my hands just keep curling into fists to hide from the cold

Abstract

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER | TAEHYUNG VERSION 

WORD COUNT: 9K

In your household nothing was truly what it seemed; your mother was having an affair with her business partner, leaving your stepfather to work himself into a pit of denial. The only person who had real feelings under that roof was you. You felt disgust when your mother would blatantly lie to her husband, you felt overwhelmed and stressed because of university, and you felt the euphoria of your late night rendezvous with Taehyung.

Your stepbrother.

warnings: graphic smut, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!taehyung + sub!reader, degrading, humiliation, spanking + strong language

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

masterlist | ask | song

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The “Just the thought of Team Cap walking all over Tony makes me want to trash my room, I just want unashamed, biased, pro-Tony quality content, is that too much to ask??” inspired ficlet I’ve been holding back for a while:

Bitterness ahead, guys. Not Team Cap friendly. Nor is it particularly deep or rational. I just wanted to get a couple of thoughts out of my head. Basically Tony is done being the team’s sugar daddy, only it comes to light in a very roundabout way. 


“When are my arrows gonna be fixed anyways?” Clint grumbles, rubs a hand over his sore shoulder. The one that wouldn’t have gotten injured, had his shot hit the target it was supposed to. Which it should have, his aim had been fine. The problem were the arrows. Someone must have screwed up somewhere in the production because they weren’t perfectly balanced.

They’re sitting in the conference room at the (mostly) restored compound. Tony is tapping away on his StarkPad, not even bothering to look up. He must have felt the questioning glances and noticed the silence, but he still doesn’t react.

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t want to encourage the tension between them, things are bad enough as it is. If only Tony would put in some effort as well, instead of going out of his way to antagonise them, maybe they could make some actual progress.

“Yo, Stark!” Clint snaps, voice reaching that biting sharpness he reserves specially for the billionaire. “I’m talking to you!”

Tony shows no outward reaction, which is strange to see. Back when they first came back, he used to move at all times, sharp and erratic, never staying still. Steve shakes his head at their unnecessary power play.

Tony answers before he has the chance to reprimand them though. “How would I know?” he asks, a brief frown flittering across his face as he scribbles something down onto the tablet.

The outraged look on Clint’s face tells everyone present that this meeting won’t get back on track any time soon. It’s understandable, really. Clint has been forced to fight three battles with faulty equipment and frankly, the lack of concern Tony is showing for his team mates’ safety is nothing short of callous. Steve knows things haven’t been good between them but this is the first time he wonders if things could really be so bad, that Tony would hold necessary equipment back on purpose.

It’s a terrible thought, but try as he might, Steve isn’t able to shake it off.

At least the rising tension finally causes Tony to look up and meet Clint’s glare. He’s wearing sunglasses even though they’re inside, like he always does. Steve doesn’t like it. Makes it harder to read Tony, to tell what he’s really thinking. Absently, he admits that this is probably why Tony wears them so religiously.

“What do you mean ‘how would you know’?!” Clint snarls, enraged. “My arrows have been acting up for weeks and you still don’t know how to fix it?!”

Tony stares at Clint, the expression on his face unreadable. Then, after a long, long moment of heavy silence, the answer.

“I’m not fixing your equipment.”

For a moment, it’s deadly quiet, as Steve struggles to process the meaning of what Tony has just said.

“Tony,” Steve hastily inserts himself as soon as he finds his voice again, before Clint can throw himself across the room and deck him, “I know there are still some issues we all have to work through, but that’s not an excuse to-”

“Hold it right there, Rogers,” Tony interrupts. It’s never Cap, always Rogers these days. The pain the distinction causes still catches Steve by surprise more often than not. “I’m not sure where you get this from but I’m not your mechanic. I don’t work for you. So if Barton here has an issue with his weapons, he needs to take it up with the people in charge. Considering how often you remind me that it’s not me, you’d think you’d have figured that part out already.”

“But it’s not working!”

Tony sighs. The deep, heavy sort of sigh you usually expect from an exhausted parent after their insistent child asks, “Are we there yet?” for the 34th time. “Then take it up with the quartermaster. Or Agent Hudson. Or one of the techies. Seriously, Barton, you signed the Revision. Who’s responsible for what is right in there, section 12 to 17. Besides-” he pauses.

“What are you waiting for? Go on!” Clint demands between gritted teeth, hands curled into tight fists. Thankfully, he’s not throwing anything. Yet. “Don’t get shy with me now!”

Tony straightens in his seat. Steve inwardly sighs. That man has never been able to let a challenge go unanswered.

Besides,” Tony continues, voice still surprisingly even, “chances are they’re working just fine.”

“You think I can’t tell when my bow isn’t fucking working the way it should?” Clint bristles.

The words actually cause Tony to lower his sunglasses for a moment, just to make sure there is no doubt about how stupid he believes Clint to be. “I’m saying you’re operating with a standard bow, Barton. The fabric and the construction limit the performance quality. Something I’m sure an experienced archer like yourself has picked up on.”

And yes, things are definitely getting ugly. That level of glacial cold in Tony’s voice is rarely achieved, even now.

“The why the fuck did you build a subpar bow?”

Tony sighs again. “You’re missing the point. Seriously, I can not believe we’re even having this conversation. I did not build that bow, Barton.”

And that’s–that’s a surprise.

Tony’s gaze trails over them all, taking in their confused, shocked expressions. “Really?” he asks, exasperation dripping from every syllable. “Did any of you even read the Revision? The Avengers’ are an official unit. Their weapons and uniforms can’t be provided by a private party, especially not one who is part of the team. Have you ever heard the term conflict of interest?”

“What about Stark Industries?” Natasha asks. From the furrow in her brows though, Steve suspects she already knows the answer–and doesn’t like it one bit.

“I’m not sure if you noticed,” and now there’s no mistaking the mocking in Tony’s tone, “but SI doesn’t sell weapons anymore. It was kind of a big thing, couple of years back.”

“But- But yours are better!” Clint splutters. It sounds plaintive and weak, even in Steve’s ears, but at the same time he knows what Clint’s struggling to say. It’s not about getting your toys taken away. It’s about their safety and efficiency in the field. On bad days, it’s about the survival of their entire planet.

“I can’t believe you would risk the teams’ lives and safety like this because of a petty argument,” Steve says, unable to keep quiet any longer, nor bothering to hide the honest disappointment.

Tony, unimpressed as always, simply snorts. “You’re an official unit, but before that you’ve been working for SHIELD for years. Did you ever have the very best equipment mankind was capable of providing at the time? No,” he answers his own question in a breeze, “you didn’t. Why? Because you’re agents, soldiers. And sure, the government wants to protect us, wants to keep us alive and make sure our missions succeed. But they have limited funding, which means everyone has to deal with the best cost-efficient option available. If you’ve got the right connections to get something more, then lucky you, but that makes you an exception, not a rule.”

“You don’t need to explain real life to me!” Clint snaps aggravated.

“Then why do you feel entitled to something better?” That question, sharp and cutting, makes the archer still, his mouth open but with no retort forthcoming. Tony is blinking at him now, head tilted sideways in child-like curiosity.

“Of course, if I, as a private citizen, decided to build something that doesn’t violate any laws and give it to a friend as a gift, that would be something else, wouldn’t it?” Tony continues after a moment, voice softer now, but no less cutting. His eyes are fixated on Clint, sunglasses pushed back, eyes dark and unmoved. “The average update would take me what, a week or two? That’s a lot of time to invest into a single project, especially when the ultimate use is so limited. How many people can possibly profit from improved protective vest versus how many people improve from an exploding arrow is a really fascinating comparison to make.”

“So you see, Barton, even if I could improve your bow, there’s no logical reason why I should waste my time like this.”

“Tony!” Steve interrupts, scandalised. “Clint’s life depend on his aim! Our lives depend on it! How can you justify not providing him with the most basic necessities.”

Tony doesn’t even try and look abashed, instead he throws his head back and laughs. “This is how you want to play it, Rogers? Because I’m rich and a genius, I owe it to you to devote my time, attention and money to bettering your lives? What about the seven billion other people on this world? Don’t they deserve the same consideration, hm? What makes you so special that I should put your needs before anything else?”

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony doesn’t give him a chance to speak.

“I tell you what this is: this is you realising I’m no longer spoiling you rotten because you are in fact not my kids and I can cut you off whenever the fuck I want. And you don’t like it. Because guess what, I may be privileged, but so are you! You’re heroes, most of the time, as far as the world is concerned. You’ve been living off my money and resources on top of that. You’ve always gotten special treatment and you like that. You’re as far detached from the ‘ordinary man on the street’ as I am, you just don’t have the self-awareness to fucking notice!”

Tony sends them a sardonic smile that does in no way take the sting out of his words. “Don’t worry,” he says, “you’ll still be special. It’s just no longer my name footing that bill. Because we’re not friends. And as a business man, I’m not at all sorry to tell you that you simply aren’t worth investing into.”

And with that he stands, all blinding press smile, sweeps around dramatically, and strides purposefully out of the room. The automatic door closes noiselessly behind him, but he might have as well slammed it shut for all the difference it would’ve made.

It’s likely not a coincidence, that on their next mission Spiderman, Vision and Miss Marvel all showcase new, incredibly features and weapons that can’t have been created by anyone else. And it’s impossible to know for sure, what with the mask on, but Steve is one hundred per cent certain that Spiderman is smirking at them.

He is not wrong.


Let me know what you think? And please excuse any mistakes, I’ll re-read this tomorrow. Also this is the last post for today. I’m tiredtiredtired now and think I’ve spread enough bitterness for the day. And spammed your dashes with enough endless posts probably…oops.

Missing

Summary: In which you go missing and it turns Eggsy’s world upside down.

Pairing: Eggsy x Reader

Word Count: 3,196

A/N: Well here it is, my first Eggsy fic. This is all thanks to @writingruna who, after learning that I was thinking about writing for Eggsy, sent me a bunch of requests to help motivate me to do it. It worked and here’s one of those requests.

Originally posted by thetaronblog

The Kingsman never had a rule put in place about agents dating each other. At the time of the organization’s creation, they didn’t feel the need to. Becoming an agent meant making sacrifices. The unspoken assumption was that this meant giving up a chance at falling in love.

That assumption was made on the belief that falling in love with someone outside of Kingsman could only end badly. A relationship was meant to be built on the truth, and telling the truth was one of the many things an agent couldn’t afford to do. Secrecy was the most important aspect of the organization. There was also the fear that personal connections could become liabilities out in the field. What if an agent’s significant other was kidnapped and used as leverage by the enemy? Or worse, killed to exact revenge?

Love was complicated enough on its own. By adding a person’s status as a Kingsman into the mix, that equation suddenly became an unsolvable one.

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Fairy Boyfriend

I got to do a commission for the wonderful, the amazing, the talented @trash-chan-art. She wanted a small boy to go along with her Halfling Rovil that I fell in love with.

   People come from far and wide to sample your produce. You’ve come into money you never expected all because of the fruits and veggies you grow. People say they’ve never tasted tomatoes so good, peppers so sweet. You’re all too happy to sell them at a good price too. There’s only one thing that bothers you. You have no idea how.

   You’ve always tried gardening and have always come up with the same results. Dead plants, Withering vines. Mealy fruit. Worm and bug infested produce. Gardening has never ever worked for you. Until now. Somehow your plants are lush and green. Your garden is the envy of all your friends and neighbors. You’ve had dignitaries pay you bags of gold for all your peaches. You want to answer people’s questions about your secret. But you don’t even know the truth yourself.

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Sick love

Word count: 1.722

Request: Yes

Warnings: Too much loving


“My head is pounding”, you whined and you swore it was like ten axes were inside your skull and wanted you dead in a matter of seconds. It was the worst headache you’ve ever had and you didn’t have the slightest idea why it was like that. You weren’t hangover. On the contrary, you had a blissful night in with your boyfriend, and nothing peculiar had happened for you to feel that way. So, this situation only left you with unanswered questions.

“Still bad?”, your sister asked you and you flinched at the volume of her voice. She was speaking naturally, but your headache made it feel like she was shouting at the top of her lungs.

“Please keep your voice down, you are killing me”, you said and your sister got up to touch your forehead. With that simple gesture she had her answers.

“Well, it looks like you are coming down with a cold Y/N”, she said seriously and you shivered. You hated being sick and that was the last thing you wanted. It was still summer and you would spend your days drinking that prescribed syrup along with eating those disgusting soups. Apart from that, you didn’t want to force Harry to stay in with you. He would like to go out or have a nice time at the park but he would have to take care of nauseas and fevers. It was just unfair for him.

