just look at that wry smile

{PART 18} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; The crowning moment arises when you and Jungkook arrive at the fundraising ball; but the storm clouds gather as you come face to face with your greatest fear.

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time) 

{Part 1} // {Part 17} {Part 18} {Part 19}

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anonymous asked:

Complete this conservation: "Soooo Dean. How did it go with Cas last night? *wink*"

“Soooo Dean.” Sam settles at the kitchen table across from where his brother sits, digging into a bowl of cereal. “How did it go with Cas last night?” He flashes a quick wink at him. 

Dean stops mid-chew, looking up at his brother. “Fine. Quiet.” he says in-between bites. “We staked out that barn all night and didn’t see a thing. I’m thinking that the haunting may have just been kids or something.”

“Ah,” Sam nods and takes a sip of his coffee, a wry smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “That’s interesting.” Dean raises an eyebrow, immediately suspicious of the pointed look his brother gives him. 

“Yeah, if you say so,” he mutters, turning his attention back to his breakfast. 

“Yeah, because I was actually listening to the police scanner last night while you were out, just keeping an ear out,” Sam begins. “And there was a lot of chatter about some strange noises coming from right around the area where you guys were stationed.”

“Lotta animals out there, Sam.”

“Yeah, a lot of grunting and groaning. One guy said it sounded like moaning.” he continues. Dean sets his spoon down and looks at Sam.

“Yeah, there sure was a lot of noise out there,” he says. “Animals go crazy during the full moon.” He punctuates his sentence, taking a scoopful of frosted flakes into his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, you could be right,” Sam says, rising from the table. “Although I can’t think of any animal with a mating call of ‘Oh Cas.’”

Dean chokes on his cereal. 

How I ship Gency:

I like to think that Angela is a kind but very very tired soul that continues to push herself beyond her limits for the good of humanity. She’s constantly trying to improve medical science and works long hours to make it happen. She will sometimes go days without sleep on the job and forget to eat. Over the years, it has made her jaded - almost dead inside. But she does what she must.

One day, a body is rushed to her by Blackwatch all the way from Japan. She has never seen this man - or what’s left of him - before, but he’s obviously very important to Overwatch’s interests if he was rushed to her to be saved. So she begins the grueling process of breathing life back into his body. Thanks to the advances in medicine that she has pioneered, she is able to save the miraculous, weak heartbeat in him. Regardless, she still works for months slowly rebuilding him and salvaging any organic parts possible. All the while he is comatose.

The first time he awakens, he is disoriented, angry, and violent. Angela has to call for back up to restrain him so she can explain where he is, what has happened, and that he is safe. Gabriel Reyes enters during this time. Reyes doesn’t beat around the bush. He tells the man - Shimada Genji - that he was saved because they need his knowledge of the Shimada clan in order to dismantle it - that he will be instrumental in taking down his family business. Angela is horrified. She’d never been told to what end Overwatch needed this man - only that he held valuable information. She only guessed who or what he could be. Perhaps an important diplomat or undercover agent - but not an outsider. Not someone who would be in their debt for life. Her operations on him were costly. There was no way Overwatch would do that and expect nothing in return. Though they worked for the safety of the world - Angela knew they were not a charity.

She shoots a piercing glare in Reyes’ direction - saying silently, “This is NOT what I signed up for! We WILL talk about this later!” Reyes ignores her look. He waits for Shimada’s response. The man is silent. Thinking. After a pregnant pause, his gaze crawls up to their faces and a chill runs through Angela’s spine.

“I could be more than just information,” he says with seething rage boiling in his eyes. Reyes lifts an eyebrow. Angela can’t breathe. Shimada continues, “It would be my pleasure to assist in destroying my brother’s empire.” His lips curl at the word brother.

Reyes and Shimada exchange hard stares at one another. Reyes is the first to speak. “What are you asking, boy?”

“Let me personally assist on this project. On the field. I know more secrets than just the business of the empire - and how to exploit them. I am already a trained fighter with extensive experience in stealth and… Other fields of interest to your organization.” The menace in his gaze reveals that he speaks the truth.

Angela leaves abruptly. She doesn’t need to look at Reyes to know that he will accept Shimada’s offer. She is so very tired.

She assists in Shimada’s recovery. She fine-tunes his motor skills. She helps him learn to walk again. She helps familiarize him with his new functions… She refuses to comply with Blackwatch’s request to integrate weaponry into his cybernetic body. She hates weapons. She hates violence - it’s what stole her parents from her in the war. She has only ever killed in battle when absolutely necessary and in self-defense, and she has no intention of making instrument of death.

They confiscate her medical files on Shimada-san. She is told she will no longer be his overseeing doctor. She does not see him for a long time.

She cannot help but worry about him. She spent months caring for him in his most vulnerable state, yet here he is working for Blackwatch with cybernetic weapons and enhancements. His new armor covers his face. She has not seen it since the day he awoke.

Over the years, she occasionally hears of strides made in the Shimada Empire Project. Inside jobs. Sabotage. Assassinations. She always thinks of Shimada-san.

Then everything goes to hell.

With the Swiss headquarters razed to the ground and Overwatch outlawed by the PETRAS Act, Angela is alone and so very tired. Overwatch and Blackwatch agents have scattered across the Earth, she among them. Despite the weight of the world on her shoulders, she can’t help but wonder in the back of her mind what Shimada will do now. His rage and bitterness had driven his actions since the day he was revived. Where would he go with no organization or project? She worries.

A year passes. She receives a letter - a hand-written letter?? It’s covered with postage and forwarding stamps to multiple addresses. It is from Shimada. The contents are awkward with apologies and abundant with reluctance at even writing to her. He is apparently staying with the Shambali monks in Nepal under the teachings of Zenyatta Tekhartha. He writes that Zenyatta insisted that he begin writing letters to someone in his life as a part of his healing process. Healing process? He ends the letter with an apology for bothering her.

“Healing process”… Her heart warms at the thought. She writes him back, expressing that she is not bothered by his letters and informing him of her current mailing address for future ones.

For the next three years she looks forward to every letter. She is still overworked. Still trying to better the world. Still so very tired. But his letters remind her that working to help others heal is valid and worth the pain. His transformation is gradual, but evident. At first he is guarded - only sharing bare minimum details of his lessons. As they exchange letters, however, she begins to see his walls crumble as he shares more personal thoughts and feelings. He even starts to inject wry humor into his script. She doesn’t know for certain, and maybe it could never truly be this way, but Angela believes she is getting to meet the man from before the fight with his brother. He asks that she refer to him by his first name, Genji, so that he is not reminded of the name he shares with his brother, Hanzo.

Genji still refers to her as Miss Ziegler.

The Overwatch recall blindsides her, yet she travels to Gibraltar as soon as possible… She knows where she belongs. She writes Genji from Gibraltar informing him of her new address. She does not receive a reply. She worries.

One day, several weeks after the recall, a stranger covered from head to toe in intricately designed garments appears on their doorstep, an omnic companion in tow. Winston greets them hesitantly, Angela unconsciously stands slightly behind the gorilla. The stranger stares past Winston and into Angela’s face, saying nothing at first. Several moments pass. The omnic places a hand on the man’s shoulder, and he seems to relax a bit. He is hesitating. Why? Slowly, the man lifts his hands to undo the headdress covering his face, all the while keeping his gaze locked on Angela.

A moment more passes as he unties the cloth around his head. Then all at once the headdress is off, leaving his face naked.

Rich brown eyes meet hers, steadied with courage. Pale, old scars marble his face, crawling upward and across his cheeks, nose, and lips. His mechanical jaw clenches in apprehension. His black hair is plastered to his forehead from the headdress he’d been wearing not long ago.

Angela cannot breathe as she looks upon the face that she has not seen since the day she revived him.


She is hugging him before she realizes what she’s doing. His arms hover over her back, shock evident in his face. Pulling back and wiping joyful tears from her eyes, she apologizes for surprising him.“But,” she adds with a wry smile “you surprised me first! So we are even.”

The shock in his eyes melts into something softer that she cannot name. He chuckles. “I suppose you are right, Miss Ziegler.”

She feels a prick of annoyance at his formality, but quickly squashes it. After all, she’s just heard him laugh for the first time. She smiles genuinely. “You seem well, Genji.”

What passes across his expression can be described as nothing other than the purest of inner tranquility. The corners of his lips upturn just slightly. His gaze is soft, unguarded as he looks into her eyes. The shadows of the violent rage that boiled in his soul so many years ago are nowhere to be found. “I am a different man now. I am whole.”

Her heart squeezes. Tears blur her vision and she cannot help grinning as the joy for him thrums throughout her body. “…That is wonderful!” she manages.

She is the furthest thing from tired.

Sometimes people need to heal before love can blossom. Falling in love is not the cure-all. But loving others, building those relationships through the thick of it all - that is one of the most important bonds you can ever have.

check yes juliet (4/?)

the people have spoken


don’ t ask me for an update until, like, another year has passed


Part one, part two, part four (part 1, part 2, part 3) (tag)

How much sleep he got turned out to be negligible in the long run: he really couldn’t be expected to focus anyway, because Marinette wore the Chat Noir hoodie to school the next day too.

And the next.

And the next.

In fact, she wore it every day throughout the next week.

Adrien got a crash course in ‘how to pretend you were paying attention when your crush is wearing a sweater with your signature all over it.’

He failed it miserably.

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silk | chapter eight

Originally posted by wonhoslilmonster

chapter song | masterpost | next chapter

ceo au - jimin x reader - angst | smut

word count : 4.9k

warnings : smut

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6am: ArchiexReader

hey guys, just a quick oneshot that I threw together. idk, having major archie feels. feedback would be appreciated if you don’t hate it. 

