within seconds. Tony drags his feet to his own and falls against the covers, rubbing tears out of his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He’s not sure when he falls asleep, but a sliver of light makes him open his eyes. Fighting through his confusion, Tony squints against the pale glow in his doorway and sees Peter standing hesitantly in between the hall and his room, gripping at his banadaged abdomen tightly.

“Peter?” Tony props himself on his elbows. “Is your side hurting?”

For a moment, Tony thinks the boy will turn and leave, but he shakes his head slowly and stays. He’s shifting his weight between his feet like he’s nervous, and won’t look Tony in the eyes.

“Nightmare?”

This time, Peter doesn’t nod or shake his head. Instead, he shrugs.

Tony shifts over and pats the space beside him. “C’mere kid.”

Expression shifting into something Tony can’t read, Peter shuffles into the room and crawls in beside Tony. Even in the dark Tony can see the tension drain away from Peter’s body and it makes his chest warm.

Tony closes his eyes. “Goodnight kiddo.”

He freezes as he feels Peter’s body press against his own. The boy is curled up against his side. “G’night Tony.”

When the kid’s breathing evens out, Tony relaxes too. He drops his hand into Peter’s hair and smiles genuinely for the first time in weeks. In this moment of silence, Tony feels a sudden rush of clarity. A spark rushes through his whole body so suddenly that he can feel electricity in his toes. Tears spring into his eyes. He doesn’t know why he didn’t see it sooner.

They’re family, after all.

He’s going to ask Peter if he would like to be adopted.

---

It all goes south on a Tuesday. Peter has just come home from school and Tony is scribbling down equations in his phone for a new spidey-suit prototype. In the background, the news is on, but it’s distant static.

“Hey underoos. How was school?”

“It was fine.” Peter slings off his backpack and walks to the fridge. His eyes brighten when it opens. “Woah! Did Happy make punch?”

Distracted, Tony pauses his equation and looks up. “Yeah. Lots of sugar. Not that you need it.”

“Awesome.” Peter busies himself in pouring himself a glass as Tony watches. Tonight’s the night. After dinner, Tony is going to pop the big question. Pepper is even flying in from Chicago to be there with him.

“-r. Stark?”

Tony snaps out of his daze. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted a glass?”

Slightly embarrassed, Tony crosses his leg and looks away. “No thanks webs. All for you.”

Peter’s response gets cut short as the segment on tv switches over to breaking news. A small woman with dark hair sits solemnly behind a desk, a video of police lights and gunshots going off behind her. “We have just received news that the malicious group known as the Vipers has infiltrated Union Bank in Midtown. There are no reported casualties, but thirteen hostages have been taken-”

Tony jumps at the sound of shattered glass. Peter’s eyes are glued to the screen, hands shaking and socks becoming stained with punch. After a moment he recovers. He doesn’t acknowledge the mess.

“Holy crap.”

Before Tony can stop him, Peter is sprinting for his room. Tony swears colorfully and follows, making a stop in his own room along the way. He pulls open a dusty drawer in his closet and takes what’s inside, heart beating impossibly fast.

When he gets to Peter’s room, he’s breathless. The kid is already in his suit, mask halfway up to his face.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Peter stares incredulously. “What do you mean?”

“You are not going after them!”

The order falls on deaf ears and Peter tries to step past him. Feeling increasingly numb, Tony blocks the door.

“Tony! I need to do this!”

“No way! Last time you tried you got stabbed! They’ll kill you.”

“THEY. KILLED. MAY!” Peter’s voice is loud and raw. Both of them have tears in their eyes. Peter is breathing heavily, face flushed red with emotion. Tony doesn’t budge.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Tony MOVE!”

“I can’t.”

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

Tony takes a deep breath. “Me neither.”

Before Peter can react, Tony pulls a set of handcuffs out of his jacket and clasps one of the ends around Peter’s wrist. Using his shock against him, Tony drags Peter along by the other cuff and secures it tightly around the metal of his bed frame. The click makes them both flinch.

“Wha- Tony?” Peter jerks on the metal, eyes widening when it doesn’t give. “Vibranium?”

Slowly, Tony backs himself towards the door. The apology is on his lips, but it stays there. “Don’t pull on it. It’ll hurt you.”