“No this can’t be happening”, you complained and your sister placed her hands on her hips. She was trying not to laugh at your state but she didn’t do a good job at hiding it. She burst out giggling and you threw a cushion at her, hitting her directly at the head.

“I guarantee you it hurt”, your sister ironically said and she went to the kitchen. She had to leave in some minutes but she couldn’t leave you behind like that all alone. So she phoned Harry.

“Harry speakin’, who’s this?”, he said through the speaker and your sister whispered.

“Hi Harry, it’s me, Y/S/N. Just wanted to let you know that Y/N might be coming down with a cold. She already has a fever and-“, she was interrupted by you screaming that you wanted to vomit and she corrected her previous sentence.

“Scratch that. She has a fever and she has started vomiting already. I have to go in some minutes so I thought I needed to fill you in”, your sister finished and she heard shuffling at the other end of the line.

“Be right there in five. Try to calm her a bit yeah? Thank yeh Y/S/N”, he said and hung up. Your sister came into the bathroom, where you were brushing your teeth, to get rid of the ugly taste.

“Thank God mom is not here”, your sister joked and your eyes widened at her statement. Your mom overreacted over the simplest of things. When you or your sister were ill, she would just call the doctor every single hour to inform him of your condition and she made sure you had all the medicine you needed. You appreciated her caring, but it would be too much sometimes.

“Don’t even joke about it. It is unhealthy”, you wiped your mouth with the towel and followed your sister in the living room where you both sat down on the couch.

“Y/N, I really need to go. Jason wants to go pick up a gift for his mother’s birthday and I can’t miss it. Promise me you won’t go around spilling soup”, she pleaded and you flipped her off.

“I will be dead in a matter of hours so no soup is going to be all over the place”, you answered and your sister sighed. You had the tendency to overreact when you were sick and no one could handle that. Your sister included.

“Okay I am going to start preparing your funeral then”, and that had always been her answer since day one. You and your sister had a weird kind of relationship. You would go on and compliment each other but you would flip each other off whereas when you would offend each other you would hug and bro fist one another. People were always confused.

“Say hi to Jason”, you tried to say before rushing to the bathroom to empty your stomach for the second time that day.

“Be sure I will”, your sister said more to herself than to you and got into her car, ready to go meet her boyfriend. Speaking of a boyfriend, Harry was on his way and he had tried to contact you but you hadn’t used your phone that day meaning it was still turned off. When he stepped foot in the house, he stopped himself from calling your name when he saw you curled up on the sofa, tissues all over you and your restless face giving away your exhaustion and pain.

“Meh poor girl”, he said and kicked off his shoes before making his way to you. You had grabbed a blanket from your room and had it wrapped around you. You were practically like a sneezing ball. Your head perked up at the sound of the door opening and closing and when you saw Harry, you snuggled closer to the blanket.

“Don’t get closer Harry, you will be sick too”, you cried out, but your voice came out muffled because of the blanket. Harry kept coming towards you nonetheless and he kneeled in front of you.

“This isn’t gonna stop meh love. How many times have yeh run to the bathroom?”, he softly asked you and you melted at his voice. He was trying to soothe you and it worked pretty well.

“Twice so far. But there’s more coming I tell you”, you said and leaned your head backwards. You wanted to sleep and Harry quite caught that.

“Okay tell yeh what. I will go upstairs and ran yeh a bath. Yeh will relax and I will call the doctor to tell meh what to do with meh sick girl. Sounds okay?”, he said and he picked you up bridal style. You found the opportunity to lean against his warm chest and breathe in his scent. You could stay there, in his arms, for an eternity and there was no lie in this statement.

When you entered your bedroom, he gently placed you on the bed, and he disappeared in the bathroom to set the right temperature for your bath. You placed your head on your pillow and sleep started taking over when Harry reappeared from inside the bathroom and scooped you up.

“No sleep yet baby. Your bath is waitin’ fo’ yeh”, he said and placed you in front of the bathroom door.

“Yeh go in there and treat yourself whereas I talk to the doctor alright?”, he turned to leave but you stopped him. You knew it would be better if he was there to take care of you. He always did. And he was so good at it.

“Mind if I change the plans a bit?”, you innocently asked and Harry grinned.

“Tell meh babygirl”, he indicated for you to go on.

“Why don’t you take a shower with me? If there’s someone who can calm me, that’s you Harry”, you spoke and you were truthful. There was no dirty intention in your proposal. You just wanted to relax with your boyfriend.

“Thought yeh never ask”, he said and slowly took your clothes off, caressing the exposed skin he could find ever so softly, careful not make you feel any more pain. He took his clothes off as well, and got into the bathtub after you. You sat between his legs and he stated kissing your back and neck, in a soothing manner, knowing you would feel slightly better. And he was right. The water was perfect and Harry tried his best to take your mind of off your sickness. He grabbed the shampoo and started massaging your scalp in an attempt to calm you.

“Just what I needed. Thank you so much love”, you said and closed your eyes, cherishing the feeling of Harry’s massaging skills. You started scrubbing your body and Harry snatched the sponge from your hands.

“Nah ah. I will take care of yeh baby. Don’t yeh worry”, he said, kissing your shoulder before he replaced some gel on the sponge. The water was running by now, and you were lost in the purity of the moment. Harry always wanted to make you feel good and he always said it was like a repayment for what you had done for him all along. After some time, he water had run cold so he took hold of your towel before wrapping it lovingly around your tired frame before he did the same with his towel on him.

“Time fo’ pyjamas babe”, he smiled lazily and he moved towards the closet, grabbing an old T-shirt of his and your favourite bottoms with little bears imprinted on them. You had worn your undergarments already and you were waiting for your pyjamas to be passed to you but Harry had other plans.

“Let meh”, he stroked your arms, while he placed your arms in front of you and put the shirt on you. He then, stroked your thighs and legs gently, like you were going to disappear or like you were the most fragile thing in the entire world. He made you feel loved. There was no denying in that. When he was done, he kissed you passionately but you distanced yourself.

“Harry, I am sick!”, you said and he smiled.

“Did that stop meh back in the shower? Don’t mind meh love. I am not that sensitive like yeh are”, he said and you tugged at his shirt.

“If that’s the case, cuddle me then”, you said and yawned. Harry placed himself on the bed and you hugged him tightly, while he played with your hair; just like you preferred it.

“I love you Harry”, you suddenly said and Harry smiled in your hair.

“I love meh sick girl too”.

And just like that, you fell asleep, feeling secure in his embrace and wishing that you could freeze time and stay like that for what seemed like forever; in each others’ loving arms.


Ugh guys, this is so sweet. Where has Harry been all the times I was ill? Before I drag my whining ass away, let me thank that person for requesting this and making me die in the most gentle way possible. Requests are still open and I am waiting for your crazy ideas people! (P.S. Harry is treating us so well lately I can’t bear it!)

miraculous-oceanseyes  asked:

So for the 100 ways to say I love you meme, I'm so sorry to ask for Klance, (I'm sure you've done a lot) but could you maybe do Insecure Keith for no. 50 "you're beautiful"

Mmmmm boi I’m 100% into this request. Like I NEVER see insecure Keith (it’s usually Lance) so I’m super down with this. Hella down. Thanks so much!


Keith lays on the warehouse floor. His ears ringing badly and his entire left side searing in pain. He’s nauseous. When his eyes blink open, it takes him a moment to process his surroundings. The visor of his helmet is cracked. Bright light dances around him.

“Keith! Keith!”

Lance’s cries sound muffled. Keith groans as he pulls himself up on all fours. His left side buckles almost immediately. He looks down.

The under suit of his armour has been burnt away and has left raw, charred skin. His blood is sticky, and parts of his suit have melted onto his wounds. Keith winces. This doesn’t look good. 

He begins to crawl along the ground. He has no idea where Lotor or his generals are, but he hopes that they’ve assumed he’s dead and are now distracted with something else.

“Keith?! Keith?!!” Lance’s cries sound panicked. His heavy footfalls clang on the metal walkway just above where Keith lays.

“Lance?” He tries to call, but his lungs are filled with ash. 

He’s not dying here. Not like this.

Keith rolls onto his right side and manages to stand. He clings to the smooth, metal wall for support, and tries to hobble along it to get…. somewhere else. Somewhere he hopes his friends are and this fire cannot reach. Lance’s footsteps sound distant now.

He turns a corner and reaches the holding area of the warehouse. Large racking reaches up to the domed ceiling, holding rows and rows of glass cylinders. The gold liquid in them swirls and oscillates like a lava lamp. Keith’s eyes widen.

Just a bit. He thinks. It’ll be ok. It has to, and with his wounds as bad as they are… what other choice does he have?

With the hilt of his sword, Keith smashes a glass cylinder above him. The quintessence pours over him like honey. It feels cold, and his burns hiss at the contact. Keith screams.


“Keith?” Lance screeches to a halt. His chest aches from lack of oxygen, but he continues sprinting, this time in the direction of the howl. He soon comes to the belly of the warehouse, flames dancing between the liters of quintessence. He’s about to yell out when he sees him.

Keith, slumped against the wall, his chest heaving with exhaustion. Lance bolts towards him.

“Keith!” His eyes and hands start to roam over Keith’s body, looking for signs of injury. His under suit is almost gone on his left side, and Lance examines the melted and charred edges that stick out from beneath Keith’s armour. His fingers paw at pale skin. Beautiful and unblemished. Lance’s hands move up to Keith’s neck and he forces his friend to look at him.

“Keith! Are you hurt?! What’s wrong? Can you walk? I can…” His questions hammer out of his mouth. Keith forces his eyes to stay open. The pain from his side is gone, but exhaustion flows through his veins. The world spins. The heat must be getting to him. 

“I’m fine!” He manages. Lance notices how he sways on his feet.

“I’m getting you out of here!” Lance hoists Keith’s arm over his shoulders and tries to take most of his weight.

“But the others…?!”

“They’ve already gone. It’s just us, now let’s go!”


Keith only vaguely remembers Lance dragging him into his lion, the hum of the machinery, and Hunk hoisting him into the castle. They placed him in a healing pod, but the pod released him after only a minute. Nothing wrong with him. 

Exhaustion, Coran had offered. Dehydration, Pidge diagnosed. Lance carried him to bed after drinking 2 litres of water. It definitely made him feel better. Lance places a cool rag on his head and lays him down.

“Call me if you need anything, ok?” His fingers linger on Keith’s cheek. Keith smiles brightly and giggles.

“I’m fine Lance. Stop worrying.”

Images of Keith’s melted armour flash before him again. Lance tries not to dwell on it.

“Ok… ok… We just can’t afford to lose our leader.” He pats Keith on the shoulder and stands. His hand trails along the door frame as he passes through.

“Lance?”

Lance pauses. He smiles over his shoulder.

“Yeah, man?”

Keith sleepily smiles and sinks into his blankets. 

“Thanks for always having my back.”

“That’s what sharpshooters do.” Lance winks before he passes through the door.


Lance rapts his knuckles loudly against Keith’s door the next morning.

“Hey buddy? You survive?”

“I feel like I’ve been hit with a truck.” Keith grumbles inside.

“So nooooo to training then?”

Keith groans louder and Lance chuckles.

“I just wanna sleep.”

“That’s fine. I’ll check on you later.

Lance doesn’t see Keith emerge for the rest of the day.


“Keith?” Lance softly knocks on Keith’s door the next morning. “You feeling any better?”

There’s a drawn out silence.

“Keith?”

“Can you get Allura for me?”

Keith’s reply surprises Lance. The anxiety that had been slowly simmering in his gut heats into a roaring boil. Lance starts to punch in the code to enter.

“Can I come in? Keith I…”

“No!”

Lance jumps back from the door. Fear grips his throat.

“Just… just get Allura for me…” Keith’s voice softens into pleading. “Please…”

Lance spins on his heal.


He delivers Allura, who slips into Keith’s bedroom… without Lance.


It shouldn’t hurt Lance as much as it does. It shouldn’t twist his gut every time he sees Allura enter Keith’s bedroom, sometimes with Coran, sometimes without.

Hadn’t he and Keith bonded now? Didn’t they trust each other with everything?

Lance was supposed to be his right hand man…

Jealousy and fear poisons his thoughts for the next two days.

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shadows pt. 1

pairing: reader x Hoseok, OT7

genre: vampire!au, angst, implied smut, mentions of violence

word count: 5,780

synopsis: you thought that the death of your maker would lead to freedom from chains, but little did you know that bonds are much harder to break after death.

