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wonderwhump · 2 years ago

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wonderwhump / november_1 fanfiction list

Hi guy's I hope you're all doing fine :)

This is a list of my fanfics. I'm a huge fan of reading and also writing fanfiction of all kinds of fandoms. My AO3 name is november_1.

If you like, check my them out. They are all whump stories with various degrees of emotional and physical whump. If anything triggers you, please check out the tags before reading.

I'm happy about any feedback you might give me. Kudos and comments make my day (yeah, I'm desperate and attention seeking 🤣 But aren't all writers...)

I will add to this list as I write more stories.

FANDOM: Jedi Fallen Order / Star Wars

Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground

After Zeffo, after barely escaping Ordos Eris with his life, Cal is hurt. Physically, but also mentally. He should have listened to his master's words. "Trust in the Force alone." Now he's paying the price for letting his guard down and people in - and this stupid, childish notion that anybody might care about him in this vast universe.

A Cal Kestis whump story.

Endings and Beginnings

An explosion on Bracca and Cal and Prauf are in the thick of it. Hurt and comfort ensue…

FANDOM: Lockwood & Co.

The dread of undying love

Lucy had been keeping a close eye on Lockwood for days. Something was off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Yet. He was quiet. And pale. Big dark circles under his eyes. She knew something was wrong, but he didn’t talk about it. Of course he didn’t.

Will Lucy and George find out what's going on and be able to help their friend before it's too late?

A Lockwood & Co whump story with lots of angst and pain but also friendship and some undeniable more-than-friends-tension between Lockwood and Lucy.

FANDOM: Chicago PD / Chicago Med

Duty & Obligation

“You want what?!” Voight’s voice came loudly from the office. Way quieter, but loud enough to understand, Halstead said “I need a few days off, Sir, because-“ But Voight didn’t listen. “Are you kidding me, Halstead?! You fuck up the op, let Harris get away and the next day you have the audacity to come in here and ask me for a few days off? What for? Too stressful for you around here? Need a holiday or some relaxing spa days while we are trying to fix your fucking mistakes? Are you out of your mind?”

Jay Halstead is having a tough time. But nobody knows just how tough...

The wrong son

A party. An argument. A car crash. And a dead brother...

Lots of angst and emotional whump for a young Jay Halstead.

Survivor

"What are you supposed to do when somebody calls you out of the blue one beautiful summer evening and tells you, that your husband is missing?"

This story is set some months after 10x3. Jay and his team are captured on a mission in Bolivia. What will happen to them? Will they get out alive?

Brothers

Jay and Will Halstead take a car trip together. It doesn't go that well...

I'll give it to someone special

Jay is out Christmas shopping. But the day doesn't go as planned.

Into the abyss

They find Jay in his apartment, unconscious, unresponsive... dying. Pills and alcohol. A suicide attempt obviously. But was it really?

A week of bad luck

It was one of those days you wish you just hadn’t gotten up at all. That you’d just have turned over in bed, pulled up the sheets over your head and ignored the world out there. It had been a whole week of those days for Jay Halstead and he desperately wished to be able to crawl back into the safety of his comfy bed and hide from the world.

But the world had some more bad luck from him in store.

Life and Death and Baseball

Jay gets injured during a Baseball game. But that's just the beginning and the day gets from bad to worse rather unexpectedly.

Camping is fuckin' dangerous, man!

Jay stumbles into the bullpen and collapses to the ground unconscious. He's seriously injured and drugged up to his eyeballs. Everybody thought he was out in the woods camping and fishing for the last week... But did he even get there? What happened to Jay and who did this to him?!

The bar fight

A good looking stranger steps in to protect a woman in a bar.

Sacrifice

It was Jay's fault that they were in this mess. Now he'd do anything to protect his unit. Even if it meant torture and death...

Pain & Purpose

"The mornings were the worst. The nights were pretty bad too, to be honest. But the mornings made him feel so lost, like he had forfeited the grip on the world. Like the world, and Jay in it, had lost all meaning."

Jay Halstead is a broken man - physically and mentally - when he returns from the war in Afghanistan as the only survivor of his unit. How will he deal with the pain and the trauma?

Remember me

Hailey is 37 weeks pregnant and she and Jay are excited and happy to be parents soon. But one day they are kidnapped right off the street... and suddenly happiness turns into fear, pain, suffering and despair... What will happen to Jay and Hailey and their unborn baby girl? Will they survive this dire situation unscathed?

Beautiful day gone south

The blood felt warm and sticky. It gushed out between her fingers and colored her hands in bright red. She pressed down as hard as she could and he groaned. But how ever hard she pressed down on the wounds, the blood kept on flowing. With every passing second, with every drop of blood, she could feel the life leaving him.

Burning up

Jay knew he was getting a cold. He had been feeling off for the last couple of days: sore throat, beginning cough, headaches, maybe even a fever. But he just ignored it. It would pass. He didn’t have time for a common cold, no time for feeling like shit. And just for the record: Halsteads didn’t get ill. End of discussion.

Shaken

"There was a sharp jolt and then the earth started shaking. From one second to the next the lovely sunny day turned into chaos and destruction."

Will and Jay Halstead are in Los Angeles visiting their friend Connor Rhodes who moved there a year ago to work at UCLA. It was supposed to be a vacation! A little escape from Chicago with sun, beach, fun and drinks. But somehow everything turns out quite differently when an earthquake hits the city and Will and Jay are buried under tons of debris.

Trust and betrayal

Connor's day starts out perfect - until he is wrongfully accused of sexually assaulting a young woman. Suddenly everybody hates him, nobody believes in his innocence, he is suspended and arrested. Who is this woman that accused him of raping her? And what kind of game is she playing? Will Connor be found innocent or stumble deeper and deeper into this mess?

It should have been me

Terry's death hit Jay really hard. It triggers his PTSD and he's spiraling down. But before he can hit rock bottom, somebody from Jay's past turns up and something even worse happens. Something that Jay and his brother Will may not get out of alive...

This story is set right after 3x17.

Shallow waters

If anybody had told Jay that morning that he would drown in thigh deep water in the middle of Chicago, he would have laughed. But right now, he didn’t feel like laughing as the water swashed over his mouth.

FANDOM: Seal Team

Broken

Brock’s last conscious thought was „Oh, fuck – that was it!”. He didn’t feel the shuddering of his body when it impacted with ground. Didn’t feel the bones splintering. Didn’t feel his limbs go slack. He didn’t feel the blood seeping from his nose and head wound, forming a little pool on the forest floor. He also didn’t hear his brother’s screaming. Didn’t hear Cerberus whining.

Wake up, sleeping beauty!

Clay still lay on his side, as he had before, eyes closed and fast asleep. He looked pale. Stella crouched down in front of him smiling, gently stroking his hair. “Hey, wake up, sleeping beauty.” She kissed him, first on his forehead, then on his lips. He didn’t move. Why didn’t he move?

Clay just doesn't wake up the morning after they came home from deployment in Afghanistan. What happened? Will he be ok?

Cold as ice

Sonny Quinn’s right leg was on fire. Well, obviously not literally, as he was lying on his back on the icy ground - in the snow of a dense larch forest. He was sure the leg was broken. He had sneaked a peak down his leg – and no leg should ever be bent in such an angle. But that wasn’t his top concern at the moment. Clay, his best friend, lay about 5 meters from him, his body curled around the tree trunk that had broken his fall down the steep slope - as if he was hugging it. Lifeless.

Too much blood

Brock felt something impact with the back of his head. Hard. His head, and with it his whole body, flew forward and stars exploded in front of his eyes.

Brock is mugged on his way home from the bar.

FANDOM: Six

8 weeks later

Did you ever wonder what happened to Joe "Bear" Graves and his team after the show's last episode (S2E10)? This is my take on that story never told...

Joe „Bear“ Graves was in pain. 8 weeks since the day that had shattered his life to pieces. 8 weeks since the day he had destroyed the life of the people he loved. But now it would be over soon.

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aftonfamilyvalues · 2 years ago

Note

Do you have any silco fic recs that you'd be willing to share? I'm begging for crumbs I feel like I just keep finding bad ones but mayhaps I'm looking in the wrong places 🤲

Drink With Me - you are a bartender, jinx hires you to work for the last drop. part of your duties? bringing silco a bottle of his fav every week. life changing. genuinely, it changed the way i view writing, as silly as that sounds. its a ride, fucked me up but ends so sweetly. i still can not believe you can read this for free. literally revolutionary in the fan fic game. complete. smut.

One More Round - some added pieces for Drink With Me. one shots, chapter rewrites, all that jazz.

Drink With Me: The Virgin AU - not sure if itll be added to One More Round or whatever but I wanted to give it its own spot. a rewrite of the smut in Drink With Me but silco is a virgin. interesting! ongoing. smut.

All That's Left - a talented young scientist who was adopted by singed, you are convinced to join the revolution. there you meet silco, one of the three leaders. the fic does an amazing job at establishing the reader in universe. also the "inaccurate science" and "just making shit up" sounds legit lol. made me fall in love with the young version of silco, it really hits a spot i didnt know existed before. pure love. complete.

Everything Else - bonus content for All That's Left. fun!

Timeless - time travel au. with silco dead and jinx having dragged zaun into an unwinnable war with piltover, life is misery. that is, until you find a hex crystal which throws you back in time almost 2 decades. guided by the ghost of silco, you have a chance to change the fate of zaun and most importantly, the fate of the silco of this universe. the one currently fucking me up! what the fuck is chapter 6?! oh my god! ongoing. tags promise eventual smut.

Bend But Not Break - regency au. youre the zaunite governess for little jinx, a girl living in piltover with her wealthy industrialist father. with odd rules and a shady employer, something strange is going on in this old mansion. just make sure to lock your door at night and do not, i repeat, do not go into the attic.

The Mourning Eclipse - soulmate au. after the death of your mother, you move to zaun and into a supposedly haunted penthouse. not being a believer in the paranormal, you ignore the warnings and make yourself comfortable in your new home... until the ghost attached to the piano and bookshelf that came with the place makes himself known. without any memories of his life, you set out to help the ghostly man figure out why hes still here. ongoing.

Secret Ingredient - baker au. just got around to reading this one finally, as im in currently reading this between putting this list together. like only a few chapters in, but im really loving it already so its going here. i make the rules! ongoing. smut.

The Rest of the Recipe - horray! more content for another lovely fic! dont you just love it when that happens?

Battered and Baked - another baker au, its inspired by Secret Ingredient, actually. a good one for a quick fix of young silco. hes so sweet, maybe sweeter than your honey rolls. ongoing.

Trust - virgin silco? virgin silco. one shot. smut.

Substance - you get drunk one night and accidentally marry one of the sons of zaun. time to get to know your new husband, i suppose. hope nothing bad happens to him! another young silco, hes something special, isnt he? complete but the final part isnt uploaded to ao3 so link to final chapter here. smut.

Come Morning - you find the eye of zaun in a daze wandering around. you take him to your home to rest up and recover. he seems to have taken a liking to you though after that. complete. multiple endings including one with smut and another that will break your heart! take your pick!

What Lurks Below - mermay fic. a strange fish man saves you from a watery grave. you quickly befriend him despite not being able to speak each others languages. maybe more than befriend? the only problem is you could never truly be together... unless? ongoing.

Treat You Right - you admit to sevika that youd fuck the boss. he overhears. also hes a virgin in this one too. lol. one shot. smut.

Look Good - a little game of teasing your boss goes a bit too far. one shot. smut.

Concessions- masquerade, paper faces on parade. youre a royal and as such must be wed soon. but why not have a night of fun beforehand? who knows, perhaps this man will want your hand. one shot. smut

Gala of '81 - another masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you. you fuck a mysterious mask man at, you guessed it, a masquerade. one shot. smut.

Purgatory - more young silco because i apparently just cant get enough. i dont know, take care of him and suck his dick i guess. works for me! one shot. smut.

A Drought in the Night- vampire silco au! i did mention how much of love vampires right? he just fits so perfectly. very sexy. mmm. anyway, youre tasked with fixing him a drink and bring it to him after the head bartender is out of work. one shot.

A Little Thirsty- a sequel to A Drought in the Night. one shot. smut.

Here - sweet fluffy morning sex. need i say more? one shot. smut.

Tummy - hehe. one shot.

The Kinkman (Read: Very Murderous Crimelord) crack fic. you get a text from a wrong number and decide to fuck with him. one shot.

No Strings- remember that brothel scene? that masked man named pim? well, you get to fuck pim!... wait, i thought this was a silco fic rec? one shot. smut.

#ask #league of fazfuck #fazfuck fic recs

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donutloverxo · 4 years ago

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Some help

Note - this is a sequel to first night but can be read as a stand alone as well. Sorry for the months of delay. These maybe my words but my dear friend lizzygal(on ao3) helped me a lot! Couldn't have done it without her.

Beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Summary - Steve recruits his brothers help in knocking you up.

Warnings - 18+ only please, dub con, so much smut, soft dark!Steve and Bucky, Bucky is Steve's half brother, mentions of period sex, mfm threesome, some analplay, breeding kink, homophobia/sexism (cause it's medieval times).

Pairing - King!Steve x reader, Steve x reader x Bucky, Bucky x reader.

Word count - 5.8k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

“Steven,” you hummed next to his ear, his name smoothly rolling off your tongue. He never gave you the permission to call him that but you were his wife and soon-to-be queen, who would dare stop you?

He quirked a brow, looking up from the book he was reading to you, his blonde hair shining so brightly in the sunlight, the blue in his eyes even more prominent. “What do you want, my love?” he asked. Touching your lower lip with his thumb, pulling it down a bit just for his own amusement.

He had suggested a picnic with you to be more romantic. As you had demanded for him to be. It was his own fault, as much as he loved taking you apart and putting you back together every single night that wouldn’t be enough for a women. His late mother had taught better.

Never hit a woman. Always protect her and provide for her. Never force yourself on your wife.

He knew better than to even look at a woman the wrong way. He was well aware of his fathers philandering ways, how he had more than a few bastards, and the bruises his mother worked so hard to covered up.

Even though his half-brother Bucky was a product of an affair, his mother took him in and treated him as her own. Bucky had saved his life more times than he could count.

Looking at your pretty face now, he knew he could never do anything to hurt you. He loved you far too much, even though he had yet to tell you that. He knew for sure that anyone who dared hurt you would die a gruesome death by his hands.

“Would you like to play a game? I’m bored of reading.” you whined, pouting your bottom lip as his thumb stroked your chin.

You had been married to the king for over two months now and things couldn’t be better. You were sure he’d be cruel towards you, what with the way he treated you on your wedding night. But... apparently that was just a part of coupling. He only ever acted like that in bed.

He refused to let you have your own room. A king and queen sharing chambers was unheard of. At first, you weren’t sure what to make of it. He had given you the excuse of wanting a son as soon as possible and that there was no way he could keep his hands off of you.

“Sure,” he closed the book keeping it aside, “What would you like to play?”

“Well, I used to play tag with my sisters. So... um... I run and you chase after me, if you’re able to catch me then I run after you,” your eyes lit up. You hadn’t had a moment to breath or have childish fun in weeks with your wifely duties, which we’re too fun to be called ‘duties', and your duties as the future queen.

He shook his head, caressing your face “Can you run? You’re so clumsy, princess, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” he teased. He had tried to teach you how to ride a horse but you seemed to have no sense of balance.

You puffed your cheeks, “I won’t.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he laughed “What do I get if I catch you?”

“What would you like?” you blinked.

He hummed in thought, he could ask you what he really wanted. But it’d scare off a good girl like you. He’d have to train you and discipline you some more. You were still shy and inexperienced. It’d take time and he was more than willing to wait.

“I want a lot of things... but right now I’ll settle for a kiss,” he smiled.

“Just a kiss,” you giggled “deal,” you shook his hand on it before getting up and fixing your skirts.

“I’ll give some time to get far enough. It’s no fun if I catch you in a moment and win,” he smirked.

“We’ll see,” you hollered over your shoulder, already on your feet, running as fast as you could.

You ran for the woods near the palace, towards the small waterfall you loved so much.

Laughing in mirth, with the soft summer breeze in your face, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about mudding your skirts. You craned your neck to see if he was following you, sticking your tongue out to him, “You’ll never catch me.”

He frowned at that. He was running at a much slower pace, just to let you have your fun but he wasn’t about to let you get away with being so cheeky. It would set a bad precedent. Increasing his pace, he circled a hand around your waist, sweeping you off your feet and in the air, “What was that, princess?” he whispered huskily in your ear.

“Oh,” you shivered, squirming in his hold “It’s not fair! You’re a warrior, of course you’d be more athletic than me.”

“Now, don’t be a sore loser,” He pressed his lips to your cheek. “You’re only as good as your word,” he said putting you back down on your feet as you turned around to face him.

“Fine,” you grumbled, standing up on your toes and puckering your lips to kiss him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, stopping you.

“Kissing you?” you frowned.

“You promised a kiss. But we didn’t decide on where it would be.”

“Where do you want it?” you tilted your head, frowning in confusion.

He took a hold of your wrist, bringing your hand down to his crotch to make you feel his arousal. His chasing after you as if you’re his prey, had done something to him.

You gasped, “No! My king, not here.” you shook your head. You had only pleasured him with your mouth a few times, it was hard work but worth it to see make him feel good and seemed to work you up for some reason as well.

“You’re denying your king?” you shook your head again, “Get on with it before someone comes and sees us. It would be a scandal,” he rushed you, working on freeing his erection.

“I - ” you gulped. You had no other choice.

“Your grace!” you both whipped your head as you heard someone calling. “Your grace,” Peter came running through the bushes.

“What’s wrong?” Steve fixed his pants before walking towards the boy.

“We’ve just received word. The enemy has seized the fort in queens.” he heaved “and - and they’re terrorizing the villages. They killed the Lord and his family.”

Steve processed the new information. This was bad. As good as he was at fighting a war he’d never want to willingly do it. Not unless it was a last resort. It caused too much death and misery.

He had married you just to avoid one with your kingdom, hoping to make a firm, or a good enough, alliance instead. It was a blessing in disguise really.

“Alright. Get the troops ready. We’ll leave at first light. And send for Lord Barnes,” he instructed.

“My king,” he heard your trembling voice looking behind to see you so scared, hugging yourself to make yourself small, “Are you leaving as well?” you wanted to know.

“You know I have to, petal,” he replied pulling you flush against his chest. He nuzzled his nose in your hair “You have to take care of the kingdom while I’m gone.”

“But I don’t know anything.” you sniffled.

“You’re much stronger than you think,” he swayed you both to calm you, “ and on’t you worry. I’m leaving Bucky behind. He’ll guide you.”

“No,” you pulled away to look at his face “you said that he’s your sergeant. Don’t you need him?”

“I need the kingdom to be safe, too. Sweetheart, I know what I’m doing.” He said kissing your knuckles.

You twisted and turned in your bed. Missing the warmth your husband provided you with. But he had been gone for over a month. You had to post pone your coronation and your visit to your parents.

You drowned yourself in the courts activities everyday, hoping to keep your mind off of things. If anything happened to your husband, you couldn’t bear it.

You were surrounded by people everyday, who seemed kind but you had never felt so lonely. They were only kind to you because they were scared of you. They didn’t really know you.

And you didn’t know anyone there, except for James. While you had developed a friendship with him he was often busy with his duties.

You gave up on sleep. Putting a robe on to cover yourself, you made your way to James' chambers with your guards following you.

With the king being gone and you visiting his brother in the middle of the night - you knew it wouldn’t look good. You couldn’t think about that right now. You needed to speak to James. To confess your anxieties, to have him reassure you.

You didn’t bother to knock, you nudged the door open. You blinked, rubbing your eyes just to make sure you weren’t seeing things. A woman was straddling his waist, bouncing up and down on his cock, you didn’t even know women could be on top, another was... sitting... on his face? Why would she do that? Wouldn’t that suffocate him?

When she threw her head back, moaning wantonly, you understood. Your cheeks heated up as you realised what he was doing. Just like Steven uses his tongue and mouth on you...

“Oh heavens!” the one on his face gasped as the other one stopped her moments, looking at you as her jaw dropped.

“What?” James grumbled.

“It’s the queen,” she winced as they both got off of him, collecting their clothes “I’m sorry, your grace - we’re sorry,” she gave you an apologetic look. Scurrying their way out as James quickly put on his breeches.

“Your grace,” he greeted you. “What brings you here?” he grunted, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Who were they?” you asked. You had no idea how or why you felt so betrayed. James was his own person, he was known to be a ladies man, you should’ve expected this.

“They were whores, your grace.” His lips twitched as he suppressed a smirk at the incredulous look on your face. Steve had told him about your naiveté, how it was so adorable and how it strangely turned him on. He seemed to love having you as his wife, that was for sure.

“You’re doing this, while your brother is off fighting a war?” you scoffed.

“It was just a way to clear my mind, princess,” he retorted. “How can I help you?”

“I - ” you couldn’t even think of anything, what would you say? Why were you here anyway. “I miss, Steven,” you said, your bottom lip trembling as tears welled up in your eyes.

“Oh,” he smiled.

