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drxwsyni · 3 years

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show me heaven, take me to hell︱okkotsu yuuta x f!reader

“Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore. He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.” a/n: this is my part for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab! i was really excited to write a fic with this prompt, and this collab was super fun so pls go check out the other writers involved!!! words: 3.7k warnings: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+, noncon, somnophilia, virginity loss, rough-ish sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, choking for a quick moment, creampie, a little praise, heavy stalking & obsessive behaviour, gen. yandere themes

Yuuta liked to think he had control over his emotions—but peering down at you, he knew that was far from the truth. How those emotions manifested was what he could control, because if it weren’t for the steely expression cemented into his face, he’d be sure you’d know of all the debased things running rampant throughout his mind.

And yet, he doesn’t fear the falter in his masquerade right now.

You’re fast asleep, none the wiser to the looming figure of your boyfriend, locked onto the way your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic manner. How his eyes nearly gloss over as they travel down the curves of your body, half exposed as you’ve only pulled the sheets up to settle around your waist.

Yuuta reminds himself to breathe, exhaling a little too shakily, wondering to himself how he’s made it this far. He was a damn good actor, and he knows that fact currently stood as the only thing that’s gotten him to where he is today.

If he thinks back, it’s hard to even find one moment out of all the time he’s spent with you in which he’d shown you his genuine self. Hell, the very first time you spoke to him wasn’t even honest. He remembers asking you your name after introducing himself, lying through his teeth because he already knew what your name was. Yuuta knew what rank you were (well below his), your cursed technique (too weak to really protect yourself), how long you’d been working alongside Gojo (two weeks―starting the day after Yuuta had gone overseas). But he still asked, enamoured with the way you bashfully looked down at your feet when he praised you for being able to put up with the white haired sorcerer so far.

Another lie―how he claimed he’d love to team up with you and show you around, when it was just to keep you as far from any real danger as possible.

But you didn’t know that, going along with each and every falsehood that left his mouth. Lie after lie, he’d draw on the knowledge of you he’d spent months gathering, gradually molding his character into whichever form earned those soft little gifts of affection. Becoming the person you wanted, the person you needed, slowly until you recognized him as someone special. Yuuta did everything right—only to be completely overwhelmed now that he had you alone.

Because of course suppressing himself wouldn’t work out in the long run. Burying the desire that felt goddamn near insatiable, ignoring the feeling of it festering, growing into something ugly and uncontrollable—the kind of thing he saw in others, and exactly what he was trying to protect you from. But Yuuta wouldn’t let himself believe that what you really needed protecting from was him, even though standing over you now, proof of that reality was finally beginning to surface.

Just for a second, maybe not even that, it crossed his mind—just a taste couldn’t hurt, right?

The bound passion he could never let see the light of day unraveled in the dead of night. You were just so tempting, blissfully unaware of the danger towering over you, a vulnerability that tore away at the seams of his self control.

Yuuta felt the first thread snap, a barely there fracture to spur his irreversible descent into self-destruction.

Moving without really even thinking of any future consequences, long fingers that were calloused from battle and endless training reached to where the sheets atop you rested. White, silken and gleaming under the moonlight, he carefully, calculatedly pulled them down your body. Letting it pool at the foot of the bed, he slowly appraised your sleeping form.

An almost inaudible curse left him, whispered under his breath—he didn’t even notice the way your sleeping shorts were discarded onto the floor before peeling back the sheets, but he couldn’t miss it now. Maybe...you wanted him to find you like this?

No...he knew you weren’t that daring. The two of you might be dating, but all those past insistences of not wanting to move too fast, dancing around intimacy like it was the bane of all evil alone told him that this naivety was genuine.

There was that, and the fact that you were staying in his guest bedroom. Too shy to sleep in the same bed, how cute. He was all too understanding just a few hours ago, leaving you for the night and planning on retiring to his room. Only he was drawn right back to where you lay, realizing it was yet another subconscious lie to tell you he was fine with taking things slow, giving you your space.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room—there was absolutely no way you planned on Yuuta finding you like this.

A voice in the back of his head warns him, tugging at his subconscious to leave you be. Yuuta ignores it for the first time, crossing a new boundary, knowing that it won’t be the last.

You’re sprawled on your back with the hem of your oversized shirt riding up just a little.

A little too much, he thinks, eyes travelling lower and lower until they land on the lace trim of your panties. Thin, adorned with a small bow at the top. His fingers itch, wanting to feel the fabric for himself, likely soft in comparison to his rough hands.

Yuuta props one knee up onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. With one more glance, just to make completely sure you’re still fast asleep, he allows his fingers to trace up the inside of your leg. Gliding along your calf, then meeting the soft plush of your thigh. Your muscles don’t even twitch, unmoving as his hand gradually creeps higher, higher, higher.

All he needs is to be closer, something to tide him over until you’re willing to let him in. He wants to know just what it feels like to have you under him, little weaknesses you hold that nobody else knows of.

Just a taste, he reminds himself.

Yuuta peers down at you, relieved and on edge at the same time when the tips of his fingers brush against the cotton fabric of your panties. Ever so lightly, his ring finger dips lower, gently pressing against your clothed slit.