A/N: I have to thank @2seoke for helping me brainstorm almost this entire series and @jeonjagiya for helping me with historical fact checking

Originally posted by yoonqipd

read the first installment of the Ashes Trilogy here

“I love you, Hoseok” you murmured, feeling a sense of content for the first time in months.

He smiled, “I love you too” He nodded towards the sunrise, “Take in your last few moments. We don’t have much time before the sunlight will reach us.”

You nodded, turning your attention back towards the painted sky. You wanted nothing more than to run out and feel the sun’s rays. To soak your skin in sunlight, but this was enough. It was more than enough.

 “I’m ready” you tell Hoseok, turning around and lacing his fingers with yours. “Where to now?”

 “We can go anywhere you want to go, just give me a name.” he smiled, leading you back into the darkness.

 The two of you walked in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. You tried to think of where you wanted to go, but you didn’t care. As long as you were with Hoseok, nothing else mattered.

 But your partner froze next to you, staying still for a split second before he pinned your body against the damp tunnel wall. He covered your mouth with his hand before you had any chance to question his sudden behavior. There was a flash of panic in his eyes as he stared at you when a woman’s voice rang out through the darkness.

 “Jung Hoseok, I always told you to be careful of what’s hiding in the shadows”

 He stood between you and the woman, a deep growl emitting from his chest as the two of them stared at each other.

 "It’s nice to see you haven’t changed much,“ she smiled wickedly. She was almost beautiful, in a terrifying way. Her wild red hair framing a pale freckled face. Her black eyes laced with unspoken evil. There was something about her that made your cold blood freeze.

"What the hell are you doing here?” Hoseok hissed, pushing himself further against you like a shield.

The woman cocked her head to the side, “Don’t you miss me, Hoseokie? It’s been what, almost 700 years since the last time we’ve seen each other? I certainly wasn’t expected to be greeted with such hostility, especially since you seem to have company.”

“Go to hell!” Hoseok snapped, spit flying from his lips in between the syllables.

The vampire held up her hands, “I think you’re misunderstanding me Hoseok. I don’t want to hurt you. I was just trying to pay my old friend Kai a visit,” her eyes flickering onto yours as she spoke, “But it seems like he’s no longer at that address.”

You could feel Hoseok telling you to keep your mouth shut, to not antagonize the vampire in front of you. But he should know by now that you’re a terrible listener, “I can send you his ashes in a box, if you would like.” you quip, flashing the vampire a sarcastic smile.

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On My Own (Harry Hook)Part Six

Originally posted by heather-l-wood

“You swore you’d never hurt me.”

“You swore you’d never leave me On My Own.”

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Chad Charming thought himself a man of the people, another reason he should have been crowned King instead of Ben. He hoped that if he proved it, the people of Auradon would realize their mistake. Which was why he found himself trying to find that pirate kid that Jay hated.

As a very fit, athletic, muscular man himself, he had a feeling he would easily find him. SO, when he followed the sounds of anger to the weight room, he wasn’t surprised when the pirate kid was beating ruthlessly at a punching bag. “Hey there, Harry,” Chad greeted, strolling over to the angry boy.

“What do ye want, Charmin’?” Harry grumbled, less than happy to have his alone time interrupted. Chad shook his head, holding the punching bag steady. “Just checking on a friend. I know if that fight had happened between me and Audrey I would be very sa- I mean angry.”

“That brown-haired lass you have hangin’ off yer arm?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as he recalled the princess inviting him to “study” with her on a Saturday night with a few flirtations glances and a hand toying with the buttons on his jacket. He of course declined.

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend,” The blond stated proudly, frowning at the laugh he received. “What’s so funny?”

“Ye need to keep a better grip on yer lass, Charmin’. She seemed to have taken a liken to some men in me crew,” Harry remarked with a snicker.

“I’ve noticed. Which is another reason I came here. To offer a… mutual exchange of advice. I’ll tell you have to be the prince Y/N wants, if you tell me how to be a…delinquent like you,” Chad offered, a smug smirk on his face.

“That’s one reason I don’t like you Auradon brats,” Harry remarked, zoning in on the young Prince. “Someone wants ye to be someone ye aren’t, ya change yer clothes, your hair, the way ye talk, the way you act, you change yer entire personality just to be what they want. But on the Isle? Well, if someone dares to tell ye to change yerself, you feed’em to the dogs. We don’t change for anyone but ourselves. You. Are. Pathetic. Changin’ yerself for a lass.” Harry scoffed.

“What are ye starin’ at?” He snapped at the boy when he noticed him staring at him in something akin to awe.

“You just… You don’t care. I’ve never met someone as uncaring as you,” The boy replied. “Teach me your ways. Please!”

“I told ye, Chad-” Harry started before pausing, remembering Uma’s plan.

They’ve had it too good here for too long. It’s time for Auradon to meet chaos. We need to tear this school apart from the inside. Prove who really has control here.

“Fine. I’ll help ye.”


At lunch that following Monday, Chad sat with the pirates, eager to be taught Harry’s ways. He was in the middle of telling Chad how to snap back at someone giving him a hard time when he was interrupted.

“Excuse me, uh Harry?”

The pirate turned around, staring at the brunette girl holding his hook and hat in her hands. “Why do ye have my things?” He asked, standing up to stare down intimidatingly at the girl. It worked, seeing as she started fidgeting.

“Y/N told me to give them to you. you left them on the tourney field Saturday,” The girl explained. Harry gave a scoff. “Lass couldn’t even give them to me herself,” He sneered, snatching the hoot and hat from the girl.

“A-actually, she’s not here today, so she asked me to do it,” the girl explained before quickly scurrying back to her group of princesses.


“Really? Chad was with them?” You asked in awe from where you sat curled up in your bed amidst a sea of tissues.

“Yep,” Lonnie replied. “Jane said it sounded like Harry was coaching him on something.”

“Oh no,” You groaned. “And I can’t go find out what it is because of this stupid cold!” Lonnie laughed.

“Don’t worry, Sniffles. I’ll get Jay on it. You just focus on getting better. I have no one to help me bully the Coach into making a girl’s tourney team,” Lonnie replied. “Oh! I just remembered my mom gave me a book of recipes my grandma used to make for her when she was a kid. I think there’s some food for colds in there, I could make you some if you want,” She offered.

“Lonnie?”

“Yes?”

“Please marry me.”


“Y/N!” Audrey called, awakening you from your sick-sleep. You groaned, pulling the covers over your eyes. “How do you people keep getting in my room?” You whined. You heard her scoff.

“Maybe you should try a better hiding spot that on top of the door frame. But that isn’t important right now! Your pirate boyfriend has brainwashed Chad!” She complained, stomping her foot on the ground. “He’s walking around in those ripped clothes flirting with every girl he sees! And he won’t do what I say!”

“Or maybe he’s finally figuring out who he is,” You mumbled, rolling away from the girl. Audrey growled.

“Did I mention he slid a stink bomb into your locker?”

“He’s dead. I’ll fix it later. Get out of my room and let me sleep you evil little fairy,” You grumbled, burying your face in a pillow. You were only able to lay in bed for ten minutes before you tore yourself out of bed to go confront Harry.

You didn’t know why you had five outfits laid out on your bed. You were just going to tell Harry to leave Chad alone, but for some reason you wanted to look nice. You carefully chose an outfit that was nice enough for Auradon, but reminded you of your clothes in Auradon. To be completely honest, you had been feeling homesick ever since you came back from your impromptu “Save the King” mission.

And now, being around the pirates made you want to retreat to your old self. But, you couldn’t let that happen.


You anxiously shifted from foot to foot as you stood outside of Harry’s dorm room, waiting for him to answer the door. You knocked again, in case he didn’t hear you. “Who the hell is it!? Ye better have a good reason for wakin’ me up or ye’r dead!” His voiced called out as the door was flung open seconds later.

“Y/N?” He asked, looking both surprised an confused, before recovering his expression to a blank face. “Come in, I guess.” You walked in, keeping a safe distance between you and the pirate.

“What do ye want, Lass?” He asked, leaning against the door with crossed arms. It took all of your self control to not stare, seeing as he didn’t think answering the door was important enough to put on a shirt. 

“Harry, what did you do to Chad?” You asked, figuring there was no use beating around the bush. He chuckled, eying you.

“I didn’t do anything to’em. He asked me for a favor and I happily complied for me dear friend,” He answered, a sly smirk on his face. “It’s not nice of ya to keep accusin’ me of things, Lass. Makes ya seem a bit biased against me. And that’s not possible, is it?”

You clenched your teeth as Harry slowly walked forward, resulting in you pressing yourself against the wall in order to get farther from the pirate.

“Admit it, Lass. Admit why ye’r accusin’ me every five seconds,” He egged, leaning down so he was eye level with you. “Admit you hate me. Or, maybe you still love me. And that’s why you keep tryin’ to distance yerself from me.”

You clenched your fists at the pirate’s taunting. If this were the Isle, you would punch him and be done with it. But, unfortunately this was Auradon. And punching him could possibly get you sent back to the Isle for good.

“You know what, Harry?” You asked, glaring up at the brunet. “Hmm?” He asked, sliding a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re right,” You stated.

A small smirk started on his face. “About what, Lass?”

“I do hate you.”

Harry could hear his world crashing down and his heart shattering in a single second. He cleared his throat, standing up straight. “Is that so?” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

“You cheated on me, Harry. With your Captain! When I tried to confront you about it you tried to accuse me of cheating on you with Gil instead of owning up to it! How can I not hate you!?” You cried out, astonished that he could have the audacity to even think he had the right to be hurt.

“You swore you’d never hurt me!”

“And you swore you’d never leave me on my own!” He shot back, angry tears welling in his eyes. “Ye know I’m not good at expressin’ how I feel or admittin’ when I’m wrong! But ye didn’t even give me a chance! You ran away from me, Y/N!”

“You’re the one that ran away, Harry! I waited for a week for you to come back! But you never did! You ran off to Uma like you always have! You always put her above me! You treated her like some sort of goddess! Like you were just settling for me! Do you know how that felt!?”

“Why do ye think I kept tryin’ to get yer attention when I got here!? I wanted to make up, Y/N! But it seems you’ve finally revealed yer true colors! You want some perfect prince, not a mangy pirate! And I’m not a perfect prince, Y/N! I never will be! I’m me! And if ye don’t like that then I guess we’re done here!” Harry yelled. He felt weak with tears leaking from his eyes, but he couldn’t seem to make them stop.

“I don’t want some perfect prince, Harry! I want you! But all you do is hurt me! You fight with me over every little thing, and god forbid I say something bad about Uma all hell breaks loose! Is she that much better than me!?” You shot back, glad to finally get everything off of your chest.

“Because she’s always been there for me, Y/N! Ever since I became part of her crew she’s treated me like I’m not worthless! You’re the one that always starts fights with me, she’s the one that calms me down! So yeah, I guess she is better!”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, wishing he could yank the words back into his mouth. “Y/N,” He whispered, noticing the tears that now flowed down your cheeks. You looked utterly crushed. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” He whispered, reaching out for you.

You shook your head, pushing the pirate away from you and furiously wiping your eyes. “I knew it,” You whispered. If Harry could choose the animal that most resembled you at the moment, it would be a kicked puppy. No, you resembled a puppy left alone to watch their owner drive away, leaving them in a strange place with strange people. Completely broken, in the most unrepairable way.

And as you walked out of his door, he could only imagine he looked the same.


This Part’s tags: @sisterofpersassy @rizaiscool @sharenaloveyoux @tofarawaytobreathe @asexualmarauder @softbcky @annabelle5724

Can’t Remember to Forget You | iii

Summary: When you almost die in battle, a distraught Bucky - afraid of what will become of him if he loses you - decides to end things. But what happens when he loses his memory, only to end up falling in love with you all over again?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1933

Warnings: Language? Self-hate/loathing, mentions of death - lots of angst

A/N: I will be accepting angry asks (please be gentle with my fragile heart) || crtfy masterlist

Originally posted by caps-bucky

Keep reading

Just Like Always

Word Count: 1467

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Flangst 

A/N: Season 13 spoilers read at your own risk. Unbeta’d all mistakes are mine

Feedback and Constructive Criticism Always Welcome


The silence in the Impala was deafening. Sam and Jack in the back seat, Dean and you in the front. Dean’s jaw clenching every few seconds, his bloody fist gripping the wheel so hard the wounds threatened to reopen at any moment. He wouldn’t speak. He wouldn’t look at you. Dean had retreated completely inside himself to grieve for Crowley, to grieve for Mary, and to grieve for Cas. Dean’s cycle of self blame and pushing people away had begun, and you weren’t about to let him push you away. Not this time. You needed each other if you were going to get through this, but most of all you had to be strong enough to support him.