You truly were adorable. And while he was happy that his brother had someone who loved him so deeply, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealously. Steve had someone like you. Who loved him for who he was. Who was missing him and waiting for him to come home.

“Steve is very capable. He can take care of himself. Don’t you worry, he’ll be back before you know it,” he promised.

“We haven’t heard from him in days. What if, god forbid, something terrible had happened,” you choked on a sob, hugging yourself you thought of how miserable your life would be without him.

Not just because you’d have to take on an entire kingdom but also because you didn’t know what you would do with yourself without him. If you’d never see his face again... you couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Hey, now,” he was about to reason with you, but you wrapped your hands around his waist, burying your face in his damp chest. “He’ll be back. Have some faith,” he said.

Steve had never been good at sharing. Even as a kid he’d often be vaguely jealous. Since he was much smaller and sicklier than Bucky back then.

Bucky had to be on the receiving end of his simmering rage when he had danced with you at a soiree. It was supposed to be just an innocent dance, but you looked so beautiful, he couldn’t help himself as he flirted and joked and made you laugh.

Only to have Steve kick his ass in sparing the very next day. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. It was as if with every punch and kick he spoke 'don't touch my things.'

Who could he blame him? If he had a wife such as yourself he’d never want to share either.

If Steve were to see this, you hugging him while he was half naked and unchaperoned in his chambers in the middle of the night...

“I should go,” you murmured, looking up at him, his dark hair, much longer than your husbands, sticking to his handsome face.

“We can talk tomorrow. And don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he cupped your delicate face, swiping a thumb across your cheek, “Steve will be back.”

You nodded, walking towards the door, hoping to catch some sleep before you have to wake up for court, but then stopped abruptly.

Looking at him over your shoulder, you shouldn’t... you’re a lady, you’re the queen! You should know better but you had always been a curious girl.

“Can three people... make love at the same time? Is that possible?” your hands clutching your nightgown as if your life depended on it.

He gave you a hearty laugh, running his hand through his hair, “Not just three, many people can make love together. The most I’ve seen is... six.”

You turned to face him, “Six?!” you gasped. “Do men like doing that? Would that mean... would the king want something like this as well?”

“Yes, many men do... if you know how to treat a woman right then she would too. But you don’t have to worry about Steve. He’s never been THAT perverted.”

You hummed, and here you were thinking your husband was the most perverted man alive. “Can... two women make love together?” you had always wanted to know.

“Yes, they can. Two men can as well,” he answered.

“How would that work?” you frowned and then realised how it would, “But sodomy’s a sin!”

“Then I guess I’m going to hell,” he smirked.

“Have you been with a man?”

“Yes, I have. Do you hate me now?” he pouted.

“No,” you shook your head, “I could never hate you. I’ve always felt that was ridiculous. There is no reason for it to be unethical... right?”

“That’s right,” he nodded.

“I won’t tell anyone though. I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you.”

“That’s kind of you, princess.”

You faked a wide smile, nodding here and there to make it look like you were listening. You had started a book club with the ladies of the court, just to get your mind off of Steven, who had now been gone for over two months.

He had stopped writing to you, only sending messages to the James and the kings guard now. He had finally defeated the enemy and was on his way home. You couldn’t think of anything else.

“Your grace,” you jerked when you heard your handmaiden whisper in your ear.

Looking over your shoulder, “What is it?”

“His majesty is here,” she grinned, visibly happy for you.

“What?” you got up, “Where is he?”

“He’s in his chambers. We tried to stop him, so he could get a proper welcome but he was much too eager to see you,” she giggled.

“Ladies,” you turned to them, trying to curb your giddiness and act as elegant as you could, “You’ll have to excuse me. Please do continue without me.”

Steve groaned as he felt his muscles loosen up in the warm water, looking around his chambers for you.

“Where is the queen?” he asked his footman. He had sent for you over an hour ago and his patience was running thin.

“I’ll look into it right away - ”

“My king?” he heard your sweet voice calling for him, “He’s not here...” the partition to the bathtub probably restricting your view of him.

He chuckled at how disappointed you were, “I’m right here, petal,” he called, getting up from the bath as his footman helped him into a robe.

His heart swelled upon finally seeing your pretty face, letting out a shaky exhale, he took you in as the servants excused themselves. He pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in a warm hug. “How’s my queen doing?”

“Lonely without you,” you mumbled, propping your chin on his bare chest so you could look up at him, “You... shaved...” you touched his smooth jaw.

He looked much younger and different without his thick masculine beard. Not as rugged as he used to, just as handsome but in a boyish way.

“Yes, I did,” he kissed your palm, “Do you like it?” he asked as you nodded. He had only done it for you. He hadn’t been able to take proper care of it when he was away and he wanted to look presentable for you. “I’m sorry you were lonely, my love. I was too, more than you could ever imagine. All I thought about was you.”

“Do you promise to never leave me for so long again?”

“I’ll never leave you. I don’t think my poor heart could bear it. You’ve turned me soft.”

“I won’t have you make fun of me!” you half-heartedly pushed at his chest.

He held onto your wrists, for someone so small and dainty you sure could do a lot of damage with your punches, “I swear I’m not making fun of you, I love you,” he confessed.

You laid your head on his beating heart so he wouldn’t see you all flustered, “Well, I love you too,” you grumbled.

You noticed the gash on his neck, “You’re hurt!” you gasped, “We should call the doctor...”

“I’ve had much worse, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he smiled at you biting your lip in worry, always so adorable, pulling it away with his thumb, he bent to nip at it. “I missed the way you taste, I’ve been thinking about it for so long, it’s the only thing that got me through.”

You hummed, your face heating up as he pressed his arousal into your stomach, his hands holding onto the curve of your hips. “My king...” you shivered.

“We can talk later, right now I have to have you, I know you missed me too...” he whispered against your ear.

You felt a shudder creep up your spine as his hot breath fanned against the shell of your ear, “Maybe later, if you let me tend to you first.”

“You want to take care of me?” he beamed at you as you nodded. “Very well. But only for a few moments after that I won’t hear any more excuses and put that mouth to good use,” he said, pressing his lips to yours one more time.

There wasn’t much you knew about treating wounds, you were only doing so for your own peace of mind anyway so you simply cleaned the few scratches and gashes he had, kissing them like your mother did to your wounds when you were little, remembering how that always made you feel better.

“They’re the best kind of medicine,” he said about your kisses, “I have a cut here,” he said pointing at his lip, wanting some more of them.

“Don’t tease me!” you huffed.

You felt his muscles go stiff as you kissed him between his shoulders, now that you didn’t have to look at his face it’d be much easier for you to talk, “I heard the ladies at the court talking, they were saying if I can’t get pregnant in three months it means I never will.”

The thought of being barren and a disappointment to him terrified you to no end.

He shook his head, “You need to stop listening to gossip - ”

“But,” you interrupted him and pouted your bottom lip quivering as you recalled their harsh words when they thought you weren’t listening, “They also said that if I can’t get pregnant you’ll get a second wife,” to which he laughs, “don’t laugh at me, you always make fun of me,” you puff your cheeks.

“I’m not cleaning you up anymore,” throwing the rag on the ground, “or letting you make love to me.”

He growled at that, turning around and pinning you to the bedding, “You don’t get to decide that, love, or tell me no, when will you understand?” he scoffed as if he was scolding a child, sneaking a hand up your skirts and inside your breeches. His fingers toying with your wet lips.

“Now that I’m back we’re going to try to make a prince every night. Before you know it you’ll be swell with my child, I won’t stop then though,” he smirked, “I’ll have you whenever I want,” it’ll only be better when your body would be fuller and curvier with his heir.

“I’m never taking another wife, ever,” he said, pulling his hard cock out of his robe, pushing it into you slowly, your walls gripping him tighter than he remembered, better than his hand could ever be, “This is the best cunt I’ve ever had. There’s no way I could ever have another,” he tried to fight off his climax so he could make you come at least once before filling you up as you squirmed and whimpered under him, “... you’ve ruined me.”

This was strange. It was almost time for bed and Steve wasn’t back. Usually he’d back much sooner, so he could perform his husbandly duties. Even though you had been trying, so hard, for over a month you had gotten your menses just a few days ago.

You were so disappointed, you didn’t have the heart to tell him, but you had to when he tried to coax you in bed. Sobbing in his arms as he calmed you, “We’ll try again, we have all the time in the world,” he had said and you couldn’t believe how kind he was. Until he had his way with you anyway, even while you were bleeding.

“As if a little bit of blood if going to bother me.” While there was you purpose for it, you knew you couldn’t make a baby while on your monthly you now also knew that you could do it with your husband solely for pleasure.

“When will the king be back?” you asked your maid as she worked on helping you get ready for bed.

“I saw him on in the gardens with Lord Barnes,” she answered, helping you into your nightgown, “Shall I send him a message?”

“No, that’s alright.”

You dismissed her, sitting on the edge of your bed you worked on a scarf you had been stitching for your mother while waiting for the king. You planned on giving it to her when she would visit you for your coronation. She would be expecting some good news as well and you hoped to have that for her as well.

You perked up when you hear the doors to your chambers creak open loudly, putting away your work for now you made sure to look into the mirror one last time to look presentable.

“How was your day, petal?” he hugged you from behind, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, “You smell so good,” he hummed.

“Steven,” you giggled. “Thank you, I had a very long day with the preparations for the ball and the court.”

“Hope you’re not too tired,” his voice salacious and hoarse with desire as he cupped your breast through the thin material.

“No,” you shook your head, “Not at all. I mean... not too much,” you added so you wouldn’t seem too eager, “do you want to...”

“There’s someone joining us tonight.”

“What do you mean?” you turned to look up at him, his blue eyes, usually as blue as the sky on a summer afternoon, much darker now.

“You told me how much Bucky helped you and how much you loved him, right?”

You nodded, you hadn’t really used the word love, you were quite fond of him but didn’t know yet if you loved him.

“Hey, there, princess,” you yelped when you heard James' voice before seeing standing at the door.

“I told you to wait,” Steve gritted.

“You were taking too long,” he took a few long, lazy strides as you scrambled to put a robe on. “You wanted to know how three people can make love at once - now you can find out for yourself,” he said to you.

Your chest heaved as you swallowed a lump of air, “Steven, what? What’s going on?”

Steve cupped your cheeks in his palms, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, “My mother told me to, made me swear on her deathbed, to take care of Bucky, to look out for him and I haven’t been doing that. I’ve been selfish with you...”

“You’re always selfish with the things you like,” Bucky chided.

“But I’m working on that. I have to get better at sharing, if I have a woman as good as you, I am obligated to share.” He tried to explain as Bucky pulled you away from him, your back pressed to his front, “Bucky,” he scolded, “wait a minute, will you?”

“I’ve waiting long enough,” he licked a stripe up your neck, leaving goose bumps on the wet skin, “You’re right she does smell good.”

“I don’t understand... is this a test?”

“No, petal. Bucky’s going to help us conceive. After you give me my son you can give us both daughters. As beautiful as you. I’ve always wanted a girl,” he smiled.

“What if people find out,” you tried to swat Bucky’s hands away but he pinned them both on your back, undressing you and taking off your robe, followed by your gown.

“They won’t. Even if they do, who’s going to stop us?”

“But.... but... doesn’t James want a wife and kids of his own?”

“He has sworn his life to protect the crown. He can’t marry or have kids.”

“Do you want me to go away, princess?” he asked you, ripping your gown away as it pooled at your feet, leaving you naked in front of both of them, “Do you want me to marry another woman?”

“No...” you shook your head.

And because he had grown tired of your questions Steve kissed you, if only to shut you up. He pulled away as James threw you over his shoulder, carrying you to the bed and thrown you on the bed.

He pushed your knees apart, settling between them he traced your inner thighs.

You tried to push him away, to close your legs. The idea of being with James was tempting... but you had sworn yourself to Steven. This wasn’t supposed to be right. This is not how it’s supposed to happen... you can only be with your husband. But it was also your duty to obey him... and he wanted this to happen.

“Steve, a little help here,” Bucky groaned and looked to Steve.

He simply shook his head, climbing on the bed, he pinned your hands above your head, “I told you she was feisty. That’s alright, though. I like it when she struggles and pretends that she doesn’t enjoy it when I fuck her so hard and deep,” he looked down at you as you pleaded him with your eyes, “Till you can barely think or walk straight. She likes it, but she’d never admit it.”

You whimpered, fresh tears streaming down your face as your husband spoke such vulgar things about you...

“Oh!” you squealed, feeling James' finger prodding at your entrance before sinking into you.

“Gotta get you ready for my brother,” he cooed, soothing a hand down your hair, “Shh... it’s okay, just take it like a good girl. Don’t you want to be good for us? To please your king and give us princes and princesses?” he asked as he kept his fingers driving in and out of your heat at a leisurely pace, “Well?” he prodded further.

“Love,” you look up at Steve when you heard his gritty voice, “Bucky asked you a question. Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough but from now on you have to listen to both of us. Do whatever we tell you. We know what’s best for you.”

You nodded, your eyes misty as you felt your abdominal muscles clench, “Yes, yes I do want to have your babies,” you whimpered as James latched onto a hardened bud on your breast, you held onto Steve’s hands as the coil in your gut snapped.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed out, looking at your fucked out pussy, glistening with want, “I’m going to fuck you, just for a bit, get you stretched out and warmed up for your husband,” he declared, his cock achingly hard at just the idea of it as he rid himself of his clothes.

“Steve told me all about how you have some magical pussy, he’s addicted to it,” he lined himself up to your entrance, looking up at his brother for just a moment before looking back to your face, “now I get to find out for myself,” he moaned as he pushed his length inside you.

“Isn’t she something?” Steve said, licking away your salty tears and letting go of your wrists since you were done being a brat, “You always look so pretty when you cry,” he praised as you whined, he held your jaw and made you look down, two sexes meeting, Bucky’s cock fucking in and out of you, “Whose cock do you like better, sweetheart?” he asked you.

You shook your head, refusing to answer, closing your eyes you let yourself get lost in the feeling of James, he was stretching you out so painfully and deliciously, your mind cloudy and unable to think or even form a coherent sentence. You felt the familiar coil forming in your belly but then James abruptly.

“Damn,” he heaved, slipping his cock out of you, “I almost came.”

“What?” you blinked as Steve switched places with James, spreading yours juices around your drenched lips, heat radiating between your legs.

“You’re all warmed up nice now, petal,” he pulled his hand away, taking his cock out of his pants, “I want you on all fours,” he instructed, flipping you over.

You barely had enough strength to stay up but James helped you by pulling at your shoulders, his hard cock bumping against your nose as you winced.

“Arch you back nicely now, I want to see your ass,” he pushed at your lower back till your ass was perched up to him, smearing his pre ejaculate against you, he sank into your heat. Moving his hips brutally against you, since you were already prepared for him.

“Will you suck me off, princess?” Bucky asked but didn’t wait for your answer as he pushed his erection past your lips, shuddering as you licked the underside of his cock, “Steve taught you well,” he breathed out. Holding onto your head, driving his cock in it, you couldn’t take all of him, but you didn’t have to, this was more than enough.

Steve had loved you since the moment he met you. He didn’t know if he could call the impure thoughts he had about you love but it was the closet thing he could think of. He wouldn’t even let another man touch you, let alone use you or fuck you like only he is allowed to.

But this was different. This was Bucky. His brother and soulmate. They were basically the same person, they could share you. He loved the idea of starting a family with you both.

He flipped you so you were on your back, he kissed you, “I’m going to fill you up, sweetheart, why don’t you come with me? Can you do that for your king?” he snaked a hand between your bodies, rolling your bundle of nerves between his fingers as Bucky whispered sweet nothings to you, telling you the names he had picked out for your kids, as you clenched around him, gushing all over him.

He released inside you, coating your walls with his seed. He pulled away to look down at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath but he stayed inside you, to make sure his seed stays in your womb.

He smiled as you weakly wrapped you hand around Bucky’s cock, stroking him till he released all over you, white spend painting you pretty skin, all over your breasts and your stomach.

He finally pulled his soft cock out of you, laying beside you as Bucky pulled you on to if him.

“Give me a minute to get hard again,” he ran a hand through sticky hair.

“Take all the time you need,” Bucky smiled, nibbling your ear, playing with the mess between your legs, you tried to squirm but he kept a firm hold on you as he played with your sensitive pussy.

“Didn’t you hear? He’s going to fuck you again, we have to keep you ready, princess,” smearing some of the juices around the tight ring of your second hole as you gasped. “Maybe you’ll be able to take both of us at the same time someday, hm?”

“That’s... possible?” you asked as he pushed a finger in, it was strange and uncomfortable, yet you wanted more of it.

“Of course, you can. With proper training,” he kissed your temple as Steve climbed back on top of you both.

Nudging at your swollen cunt, you winced in pain, “Is it too much, petal? Do you want me to stop?” he wanted to know. He’d love to fill you up some more, but not at the expense of your discomfort. He had scared you enough already.

“No,” you held onto his shoulders, “I want it, please,” looking at him with shining eyes. He could never say no to you. Just as you to him.

“Whatever you say, love,” he smiled, licking your lips till you grant him access to your mouth, he prodded at you tongue.

He was slow and steady, mindful of the bruises on your body and your overworked cunt. He was close as Bucky pushed two fingers inside you and around his cock, stretching you out even more.

He was about to reprimand him, to tell him to be more patient with his delicate innocent wife, but you screamed out in beautiful agony, exploding around his cock and begging for more. From Bucky or from him, he wasn’t sure.

“Maybe we’ll get our son tonight itself.”

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be added to the taglist.

I really hoped y'all liked it🤭🤭 idk how the first part has so many notes but I love this trope so much! Like some king Steve corrupting a good sweet girl ugh🥺🥺

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated.

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

#berry writes #king!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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anxious-allie-ren · 3 years ago

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Hey everyone! I’d like to introduce the new story I am writing! You can find it on both my AO3 and Wattpad. Both of which are linked in my bio. But I’ll also be posting the chapters here for you all. Be easy on me as I haven’t quite figured out how to post chapters on here and create a master list. That is something I will be working on. Alright, now in to the good stuff.

Erota

As the only daughter from a high society family, the pressure is on you to impress the ton and find a suitable match. You hope to find love, but your fate is decided for you. Your marriage is arranged to King Kylo of Chandrila. Pain and tough decisions are soon to follow.

This story is inspired by Bridgerton and regency era.

Hello everyone! I have been dreaming of writing this fic for a bit now and finally gathered the courage to do it! Like I said in the description, this story is heavily influenced by the regency era and the Netflix show Bridgerton. I've done my best to keep it accurate to both the era and the Star Wars world. I hope you enjoy!

The Ton.

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The season has finally arrived. You have officially joined the ton and are coming out into society. The debutantes of higher society are to be presented in court. This now includes you and your family.

You were the only child of the Duke of Selonia. A small territory southeast of Drall within the kingdom of Corellia. It's a quaint little area, nothing to brag about. It was cozy and calm. Many of the families had lived in the area for generations. Neighbors all knew each other. But despite its comfort and kindness it was lacking funds.

Since you had been able to remember, life was very simple. You helped in the gardens, the kitchens, and even with the laundry work. Your family took trips to town often, visiting with the people. Your mother loved to stop at the bakery and buy pastries to bring back to the estate. She told you stories from her childhood as bedtime stories. Coming from a common family and marrying into high society. Your parents married for love and not statues. Many scolded your father for marrying "below his station" but he let their words roll off his shoulders. He was attracted to your mother for her beauty, kindness, and capabilities. Your mother was no stranger to hard work, and she assured you weren't as well.

As you matured, you watched as your home aged as well. Bricks began to weather with time and vegetation started to take over. Farmers had less success each year and businesses were closing. The help your father was once so quick to provide had now dwindled into nothing. There was no help to give. The funding was nearly gone. After your mother's death, the strong and reliable man you had once called your father was gone. What replaced him was a shell of a man. He gave up on his duties as a duke and instead threw his time and money into bad habits. Gambling and drinking had become his crutch.

You lost your mother in your adolescence. Still a young girl so in need of a mother and her guidance. Her death left you confused and in desperate need of comfort. You tried to lean on your father. But in his own grief, he seemed to forget about you. Instead, you turned to your community. The maids and butlers became your family. They ensured your schooling would continue. The men even went as far as to teach you math and science. When you entered your teens, you attempted to take on the dukedom in secret. You went over all the documents and finances, trying to find a way to help your people and restore your estate. It was to no avail. Nothing could be done without your fathers signature. So you were left with no choice but to let it go. You focused on your studies and lessons with the maids. They helped bring you to maturity. Now, it was time to join society as an eligible woman.

Marriage has been heavy on your mind for many years now. The idea of meeting a man and marrying just for statues or titles didn't interest you. Neither of those things mattered to you. A marriage had become something with such a negative connotation. But love, now that was very different. You yearned for a true love match. You craved a deep connection unlike any you'd ever experienced. As a child, you'd developed small crushes on some of the neighborhood children. The butterflies and blushed looks were something you understood. But you'd never felt love before. You loved your family of course. You even loved your townspeople. But that was so different from what you hoped to find.