Summary: Archie waking you up in the middle of the night. Basically just complete fluff.

Originally posted by juggiehead

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{PART 9} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; Jungkook takes you shopping and you inadvertently give him a lesson on just how cruel humans can be to each other.

{Part 1} // {Part 8} {Part 9} {Part 10}

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time)

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Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am no good for you //  SHAWN MENDES

Tap…tap, tap… the sound echoes around my silent bedroom. My eyes flick open, body still at the sound. Waiting. Tense. It’s probably just the wind blowing the trees against my window pane. I shut my eyes again.

Tap, tap, tap… tap. This time I sit up. Maybe it’s just a bird? I look to the alarm clock, the light harsh against my eyes. 2:25 AM. What kind of bird is up at this time? I listen for the noise again. Nothing. I let out a sigh of relief and sink back into my blankets.

TAP, TAP, TAP. It’s more urgent this time. Ripping my blankets off my body I walk to the window. I reach to open the blind, hand faltering just I was about to open them. Isn’t this the part of like every horror movie ever where the girl opens the curtains and then they get stabbed by a masked killer?

TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP. I slam the curtains open. A black and white mask covers half his face in a skull pattern, the rest of him dressed in black. Bright brown eyes meet mine. Well shit. I hastily open the window and he climbs through.

“Gees women how long does it take you to open a window?” Shawn asks me, his voice muffled through the fabric.

“Oh I’m sorry,” I say placing one hand on my hip. “I didn’t know I was expecting company at 2:30 in the morning,”

He just grins at me. “Missed you too,” Shawn says cheekily.

I roll my eyes, hands reaching out to pull him by his cotton jacket towards me. I wrap my arms around his waist, leaning my head against his chest. He smells what he always smells like, soap and fresh air, which given by his choice in past time it’s not unusual.

One of his hands lifts up to stroke the back of my head, he rests a kiss on my forehead, while the other hand stays glued to his stomach.

I look at him suspiciously. “What happened to you?” I ask, pulling back completely and crossing my arms over my chest. Shawn knew my disapproval about him being in a gang, but of course he was stubborn and refused to leave until his contract was up. I never understood it.

He gives me a wry smile. “Not much,” he answers taking a step back, his face hardening.

“Liar” I say glaring at him. “It will be much easier in the long run if you tell me now,” We stare at each other. I sigh, uncrossing my arms. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, I’m worried about you, alright?” His expression softens.

“I know you do,” He says. Gently, he lifts his arm away and rolls up the bottom of his shirt. A bruise the size of my fist, black and blue, lines the side of his stomach. A gasp escapes me.

What did they do to you?” I cry, holding my arms to my chest. I knew what Shawn did was dangerous, never before however have I seen him hurt. 

“Its not what you think,” he says, tugging his shirt down. “Its just,” He falters. 

“Just what?” I say my voice rising. “Did they do that to you?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything. I turn away, not being able to look him in the eyes.

“I can’t believe this,” I mumble although its more to myself then to Shawn. I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt. 

“Baby its ok-”

“Don’t you dare tell me its okay,” I snap cutting him off. I can feel angry tears beginning to well in my eyes. “They hurt you. What’s going to happen next? Stab wound maybe? Broken bone? Fucking bullet wound?” 

I’ve kept this anger to myself ever since I found about Shawn being in a gang that he’s tied to until hes 22. His past is a mess. He got caught up with bad people and now he’s paying the price. 

“Y/N…” He trails off. 

“See! You can’t even defend yourself, you know i’m right,” 

“They had a perfectly good reason,” He tries to reason.

“And what reason was that? You didn’t get the proper drugs or wasn’t there enough cash?” I’m fully crying now. 

“They wanted to use you, dammit Y/N” Shawn runs a hand through his brown locks. I freeze. 

“What?” my voice sounds small, a faint chill creeping in from the open window. 

Slowly Shawn removes the fabric. More bruises appear on the once milky skin of his jaw. 

“They wanted to use you as bait for the drug lord in the west of the city,” His eyes flick up to mine, darkness swirls in the inkiness of them. “I told them over my dead body would they ever lay a fucking hand on you,” Tears continue to spring from my eyes at Shawn’s revelation. 

“Of course, lets just say they didn’t like my language nor defiance and this is what happened,” he shrugs his shoulders as though nothing happened.

I sniffle, trying to stop the tears. Gosh, it made me seem so weak in front of him. 

“I don’t know what to say,” I manage. 

“You don’t have to say anything, I have everything covered,” I don’t believe him. They hit him because he wouldn’t let them use me, I was his soft spot. What if they used me again against him? I couldn’t bare to see Shawn do something terrible just to save me. 

Wiping my eyes, I stand up taller, trying to remove all emotion from my face. Seeing Shawn standing there though, tall and handsome, I felt my stomach knot with what I was about to do. 

“When people first saw us together, in public,” I begin, my eyes never leaving his. “They thought I was crazy. They told me you were no good for me,” I let out a weak chuckle. “I’m.. I’m beginning to think that they’re right,” I can’t look at him in the face anymore. 

“I don’t want to be with you anymore, not like this,” I whisper. My body slightly slumps and I want to cry all over again. 

“No,” Shawn says. My head snaps up.

“What do you mean no? I’m breaking up with you Shawn- you can’t just say no,” I say, my eyes narrowing.

“I know what you’re doing.” A small part of me is filled with joy that he didn’t agree to break up. “You think that by us splitting up is going to make them stop coming after you to get back at me or to make me comply. It doesn’t work that way sweetheart,” He smirks at me, his confidence rolling off him in waves. Now I knew why he was such a valued member in the gang. He could keep his cool in just about any situation. 

“You can leave me but that doesn’t mean I just magically stop loving you.” Shawn takes a step forward, cautious that I might run off. When I don’t, he takes a few more until the tips of his shoes are inches from my sock covered feet.

“And maybe they’re right. Maybe I am no good for you. But honestly, does it matter? The best moments in my life have been moments spent with you and if you think for one goddamn second that I’m going to let you slip through my fingers, you’re wrong. I will do anything to protect you- anything. I don’t care what they do to me, I love you and I’m staying with you till I die baby,” 

I grin, “Staying in the gang might bring that day closer,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck, leaving a kiss to his bruised jaw as I felt a chuckle vibrate through his body. 

“I only have 6 months left then I’m out. Then its just you, me and the open road, we can go anywhere. We could start a family!” excitement fills his eyes and I giggle tugging him towards the bed, watching as he slips off his shoes.

“We have to get through right now first,” He slides out his jeans and grabs my hand, tugging me back to him. 

“We will, trust me,” He says. The smile on his face is so certain that can’t help but forget my worries. 

“I love you,” Shawn says, kissing me softly.

“I love you more,” I say as I pull back and tug him towards the bed.

“Oh and Y/N?”

“Yeah,” I ask moving the covers so he can slip in next to me. 

“Never break up with me again,”

anonymous asked:

Will we get a Hail Mary update soon?? Claire need to get back to Jamie and set things right!! :-)

Hail Mary

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate, and 2) not *had* to get married? 

Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV

Part V

It was eight days later that I rode into the courtyard of Castle Leoch, just as dawn was breaking.  

I could have gotten there sooner, certainly, but I had kept off the main roads to the greatest extent possible, taking no chances of falling into the hands of strangers. I’d had quite enough of that, thank you very much, and while my stint with one highland clan had turned out rather well on the whole, I had no desire to try my luck with another, let alone the English army. 

And, despite the danger and the fatigue of the journey, my heart had been light and ready to burst for all eight of those days.

…’Rather well’…

Understatement to the extreme.

It had brought me Jamie.

As foolish and romantic a notion as it perhaps was, I had found myself many times on that hopeful, frantic journey wondering….was it fate that I had come through the stones? That I hadn’t been able to get back to Frank?  Had some bizarre destiny planted the fascination with wildflowers in my mind that morning so that I could be brought to Jamie, and him to me? Or had it all been mere luck? Could chance alone truly have resulted in this wonder? Could I honestly believe that mere odds should have allowed two people— so exquisitely attuned to one another, and yet separated by centuries and custom and country—to find one another in a dangerous, lonely universe?

But even as I had wondered endlessly in the long hours and days and nights on the Highland tracks, I knew it didn’t matter; made no true difference why or how by what means I had found myself in this place, this time. What mattered was the burning in my chest as I swung down from the horse; the need of him singing out from my heart; that he was the only thing my bleary eyes sought among the dozens of faces that gaped staring—glaring—at me from around the mist-laden courtyard.

“Mary, Michael, and Bride–CLAIRE!”

It was not Jamie but Mrs. Fitz barreling toward me from the kitchen dooryard, eyes wide…and wary.  

So, my suspicions had been right, then— the rent party had come directly back to Leoch. Part of me had hoped against hope that they would have continued further north, upon the secondary loop that Ned had pointed out to me that night upon the map. If they had, I would have arrived well before them—giving me precious, valuable time to convince Colum of the perfectly logical (and fictitious) explanation for how I had been so tragically and unexpectedly abducted from Ned and Murtagh and the rest and then escaped. It would have worked, I thought; as long as Jamie kept his silence. Would he?

I care for you, Claire.

My mind snapped back into awareness, back to the cold, stark realities of the present. I hadn’t arrived first, and thus the entire castle knew of my desertion.

Nonetheless, Mrs. Fitz had genuine affection in her voice as she clasped me hard to her bread-and-herb-scented bosom. “Oh, m’dear,” she said, sniffing, and voice tremulous with emotion, “they said—Och, child, they said such terrible things—!“

I returned the embrace, feeling affection flood my heart, even in the same moment as fear and dead-panic. “What—what have they said about me, Mrs. Fitz?”