As soon as you got back to the bunker you headed straight to the bathroom to clean up and strip out of your dirty clothes, changing into fresh, comfortable sweat pants and a t-shirt. The t-shirt exposed your arms, leaving all the bumps, bruises, and scratches completely exposed. Dean’s words to Sam from earlier echoed through your head as you cleaned the wounds with antiseptic. “We’ll take him back to the bunker where the only people he can hurt are me and you.” He was going to try and kick you out again, just like he did when he had the Mark of Cain, but this time you weren’t leaving.

You made your way back into your shared bedroom, fully prepared for what you were about to face. Dean’s back was to the door; shoulders slouched, hands down at his sides. “You need to leave.” He murmured. “I don’t want you here.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Coffee shits anon here to say I may actually have an intolerance to coffee and its making me feel really really sick so i was wondering if i could get some sweet byler fluff of either Mike or Will getting like a cold and the other having to care for them ?!

hey anon i hope you’re feeling better by now!!! i had already gone to bed when you sent this message last night, i’m so sorry! but i worked on this in my spare time today, just for you!!! it’s only a little piece of meaningless fluff, but i hope you enjoy it. :’)

“I can’t believe your mom finally let me into your quarantine zone,” Will says as he enters Mike’s room. He closes the door gently behind him even though the space already feels a bit stuffy.

Mike smiles from where he’s cocooned in his blankets. He struggles, but manages to sit up against the wall behind his bed with all but his head covered by the thick comforter, and Will feels the sweet, familiar warmth wash over him at the sight of Mike’s face. God, he’s missed him.

On the floor beside the bed is a trashcan overflowing with used tissues. A half empty bottle of cold medicine is tipped over on his bedside table (the grape kind - Will’s not sure how Mike has managed to choke so much of that down over the past three days).

“I think I convinced her that if you don’t come up to show me what I missed in calculus the past three days, I’ll definitely fail out of eleventh grade and have no choice but to become a rodeo clown traveling aimlessly across the midwest.”

The flu that’s been plaguing Mike since Monday has yet to leave his head and all of his “v”s come out like “b”s, and he sniffles after every other word. Will finds that it only endears him more to Mike - red nose, messy hair, and all.

He laughs as he sets his notebooks down on the corner of Mike’s desk and walks toward the bed, carefully avoiding stepping on any tissues that haven’t quite made their way into the waste bin thanks to Mike’s less-than-stellar aim.

Mike hums out a happy noise and unfurls himself from his blanket cave, reaching out with long, spider-like arms to yank Will close to him and pull him into a hug. The soft press of his feverish face against Will’s flannel shirt feels warm even through the thick layer of fabric, and Will’s mouth twists down into a frown.

“You’re burning up,” he says.

A soft, careful hand finds its way to Mike’s forehead. He ignores the mumbles of protest as he forces himself backward, out of Mike’s grip, so he can push the hair back from his face and make note of the glassiness of his eyes and the red-pink flush to his skin.

“I’m fine,” Mike insists with a shake of his head.

He grabs Will’s hand between his own and pulls hard, sending Will stumbling and falling face-first onto the bed.

“You’re a nuisance,” he bites out, but there’s laughter in his voice as he finds a way to situate himself among the various blankets and pillows tossed along the mattress.

Mike sighs in satisfaction, curling up to lie down with his head resting in Will’s lap, his low whisper of I missed you nearly lost among the rustling of the sheets as he tries to get comfortable.

“Mike,” Will says softly. “You shouldn’t let me disturb your sleep. I only came by to drop off your homework.”

It hurts him a little just to say it, because the truth is he’d rather be locked up here with Mike in his sick-den than anywhere else in the world. But he also doesn’t want to impede the process of him feeling better by keeping him awake when he should be sleeping.

Mike pouts and opens his eyes to focus on Will.

“Please stay. Just for a little while. I bet it’ll make me feel better.”

His voice is a little raw from the sore throat and a lot emotional from the three days of illness that has separated him from Will, thanks to Karen’s very careful regulation of her sick child. The most contact they’ve had was a ten minute phone conversation the night before, during which Mike blew his nose thirty times and then fell asleep on the line before Will could properly say goodbye.

Will’s heart pulls itself into a bind and he reaches down to run his fingers through the curly mess of Mike’s hair. He should definitely go, his rational brain tells him - he’s likely to get sick himself if he stays much longer - but he finds the too-warm sheets of Mike’s bed and the pleasant weight of Mike resting against him is making him feel lethargic and complacent right where he is.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles out, and Mike brightens a bit before furrowing his brow and opening his mouth to speak again.

“I can’t believe she kept you away from me for so long.”

Maybe it’s silly, that three days has felt like so long, but Will has been showing up to the Wheeler house every afternoon with Mike’s missed assignments in tow only to be stopped short by Karen at the front door, all calm mom-smile and friendly-stern voice. It’s taken them far too much time for Will’s taste to convince her that he really does need to see Mike; and Will has felt each and every hour of those three days somewhere deep inside his chest. In the lag of his pulse. Like someone has reached inside him and formed a fist around his heart, squeezing just this side of too tight.

“To be fair, you’ve been pretty sick,” Will reasons, because he likes Mrs. Wheeler and he can’t really blame her for wanting Mike to get better.

Mike coughs on a laugh and reaches up to run his fingertips over Will’s face, lingering on the mole above his lip and settling finally at the hollow of his throat where he catches the humming buzz of Will’s pulse with his ice cold hand.

“Yeah, but you’re my boyfriend,” he says. “You’re supposed to be here when I’m sick. To take care of me or whatever.”

Will blushes, a pleasant carnation pink blossoming over his cheeks, and swallows hard.

Boyfriend. He lets the word sit at the front of his mind, wants to repeat it out loud just to feel the tender weight of it against his tongue, to hear the timid way it will leave his mouth - embarrassed and shy, yet somehow entirely certain at the same time. It’s not a word they let themselves use often, because in Hawkins it’s better not to risk the wrong person overhearing it, the name for this secret, erroneously forbidden thing between them.

And so to hear Mike say it out loud - so casually, like it’s common knowledge half the world over - it makes a slow warmth unwrap itself and settle like a new coat of paint into every crack in Will’s heart. He takes a deep breath and catches Mike’s hand with his own, intertwines their fingers.

“It’s not like she knows that,” he says. Then, softer: “She can’t know it.”

The words come out a bit more melancholy than he’d intended but it’s hard to hide it sometimes, how much it hurts to pretend Mike means nothing more to him than any of his other friends. To pretend he doesn’t daydream about the whisper of Mike’s hand against his own beneath the table in chemistry class. To act as though his breath doesn’t tangle itself into an unmanageable knot and wrap itself around his lungs with expert precision whenever he catches Mike’s eye from across the hallway. To pretend he doesn’t look at Mike and see his whole damn heart projected back at him, doesn’t taste the promise of some kind of future with every fleeting kiss they manage to steal.

Sometimes it just gets a little hard, pretending.

“I wish she could.”

Mike’s voice is soft as he says it, wistful as he opens his eyes and presses their intertwined hands to his warm face to place a kiss against Will’s knuckles.

“I wish everyone could know how much I love you.”

Will’s heart does a stutter-stop in his chest and he thinks for a moment that it must be the fever talking. Either that or the cold medicine, because he and Mike…they haven’t said that word yet.

Sure, Will’s thought it hundreds of times: certainly every day over the last nine months they’ve been together; probably ever since his return from the upside down and his multiple brushes with death and also with the soft weight of Mike’s hand against his own; possibly since the first time Mike placed an arm around him in first grade when Will had fallen off his bike and skinned his knee so badly that the blood had run down into his sock and gone all tacky against his foot as he’d limped home. He’s thought it for years. An entire lifetime, maybe. But they haven’t said it.

He looks down at Mike and expects to see that same feverish glaze, a faraway look on his face like his brain is certainly somewhere else, lost in the haze of illness. Instead all he sees is soft, quiet confidence and the kind of sure and steady gaze that Mike is so expert at - like he’s daring Will to challenge him on this. But this isn’t something Will is going to challenge him on. Not today. Not ever.

“I love you too,” he says, and the words feel big but taste pleasant and it’s okay right now, that no one else can hear it. That no one else can know.

They don’t deserve to know, Will thinks to himself as Mike nuzzles against him with his lips pulled up into a sleepy smile.

“You know, I think I’m starting to feel a little better already,” Mike says, his tone playful and sweet. “Looks like I was right. You’re healing me after all, Byers.”

Will rolls his eyes but he can’t keep the fond look off of his face as he whispers dork and pulls the blankets further up around Mike’s shoulders. It doesn’t take long for Mike to begin nodding off with his head still pillowed in Will’s lap, his breath coming out in soft, whistling snores that make Will giggle silently in the evening-dark of the room.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” Mike forces his eyes open long enough to ask, wrapping his arms around Will like he’s trying to ensure he can’t get away even if he wants to.

Will hums out softly, rubs his hand over Mike’s back.

“Yeah, Mike. I’ll be here.”

Mike’s asleep before he can hear his response, but it’s okay. He already knew the answer before he’d ever asked the question. And it’s okay, when he wakes up an hour later bleary eyed and pouty as Will insists he needs to get home before his mom begins to worry.

“Are you gonna let me kiss you goodbye, at least?”

He looks so pathetic, with his frowning lips and his stuffy nose and his hair standing up in every direction, and Will is tempted to say no because they have midterms coming up and he really can’t afford to be sick.

But instead he just laughs and half-protests that it’s gross as Mike presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth with warm, chapped lips. (It’s not gross and he missed it and he loves it and he loves Mike, god he loves him.)

And even when Will is lying in bed the next week, coughing and sniffling and downing cold medicine every few hours as Mike spends his afternoons apologizing and bringing Will homemade soup from his mom in a bright red thermos - he still can’t help but think that it was very much worth it.

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Five)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

My own Jamie,

Almost six months ago, I learned that you survived Culloden. You made history, my darling! Q.E.D.

As many nights as I’ve lain awake in those months cursing myself for not having looked soonerI know I shall thank God every day of my life for the series of events that led me at last to the right pages, to you. When I fully realized what it meant— that you had been spared the death you faced so bravely that April morning, the death that has haunted my thoughts and my nightmares for so long— It was like a wound, the oldest and deepest scar ripped back open, inch by inch. I was completely laid bare from it, from the storm of emotions warring within me: such joy, such anguish for the lost time (how many more years could we have had, Jamie, had I looked?), such fear—and then joy again, because the years of grief could now be ended, and *against all reason!* I could see you again.  

Likewise will I thank God every day for the small voice in my head that nudged me at the very last moment to go first to Lallybroch, rather than to your shop in Edinburgh. Please thank Jenny for me. She explained everything. 

It is for the best, that it happened this way; easier, I think, for all concerned. Perversely, despite the shock, I find myself smiling in this moment: for we promised there would be no lies between us, remember? It is a promise I make to you again, today. You can know, then, with absolute certainty, that it can be no lie when I tell you that I am glad glad and on-my-knees grateful to Heaven that you have found true happiness. 

After all the pain and the loss, the war and the hunger and the suffering you’ve endured, to know that you have a wife with whom you’ve found something new and wonderful; that you have had the joy of holding your own children in your arms, to have seen them be born and grow? It is a balm, Jamie, a comfort to know that despite all the cruelty fate has dealt you—dealt us— you have been blessed with such great and abundant joy. Never would I wish anything less for you, just as I know you would not for me. 

It is my deepest prayer that as you read these words, you will know the truth of them, will be able to feel my heart through the page, and KNOW that from its very depths, I wish you every happiness with your wife and your daughters. 

And yet I couldn’t leave, couldn’t go back from whence I came, without telling you about another little girl, who was born the 23rd of November the year of Culloden. 

I hope the contents of the brown packet, here enclosed, tell you more than any words could about your daughter—our daughter—Brianna Ellen.

Jamie was shaking—no, he was — crumbling

Every breath wrenched through him, agonizing, and the tears were falling, blurring his vision. He had to sit back on his haunches to keep them from dropping onto the page and blurring her precious words. 