Becoming a debutante was not something you were looking forward to. Joining the ladies of high society was only asking for drama. But as the daughter of a Duke, it was your duty to join the ton and find a suitable husband. This had become increasingly important as your territory lost more and more money to your father's lifestyle. These thoughts scrambled around your mind as you got ready. You would be heading to the first ball of the season, your entrance into society, in moments. You were dressed in your nicest items. A deep red ball gown embroidered with golden florals along the bottom of the skirt and corset. Your hair was pinned back, allowing your face to stand out. Your maid, Jillian, was helping you put on your shoes as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Jillian had been with your family before your mother passed. She had watched you grow from a pained child to a strong young woman. She was with you every step of the way. Jillian became a motherly figure and your most trusted confidant.

Jillian pats your calf as she begins to stand, finished with clasping your heels. Her touch pulls you from your thoughts. You give her a polite smile and thank her, turning back to the mirror. Your anxiety is growing with each tick of the clock and in typical Jillian fashion, she can sense your discomfort. She comes to stand behind you, adjusting the pins in your hair.

"You know you're prepared for this. There's no need to sit and worry."

You meet her gaze in the mirror, her gentle blue eyes giving you a wave of comfort. You let out a sigh and play with your fingers.

"I felt prepared, but now that it's upon me, I'm not so sure. So much is at stake here, Jillian. The people of Selonia are relying on me to find someone who can help. What if I'm not up to standards?"

Jillian only chuckles at your words and places her hands on either of your shoulders.

"Standards? Now you're just being silly. You are a kind, intelligent, and strong young lady. Any suitor would be lucky to have you as his wife."

You turn to look at her, face scrunched in concentration.

"That's exactly the issue! It can't just be any suitor. They need to be able to fix dukedom and be the love I've been waiting for. What if that's unrealistic? How can I ever find someone to do both?"

Jillian places a comforting hand on your cheek, her thumb slowly stroking your cheekbone. She gives you a small smile before she speaks.

"Is that what you're so worried about? Dear, you're placing too much stress on yourself. Don't worry about the dukedom or Selonia. Go and find your love, everything else will fall in place."

You lean into her hand and smile, her words bringing you peace and a newfound sense of confidence. She pulls her hand away and turns towards your bedroom door. She calls back to you, "Now let's get you going! It's time."

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The carriage stopped in front of the King's summer estate. Many of the guests were already walking up the grand entrance and making their way inside. Your father hurried around and opened the door for you, holding his hand out and helping you down. Tonight he was doing his best to look and act presentable. You place your hand in his bent arm and let him lead you into the ball. Neither of you had spoken more than a few words to each other in years. You were surprised he even accompanied you tonight. His presence only made you nervous again. You weren't sure what his intent was by coming. Was he finally stepping back into his positions as father and Duke? Or was there some ulterior motive?

You found out quickly as he leaned in to speak to you, just as you were arriving at the entrance of the ballroom.

"I am expecting you to perform well tonight. I want to see gentlemen callers of high status calling on you tomorrow."

You look up at him and furrow your brows in confusion. So this is what he came for? To ensure you schmoozed with the highest titles with the most money? If so, he's going to be very disappointed.

"I'm here to find a reasonable suitor for myself, father. Not a suitor for you and Selonia."

He stops walking at your words, his head turning to look down at you. You can see his clenched jaw and anger in his eyes. His distaste for your words is written all over his face.

"Stop with your foolish girly fantasy of a love match. You're here to do as I say, and I'll be damned if you disobey me."

His words sting your heart. Your father had never spoken to you this way. When you were young, he was always so gentle and loving towards you. Now it seems you're just another pawn to be thrown around his chessboard as he pleased. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your gaze back down. Now was not the time to worry about this. You had more pressing matters.

You allowed your father to lead you to the entrance, stopping to allow the announcer to get your names. You took a deep breath as you prepared to face the ton. First impressions were everything, and you did not want to screw this up. The announcer clears his throat and stands at attention. Everyone in the room stops what they're doing to await the next debutante.

"Presented by her father, the Duke of Selonia, Miss Y/F/N."

You stare forward as your father leads you into the ballroom and towards the King and Queen of Corellia. You both stopped before them, your father unlinking your arms and bowing. You fall into a curtsy, bowing your head in respect. Your father stands back up and looks to the king. You stay still, awaiting the command to move. The king of Corellia rises from his throne and moves to stand in front of you. Everyone holds their breath, watching closely to see what unfolds. He places a gentle finger under your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze.

"Stand up for me, dear. You can relax."

You do as he says and stand quickly, giving him a polite smile as you return his intense eye contact. His finger never leaves your chin. He smiles back at you and begins to speak again.

"You are a true beauty, my dear. You know, they say the eyes are a window to the soul. I can see the love and strength living within yours. Hold onto that, they will be your biggest asset."

Your eyes widen at his words. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face.

"Thank you, your majesty."

With that, he removes his finger from your chin and climbs back to his throne. He turns his attention back to the room and declares, "Let the festivities continue."

Your father grabs ahold of your arm again and leads you away from the thrones. You can feel the crowd staring at you, but you can't find it in you to care. King Luke of Corellia spoke to you! Not only that, but he complimented you. This was a great honor bestowed on very few. You would take his advice to heart.

It seems your father had a different perspective. He leads you to a table with dance cards placed neatly in rows. You begin to search for your name as he smirks and begins talking.

"Compliments from the king will help greatly in gaining potential suitors. You'll be the most desired lady in the ton. Seems finding you a husband of high title will be easier than I thought."

You finish tying the card to your wrist and turn to look at the room. Your father continues to talk as you observe your surroundings. You look up at the elegant chandelier. It shines beautifully in the light, casting sparkles all over the room. You watch as they dance across the guests, creating an angelic and light atmosphere. A waiter comes by and offers you and your father glasses of champagne. You take a small sip and return your attention to the crowd. Many of the ladies are giving you glares or speaking with the eligible men in attendance. You take notice of their attire. Many have much more elegant gowns and jewels on. Their appearance shows how much they have to offer. Your feelings of inadequacy begin to creep back in. You don't even notice a man approaching.

Your gaze stops on a young man across the room. His dark brown curls and bright smile grabbed your attention. He was speaking to another man, seeming to be in deep conversation. His face was so expressive as he spoke, hands moving about to help prove whatever point he was trying to make. You couldn't help but be captivated by him. If there was anyone you were hoping to get a moment with this evening, it was him.

You snap from your thoughts as your father greets him and motions towards you. This man must have been reaching his thirties. Much older than any of the debutantes here. His bright ginger hair stands out like a sore thumb. He makes eye contact with you as your father talks. An uneasy feeling sweeps over you. For some reason, something about this man doesn't sit right with you.

"Y/N, I'd like you to meet the Earl of Drall, Lord Armitage Hux" your father says as he motions towards the man. Lord Hux takes your hand and raises it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. The contact makes you cringe internally. Your father looks at you expectantly and you quickly pull yourself together.

"Hello Lord Hux, it is so nice to meet you."

Your father smiles at both of you and claps a hand on Lord Hux's shoulder.

"Lord Hux here is a good friend of mine. I was hoping to introduce you both tonight."

The uneasy feeling now makes sense. Any friend of your fathers is likely a crook. Not at all the type of man you want to be speaking to. You nod politely, biting your tongue from speaking your mind freely. The men then turn away from you and begin a discussion of their own, leaving you out. You lift your glass of champagne back to your lips and turn your gaze back to the direction of the man you had spotted before.

Instead of finding the curly haired man again, you met eyes with someone else. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back was a raven haired man. He stood tall and broad, much larger than any other man in the room. His gaze pierced through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You wanted to approach him, but to do so would make you look indecent.

Your eye contact is cut off by Lord Hux coming in front of you. He holds out his arm to you in invitation.

"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Lady Y/N?"

You wanted nothing more than to say no and go speak to the mystery man. Or even go find the curly haired man from before. But you know you had no choice in the matter. To deny him would make you look bad to the ton. Plus, your father would never stand for it. So you placed your hand in his arm and nod.

"Of course, Lord Hux."

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I really hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!

Love,

Allie

#star wars #kyloren #kylo #kylorenthings #fanfic #fanfiction #king Kylo #reader x character #readerxkyloren #reader x Kylo #reader x Kylo ren #poe dameron #armitage hux #Hux #Poe #historical #regency #regency era #bridgerton

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written-in-flowers · 3 years ago

Text

Copycat: Pt. 1

Pairing: Tommy x OFC

Genre: Angst, smut, crime, drama

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Private Detective Jane Dawes arrives in Small Heath in hopes of catching a serial killer. On the way, she finds an unexpected partner in Thomas Shelby, the cut-throat gangster who is boss of the streets. Can they work together to catch the killer or will their own ambitions get in each other's way?

Tags: graphic description of violence, strangers to lovers, murder mystery, blood and violence, gun violence, mentions of cannibalism, graphic descriptions of mutilation, crime scenes, PTSD, mentions of war, implied/referenced torture, panic attacks, drinking, smoking, childhood trauma, psycopathy,

AO3 > Next Chapter

****

"Rise and shine, Jane! Time to greet the day! Or afternoon, in your case."

Jane stirred from her sleep, the afternoon sun blinding her. Stuffing her face into the pillow, she groaned as Vivian marched around the room. Her legs and feet felt sore, and her head pounded dully against her temples. Visions of the previous night slowly floated back to her as she took in her surroundings. She remembered heavy drinking, card playing, and a handsome young fellow in a blue suit. She groaned as she lifted herself into a sitting position. She stretched out her arms and legs, stretching out the soreness in them. She glanced around for a glimpse of the young man, but he must’ve snuck out whilst she slept. Figures. They all do. Last night must've been rougher than she remembered. She looked to a corner to see a leggy, red-haired woman in a beige blouse and long brown pencil skirt fixing two cups of tea.

“Mornin’ Viv,” she croaked, stretching once more before slipping from the bed. “How’d you get in?”

“Agatha let me in,” she explained, stirring a steaming cup in a saucer. “She said you’d gotten home at the crack of dawn, and said I should just come up.” She placed the second cup on the night stand within Jane’s reach, “I saw a man in a suit coming down when I arrived. Was he with you?”

She smiled softly, recalling the handsome stranger’s nimble fingers and soft kisses. She took a sip of the herbal tea, letting it warm her before she answered, “He was.”

Vivian smirked, “Naughty.”

“If having a bit of fun is naughty,” she smiled, “Then I’m the worst. It’s the only way I find any entertainment nowadays.” She drank from her cup again, then stood up to grab her dressing gown. Tying the satin robe around her naked body, she said, “What brings you here, Viv? Did that cad Woods let you out early?”

“Actually no,” she answered. “My boss is out of town. I finished typing up a few of his letters, and decided I’d come wake you up.” She examined a box full of letters as Jane picked at a biscuit tin beside the tea tray. “I thought we could get lunch together after I picked up James from my mother’s. She’s more tolerable when you’re there.”

“Glad I’m able to tame the wild beast for you,” Jane joked, nibbling on a cookie while she watched Vivian. She finished the small treat before she said, “Don’t bother. They’re all boring.”

“Oh what nonsense,” Vivian disagreed, “I’m sure at least one of these has to be of interest to you.” She picked up one of the letters and opened it as Jane picked up a second biscuit. "Look at this one," she said, "Mrs. Winston says her husband has gone missing along with some of her heirlooms-"

"-Ran off with the maid; took the jewels with him to pay off loan sharks," Jane answered. She picked up a stray elastic band from a table and tied back her messy black hair. That was one part of her appearance handled; she’d deal with the rest later. "That one is pretty obvious, I think."

Vivian opened up another letter, "Ah, Gemma Tildon says she found her cat dead in her backyard. Last time she saw him, she says, he was sitting on the front porch railing. She wants to know what you think-"

"-It was her father," she said. When Vivian stared bemused, she continued, "Cat wandered off into the street and he ran it over. He put it in the backyard to make it seem natural." She decided to get dressed for the day. She left the table to her wardrobe, where she slipped on a brassier and chemise. "I don't see where the mystery is. Though, I suppose the tire tracks on his body raised some questions."

"James from Yorkshire says one of his mates went missing after a game of poker at-"

"-He was in debt and he wouldn't pay up," she opened her closet to examine the array of clothes behind the doors. A simple dress would do for the daytime. Perhaps a nice hat too?

"Mira writes that someone has stolen crates of rum and gin from her tavern. She doesn't know who's doing it."

"She lives on 34th street?"

"She does."

"Montague Boys," she said. She decided on the powder blue and white dress she’d bought in France. Taking out matching stockings from her drawer, she sat down to begin sliding them up her legs. "They steal alcohol from local pubs and sell them overseas." Slipping on the other one, Jane clipped them to her garter belts. She grunted at Vivian, "These are all boring, Vivian! Boring, boring, boring."

“Oh Janey, you’re far too picky.”

“Am not!”

“Jane,” she said more seriously, “You are a female detective. You solve crimes. This is your job.” She took up a handful of letters and said, “You have to pick at least one. Otherwise, your father will have to pay your rent again, and you know how your father and brother get when you start-”

“-Don’t remind me of Arnold, please. It’ll upset my stomach.”

Jane fixed on the second stocking while she imagined her older brother, Arnold. He was a sliver of a man with his father’s long narrow nose and dark eyes. Cold as ice, she already could hear him going on about how a woman her age should already be married and raising her children. Jane scoffed. It wasn’t that she disliked children or the idea of marriage. She simply did not want it forced upon her the way it was on upper class ladies. Her mother and father had given up convincing her years ago, but Arnold was always persistent. Especially after the war.

But Jane would rather not think about the war.

Vivian held back her laugh. She picked up the newspaper from the table and began reading out events for Jane to hear as she dressed. Jane knew she’d need a case soon, but it was hard to find anything exciting. She would do a few simple ones for a quick payment, but she lived for the thrill. The thrill of the chase, of the hunt, is what drove her. She loved sitting at her desk and solving puzzles laid out for her. She enjoyed putting pieces of a picture together to find that outcome, and then share it. It kept her busy in a world where everything felt so plain and boring. Being from a wealthy family, her life had been reduced to social gatherings, charity boards, gossip circles, and tea time. She was expected to be married, have a bunch of children running around, and be the perfect trophy wife. She’d been brought up to believe that by her mother, who desperately tried her best. But, as much as Jane enjoyed the parties, dinners, and interacting with friends and family, she felt that life was not for her. It’s why she went to university. It’s why she started her own private-eye business and lives in an apartment in London, alone. She did not know exactly what the universe had planned for her, but it wasn’t what her mother or Arnold wanted. The fact that she ended up helping others in the process made it more worthwhile.

The two women finally made their way out the door once Jane finished dressing and repainting her lips. On the curb outside, Jane spotted a black motorcar. She recognized the vehicle as belonging to the Woods Taxi Company.

“Does Woods know you’re using company cars for your own personal usage?” Jane smiled at Vivian as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she said. “Besides, I’m a company employee. I can use these too.”

Jane sighed, "Vivian, seriously, when are you going to see that you can be more than just some slimy prat's secretary? You're an intelligent, clever woman. You should strive for something greater." Vivian paused as she put the car in gear to drive. "You always wanted to be a doctor like your dad," Jane continued, "Why not go for it? You're not too old. You could get into any university you wanted and become the best in whatever field you chose."

"How very modern of you to think," Vivian said, the car’s engine perking up in a low rumble. "Not all of us can be private detectives, Jane. Some of us have people to feed."

"James would be proud that his mother became a doctor," Jane said.

"Jane," she then paused. “Let’s just go get James, yeah? My mother will be livid if I’m even a minute late.”

Jane didn’t push the subject further. Her best friend had done the ‘right’ thing in their social circle. She’d finished her education, married a doctor of high standing, and had a son. Then, that doctor went to war and died in an ambush, leaving Vivian to settle for meager wages and raise her son alone. Well, not completely. Jane was more than happy to look after him when she could, but child care was not her forte. Vivian still had not forgiven her for showing four-year-old James how a gun works. They arrived at Vivian’s mother’s house where the elderly woman stood, holding the small boy’s hand. His hair was a mop of auburn curls, big brown eyes looked happily at the women coming up the stairs. Jane watched from the bottom stair, keeping the old crone busy with local gossip while Vivian hugged and kissed her son. Like all women, she wondered what it might be like having a small human who loved you unconditionally.

But she needed a man for that, and she’d never find one who could overturn her principles.

Jane treated Vivian and James to lunch at a nearby cafe, then took him for a walk in the park. Spending small moments with her loved ones pushed away the memories that crept back into her mind. It had been these moments, walking in the sunshine holding little James’s hand, that she’d pictured down in the bunkar two years ago. She’d thought about her mother’s laugh after a good joke and her father’s cigar smoke when the German officers dumped her into her cell. After hours of torture and beatings, Jane thought about the chess games she played with Arnold, or how Vivian smiled whenever she held James. He’d been an infant then. He’d brought on joy in a time when things had been dark. Very dark. She’d do anything for the small boy now.

It was a nice afternoon that was followed by a quiet night at home. Agatha offered to make her a proper dinner, but Jane could care for herself well enough. She didn’t like the old woman constantly fussing over her. She rifled through some of the letters at her armchair as the night crawled over day time. Most of them were missing pets or stolen jewelry. She occasionally caught one that might be of interest but ended up solving it by the end of the letter. She wrote replies to most of them before dinner. Jane didn't understand why people didn't go to the police with their petty problems. The police might blunder through their cases, but they could at least get the job done. She ached for something more challenging.

'I think my husband is cheating on me.' "He is."

'My dad went missing and I don't know where he's gone.' "He left your family."

'I met this wonderful bloke a few days ago and things got intimate between us. My friends say he ditched me, but I don't think that's true.' "It is and you're stupid for thinking otherwise."

She played Beethoven to keep her mind from the boredom, yet that failed. Agatha assured her the rut would end soon. Murders and disappearances happen in London every day. One could even be happening as they spoke, she said. She’d even asked if Jane could go to her father, the police commissioner, and inquire about any unsolved matters. Jane told her it’d be a waste of time. Her father did not fully approve of his daughters ‘profession’, but he did not doubt her skills either. He’d told her lovingly that if she ended up murdered or hurt from a case he gave her, he’d never forgive himself. Jane refused to let him feel that way. She knew she was bound to find one soon. Jane wished that were true as she read Nietzsche. She couldn't have been any more bored before someone knocked on her door. She looked at the clock on her mantle, reading eight o’clock. Who would be calling at this hour? She walked over to the door, and opened it cautiously.

At the doorway stood a stocky man wearing a blue suit. From his well groomed hair and professional attire, she could tell he was a police officer. She assumed the policeman from the scuffed boots he wore, but not from London. He nervously hung his hat in his hands, tapping his foot in place as he looked at her. He was a client with another problem.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, ma’am" he said, "Forgive me for coming at such a late hour, but I have nobody else and I’m at the end of my rope. May I come in?”

“Yes, please.” She let him through, and said, “I’m assuming you already know me, but I’m Jane Dawes. Who might you be, sir?” she offered him a seat across from her armchair, and a drink of brandy.

“My name's Anthony Moss,” he took it gratefully, and nearly gulped it down. “I'm a Sergeant over in Birmingham. I got it from a friend that you're the one to see about, um, difficult cases."

"How difficult?"

"Baffling."

The word intrigued her. She sat back at her armchair, nursing her own scotch in her hand. "Tell me about your case, Sergeant."

"Before I begin, I want you to know I work in Small Heath. I don't know if you've ever heard of its reputation-"

"-I did hear some unsavory characters do live there."

"They do," he said. He took another pour of scotch she offered, hoping the drink would calm his nerves. "So, it's not uncommon to see beatings, rapings, disappearances, robberies and murders. We even have a gang problem. There isn't much in Small Heath that surprises me, Ms. Dawes."

"Well, something must've happened if it brought you here."

"Indeed.” He took a deep breath, then said, “It's this string of murders that have been going on. We've found three different women found in back alleys around town. Their bodies cut open, parts of them missing, and no evidence to go on," he shuddered. "It's unnatural, ma’am. Like I said, murder isn't new to me, but I've never seen anything like this. Alright, we sometimes find a prostitute who displeased a customer or didn't pay her pimp. But, it was never this terrible."

"If your town is so used to crime, haven't you considered that it could be one of the regular criminals?"

"No," he shook his head. "They don't do things like this. They might beat or cut people, but if they kill someone it's direct. This isn't direct. I even asked Tommy Shelby if he had an idea, but he said it had nothing to do with him or the Peaky Blinders."

"Peaky Blinders," she said, nodding, "I've heard of them."

"Then you know they aren't insane. Whoever is doing this is insane, ma’am. We have no real leads. We aren't well equipped like other police stations. If I want any chance at stopping this, I need someone like you. The only links I can find is their profession and how he killed them. It reminds me of Jack the Ripper, but it can't be. That was ages ago. He'd be dead by now, wouldn't he?"

"He would," she said. "He definitely would."

A copycat serial killer lurking about in a slum? It was a perfect cure for boredom. She loved serial criminals. She asked him a few more questions about the case in general: who were the victims, if there are any connections between them, and if there are any special areas she should investigate. Moss was more than willing to tell her about them all. She could see the desperation in his voice. Someone was mutilating women in his district, and he seemed to be the only person who cared. Not even the men underneath him put much effort into finding the killer. Thinking about it more, the intrigue grew. It turned the dusty wheels in her mind, and built up the excitement.