Forewarned is forearmed, after all. 

She pulled back to stare searchingly up into my face, whispering each word so as not to be overheard by the many watchful onlookers. “That ye’re an English spy—and that ye made off in the night wi’ no warning—and that ye came among us tae do the Mackenzie harm wi’ the knowledge ye’ve gleaned in our midst…”

Well, all things considered, I suppose I couldn’t expect fairer than that. I’d carefully formulated my story, rehearsed the details forward and back—all I could do was pray that Colum would buy it. And that I could talk to Jamie at the first possible moment.  

“I’m not a spy, Mrs. Fitz,” I said, as confidently and reassuringly as I could, bending to kiss her warmly on the cheek. “I can assure you, it’s all a dreadful misunderstanding.”

Lord knew I was not a grand actress, but Mrs. Fitz gave an enormous exhale of relief, looked both flustered and pleased as she took both my hands in hers. “I didna wish tae believe it of ye, m’dear—Such treacherous behavior, I couldna—No, I DIDNA myself believe it, child, but Dougal said–”

“I understand perfectly, Mrs Fitz, truly I do. I promise that I’ll explain the truth as soon as possible to Colum—I mean the laird. In the meantime,” I was literally swaying where I stood, “might I—trouble you for some food?—and perhaps a basin of water to wash? Before I attract more attention?”

The water would be pleasant, but it was food that I needed desperately. The bannocks I had filched from camp were long gone when I reached Craigh na Dun. Having no skill as a hunter, I had had to make do with what roots and berries and other edibles I could forage along the roadside. I had made it to Leoch on stubbornness and hope alone; but the reality was that I was very close to spent from hunger, and was having trouble keeping my legs and my vision aright.  

“Of course, of course!” Mrs Fitz said, already guiding me toward the kitchens. “Sweet child, starved and half-frozen.” She stopped sharply as we reached the doorway, looking apologetic. “Of course, I will have tae send word tae Himself at once that ye’ve arrived, Claire….given….weel….”

Given that I was still a presumed English spy who had just sauntered back into MacKenzie Clan HQ.

“Of course, Mrs. Fitz,” I said gently, “it’s the right thing to do.”

While she commissioned the boy known as Young Alec to take the message to the laird’s cambers and deliver my few belongings up to a spare chamber, my eyes swung once more around and around the courtyard. No Jamie.

Ten minutes was all I needed—ten minutes to explain how wrong I’d been to run; that everything I’d spat at him that night had been a dreadful, vicious lie; that I missed him; that I wanted him; that I wanted to stay. And failing that, even one minute just to be in his arms; to lay my head against his chest and feel his arms pulling me safe and warm against him. One minute just to hold him, and tell him with the gentle softness of my touch, with my eyes, that he hadn’t misjudged my affections; that he hadn’t been…’mistaken.’

Come find me, Jamie, I prayed upward into the walls of Leoch. Find me. Let me tell you what’s in my heart. What was there all along.

I followed Mrs. Fitz inside and down the familiar corridors to the kitchens. She ushered me—ignoring the stares and whispers from the kitchen staff—into a small room behind the kitchen hearth that I had never noticed before. Less than a minute later, I was gulping a mug of thick beef broth (“Drink slowly, m’dear, ye dinna want griping  in yer wame, aye?”), while she and a teenage girl drew me a warm bath in a small wooden tub before the fire. While I had protested that cold water was perfectly sufficient, the warmth of it and the sweet scent of the chamomile soap were together as comforting and bracing as brandy to my weary body. She helped me wash and rinse my hair, then wrapped me thick towels with a second mug of broth as she conjured a clean gown, shift, and stays for me, and then helped me herself to dress.

She sat with me by the fire as I inhaled porridge with honey and a small loaf with soft cheese. Her manner was still kind and sympathetic, but her eyes remained sharp and leery.

“I willna hide from ye, Claire, that the laird is no’ likely tae speak your name with kindness. Dougal was cursing ye roundly tae anyone that would listen—Old Mr. Gowan has scarcely ceased wi’ shaking his head and bemoaning yer actions— and wee Jamie, weel, he’s barely spoken, hasn’t he?”

That jolted my heart into a frenzy. “Has he?” I said lightly, not meeting her eye.

“Jamie? Och, aye,” she said, nodding gravely. “He must ha’ been sore affected by it. I suppose ‘tis only right, wi’ his loyalty to his uncles, ken? But my Laoghaire— she was sae glad tae see him return (she carries quite the torch for him, ye see)—but he’s been silent and lifeless as a stone these past days—Has scarcely given her as much as a ‘Good day.’”

Perversely, that made my heart leap. He doesn’t want Laoghaire, not even for comfort. He doesn’t want just any woman. He wants…

“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Fitz.” Young Alec’s head appeared around the door. “The Mackenzie requests Mistress Beauchamp’s presence in his study at her earliest convenience.”

I didn’t have the balls to ask Mrs. Fitz for a heaping four-finger glass of whisky, but Jesus H. CHRIST how I needed one.

‘Her earliest convenience.’ Which was to say, immediately. Which was to say my fate was to be decided at once. Which meant that if it were the laird’s pleasure, I would be expelled from the castle before I’d had the chance to even lay eyes on Jamie. Which meant—

Dammit. God bloody fucking dammit.

“Will ye do me the honor of sitting with me a time, Mistress Beauchamp?”

I sat in the proffered armchair across the broad desk from Colum MacKenzie. The laird of Castle Leoch was—outwardly, at least— as serene as ever, his appearance decorous and tidy, despite the earliness of the hour. Despite my earlier need for a stiff drink, I couldn’t bring myself to touch the glass he’d had a servant bring me.

He sat there surveying me, that quiet, wry smile playing at his lips. I lowered my eyes and waited, looking awkwardly around the room by way of distraction from the tension in the room. The laird’s study was just the same: luxuriously crammed with its beautiful furnishings befitting the MacKenzie’s station and wealth. His birds cheeped and chirruped eagerly, apparently not at all sensible of the tension pervading the room.

“Déja vu,” Colum said at last.

“What? I mean—“ I stammered, trying to recover from his startlingly calm non-sequitur. “I beg your pardon, my laird?”

“Déja vu. It’s French,” Colum said evenly, eyes twinkling. “It means, ’already seen.’ But surely—“ he said, gracefully arcing an eyebrow, “you, having family in France, would know that?”

I returned his level gaze with one of my own, though I smiled sweetly. “I do apologize, my laird, I simply was taken off-guard. Yes, I do know what the word means.”

“Aye, verra good…excellent.” He nodded sagely, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop, not breaking eye contact. “Then you’ll perhaps know, too, why I should be experiencing such a phenomenon at this moment….”

I knew precisely what he was getting at, but I feigned polite ignorance, waiting for him to continue, to make the first move. 

He did. “You…in my study…playing the harmless ingénue…after appearing on clan lands under highly suspicious circumstances.” He raised his eyebrows. “It does seem—to ring a certain bell, does it not?”

My heart was racing with adrenaline, but I smiled a smile of simple regret and opened my mouth to speak—I had rehearsed this all the way from Craigh na Dun, after all—but a pounding on the door made me all but jump out of my skin. 

“Enter,” Colum said, not seeming in the least bit surprised by the interruption. I regained my composure and remained facing forward. 

There came the squeal of hinges and the unmistakable snort behind me. “So it’s true then,” Dougal MacKenzie’s voice said said, low and hissing, “the prodigal wench has returned.”

My mind was a constant stream of all the curses I’d ever learned, in every tongue, and I’d played with street urchins in countless countries.It shouldn’t have surprised me, now that I came to think of it—Dougal was Colum’s right-hand, after all, and I had officially been in his charge when I’d made my escape— but it did. I had prepared for Colum, for his savage cunning masked in level-headed civility; I was equipped for that: for the turn of phrase and the traps of language and logic. But Dougal was another matter entirely—I couldn’t trust myself to remain calm and collected in the face of his pugnacious and irreverent manner. But I had to bloody do it, prepared or no. 

I didn’t bother to turn around, just said simply, “I’m not a wench, Mr. MacKenzie. And yes, I have returned.” This exchange was too important to let him raise my ire. 

“Prodigal liar, then,” he said, appearing to my left and coming to stand next to his brother, arms crossed and eyes blazing as he glared down at me. “Conspirator. Agent.”

My gaze was still cool, my voice still polite, but I could feel the shards of glass in it, dangerous to both of us. “I swear to you, Mr. Mackenzie: I’m none of those things.”

He laughed, cruelly and vicious, bending at the waist to put his face mere inches from mine. “Ye expect us to just believe the mere word of a lying, filthy wh–”

Will ye tell us, Mistress Beauchamp,” Colum said, his sharp tone a silent warning which Dougal must have comprehended at once, for he stepped back from me, and came to stand at Colum’s right hand, his own hand resting on his dirk handle.

Colum continued. “Will ye tell us what it was, exactly, that made ye suddenly choose to leave the rent party….and just as suddenly return?”

I took a deep breath, ready. “You will certainly recall, my laird, that since my—“ (Filthy, barbarous abduction). “—Arrival— with the Clan MacKenzie, so shortly after the death of my husband, it has been my desire to reach Inverness.”

The laird nodded. 

“It was my intention to join with friends there in hopes of beginning a new life among those I trusted. It was to them that I went the night I departed from the rent party. My longing for familiar faces had grown so strong, that I could no longer bear to wait. That is why I left. The simple desire to be among friends once more.” 

Dougal made a sound of deep derision, but Colum only nodded. “Would ye be so kind as to share with us their names?”