Her words

CLAIRE’s

His hands were quaking with

November

with EVERYTHING

Jesus, GOD in 

Couldn’t

He COULD NOT think

Thoughts, words, they were—

They failed him, simply abandoned him as he shook on the study rug. Only his body seemed to know the way, for he was snatching for the parcel, tearing at the string binding the paper. There was an oily, unidentifiable wrapping within, then a layer of soft flannel, and then —   

The sound that escaped him—He didn’t even know there existed such a sound within him. It was terrible and beautiful at once, and though it was in no language, what he felt, his lips over and over formed a word, the only word he could muster: “No….NO….” 

For as though a great knife had cut through those terrible, looming stones on the accursed hill, Jamie held his infant daughter, newly-born, sleeping there in the palms of his hands. The portrait—picture?—painting?—was all in shades of grey, and yet somehow lifelike as a true bairn in miniature before him, like peering through a spyglass straight into that distant life.

He had not a single thought to spare for how, or by what means…

He could only trace the bitty wee fists curled on the blanket, the sweet wisps of hair on the tiny skull.

“Oh, mo chridhe…” 

He couldn’t look away, could not even blink, though tears were coursing downward. 

God, the child —this very child — 

—delivered safely into the world and into the arms of her mother—her mother.

The babe had lived—LIVED.

The pad of his thumb caught slightly as he caressed her cheek, and the portrait slid upward just enough to reveal — “Ohh…Jesus…”

She was grown to a toddling child, eating a cake that was smeared all about her face. And damn him if he didn’t LAUGH amidst the weeping to see just how pleased with herself she looked for it, a cuddly toy raised in triumph like a sword, four wee teeth visible as she giggled out a victory cry.

There she was again, older, standing in a great snowfall, naught but wee cheeks and grinning eyes visible under the great padded suit she wore against the cold. 

Older, still. Three? Four? Sitting proper-like in a pretty frock with her hair combed smooth. 

Such a sweet face—

Older, still, standing with a wee box in her hand beside a giant something with wheels, proud and eager, eyes bright.

And then he was gasping as the spyglass world ignited into blazing, brilliant colors. He saw his daughter’s hair, red and victorious and shining against the black coat of the huge dog she hugged tight; saw the pink flush of her cheeks, spread down her neck as it always did his, when he was happy and exuberant.

On and on flashed the paintings, these captured moments of his daughter’s life.

Going fishing and doing a damn fine job of it. 

Playing uproariously in the sea-surf, splashing and laughing with complete abandon.

Absolutely lovely as as she grew out of girlhood, and God, how vividly he could see Claire in her, as she did—in the lines of her, the way she held her mouth, tilted her head—that broad, clear brow that begged to be kissed, reverently—

Laughing, carefree, safe

Braw and strong as she chopped wood. Good lass!

Gazing softly out a window, seeming not even to notice her image being captured. 

On 

and on

and on 

until he was gasping and looking at the last portrait, of an achingly beautiful young woman sitting on a rock before a fire, making camp for the night, perhaps. Her face was cast in the same golds and red as her hair; the dreams of her heart seeming to dance across her eyes—as they always did her mother’s. His daughter…grown.  

The paintings were strewn all around him on the carpet, a tableau of her; her life. On his knees he bowed over them, overwhelmed and shuddering with great sobs as he looked, and looked, and looked.

She was—

She would be

…..she was well.  

The child HAD been safe.

It hadn’t been for naught. 

He fell, then, and sheltered her like a cloak, keeping his child, his daughter, safe and shielded from the world for just one moment; safe…his….

Brianna


It was only sudden, ripping, screaming panic that yanked him out of the quiet calm, searching wildly, fumbling with desperate hands—

But relief tore from his throat just as suddenly as he found a second page: 

Not everything can be captured in a photograph, of course (that’s what they’re called. Did I ever tell you about them?), and there’s so much I long to tell you about this wonderful person.

Will you believe she’s been taller than me since the age of thirteen? She carries it like a queen, though, like I imagine your mother did. She doesn’t slouch or try to hide. Not Bree. 

Oh, yes: most people call her Bree, for short. 

She bites her nails, when she’s thinking hard. I don’t even think she notices when she’s doing it.

She’s absolutely brilliant, Jamie, studying at one of the top universities in the world to be a historian. You would be so very proud of her. 

She’s not perfect, of course. Perhaps her biggest flaw as half-Scottish is that she HATES whisky, haha. I’ll do my best to win her over, though, don’t you worry. 

She’s a spectacular artist, another way in which she takes after her grandmother. She captures you, completely. 

That statement, actually, is true in more ways than one. Our Brianna is captivating, in every way. 

She’s an absolute wonder with maths and figures —as natural to her as breathing, it seems, just like they are for you. 

She smiles in her sleep, just like her father. 

She’s so like you, Jamie, it breaks my heart. 

After Frank died—But Lord, I haven’t said anything of him. 

It was two years ago. He had a good, full life, and he loved Bree more than anything in the world. He could have been cruel, could have taken out his anger upon the child, the very breathing manifestation of the ways in which I’d betrayed him—but he didn’t. From the moment he first held her, Frank loved her as his own, and while things between he and I were tenuous, to say the least, I will always love him for the father he was to her, for the sacrifices he made for her. I hope that is a comfort to you, and not a blow. 

After he was gone, after giving her time to grieve, it felt important that Bree should know about you, about the stones. It took—well, it frankly took a bloody lot of luck and a jolly good miracle to get her to believe, *but she does.* She loved Frank with all her heart, but she knows now that Jamie Fraser was her father. IS her father. 

You should know that she was instrumental in finding you. She persisted when I would have faltered under the doubts and the fears. As ecstatic and overjoyed as I was at the news that you were alive, I was so afraid Jamie, for you, for me, for Bree. 

Even though I know she, too, was plagued with fears, she remained strong; and she kept ME strong. Even at the very stones, when I was so wracked with guilt over leaving her forever that I would have stayed, for her sake, she was there to strengthen me, to tell me not to look back. She said that she was giving me back to you, and that if I didn’t go, *she* would. ‘Someone has to find him and tell him I was born,’ she said, and she meant it. 

THAT is the kind of person your daughter is growing to be, Jamie: determined, and brilliant, and selfless for the sake of those she loves; *and that includes you.* She asked me to give you a kiss, just from her. I’ve left it here, on the page, for you to keep, always. 

Brianna has been the greatest joy of my life since we parted, a joy that would have been richer only if I had been granted the grace to raise her with you at my side. Thank you for her. THANK YOU for making me go on, for her sake. Despite everything, it has been a good life. Even in those long years of grief, I had the joy of seeing you every day, of seeing your spirit, there in the child of our love. And I’m so very grateful. 

I’ll keep telling her about you. There wasn’t enough time, before I left. She’ll be able hear everything, now. I promise. 

Jamie shook his head hard, fast, feeling for a third page that wasn’t there. “No…” 

Be happy, Jamie Fraser, and LIVE. 

“No,” he moaned. his eyes clinging to the fleeting words, even as he begged them not to stop. “Claire…”

Love, always

“Mo nighean donn, don’t —  

Claire


Those next seconds were everlasting, each terrible, catastrophic truth echoing in his soul like the toll of a great bell, over and over. 

She had been here

Claire had been here

She left

Claire left

Because Jenny—


She was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, crying hard into Ian’s shoulder. When the study door crashed open, her head shot up and she jumped to her feet, her face pure terror. “Jamie, mo ch—”

“When?” He snarled it, and Jenny convulsed with a deep sob like a swallowed scream, and covered her face with her hands. 

Jamie was thundering toward her, a veil of red over his vision as he demanded, “WHEN?” 

Ian—in a shockingly deft and smooth movement given the leg—shot to his feet, shielding Jenny from Jamie’s rage with his body. 

In all truth, the rational parts of Jamie’s mind were glad for Ian’s presence, for that was the only thing keeping the blood rage from taking control, from taking revenge. “WHEN was she here, woman?” he bellowed over Ian’s shoulder,  “How fucking long did ye see fit to keep—”

Ian shoved him, eyes blazing. “You’ll NOT talk that way to—” 

Mor—ning—”Jenny sobbed, her voice a strangled whisper, “—gone before—Jamie! Oh, JamieI ken I’ll—never for—give mys—for—” 

HOW MANY MONTHS?”  he roared, overtaken by despair, overtaken by rage, becoming a nameless beast under it. “HOW MANY YEARS, JENNY?” 

“This morning—” she wailed, “To—TO—DAY—” 

Nothing. 

Silence. 

And then a great wave, tall as a mountain, rose up within Jamie, blasting out everything within him in a single cataclysmic moment of clarity. 

Today

T O D A Y

Then she was—

She could be no more than—

He vaulted up the stairs four at a time, paying no heed to Janet and Wee Ian and the others who were gathered at the top of the staircase, wide-eyed and pale and gaping.

Less than a minute later, he thundered back down past them all, breeks only half-laced under his boots, traveling bag on his back. 

“No,” Jenny moaned, grasping at his sleeve as he passed and trying to hold him back. “Jamie, ye canna—Ye CANNA catch her, she's—GONE—she’s—”

He shook her off, hard enough to knock her off-balance, and ran to the kitchen, shoving what food he could lay his hands on into his sack and moving straight to the door, so crazed with determination he could barely see what it was he took. Food didn’t matter. Fatigue, already tugging at him, didn’t matter. Claire was— 

“Jamie, she’s nearly a day ahead—” Jenny caught the handle just as he did, eyes absolutely wild. “Ye dinna even ken where she’s bound or—” 

He spared his sister one look, and let all the hate and contempt, the rage and the betrayal show there as he growled, “I ken precisely where she’s bound.” 


Babydoll

Summary: Annabelle Shaw (reader) trains at the Avengers compound. While remembering her troubled past, she injures herself and recieves help from the last person she expected.

Word Count: 2,246

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! So this is my first story on here, so bear with me! I am open to requests, so if anyone ever wants to request fics, feel free to message me! Thanks for reading!

Sunlight seeps through the curtains, filling the dark room with golden hues. My eyes open slowly, a low groan emanating from my throat as I roll over in the plush bed. I throw the sheets over my head, exhaling deeply as I settle back in contently.

“Good morning, Miss Shaw,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. croons. “It is six a.m. and Captain Rogers is awaiting your training session in the sparring room.”

“Ugh,” I drawl. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., tell Steve I’m not training today because I’m exhausted from the mission last night,” I mumble sleepily. “Goddamn old men and their early mornings.”

“As you wish.”

“Oh, and F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Miss?”

I smile and say, “Close the curtains and don’t wake me up unless it’s an emergency.”

“Of course, Miss Shaw.”

Just as my eyes flutter shut, a hand bangs on the door in quick succession. “Annabelle! Rise and shine!” Steve yells.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., keep him out.”

“Yes, Miss Shaw.”

I turn over and sigh happily, knowing F.R.I.D.A.Y. would never go against my wishes. Steve continues to pound against the door, yelling about our training session, but I stay completely silent. I hear the AI say something to Steve, probably telling him I’ve restricted all contact with me to emergencies only. The incessant knocking stops and I’m finally at peace.

“Miss Shaw,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, confused, “I’m afraid Captain Rogers is overriding my security protocol. He will have access to you in approximately twenty seconds.”

With that, my eyes fly open and I begin to panic. “Shit,” I chant. Rushing around the room, I shuck off my pajamas and throw on a sports bra, tank top and capri spandex bottoms, knowing Steve will drag me out in whatever I’m in, regardless of how I look. Just as I’m throwing my hair into a high ponytail, the door whisks open and Steve barges in, a creased brow and shit-eating grin on his face.

“Annabelle, I told you what would happen if you did this again,” he boomed, advancing quickly.

My heart leaps to my throat. “Steve, I’m so tired from last night, please don’t do th-”

I’m cut off as the super-soldier tosses me over his shoulder, laughing gleefully as I yelp in surprise. “Too little too late, Shaw.”

His grip is completely constricting, forcing my hand. I plant a hard slap on his right butt cheek, which surprises him, causing him to squeal “shit!” and his hands to slightly falter. I take the opportunity to slip away and sprint down the hallway of the Avenger’s compound, heart pounding. He pursues me with heavy footfalls that resonate throughout the otherwise silent building, shouting empty threats at me while laughing.

I spin around and throw up the middle finger, chortling, only to slam into a solid, warm surface.

I topple over and slam into the floor, taking the body with me. We groan in unison and a flash of silver catches my eye. I stiffen and shoot up in panic. “Sorry, I didn’t see you th-”

He cuts you off with a growl, standing up slowly. “Watch where you’re going next time.” Bucky stalks away quietly, seething.

I turn to Steve and he laughs nervously, leading me to the sparring room.