The heat between your thighs makes him shiver, warmth pulling him in impossibly closer. Your legs are spread just enough for Yuuta’s hand to fit perfectly in between them, almost invitingly so. He feels like all of his nerves are standing on end, vibrating as just the simplest touch has such a large effect on him.

It’s a familiar feeling, despite always looking at ease, he frequently had to mask these turbulent emotions inside him so that he didn’t scare you away, just as so many others did. This new sensation, not having to worry about constant control, it was unimaginably refreshing. He didn’t want it to end.

You don’t seem to be stirred in the slightest, which is good, because he’s not quite satisfied. The both of you did have a tiring day to be fair—now making you a heavy sleeper. Yuuta deems it a saving grace, curiosity unquelled in wanting to know how far he could push his luck.

That same singular finger travels along the dainty fabric, gently dragging up your folds until stopping at your clit. Experimentally pressing into it, Yuuta spots the way your brows just barely draw together for a moment. The sound of your breathing meets his ears, turned airy as your lips part when he begins rubbing back and forth, a light friction that makes your sensitive, untouched body react unconsciously as you continue to sleep.

Yuuta thinks for a second of how you touch yourself when you’re alone—if you do as he is now, teasing your clit, making you squirm at the light stimulation. You’re not waking up, but your body is still reactive even in this state. With how your panties hug the curves of your body, how he presses them into your heat, it’s not hard to see the small patch of your arousal already leaking through.

It’s cute, you’re so much more honest when you’re asleep.

An idea strikes him, coming more as an intrusive thought than anything helpful, but it’s dangerously enticing nonetheless—if he could make you cum without waking you up. Earn a glimpse of what he hoped you’d let him see eventually.

You look like you want it, chest rising and falling a little heavier, and when he pointedly nudges your clit with the smallest increase in force, your breath hitches.

It would be cruel to leave you like this—Yuuta isn’t a cruel man.

He’s doing this for you now, not himself. It’s repeated in his head, words reassuring as he slinks onto the bed. His grip is delicate, pushing your thighs apart a tad bit more, just enough to make room to lower himself between them.

Eye level with your heat, the scent of your arousal washes over him. He can’t help but place a few ghosted kisses on your inner thighs, a quick nip at the supple skin that leads to a trail of the same before his lips hover over the seat of your panties.

Through long lashes, he focuses on your face, almost shuddering with you as his tongue comes into contact with the patch of wetness, dampness growing as he licks a slow strip up over the cloth. Yuuta repeats the action—once, twice, three times, then loses count. His movements are slow, soft and steady, taking what he can get but soon becoming frustrated with the barrier in his way.

The hands placed on your thighs twitch, and it only seems logical that if he wants to finish what he started, he needs to make things a little easier for himself. An unnatural strength imbued with cursed energy flows through his palms. He’s eager, doing it without thinking, not realizing the force he puts behind his actions until the seams of your panties tear with almost no resistance.

Yuuta’s eyes widen slightly, because his plan was to merely push the fabric aside. But that problem can wait, especially when he can’t.

The offending fabric is casted aside, and Yuuta knows he wants to take his time. Testing the waters, his thumbs come up to spread apart your soaked folds, taking in the way your hole clenches around nothing as he gently blows cold air against it.

He’s not shocked to find your muscles twitching so easily now, reacting to every little thing he does. Not shocked, but it does make him greedy. It makes him want to abandon caution entirely. Taking his time turns out to be a lot easier said than done—when his tongue places a few kitten licks onto your clit, the near sinful whimper that escapes you has his lips latching on and sucking instead.

You’re always so quick to flee from him, Yuuta can barely get a lasting kiss in before you push him away. To hear that leave your mouth, intentional or not, it’s dangerous. He’s starved for intimacy, starting to lose sight on why he’s worked so hard to become close with you, drowning in the thoughts of why he instead wants to rip that safety he provides from you entirely just to see the things you keep hidden from him and everyone else.

There’s his own personal heat building, hips grinding into the mattress now and then to relieve the ache you don’t even know you’re causing in him so quickly. It doesn’t do much, if anything it only makes his resolve weaken, low groans making their way up his throat and sending soft vibrations onto your sensitive nub.

His tongue darts back out, flattening as your hips buck against his face, trying to gain more friction.

And all it tells him is that you want this—just as much as he does. You’ve never told him, but you don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.

The wet muscle pushes past your entrance, Yuuta’s nose bumping your clit every time his head jerks when his tongue curls against your walls. From how your body tenses, the feeling unmistakable under his large hands, he can tell you’re getting close.

All the breathy sighs and whines leaving you, the overwhelming taste of you on his tongue and in his mouth, it clouds his judgment more and more as each second passes.

Yuuta forgets about the hard work he’s put in to keep you safe, to make sure you ended up choosing him over everyone else. You’re intoxicating, and he can’t get enough. There’s no such thing as just a taste, not when he’s stopped trying to hold back and instead starts trying to devour you.

You deserve more, he thinks, coating his ring finger with your slick, teasingly swirling it around your entrance before letting it sink into your heated pussy. It reaches far deeper than his tongue, and with a few thrusts, curling his finger inside you, Yuuta finds what he’s searching for as you tense hard around the slender digit. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Yet no matter what he does, it’s still not enough. He wants to watch you finally fall apart, wants you to stop pushing him away.