“Reverend Reginald Wakefield and his wife, Catherine, both old friends of my departed parents. I was a child, the last time I met with them, but there was no doubt in my mind that they would receive me. However–” I heaved a deep breath, pleased to feel a lump in my throat that lent emotion to my voice as I revealed the ‘sad’ news. “Upon arriving in Inverness, I learned that the Wakefields had taken ship for the Indies three years ago, to begin a Presbyterian mission on the island of—”

“How daft do ye think we are, woman?” Dougal growled, with a gesture so violent I shrunk back instinctively into my chair. “Ye dinna have friends in Inverness and ye NEVER did. Else you’d have written to them upon your first arrival here.”

I straightened once more and did my best to appear innocently perplexed. “What makes you think I didn’t write to them, Mr. Mackenzie?”

“Because—“ Colum interjected, his calm—earlier, such an asset to my nerves— now terrifying. Not a hand of clemency: a razor-thin knife,“—I make it my business to be aware of all correspondence in and out of the castle. Oh, not necessarily the contents,” he said, seeing the shock and disapproval on my face, “just who is writing to whom while enjoying my hospitality—as is my right as laird.” He folded his hands. “And there has been no letter to or from a Claire Beauchamp at any point since you arrived on MacKenzie lands.” 

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a soft, “—And if ye did manage to communicate with them… it does make one wonder…” He gave me his most piercing gaze yet, stealing my breath, “—why a woman with nothing to conceal should go to such lengths to do so…undetected?”

No. No no no no no, this was slipping so quickly away from my control.

“I do appreciate how all this must appear on the surface.” I could feel my heart racing with panic as I grasped at straws, desperate to remain calm and failing miserably. There was an audible quaver in my voice—damn it, damn ME!—“All I can do, my laird, is swear that I mean you and your clan no ill will, I have no ties or contact with the English government, whatsoever and I am willing to attest to those truths on anything you wish to name. The simple fact, however it may appear, is I saw a chance to reach Inverness and I took it. That is all.”

“Liar,” Dougal hissed. “Admit it: You’re a paid informant for the English. Ye left our company ten days ago to report our goings-on to your superiors, and now you’re back, despite your sweet face and claim to innocence, wi’ fresh orders and OPEN EARS.”

I was panicking. “That—that is simply not—”

He was looming over me again. I could smell his breath and feel it hot on my forehead. “Admit the truth, woman, and we’ll perhaps show ye some mercy. SPEAK!” 

A cacophony of sound filled the room and startled the birds. 

Dougal’s violent snarling: “Liar! LIAR!”

A whimpering sound. Me? 

Colum’s sharp, commanding, “I can think of no just reason—”


“—that a woman wi’ nothing to hide, should—” 

“Please—please—you must believe–”

Dougal’s hands on the arms of my chair. 

My eyes closed, the colors roaring in the dark. 

Stop. Just make it stop. Stop.  



“—Loosen your tongue–”


I felt his voice jolt through my body like a wave of electricity and I whirled my head to see him standing in the corner, arms crossed. 


I nearly sunk to the floor in abject relief. He must have entered with Dougal, remaining silent. But he was here. HERE

Jamie. MY Jamie.

Floor be damned: I wanted to leap out of the chair and fly into his arms—those strong arms that had held me and warmed me and kept me; Wanted to feel his skin against mine. Wanted—wanted so badly it felt like physical pain in my chest—to kiss him and feel his fingers in my hair. To talk. To tell. JAMIE. 

I forced myself to remain still, but inside I was thrumming with relief and joy. Everything would be alright, now—Jamie was here.

Tell them, Mistress,” he said, and the coldness in that voice was so shocking I blinked as though struck. 

He had stepped forward a pace or two, so I could see that his eyes, too, were hard and icy, revealing none of his usual bright eagerness. Even more disturbing than this, they held an alarming intensity, some silent meaning I couldn’t comprehend. “It’s alright, mistress. Tell them the truth of why ye fled.”

Another jolt, and I could do nothing but stare, my mouth gobbling open and shut. The truth? 

For one wild, ludicrous moment, I was screaming: ‘how does he know I was trying to get through the stones?’

But he didn’t know; he couldn’t know; he could never know that truth.

“I….CAN’T.” I finally said, teeth gritted and voice tight. (Because I don’t know what in bloody hell you mean, you damned, wonderful—)

“Ye can,” he said, walking around to my right to stand with his uncles. “Go on, Mistress. There’s less shame in it than being mistaken and hung for a spy.”

“What’s this about, Jamie?” Colum demanded, his eyes flashing.

Dougal, too, was mounting in his own brand of fury. He took a menacing step toward his nephew. “D’ye mean to say that ye had further knowledge of her departure—Information that you chose to withhold??”

“Aye,” Jamie said, his eyes downcast. “Though it wasna mine to disclose, before.”

Dougal gave a guttural roar and made as if to lunge for Jamie behind Colum’s chair, but before he could say another word, Jamie raised a hand and looked directly at me with that same hard eye as before. “With your permission, Mistress?”

I saw it now, what that look meant.  

It said: be silent.

I nodded and dropped my eyes to my lap, seeing the three of them behind the desk only from the upper periphery of my vision.

“Mistress Beauchamp fled that night…because I spurned her advances.”

I couldn’t have spoken a word if I’d tried. If I could have, it might have been a gut-punched, ‘…Jesus.’

He went on, quiet and careful. “I begged her to forgive me—Told her truly what a fine, beautiful lady she is, and how much I admired and respected her—but that—my allegiances lay elsewhere.”

He placed a hard emphasis on that word, and I thought I saw a shifting, enough so that I chanced a glance upward to witness the significant look Jamie was sharing with Colum. To my astonishment and relief, I thought I saw something dawning in the laird’s expression. Jesus Christ…this was going to work!

“And—being, as we all know—a verra strong-willed and reckless sort of woman, Mistress Beauchamp departed in the night—” He turned his gaze to me, “—too hurt …and vexed to remain…That’s how it was….aye, Mistress?”

I felt myself nodding but I was still staring down at my hands . I could see him in my periphery, his image blurring and distorting as the tears gathered. My throat was burning. With shame.

That’s how it was. Despite his phrasing, he wasn’t asking me. He was telling. Hurt and vexed—the mildest words possible for what I had done to him. His eyes told me the truth: Furious. Heartbroken.

God, what a fool I was. I’d come back, free in my own heart, ready to sing out a ‘ten-minute’ apology, then throw myself into his arms with hardly a thought for just how deeply I had savaged him with my words, my rejection.

His eyes were on the floor, now, and I wanted to tear my own guts out. 

Beauchamp, look at yourself.

I was.

And I saw—vividly—how I had ground his heart into the dirt when he’d handed it to me so tenderly and freely.

I had had my reasons at the time, yes. But God, how I had twisted the knife in his flesh. How I had ripped him.  

He’d made me a gift of himself and everything he would ever be, and to his eyes, I hadn’t even glanced at it before flinging it into the fire.

I did, Jamie! God, I DID glance. I looked and looked and it frightened me because I WANTED it. And I ran because I was married—because of Frank. But he’s gone now. He’s gone and I want YOU. 

Can’t you see that in my face? LOOK, Jamie. Find me, here.

“Well… that does seem to explain things.”

I looked up at Colum in surprise, wiping my eyes, which had been streaming. Apparently my regret and shame over what I’d done to Jamie was playing off rather nicely in support of the narrative that I was the lover that had been spurned. Even Dougal’s hostile posture had softened, though his look of distaste had not.

Colum, however, was not done. “Though it doesna altogether account for your return, this morning. If it was our Jamie’s disregard that prompted ye to flee…why come back?”

“I knew almost immediately,” I said quickly, marshaling my tremulous voice and picking up the narrative from Jamie, thanking him silently for handing me a lie with a fighting chance of success, “that it would look dreadful—as it indeed does, I am well aware—to have forsaken my word to the MacKenzies on a mere affaire de coeur.”  

I met eyes with Jamie and lost my breath for a moment. He seemed to sense that my looking at him disrupted my train of thought, and he casually began pacing before the bookshelves, moving to my right and slowly out of my line of sight.

I carried on. “Upon learning that my friends were unreachable, I did consider going south to England—or to Edinburgh or some other place I might have cause to use my skills as a healer, but my honor prompted me to return–”

“Honor,” scoffed Dougal.

“—and to beg the forgiveness of the laird and permission to remain in his service. Which I do now, humbly, under whatever terms you demand.”

Silence reigned, interrupted only by the chirping of the birds.

Colum and Dougal  leaned their heads together, sharing a heated, whispered conference. I wanted desperately to turn in my chair and look at Jamie, touch his hand, thank him, but I forced myself to stay still.

At last, Colum straightened with a look of decision, and surveyed me intently for a long moment before saying, “You may remain at Leoch, Mistress Beauchamp.”

My sigh of relief was far louder than I’d anticipated. “Thank you—THANK YOU, my laird.”

“BUT—” he said, firmly, “you will confine your movements within the walls of the main castle. And an escort will be reinstated until you have earned my forgiveness. And my trust.”

I nodded. “That is—more than fair, sir. I will respect your wishes.”

We made our farewells and I rose, taking the time to give my deepest, most respectful curtsy I could muster, but turned the very first second I was able, tuned so that I could see Jamie, ask where we might go to talk, alone.

But all I saw was the swish of a vanishing plaid.

[[Next week they talk, I promise]]

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anonymous asked:

hello, it is for a drabble. jungkook x reader, 53. (:

Genre : Drabble, #53 “Take off your shirt.” so much fluff u cant even deal boi

Characters : Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Word Count : 1650

A/N: @jungk0oksthighs​ im sorry for ruining u, also @ the anon I hope u enjoy this!