After a long day of training, I fall onto my bed, completely wore down. Steve, ever so merciless and in excellent shape, always expected me to keep up with him when we trained together, which seemed like a stretch. When we sparred, I could knock him down and keep him down easily, but when it came to physical endurance and strength training, it seemed like the super-soldier enjoyed pushing me past my breaking point every day. Every session introduced a new form of torture that reigned hell on my body, and every night prolonged my misery with every single movement.

We frequently came across the others training for missions, but had never once seen Bucky in the training rooms. I didn’t know if that was because he didn’t need training, or if he just didn’t care enough to make an effort, but it annoyed the hell out of me every day because of how effortless he made missions seem. There I always was, busting my ass, and he would simply throw people into walls with his metal arm with what seemed like little to no effort. It infuriated me.

There is a mission tonight that Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda had to go on, leaving me, Bucky, and Tony at the compound. After the falling out of the Avengers about a year and a half ago, the Sokovia Accords had been abolished, leaving the group to have free reign with the supervision of the World Security Council. Amnesty was granted to Steve, Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Scott, so they returned to the States. Tony, having realized what a dick he had been, formally apologized to everyone for his behavior and overall jackassery during their “civil war.” Since then, everything has been running smoothly, with most of the team back at the compound. Clint and Scott returned to their families, T’Challa remained in Wakanda to serve his duty as both king and Black Panther warrior, Banner’s been MIA since the battle for Sokovia, and Tony spends most of his time in New York and Queens to keep an eye on the new kid, Peter, and help Rhodey adjust to life. I’d never met the Spider-Man himself, but from what Sam and Steve’s told me, he seems like an overzealous teenager who’s eager to please, like I was.

I head to the gym, F.R.I.D.A.Y. playing my workout playlist through the PA system. I twirl a knife in my hand, slightly dancing to the rhythm while walking down the corridor. Once I reach the gym, I ditch my knife on a table in exchange for tape and head for a punching bag, carefully wrapping my knuckles as I go. Clenching my fist, I roll my neck to loosen up before striking the sand-filled bag. I smile, savoring the sweet sting from the punch, and throw three more in quick succession. After I’m warmed up, I begin to throw punches and kicks like Steve taught me, exerting all of the strength I could muster.

Startling awake, I gasp for breath, fighting against the restraints. The metal table is cold beneath me, save for the small pools of blood that seeped through the fabric of my shirt. I glance down at my exposed midriff, crying out at the pain of the gunshot wounds. I scream in agony, concentrating on the lodged bullets, and pull the fragments out. This is what they want. They want to see you break, to unleash your power, and you finally did. As soon as the bullets land on the floor, a team of doctors rush in, grinning like they’d won the lottery. I scream, light bulbs shattering above and the table shaking with every breath I take.

“Yes,” they say, one amorphous, sinister voice. “Now we can begin.”

I lose track of how long I spend at the bag, so when I see blood seeping through the white tape encasing my tender knuckles, I slow to a stop. My tank top is completely soaked through, so I discard it on the floor, leaving me in my sports bra and yoga capris. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., stop the music please.” I carefully unwrap my hands, wincing at the agonizing burn of split knuckles. I walk to the table and grab a knife to sever the cage of white engulfing my scarlet fingers. Once the tape is gone and my knuckles can bleed freely, I sit against a wall, clutching my head in my hands, struggling to control the erratic heaves of my chest.

Breathe.

A noise from the door startles me out of my stupor and my guard is up immediately. Without looking, I stand and hurl the knife to the frame of the door, the glinting metal striking its mark inches from the intruder’s head.

“Shit,” Bucky breathes. “It’s just me.”

Exhaling shakily, I shake my head and scoff. “What, need to train?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, stepping into the room. He glances around curiously, as if experiencing it for the first time. I scoff again, concluding that this actually is his first time here. Bucky isn’t one to initiate conversation, and neither am I, so I put him out of my mind as I grab a towel to wipe my hands. Biting my lip to conceal my pain from my metal-armed spectator, I gently dab my knuckles, blood soaking into the towel quickly. The whimper I mistakenly let out results in Bucky coming over to me in a flash, slowly circling his fingers, flesh and metal, around my wrists. I avoid his eyes shamefully, frowning. What is he doing?

“Come with me,” he says. He grazes his metal fingers up my arm and down my back in one swift motion, goosebumps raising in their wake. My breathing falters for a second, barely a hitch, but he notices. He hides his grin by pretending to scratch his scruff-covered jaw. I try not to stare when Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, holding back his smile. He splays his cool fingers on the small of my back, gently leading me out of the gym.

The only thing I can concentrate on is his hand on my skin. The smooth and cool surface of the metal tingles on the sweaty, exposed surface. While he’s touching me, my body is suddenly hyperaware of every move he makes, so I can feel when he adjusts his arm slightly to curl his fingers around my waist nonchalantly. I try not to gasp when he tugs me into his room and slams the door behind him.

“Bucky, what-”

He shakes his head and smiles softly. “I just want to help clean you up,” he says quietly. My heart practically slams out of my chest as he takes in my shocked expression and grins boyishly, dimples forming in his cheeks. “C’mon B.”

“B?” I question. He takes me to his en-suite and lifts me onto the vanity, which makes me squeak in surprise. Who the hell is this guy?

He smiles, and again I’m transported to another place. I’ve never seen him smile so often and so freely. It’s confusing. “Just thought I’d try it out. Everyone calls you a cute nickname, and I thought I would try out B.”

Bucky digs around a drawer, fishing out antibacterial cream, gauze, and medical tape. His hair falls into his face as he washes my knuckles with warm water and soap tenderly. I study him: his sharp, strong jawline; his strong cheekbones; his long lashes lightly dusting his cheeks when he blinks; the soft curve of his plump lips and how he bites the lower one in concentration; his broad shoulders and bulging biceps straining against his plain black shirt; his everything.

“Why B? What does it stand for? Bells?”

He pauses, holding my cut hands. Blush dusts his cheeks and he looks up at me with the same heart-stopping, boyish grin he gave me earlier. “No.”

I crease my eyebrows. “What then?”

“Babydoll.”

My heart hammers in my chest. What? He places my hands in my lap, stepping between my parted legs. “Bucky, what-”

“Shh, just let me, let me try something.” He leans in closer, firmly gripping my hips, pulling me closer to him. I squeak in surprise, my whole body burning with an emotion I can’t decipher. We are so close, closer than I’ve been with anyone in a while. I feel like I can’t breathe, but in the best possible way, when he leans in, brushing his lips against mine. I gasp and he sucks in a breath through his nose. Everything is tingling and nothing feels real, but the warm pressure of his hands on my hips reminds me that this is reality. Bucky pulls me impossibly closer, fully pressing his lips against mine. I sigh, my heart pounding with excitement, and bring him closer to me by holding his face in my shaking hands. I can feel the pulse on his neck, whimpering when it’s as fast and hard as mine. He groans and deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth, much to my surprise. He feels and tastes amazing, like the peppermint gum he always chews. His body is solid and warm between my parted thighs, and my mind is buzzing.

Time ceases to exist when his lips are on mine, and everything feels like a dream. After what feels like a blissful eternity yet only a second, I reluctantly break the connection, breathing hard and fast like the beautiful man in front of me. He lays his forehead on mine, struggling to catch his breath. I laugh nervously and lace our fingers together, leaning against the wall behind me.

“What was that?” I ask breathlessly. He grins.

“Can’t stop thinking about those lips,” he tells me. I blush scarlet, which makes him laugh. He finishes bandaging my hands and I feel helpless against the assault of light kisses he gives each knuckle once it’s cleaned and wrapped.

Once he’s finished, he pulls me off the counter and leads me back to the gym. I stare at him, still giddy, and ask, “What are we doing?”

He grabs a handful of knives off of the table and turns to you, grinning. “I want you to teach me how to throw knives.”

I blanch. “Are you kidding me? You don’t know how to throw a knife?”

He shrugs. “I do. I just want you to teach me how you throw knives. I see you playing with one all the time.”

My eyes widen in shock and yet again, I blush. “You watch me?”

His metal arm glints in the sun as he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Um, yeah. For a while now.”

I can’t hide the smile that lights up my face; much to my displeasure, I also can’t hide the girly giggle that escapes. “What else do you think about?”

He drops the knives and rushes to me, grabbing me by the thighs and hoisting me up. I squeal, which seems to be a recurring, annoying sound I make, and wrap my arms around his neck. He traces my lips with a finger, looks up at me with a soft smile and bright eyes before saying, “Trust me, babydoll, this is only the beginning.”

Cassian x Reader, Part 1

Title: Whatever It Takes / AO3 
Part 2: tumblr
Part 3: tumblr
Length: 7.5k
Series rating: M for language and sexual content (contains some torture)
Summary: Reader and Cassian have kept their relationship a secret but when Reader is captured and tortured by the Empire, it’s obvious to all of Yavin 4 that Cassian will stop at nothing to get her back.
Author’s Note: A lovely anon requested this incredible idea and I immediately fell head over heels in love with it. Starts out pretty angsty but there will be fluff to make everything better, promise. :) Happy reading!! XOXO
Masterlist / WIP List 

Keep reading

Your hands feel like home

Request: Some college au lance and keith, where maybe keith gets like really badly sick (Up to you my friend how) and lance has to force him to stop going to classes/go to the hospital but keith gets so freaking stressed because he must have perfect grades (Klance if you want!!) Thank!!! C:

Summary: When Keith comes down sick, he assumes its nothing and carries on. But as classes and deadlines start to take their toll, it becomes more and more obvious to both Keith and his boyfriend Lance, that this ‘cold’ is anything but normal. How he made it to lectures with full blown pneumonia, he’ll never know, but something he does know is that no matter what, Lance will always be by his side. 


‘Babe, did you get the coffee?’

Keith raised his head, pausing in his feeble attempt to remove his shoes without experiencing a rapid, unplanned introduction to the floor.

‘Huh?’ he called, a small wince seeping through his teeth at the irritable scrape in his throat. He had been feeling ill for days, sluggish and tired, with a growing wet cough that burned his airways and pounded his head like a hammer on an anvil. He knew he had a fever - that morning while Lance had still been sleeping he had snuck into his bathroom and borrowed his thermometer, only find that his temperature had risen to 38.5 degrees. But college was just too busy to take a day off from, and so he had popped a few fever reducers and paracetamol and gotten on with his day.

‘Coffee,’ Lance repeated, sticking his head out of the kitchen door to raise his eyebrows at Keith. ‘you said you were gonna stop by the store on your way here and pick some up. I’m nearly out,’

Keith groaned, leaning his head against the wall, second shoe all but forgotten. ‘Damnit.. I forgot, sorry. Want me to go back out and get some?’ he asked, but every fibre of his body was praying that Lance would say no. Apparently, whatever Gods were looking down on him chose to be kind, and Lance shook his head, at ease.