“I’ll take a glance at your case, Sergeant,” she told him once she knew everything, “If this butcher has killed as often as you said he has, it won’t be long until he does it again.”

“Oh, that’s good news to hear, ma’am! Very good news!”

They agreed on a time to meet in two days, and Jane led him out the door. Once he left, a rush of adrenaline ran through her body. She did not even wait to pack. Finally, she had something good. She couldn’t wait to tell Vivian. Her old friend couldn’t join her on adventures anymore, but she’d tell her nevertheless.

Finally...Finally, finally, finally!

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #tommy x ofc #peaky blinders angst #I promise it gets better lol #let me know what you guys think

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itsmoonpeaches · 3 years ago

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TALKK ABOUT KATAANG 🥰

This helped to spurn a ficlet randomly, anon. You got me to talk about Kataang big time.

Golden Sunlight

Word count: 1,449

Read here on ao3.

"I'm sorry but...you're unable to bear any children," said the elderly head healer. She placed her wrinkled hands atop the trembling ones of the woman who sat in front of her on a rickety chair.

The words rang true, chilling the room. They prickled across Katara's skin, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. And suddenly, there was a fear that set in her chest. A fear so profound that it permeated into her heart.

She watched as the tears cascaded down the woman's cheeks, as her husband patted her back and held her.

The water on her hands dropped back into the bowl at her feet, making a splash. She had done what she could. The head healer had told her so. They all had. The woman had been stricken with illness for some time, and it had rendered her infertile.

"Lian, my dear, you must rest," said the head healer, pressing her hands onto the woman's shoulders now. "Your family will care for you. I promise this."

The early evening set in as the shadows in the women's clinic elongated into swathes of dark gray. A heaviness set on her shoulders, a stone balancing on each one. Heavier and heavier, like every step she took added to the weight.

She had tried to heal women like this before. It was no secret that there was sometimes that kind of deep desperation a hopeful mother felt to conceive, even when in the face of it all the evidence pointed to the fact that they could not.

In a world where in many cultures men still ruled, sometimes the only thing a woman of any status could control was the size of her family.

But it was more than that. More, not just for the women she treated at the clinic in Ba Sing Se, but for the partners that they loved.

For many that came to them and asked Katara for her healing prowess, it was about that. "Please, Master Katara, help me fix this," some would say. "Please, I want a child."

The first thing she was taught by Yagoda at the healing huts was that a healer must not do harm. The second thing she was taught was to keep her heart at a distance, for getting too close to a patient was akin to standing in the middle of a raging typhoon and allowing it to batter you.

Lian had come to them, hunched over, and clutching her abdomen. She had come to them sick with an infection that tore through her and for weeks as they tried to stabilize her the concern for infertility grew.

She was a kind woman, a good one. She always spoke of wanting to start a family, how she dreamed of a little girl with whom she could embroider, and a little boy who would cause trouble for his sister.

Lian came from a poor household but was lucky to have a caring husband who was a farmer in the Outer Ring. He brought Katara millet porridge every other day that he had cooked himself. "Thank you," he had said, "You are saving my Lian."

But, though Katara had saved her life, she had not saved what Lian wanted the most.

The sadness and weight made Katara shake as she bowed low to Lian and apologized. She was out the door in minutes. Her boots skidded across the cobblestones, kicking up the dust and hay of the streets as the sun set behind the cluster of buildings.

She turned a corner. A child was playing with another, laughing as they kicked a feathered shuttlecock into the air. Her stomach turned. Tears pricked at her eyes. She clutched at her middle.

The thoughts swirled around her.

What if...?

What if she couldn't have children too?

She grasped at her wrist, at the bracelet that Aang had woven for her a year ago. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could spend the rest of our lives together?" he had asked her months ago as they traveled to the Southern Water Tribe for the winter solstice festival. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could have a family together? Just you and me. Like it's always been."

She and Aang had been married for three months now, and the thought was that they would start when it was time. It would be organic, they had promised, with none of the pressures that the world already put on both of them.

Politicians wanted the Avatar, waterbenders wanted a teacher. The world wanted airbenders.

After seeing Lian, Katara was suddenly so afraid that she would not be able to give anyone that.

The door clicked open, and she stumbled inside the apartments that the Earth King had given to them for visits they made to the city. A light flickered from the room across the hall.

Katara barely removed her boots before she swayed from wall to wall, pushing against them until she made it to the cracked door.

Aang was inside the room that they used as an office, skimming over scrolls with half-lidded eyes. Her heart both swelled and clenched at the sight of him.

She let out a strangled gasp.

Aang stiffened in his seat, then turned to her with wide, worried eyes. He stood up immediately, shoving the chair aside so that it was easier for him to meet her.

"Katara," he whispered, "What's wrong?"

The words did not leave her mouth. They were caught, choking her, begging to bubble up and out.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated.

All she could see was an empty room with empty halls, the dream that was theirs fading into the distance. She wanted that void to be filled. She wanted a child, his child. She wanted to have the happy family neither of them were allowed to have. This was something she hoped the war would not take from them too.

And then there was Lian. Lian who had gotten sick, who had wanted the same thing she wanted, who was so optimistic now that the world was peaceful that she could create something new.

“What if I can’t have a child, Aang?” Katara murmured.

Aang caught her then, arms tightening around her torso. The smell of sandalwood was soft against her nose.

“What brought this on?”

She shook her head. She merely explained in vague detail. “I’ve seen so many women beg for help that I couldn’t give them. What if that’s me too? What if…not having enough to eat growing up because of the war made me infertile? I’ve seen too many of those women. I could be one of them.”

“Katara,” Aang breathed, brushing away the locks of her hair. “Don’t worry.”

She looked into his eyes and something within her broke. She felt her face crumple as she stared at him. “What if I can’t be the person that can give you your people back? You’ll be all alone and—”

Aang pressed his lips to her forehead that made her stop.

“I won’t be alone,” he said simply. “I have you.”

“But—”

He kissed her cheek this time. It was a gentle touch. “It doesn’t matter, Katara,” he continued. “It’s no use worrying about things that we’re not sure of…and even if the unimaginable happens, it doesn’t mean that we can’t work through things together. Besides, the world always balances itself out. That’s the way it is. If the airbenders are meant to come back through us, or through some other way, that’s what will happen.”

“The next Avatar,” she started, sniffling as he thumbed away her tears, “how will they learn airbending?”

Aang smiled and something within her fluttered. “Once an airbender, always an airbender,” he replied.

She could not help it. She smiled too. It was such a ridiculous thing for him to say, but perhaps that was why he said it.

His hands were on her skin, and the palms of them burned on her arms as he held her. She leaned forward, moving to repay him with another kiss, and the candlelight fizzled out in favor of the light of the moon.

There would be talks in the future and judgements to be made. People would accuse them of being selfish, and others would ask that Aang remarry.

Neither of them would waver.

In the years that came, in the nights that followed, as the sheets tangled in between them and they wished for the children they prayed for, it would be that prayer that would keep them going. It would be Aang that looked on into the golden sunlight after hours with a grin on his face, the cry of a newborn wailing.

ao3 || ko-fi

#ask #anon #kataang #kataangtag #katara #aang #itsmoonpeaches ficlet #ficlet #fanfic #atla fanfic #avatar #avatar the last airbender

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shikakunaras · 4 years ago

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80 or 90 for shikaku/shibi

I did both. I couldn’t resist.

80 - “Your comfort and happiness is more important than some stupid dinner.” 90 - “No more dangerous stunts.”

Ao3 link for Prompt 80

Ao3 link for prompt 90

Both are under the cut bc of length | there is minor violence and a mention of blood in prompt 90

Prompt 80

Shikaku sat in the restaurant for an hour, eating the rolls the waiter kept bringing out and checking his watch. When the door would open, Shikaku would glance over only to see someone other than his husband. Waiting was something Shikaku was good at, but this was hard.

He expected this kind of lateness from Kakashi but not Shibi. The man was always punctual, as long as he wasn’t on a mission. Which he wasn’t, Shikaku made sure of that when they booked the place a month ago.

Wedding anniversaries aren’t a huge thing with both men but considering that they made it this long and are still alive, they realized celebrating things like this is important - especially with the threat of the 4th war looming. Shikaku was to meet Shibi here after work but was surprised to see an empty table.

With a sigh Shikaku realized that he was stood up, for whatever reason, and he paid for what he had eaten and tipped the waiter for being patient.

The walk home was full of fear that something happened to Shibi, the man did like to wander into the Nara forest and it’s mating season for the deer. Shikaku paused and took a deep breath, telling himself that Shibi was not maimed by an angry stag, he’s stronger than that. It had to be something else.

Pushing all the negative thoughts back he sped up the walk home and went straight for the back bedroom.

Shibi was sitting on the edge of the bed, with his head in hands. It made Shikaku's imagination jump start and his anxiety spike. Maybe Shibi didn't love him anymore. The Nara took another deep breath trying to dispel any negativity. Shibi didn't acknowledge Shikaku, instead he just sniffled.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Shikaku moved to sit next to his husband, placing a hand on his back.

“I’m sorry.” Shibi was quiet and reserved most days, only when he is alone with Shikaku does he let himself be vulnerable. Both men do it and they are fully aware as to why.

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” Shikaku shook his head, even though Shibi wouldn’t see it. He could feel Shibi's anxious heartbeat while he rubbed his back to soothe him.

“I got to the doors and saw the crowd, the amount of people in the restaurant was too much for me today. I should’ve gone inside and told you instead of letting you sit there thinking of the worst.” Shibi finally lifted his head and sighed. His face was drawn and tired. He knew Shikaku always thought the worst outcomes. It was his job, he was paid to find holes in plans and fix them. It was no surprise that Shikaku can't just shut it off when he gets home.

“Your comfort and happiness is more important than some stupid dinner.” Shikaku smiled and Shibi returned it with a frown.

“It’s not stupid to you.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you. Shikamaru and Shino suggested the restaurant.” Shikaku shrugged and stood up. “My stomach is screaming at me to eat something other than bread. Let’s make dinner together.”

Shibi’s face scrunched up, thinking about something to say, before just nodding. Shikaku held his hand out and Shibi took it, the Nara pulled his husband to his feet and drew him close.

“The kids are away tonight.” Shikaku winked and kissed a flustered Shibi, who despite being with the Nara for twelve years, still wasn’t used to the man’s flirty nature.

When they separated Shibi raised an eyebrow and Shikaku just laughed, knowing full well the silent question his husband was asking.

“Hungry.” Shikaku led Shibi to the kitchen where very little cooking was done that night.

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

Prompt 90

Shibi didn’t register that the Juubi Bomb was headed towards Shikaku until it was too late. He stood in stunned silence as the flaming ball flew through the air over his head and off to the distance. It wasn’t until he heard Shikamaru shout at Ino and the explosion hitting the Command Post when he connected the two.

He didn’t have time. He didn’t get to tell the man he loved goodbye. Shibi felt a hand on his shoulder and he knew his son was trying to comfort him. He was in the middle of a war, he had to bottle up his anger and his sadness. Save it for when they won and they could breathe.

Which they did win. Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, and Kakashi saved them all. Now the sun was up and they could assess the damage, it was time to heal and cry. Normally Shibi would hold off how he felt until he was utterly alone but being with someone for so long, Shikaku’s death ripped a hole in his heart. The Aburame calmly walked into an empty medical tent, sat on a cot, and placed his head in his hands - letting the sorrow out. He heard the tent flap rustle but he assumed it was just the wind, until he heard someone clear their throat.

“Dad said he was sorry he couldn’t tell you goodbye, but he wanted me to tell you that he loves you.” Shikamaru's voice was thick with emotion. Shibi noticed Shikamaru looking at him a few times while they set up camp, like he wanted to say something, now that he has spoken all Shibi wants to do is hold the kid.

“It’s okay, I understand he wanted to get the plan out and to tell you goodbye.” Shibi wiped his eyes, trying not to seem too heart broken - at least not in front of Shikamaru.

Shikamaru opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a scream. Shibi’s blood ran cold - the fear of the war not being over sent shivers up his spine. Before they could leave the tent Ino opened the flap, tears streaming down her face.

“They’re alive! All of them!” Ino nearly shouted before leaving the men in the tent, confused.

Shikamaru and Shibi exchanged a glance and then raced to see who she was talking about. It didn't take long to figure it out.

Standing in the middle of a small crowded circle was a tired looking Inoichi and Mabui. They were covered in dirt and blood but alive. Ino was clinging to her father, crying. The rest of those who were in the Command center were trailing behind, battered and bruised but alive. Shibi moved closer to the crowd hoping to see Shikaku and stopped dead in his tracks.

The Nara was sitting at Inoichi’s feet, his arm in a makeshift sling and his jonin jacket in tatters. His eyes were closed, almost like he was trying to calm himself or reset.

“How?” Kakashi was the first to ask, confusion and relief blanketed the small crowd that had formed.

“We used Mabui’s jutsu.” Inoichi looked stunned as if he didn’t think it would work.

“How did you manage to not die in process?” Tsunade took the next question.

“Shikaku came up with a plan for us all to buffer the impact of the jutsu with our own chakra. I was able to transport animals by using my own as a shield. He just took the concept and made it so I could focus all of my own chakra to transport us all.” Mabui smiled. The Raikage shouted from a distance and barreled his way towards her, happy to see his right-hand shinobi alive and well.

Shikaku finally opened his eyes and looked right at Shibi. There was warmth and love in the gaze and Shibi couldn’t stop himself from dropping to his knees and pulling his husband into a rib crushing hug. Shikamaru had joined the hug a few seconds after and they could feel Shikaku shaking. He was happy to be alive, just as much as the others holding him.

When they finally pulled apart, wiping tears and the mess they made of themselves, Shikaku let out a long sigh.

“Remember what you said to me before we split into teams?” Shikaku took Shibi’s hand and squeezed it.

“I told you no more dangerous stunts.”

Shikaku’s sly smile crept up and Shibi knew what his ridiculous husband was going to say next. Which is why the Aburame beat him to it.

“Just because this one time, it saved your ass and everyone else's, does not mean you can keep being reckless.” Shibi sighed.

“It’s okay, when I get home I’m retiring. The most dangerous thing I’ll be doing is cooking.” Shikaku chuckled.

“You retiring is more terrifying.” Shino shook his head. “That means Shikamaru is going to take over.”

“Very funny, bold of you to assume Dad won’t choose you or someone else like Neji.” Shikamaru smirked.

The boys continued to argue about who was going to take over while Shibi ignored everything and everyone around him, except Shikaku.

#shikaku/shibi #shikaku #shibi #shikaku nara #shibi aburame #prompt game #answered #anon #Anonymous

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3pirouette · 4 years ago

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Fic: Iterate (1/1)

Title: Iterate By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: Up through Endgame. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 2953 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Summary: Steve lived through the 21st century twice, the second time hurt much more than the first.

A/N: I literally made myself cry today on the way to work while I was working this out in my head. It was SUPPOSED to be FLUFFY. I’m not exactly why I decided on this format, all I know is that it felt right. I hope you enjoy. Steggy is just mentioned, more Steve-centric.

It was supposed to be a stupid, fluffy story about Old Steve living with his granddaughter and being a LITTLE SHIT to her all the time because he’s 100% comfortable with modern things and it drives her nuts. I’m sorry.

Also, please pay attention to vague time stamps. Certain details are changed for impact. Hence, AU (Even though I FULLY BELIEVE that once the stones are placed back there is only ONE main timeline where Steve lived, was Peggy’s husband, and that’s how he showed up at the end of Endgame. Fight me.)

AND I’M SORRY.

~*~ October 2023

He supposed he’d always been waiting for this day. Steve knew he’d be around for it, one way or another. At least, he’d always assumed that, though he’d thought he’d experience it in a very, very different way.

He didn’t know the exact time, just a vague recollection that it was early afternoon, that there had been sunlight they’d blocked out with the blast shields, that they’d tried to eat lunch but they were all too nervous.

Funny. Same thing happened to him today. He couldn’t manage to get anything to slide down past the lump in his throat, couldn’t fill his stomach to calm the butterflies. He tried coffee first. It was warm and robust but had no effect.

He pulled out the tin from the back of the cabinet and made a cup of tea from one of the few remaining bags there. He sipped it and imagined Peggy sitting across from him, telling him off for using old tea that would be bitter and teasing him for how much sugar he put in it.

He drank a beer and wished to god that he had just one flask of whatever it was Thor used to carry around. He needed something to calm his nerves.

He caught his reflection in the window over the sink. For just the briefest second he saw his young self, so broken by so much, not knowing that today would be the day he’d be put to his greatest test. But the sun shifted and he could see every wrinkle in the refection, every grey hair, the haziness to his eyes that the doctor said was the beginning of cataracts.

A lifetime ago this day had changed everything for him without him knowing. Today, he was just as eager for the moment when Banner would put on that glove, this time for very different reasons.

~*~

In the end, Steve Rogers managed to live a fairly normal life.

Once back with Peggy, he kept away from the spotlight. Unsure if he’d created a parallel timeline or if he was living in his own, he did his best to avoid changing things.

Because even when he wanted to change things, he realized very quickly, he couldn’t.

He became enamored with sci-fi and fantasy that included time travel, with physicists who wrote books on the subject. He wanted to understand it, to know the unknowable.

He eventually decided that he was prescribing to the Doctor Who Theory of time travel: that it was all very, very complicated but that some things, no matter what, had to just happen in their own time and some things were simply fixed and would always happen the way they were supposed to. He’d seen this first with Zola- as he’d tried to get the man and his influence away from SHIELD they only dug their heels in deeper and kept him. It was later reaffirmed when, despite every effort, The Winter Soldier escaped him and Howard and Maria were left for dead in their car, young Tony devistated.

After that day, he stopped trying so hard to avoid squishing butterflies and focused instead on enjoying what he had.

What he had was, after all, quite a lot: A wife, two young boys, and a second chance at the life he’d missed while fighting other men’s wars.

~*~

Despite knowing all that laid ahead for him and his friends in the future that was now his past and yet somehow once again his future, Steve eventually started longing for the new millennium as decades past him by. He missed the technology, the ability to have whatever kind of entertainment he waited at the tips of his fingers. Though he’d known a good portion of what would happen from history books, once he’d gone back, he’d lived an entire lifetime full of surprises, experiencing things like the moon landing and the Vietnam war first hand. But now, as he grew older and he knew his days with Peggy were numbered, he longed for the small comforts of familiarity, for e-mails and smartphones and heated steering wheels on cars that parked themselves.

As the 2000’s arrived, he felt himself get more and more comfortable with the things around him: the news, the events he’d already experienced once and would again in a different way. It felt good to feel at least on solid ground with the world around him, knowing what was to come for him.

His home was lonely after Peggy was gone, and he made his only granddaughter an offer she couldn’t refuse: free room and board if she helped him keep up the house. An elementary school art teacher, Maggie was happy to step in for a little financial relief as she tried to navigate the churlish economy.

If he never told her that he was perfectly capable of taking care of the house by himself, it didn’t quite matter. The company was more than enough. And if when she smiled she looked just a little like her namesake and it warmed his heart… well, that wasn’t a bad thing, either.

The best part, he’d found though, was that it was hilariously funny to drive his granddaughter crazy. He’d lived through the early decades of the 21st century as a young man. He’d learned how to navigate the internet, interface with the most complicated technology there was to offer, and listened to music that wouldn’t be written for years to come. He loved watching her face as he sang along to Billie Eilish on the radio or realize that she didn’t have to explain to him how to use an iPad or Facetime.

~*~

She yelled at him the first snowfall. Skidded her car (all-wheel drive, thank goodness he’d convinced her to get the newest model) into the freshly shoveled driveway and tore out of the driver’s seat, yelling at him a mile a minute.

They’ll think I’m some kind of self-centered princess letting a centenarian shovel this and try to kill himself! She’d yelled, trying to take the shovel from his hands.

He was still stronger than he should be, and held his ground. I don’t want you hurting yourself on this stuff.

Me? She’s screeched, and he’d laughed. He couldn’t help but smile and find her concern at least a little comical. Deep down he understood, knew that he should be trying to sell his age a little more, be trying to hide that he was still strong and fast and in better shape than some of his middle-aged neighbors.

As much as he’d like to push her off, tell her to go inside, he couldn’t. She wasn’t a self-centered princess, but she was his princess, and he bent to her whim like a branch in the wind. He’d kissed her on the head and finally handed her the shovel, leaving her the last bit of the path to her to clean up, and promised to take better care of himself.

She didn’t know that when she left for work, he still went down the basement and bench pressed 225 on an easy day.

~*~

She teased him about his record collection. Even though records had come back in style, she still thought it was silly to have a whole wall dedicated to them when she could access nearly all of musical history on her cell phone. He showed her his own digital playlists and popped in his airpods when he was reading sometimes, but he loved the sound the needle made when it hit the wax.

One night, when he couldn’t listen to her teasing anymore, no matter how good natured it was, he played dirty.

You know, there’s a new song coming out by one of those artists you like. WAP? Heard it’s a cover of a song your Nana and I used to dance to all the time.