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Good Boy, Stevie // Steve Rogers x Reader (P1)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x POC Reader, a tiny bit WinterWidow and ScarletVision
Word Count: 3.7k+
Warning: Language, fluff, Slooow burn, Sub!Steve, Dominant Reader  
Summary: Steve discovers he really enjoys you on top and in control. Pietro and Sam find out a little more about Bucky Barnes than they ever wanted to know. Wanda is a surprising supporter of *ahem* kinky things.

A/N: You really thought I was going to leave you hanging on ‘Oh Captain!’ like that? I’m not that sadistic. Okay…maybe I am but this story practically begged me to write it. Who am I to refuse?

Originally posted by luvinchris

Previously on Oh Captain: Good Boy, Stevie //Part 2

It’s been three weeks.

It’s been three weeks since you absolutely rocked the hell out of Steve’s world. Every moment alone he had he spent reliving the feeling of your grip on his jaw and your thighs around his waist. Every night he exhausted himself to the memory of you whispering ‘cum for me, Stevie’ in his ear. Every morning he had a raging hard on he spent way too way too many damn hours in the gym or on the track trying to work off. Passing you in the halls between mission briefings and operation updates and seeing that sly smirk on your lips wasn’t helping matters at all. He felt like he was losing his mind. He might actually be losing his mind. He didn’t know what to do anymore.

Steve had never been power hungry; he knew being Captain America was a great responsibility and he accepted it. He loved taking care of his country, fighting so that kid he used to be, that kid he still sees in the mirror, never had to deal with bullies again. He loved fighting to protect a nation of outspoken runts with a strong moral compass had a chance to change the world. But sometimes…sometimes he wished someone would take care of him. Then he met you.

Since that night, he’d been trying to get up the courage to talk to you. He wasn’t exactly sure how to approach you. Your collective responsibilities as Avengers and Agents of SHIELD kept the promise of a second date and the promise of ‘next time’ hanging in the air. What happens now? What if it wasn’t good for you? What if you changed your mind? What if you met someone else? His anxiety had been particularly brutal to deal with lately.

“You don’t understand, Buck. I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop dreaming about her. Stark was in the middle of showing me a new weapons defense system for the Compound and all I could think about was how good she felt around me. I’m pretty sure I accidentally called Nat by her name during training once,” Steve confessed. Bucky couldn’t help but snort at his best pal’s dilemma. They were currently in the gym (when are they not, honestly?) working off some steam from Bucky’s latest mission. Steve seemed so wound up over Y/N. Women of SHIELD had a particular way of wrapping a man around their pinkie fingers. Bucky understood that more than words could express.

“Oh-ho, Nat noticed. She’s never going to let you live that down, punk,” he laughed.

“Jerk,” he shot back, “What am I going to do?”

“Do about what?” came the voice of a very grumpy Sam Wilson. He leaned against doorway with a furrowed brow. He was exhausted; how he was still standing and functioning after the insanity of this last month was unknown to even the gods. He looked like hell. And considering he’d just finished running 10 miles at the orders of Captain America, he felt like hell too. Goddamn super soldiers.  

“Steve’s all twisted up over Y/N. He hasn’t quite figured out how to talk to her after she fucked him silly,” Bucky replied, “You look like shit, man.”

“Yeah well, not all of us are lucky enough to have super soldier serum to keep us going after a 3 week long grueling mission in goddamn Siberia,” he snapped. Bucky chuckled wryly.

“Do you always use such fowl language at 7 in the morning, Sam?” Steve asked, laughing at his terrible pun. Sam shot him a dirty look.

“Give him a break, Wilson. [Y/N] is the first time he’s been laid in months since Sharon broke up with him. He doesn’t know how to cope with anything other than exercise.”

“Just because the Capsicle here was in hibernation for-fucking-ever doesn’t mean everyone else is as well rested. I need my sleep man!” Sam Wilson might have been a well-trained soldier but he was a man who took his sleep seriously.

“Language!” Steve chastised.

“Bite me, Rogers,” Sam hissed. Bucky just snickered at the both of them.

“Give him a break, punk. He did just come back from a 3 week long mission in the frozen tundra of Siberia. Let the poor man have a nap.”

Steve sighed. Maybe he had been working everyone a bit too hard. [Y/N] had him twisted in a bad way. Bucky was right: this was his issue. It wasn’t fair to make everyone else suffer just because he can’t get up the courage to speak.

“Alright, Sam. Go get some rest, you earned it.” Sam visibly slumped forward at the prospect of passing out in his bed. Mock saluting the two super soldiers, he all but raced to his quarters. Bucky’s amused snorts echoed through the gym. Steve couldn’t help but crack a wry smile.

“Do you want my advice?” Bucky asked.

“No. I’ve just been standing here venting about her for no apparent reason. Of course I want your advice.” Steve replied sarcastically. Bucky just chuckled at his best friend; dramatic was always Steve’s forte.

“Just talk to her. Isn’t that what you told me about Natasha? ‘Just tell her how you feel’?” Steve just looked at Bucky incredulously. Surely it couldn’t be that simple?

“Yeah, punk. It really is that simple.”

“After all these years, I still don’t know how you manage to read my mind like that.”

“I know you.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll talk to her. But if this goes sideways, I’m blaming you,” he said. Bucky held his hands up in mock surrender as he backed away from his friend. Laughing softly, Steve watched him grin like a Cheshire cat and slink out of the gym.

If Steve was slowly going nuts over memories of the two of you, you weren’t faring much better.

You dreams were littered with depraved thoughts of Steven Grant Rogers on his knees before you. Your sadomasochistic brain kept conjuring images of him bound to your bed, ass up with cherry red cheeks. The sting in your palms was imagined so often, you could virtually feel it. You could still hear him whimpering underneath you. Your libido practically screamed at you to bed Steve again. Fuck.

Clint and Natasha caught you zoning out of meetings so much they started taking bets on how soon you’d get caught. (There were currently six hundred dollars in the pot.) Getting your hands on Steve again wasn’t just a want; he was your poison and antidote.  Luckily for you, the universe was on your side. You couldn’t have known it then, but soon you’d be able to have Steve in every which way you so desired.

Today started out normally: morning workout, breakfast with whichever Avengers and agents were off mission, briefings, mission planning and debriefings, status updates and training then lunch. Following lunch, you oversaw new recruit training and finally you were done for the day. After cool down yoga and a hot shower, you liked to relax buy cleaning your guns and sharpening your knives at sunset. It was more than just making sure your weapons were always field ready; you’d discovered that tranquility of was found in repetition of routine. Cleaning and prepping your weapons gave you time to de-stress while keeping your hands busy.

You’d just finished loading the clip into your last gun and flicking on the safety when a tentative knock came at the door. The screen on the wall revealed a mildly nervous Steve bouncing on the balls of his feet. How cute. After giving FRIDAY the go ahead, your door slid open.

“Y/N!” he started, “I wasn’t sure you’d be in.”

“I’ve got a few of weeks of downtime and prep before SHIELD sends me on a two month mission with MI6 in London. You coming in or not, Rogers?” you asked. He grinned at you sheepishly and stepped into your room. FRIDAY closed the door behind him. You could feel his anxiety spike the moment the door shut. For just a moment, you could see the man underneath the serum clearly. Barely ninety pounds, adorable and shy around women; you ached to have him writhing beneath you.

Steve felt like he was nineteen years old again. His body might have changed but a part of him would always be that spry runt of a man who could appreciate a powerful woman. Something about the way you looked at him made him feel small in a way that he loved. Something about you made him feel like he could just be an unencumbered Steve and you’d take care of him. He wanted that. He wanted you.

“What do you need, Rogers?” you asked suggestively. You knew what he sought from you, you just planned to make him work for it. The double entendre wasn’t lost on him at all. His cheeks were tinged with pink; he refused to look you in the eye.

“I was wondering…if maybe…we could—I was wondering if maybe we could talk?” he asked. He could feel a brief surge of confidence; Bucky was right, telling you how he felt was the best course of action. He hoped. Double checking the safety on your gun, you put it back in your weapons cache. The pregnant pause blanketed the air around you as you made yourself comfortable near the foot of your bed. You gestured at the space next to you; Steve took his seat obediently.

“What’s up, Stevie?”  At the sound of that otherwise simple nickname, his cock twitched. One of these days he’d start remembering going commando with you around was a terrible idea. He could feel his ears burning furiously.

“I want…you,” he whispered. He could sense you grinning like a cat that finally captured its prey; your smirk radiated satisfaction.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have serum enhanced hearing, Stevie. Care to speak up?” It must have been something about the way you teased him…you suddenly found yourself inches away from mildly defiant baby blue eyes. His soft full lips were mere millimeters from yours; the sound of heavy breathing was the only thing heard.

I want you.” The timbre of his voice sent shivers down your spine. As much as you wanted to mount him right there, you had to be sure this is what he really wanted. Snaking your arm up to his short hair, you curled your fingers and tugged his head back. He offered no resistance as you exposed his throat. The urge to sink your teeth into his skin and mark your territory was almost blinding. You could hear him breathing harshly; a quick glance to his lap revealed a ready and eager hard on. Was he…going commando? Fuck.

“And what is what you want…Stevie?” you purred. He closed his eyes briefly and groaned inwardly. You’d hardly touched him and he felt ready to explode. Opening his eyes, he met your gaze. He reached for your other hand and guided it to his throat, squeezing ever so softly. He groaned again. You bit your lip in effort to silence yourself. His large hand dwarfed yours around his throat, yet you’d never felt so in control.