And he realizes, it’s not a want, but a need. One that can’t be satisfied as easily as he thought when he first removed the sheets from your unsuspecting body. Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore.

He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.

Yuuta can’t think straight to save his life, he’s hooked on the way your body shakes beneath him, adding another finger pumping in and out of you, groaning against your clit as he desperately ruts against the bed.

You’re responding so well, it only confuses him more as to why you haven’t let him take care of you sooner, as clearly you needed him like this. He can practically hear his name fall from your lips, airy and begging him for more.

His eyes are screwed shut, and yours are open.

“Ahh—Yuuta...wh—ngh”

Those calloused fingers know just how to make you shake in pleasure, not relenting as you suddenly cum around them. He feels your swollen clit throb, over and over against his tongue.

When you start to convulse, near pained whimpers leaving you, he finally stops.

He’s frozen for a moment, your full awareness dawning on him.

A sheen of sweat clings to you, chest heaving, heartbeat going a mile a minute and hammering against your ribcage. You were falling back down from the high that made you see stars, the closer to reality you got, the more you understood what had happened.

The fear would hit you first, and it’d be fast—you’d scream, fight, try to leave him.

Yuuta knew this, he knew you, and so he moved faster.

Before you could make another sound, panic rising in your throat, a firm hand clamps over your mouth.

And god, you look fucking terrified. Both hands flying up to push him away, nails biting into his wrist while tears begin to well in your eyes. Irises swirling with fear, confusion, betrayal.

It should make him feel guilty, it does—but it’s not enough to stop him from wanting to make it worse.

His palm stays cemented over your mouth, muffling your cries. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not, all your squirming does is grind against his aching cock. And he’s so far gone that he might as well go further—he doesn’t even try to stop you. The hand over your mouth pins you down well enough, your body so much weaker compared to his.

“M’sorry, just—fuck…”

You’re not calming down, struggling harder with each second that goes by while Yuuta fights to hold you still.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” With everything running through his mind, the only thing consistent and true is that he has to be inside you.

His free hand grips the waistband of his sweats and boxers, hastily pulling them both down at the same time. He hisses when the cold air of the room meets his cock, slapping against his abdomen. He’s already in between your legs, and you’re still trying to get away, hips lifting off the sheets as your legs helplessly kick. Your movements are uncalculated, frantic—it’s an accident when his cock brushes against your heat.

You squeal at the contact, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him from rutting against you, length sliding between your folds and coating him in your slick. A slight shudder runs through you as the tip of his cock catches on your puffy clit, repeatedly nudging it with each thrust.

It’s not enough. Not before, not now, he can’t seem to satisfy whatever want inside him has broken loose, and you’re forced to deal with it all because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good...promise you—”

Yuuta practically chokes on his words, lining himself up with your entrance, unable to stop his hips from pushing himself inside you all in one go. Blood rushing behind his ears drowns out the sound of your whimpers, lost in the way you keep sucking him back in when he goes to pull out. So goddamn tight—Yuuta’s glad he’s made sure he was the first to get to you, despite the circumstances.

He’s a mess, you’re a mess, it’s sloppy and it’s perfect, because the quick back and forth of his hips goes so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your whines are in tandem with his movements, pain mixing with the building warmth spreading throughout you.

The body draped over yours is so much larger, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as Yuuta keeps himself propped up above you with a hand beside your head. The one over your mouth disappears, lightly wrapping around your throat for better purchase instead.

It’s too easy to lose himself now, letting his guard down—and you jump at the chance.

There’s a shove to his chest, and then he’s being kicked down the bed. The door is on the adjacent side of the room and so to make quick time you scramble across the bed sheets. Of course, a hand too cold clamps around your ankle, and it feels like he’s about to crush the bone beneath when Yuuta drags you back.

All your pleas go ignored, and he’s suffocating as your body is pinned against the bed by his own.

A lanky yet toned arm snakes around your waist, lifting your hips to meet his. “Just a bit—” there’s a pause, groaning as he drives his cock right back into your pussy, “—bit longer…”

Yuuta hasn’t completely forgotten why he decided to take things this far, his free hand reaching down to toy with your clit. With the new angle, his cockhead hits that soft, spongy patch that has your walls fluttering around his length.

Your fighting spirit diminishes more and more, not much strength to begin with in how you were woken up, only worsened by the way the coil in your stomach keeps tightening. When you go to shove the arm wrapped around your body, it’s not genuine, not completely at least. You’re overwhelmed just as much as him, and letting it happen doesn’t seem all that bad.

Slick is dripping down your thighs, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room alongside his grunts and your airy moans.

There’s a shake in your body, legs unable to keep themselves up as your voice breaks through the noise. “Yuuta...p-please…”

It doesn’t matter what it is you’re begging for exactly, but he tries to console you anyways. “I’m right here, baby. Just let go for me…”

The pads of his fingers press harder circles around your clit as the cant of his hips picks up.

You’re reaching your end, unmistakable in the way you tighten around his length, your muscles contracting and releasing. Yuuta is right behind you, thrusts growing erratic, barely pulling halfway out before sinking in again.

“Ah—that’s it, cum for me, good girl—”

There’s a moment where you go quiet, body locking up and mouth opening into a silent scream. It’s enough to have Yuuta’s body reacting much the same, a harsh ‘fuck’ leaving his lips before painting your walls white. There’s no thought to pull out, just that he wants to relax with you in his arms.