Peter looks angrier than Tony has ever seen him in his life. He tries to run at Tony and cries out when the cuff does its job, snapping him back against the bed frame. He tugs harder, fire burning in his eyes. “Let me go!”

“I’ll be right back.” Tony is almost out. Peter’s face is streaked with tears.

“Don’t leave me here! TONY!”

“I- I’m sorry.”

He closes the door behind him and pretends not to hear Peter’s screams.

---

When he arrives at the scene the police part like the red sea to let him through. He pushes through the crowd and through his numb haze, hears cheering. It makes his stomach twist into knots.

He wishes he was doing this for the right reason.

Following FRIDAY’s advice, Tony blasts through the wall in the north-east corner of the building. Three Vipers are laying at his feet before the smoke clears. Bullets rip at his armor and Tony sends a blast that knocks two more off their feet. Within seconds, all the Vipers are horizontal.

“Where are the hostages FRI?”

Tony follows the AI’s directions to a back room. His entrance is coupled with gasps and some sobs of relief. One woman in particular with red hair and glasses holds Tony’s attention for a beat too long and he feels a physical pain. Pushing it to the side, Tony helps an old man with silver hair and a bow tie to his feet and supports him through the ruin.

Paramedics meet them at the doors. Tony watches solemnly as the red haired woman races down the steps, falling into the arms of a young boy no older than ten.

“Iron Man.”

Tony turns. One of the Vipers he had blasted has staggered to his feet, leaning heavily against the teller’s counter and holding a small silver pistol to the side of a blonde woman’s head. There’s dark blood on the better half of his face and when he smiles, all his teeth are stained red.

“Get out of the suit.”

Grinding his teeth together tightly, Tony doesn’t move. Hatred burns underneath his skin like fire. “Don’t be stupid, jackass. Let her go.”

“Get out of the suit,” the man’s repeats as he pushes the pistol farther into the woman's head. She whimpers and squeezes her eyes shut. “I’ll count to three, hm? One. Two-”

“Jesus. Fine.” Tony steps out into the bank, the sound of his feet hitting the floor casting echoes up towards the vaulted ceilings. Police begin to fill the room behind him, guns raised at the Viper. “Now let her go.”

“Only if the cops leave with her.”

Sighing deeply, Tony spares a glance behind him and the woman whimpers again. Slowly, he nods. “Okay.”

Gasping as she’s released, the woman crumples to the floor and just barely catches herself on her hands and knees. She scrabbles away towards the line of officers. Tony doesn’t watch her go.

The Viper’s gun shifts focus to Tony. It’s a straight shot through to his forehead. “I thought the Avengers didn’t handle crap like this.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m leaving. You’re coming with me. When it’s safe, I’ll make sure your death is quick.”

“How considerate.”

The man loses his smile. His eyes are cold. “Don’t play around with me Stark.” He steps forward until Tony can smell his cologne. It makes his nose burn. The Viper pushes the mouth of his gun into Tony’s forehead. The steel makes him shiver. He thinks of Peter. “Records show that I can be a little bit reckless.”

“Wait!”

Tony closes his eyes and swears, stomach dropping all the way down to his toes. The Viper whips his head at the new voice, smiling again. “Well, well. Spider-Man. Back for another round I see. Didn’t have enough the first time?”

Peter’s hands are raised in surrender. From one of his wrists hangs the cuff Tony had placed on him, the other end still snapped shut. He must’ve broken through the bedframe. “D-don’t shoot. Take me instead.”

Tony can feel the pressure on his forehead slacken, even if just a little. The Viper is intrigued. “No offense spider, but Stark here is worth a lot more than you.”

Peter takes a defiant step forward. “He’s a lot mouthier, too. I promise I’ll do everything you say. Just- just don’t shoot him. Please.”

“Why do you care so much?”

Peter swallows visibly. His eyes dart to Tony’s and for one blessed second, they connect, a thousand unspoken passing between them like an invisible channel.

An apology.

The Viper looks between them, changing tactics. “On second thought, it doesn’t matter. Take off the mask.”

“Don’t listen to him webs.”

“Take off the damn mask now, or Stark gets a bullet.”

It doesn’t take any more convincing. In the next second, Peter’s wide brown eyes appear and Tony’s knees go weak. There’s a flash of recognition on the Viper’s face. “Wait. I know you.”