“I want you…in control. I want this.”  There was no hesitation in his voice. In fact, it was the most confident he’s sounded since he set foot into your room. Here he was: Steven Grant Rogers, Captain fucking America, gifting his willing and eager submission to you. You swallowed hard; goosebumps covered your skin. When you seduced him all those weeks ago, you never could have imagined this. You never could have even dreamed to imagine this.

Squeezing the sides of his neck softly, you watched his eyes fluttered closed. “Are you sure, Steve?”

“Call me ‘Stevie’, please,” he whined. That sound went straight to your core. Releasing his throat, you pulled his face closer. Flicking your tongue out, you nipped his bottom lip; the wetness in your panties was threatening to soak through. His breathing hitched at the feeling of your teeth sinking into his flesh; you were so tempted to lose yourself in his kisses. Unbeknownst to you, Steve could actually smell how turned on you were. Thank God for the super soldier serum. You let go of his hair and forced yourself away from his sinful mouth.

“Okay, Stevie. Before we do this, we have to set some ground rules. But before we can do that, I need to know how much of this you’re aware of. How much do you know about what you’re from asking me?”

He half rolled his eyes at the absurdity of your question. “I’m over ninety years old, I’m not dead. I know what I’m asking for, Y/N.” The snark laced in his tone irked you. He wanted to be cute. You gripped his jaw in your hand and leveled him with your gaze.

Don’t sass me, Rogers,” you hissed. He gulped audibly and nodded. You freed his jaw.

“You’d be my first, but I’m not entirely new.” Cocking your head, you looked at him and considered the weight behind his words. You could work with this.

“Are you familiar with the color system?”


“Recite it to me.”

“‘Green’ means I’m all good. ‘Yellow’ means slow down or I need a break. ‘Red’ means stop immediately,” he replied.  

“Good. Are you comfortable with any particular titles?”

“I figured I would leave that up to you,” he murmured. His shyness was back. Why was it so endearing?

“This is as much for you as it is for me, Stevie. Do you have anything you’d prefer to call me?”

“I like ‘Miss’.” The fact that he could hardly say it without blushing sent goosebumps across your skin; he was so adorable.

“‘Miss’ it is.” You pushed him backwards onto the mattress and mounted his hips. His eyes widened at the sudden yet pleasurable pressure on his cock. Bracing yourself on your forearm, you ran a gentle thumb across his bottom lip. You could feel his heart racing in his chest, a mere echo of your own. 

“You’re so pretty, Stevie,” you crooned. His cheeks stained pink under your heated gaze and soft praise.

“You think so, Miss?” 

“I do. You looked so pretty underneath me last time. I wasn’t sure I’d get to see you again.” Despite your confident demeanor, a small part of you worried if you might have been too much for the good Captain. It pleased you so much to know that wasn’t the case. Steve tensed underneath you; he wasn’t sure how to explain that he’d spent the last three weeks with his cock in his hand imagining you having your oh so wicked way with him. Your watchful eyes didn’t miss a thing.

“Is something wrong?” you asked worriedly. When he didn’t immediately respond, you sat up and crossed your arms in front of you. If he changed his mind about everything now, you wanted to be prepared. Rejection was a bitch to deal with. Steve’s eyes met yours; the emotions swirling behind his gaze seemed to scream for understanding but you couldn’t grasp any of them.

“I need you to use your words, Rogers.”

Stevie,” he corrected softly. You smiled warmly at the shy man underneath you.

“I need you to use your words, Stevie. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“You are,” he whispered. You arched your eyebrow in confusion. Sitting up and pulling you close, he took a deep breath and continued, “I couldn’t get last time out of my mind. Every free moment I had to myself I spent thinking about you…about everything…I wanted. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Really?” you half whispered in shock. He nodded, eyes shining brightly. “And what do you want?”

“I want to be with you. I want to give myself to you, to let you take care of me. But I want to take care of you too, not just in the bedroom. I want it all,” he admitted.

You weren’t entirely sure how to process his confession. Excitement coursed through your body; he wanted an honest to goodness relationship? You’d been single for a good while and enjoyed every moment; you’d be lying if you said the prospect of having someone to come home to every night didn’t make you happy.  What did you have to lose?

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay?” he asked, disbelieving.

“Okay,” you repeated. Steve beamed so brightly, you half wondered if he was actually radiating sunlight in your face. He was beautiful. Leaning in, Steve placed a tentative yet sweet kiss on your lips. Such a simple gesture stole your breath away. It was a kissed laced with the promise of something wonderful, loving and soul shaking. You pulled away, much to his disappointment.

“You know what this means now, don’t you, Stevie?” you said with a wolfish grin on your face. He shook his head in mild confusion. You reached up and fisted his hair in your hand; he groaned in pleasure.

You’re mine.”

Steve wandered around the Compound with the most infectious grin on his face. Everyone was already used to a relatively sprightly Captain but this was next level. He had to thank Bucky for giving him that kick in the ass he so desperately needed. Talking to you, working out rules, kinks and establishing your relationship put him in the absolute best mood; his anxiety was long forgotten. Whistling a happy tune, he half danced around the kitchen fixing lunch. In the midst of his perky preparation, he missed Sam and Pietro strolling into the open concept kitchen.

“What’s got him so happy,” Sam whispered to Pietro. Sam was significantly less grumpy after getting so much needed sleep.

“Do you think its [Y/N]? He hasn’t stopped talking about her for weeks,” Pietro replied.

“Cap and [Y/N]? Seriously?! Man, what else did I miss while I was in Siberia? I’ll never forgive Tony for not keeping me updated,” Sam grumped. Pietro just snorted at him.

“Keeping you updated about what?” came Wanda’s lilting voice. The boys shushed her almost immediately. “What’s going on??”

With a finger to each of their mouths, Sam and Pietro pointed at Steve’s humming and dancing figure in the kitchen. Wanda turned a particular shade of scarlet. This did not go unnoticed by either of the other Avengers. Leading her to the living room space, the boys all but held her hostage on the couch.

“What do you know?” they asked simultaneously.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you two aren’t the twins instead of me and Piet,” she said while trying to sidestep their invasive question.

“Don’t try and change the subject woman, spill the beans,” Sam ordered. Pietro’s intense stare on her face only made her blush deeper.

“Shit, it’s good isn’t it?” Pietro asked. Making a locking motion in front of her lips, Wanda just shook her head in protest.

“Oh shit! It’s really good! Now you have to tell us,” exclaimed Sam. She shook her head harder.

“What are we telling?” asked Steve as he wandered into the living room with his impressively massive sandwich. Damn super soldier serum. Everyone yelped in surprise. Steve chuckled while settling into his favorite recliner. For a bunch of well-trained spies and secret agents, they sure were terrible at not getting snuck up on.

“Oh, nothing really,” Pietro lied smoothly, “Sam here was just talking about how he wondered if Tash and Bucky were into really kinky sex.”

Steve nearly choked on his lunch in surprise. Of all the things to come out of the young Sokovian’s mouth, that one hit a little too close to home. Pietro yelped when both Wanda and Sam smacked him in the back of the head.

“Oh come on! You can’t tell me you never thought about it? She’s like freakishly flexible.” Steve just shook his head at him.

“On that note, I’m out. I do not want to think about whatever kind of freaky sex Barnes is having with one of the deadliest women I’ve ever met in my life. In fact, I don’t ever want to think about Barnes having sex. If anybody needs me, I’ll be in the lab with Bruce and Tony trying to get these mental images out of my head forever,” said Sam. The awkward tension he left in his wake was nothing short of legendary.

“You know? I think I hear Stark calling me? I think I’ll just–.” Pietro didn’t even finish his sentence before he literally ran away from any kind of continuance of the current conversation. Wanda laughed at their collective ridiculousness.

“Do I even want to know?” asked Steve, mid sandwich. Wanda sighed in resignation. He was going to find out one way or the other.

“If you must ask, they were talking about you and [Y/N],” she said softly. Recalling the events from less than an hour ago, Steve blushed furiously. Now was a really unfortunate time to remember Wanda was a telepath.

“How much do you know?” he asked without meeting her amused gaze. Wanda stood up and walked over to the recliner he was sitting in.

“Enough to tell you that I’m not judging you for any of it; we all need our escapes,” she patted him on the shoulder gently, “don’t worry, Steve. Your secret’s safe with me.” He released a heavy breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Thanks, Wanda.”

“She’ll take really good care of you, Steve. You couldn’t have asked a better person,” she said approvingly. He met her gaze and smiled softly. Nodding at the hungry super soldier, Wanda glided into the hallway. The images playing in both Steve and [Y/N]’s head had gotten her a bit worked up. It was time to teach Vision a few new things.

Steve relaxed into the recliner, sandwich in hand. If he’d been told three weeks ago that he would willingly and eagerly submit himself to you, he’d have laughed himself into the sunset. He shivered lightly as the words ‘you’re mine’ echoed around his brain. In more ways than one, you’d completely captivated him. He was looking forward to tomorrow night.

This was going to be so much fun.



@emilyevanston @redstarstan @sebbymylove16 @lancefuckrr @ek823 @you-didnt-see-that-cuming @iarnasoldat @bellamyblakesgun @thecaptainofamerica @mamaredd123 @whotheeffisbucky @thesmolbear @barnesandrogery 

anonymous asked:

can you do 27 for marichat pretty please. I love your writing!

I got inspired from the webisode ‘Repetition’ :) I hope you like this!

“Can we go someplace high so I can jump off it?”

“Well, why not just practice on me?” he suggested with a devious grin.

Marinette had been up on her balcony that night trying to perfect the way she would ask Adrien to the movies the next day. She was fine when she wasn’t looking at the picture of Adrien, but when she did, her words turned to incoherent stutters and babbles.