Two weeks later, he heard the familiar opening bass to the song Barton had played incessantly in the gym while he was working out and had quoted for months, the song that he hadn’t been able to get away from even in the past with random phrases like macaroni in a pot popping into his head at the most inconvenient times.

Barely half a verse in she’d either shut it off or turned the music way lower. At dinner she couldn’t look at him.

That was not at cover, Pop Pop. And I don’t want to think about you and Nana like that… ever.

~*~

She cried when she came home, a year after Peggy’s death, to see Peggy’s beautiful vanity had been moved into her room, Peggy’s jewelry box on it front and center.

What did you do? She’d kept asking him, tears in her eyes.

She’d want you to have it. He knew it was the truth. He hugged her tight as she sniffed and knew he’d made the right decision. He remembered Peggy sitting with Maggie on her knee on the small stool, letting the girl paw through her necklaces and play with her big fluffy make-up brushes. Maggie reaching for her eyeshadow and Peggy deftly pulling it away. Peggy being just a little too slow with the lipstick and the toddler bouncing around the house, proudly showing off the circle on the bottom half of her face to anyone who would look at her.

They’d loved their boys, but Maggie had both of their hearts in a way they hadn’t been prepared for.

Steve had to make up and excuse to leave the house the next morning when Maggie came down to breakfast, wearing the single pearl drop necklace he’d gotten for Peggy on their 25th wedding anniversary and her signature red lipstick. It was a good pain, but the first time he saw her in her grandmother’s necklaces, it was pain none the less.

~*~ Spring 2018

He knew the date it was supposed to happen. He’d kept up enough to know that it would, too. His other self was out there, somewhere, fighting what would become the biggest battle of his life.

Steve decided to focus on the small things. He kept the house stocked up with food and drinks, nonperishables that would last months and even years, toilet paper and paper towels. He ordered big metal shelves for the basement and made sure there was enough for multiple people for the long haul.

He didn’t know what would happen to his family in the snap- who would make it and who wouldn’t, but he was going to be sure whoever survived would be set for the following months where there was chaos, food and water shortages, and fear.

It would be a long five years for anyone that was left.

Even though she was home most nights, he asked Maggie for a standing Thursday night date. Some nights he showed her how to keep the house up: where the water main was, how to shut it on and off, where the gas line was, what to do if the roof started leaking. He made notebooks full of lists of things to do, how-to’s for the house and for life, and even, when he was awake in the middle of the night, wrote her letters so she wouldn’t be lonely.

Somehow, he just knew it would be him this time. He had survived the first snap, but if there were two of him and one survived, the other, statistically, did not. Thanos was very clear on how half worked.

Maggie, at first, had been scared. His family knew he had a knack for predicting the future, but didn’t know quite why.

Are you dying? Maggie had asked, fearing the worst when she started to realize that their Thursday night take-out and movie date was about more than just spending time together.

No, he’d said so very often, I just want you to be ready for anything.

Despite all of her questions, she went along with it.

When the day came, he couldn’t quite keep the sadness out of his eyes. Couldn’t quite smile at her. They ate pizza in front of the TV, watching a comedy Maggie had picked. He kept his eyes on his watch. It was coming.

His fingers itched. Like he could already feel his cells pulling apart.

He reached out, taking her hand in his and covering it with is other hand. “Maggie, you know I love you, right?”

She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She’d sensed his anxiety all day. “Of course, I do. And I love you, Pop Pop.”

He looked away and then back at her. “I promise you, whatever happens, I’m alright, and I’ll be back.”

“Pop Pop,” her eyes filled with tears, “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, “I’ve left you everything you’ll need, and I promise I’ll be back.”

A tear fell from her eye as she squeezed his hand tighter. “But where…”

It was as if the world went silent as it started to happen. Though the television droned on in the background, he could swear the air was stiller. He started to see the dust fill the air and tried not to breathe.

But it was wrong.

It wasn’t him.

Her hand was falling to nothing in his, the fear in her eyes haunting as the skin of her cheeks flecked into the air, swirling before falling along with the rest of her into a pile on the couch.

It was so fast. So fast.

And it wasn’t him.

“No…” The word fell from his lips as a whisper, sobs starting to form in his throat.

~*~

He wondered, nearly every night for five years, if Thanos knew. If it had somehow been a conscious choice to keep him alive, to make him suffer just a little more. To make him watch his other self on television trying to promote healing.

Sometimes, he realized that this was a blessing. His sons and granddaughter were safe while they were snapped, protected by the fabric of the universe. Bucky had told him that he didn’t remember anything from being snapped, didn’t feel any different when he woke up than if he’d taken a long, heavy nap.

Somewhere, his family was taking the universe’s longest nap without him.

But they’d be spared these memories. They’d be spared lonely nights of missing loved ones and too little to eat while the world sorted out the jobs that were suddenly empty to keep things running for those that were left behind.

They’d be spared the fear of the gangs that started roaming the streets of half abandoned cities, looting for food and clothes in stores that had never officially closed but also couldn’t open with their owners simply gone.

They’d be spared the rolling blackouts and the contaminated water scares.

They’d be spared the fear of the country as the government suddenly found itself missing elected officials and the infighting and the rhetoric that came with martial law and hasty elections.

They’d be spared so, so much pain and loss.

Every day, he relived it all, twice over.

He counted every day for five years, making his way through each week and month motivated by only one thought: they were coming back. He needed to be ready for them, for her.

He helped his daughter in law keep their house, managed his other son’s apartment in DC and kept his things ready and waiting, made sure Maggie’s things were safe and in working order, made sure her bank account stayed open and her phone bill was paid. He’d never, not once, considered he’d be the one left behind, and the logistics of all there was to do left him busy for the first few weeks.

Everyone told him his hope that the dusted would return was infectious, but after the first year, people stopped listening. He knew, for a fact, they’d come back, but everyone else didn’t. Even the past him was operating on the idea that they’d never be back.

Some days he didn’t make it out of bed. He laid there, talking to the ceiling, whispering to Peggy, wishing she could talk back, wishing she could be one of the ones brought back. He missed her with a ferocity that hadn’t changed since the first time he’d been in this time, but had only been tempered and strengthened by a lifetime together.

As the days drew closer to the five-year mark, he began to make arrangements.

~*~ October 2023

He cleaned the living room and set it to the way it had been that night. He pulled out every note and letter he’d written Maggie and his children and put them in the kitchen, ready and waiting.

He sat on the couch, facing the blank television, a new, piping hot, pepperoni pizza sitting in front of him, untouched.

He still couldn’t eat.

He still didn’t know if this was the right timeline. As he’d gotten closer to this day his faith had wavered. What if all he’d come to believe wasn’t true? What if this wasn’t the one fourteen million? He wanted to believe, but he didn’t know for sure.

He looked at his watch, watching as the seconds ticked by. What were a few seconds to him? He’d lived more than one lifetime, and that had been enough. He had barely made it through these five years the first time. The second time had almost truly broken him. He was ready for this to be over. He was ready to stop having to deal with loss and to be able to live whatever time he had left with the family he loved.

He held out his hand, and waited.

#3P's Fic #so sad #I am so sorry #yes #that's the end

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sxveme-2 · 4 years ago

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blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Thirteen: The One With the Aftermath

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1937

"He did what!?" Gen and Rose's high-pitched squeals vibrated through the cellphone, resulting in Lily dropping it from her hands in surprise. Lily had broken the news to the two about the actions taken by Mr. James Buchanan Barnes just hours before in her kitchen. The way his calloused hand and cool prosthetic rested against her pale cheeks, holding her face as though it were a fine piece of china that would break if he applied too much pressure. Followed by the pressing of his petal-soft lips to her own, creating undeniable friction between the two not even Lily's deflective tendencies could deny. All over a cup of coffee.

"Okay woah, let's relax there," Lily sighed while finishing zipping up the flower-patterned muted coral skirt she had slid on above her white lace tank top. Her hand gripped onto a cropped red cardigan that hit just below the waist of the high-cut skirt. A cute and simple outfit that encompassed the true aesthetic of Lily Osborne. One that the girls on the phone disapproved of. Speaking of which, "It was just a kiss...it doesn't mean anything, right?"

Two conflicting parts of Lily seemed to have been raging war in her mind. On one hand, she prayed and hoped that the kiss meant nothing to him. That it was simply a heat of the moment sort of thing. The tension and adrenaline of the night had welled to a head in Bucky and he made an impulsive decision that didn't mean anything. It was just a kiss. Nothing more. Nothing less. But on the other hand, Lily secretly wished that the kiss was out of some sort of romantic feeling. That he had kissed her because the slight crush that Lily had on the man out of time was reciprocated. And that he felt the same way that she did. But honestly, she wouldn't believe that if someone wrote it in the sky out of the smoke from a plane. Mostly because she herself didn't believe it was even remotely possible. A guy like that liking a girl like her? It was a cliche trope but she never thought in her wildest dreams he would even look at her in a way like that.

"You should totally ask him," Rose chimed in, seemingly shooing someone away. Lily had figured the two were sitting in the kitchen at Gen's cafe, munching on pastries as they awaited even more juicy gossip from Lily. But they would be sadly disappointed because the kiss was really the only news that Lily had. But it wouldn't stop them from hoping, "He seems like an honest guy. He already kissed you and you kissed back, what's the worst that could happen?"

After a few more minutes of back and forth between the three girls, Lily hung up her phone to focus on fixing the mop of golden hair atop her head. It was only 9 o'clock in the morning, and after the events that had transpired the night before, Lily didn't expect to see Hunter come in to her room or down to the main floor for another while. Bucky, however, Lily didn't know if he was wandering around her home, or if he had taken off somehow. If the avengers sent someone to pick him up or something. But, after leaving the soft curls be and dancing across her shoulders, Lily would soon come to learn that answer to her confusion before.

Sitting at the birchwood dinner table sat Bucky Barnes and Lily's son plowing down on some frosted flakes while laughing over something. Lily stood on the landing of the stairs, heart growing even larger than it already was. It felt as though the beating organ inside of her may explode at the drop of a hat if she kept staring at the beautiful moment in front of her. A beaming smile on her son’s youthful face and a mirrored one on the stubble-covered and worn face of the Winter Soldier. Neither boy had spotted the blonde staring longingly at them from the staircase, and she prayed silently that they didn't. Instead, she slid her phone out of her skirt pocket and took a quick picture, wanting to relive the moment a million times over if she could.

"Mom!" Hunter exclaimed when Lily's feet hit the bottom of the stairs finally. He shot from his chair and curled his slim arms around the waist of his mother. Lily smiled gently as she bent down to rest a kiss on his forehead before turning to the older man who too seemed to watch in bliss at the interaction. A similar expression to the one Lily wore just moments ago.

"Morning buddy, didn't expect to see you awake right now." the blonde smiled after Hunter released her from his grip and returned to his seat. She bent down to pick up Joey's dish, the dog's ears perking up from the mat in front of the door to the backyard. After she filled up the dog’s food and gave him his morning kisses, Lily found herself sitting at the table across from the brunette man that had stayed in her guest bedroom the night before, "Frosted flakes this morning, hm? I thought these were only for Saturday breakfasts and your birthday?"

"I pulled them out, they were the first thing I saw when I opened the pantry, I hope that's okay." His timid voice radiated across the table towards Lily, causing her eyes to shift from her son over to the rugged man that sat across from her at the table. A faint grin spread along her slightly puffed features caused by her morning rise. For a second, their eyes met and the world melted away as it always seemed to do when they met iris's. Something that Lily was sure she wouldn't be able to get used to.

-----

Not too long after all three had completed their breakfast, Lily had to excuse herself. She had a duty to call her lawyer today and set up a review of her and Scott's custody agreement. There was no way in hell after that stunt occurred, Scott would be keeping partial custody of their son. He left Hunter home alone with a clearly lousy babysitter, as well as he had lied to mary about who her child was left in the hands of. Everything about the situation was already unnerving for Lily. One part in particular that just stuck in her mind like it had been superglued, was the fact Hunter had said that the person attempting to break into Scott's apartment, or at least get his attention, was there specifically for Scott. Not just to play a heinous joke or commit a petty crime. No, they were looking for Scott Harvey specifically. And that one part did not sit well with Lily.

But instead, she had a New York-level lawyer to handle.

"Lily! it's been ages since you've called. what can I do for you today love?" the man's raspy voice echoed through the phone she held to her ear.

Carter Evanson was the man that helped Lily through the roughest parts of her divorce. Kept her sane through the entire process alongside Rose and Gen. She had been so thankful for his kind words of encouragement as she would recount the numerous emotional trauma stories she had faced in her marriage to Scott. How he hadn't touched her in ages. How whenever he came home he was drunk and always smelled of another woman's perfume. But Lily never decided to look further into these things back then. He had made her believe that nothing she did would ever make her good enough. He was the best she would get. No other man would want a woman who already had a kid and a divorce under her belt. Scott Harvey had manipulated Lily into believing she was less worthy of just about anything in the world, and she continued to believe it to this day.

But Carter's kind voice created a sense of comfort throughout the whole divorce process. Always encouraging her and remind her how good of an idea this was. That everything would work out for her. How she was strong enough to get through it without chickening out like she always seemed to do. Whether it was his warm and energetic voice that would constantly play in the back of her mind when sitting down at Scott's lawyer’s table, writing out their custody agreement as well as their splitting of assets. And because of him, the divorce became final and the majority of assets and custody landed in the a-line skirt-covered lap of Lily Osborne.

"Hey Carter, I need to set up an appointment with Scott to redo the entire custody agreement. Something happened and Hunter cannot go back there- oh I'm getting another call," Lily continued, clearing her throat after placing the lawyer on hold and answering the call, "Doctor Lily Osborne."

"Ms. Osborne? This is sergeant Harrison, we just interviewed the man who attempted to break into your ex-husband's apartment last night and uh...we need you to come into the station. Right now if possible." the police officer explained, his voice reverberating through the front of her mind, setting off her heart into a mile a minute race.

-----

Arriving at the LAPD station, or more specifically, the 88th precinct, Lily rushed through and up the elevator and up towards where they had instructed Lily to go. She had to apparently see the culprit, so after convincing Bucky to watch the young boy that is Hunter Osborne, she arrived at the precinct in a rush. The moment she heard the elevator ding, she ran out in a rush and past the small gate that blocked off the desks from the public. She saw the Sergeant she spoke to on the phone and let her ballet flat-clad feet rush forward.

"Ms. Osborne, thank you for getting here so fast." the large man sighed, neck-craning down to look at the small blonde that had rushed through, "here, come with me." Sergeant Harrison sighed softly while leading the young doctor towards the interview room.

He walked her through the doors that kept them separate from the criminal that sat in front of the two-way mirror. The moment that Lily spotted the man in front of her, the young girl had to furrow her eyebrows together. The mop of blonde hair atop the man’s head screamed at Lily in a violent signal that there was something very wrong here. The way his shoulder slouched and the fact that she was unable to see his face because of his hunched posture. She figured he was too embarrassed or ashamed to even look at himself in the mirror that the police officer and Lily looked through. But his body type, his hair, the bracelet that sat on his hand looked so familiar to Lily.

"Alright sir please state your name quickly so we can get this show started." a woman's voice sighed as she entered the room that was blocked off from Lily's presence. She was a breathtaking beauty and it almost took Lily back before she reminded herself that was not exactly what she was here for. To be honest, she wasn't 100% sure why she was actually here.

A screeching behind her caught the blonde’s attention. The Sergeant that had brought her in had pushed a chair up behind her, gesturing her to sit. Saying a quick remark about how she may need to with what she was about to learn. It caused her heart to set off into such a quick beat that she was worried it may explode inside of her chest. Whatever was about to happen clearly wasn't good news for Lily. So she sat and waited. And almost threw up.

"My name is Cedar Osborne."

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rosethornewrites · 4 years ago

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 15

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations

Summary: The conversation continues, and the Jiang siblings react.

Notes: This chapter was hard to write, but I finally got there! Lots of dialog, which had to be balanced. Updates are slow. Life is busy. Lots of responsibilities, and non-productive insomnia. Honestly, the most research I did for this chapter was on family and martial family names.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

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

Wei Ying’s words only seem to echo in the courtyard, their gravity giving them weight that feeds the illusion. The Jiang siblings stare at him, looking concerned but puzzled.

“But you found her,” Jiang Wanyin says slowly. “She restored my core.”

“I never found her,” Wei Ying says, looking at his bowl on the table rather than his brother. “I didn’t know what to do, A-Cheng—you wanted to die!”

The words are said in a rush, with remembered grief. For once, Jiang Wanyin seems struck dumb, and Lan Wangji is glad of it—Wei Ying needs no interruptions. Already his posture is defensive.

“I looked for a way. Went through Wen Qing’s whole library. And I found a theory.”

His voice breaks at the last word, and Lan Wangji squeezes his hand, letting Wei Ying know he is here for him. He knows this reminds his husband of the decision he made, to what for most would seem like an impossible choice.

“A-Xian, what theory?”

Jiang Yanli, despite her makeup, looks wan and afraid.

“In her papers. Treatments she’d theorized,” Wei Ying clarifies. “It was the only place I found any options. And I didn’t know what else to do.”

He’s stalling, but inadvertently drawing out the pain. Lan Wangji squeezes his hand again, unable to resist the urge to comfort him.

Zidian sparks and Jiang Wanyin glares, his patience spent.

“What did you do?” he hisses.

Lan Wangji is fairly certain they’ve already realized and are hoping they’re wrong. He rubs the back of Wei Ying’s hand with his thumb.

“It was a theory about core transplants,” Wei Ying says.

The shifting of emotions on Jiang Wanyin’s face makes his understanding clear. Jiang Yanli’s brows furrow, her expression one of confusion.

“Tell me you didn’t,” he hissed. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Wei Ying flinches—he can tell him no such thing, at least not without lying, because he did. Instead he silently holds his free wrist out to Jiang Wanyin, as he had only days before with Xichen, inviting him to see the truth himself.

The Jiang sect leader recoils, physically leaving his seat and backing from the table, his face a mask of horror.

“No,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

And so it is Jiang Yanli who reaches forward, sends her qi through Wei Ying’s meridians, and finds the emptiness where his core once sat. Lan Wangji can tell the moment she realizes, as tears spill over, cutting furrows in her makeup.

Wei Ying immediately panics, pulling his hand from Lan Wangji’s grip, dabbing at her face with his sleeves.

“Shijie, you’ll ruin your dress. It’s okay, don’t cry.”

“It’s just a dress,” she says, her voice hitching. “And it’s not okay, Xianxian. Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you let us help you? You’ve been suffering for so long and…”

She lets out a sob so deep it seems like it comes from her soul. Wei Ying lets out a little distressed noise, his hands fluttering helplessly, as though he wants to hug her but fears sullying her wedding dress.

“Wei Wuxian, why?” Jiang Wanyin asks, his chest heaving as he fights his emotions. “I didn’t ask you to do that!”

He’s still standing backed away from the table, unwilling or unable to come closer.

“You wanted to die,” Wei Ying says helplessly. “You said if you couldn’t avenge Lotus Pier alive or dead you’d rather be dead. You’re my brother—what else could I have done?”

Lan Wangji knows there is more, implied—after losing so much, how could Wei Ying stand to lose his brother? How much family could he stand to lose, losing his parents young, and then his entire martial family with the fall of Lotus Pier?

“I’d rather lose my golden core than that,” he finally whispers. “You could rebuild the sect with my core.”

“You could’ve rebuilt the sect with your core,” Jiang Wanyin retorts with a scowl.

Wei Ying smiles, but it’s a twisted, broken thing.

“No. I’ve always been whatever the gentry decides I am: the worthless son of a servant overreaching, sect leader’s secret bastard, weapon of war, and now Yiling Laozu. No one would accept me rebuilding the Jiang sect, even without the demonic cultivation, A-Cheng. I’d be a usurper at best, never taken seriously.”

“You would’ve proved them all wrong!” Jiang Wanyin protests.

Wei Ying shakes his head.

“Nothing will ever be enough. I’d never be able to restore the Jiang sect to its full glory. Only you could do that, A-Cheng.”

“He is correct,” Lan Wangji interjects when it looks like Jiang Wanyin might argue over it. “They have never accepted him, even after he helped win the war. Wei Ying has never been thanked or shown respect, only belittled and vilified. He would never have been permitted to be sect leader.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns at that but doesn’t try to argue. He cannot deny the truth.

“If they knew I took you to Wen Qing and you had died in her care, they’d say I killed you myself for power, that I worked with the Wens to destroy Lotus Pier, even. I’d have been executed, and shijie would be all alone and without a sect.”

There’s a touch of bitterness in his husband’s voice, and Lan Wangji touches his elbow, just to remind him he is there for him.

“Lotus Pier was my fault, so I guess they’d be part right,” Wei Ying mutters, the naked grief in his voice heart-wrenching.

Lan Wangji wonders if perhaps Wei Ying’s difficulty after the war was being in a place filled, at least metaphorically, with the ghosts of those for whose deaths he felt responsible. He had, by his own admission to Xichen, spent much of the time following the war drunk, until he liberated the work camp, using it as a way of coping with his trauma—from the fall of Lotus Pier, from the surgery, from Burial Mounds, from the resentful energy, from the war… All of it.