“We’ve met before,” Peter says bravely. “You killed my Aunt.”

The Viper smiles. “Ah yes. Redhead, right? Too bad I let you live. You’re not treating my gift very well.”

“She meant everything to me.”

Tony’s mouth is dry. “Kid-”

Peter’s hands are shaking as he raises his arm. All the oxygen in the room seems to vanish. “Now it’s your turn.”

Time is a strange thing.

Peter fires off a web and it seems to cut through the air in slow motion. It hits the Viper in the face, throwing him off balance, and Tony feels the gun leave his head entirely. As soon as the pressure leaves, Peter is suddenly beside him, hands on his chest and pushing him hard while kicking out at the Viper simultaneously. Tony hears the shot ring out as they fall.

Then everything speeds up.

The Viper is on the floor, eyes closed. Tony expects to see a ring of blood around him, but it never comes.

He looks at Peter.

“Christ. God. No.”

Peter is laying flat on his back and grasping weakly at his side. When Tony falls to his knees beside the young hero he feels warm liquid soak through the material of his suit and tries his best through his mounting panic to hold the kid together underneath him. It’ll take hours to scrub the blood out from under his fingernails.

“P-peter.”

After months, Peter’s smile finally reaches his eyes. His lips are stained with crimson. “‘M okay.”

“We’re going to get you out of here okay?” He grabs Peter’s hand and holds onto it tightly. The handcuff dangling on his wrist is stained with crimson. The restraint he put there. The image burns into his brain and makes him sick.

“This is what happened to Ben,” Peter’s voice is barely a whisper. A tear falls out of the corner of the kid’s eye, followed by another. “But ‘m not scared.”

“Paramedics!” Tony fights against the tightness in his chest. “Peter, open your eyes.”

For once, the boy listens. “It d’sn’ hurt.”

“Kiddo-”

“‘M glad you’re ‘kay.” With fading strength, Peter squeezes Tony’s hand. It says what he can’t anymore. “You’re my last family.”

“Peter no. I can’t lose you. I refuse. Pepper’s on her way. We were going to ask to adopt you tonight Pete. Christ. You can’t-” He breaks off with a shaky breath. The puddle beneath them grows wider. “Help! Please!”

He doesn’t know if Peter hears him. He blinks slowly once, twice, then nothing. Tony refuses to believe it’s goodbye.

Finally, the doors burst open. A team reaches them and pulls Peter out of his arms. He doesn’t hear how they react to seeing Spider-Man’s face. The static is too loud in his ears for anything. As they rush him on a stretcher, Tony grabs the paramedic closest to him by the sleeve, spotting it with crimson. “Save him.”

The woman looks at him with a hard, calculating gaze. Her eyes are brown like Peter’s. “We’ll do all we can.”

Someone helps him up and supports him. When they go outside, the sun blinds him. He can feel his pulse behind his eyes. Distantly, he feels himself helped into the back of the ambulance. They’re halfway to the hospital before he realizes the ambulance is moving.

Tony doesn’t pray often.

He prays now.

---

It’s beeping that wakes him up. Always the beeping.

Another stupid machine, another hospital room. Puffy eyes and salty sleeves and a dull headache that pulses in time with the ache in his heart.

Tony doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that Peter is still asleep. Apart from the beeping, the room is quiet as death. He feels the soft medbay sheets under his cheek and realizes he’d fallen asleep over Peter like the freaking leaning tower of Pisa.

His muscles strain and pop as he moves to sit up and sit back into his chair. His legs are numb and his throat is dry. He tries for a moment not to look at Peter, scared what the sight of the recovering boy will do to his heart.

Eventually, he can’t prevent it any longer.

Peter looks, for lack of a better word, dead. His face is ghostly, his entire body lax and hooked to various tubes and machines feeding him air and the drugs keeping him alive. He looks small, so incredibly small. Impossibly so. Tony feels his chest tighten like a rapidly deflating balloon, stealing away his oxygen. He thinks of what Peter had looked like slumped in front of four matching tombstones, broken in more ways than one. He thinks of the way Peter had looked at him at the bank, a look that had the very real possibility of being his last.

You’re my last family, he had said.

Family.

Tony’s more sure of it now than ever before.

“Wake up Pete,” he whispers, voice wavering.

“Wake up.”

----

Two days later, Peter does.