You’re trembling, aftershocks washing over you in waves, especially when he slowly drags his cock out and past your g-spot before leaving you empty.

Yuuta finally releases you from his hold, watching as you slump pitifully into the mattress. There’s a trail of his cum leaking down your slit, a little pool of it forming on the sheets. You look absolutely ruined, face turned and smushed against the bed—he can see the tears heavily wetting your cheeks, mouth agape as your chest heaves.

And he just...stares. Somewhat out of breath himself, hunched over, unmoving otherwise while realization crashes down on him.

You’d never forgive him, you’ll leave the second you get the chance. What Yuuta’s done to you is irreversible.

...As far as you know.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. Yuuta keeps you endlessly in the dark, meticulous pre-planning to make sure you’re protected always. And so he steps away, tucks himself back into his boxers, pulling up his sweats and grabs his phone. It looks like you’ve pretty much fallen asleep, which makes his job easier.

Plan A through Z, Yuuta has something to fall back on no matter what.

The screen illuminates his face, fingers swiping until Inumaki’s contact shines back at him. The cursed speech user owes him a favour, and there’s no time more perfect in Yuuta’s mind than now to cash it in.

A deep sigh from him sounds throughout the room—you won’t remember this happened, none of it. Yuuta will clean you up before Inumaki arrives, use reverse cursed technique to handle any wounds you may have, and then he’ll have his friend make you forget anything past going to bed.

While he still wants to keep you safe, keep you pure—it’s no longer for the same reasons.

Darkened eyes land on your weakened form, and Yuuta knows this won’t be enough for him. You’ll push him away, he’ll get impatient...the rest is predictable, to say the least.

His message sends, phone turning black.

Somehow, he’ll need to find a way to earn more favours.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere yuuta #yandere yuta #jujutsu kaisen smut #yuuta smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #tw noncon #tw somnophilia #tw choking #tw stalking #tw virginity loss

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real-jane · 3 years

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nftn: love that lets us share our name

(bucky barnes x female!reader, shield)

summary: the wedding.

warnings: i cried writing this. several times. i had to take breaks. this is the wedding. there is fluff, a little smut break, and then more fluff.

word count: 10,202

a/n: part 10 of ‘nostalgia for the new’. the title is taken from the brandi carlile song 'murder in the city' - the line is "there is nothing worth sharing like the love that lets us share our name". please enjoy the playlist while you read, if you so choose! i'm so nervous to post this, it's my favorite chapter so far. enjoy! :)

series masterlist

In a little diner, on the outskirts of the Blue Ridge Mountains, owned by a man with an undying love for Washington football, several people were trying to figure out how it might be possible to rearrange seating for a modest wedding, when all the seating provided was firmly bolted to the floor. The stools swiveled three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, but that’s about as far as they budged.

One man in an ill-fitting tux sat in the corner, blowing up white and gold balloons until he was red in the face. Another man with several PHD’s worked meticulously at tying them together so they formed a small archway, which was then carefully taped over the gap in the counter (measuring to be sure that the CEO of the largest tech conglomerate in the world could stand beneath it without crouching, ego and all) by a woman approximately eight and a half months pregnant.

Six inch heeled boots did not stop a woman in a gold jumpsuit from directing the squadron of helpers where to tie the little flower arrangements--white peonies and red holly berries, in a spray of blue-green leaves, tied with a dark blue ribbon. They were affixed to the railings on the front steps (which had been salted in anticipation of a potential storm), onto the coat hooks on each booth, and stuffed stem-first into the napkin holders along the counter. It was still a week before Christmas, but the festive decorations around the diner made it look like a lot more wedding prep had been done on the place than had truly occurred.

Four little girls twirled in whirly circles so that the gold constellations on their deep blue dresses sparkled under the fluorescent lights. Four flower girls might be too many, but then again, this was not an ordinary wedding.

Attendees were arriving in various states of bundled-up; the contingent from Wakanda had greeted those from Asgard in a sea of fur-laden hugs, and most others remained swathed in their coats even after sliding into the plasticine booths. The diner was chilly, but it warmed with the energy of the company.

The owner of the diner, Gary, was slowly coming to the realization that he had rented out his diner not to a pro-football player and his fiancée, but… to a couple allied with Avengers. He was so awestruck to be in the same room as both Captain America and Iron Man that he had sweated through his suit jacket.

Gary had also agreed to cater the event happily, when you and Bucky had asked, and Tony had written him a check so large that he’d be able to close the diner for a week and take his wife on vacation to Florida to celebrate New Year’s. Once he survived this wedding. As the ceremony time loomed, Gary sat in the corner nursing an ice water, while a very pregnant Pepper Potts told him stories about the bride and groom to keep him from hyperventilating.

The groom in question was pacing in the kitchen, worrying the brim of a hat, a mite too old to be safely handled as such. He had a fresh haircut; nothing as short as the disastrous fade he’d had when he met the woman of his dreams, but trimmed enough to sit nicely under a uniform hat from the 1940s, and look appropriate for his wedding. A bevvy of medals adorned his chest. The left sleeve laid a little tight around vibranium, and his shoulders were a bit too broad for the coat, but it would be worth it.