Perhaps rescuing these people has been his way of trying to even the scales on a debt that isn’t truly his.

“A-Xian, it wasn’t your fault. They were always going to attack Lotus Pier,” Jiang Yanli protests. “A-Niang would never have tolerated a supervisory office in our home.”

She’s still crying, and Wei Ying mops at her face so her tears won’t ruin her dress. Her eyes seem to search his face, desperate for a sign he believes her.

“It was never your fault,” she insists.

Wei Ying swallows hard.

“Madam Yu said—”

“A-Niang was wrong,” Jiang Wanyin snarls.

“And I know a-die told you to protect us, but who was going to protect you?” Jiang Yanli asks.

When he avoids her gaze, she reaches forward to cup his cheek.

“We didn’t protect you. You’d been whipped with zidian and lost your home, too, but you’re the one who took care of us. No one took care of you, but you’re our brother, my sweet didi.”

Wei Ying’s breath hitches, and instinctively Lan Wangji pulls him close, holds him from behind gently, hopes he can take strength from the embrace. It’s not a full embrace, the position awkward, more of a press of chest against back, his hand a light pressure on his hip, but it seems to help, regardless. It takes a few moments for Wei Ying to compose himself enough that he is willing to release him, and during that time Lan Wangji avoids looking at his siblings, not wishing to see their reactions.

A-Yuan is abruptly tugging on Wei Ying’s robes.

“A-Die sad? A-Die need a hug?”

Somehow Wei Ying manages a smile for the boy and pulls him up on his lap.

“Ah, my sweet son. That’s exactly what a-die needs.”

The child is happy to oblige, and then he lets Wen Ning take him back.

“You told him to call me guma, not shigu,” Jiang Yanli points out softly. “A-Cheng called him zhizi, not shizhi. And you told him to call A-Cheng shushu, not shishu. You know you’re our brother.”

She sounds almost forlorn, a sharp contrast from her fire when she claimed him as her didi on Phoenix Mountain to Jin Zixun.

Jiang Wanyin takes a step toward the table.

“Lotus Pier is rebuilt, and so is the Jiang sect,” he interjects. “You’re coming back. I’m giving it back. We’ll undo it.”

The offer is startling, something Lan Wangji didn’t expect from him, and the soft gasp from Wei Ying tells him it is a surprise to him as well. Wei Ying shakes his head.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” he says tiredly.

“Why the hell not?!”

He seems almost affronted by the rejection. Lan Wangji can feel Wei Ying shiver, knows he’s struggling. His husband has had to have so many difficult conversations in quick succession, and this one is the hardest so far. And the offer to return the golden core seems to have thrown him.

“Scarring,” Lan Wangji answers for him, remembering Wen Qing’s words.

Silence reigns for a moment, the Jiang siblings looking upset, clearly wanting more detail.

Wei Ying speaks haltingly, tells the tale he hasn’t told Lan Wangji, of being caught in the tea house in Yiling, of trying to escape, of Wen Zhuliu punching him right in the lower dantian, his stitches tearing at the impact. Of being beaten by Wen Chao’s men and burned by Wang Lingjiao.

“I had to get them to leave Yiling,” he said. “If they caught you coming down the mountain, it would’ve all been for nothing. I thought they’d toss me in a cell in Qishan. I didn’t expect Burial Mounds.”

Much of the rest of the story is the same as he told Xichen, this part having been omitted before likely to avoid having to talk about the Core-Melting Hand. This time, though, he also talks about the sword from the Xuanwu cave, the one filled with resentful energy, how it helped him survive Burial Mounds, that he crafted the seal from it during the war to help win it. Not, as the rumors suggested, from Xue Yang’s still-missing piece.

Much of this is new information to Lan Wangji, painting an even clearer picture of how incredibly impossible the odds were against Wei Ying’s survival.

Wei Ying continues to dab at his sister’s face with his sleeve as he talks, keeping her makeup from running onto her dress as she cries. In the quiet that follows, her soft crying seems to echo in the courtyard.

A-Yuan vocalizes that she needs a hug, and Wen Ning murmurs softly about her special dress that needs to be kept clean.

“Later,” Wen Ning says, and A-Yuan is assuaged.

Jiang Wanyin has, during the course of the telling, returned to the table to sit heavily. The customary pinched expression normally on his face is gone, his anger drained away for the moment.

“All those times I harassed you about your sword, about carrying it and polishing it,” Jiang Wanyin whispers, his voice choked.

“It’s too heavy for me to wield for more than a minute or so,” Wei Ying says hollowly. “Even to polish it.”

He had taken joy in his cultivation and even having given it up willingly, Lan Wangji knows it’s still something that hurts him deeply. He himself remembers the joy of crossing swords with him on the rooftop, what feels like a lifetime ago now. Bittersweet, never to happen again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jiang Wanyin finally asks. “You convinced me to expel you from the sect, dammit. Why would you tell Lan Wangji and not us? After he wanted to take you back to Gusu for punishment!”

“He did not tell me until I discovered his golden core was missing,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying is guiltless in that, and he will not let him be blamed.

“I wished to take him to Gusu for protection and healing, not punishment,” he adds.

Lan Wangji could see, throughout the war, that Wei Ying was suffering, that something was wrong, had wanted desperately to help him. He wonders if Jiang Wanyin is partly behind Wei Ying’s misconceptions about that, and tries not to be peeved—how much heartache could have been prevented?

“Wei-g-gongzi did not intend to t-tell anyone,” Wen Ning contributes.

His voice is sad, with a hint of disapproval for Wei Ying’s decision to withhold it. A-Yuan seems to decide he, too, needs a hug, throwing his arms around the fierce corpse’s neck.

“Then how do you know?” Jiang Wanyin demands.

“Wen Ning assisted Wen Qing with the core transplant,” Wei Ying says before Wen Ning can answer. “They were the only people who knew, until Lan Zhan found out.”

He does not, Lan Wangji notes, tell how, clearly sparing Wen Ning more ill-placed ire from Jiang Wanyin. It feels odd to be grateful his husband was injured, but without it, he might have walked away, down the mountain, ignorant of Wei Ying’s suffering.

“Is that why you stayed, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Jiang Yanli’s gaze is level despite her tears, her eyes sharp, and Lan Wangji feels as though she is weighing him still.

“En,” he answers simply. “I could only help him if I stayed.”

He had known for some time that his uncle was unlikely to help Wei Ying heal, that hiding him in Gusu would stifle him and destroy him just as it had destroyed his mother. Lan Wangji could continue to walk away, or he could stay.

“And the marriage?”

Lan Wangji isn’t quite certain what she is asking—perhaps the reason he told Wei Ying of the handfasting?

“It could protect him, even if it was simply political.”

She smiles, but it’s tight.

“No, I mean would you have told him, if you hadn’t learned?”

He doesn’t need time to consider the question; he assumed Wei Ying would reject him, as he had rejected the prospect of coming with him to Gusu. He had miscommunicated and misunderstood.

“No,” he says, welcoming her judgment, as he judges himself. “I expected it would be a burden to him, unwelcome.”

Wei Ying startles at the admission, glancing at him. Lan Wangji hates that he sees guilt in his expression over the misunderstanding, runs his hand across his shoulder to comfort him.

And realizes when his husband’s eyes go a little glassy that he’s run his hand over the hidden bite mark.

How could he have thought this would be unwelcome?

Jiang Wanyin snorts, and Lan Wangji’s ears burn at the sense of being seen doing something illicit.

“The way he mooned over you? Talked about you all the time.”

He sounds long-suffering, as though Lan Wangji should have been aware of Wei Ying’s regard. Now, of course, he can see nothing else. But before...

“And then after the war, he didn’t,” Jiang Yanli murmurs.

After Wei Ying had survived Burial Mounds and come out scarred and afraid.

“When I told him, Wei Ying tried to convince me he was unworthy,” Lan Wangji says. “I disagreed.”

Wei Ying tried to push him away before, when they were reunited after his disappearance, and Lan Wangji now knows it was out of a belief that he would somehow taint him.

“He feels himself unworthy of protection and love,” he adds.

A troubled look passes over Jiang Wanyin’s face, and Jiang Yanli just looks sad.

“That would be a-niang’s influence again,” she says softly. “A-Xian, we should have protected you better.”

Wei Ying shakes his head as though to deny their culpability, and she takes his hands.

“No, A-Xian. She was wrong about your worth, and I hate that she cut you and A-Cheng down so much.”

Jiang Wanyin looks uncomfortable, and Lan Wangji doubts it’s because of his sister’s lack of filial piety.

“She always compared me to you,” he grates after a moment. “I was never good enough, because you were better. And now you’ll always be better.”

Lan Wangji bristles on Wei Ying’s behalf, but his husband speaks first.

“I didn’t do it to compete with you, A-Cheng,” Wei Ying says tiredly. “What the fuck was the point of competing when you were dying? I just wanted you to live.”

“And what about you?” Jiang Wanyin retorts. “What about your life? You think I want it to be a competition, you asshole? You told me to abandon you, but you wouldn’t tell me the truth! You keep trying to throw yourself away!”

Wei Ying cringes, and Lan Wangji returns to holding him, his own anger fizzling out as he recognizes the feelings behind Jiang Wanyin’s.

“You didn’t expect to live this long, did you?”

The Jiang sect leader’s tone implies it’s not really a question but a realization, and Wei Ying’s flinch implies he’s right. Lan Wangji can’t stop his hold from tightening on Wei Ying, Jiang Wanyin’s words making him feel ill.

He has known his zhiji didn’t expect to live as long as he has, but neither of them has spoken of it. Wei Ying managed to survive Indoctrination and the Xuanwu, the fall of Lotus Pier and massacre of most of his adopted clan, the removal of his golden core, the fall and entrapment in Burial Mounds, the war… Lan Wangji hates that Jiang Wanyin is right in this, and hates even more that Wei Ying has faced so many situations that could have killed him.

“You keep protecting other people, but you won’t let anyone protect you!”

Jiang Wanyin is practically panting in anger.

“You always need to be the hero, Wei Wuxian! But all the heroes die!”

He sounds dangerously close to tears, and his words send a jolt of dread through Lan Wangji—just the idea of Wei Ying dying sends his stomach plummeting. He can feel Wei Ying shiver against him.

Jiang Yanli lets out a long breath, trying to compose herself. She gives Jiang Wanyin a warning look, and he scowls, looking away but clearly making an effort to calm down.

“We can only move forward,” she says. “A-Xian will just need to learn to let us protect him.”

“He is learning,” Lan Wangji tells her.

She manages a watery smile.

“When you’re hurt, it hurts us, Xianxian. Please let us help you.”

Wei Ying seems beyond words, and just nods. A tremor runs through him, and Lan Wangji knows he’s exhausted what energy he had left for the day with this conversation. His sister seems to sense this.

“A-Xian, you look tired.”

Again, Wei Ying only nods, but Lan Wangji is of the opinion there should be no more secrets.

“He was nearly possessed by a resentful spirit a few days ago,” he supplies.

Jiang Yanli gasps, and he tries not to be pleased that she will want to fix this, too. It will strengthen her resolve.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protests, but it seems more of a token protest.

“Fortunately, xiongzhang was visiting. He calmed it with Liebing. There are now talismans where we sleep.”

“It tried while he was sleeping?” Jiang Cheng almost demands. “Is it still so dangerous there?!”

“I fought her,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost petulant. “She was liberated in the end.”

“Not the point, Wei Wuxian!”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli scolds. “We can talk about this later. I need to change so we can go with him and talk to Wen Qing. I expect she will have more to say about it, as well.”

“J-jiejie needs some items from the market, so we need to b-buy them before we go back,” Wen Ning offers.

Jiang Yanli nods firmly.

“Then we’ll meet you in the market. And then I’ll be finally able to get a hug from my zhizi.”

A-Yuan beams at her, already recognizing himself as her nephew, and she stands and shakes out her cloak to don it. Jiang Wanyin packs the tureen back in the basket.

“Get this idiot to eat the rest of his bowl,” he says gruffly. “He’s too fucking skinny.”

“A-Cheng, language,” Wei Ying says almost automatically.

“Jiang-shushu said a bad word?” A-Yuan asks.

Jiang Wanyin looks almost panicked for a moment, then frowns.

“Yeah, yeah, Jiang-shushu said a bad word. Don’t be like Jiang-shushu.”

He gestures to the boy, who immediately climbs off Wen Ning’s lap and runs over, latching onto his leg, and he reaches down and rubs A-Yuan’s head affectionately.

“Get your a-die to eat the rest of his soup before he goes shopping, okay?”

A-Yuan nods emphatically, happy to be given such a task, then rushes to his a-die’s side, climbing up onto the seat Jiang Yanli vacated.

Jiang Wanyin stares at Wei Ying for a long while.

“We’ll fix this. We’ll figure something out,” he says heavily. “I owe you.”

Wei Ying shakes his head, obstinate.

“You don’t. I owed the Jiang sect everything.”

That proclamation doesn’t seem to sit well with his brother, who scowls.

“No. No debts between family. It’s not a debt I owe, and you didn’t owe me your Golden Core. It’s what you deserve as my brother. I let Jin Guangshan’s stupid mind games get to me.”

Jiang Yanli, back in her cloak, her wedding robes and headdress hidden, approaches him and touches his elbow, murmurs his name. Jiang Wanyin glances at her, and nods, taking the basket from her.

“We’re the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng, Wei Wuxian, and our sect motto is to attempt the impossible. We’ll find a way.”

Jiang Wanyin sweeps out of the courtyard with Jiang Yanli, and Lan Wangji can’t help but wonder if he spends his free time planning dramatic exits.

Wei Ying releases a long breath, sagging against him the moment they’re gone.

“Always needs to have the last word,” he murmurs.

It’s almost a mirror of what Lan Wangji is thinking, and he can’t help a huff of amusement. Wei Ying turns to him with a tired smile.

“Aiya, all that was missing was a cape for him to swish dramatically.”

Lan Wangji has seen some of those capes, and can easily imagine such a thing.

“Wei Ying also has a flair for the dramatic,” he comments.

“Yeah, but I have style,” he retorts with a snort.

He turns to the soup, thankfully not needing prompting. Lan Wangji had expected it would have gone cold by now, but it’s still steaming. Likely the scent aroused Wei Ying’s hunger. He suspects the bowl has a talisman affixed to or carved onto the bottom, meant to keep the contents warm. Somewhat extravagant, but it allows his husband to enjoy hot soup even after all the arguing, so he is grateful for the forethought.

They will have some time, he knows. Jiang Yanli’s robes are intricate and will need to be removed with care to avoid damage, and the headdress will also be complex to remove. She will need to wash the makeup from her face as well.

Time enough for Wei Ying to finish eating, to dawdle a little while shopping to account for the exhaustion he undoubtedly feels, to take a breath before more difficult conversation.

They have time, a gift Wei Ying apparently didn’t expect to have, and Lan Wangji will work to ensure he has much more.

The Twin Prides, after all, now have the support of the Twin Jades.

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chinuppoppins · 4 years ago

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Dani and Jamie: Revolutionary War AU

(so this is about six pages long and my first fic in 2 years. It was six pages long so I will be posting a part 2 to my AO3 later)

The air outside was crisp and cool, a perfect autumn night. It was nice out on the balcony compared to the stuffy and noisy air in the ballroom behind her. It was not like she hated parties, she just did not like being around a lot of people. It was the looks of pity that she was still given after all this time, the whispers from the patrons how she was too young, too pretty, too delicate to be a widow. It was the ones that were a bit cruel, how he died foolishly and wickedly with no gravestone.

Duels, according to some was compared to suicided. Rumors went around why her late husband, a private in the ongoing revolution, dueled a fellow man, but she new the truth. A rumor, no, a truth about her, how she allowed a woman’s touch to linger and how her husband had to defend her- no, his honor. His pistol backfired after she begged him to raise it to the sky and he laid dead in the mud in Jersey of all places. She had been in their small Philadelphia home before an errand boy came for her. Her husband was already dead by the time she arrived at the doctor’s home and she wept of course and shakily took his cracked spectacles from his greying face. He died for her selfishness and she reminded about that every time she looked in a mirror, he was always behind her, haunting her memories.

“Dani,” She turns around to see her aunt standing at the doorway. “Come inside, you’ll catch a chill from being out here.” The older women smiled. “Besides a group of Washington’s men have just arrived and they are pretty easy on the eyes.” She added with a wink. “And you look like you could use a drink.”

She allows a small laugh to escape her lips before she nods her head and allows her aunt to take her arm and drag her back into the busy room. Sure enough men in blue coats now added themselves to the festivities. Women surrounded them, faces flushed and full of giggles, wine for sure helped give them their glow. She took a glass for herself as she scanned the room, finding a lone solider standing beside a potted plant, inspecting the drooping leaves. Dani sighed as she downed her glasses before pulling the server over to grab another one, she had to keep up an appearance. Though as she made her way over to the lone solider, a friend stopped her for a second. “Careful, Dani.” She slurs just a bit. “That ones a bit odd, a mute apparently.”

Dani raises a brow, even better. She did not have to fake a laugh at terrible jokes. “Odd, just my type.” She jokes as her friend shrugs. So, she makes her way across the room to the odd solider in the blue coat with red and white trim. “I’m guessing that plant is a better conversation than the people in her.” She laughs a bit awkwardly. “Probably better than the night sky.”

The solider turns around and Dani is surprised by his feminine features, she had to blink to make sure that she was seeing delicate features on this man. If she did not know any better- no, masquerading around as a man was a crime that was punishable by death. She knew the story of Joan of Arc. “My name is Danielle, I wanted to thank you for your service.”

The solider smiles softly and nods, not speaking.

“I’m sorry if this seems odd, but could I keep your company for the rest of the night?” Dani asks. “I’m a bit of an outcast myself and I’d rather not be here but being that this is my aunt’s home and I still have to social climb, I have to. So?”

The solider nods and keeps her company. They do not move from the wilting plant, but every time a waiter passes them, either she or the solider grabs them another glass of wine. Dani finds herself a bit drunk as she talks to the solider, well more talks at rather than too. The solider listens and Dani cannot help but to let almost everything off her shoulders. The solider seems intrigued though, their own brow raising when she speaks about the rumor that got his husband killed, while adding with a whisper that maybe it was not just a rumor. Dani’s eyes widen in horror after realizing what she let slip, that rumor, that lie could get her committed or worse. So, she stands up and excuses herself, turning in horror when she realizes the solider is following her. A cool rush of fear washes over her as she picks up her pace, trying to find a lone balcony and when she is unable to find one, she settles to the empty gardens. For a moment, Dani thinks she is alone and lets out a shaky breath before she feels a hand on her arm.

Dani jumps back and lets out a jumble of words. “I- I’m drunk and I just, I don’t- I.”

“It’s alright.” The solider finally speaks, a soft and womanly voice to match their feminine features. “I’m not going to say anything.”

Dani’s eyes widen in awe, because her intuition was right, this solider was a woman and perhaps she was braver than her male counterparts. “You’re- you, do you realize what they would do if they found out?”

The other woman rolls her eyes. “Do you have any idea what they would do to you if they found out about you?” She questions back. “You need to be careful who you tell your truth too, you’re a pretty face, they wouldn’t kill you. They would just try to fix you and I don’t think you want that.”

Dani frantically looks around as she struggles to process this. “I don’t understand.” She finally whispers. “Why would you risk your life to fight in the war?”

The woman sighs. “It’s complicated- family is complicated.” Her eyes narrow. “Why would you tell me your truth?”

“I- I don’t know, I’ve had a lot to drink and I just felt that you were- are,” Dani stumbles, finding herself flushing at the woman’s smile.

“Different?” She finishes and Dani nods. “I am different, and I want you to know that there is nothing wrong with being different.” She shucks her hands in her pockets and toes the grass. “I’m Jamie, but the men in there, they think I’m Michael the Mute, you think you can go along with that one?” She grins when Dani nods. “Good and how about after this party is over and we part ways, you write to me? I’d love to have someone to talk to.”

“Of course.” Dani agrees. It is a nice feeling to have a friend in all of this after all and a friend with a secret that was almost as dangerous as her own.

By the time Dani hears from her dear friend again, a fresh blanket of snow covers the ground, and she took a job as a governess for a prominent patriot family. She is walking the grounds with the two children, reading aloud a story to them as the snow crunches beneath their feet. Their lesson is interrupted when the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose, a tender and devote woman comes out to her with a letter. The older woman raises a brow and of course Dani loses the children to the fresh snow at their feet. “A letter from a suitor?” Mrs. Grose asks while a snowball speeds past their heads, missing them by a mere inch. Despite the chilly air, Dani blushes. She never once thought of Jamie as a suitor. After all, being with another woman was frowned upon. Part of her, however, did not care. She breaks the wax seal and settles down on a bench as she reads the letter with a mile-wide smile on her face. Jamie was brave, very brave with what she was doing. True, Dani didn’t her motives, why she was parading around as a solider. As she reads, little Flora joins her on the bench, peering over her shoulder as she reads about Jamie’s adventures, she was in Jersey now. She spoke about how the men were becoming weary and sick of battle. So many good men lost due to freeing this country and Jamie spoke about the sympathy she felt towards the dead and their families. However, she pauses for a moment when she reads how excited she is to come home and see her. She had hoped to be home around Christmas, however rumors about a new plan to push back the British was in the works. So maybe, just maybe she would be home after Christmas and that she would be honored to be able to celebrate with her. “Miss. Clayton?” Flora’s little voice breaks her trance. “Who is the letter from? Do you have someone special?”