Chat Noir had chosen that night to visit, and he wondered what she was trying to do. Reluctantly, she explained the situation to him, with his promise that he would never tell a soul. His eyes had lit up when she had finished describing the problem, prior to his mouth curling into a sneaky smirk.

And that was when he made the suggestion to practice asking Adrien out, with him in Adrien’s place.

Marinette drew back a little in uneasiness, put off by the cunning twinkle in his green eyes. Her gut instinct was telling her that something was fishy about this, yet she decided to go through with the practice session anyway. She needed all the help she could get with asking Adrien out, after all.

“Alright, why not?”

Chat’s smirk curled deeper at her permission.

Purrfect,” he replied before clearing his throat. Instantly all traces of mischief were wiped from his face and replaced with boyish innocence.

“Hi, Marinette!” he greeted in a slightly higher voice. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

She blinked in pure shock at how eerily similar he sounded to Adrien. She quickly dismissed the similarity to reply.

“H-Hi, Adrien! I was wondering if…”

She paused to look in his eyes, which somewhat widened as he nodded to spur her on.

“If you wanted to see a movie with me tomorrow,” she finished confidently.

However, her breath was robbed of her when suddenly Chat surged forward, taking her in his arms and lowering her in a dramatic dip. She was left with her mouth hanging open and lying limply in his arms while he grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

“I would be delighted to, Princess,” he purred.

Marinette huffed and moved to get out of his hold, all the while with Chat snickering behind her.

“Adrien would never do that, you mangy cat,” she bit out as she dusted off her sleep pants. “But,” she added, perking up. “I think I did a pretty good job with the question, considering you sounded a lot like Adrien. How did you do that, anyway?”

“Raw talent, I suppose,” he replied with a wink. “Want to try asking me again?”

She shrugged.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“Hey, before we start again, can I ask you something?” he asked, donning a more solemn look.

Marinette tilted her head, intrigued by his request.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Why is it that you can’t talk to Adrien without stuttering?” He frowned and started anxiously twisting her fingers together, his belt tail twitching in sync. “Does he intimidate you somehow?”

She sighed, going over to the balcony railing to lean on it. Her head peered up to look at the full moon in the sky above them.

“He doesn’t intimidate me, but I still get nervous talking to him.”

“Why? Did he do something to you?” Chat asked, sounding almost fearful as he stood next to her.

She shook her head.

“No, he didn’t do anything. I just…” She released another breath before continuing. “He’s so…perfect. And not model perfect, or magazine perfect. I mean perfect-in-my-eyes-perfect. He’s so kind, and generous, and smart, and athletic and handsome…he’s everything that I’m not. To be honest, even if I do manage to ask him out, I doubt he’ll say yes.”

“Yes, he will!” Chat argued desperately as his cheeks were strangely pink. “He’ll say yes, I know he will! Maybe he doesn’t see himself as the way you described him, maybe he thinks that you are the perfect one and that you’re everything he isn’t.”

Marinette stayed quiet, mulling over his words. She highly doubted they were true, but knew if she tried denying it then Chat would have only kept countering her opinion.

“Hey,” he whispered, gently touching her arm, prompting her to look at him.

He smiled.

“Let’s practice one more time, okay?”

A wry smile tugged the edges of her lips upward.

“Sure, kitty. Why not?”

He took both of her hands in his, eliciting her to fully face him. His mouth was set in a soft smile, his green eyes shining with warmth. He looked at her with such awe and adoration that she found it difficult to remember that she was supposed to ask him a question.

“Hi, Adrien,” she began quietly, her voice just above a whisper as she stared deeply into his eyes. “I was wondering if you wanted to go with me to the movies tomorrow.”

Chat grinned.

“Plagg, claws in.”

Marinette gaped, horror in her eyes as she vehemently protested the detransformation. Yet he ignored her pleading, and thus she was resigned to keep her eyes squeezed shut as the green-yellow light engulfed him.

Finally, a hand that she could feel lacked a glove touched her shoulder.

“Marinette,” Chat’s voice coaxed. “Please open your eyes.”

“Why would you do that?!” she snapped, unrelenting on keeping her eyes firmly shut. “Why would you just risk your secret identity like that?”

“If you open your eyes, you’ll see why,” he replied, humor lacing his tone. “Besides, I would like to accept your request with you looking at me.”

That was enough to get her to open her eyes. She stood there, stunned as she took in her longtime crush, Adrien Agreste.

Adrien was Chat Noir.

She was rejecting Chat Noir all this time for Adrien, who was the same person. And she was just practicing asking Adrien out to the movies with Chat, who was Adrien!

A hot, embarrassed blush took over her cheeks. Adrien frowned worriedly.

“Marinette? Are you okay? I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but I didn’t want to wait any longer to reveal myself, since I know you’re Ladybug and when I overheard you trying to ask me out to the movies I figured this would be the perfect opportunity and…Marinette?”

She buried her face in his shoulder, not able to look at him any longer in her embarrassment.

“Can we go someplace high so I can jump off it?” she mumbled into his shirt.

Adrien laughed and encircled his arms around her to pull her in closer.

“Not yet, bugaboo,” he joked as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, which only served to get a choked squeak out of her. “First we have to go to the movies, remember?”

It was a fine day. A sky you could fall into, and never mind how far. The copper beeches near the house had gone to gold and rust, and a sweet, nippy little breeze whirled the fallen leaves round in skittish circles. Jamie remembered another day with air like blue wine, and Claire in it. 

Lord, that she may be safe. She and the child. For an odd moment, he felt as though he stood outside himself, outside time, sensing Claire’s hand warm on his arm, her smile as she looked at Willie— red-faced, tearstained, and obviously miserable, but still his bonnie wee lad.

The Scottish Prisoner

Would Bree and Roger ever go back [to Lallybroch]? I wondered suddenly. She’d mentioned it, when the notion of their leaving became fact and they had begun to plan. 

“It’s vacant,” she’d said, eyes fixed on the twentieth-century-style shirt she was making. “For sale. Or it was, when Roger went there a few years— ago?” She looked up with a wry smile; it wasn’t really possible to discuss time in any customary way. “I’d like the kids to live there, maybe. But we’ll just have to see how … things work out.”

She’d glanced then at Mandy, asleep in her cradle, faintly blue around the lips. 

“It will work out fine,” I’d said firmly. “Everything will be just fine.” 

Lord, I prayed now silently, that they might be safe!

An Echo in the Bone

Calling it Hope

Summary: Abby misses Marcus after returning from Polis, so she seeks comfort in his room, his trinkets, his clothes. Of course, because she’s back in Arkadia, nothing is ever really private…and she learns some news that changes everything for her and the man she loves. 

(Translated, my Abby/Raven brotp feelings got away from me and I cried three times while writing this and it’ll probably have another chapter).

Everything looked like him, smelled like him, felt like him.

From the trinkets on his bedside table to the paintings on the wall, Abby could practically sense Marcus Kane in the room. She could see him sitting in the chair at his small metal table poring over maps of the surrounding area, laying in bed reading one of the numerous books from his amassed quantity on his bookshelf, gently hanging his guard jacket on the hook on the back of the door.

He was everywhere and nowhere, with her and in Polis.

Some logical part of her knew it was silly, girlish even, to come wandering into his room in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. What was she, a lovesick teenager? She’d only returned from Polis that morning, could still taste their goodbye kiss on her tongue. His “may we meet again” still echoed in her heart, her head, written into her pulse. A few hours was by no means enough to stir the deepest depths of absence-induced longing in her heart, but it was enough to make her uncomfortable: enough to drive her thoughts back along the path she’d travelled and up into their room in the tower.

What was he doing right now? Had Roan fought and won? Was the alliance still intact? And if it wasn’t, had he, Octavia, and Indra gotten out of the city safely?

Again, logic: there was little merit in giving weight to unfounded questions and doubts. But with Luna’s arrival – and illness – it had been a chaotic day, and Abby had quickly begun tiring of reining in her wayward brain. Her exhaustion pushed her doubts into a downward spiral, and a constant, nagging churning in her stomach hadn’t subsided since she heard the Polis gates close behind her. It had become increasingly difficult to force herself to remain sensible where Marcus Kane was concerned.

Such ruminations would be typical of the kids – of Monty and Harper, maybe, whom she’d just learned were in a relationship – but she was a grown woman, well past having learned how to cope with the absence of the man she loved. She constantly reminded herself that Marcus was fine, that this was by no means the first time they’d been separated, that they’d been parted during far more strenuous times in the past. All things considered, this separation should have given her less cause to worry than the others.

And yet, when she woke from a hellacious City of Light flashback of a nightmare, there was only one person she wanted to see. One man whose arms she wished were around her, one voice she wanted to hear soothing her as she briefly struggled to see through the hazy mirage of dreams. But her bed was empty, the sheets around her cold with his absence, her skin cool without the warmth of him beside her. As she took a seat in one of the cold metal chairs at his table and rested her elbows on the surface – then her head in her hands – she took deep breaths and tried to shove the tears searing at the corners of her eyes into submission.

It may have been late – later than almost anyone else in Arkadia would be awake – but she’d left the door open out of an informal self-reassurance. She couldn’t give into this now: not when they’d only been separated for less than a day. She just needed to be here, she told herself, for a few minutes. To feel him for long enough to calm her racing heartbeat, to absorb the remnants of his smile and laughter that remained in those stationary objects. Being here was like sitting in the sunlight; she felt safe, warm, hopeful.

When she was here, she was with Marcus.

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anonymous asked:

Ohhhh woudl you do prompt 48. from the list with Steveee? :)


A/N: Hey y’all!! Here’s another prompt!! Enjoy!! :)

Prompt: 48. “Oh, and by the way, you got a cute butt.”