The best days of Bucky Barnes’ life had happened in the last two years. He knew thirty languages, had been to more countries than most people knew existed, and yet nothing was as complex or foundation-shaking as the knowledge that he was marrying you. It wasn’t conceivable.

The day he told you that he loved you for the first time, he had said that he didn’t have any language to describe how he felt for you except those simple three words. He was wrong--he could’ve declared in Romanian that you were the only thing which made his life make sense. He could’ve used French or Italian to tell you that he never really understood what love was until you taught him about it. But the only way he could give you the love back which you gave to him was this: to seal a promise, in front of all your friends, and prove to himself that all this was his.

His life was you.

He had never been a man with big dreams, but now the future heavily featured imagery of the two of you graying side-by-side. He would get better at dreaming with practice. You were proof of that.

But… you were a little late.

Like… almost forty minutes. And it was starting to get to him, because he could not for the life of him find his cell phone. He was doing his level best not to panic. Sam was trying to distract him.

“Is it weird to be back in uniform?” Sam leaned against the stainless steel prep counter in a uniform of his own. Dress blues, and a knowing smile.

Bucky tugged at his collar, frowning. “I forgot what being choked by a tie feels like.”

“It would help if you stop pulling at it.”

“I’m nervous.”

“No, shit.”

“God. Why am I so nervous, Sam?”

His primary best friend snorted. “Because you get to be the center of attention for a whole day, and you hate people lookin’ at you, especially when your guard is down.”

Bucky glared at him. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“You don’t need one.”

“Are the roads bad?” Bucky patted his pockets as if his phone would magically appear on the twentieth pat. “Have you seen my phone?”

“Roads are clear. Tony has hired the entire fleet of Maryland’s plows to make sure of that. Phone’s probably in your pocket, you checked yet?”

Bucky drew a surprise middle finger from his inside coat pocket.

“What a classy groom.”

“I have nothing to worry about, right?”

Sam grabbed Bucky’s shoulder. “Not a thing, brother. You’re getting married today.”

Bucky ran his hands over his face. “They’re probably taking their time.”

“Sure. You wanted her to get here safe, so they’re taking the drive nice and slow.”

Steve appeared in the kitchen doorway with his phone in hand. He grimaced at Bucky, who’s heart dropped into his stomach. “We’re not gonna be waiting much longer, their car broke down, but--”

Bucky was past Steve and out the door of the diner before he could say another word, having pushed through a sea of people who were delighted to see him so dressed up, and confused why he was seemingly leaving. He threw his leg over his bike, but Cap grabbed the handles--

“They’re just waiting for the tow truck, Buck--she’s fine--”

“I’m not counting on some podunk truck driver to bring my girl.”

He shoved his hat into Steve’s hands, and yanked on his helmet, disrupting his careful coiffure. Cap sighed, but he reached into his pocket again and slipped the comm into his ear which they had used on their way up to the diner that morning.

“Please don’t be reckless.”

Bucky saluted in recognition.

Bucky revved the engine. He took one last glance at the diner, where inquizzitive guests congregated around the windows in concern, and sped off down the mountain. It was lightly snowing, nothing he should even be the least bit worried about, but nevertheless… Bucky’s heart was racing. He knew how narrow the road got, and how many semi-trucks passed through. He was going to reach you.

Why did you insist on being apart for the morning?

If you had driven together, then this wouldn’t have happened. Bucky found himself becoming angry with you, more than you deserved. He wasn’t going to lose you on a lousy stretch of road in rural Maryland. That was ridiculous. If something happened to you, the world would stop turning because he would grind it on its axis. It’s just that you were so set on doing one thing the ‘traditional way’ and that meant you were out of his sight and protection for far more hours than was decent or acceptable.

He had slept abysmally without you the night prior. Alpine would be sullen with him for a long time after being catapulted from your pillow after midnight.

It took about twenty minutes before he caught sight of a black SUV on one of the more generous shoulders. The hood was popped. Your sister stuck her head out of the passenger side window and flagged him down. Bucky pulled up nose-to-tail with the suv and ripped off his helmet. He ignored Jenny entirely in favor of running around to the front of the truck.

All the anger, panic, and breath in his body left him.

There you were… bent over the engine of the SUV, wearing a khaki uniform shirt and slacks, with your sleeves cuffed to your elbows. You had both hands on a new battery. Your hair did not have a single strand out of place from the chignon; the end of your tie was tucked into your collar so it didn’t get in your way. You were so beautiful with your cheeks pinkened from the chill, and the makeup which made your lashes look even longer, if that was possible. He had seen you made up before, he loved you any way you looked, but with your hands on an engine in your Army greens… Bucky was so gone for you.

“I told Steve not to tell you,” you said delicately, eyeing him as you attached the positive terminal up to the new battery.

Bucky just blinked.

“Baby, we’re okay,” you said. You chuckled when he still didn’t reply. You fixed the negative terminal to the battery and closed the caps. “After I realized it was the battery, I cancelled the tow truck. Coulson has a whole kit in the back.”

He finally found his words as you straightened up, and wiped your hands off on a rag which was promptly tossed into the tool kit at your feet.

“You wore your uniform?”

“I see I’m not the only one. It’s amazing how little this shade of green changed in seventy years of Army history.” You dislodged the stand for the hood of the car and waved him back so you could drop it. As soon as the hood was safely latched, you gave Jenny a thumb’s up. The SUV rumbled to life. You did a little dance of celebration.