Keep reading

TONIGHT, WE SLEEP
* * *
Summary: You, Rocket and Groot end up stuck spending the night at one of Contraxia’s love hotels. Rocket enjoys teasing you, but doesn’t expect what you do in return.
Warnings: No?? Just flirting…but I dont think thats a warning.
A/N: My first Rocket imagine! I usually dont like writing imagines for characters I like because I tend to lose interest. But I decided to try it out. Hopefully next time, it’ll get better and more ~intense~
* * *
The room hummed under the red glow of neon lamps and the lovers bed pressed up against the wall. You felt the walls muffle your voice, unsure of how to ask Rocket why this was the only available place for them to sleep in. Besides the thick silence hung between the three of you, and the occasional rattling of the cheaply plastered velvet walls, the only sounds to be heard was beyond the glass window wrapped up in curtains. Mainly the rowdiness of drunkards and the piercing laughter that cut through the cold winter night of Contraxia. Then again, every night here is a cold winter night.
Your hands instinctively rubbed your upper arms, trying to warm up in the unusually cold room. There were many reasons this hotel would want cold rooms, some sexual and others less so. Groot was the first to move, walking towards the wall by the glass window and sitting down.
“I am Groot,” He reclined back, his body slowly becoming connected to the wall as he gazed outside to the different species stumbling about. Rocket followed after him, setting his bag down on the right side of the bed, keeping himself occupied with unpacking. You bit the inside of your cheek, watching him only momentarily before excusing yourself to the bathroom to shower.
Rocket began to assemble his gun, getting it ready just in case anything happened during the night. After a couple visits to Contraxia, he knew better than to come unprepared.
“I am Groot,” Groot spoke, causing Rocket to freeze up. He let out a sigh, shaking his head and continuing his work.
“Because we didn’t have enough units to stay at a nice place like The Divine.” He dragged out, revealing his canines. Rewards were coming in slowly, and their collective spending habits were high matinence. This cheesy love hotel was the only thing they could afford on this planet while their ship was under repairs. Needless to say, Reception looked mildly confused at the three of them walking in and requesting a one bedroom.
“I am Groot,” He said once more, turning his head back towards the window. Rocket rolled his eyes, finishing the final details to his weapon. His ear twitched at the sound of the water turning off, his eyes flickering at the shut door, waiting for you to come out.
“Why don’t you just get some shut-eye? Not my fault we couldn’t get separate rooms,” He grumbled, looking down at his gun as be screwed a bolt in tightly with his fingers. Groot didn’t respond, merely closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he felt himself become rooted into the wall. Rocket perked his head up at the sound of the door sliding open. He watched you pad out of the bathroom, a slip hanging off your shoulders as you dried the top of your hair.
“Did Groot fall asleep already?” You asked, tossing the towel to the side as Rocket murmured in agreement. After walking up to Groot, you kissed him on his forehead before walking towards the bed.
“How come you don’t kiss me like that before I go to bed?” Rocket asked, grinning to himself as you felt your face heat up. The words got lodged in your throat, so you stayed silent and looked away from him. “Left you speechless? That’s usually the effect I have on people,” He snickered, closing a final compartment on his gun and placing it against the bed.
“Its not funny,” You said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over your shoulders as you curled away from Rocket. He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes as he got up on the bed. His nose wiggled in your hair, just brushing against the back of your neck.
“I think its cute,” He murmured, his paw resting on your waist as he pulled himself closer. “I love getting you all riled up,” His voice was low, feeling his breath right along your ear before feeling his teeth scrape lightly against the flesh on your neck.
“Maybe Groot should have slept on the bed instead,” You barked back, Rocket grinning at the remark.
“And have you sleep on the floor? Besides, I wouldn’t be able to do all this with Groot,” He snickered. You turned around, your lower lip sticking out in a pout as your brows furrowed.
“What’s with the face, Babydoll?” He mocked you, his ears pressing against his head. Tonight was not the night. Perhaps it was because this wasn’t the first instance of him flirting with you. Or perhaps it was because you didn’t want Rocket to only see you as a blushing mess. Perhaps it was because you wanted him to see you as someone who could keep up with him. It was most definitely because you loved him, though.
Your hands reached out for his, enclosing them with your fists and pinning them above his head as you straddled him. His eyes were wide, watching uncertainty hide behind your irises as your hair fell to one side.
“What’s with the face, Babydoll?” She mocked. Rocket closed his eyes, shaking his head for a second before opening them again and grinning.
“I think I like this side of you,” He whispered, making sure Groot couldn’t hear them.
You rolled your eyes, “It’s a hotel. We are supposed to sleep. Do you think you can do that just for this one night?” You asked, a glimmer of mischief in Rocket’s eyes.
“Actually it’s a Love Hotel,” He corrected. “If I’m not mistaken, we aren’t supposed to be sleeping,” His brow raised, looking up at you as his left ear twitched.
“Maybe another night, Rocket. Tonight, we sleep,” You said, rolling off of him and getting under the comforter.
“Another night?” He echoed. “I don’t know…perhaps we should get a sneak peak-“ You interrupted him by grabbing him by the waist and pulling him close to you. His head laid on your chest, hearing your heartbeat.
“Tonight, we sleep,” You mumbled, eyes closed as Rocket agreed in silence. Tonight you would sleep.

Assassin!Harry (Part 3)

Harry is a trained, experienced assassin hired to kill Y/N but ends up, to his horror, falling in love with her. 

You can read part one here. 

You can read part two here. 

——————————————————————————————-

Four months. Harry had managed to keep Y/N in his life for four months. He was a different person; at least, he had Y/N thinking he was. His thoughts still drifted to the macabre, longing for the rush of another kill whenever he wasn’t with her. But she gave him a different, better kind of rush, and he loved it. Harry loved her. However, he didn’t like to admit this to himself. Harry didn’t love anything before Y/N, and part of him wished he still didn’t. The only things he used to crave were murder, violence, careful planning and stalking…but now he craved her. He liked–loved–having her around, he was emotionally attached to something for the first time in his life. But there was just one problem: How long could he keep his real life a secret from her?

He’d received two more payments for assassinations since meeting her. On top of Y/N’s, that left a total of three incomplete missions that Harry desperately wanted to fulfill but knew, deep down, that he never could. He could never pursue another kill again, for Y/N’s sake and for the sake of their relationship. It wouldn’t be long before one of his clients caught up with him, and he knew that. But unfortunately for Harry, he had less time than he thought.

——————————————————————————————-

Harry had just finished running his fingers through his messy curls to style them when he heard the lock on his door start to rattle. He’d given Y/N a key last week, and he smiled to himself as he heard her let herself into his apartment. He liked the feeling of having someone in his life to share his home with. Life was easy with Y/N; he didn’t have to try to put on an act to get her. She loved him for who he was.

Or, who she thought he was.

“Hi darling,” Harry said, moving over to Y/N as she closed the door behind her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss him. He smiled at her as their lids fluttered open, her gorgeous eyes meeting his twinkling green ones. “How was the daycare?”

“Same as always,” she said, fixing his collar so that it laid flat. “I’ve been helping Mia with her reading, the little four year old I was telling you about? She’s absolutely brilliant, her mom told me today that she read an entire Dr. Seuss book by herself. She’s only four years old and she read a whole book!” Harry’s eyes were intently fixated on Y/N. He smiled to himself as he observed the way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way her entire body seemed to light up when she talked. He had never felt so lucky in his entire life.

“How did life as a secret agent treat you today?” Y/N asked, teasing him, with extra emphasis on ‘secret agent.’

Harry smiled. He felt guilty that Y/N still believed he worked for the government, but he didn’t let the guilt show. He never did. “Can’t tell ya. Hence the secret part. But ’m glad you’re doing so well with Mia. I ordered pizza for dinner, hope that’s alright?”

“Perfect!” Y/N exclaimed, moving over to the sofa by the window. She plopped down, kicking off her shoes as Harry turned to follow her. Just as Harry went to sit down, there was a loud knock on the door.

“Must be the pizza,” Harry said, shuffling towards the apartment’s entrance. “I’ve got it.”

Y/N stayed put on the couch, fiddling with her fingernails, until a chillingly familiar voice sounded throughout the apartment. A voice that had haunted her for years, and had just started to lose its control over her mind. She froze, in shock, before turning to face the doorway, coming face to face with the worst, scariest human being she had ever met: her ex-boyfriend, Jack.

“I want my fucking money, bro,” he yelled, his cold eyes just as angry as she remembered. Y/N ducked next to the couch, immediately trying to hide herself from view. Her head was spinning, throbbing almost. What the fuck was Jack doing at Harry’s apartment?

Harry went into immediate assassin mode. Calm, cool, collected. Voice deep, words slow. Establish the upper hand before this man tried to pull something. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Don’t play stupid you asshole. The 50 grand I slid through your window four months ago? I want that shit back. I want it back and I’m going to take care of her myself, since you’re clearly incompetent.”

Harry let out a low, emotionless laugh, though he was a bit frightened. He was so careful to make sure that nobody who had hired him ever got to see his face, but now someone knew what he looked like. He was screwed. “These things take time. If you want your money back, I can get it for you right now, but then the mission goes unfinished. So, what do you–”

“I have a gun,” Jack threatened, shakily. “And I swear to God, I will blow your fucking brains out and hers too as soon as I find her.”

“And risk being caught?” Harry questioned, remaining completely calm, although below the surface he was frantic. Y/N was literally in his apartment. There was no way out of this one. He needed to get this guy away from him, away from Y/N, and then make a run for it.

“You know what? Fuck this. I’m going to the police.” Jack spun on his heel, but what Harry said next caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

“If you go to the police, what are you going to tell them? Huh? That you shelled out $50,000 to have someone murdered in cold blood in your name, and now the hit man you hired has taken too long to fulfill his duty? You’re going to tell them you got ripped off by an assassin?” Jack was silent. “You’re just as guilty.”

An assassin? Y/N’s head was spinning. She was desperately trying to make sense of the exchange going on between her ex-boyfriend and her current boyfriend, but she was making herself dizzy trying to put the pieces together. She felt her eyes well up with tears. If Jack really did have a gun, he would not hesitate to use it on her the second he found out she was there. He was crazy, a loose cannon. She needed to stay hidden.

Jack huffed, running a furious fist through his tangled blonde hair. “Fuck. You.”

“Trust me,” Harry began, levelheaded as ever. “This operation has been made a priority. Murdering someone isn’t an overnight task.”

“Yeah, except you’ve had four months. I’m over this. I’m going to get my guys, and I swear, even if it’s the last thing I do, I will fucking end you. And then I’ll end her myself. The only reason I hired you is because I didn’t want to have any blood on my hands but I don’t give a shit anymore. I may not know anything about you, even your name. But I do know that you are over.” And with that, Jack had taken off running down the hallway, and Harry had slammed the door behind him, his face as red as a fire truck. This was about to come crashing down on him. All of his careful, tedious work and planning…it was all about to be over. He was done for.

He raced down the hall, towards his bedroom. Y/N chased him, confused and angry and shocked and sad all at once. “Harry, what’s going on?” Nothing. He started rooting through his dresser drawers, tossing out fistfuls of clothing and leaving it strewn across the floor. “Do you know him? Do you know Jack?” Still, silence. “Harry, what the fuck is going on? Why does he want you to end me? What does he mean when he says he hired you?” She was yelling now, and the tears were flowing freely. “You’re scaring me. Answer me!”

Harry pulled out a large, bulging yellow envelope out of his dresser drawer, tossing it on the bed. “I have to go.”

“What?” She shook her head, more clueless than she had ever felt in her life.

“Y/N, you love me right?”

“Harry, what are you-”

“You’d love me whether I was sick or whether I was poor or whether I had a different job?”

“Of course, I-” Harry dumped the folder’s contents out on the bed, revealing stack after stack of crisp $100 bills. “Harry, where did you get all that money?”

Harry was frantic, panicking, rushing around like crazy. “We all have our secrets right? What I really do for a job, that’s my secret.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you saying all of this? I-”

“I don’t want to lie to you anymore, Y/N! I can’t. I’m not a-a-a secret agent.” He was at a complete loss for words, struggling to find what to say. “I don’t work for the government, I’m not licensed to have any of those guns you found in that closet all those months ago. And I don’t use those weapons for self-defense like I said. I use them to kill people.”

“Harry, please-” He was running around his bedroom like crazy, shoving things into a duffel bag without hardly looking to see what they were.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. In two days, you’re going to meet me at the International Airport.” He swiped a stack of money off of the bed, handing it to Y/N. “Pack a suitcase with clothes, shoes, anything else you might need. You’re going to take a taxi there, give the driver this money. I know it’s far, so you have to tell him to drive all through the night, and you’re not going to tell anyone, okay?”

She stared at the money in her hands, tears blurring her vision. “Harry, I can’t do this, I’m too afraid, I have no idea what’s going on, I-”

“Act like you’re brave, and you will be. I promise. That man…Jack…he’s going to be back soon. And with a lot of really dangerous people. You have to get out of here before he finds you. I love you, Y/N.”

“Harry, I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.” He grabbed his duffel bag, zipping it feverishly, then bounded towards the front door. “You have to.” He kissed her quickly, before swiping his car keys off the hook and racing out the door.

And just like that…he was gone.

——————————————————————————————-

Every part of her body told her to turn around. As she walked into the airport, her limbs were screaming at her to stop, to chase down the taxi driver that had just dropped her off, and to drive back to her dorm room, away from Harry and every problem that he had caused for her. But, despite all of that, she was worried sick about him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth to make sure he was okay. And that’s why she kept walking. Through the revolving doors, up the stairs, until she reached the security line right outside the gate Harry told her to wait in front of.

From just the exchange she had heard between Jack and Harry, Y/N had pieced a few things together, though they didn’t make much sense to her. Jack had given Harry a lot of money for something involving a ‘her’ that Y/N had assumed she was. Harry had a lot of guns, but he didn’t use them for a government job like he had told her. Jack had referred to Harry as an assassin, but Y/N didn’t know what that meant, entirely. If Harry was accepting money to murder people, like Jack had said, how many people had he killed? And where did she come in? Was it a coincidence that Jack and Harry knew each other? She felt her heart rate flare up and her head grow hot with anger. She felt like she didn’t know the man she loved, and she needed answers.