Dani laughs a bit and then nods. “Something like that, it’s from a friend.”

“Just a friend?” Miles asks coyly.

Flora giggles. “Yes, Miss. Clayton. You are blushing.”

Dani folds the letter up and sticks it into her pocket. “This has nothing to do with your lessons today. Now come along, your parents expect you to be fluent in French by the end of this year and my personal life has nothing to do with that.”

Letters come frequently now and Dani always writes back quickly always ending each letter with ‘Yours, Dani’ while every letter to her starts with a ‘My Dearest, Dani’ She is in her room when she reads that and she giggles and giggles and giggles with a flushed face. It was an odd feeling; she never felt this way about her own husband. There was a different feeling with Eddie, almost how friend loves another friend. Reading letter from Jamie made her heart race, her palms sweat and cause her stomach to flutter. Dani felt giddy, like a child on Christmas morning and she becomes even more excited when she reads that Jamie would be visiting her soon, about how they were victorious in Trenton and how she earned this break. It would be after Christmas, possibly after the new year.

Jamie keeps her promise and manages to arrive a few days after the new year to the mansion she was staying in. The children spot her first and perk up from their books. “Miss. Clayton! Miss Clayton, look! It’s the solider you’ve been writing to!”

In her last letter, Dani told Jamie it was okay to be herself. Mr. and Mrs. Wingrave were a different breed of people. They knew about Dani’s truth and never spoke a word about it, they were kind and had open hearts. They understood her and accepted her, and she knew they would do the same for Jamie.

Dani walks from the blackboard to the window to peer out the frost covered glass, forcing it up when she realized that it was Jamie pushing herself through the snow. “Jamie!” Dani shouts, voice full of joy into the winter air. Jamie looks up, using her hand to block out the sun. “You’re early!”

Jamie scoffs. “Yes, well, I wanted to surprise you.” She shouts back. “But it looks like my plans was thwarted by two little imps.” She points towards the children.

Laughing, Dani pushes herself from the window while Flora and Miles watch from the window. “Miss. Clayton was telling the truth, the solider is a girl.” Miles points out as their governess rushes out of the classroom and down the stairs. The large doors fling open and Flora sighs when Dani rushes into her arms while their laughter fills the morning air. “It’s romantic, isn’t it, Miles?” Flora leans on her hand. “To see Miss. Clayton smile like that, it’s perfectly-”

“Splendid, yes, yes.” The older boy finishes as he fixes his jacket. “Come along, Flora, we should introduce ourselves properly.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Flora exclaims. “I have so many questions for the lady solider, how scandalous.” She adds with a giggle.

Miles turns quickly and puts a finger to his lips. “Flora remember that we mustn’t tell anyone about Miss. Clayton and her friend. Remember what mother and father said, if people find out- they won’t be kind.”

When the children enter the foyer, they see their governess taking the blue coat off of her- well the children were smart, they quickly picked up that perhaps that Jamie was more than just a friend even if the adults were too shy to admit it. “This is full of holes.” Dani seems to tease, poking her finger through one of the tears. “Did anyone teach you how to sew?”

The woman shrugs. “Oh yes, fixing the holes is number one on my list, right under evading British gunfire.”

“I can patch that up for you.” Mrs. Grose says as she comes out of the parlor and takes that coat from Dani. “This one here is terrible at it, I’ve seen her attempt it on the children’s clothes. It is her fingers that need the patching up when she’s finished. I am Mrs. Grose, the Wingrave’s housekeeper,” She looks at Dani, smiling. “It’s nice to finally be able to meet you. We have heard so much about you, the children and I light a candle for you every morning, we are just so taken with your bravery.”

“Oh, the children!” Dani had almost forgotten about them; she was just too entranced by Jamie being here. While only meeting in person once, it was the letters that brought them close. The playful nicknames and the plans for the future, hints here there about their past. The little tidbits of information that was passed only between the two, things that she would leave out when she had read them out loud to the children. She spots them though, standing by the staircase and ushers them over. “This young man right here is Miles, and this little lady is Flora.”

Flora pushes herself in front of her brother and curtseys. “Oh, it is such a pleasure to meet you. Miss. Clayton told us about your adventures, why, we didn’t even know you were a woman until- well until a few days ago.” She took Jamie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Father says we are fighting for,” She pauses as she recalls her lessons. “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and he says that Miss. Clayton and you both have a right to be happy.” Flora beams as she clapped her hands together. “He and mother have a wonderful offer for you at dinner. It’s perfectly splendid.”

Jamie blinks while impressed with the little girl’s vocabulary. She raises an eyebrow towards Dani as she knelt in front of her. “Well aren’t you an intelligent little thing, how old are you?”

“She’s eight and I’m ten.” Miles speaks up, stepping forward. “And our intelligence is all thanks to our wonderful teacher. Lessons can be boring, but Miss. Clayton makes it fun for us. She says, sometimes it’s better to learn with you hands rather than being in a book all day.”

Jamie smirks while Dani blushes. Jamie once stated in a letter that she learned almost everything she knew today with her hands. It is how she learned to farm and to paint after all. “Well, Miss. Clayton sure knows what she is doing.” She grins over toward Dani. “She is very bright, after all.”

Mrs. Grose looks between the two and then walks over towards the children, standing between them. “Well, I think we’ve bothered you long enough and I think the children deserve the rest of the day off, wouldn’t you agree Miss. Clayton. That way you and Jamie can catch up, maybe show her where she is staying?”

Dani brightens and nods her head. “Yes, of course. I’m sure you two can busy yourselves and stay out of trouble?” The children both nod, Flora exclaiming that she does need some time with her dolls while Miles takes his book into the parlor. “They are only being this well behaved because they are dying to hear your stories.” Dani whispers, as she leads Jamie up the stairs. As they wander into one of the halls, Jamie stops, causing Dani to turn to her in concern.

“Are you sure that it’s safe?” Jamie asks. “You trust these people enough?”

Using both of her hands, Dani cups her face, a serene smile on her face. “I promise you; we’ll be safe here. They actually want you to work here after the war, they want to give us a small plot of land on the Manor to build a home.”

Jamie chuckled as she covered her hand over hers, pressing her forehead against Dani’s with her eyes closed. She felt at peace for the first time in a long time, like this woman was her home. “How did you even find these people?”

“They found me,” Dani sighs. “But that is a story for later, you look exhausted. When was the last time you had a good sleep?”

Pulling back, Jamie shrugs. “I have no idea really.”

Dani takes her hand and leads her to her room. “Well, lucky for you, there are some pretty comfortable beds here.”

Once she gets settle, Dani wants to be courteous and give her some time alone. However, Jamie stops her asking her to stay. So, she does, and they lay into bed together, Jamie reaching out to run her fingers through her blonde hair. Her eyes flutter and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Can I tell you something? Just please don’t start thinking I’m strange.”

Jamie scoffs. “I already think you’re a bit strange, Dani, but that’s what I adore about you.” She adds with a wink. “What it is?”

Dani reaches and takes Jamie’s free hand, caressing her rough knuckles. “Before you came along, I always saw him, my late husband. He was my childhood friend, everyone expected us to marry so, we did. I never loved him, not the way he loved me and that and my attraction to women is what got him killed in the end. Sometimes I would feel him over my shoulder, catch him out of the corner of my eye. I guess the guilt was driving me mad, but then, I read your letters and I just felt- different. I stopped seeing him, he no longer haunts me. I just wish things were different.”

“His pride killed him, darling, not you.” Jamie assures her. “How do you mean though, with wishing things were different?”

Dani smirks, bringing Jamie’s hand towards her lips, gently kissing her knuckles. “I wish I met you earlier. Then we could just be two spinsters, living in a cabin with two cats- maybe a dog too.”

Jamie snorts and rolls her eyes. “Yes, spinsters wouldn’t raise eyebrows. We all know what they are doing in their life of celibacy.” She adds with raised brows, laughing at her own joke before Dani moves in, taking her- hell maybe herself by surprise and kisses her softly and slowly. She pulls away just an inch, a soft laugh escapes her lips. “Never done that with another woman before, hm?

Dani shakes her head and Jamie grins. “No I- you’re the first.”

“Well,” She runs both hands into her hair. “We should keep at it practice makes perfect, after all.” Jamie points out, pressing her lips against Dani’s smiling against her lips when she felt her relax in her arms. They had all afternoon alone and Jamie planned to make it a memorable one.

#dani x jamie #the haunting of bly manor #dani clayton #my edits #sorry the moodboard is kinda blah #finding good pictures of Amelia is rough

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mcgrillzdumpinc · 4 years ago

Text

In Which Nie Huaisang Does Not Know How to Drop It

Summary: Jin Guangyao intercepts one of Nie Huaisang's trade deals. Nie Huaisang won't rest until he gets his revenge. Jiang Cheng would very much like his husband to drop it.

Written for sangchengber day 4 - Crime AU!

Rating: M

Pairing: Sangcheng

Warnings: Talk of sex

ao3 link

“I’m going to kill Yao-ge!”

His husband’s voice echoes through their apartment and into the master bathroom. Until now, Jiang Cheng didn’t even know Nie Huaisang was home.

Sighing and removing the cucumber slices from his eyes, Jiang Cheng calls back, “Welcome home, A-Sang.”

“Hello my love! I’m home!” Nie Huaisang enters the master bath, still dressed to the nines. “Know any contract killers I can hire?”

Jiang Cheng sinks further into his bath. He’d been planning to take the day to himself, away from the family business. But crime doesn’t sleep and, apparently, neither does the weird friend-enemy relationship between Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao.

“What happened now?” Jiang Cheng asks as he starts to chew on the cucumber slices.

Nie Huaisang begins disrobing with a significant sigh. “You remember I was going to finalize that trade agreement with the Tang family? They’ll get top of the line ecstasy from the Nie and we’ll get access to their spy network?” Off goes Nie Huaisang’s top, revealing the intricate and lace-like tattoo that encircles his waist. “Well, take a guess at what Yao-ge did!”

Jiang Cheng watches in appreciation as Nie Huaisang removes his black thigh highs. “He killed your contact in the Tang family?”

Then goes the pleated skirt. “Worse! He intercepted the trade and took the deal for himself! Now the Jin will have everything my family was supposed to.” Finally, he removes his satin briefs, gloriously naked and unfairly sexy in front of Jiang Cheng.

“In that case, I don’t think killing him will fix anything,” Jiang Cheng counsels. As Nie Huaisang approaches the bath, Jiang Cheng leans over the bathtub rim, reaching out a hand to grab his husband’s ass.

“Not right now, A-Cheng,” Nie Huaisang says, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s hand to leave an apologetic kiss on the inside of his wrist. “I need to think.” Without bothering to remove his makeup, Nie Huaisang slips into the bath. Thankfully, their tub is more than large enough to accommodate the two of them.

“About killing Jin Guangyao or taking a more civilized route?”

“Would you be mad if I said both?”

“I’d be very annoyed. It’s hard enough making sure the Ouyang and Yao families stay loyal to only the Jiangs. If you start a war with the Jin, I’ll be up to my eyeballs with internal conflict.”

Nie Huaisang clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll be nice this time.”

“Will you try to make a new trade agreement with the Tang? Or weasel your way into the one Jin Guangyao finalized?”

Nie Huaisang sinks into the bathwater, the bottom of his hair floating with the soap bubbles. “Probably see if I can convince Yao-ge to renegotiate. First I should figure out why he wanted my trade agreement. Then I’ll stick it to that bitch.”

Jiang Cheng smiles and slots himself between Nie Huaisang’s legs, hovering about his husband. “That’s the man I married,” he says, doing his best to sound seductive.

It must work, because Nie Huaisang tucks Jiang Cheng’s hair behind his ear before bringing him in for a searing kiss. “That’s enough thinking for today,” he whispers against Jiang Cheng’s lips.

Jiang Cheng smirks before making himself busy.

~~~

A week later, though, the situation isn’t resolved.

“Little bitch won’t even talk to me,” Nie Huaisang grumbles as he types on his phone. Jiang Cheng’s best guess is that he’s talking to a Jin contact, but he can’t be certain. “The second I mention the Tang deal, everyone clams up. San-ge won’t answer my calls, er-ge is leaving me on read, and now da-ge! My own da-ge! Calls me this morning to tell me to drop the situation. Like I’m going to do that when they’ve got me curious!”

Jiang Cheng would very much like to watch this movie with his husband but, well, he’s used to disappointment.

Pressing pause on Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Jiang Cheng sighs and leans back in the couch. “Want to talk about it?” he asks, putting on his best sarcastic tone.

“I’m sorry, puppy,” Nie Huaisang says without looking up from his phone. He reaches out his hand and Jiang Cheng places it on his knee so Nie Huaisang can rub it apologetically. “I can’t leave this.”

“No, I know.” Sighing again, Jiang Cheng rubs the bridge of his nose. He loves Nie Huaisang more than anything, but he won’t deny there are sides of him that Jiang Cheng can barely stand. His stubborn desire to solve any mystery, for example. Jiang Cheng will never forget what happened after he watched Inception with Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian when they were still in their teens. In what was his first glance into his future-husband’s intellect, he saw his then-friend lose himself in Reddit theories about the movie’s ending and pick apart all the possible meanings. That insatiable curiosity was insane then and it is insane now.

Jiang Cheng stands up and turns on the living room lights. Nie Huaisang is still sitting on the couch, buried deep into his phone, his share of the snacks untouched and forgotten. Restraining another sigh, Jiang Cheng decides then and there what he’ll have to do before his husband drives him mad. He won’t like it, not in the slightest, but he’s willing to make due for love.

~~~

Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen, and Jin Guangyao share an apartment in midtown. Among the many swanky high-rise buildings and metro lines, the trio live in a quaint, three-storey building. It is the last place one would think to look for three of the most powerful names in the criminal underworld as well as just cute enough to appeal to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao’s cottage core tastes.

Jiang Cheng presses the buzzer for their apartment – room 303. He knows there is a camera attached to the buzzer and that he didn’t bother wearing a disguise, so he is very surprised when he is allowed entry. As he climbs the stairs, he runs through scenarios in his head. He is wearing a bulletproof vest just in case, but he knows that winning the argument will ultimately come down to sincerity (or how well he can fake sincerity) and word-spinning (or how well he can mimic Nie Huaisang without betraying his pride).

When Jiang Cheng knocks on the door, he is greeted by Nie Mingjue wearing only baggy sweatpants with his long hair tied into a long braid. All arguments immediately leave Jiang Cheng’s head, because it is simply impossible for a mere mlm to not fall victim to the intrinsic sexiness of Nie Mingjue.

“Huaisang sent you?” Nie Mingjue grumbles, sounding so much like a deeper-voiced version of his younger brother.

“Um—no, I came here on my own,” Jiang Cheng stumbles to reply. “I wanted to talk to you. On my own.”

Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes and steps back from the door, allow Jiang Cheng to enter. “I’ll go get the other two.”

The other two arrive in short time. Lan Xichen, as always, is dressed impeccably and like he just walked out of a photoshoot for Vanity Fair. Jin Guangyao, meanwhile, is still in his pajamas, a mismatched set of yellow sweatshirt and light green pants, yet his make-up and hair are not a detail out of place.

“How can we help you, Wanyin?” Lan Xichen asks, serene smile in place as he fills a tea kettle with water.

“If it’s about the Tang deal, please tell Sang-di the answer is still no,” Jin Guangyao adds as he settles into the couch next to Nie Mingjue.

“You know he won’t drop it,” Jiang Cheng responds. When Lan Xichen asks him his preferred tea, he responds anything with chamomile, thank you.

“Neither will I,” Jin Guangyao retorts, smiling politely as Nie Mingjue throws an arm around his shoulders and pulls him against his side.

“I’ve lived with the brat for years,” Nie Mingjue argues, “he’ll drop it in a few weeks.”

“He’ll be a bitch about it for an extra month, though,” Jin Guangyao snarks.

“A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue scolds.

“He’s right, da-ge. Sang-di is a bit of a bitch,” Lan Xichen says.

“I’m his husband and I have to agree,” Jiang Cheng adds.

Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes. “Fine. But you can use nicer language.”

“Here’s the thing, though,” Jiang Cheng starts as Lan Xichen pours hot water into four cups, “Nie Huaisang is a bitch and I love him so much, but this Tang deal is getting in the way of a happy marriage.”

“Suck his dick if you want him to pay attention to you,” Jin Guangyao immediately snarks.

“A-Yao!” Nie Mingjue nearly screeches.

“I have to agree with da-ge on this one, A-Yao. That was a bit far,” Lan Xichen says smoothly as he carries in the tea.

Jiang Cheng takes his cup first. “The problem is that I have! But then right after, it’s back to the Tang deal!”

“Please don’t talk about my didi’s sex life,” Nie Mingjue whines.

“Hm, he really sounds like a Nie alright,” Jin Guangyao says as he takes his cup of tea. “Thank you, Huan-ge,” he adds sweetly to Lan Xichen.

“Please don’t bring me into this argument!” Nie Mingjue cries as he hides his face in Jin Guangyao’s hair.

“Maybe he needs a new project?” Lan Xichen tries as he sets his and Nie Mingjue’s cups on the coffee table.

“I’ve tried getting him interested in some Jiang affairs,” Jiang Cheng says as he settles into a loveseat adjacent to the couch. “He won’t pay them any attention.”

“Jiang affairs are probably boring to him now,” Jin Guangyao advises. “He married into them, after all.”

“Perhaps ask Wei Wuxian? There’s always something interesting going on with him,” Lan Xichen says as he sits down next to Jiang Cheng, looking every bit like somebody’s hot and nice school counselor.