“You’re looking pretty dapper there, soldier.”

Bucky dipped his head. “I wanted to surprise you. It’s no tux, but--”

“Oh, please. This beats everything I had imagined, by a long shot.” You hooked your fingers into the placket of his coat, and hauled him towards you until you were chest-to-chest. You frowned a little, stroking his chin. “You’re really nervous.”

“You’re never late.”

“Trust me, it pained me to make that phone call. Which--is your phone turned off?”

“Can’t find it,” he grumbled. He felt shy in front of you for the first time in… well, almost years, especially with you looking at him with all your knowing and seeing right through him. He brushed his hands up your arms. “I don’t do so well waiting for you.”

“So impatient.” You kissed his cheek, and then rubbed away a faint pink lip imprint left behind. “But you know, it’s bad luck to see the bride before she walks down the aisle.”

Bucky traced your jaw, taking in every inch of your face. “I should know better than to worry about you,” he murmured. “You’ve always got a plan.”

“Not always,” you smiled. “I like to think I can get myself out of minor jams.”

“I had one fleeting worry that you were late for a different reason.”

You touched the Purple Heart medal where it rested on his coat. “The only thing that could keep me from our wedding would be an act of God. It’s a good thing I didn’t wear white… which… you’re not disappointed, right?”

“You’re joking,” he scoffed.

He kissed you gently. Your lipstick was subtle but it looked like you had deliberately drawn the shape in such a way that kissing you how he wanted to--hard, repeatedly testing the limits of both of your lungs and pouring every ounce of gratefulness that you were plenty capable of changing a car battery--would likely muss it up. The car horn jolted you both back to reality.

Bucky glared at Jenny. She leaned out the window. “You’re very in love! We get it! But it’s fucking freezing, and I am not ordained, so can we get our asses up this mountain and get you married, already?”

You looped your arms around Bucky’s waist. “You go ahead, Jen. We’ll follow on the bike.” You raised your eyebrows at him. Bucky kissed your forehead.

“Let’s do it, babydoll.”

You retrieved your jacket, and righted your sleeves. The tool kit was returned to the trunk, which you would be thanking Coulson for later. Bucky helped you into your jacket as Jenny rolled out. Once you had your belt buckled, you held out your arms for his appraisal. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep himself from tugging you close again.

“Am I up to snuff, Sergeant?”

“Stunning,” he said softly. “You, uh… wanna marry me, or what?”

“Yeah. I really do.”

He fit his helmet over your hairstyle carefully, given that he didn’t have yours handy. You hugged him around the waist, tight, and you rode back to the diner. He touched your hands just briefly, and your skin was chilly.

“Everything golden?” He could hear Steve’s voice faintly broadcasting into the helmet. He couldn’t hear what you said back, but you patted him twice. It seemed positive. He picked up the pace a little.

***

You were welcomed to the diner by the prime members of America’s heroes in uniform, but they looked a little different than usual. Nat could easily slit a man’s throat in gold lamé, especially with her sensibly sky-high heels (and after your disastrous bachelorette party, you had little doubt about her ability to fight idiots in stilettos), but Steve would have a little more trouble fending off a missile with only Bucky’s hat for a shield. Still. They looked striking, and you felt tears threaten for the millionth time that day. The fact that both Steve and Bucky were wearing their WWII uniforms was so special. The last time either man wore their greens, they were barely men, and they were several lifetimes wiser, now.

Bucky brought the bike to a stop off to the side, away from the front door, and killed the engine. You removed his helmet, and fixed your fly-aways in the visor. Steve handed over Bucky’s hat, and the moment it was on his head, you batted his hand away.

“Let me,” you insisted. He feigned annoyance with the grumpiest face, but that glint in his eye was mischievous. You brushed your fingers through his hair, disturbing the pomade which Nat had foisted on him before the sun was up, so it laid a little more naturally. You perched the cap per regulation… and then ever-so-slightly askew. It pushed him over the edge from dashing to debonair.

Jenny gave him your cap from the back seat of the SUV. Then, he returned the favor.

He made a big show of looking over you for flaws, and shaking his head with a dramatic sigh. “You’ll do,” he said as he fit your cap. He tipped your chin up. The smile you shared was a culmination of so many feelings, but mostly just… adoration.

“Suppose I can’t kiss you again.”

“You can in about fifteen minutes.”

“I can wait.”

“Are we ready?” Steve called from the top of the stairs. He had ushered everyone else inside, out of the cold. You nodded eagerly.

***

You and Bucky walked into the diner together. Gary slipped a quarter into the jukebox and Moonlight Sonata crackled through the aging speakers. The Davis girls pelted your feet with white rose petals as you took the ten steps towards the balloon archway where your officiant waited. Every person in the diner stood, except Pepper.

You took a moment to look around at who was gathered, and where, but no faces really stuck; your eyes were too glazed over with happy tears. Bucky rubbed your fingers where they sat against his arm.

It was perfect. It wasn’t by any means how a wedding usually operated, but that was fine.