You laid on the couch just staring at the ceiling, feeling drained, as the TV which you switched on was buzzing in the background. You had just broken up with your boyfriend of one year because apparently, you found out that you weren’t his ‘only one’, he had two other besides you. Of course, you had to break up with him but not before you told the two girls what he was doing.

Sighing, you closed your eyes, bringing your arm up to cover your eyes. Was there really nothing that special about you that he had to cheat? Not a single good point about you?  Groaning you sat up suddenly, however, as your eyes were closed, you didn’t notice the person hovering over you.

You hissed as you held your head, hearing the other person groan in pain. Rubbing the sore spot, you turned to see Steve lightly rubbing a spot on his forehead as well. You frowned. “Steve?”

He looked at you, a wry smile on his face. “God, what is your head made of?”

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12x18 Coda: Superdad

Not so much of a coda as wishful thinking for the next episode.  Based on this ask sent to @bluestar86  Dadstiel, 1k

When it’s all said and done, Cas has a baby in his arms.

Nephilim, Dean reminds himself, but it’s difficult to think about the kid like that when he’d seen his very human mother bleed out, pleading with them to take care of him.  Dean’s seen a whole lot of awful in his time, but that ranked pretty high on the list.

She hadn’t even gotten a chance to name him.

The motel room somehow seems even more suffocating now than it had a few minutes ago.  Cas sits perched on the end of the bed where Kelly—yeah.  And he has a baby in his arms.  What are they supposed to do?

Dean breathes out through his nose, even the small puff of air loud in the otherwise dead silent room.  Sam leans over and shuts Kelly’s eyes, mouth thinned into a tight line.  There’s nothing left to do here.  So, without ever saying a word, the three of them—well, four of them—make their way out to the Impala.

The drive home isn’t even broken by driving music.  Dean can’t find it in himself to reach out and push a cassette into the player.  Outside, rain starts pelting the window.  In the backseat, Cas makes a soft hushing noise whenever the kid starts to get fussy.

Dean finds himself checking the rearview mirror to make sure they’re both all right more times than strictly necessary,

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bnha l/n II translation.

Chapter 4, AB Union: A Girls Only Gathering, Final Part.


[Part 1] [Part 2]

t/n finish! this was cute, minor kacchako, more kamijirou! in regards to next translation I was planning on doing the boys arm wrestling thing, but apparently i’ve seen ppl say its being translated? if so, I’d leave that and do the last chapter of the l/n! once again thank you for reading! ^_^

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take this burden - part 3

He Tian let Jian Yi in.

‘Zhengxi called me. What’s going on?’

‘I think he might need stitches.’

Jian Yi walked around him and into the living room, taking his place on the couch and setting his, much more helpful, first aid kit on the table and pulled on a pair of gloves.

‘So, what happened?’

‘Well…’ He Tian started.

‘Not you, He Tian.’

Before he could start an argument, his phone rang.


He glared in Jian Yi’s direction
for a moment before stepping out onto the porch to be yelled at about his half-assed job of getting any legitimate answers.

Jian Yi waited until He Tian slid the door closed behind them.

‘So…?’ He prompted, peeling off the bloody bandage.

‘There was…an altercation.’

Jian Yi suppressed a smile.

‘An altercation, of course.’

Mo Guan Shan didn’t respond.

He had no idea how to talk to these people.

‘We don’t have to talk about it, don’t look so miserable.’

Mo Guan Shan sighed in relief.


He didn’t know if he could do that again tonight.
Jian Yi clicked his tongue.

‘This needs stitches.’

God damn it.

‘Can I just use superglue or something?’

He REALLY didn’t want to go to the hospital tonight.

Jian Yi did smile this time.

‘Technically, yes. But I can just do it for you here if you want.’

Mo Guan Shan nodded.

Jian Yi stood, walking to the glass door and catching He Tian’s attention without dirtying his gloves, and pointing in the direction of, what Mo Guan Shan assumed was, the bathroom.

He instructed Mo Guan Shan to grab some beers.

He Tian lit a cigarette, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder and waving him away dismissively, rolling his eyes at the phone.

The fluorescents in the small bathroom made his head pound.

‘Take a seat on the counter.’

Mo Guan Shan sat on the uncomfortably cold tile, feeling very childish all the sudden.

‘Does it hurt?’ Jian Yi asked.

His voice was soft and calming.

He’d later learn that was not always the case and he’d been written up at work once for his horrible bedside manner.

He shook his head.

‘Don’t lie. I can’t help you if you lie. There’s no need to put on a brave face right now.’

He stared down at the floor, embarrassed.

‘Yeah, it hurts a lot.’

‘Alright. I’m going to inject a little bit of numbing solution and we’ll check a few things while it settles.’

Jian Yi readied the needle.

‘This is going to sting like hell, but only for a few seconds.’

He closed his eyes as several small pokes from the needle did, in fact, sting like hell.

The man clicked the cap back on the syringe and sat it down on next to the sink before removing several items from the plastic case.

‘Look at me.’

He shined the flashlight in both of his eyes, checked his pulse, and took his temperature.

‘I don’t think you have a concussion, which is good news. Your heart rate is a little high though, so go ahead and take a few deep breaths for me.’

Roughly a minute passed while Mo Guan Shan tried to calm himself down.



Jian Yi gently touched the swollen skin.

‘Can you feel that?’

‘Not really.’

He continued to take slow, deep, breaths while the man worked quickly and efficiently, stitching him up and applying a clean bandage.

‘Alright, good to go.’


‘Sure thing. Like I said, you don’t have a concussion, but you probably shouldn’t drive for a few hours. Do you need a ride home?’

Clearly, this man hadn’t been given many details.

‘I’m just going to crash here, I think.’

Jian Yi looked surprised for a moment, but gained his composure quickly.


‘What do I owe you?’ Mo Guan Shan asked.

‘I don’t have much cash, but I can go to the hospital tomorrow and-’

‘Nope, nothing.’

‘No, really, I-’

‘Look, if i got paid every time i gave stitches in this apartment, I’d be a wealthy man.’

‘Are you sure?’


‘Does he have roommates?’

‘No, he’s just an idiot.’

He slid off the counter.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Mo Guan Shan kept his voice low.


‘Is he like…crazy?’

‘Who, He Tian?’


‘You really did just meet him, huh?’

The redhead nodded.

‘Oh, definitely.’ The man assured him with a small smile.


Jian Yi looked at him seriously, realizing he wasn’t entirely joking.

‘He Tian is a little bit on the crazy side, but he’s certainly never going to leave you needing stitches.’

‘How reassuring.’

‘There’s hardly enough time in the day to explain He Tian, but as long as you’re with him, you have nothing to be afraid of.’

Mo Guan Shan had many things he wanted to say to that, but the exhaustion that clouded his thoughts would only let him nod.

‘You should try and get some sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow to check up on you. If you’re supposed to go to work, take the day off. Doctor’s orders.’

Mo Guan Shan scoffed. Like it’s that easy.

‘I’ll try.’

‘I mean it. I can get you a note from one of the APs. Take the day. Rest. Ok?’


Mo Guan Shan felt like he’d been exceptionally agreeable tonight.

‘Any other questions?’

Just one.

‘Why are you all so…’

‘Crazy?’ Jian Yi asked with a wry smile.

‘Nice.’ Mo Guan Shan corrected.

For a split second, Jian Yi looked incredibly sad.

‘I don’t know the situation you’re in, and I don’t claim to be an expert on the matter, but I can tell you this much…’

Mo Guan Shan watched him expectantly while he gathered his thoughts.

‘The easiest thing you can do in this life is to lose faith. In the people around you and in yourself. And the hardest thing is to gain that back. After awhile it seems safe to assume someone would sooner hurt you than help you, and even then to wait for an ulterior motive. The world can be a nasty place and, if you let it, it will ruin you. The stupidest thing you could to right now is turn down the help being offered to you.’

He waited for Mo Guan Shan to respond, continuing when he didn’t.

‘The only thing I can tell you, with absolutely certainty, is that you’re not going back to him.’

They both turned as He Tian joined them, leaning against the doorframe.

‘I changed the sheets on the bed…’

‘Thank you.’ Mo Guan Shan said quietly, looking between them.

‘Do you want to lie down?’ He Tian asked.

Mo Guan Shan nodded, feeling the last few hours begin to catch up with him.

‘I’d like to shower, if that’s ok.’

Jian Yi told him to avoid getting his face wet, and that he’d be back to change the bandage in the morning.

They left him alone, closing the door to the bedroom.

He showered quickly, watching the water swirl down the drain long after it ran clear.

Leaving the steamy bathroom, he finished drying himself off and noticed the items laid out for him on the bed.

An ice pack with a cloth to wrap it in.

A soft, worn, shirt.

A pair of pajama pants.

An extra towel.

And his backpack he’d dropped somewhere.

And on the bedside table-

A bottle of beer.

A glass of ice water.

Two pain pills.

And a note, scrawled in messy handwriting with a phone number at the bottom.

‘I’m right outside if you need…anything.’

In front of ‘anything’ he’d scratched out ‘me.’

He changed into the unfamiliar clothes, and sank onto the unfamiliar bed, pulling his phone and charger from his bag and finding an outlet.

He drank most of the beer, messing with his phone for a bit, trying to relax as he listened to the muffled sounds of voices from the living room and the swinging and clicking of the door as the uniformed man left.

He positioned the ice pack on the pillow, resting his face on it gently.

After a few minutes of deliberation, he punched the number into his phone.

‘Thank you.’ He said again, over text this time.

‘You’re welcome.’