“I’ll, um, I’ll try that,” Jiang Cheng replies. He turns his eyes onto the door, hoping he’ll be able to finish this cup of tea before he’s somehow roped into this weird polycule.

~~~

Lan Xichen’s advice turns out to work. Wei Wuxian has somehow embedded himself in a tricky situation involving the Wen siblings versus the rest of their stupid family. Getting Nie Huaisang involved proves a quick fix to both Wei Wuxian’s bullshit and the Tang deal.

“So was this san-ge’s idea, too?” Nie Huaisang asks after a night of long-overdue sex.

“Xichen’s, actually,” Jiang Cheng replies, curling up around his husband. “But if you’re thinking about trying to weasel your way back into the Tang deal, I will leave you.”

“…Fine. I’ll leave it be,” Nie Huaisang mumbles as he slots himself against Jiang Cheng’s body.

“Good. I love you.”

Nie Huaisang laughs softly. “I love you, too.”

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #sangcheng #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #sangchengber #sangcheng month 2020

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squidbatts · 4 years ago

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to be charming and smart and disarming

“How did you meet Uncle Amethar?” Jet asks as Calroy tucks her into bed, and Ruby perks up ever so slightly from across the room.

The appeal for storytime is a delaying tactic that would’ve worked wonderfully on Amethar, might’ve even stopped Caramelinda if they caught her in an especially sentimental mood, but the girls have miscalculated; Calroy keeps moving forward so he never has to think about days gone by.

or: four lies calroy purposefully told (and one time he told the truth by accident)

((i once again return with an offering of this super niche au. warnings for fratricide, non graphic violence, poisoning, and calroy-typical manipulation. please enjoy!))

{ao3}

one.

Liam Wilhelmina is a slight boy, all of his mother's sweetness and none of his father's strength, and he flinches when Calroy asks him if he’s enjoying Castle Candy.

“It’s nice,” He says, then, quick like he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble, “Not that I don’t miss my family! I love the Mountains, I love my mom, it’s just… my brothers…” He sighs and trails off. Calroy puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps his posture open, warm and supportive and very interested in what Liam might say about his brothers, if it’ll match the rumors of unrest that Calroy’s heard. Regretfully, Liam just turns his over-wide eyes up at Calroy and asks, “Do you have siblings?”

“I did, once. Seven big brothers,” Calroy offers, holding back a satisfied smirk when Liam perks up; few things are immediately bonding as being the youngest, and Calroy’s sure that he’s won Liam over. “But, you know, a lot of things changed during the War.”

(~~~)

Loose ends need to be cut, and there is no looser end for Calroy than his family. Not that there’s much to clean up: his father and second brother died of sickness when Calroy was still young, the War took four more of them, and his mother disappeared shortly before Calroy joined the War effort himself, when stories of Ceresia closing in began to drift to their town. He’s always imagined that she, widowed and miserable, went back to beg shelter with her Ceresian family, but Calroy doesn’t particularly care what happened to her as long as she stays away from him. Which, of course, leads him to his current issue.

“Aren’t you going to even pretend to be happy to see your favorite brother?” Delroy asks, grinning like he didn’t show up unannounced after three years of radio silence. Luckily, Calroy was able to keep him away from Amethar and convince him to go back to his inn rather than speak in the Castle, but it’s still a headache. They sit in a darkened corner of the inn’s tavern and Calroy tries to ignore the stickiness of his seat and the smell of wet fur and stale cola that permeates the room.

“What do you want.” Calroy says, voice flat. It’s not a question, because he knows what his brother wants, what anyone raised with the values of his mother would want from their newly royal sibling. He just wants to make Delroy say it out loud.

Delroy leans back and takes a long pull from his drink, eyes darting around Calroy’s clothes, lavish even when he’s actively dressing down. Delroy, on the other hand, looks much the same as he did when they were younger -- meticulously patched clothes in cheap fabrics, hair long and unruly, thick scar from a harvesting accident slicing the line of his jaw and immobilizing the left corner of his mouth.

“What do you think I want? My baby brother’s the Prince of Candia, aren’t I allowed to come calling for a little royal assistance?”

“And what do you mean by that?” Calroy asks instead of leaving, even though he hates the look in Delroy’s eyes; it’s all entitlement and surety, like he thinks this is acceptable and that Calroy owes him something just because he’s sixteen minutes older than Calroy.

“A title, ideally,” Delroy says. Mead sloshes out of his flagon when he slams it back on the table, looking at Calroy with twinkling eyes. “Or, you know, we are nearly identical. I bet if I cut my hair and got all dolled up like you, your loverboy wouldn’t even know the- urk.”

Calroy’s dagger is out and between Delroy’s ribs before Calroy even realizes he’s moving, and Calroy’s mouth falls open with shock at the same time that Delroy’s does. Delroy’s wide eyes start to go unfocused but he keeps them on Calroy’s as his mouth twitches back into that infuriating smile.

“Yeah, should’ve known that was a shade too far,” He says weakly, lips flecked with blood, “You always were the most like mom.”

Calroy’s face falls into a scowl at the comparison. He lifts a hand to cover Delroy’s mouth before twisting the blade and pulling it out. He feels his brother’s breath slow and eventually stop, and then he wipes his dagger on Delroy’s shirt, leans back, and picks up Delroy’s drink.

He can spare the time for a calming drink because from anywhere else in the room it will just look like Delroy’s passed out drunk. And, even if it didn’t, who’d accuse the Prince of Candia of murdering his kin?

two.

“How did you meet Uncle Amethar?” Jet asks as Calroy tucks her into bed. Ruby perks up ever so slightly from across the room.

“Your uncle saved my life during the war,” Calroy says. He pushes Jet’s eager little head down onto her pillow and presses a kiss to her hairline, ignoring her complaints and doing the same to Ruby as he crosses the room. “Maybe, if you're both good little princesses who don’t try to sneak into the armory tonight, I’ll tell you the story tomorrow.”

(~~~)

There are many differences between selling weapons to Ceresia and leading Ceresian troops into Candian territory, but the main one for Calroy is that he signed up for one of those things, and most emphatically did not for the other. And yet, here he is, leading five soldiers towards the Candian camp. The soldiers are the worst kind, tall and broad-shouldered, looking down their noses at Calroy even though they need him, and they keep talking. They’re not particularly loud but in the dead of night and the middle of a war, any unnecessary noise is too much.

“We’re getting close, you should quiet down,” Calroy says, and the leader of the group snorts.

“No offense, sweetheart, but we know how to run an ambush.”

Then why did you make me lead you in here, Calroy doesn’t say. He just grips the dagger in his fist a little tighter, imagines the way it’d feel to remove the man’s tongue from his mouth, and reminds himself what the offered payout for this mission is. They get within twenty feet of the camp when Calroy hears the sound of sure, steady footsteps heading towards them. He tries to gesture for the soldiers to stop but they ignore him and walk directly into the path of Prince Amethar Rocks.

Fuck, Calroy thinks just as Prince Amethar says, “What the hell?”

It’s a lucky break for Prince Amethar, Calroy thinks as he tries to figure out an action plan -- wherever he had been coming from, his sword was already in hand, while Calroy’s companions were cocky enough to not even be on alert. It’s barely accurate to call it a fight with how thoroughly Prince Amethar destroys the Ceresians. When Prince Amethar is done and the bodies lay on the ground, he turns towards Calroy. Calroy stealthily drops his dagger and steps out of the shadows, endeavoring to look as harmless as possible.

“Hey, you’re one of ours, right?” Prince Amethar asks, lowering his sword like being on the same side has ever protected anyone.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Calroy says, hoping that the prince won’t follow foreign soldiers in my camp and Candian I’ve never met before to the correct conclusions.

Prince Amethar’s brow furrows and he looks Calroy up and down. He frowns. “You shouldn’t go out without your sword. You could’ve been in real trouble with those guys if I hadn’t come along!”

Calroy’s face slackens in disbelief, just for a second, before he fixes it into something appropriately appreciative. “You’re absolutely right, Your Highness, you’ve saved my life today.”

“Ha, guess I did,” Prince Amethar grins disarmingly. Calroy is caught off guard for the third time that night. “Anyway, enough of the ‘your highness’ stuff, alright? Just call me Amethar.”

“I- okay, Amethar,” Calroy says, enjoying the way the word rolls off his tongue, how Prince Amethar Rocks’ foolish trust tastes in his mouth. “But only if you’ll call me Calroy.”

three.

“My job is to guard the king.” Theobald Gumbar says even as he obediently follows Calroy, tone professional and steady like he spent hours in front of the mirror practicing it. It’s admirable, Calroy thinks, that Sir Theobald is still trying his stoic, stuck-up best to be respectful despite his obvious dislike of Calroy.

“Your job is to be Lord Commander of the Tartguard, which means that the protection of Castle Candy and everyone in Candia rests in your hands,” He pauses, lets that really sink in. Sir Theobald values nothing more than honor and responsibility, even when those duties require him to take orders from Calroy. “I applaud your dedication to the King but I assure you, Sir Theobald, that all that I do is for the preservation of House Rocks.”

(~~~)

Calroy prefers assassinations to ambushes, doesn’t like the mess or the dramatics of brute force attacks, which is why he only brings Sir Theobald along when he needs to seem dangerous; Calroy is more lethal on his own then his husband’s teddy bear of a favorite knight could ever be, but every minor lord in Calorum doesn’t need to know that. He has his own personal Tartguardsman, of course, but Sir Quincy doesn’t cut as imposing a figure as Theobald, and Calroy needs imposing when he visits House Whipperly.

Lady Valencia Whipperly is a fierce figure, with a swirl of white hair and the kind of posture that's bred into old Candian nobility, stubborn and proud and the only thing blocking the ratification of Calroy’s trade proposal with Fructera. To Lady Whipperly’s credit, the trade proposal isn’t great for Candia; the tariffs are too great for it’s few benefits but it will mean that at least three Fructeran nobles will owe Calroy a personal debt, and Calroy cares more about collecting favors than he does about Candian merchants, as does most of the Candian Court. Calroy doesn’t understand why Lady Whipperly won’t get with the program, but that’s why he’s come to visit Lady Whipperly’s less impressive, more easily swayed partner -- Ruthie Nougallo. She welcomes them with grace but Calroy can see her hands tremble as she politely curtseys to him.

“My apologizes, Your Highness, but my wife won’t be back for quite a few days,” Ruthie says as she leads Theobald and Calroy to her parlor. Calroy waves a hand dismissively and grins, just sharp enough to be scary.

“You misunderstand, I’ve come to speak to you,” Calroy says as he sits on one of the room’s couches. Ruthie’s legs begin to shake as well. “You see, I think we could help each other.”

“Help each other?”

“Mhm. Sir Theobald, the door if you’d please?” The look Theobald sends Calroy could freeze lava cake, but he goes nonetheless, far enough away that he won’t be able to truly hear Calroy with the bonus of blocking the room’s only exit with his size. Ruthie settles down next to Calroy when he pats the couch but she's nervously shooting looks at Theobald the whole time. Calroy grins. “Now, I understand that you alone can sway that lovely wife of yours. She’s a bit stubborn, hm?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t be silly, dear, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” Calroy says, patronizing enough that Ruthie flinches, “Let me tell you a secret: my husband is a bit stubborn too.”

Ruthie’s eyes widen but she smiles, just a bit. Hook. “Is he?”

“Yes. Sometimes, even if he knows that something will be good for us, he's refuses it just because he doesn’t want to change his original opinion. I’m sure you know how that is.”

“Oh, absolutely! Last month, a Fructeran noble sent us some wonderful looking wine but Valencia refused it because she thought it was a bribe,” Ruthie says, leaning in conspiratorially. Line.

“What a shame! You know, good wine is so difficult to get these days. It would be easier if I could get approval on a trade deal with Fructera, but,” Calroy sighs deeply, almost too dramatic for his tastes but Ruthie eats it right up. “Your Valencia isn’t a fan of it. It’s really a tragedy, just imagine all the delicacies we could get shipped in if we had a true trade deal with Fructera. Why, House Rocks could have wine and fruitcake at every session of Court!”

“Every session of court…” Ruthie licks her lips almost absentmindedly and her smile grows. Sinker. “I’ll talk to Valencia. I’m sure I can bring her around on this.”

Calroy claps once, lets his true sense of accomplishment show in his smile. “Wonderful! I just knew you would be reasonable, Ruthie.”

four.

“You almost had me that time,” Amethar says as he offers Calroy a hand up. The training yard is deserted except for the two of them, no one else wanting to brave the stifling heat of the midday sun for something as exhausting as sparring. Amethar, of course, flourishes in situations like this, unflustered and delighted even with sweat dripping down his sharp jaw. “Where’d you learn to fight like that anyway?”

Calroy uses wiping his sweat as an excuse to hide the annoyed twist of his brow. Trust his King to not leave well enough alone. “Oh, you know, here and there. Mostly the war.”

(~~~)

Calroy's days in Muffinfield Manor go like this: he wakes up, he runs through sword forms with Lord Cruller before dawn, he helps Lady Cruller plan events or take notes in meetings for the majority of the day, then eats a meager dinner alone in his room and goes to bed. When House Cruller put out a notice looking for a page, Calroy jumped at the opportunity: anything, truly anything, would be better than another season sweating through his clothes as he worked his family’s fields. And here, he has his own room, his own space, and the affection of the Crullers, who desperately needed an outlet for their parental instincts after their daughter and only heir ran away months ago.

It’s all worked out exceptionally well for Calroy, especially when it comes to his swordsmanship training.

“Your stance is too stiff,” Lord Cruller says, rapping his sword against Calroy’s locked knee. Calroy obediently bends, tries to recall and perfectly mimic the flowing movements that Lord Cruller has shown him, but the man’s sigh tells him that he’s failed. “I can hear you thinking, boy. You’re too stuck in your head. Don’t be too worried about the next move to get started on this one.”

“Sorry, Lord Cruller,” Calroy says, rote. Lord Cruller sighs again.

“You're too defensive. Someone with the brawn to back it up can stay still and let their opponent wear themselves out, but for a little thing like you? The best defense is a good offense. You have to move, kid,” Lord Cruller punctuates his words with a firm pat to the center of Calroy’s back, causing Calroy to stumble forward from the force. “Strike faster than they can strike you. In this world, it’s either eat or be eaten.”

“Yes, Lord Cruller, thank you, Lord Cruller,” Calroy dutifully replies, and he holds the advice close to his chest as he tips the poison his mother sent into Lord Cruller’s goblet that evening. Strike first, strike fast, and no one else can hurt you.

truth.

Far-flung countryman, I have received news of your upcoming nuptials. I know I have encouraged you to lean into his affection in the past, and even now I think of how easily all of this can be woven into our plans, but I can't help but wonder how quickly affairs of the heart can sour. Have you any worry that things could become messy for you?

Worry is the furthest thing from my mind, as I have apt reason to believe that he is firmly devoted to me. Yesterday morning, he called me the “guiding light of his life” simply because I recalled a name for him. It’s almost too easy at this point.

And what of you, friend? Have you become similarly attached to our dear Stone?

(~~~)

Calroy huffs a quiet laugh as he reads Senator Ciabatta’s most recent note in the halls of Castle Candy, delivered to him moments ago by a particularly harried and nervous-looking messenger. Calroy should technically be in his bedroom right now -- a lovely advisor’s suite near the guests’ wing, almost halfway across the castle -- but he welcomed today’s dawn from inside the King’s chambers and he can only imagine how many places the poor boy checked before deciding to risk insulting the King, the honor of the King’s intended, and possibly the entirety of the Court.

Not, Calroy muses as he returns to Amethar’s bedroom, that Calroy’s honor needs any protection; besides that fact that he’s no blushing maiden, Amethar invited Calroy back to his room for simple cuddling. Even when Calroy tried to initiate more, Amethar had simply turned heated kisses into slow and soft things that made Calroy’s stomach turn with their sweetness, yawned and took Calroy’s hand in his own when Calroy began to slide it down Amethar’s chest, wrapped his heavy arm around Calroy’s waist only to pull him close enough that Calroy could hear the steady beat of Amethar’s heart and feel the rumble of his every snore. Even now, a shiver runs down Calroy’s spine at the memory, mouth twisting with- well, with annoyance, mostly, and confusion. Who invites their intended to their rooms and then refuses to sleep with him? Amethar Rocks was truly, bafflingly ridiculous, even if his fondness for Calroy was extraordinarily useful. It’s with that in mind that he stops at Amethar’s desk to pen a quick response to Ciabatta.

My dear ally, have you not heard? I am the Stone’s dearest friend, and he is the love of my life. It’s all people can talk of these days. I thank you for your concern but I assure you, I will be fine, Calroy writes, underlining with a flourish. He hopes Ciabatta will get a laugh from the glimpse of how the Candian Court sees Calroy, as Calroy does every time he hears someone whispering about the romance of him and Amethar. He folds the letter for later just as Amethar groans from the bed.

“Cal?” He calls, voice sleep-rough and eyes only half-open. Calroy crosses the room in easy steps and settles himself on the edge of the bed, allowing Amethar to lay his head across Calroy’s lap. “Where’d you go?”

Calroy slants a hand over Amethar’s eyes to protect them from the weak sunlight spilling into the room and Amethar hums in appreciation. Something in Calroy’s chest tightens, like a gourdian knot that he can't begin to consider untying. “There was a letter to receive.”

“Court stuff?” Amethar asks, tone not quite whining but close enough that Calroy’s eye almost twitches. He hums noncommittally and pretends to listen as Amethar complains about how early in the morning he is expected to begin working.

A little lie, after all, never hurt anyone.

#calroy cruller #a crown of candy #acoc #crown of candy #dimension 20 #prince consort calroy #one shot

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mailorderfictionalcharacter · 4 years ago

Text

to love & be loved

@startreksecretsanta and @spinifex-ao3, I present my humble gift for the 2020 Secret Santa Exchange.

to love & be loved is a Raffi-centric short fic. It can be read on AO3 here, or below the cut.

There was this thing Raffi's therapist recommended. She said that we tend to view mental ailments as a result of a singular issue, when that was not the case. This isn't unique to the so-called mental conditions; physical ailments are always the result of multiple convergent factors, many of them largely outside of our control. Whether you break a bone running down a corridor depends on the gravity levels, the angle, your physical ability to catch yourself (or not), your species' biological attributes, and so on. But because the bone is easier to fix, we don't place as much value on all these could-have-happeneds.

So her therapist recommended that she looks at her alcoholism, even at the collapse of her family, and traces its lineage. To assemble the history in whatever way she preferred; a narrative, an artwork, a quasi-scientific graph, a mission report. Raffi tried and failed.

She ended up with a start chart of the Milky way, no, too big, zooming into a few classic earth constellations. She grabbed her stylus and pulled it across the screen, trying to connect disparate factors.

Childhood??? --- > my son --- > my husband left me

kicked out of starfleet --- > Starfleet = War?

Starfleet = JL? -- > betrayal?

She couldn't talk about any of it. She brought in a star chart with a handful of annotations explaining her biggest failures and regrets. She could barely explain why she wrote them down without crying, her hand itching for the phantom weight of a glass, even filled with water. So mapping the lineage of her alcoholism & her life became their goal. The implication being that you cannot fight a monster you cannot name.

***

Raffi's therapist was an Andorian woman with deep blue skin, almost an indigo tone. She was tall and friendly in a way that was sometimes clean and professional and sometimes cute and childish. On Earth, she took the name of Julia for some of her clients. Her actual name was J''ul/sth, but more humans were able to pronounce the vowels in Julia, so Julia it is. Julia was a fiercely intellectual woman and would cater her services to different conceptions of what it means to be mentally unwell. She was familiar with centuries of earth, Betazoid, and Andorian theories of mental illness, many of which weren't even addressed within the medical model preferred by Starfleet. Even in her darkest hours, Raffi could barely think a negative thought about Julia; her competence, her expertise was... illuminating.

For someone who had been judged by her own spouse as incapable, for someone who struggled to take care of her hair or to sweep a floor, it was intoxicating to have this brilliant woman focused solely on her for an hour each week. Julia never condescended. She had this assured confidence that Raffi was an interesting person, still worth talking to. It was the sort of thing that could give you hope, if you let yourself believe. It was also the sort of thing Raffi fucked up.

***

Julia was not a believer in abstinence from alcohol as the definition as sobriety. She pointed to it as an outdated Earth concept that had far too long of a shelf life for the evidence behind it. She encouraged Raffi to define her own boundaries about what substance use or lack thereof meant. And Raffi remembered when she could go to a bar for the music and the sensory experience of one or three Saurian brandies without the all consuming urge, twisting under her skin, telling her to escape from her life. And that was their goal. But Raffi didn't tell Julia which bar. She went to a local bar, one that straddled the line between bar and pub and played live music, an eclectic mix of whoever was willing to play for cheap, across genres, cultures, and species. Tonight was a young human teen, not a singer. They were remixing Vulcan instrumental music, very peaceful and precise, with bright and happy sounds. It was almost gauche, the way the emotions would intercut through the melodies. The sort of thing that art and music journals would comment on, asking if it was subversion or a childish rebellion, a blending of cultures or a mocking. The sort of thing that goes good with brandy.

And it was good. It was good for an hour, slowly nursing two drinks. It was good until she saw her, walking in kind of tipsy, skin flushed a warm blue. Surrounded by friends, bar hopping. On a youthful adventure. She felt ashamed, in that moment. That this woman half her age was supposed to be giving her advice, pretending to listen to her problems. That she could never be one of those friends, all so young, with a world to explore.

When Julia caught her eye, she walked over to say hello. And when Julia's friends asked her who she was, Raffi called herself a friend; not a client, not a patient. She doesn't know what it says that Julia didn't correct her; probably that outing a client was a breach of professional ethics. Raffi has more brandy, to wash away the deception, the feeling of herself as lecherous and pathetic and weak.

Raffi wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, entangled in long blue limbs. For a moment, this brings her happiness. The idea that she was wanted, that the woman who knew so much about her made love to her.

It was only for a moment.

She shifted out of the bed, cautiously. She left to the sound of gentle snoring and the feeling of breeze and slick on her public hair.

She didn't go back to therapy, after that.

She met Benjamin Sisko, Emissary to the Prophets and legendary war hero, at a Starfleet Intelligence conference. It was near the end of her career; there wasn't much longer she could hold onto the idea of the person she used to be, of whatever Starfleet begged from her. There were always threats on the horizon and she had become numb to it all. But Sisko interested her.

In a way, his life was quite possibly her worst nightmare. The idea of being essentially forced into a religion because, by the way, you are now an important figure in our religion and its impact on interstellar politics... what a nightmare. That wasn't mentioning being pulled out of linear time by powerful aliens worshipped as gods. At least -

At least when Q had showed up that one time, JL and him had a bit of a rapport.

But he didn't seem unhappy. She was used to seeing the haunted faces at conferences, as people who were raised in peace and sent out to explore ended up soldiers for war. Starfleet Intelligence was different, it attracted a more cynical bunch. The sort who wouldn't show it. But Sisko seemed... happy. He didn't look like a man who was kidnapped in order to appease powerful beings, or even someone straining under a PR lie. He looked like he had transcended beyond it all. And yeah, she wanted a piece of that.

But she couldn't ask for it. It was a crazy request. It was her imprinting her desires and pains onto a stranger's life.

It surprised her, after the conference, when he approached her and asked if she knew any Bajorans.

“Just the one.” Something in her felt compelled to add, “he wasn't religious.”

“So I'll be the first one to surprise you like this.”

And he grabbed her by the ear, what the shit, and said, in a low voice. “Your pagh is strong.”

***

After Agnes Jurati confessed to murdering a man, on their ship, the scientist had cried, and asked her, “Why are you still being so nice to me?” There were a lot of answers Raffi did not give. She did not say that she had a son and a husband who wouldn't let her love them and her desire to care for someone was apparently stronger than the realization that they were a semi-brainwashed murderer. She did not say that at this point, she didn't feel like she could judge anyone, morally speaking. Or that maybe this was pragmatism, keeping your friends close and your potential enemies closer. Or that at the very least, there wasn't much she could do to fuck up Agnes' life anymore, which is a marked improvement from the rest of her relationships.

Instead, she let herself feel soft. “Because, sometimes we make mistakes. And even if we can't fix them, I think we should still let ourselves love and be loved.”

#raffi musiker #alcoholism

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