Nobody gave you away. You didn’t hold any flowers. Your wedding party sat at the counter like they were patrons to your partnership. In a lot of ways they were. Sam and Steve were on Bucky’s right; Nat and Jenny were on your left, both absolute stunners in gold. Tony wore a fabulous deep blue suit (far more attuned to the colors Jenny had forced you to pick than either you or Bucky were) and gold-rimmed glasses which would make Elton John jealous.

Tony glanced at Gary, who kicked the jukebox and the music promptly cut out. He cleared his throat.

You gripped Bucky’s elbow tightly.

“If any of you have reason why these two should not be bound in holy matrimony,” Tony began, once the gathering had taken their seats, “I have a thirty-four page dossier, a congressional pardon, and cat adoption papers which say otherwise, so. Keep it to yourself.” He winked at you, and you felt Bucky shake with laughter beside you.

“Hey, kids. Wanna do this?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. You peered up at Bucky, who gave you an ornery side eye.

“Might as well.”

“Okay. Well. I’m Tony, a friend of the couple. Absolutely nothing else about me is important, especially today. Say, you know online ordination takes like two minutes? It’s wild who they let in these days--”

“Tony.” Pepper was giving him the most sincere this is not the time look, and he clutched at his collar.

“Yes, dear. Um. I am married--obviously, that--” he gestured to his wife-- “is my spouse. Bless her heart. I am not at all qualified to tell you why people get married, or what criteria a couple should fit before they decide it’s right for them. I mean… why you? Why you.” Tony waved between the two of you thoughtfully.

“Why you--well, I met Y/n several years ago when she was a fresh recruit. Everybody in this room has an NDA on file, so I feel safe to elaborate a bit. You don’t mind?”

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

“Mmkay. The fact that she was on Nick Fury’s radar told me she was dangerous. In a good way. Like, an agent who would see patterns I don’t. So I tapped her for a project… a simple little thing. A task-master, an agent-minder. Something which could turn on or off an agent’s tracker in the field through the use of an app. She built an unhackable program.”

His attention turned to Bucky. “And a little while later… I needed it. For this guy. Because I didn’t know then what I know now…” Tony held out his hand to Bucky. “That he is... a great father to their cat, the only cat on earth that I like, by the way.” Tony grinned and Bucky rolled his eyes.

Laughter rippled through the crowd. “He got a fashionable ankle bracelet to model for a while. No big deal. I did not count on what would happen if the person who created this program, and the person who it tracked... met. Well. It’s fair to say that was the destruction of the system as we knew it. Y/n realized what was going on immediately--how her program was really being used--and took the issue straight to the top. Made the director of SHIELD think twice about a few things. And that wasn’t the last time. Nick Fury has one nightmare, and it’s Y/n knocking on his office door.”

“That’s my girl!” Jenny said proudly.

“Together, they have redefined what ‘Ethics’ means for our entire faction. We have changed systems because they challenged them. Rewritten rule of law… because they saw how unjust the existing ruling was. Couples have gotten together because of them. Bad men have been captured, children saved. Diners used as wedding venues, because of them.”

“So honored!” Gary called, blowing you a kiss from the jukebox. You returned the gesture and he fixed his thumbs around his suspenders in delight.

Tony motioned to all those in attendance. “There is not one person in this room who hasn’t been made better by these two people getting together, and… God. Do you know how rare that is?” He grasped your shoulders.

“Guys--there are billions of people on this planet, and you could love any number of them. Build a life with them. But I’m confident I can say (having been there since the beginning of your relationship--and transformed by it, too) that there isn’t another couple I can think of who literally rewrites what it means to love, and be loved. I can’t. This is it.”

Your head fell against Bucky’s shoulder at that. The sweetness of Tony’s words washing over you both… It was too much. Of course you felt everything that Tony said--you had been brought into your purpose meeting Bucky--but hearing someone else say it made the whole of it so real. How lucky you were.

Thank you, you mouthed to Tony. He bowed.

“Can I have you face each other, please. Grab hands. Y’all are so attractive, it’s ridiculous.”

The room hummed in agreement. Bucky raised his eyebrows suggestively at you. You wrinkled your nose back at him.

What followed were the vows… standard issue, you were sure, but you couldn’t seem to remember them. You knew the lips which spoke them to you, promising to love you forever and other important things… God, better than you knew anything in the world. But the actual words were a blur. Apparently you made the same promises back, because he slid your ring from your right hand to your left.

That should have been all; you didn’t want anything fancy, and even in going over the ceremony with Tony, you had agreed that you wanted people to spend a lot more time eating and dancing than listening to you talk about the other, but instead of pronouncing you married…

“One second, Stark.” Bucky held up a hand, and Tony ceded the floor to the groom.

Bucky seemed to realize all eyes were on him, and took a long look at the room. He laughed emotionally, holding back tears and something else… awe, maybe. He wasn’t quite ready for whatever it was, but he turned back to you.

“Um. I have something else. For you.” Bucky stepped closer to you. He pointed to the pin on your uniform which bore your surname. Your brow furrowed in confusion… until he removed his own.

BARNES. He held it up so the people behind you could see his name printed on the pin.

“May I?” He asked.

“Okay.” Your hands trembled as you raised them to remove your old pin, and you pricked your finger in the process. Tony produced a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Oh shoot. Here, kid.”

He gave you the little cloth to apply pressure to your index finger, and took over. Bucky reached around you and handed Jenny the pin, which bore the name you shared for the whole of your lives. She kissed him on the cheek in thanks. Then, he affixed his pin to your pocket placard, over your heart. He smoothed his thumb over it proudly.