Tony isn’t even there when it happens. He’s in the shower, scrubbing at his hands. They’re pink and raw, though no matter how many bubbles he goes through, he still feels Peter’s blood against his fingers.

He barely hears the knock at the bathroom door.

“Tony?”

It’s Pepper. Tony looks away from his hands, snapping out of his daze. He can barely breathe through the thick steam. How long had he been in here?

“Pep?” His heart is beating fast. “What’s wrong?”

There’s a short silence and Tony grips onto the wall for support, knees weak. His mind cycles through a million possibilities. God, he should’ve never left the kid’s side-

“He’s awake Tones. Peter’s awake.”

This time, Tony does almost fall. He shoots his hand out to twist off the water. “W-what?”

“He’s awake,” Pepper repeats, her voice inflated with happiness. “He’s asking for you.”

Tony’s world spins as he stumbles out of the shower, throwing on clothes that stick to his wet skin. Pepper is waiting for him on the other side of the door, eyes widening when she sees him. “Tony, there’s still soap in your hair-”

“It’s fine,” he says immediately. “Peter-”

“He’s going to be okay,” Pepper assures. “Cho is looking him over as we speak.”

“Going to be okay?”

“Yes-”

“Oh God.” Tony pulls her forward by the back of her neck and wraps her in a tight hug. She returns it warmly.

“Go.”

Tony falls away from the embrace and races towards the door. Later, he would deny that he ran. But now, well, nothing else quite matters.

Cho is scribbling on a clipboard when Tony swings into the room, breathing hard and dripping water from his hair. She’s laughing at something and looks up when Tony appears under the doorframe. “Hello Tony.”

“H-hi.”

“Before you ask, he’s doing great. A star patient as usual. Should be up and out of here in no time.”

Tony sags slightly, eyes stinging. Cho steps aside, revealing Peter behind her. He’s slumped against his pillow, eyes half mast but open all the same. Their eyes meet and Peter smiles, the tube under his nose lifting. “H-hey.”

“Pete.”

Cho must take it as her cue to leave. She leans down to squeeze Peter’s hand before walking past Tony and out of the room, patting him kindly on the shoulder as she does so.

Peter looks better, but not good. His lips are chapped and he looks like he’d just spent the past week fighting off a particularly bad bout of the flu, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“What?” No matter how badly he wants to sprint over the kid, he feels rooted where he stands in the room’s entrance. Everything feels distant and quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again softly.

“No,” Tony rebuttals. He takes one step forward, then two. “I should be the one apologizing. I handcuffed you to your room.”

Peter chuckles. It must hurt, because he winces. “Yeah, not your best moment.”

“You could say that.”

“But,” Peter says, “it was to protect me.”

“Just like you pushing me out of the way of that bullet was to protect me,” Tony says.

Peter shifts against the pillows, eyes reddening. “I just, after May-”

Another step, one left, one right.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t lose you. I- I can’t lose you.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Tony is at the kid’s side. He sits against the edge of the mattress, raw hands clutched tightly in his lap.

“I remember something from before I passed out,” Peter says carefully. He’s staring at the wall. “Something you said.”

Pulse jumping, Tony nods. The cocktail of anxiety and relief has left him lightheaded. “We- we had this big thing planned out. But I guess I ruined the surprise.” He pauses and the entire universe seems to slow. “Pep and I want to adopt you Pete. I know it’s soon, but you know if, if you want- we’d love nothing more in the world.”

Something fills the room like electricity. Tony feels his mind short circuit as tears leak out of Peter’s eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes Pete. More than anything.”

The next moment, their hugging. Tony feels tears of his own spill over onto his face as he clutches onto the kid with all his might. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes. “Yes.”

And just like that, Tony’s orbit completes itself. It’s something he hadn’t known he’d needed so badly until now. Peter. The kid. His kid. Their son.

“Tony?”

“Y-yeah kiddo?”

“You have bubbles in your hair.”

Tony chokes on a laugh and holds the boy tighter. “Shut up and let me enjoy the moment.”

He can’t see the kid’s face, but he knows he’s smiling.

For now, for today, they’re alright.

They’re family.

#my fic #irondad #irondad fic #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #hurt/comfort #found family #mcu #spiderson #tony & peter #writing #dealing with grief #peter parker whump #hope ya'll enjoy

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