Just then, Harry came bounding into view, dressed in all black, duffel bag in tow. He leaned in to kiss her, then pulled her into a tight hug, breathing in her perfume, the smell of her hair, everything. Y/N didn’t hug back. She didn’t do anything.

“We don’t have much time.”

“You need to tell me what’s going on.”

Harry rooted through his backpack and pulled out two plane tickets, handing one of them to her. “I bought these an hour after I ran out of my apartment. Our flight leaves in 40 minutes. Grab your things, and-”

She was madder than she had ever been. “Harry, if you don’t stop for two seconds to tell me what the hell is going on, I am going to walk right out of this building and I swear to God I will never talk to you again.”

This was enough to make him stop. He ran his left hand through his hair, bringing it down to rub his face in exasperation. “Fine,” he sighed, speaking gently but hurriedly. “What do you want to know?”

“What are you?”

“I-”

“What. Are. You. You don’t work for the government like you told me. I already have an idea in my head of how you make your living and if you tell me you’re anything different from what I think you are I’m going to need some serious convincing.”

He sighed. He looked at her face, so pained and…disappointed. He hated himself for doing this to her. “Okay, okay,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody was within hearing range. “People call it different things, but I guess you might call me a hit man. People pay me to kill other people off.”

Y/N felt sick. She honestly thought she might throw up. Her heart surged with anger, and it took everything in her not to spit in his face. Her furious eyes searched his, praying that this was all a joke or a dream or anything other than the reality she had found herself swept away in. “I have no idea who you are. I cannot believe I wasted four months of my life on a figment of my imagination. You are not even close to the person you made me think you were.” She reached to pick up her suitcase, but Harry grabbed her arm, fast as lightning.

“I wanted to tell you,” he continued. Y/N tore her arm from Harry’s grip, but she didn’t try to run away again. She decided she was going to get her answers. “I was just scared you’d hate me. That you’d react…well, exactly like this.” He reached a hand up to the back of his neck, the smooth eloquence with which he usually spoke completely gone in Y/N’s presence.

Y/N was crying now. “Well how the fuck else was I supposed to react? What did you expect?” she shouted. “Bonnie and Clyde?”

“Keep your voice down!” Harry hissed. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

“Oh, well maybe I should keep screaming then,” Y/N said, knowing she was on the brink of a complete meltdown. “Sounds like me being killed would be doing you a huge favor!”

Harry froze. “Y/N, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, Harry. I’m not stupid. My psychotic ex-boyfriend comes barging into your apartment demanding the money he paid to you, a hit man, saying ‘I’m going to end her myself?’ He was talking about me. He hired you to kill me.” Harry was silent. “Just admit it, Harry. Don’t be a coward for once in your life and just say it.”

Harry’s face went slack. His entire body went slack. He felt like he was going to faint. “I…Okay. It’s true.” Y/N whimpered like a sick puppy, and this sound indicative of her heart breaking shook Harry to his core. “But! Y/N, please, let me explain.” She swatted tears away from her face, not saying anything. Harry took this as his cue to go on. He realized that he was running out of time, but he didn’t care. He loved her, and she deserved to know the truth. “The night we met, I had every intention of killing you. But it took about two minutes with you before I realized that I could never, ever bring myself to do it. I knew within two minutes of knowing you that I was going to love you. And I was right, Y/N, because I do love you.”

A quiet sob left Y/N’s lips. She was doing her best not to attract a crowd, but she had never felt so violated in her life. Their entire relationship had been built on a lie. She had fallen in love with a complete and utter stranger. “Don’t tell me you love me when you don’t love anything on this fucking planet.”

“Y/N, that isn’t true! The night we met, I sure as hell wasn’t planning on falling in love. Until I met you, I was a sociopath.”

“You still fucking are,” Y/N sneered, reaching down to pick up her suitcase once more. “God, I cannot believe I actually agreed to meet you here! And I even packed a bag and everything! What is wrong with me? I-”

“Y/N, stop. I promise you that I will give you every single answer you want but only after we’re out of the country. Please. Just pick up your suitcase, and take your ticket, and come with me. I need you.” And he meant it. Jack had for sure found out Harry’s name by now. There was no point to running from the authorities that were surely after him right at that moment if he wasn’t going to be running with Y/N by his side.

“I can’t leave with you! I have a life here, an honest, real, life. How dare you even ask me that!”

Harry was panicking. He needed to be in the security line. “Y/N, please.”

“No.” She wiped a tear from her face, still sick to her stomach. “But you need to go. Jack is psychotic and he has ways of getting what he wants. There are people after you right now, I’m sure of it.”

“Y/N-”

“Go.”

He looked at her, over at the security line, and then back to her. He heaved a heavy sigh, then leaned in to kiss her, more passionately than he ever had in his entire life. Y/N knew she shouldn’t, but she kissed him back. She was the first to pull away, putting her hands on either side of his face. She repeated again, “Go.”

And so he did. He swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked through the security line. Y/N watched him the whole time, tears spilling out of her eyes. She watched as he got to the security officer checking his boarding pass, but even though she couldn’t hear their exchange, something about the way the two were interacting gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, two security officers rushed him from the back, each seizing an arm on either side of his body. Without thinking, Y/N bolted forward, running as fast as she could towards Harry.

“Harry!” she cried out, her eyesight completely obstructed with tears.

“No!” Harry shouted as a third security officer grabbed ahold of Y/N’s arms, pinning them behind her back.

“Do you know this man?” the officer demanded. “His name was put on the no-fly list yesterday.”

“I-” Y/N looked over at Harry, who was vehemently shaking his head to say no, no, no, please do not tell that man you know who I am. It was already bad  enough that Harry was going to be carried away for the rest of his life. He would never forgive himself if Y/N got caught up in it too. “No,” Y/N finally said, and the man loosened his grip on her arms. “Never met him.”

“Get out of here, miss,” the guard said. It seemed like everyone in the entire terminal was staring at Y/N and Harry. Y/N took one last look at Harry as he mouthed I love you to her, his face the most clear picture of distress and pain Y/N had ever seen. She turned around, dragged herself over to where her suitcase was, and picked it up in time to see four armed, uniformed police officers round the corner. It took every ounce of her being not to run over and plead with them to be gentle with him, but she knew she had to keep moving. She ducked her head and walked, as fast as she could, away from the terminal to the airport’s exit.

The image of Harry mouthing I love you played on a ceaseless repeat in Y/N’s head. As she walked out of the airport, tears streaming down her cheeks, she swore she could physically feel her heart crush. Because she knew–no, she was sure–that she still loved him. She probably always would.


A/N: Hi friends!! I think this is gonna conclude this mini-series. I absolutely loved writing it and all of your sweet messages asking me to continue of course made me so happy! I wanted to leave it up to your interpretation to decide what happens to Harry at the end. If you liked part 3 or any other part of the series or if you have any feedback whatsoever, feel free to drop a message in my ask letting me know!!<3

The Break

The fourteenth installment of The Live On Tour Series:


Y/N is back in the comfort of her home.

She’s been here for about 4 days,and she’s more than content with living life the way she used to before she hopped on tour with her best friend.

She’s no longer on tour with Harry due to the small break they’re having,she no longer has to wake up at 5AM to catch a flight to a different city, she no longer has to chat away to his bandmates like they’re her old friends…She no longer has to hide her love for him.

Because he knows.

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Dance

Originally posted by laurenkmyers

“You’re my one exception.”

Dance 

He loved the way her hair fell gracelessly around her hips, how her curls would bounce up with each step she took. He would always watch her, one of the many perks of being quiet, was to observe the people around him. It was a refresh for him, to not be the center of attention- Both positive attention and negative, But the people he would soon be calling his family. The people who would be helping him.

“No, (Y/N) your suppose to let me lead-” Peter whined, trying to control the man side of the dance, as he held onto a young lady who was having a hard time let the young man lead her into a dance. 

His eyes would scan her legs, short and slender, his cold blues would then engulf her stomach and waist, all the way up to her face. A beautiful sight, he would say. The elfin girl was new to the team, she didn’t even live with them, she specializes with Bruce as a nurse, so control was her first nature. 

“Would you stop-” Peter cried out of frustration, He had offered to teach her how to ball room dance, seeing as Tony had invited her to the gala in two days, if she missed to attend he would fire her.

“I don’t understand why I cant lead?” She broke off their entertained hands and pulled back from the little spidering.  Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“Maybe you just shouldn’t dance-”

“I cant Tony is forcing me…” She mumbled, pushing her bouncy locks away from her vision. Her eyes glazed and ready to burst. Getting the job was a miracle, her grades weren’t even that high, so getting fired would mean no return what so ever. Shrugging, peter just walked away, rubbing his neck. 

“How can you pull a bullet out of my waist but not dance?” Natasha asked, entering just as Peter exited the building. Her form handled with grace as she briskly strides in with no effort at all.

“Not everyone took ballet when they were young Natalia.” Bucky grumbled, not liking how his former ex was making fun of the little nurse. The widow took heed of his presence and offered her hand for him to take as she saw him making his way to the two ladies stating at the center of the cleared out living room. 

“Lets show her how to dance,” Natalia boosted, biting her lips as Bucky stood before her his hands placed in fists. 

“I’ll pass,” He breathed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, all he while maintaining his expression of annoyance, Not wanting tog get any more embarrassed, Natasha just shrugged and pouted, placing a hand on the young lady beside her, “Good luck,” She rubbed her shoulder then walked out without another sound. Once the gym living room was empty, save for the two adults, Bucky smiled weakly, his facial expression giving away how tired he truly was. 

“Come here,” He instructed, wrapping a hand over her waist as he pulled her palms in their respected places. Bringing her body closer to his. 

She was stunned, since Natasha came till this moment, Bucky Barnes was dancing with her, he was teaching her how to ball room dance… How much more better could this get?

“Just loosen up your legs and follow mine,” He instructed, letting her watch his feet to an idea of what she was suppose to do. “Now just repeat, but look at my face.” 

Her eyes locked with his, finding his teaching methods better then Steve, Captain America might be from the 80′s but he was no saint when it came to her jamming her heel into his foot. Or Peter, who couldn’t handle letting her lead into the dance. Bucky was just an escape, he was calm yet commanding, letting his hands rest just in the right places, pulling her into positions she was sure weren’t for starters. 

“Who’s your Dance partner for the Party?” Bucky whispered, still waltzing together. 

“I might have to rent a dancer-”

“I’ll be your partner.” He assured, cutting her sentence before she would get embarrassed of having to admit she has to bring a complete stranger to dance with her. 

“Natasha said you won’t be attending-” The young girl said, as she looked him in the eyes and frowned. Was her friend lying to her?

“I would now,” He clarified, stoping the dance but keeping his hands over her body. She gaze him a confused look, before letting her hands wrap him in a hug. 

“Why?”

You’re my one exception, Doll.”

Smiling she tightened her hands around his black jacket, the fabric of the jacket and his undershirt riding up due to her embrace, and she loved the scene. Because she would never forget the way his body felt flat against hers, Or how his smile didn’t go away from his face as she picked up her head and sent him a grin. 

“Thank you,”

“Anything for you Doll.”

A/N: edit spelling soon.

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Better This Way (Chap Fourteen)

Only one chapter left after this!
Long Chapter again, almost 4000 words. Some light angst, some heavy feels and then some nice bonding smut. Holla!
Can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE

Enjoy!
*******************

It was different now.

For obvious reasons, Wade supposed. Like the fact that almost every morning when the sky was just beginning to lighten and he and Spidey were done with patrol and heading for their usual rooftop with some food, Peter always gave him a kiss as thanks. Or how as they escaped down an alley after leaving bad guys for the cops, and he could reach over and take Peter’s hand.

Or the best, skipping their usual roof completely and taking the food back to one of their places to eat it in bed together.

Peter was always in a rush to get undressed, in a hurry to get his hands on Wade, and more times than not the food got cold and had to be reheated hours later after they had tried their hardest to make each other scream and then passed out together.

It was wonderful, but it was different.

It seemed like Peter was distracted now, and even though Wade knew ninety five percent of the time he was the reason Pete was distracted, it was the other five percent that ate at him.

He had brought it up, a couple times, first about a week after the helicopter incident and then a few days later. Both times, Peter had laughed. Just chuckled and dragged Wade in for a mind-blanking kiss and teased that he couldn’t possibly have anything else on his mind besides Wade, because the Alpha was too high maintenance to leave room for anyone else.

It wasn’t until later, after Peter had fallen asleep in his arms that Wade realized the omega had said anyone else.

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