“How’s it look?” you whispered.

“Best thing I’ve ever seen, honey.” He shrugged in a way that made it clear he was in no way nonchalant about it, either. It was the loveliest surprise. He held up your hand to make sure you weren’t bleeding anymore, and pressed your finger to his lips. Your knees were weak.

Tony clapped his hands together. “Are we good? Then, by the power vested in me by the State of Maryland, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss.”

You reached for his cap, and the nape of his neck, and stood on your toes. Kisses between you had always been about sharing a moment, marking the weight of it in time spent in the most vulnerable place you could be. Kissing him for the first time as your husband… there was a softness in it that meant forever. There was a hint of wait until later in a little nip. He worried your cupid’s bow, and you understood why they bothered to name it that.

Hoots and hollers filtered in as those in attendance celebrated wildly. Bucky beamed down at you with one of those face-cracking smiles he saved for truly joyful occasions, and he kissed you again. He lifted you off your feet easily, giving a peck to your cheek, and then hugged you tight.

“It is my pleasure to introduce Sergeant and Private First Class Barnes!” Tony shouted happily above the cacophony of delight.

Gary coaxed the jukebox into high gear with some Benny Goodman, and you were swarmed by guests, who weren’t going to bother waiting one minute longer to share in your happiness.

***

“How many pins are in here?”

Bucky had only managed to pull about half of your chignon down in the back storeroom, as the two of you stole a moment alone after formal photos had been taken. He looked so uncomfortable by the end that you quietly whispered your backup plan--a change of clothes for you both, which… His part of the backup was brought just in case he hated the fit of his tux, but yours was something delicious and velvet which would make dancing far more comfortable. Part two of a surprise to take his breath away.

Jenny had run interference (by pulling out several bottles of wine) so that you could change, take a breath… it would’ve been a touch more romantic in a location other than a stuffy room with a utility sink, twenty-pound bags of flour, and various vegetables stacked in crates, but it was the one place your guests couldn’t pursue you.

You held out your hand to receive the bobby pins as he found them. “Don’t worry about tearing the hairnet. I bought a ten pack.”

“If you say so.” He removed enough of the metal pins that you could brush the hairspray out of the ponytail, and then pull it out of the tie so it fell in soft waves. You tossed all the pins and the destroyed net into your duffel bag.

“Thank god. That style always kills my head,” you sighed, massaging little circles in your scalp. You peeked back at him.

Bucky was looking at you through slits, arms crossed in a way that his uniform jacket shouldn’t really allow. So grumpy. “You’re my wife,” he said matter-of-factly. “I get to say that, now.”

“That’s Mrs. Barnes to you.” You flipped your hair.

Hands slid around your waist, and he pressed his lips to the soft place behind your ear. “Do you know what that does to me?”

“I know all your buttons, Mister Barnes.” You moved his hands to the fastenings of your shirt. “Help me with mine?”

“This is a family restaurant.”

“Exactly. So.Get my buttons and I’ll help you with yours, and then when we get home, you can tell me more about this wife kink you have.”

He spun you around and latched his mouth over yours fiercely, but his hands obeyed your gentle pull on his wrists. He fumbled with the closures you indicated, but he eventually got it open, despite being absolutely obsessed with trying to pull needful noises from your lips. You couldn’t help the little gasp when his hands found the cups of the lacy bra you had picked out for the occasion.

“Shit, doll, this is nice,” he breathed.

You rested your head back against the shelf behind you, watching him. He worked at the knot of your tie until it loosened, and then kissed your sternum, and the center of the pink lace. You slid the shirt from your arms, and laid it carefully over the stack of crates beside you. Bucky was already one step ahead of you with your belt unbuckled, fingers releasing the zipper like you weren’t in Gary’s Diner with a whole host of guests eagerly waiting for you… but you stayed his objective. He groaned, and his head fell to your shoulder.

“Just two minutes of touching you. That’s all.”

“Baby,” you laughed. “When has two minutes ever been enough for us?”

“It absolutely would not be enough, but I’m compromising. This is what marriage is about.”

“Gary will ban us for life.”

“I think he would put a sign on the window telling people that an Avenger got fingered in his pantry--”

“Bucky Barnes!”

“What?”

You bit your lip. He was trying so hard not to grin, but the second that he showed you teeth, you were going to concede. Shit. Who were you kidding? You covered your face and groaned.

“You have two minutes! But take your jacket off. The Smithsonian would be horrified if they knew.”

He took his jacket off as quickly as he could while still treating it with any shred of reverence, and hung it on the hanger over the hook on the back of the door. He rolled his sleeves up, and didn’t give you one more moment to stop him from doing what he needed desperately.

Bucky traced your lacy waistband (of the panties which matched the lovely bra he liked so much, something he would know if he had even one ounce of patience) and then dipped inside, and his smile turned to delight to find you already slick for him.

“You gonna time me, Mrs. Barnes?”

“I’ll... count in my head. God, somebody’s gonna walk in on us!” You turned the points of your nails into his forearms, which only spurred him on. That little prickle of pain gave you both a rush, giving and receiving.

“If anybody knocks on that fucking door--” he growled.

He had this uncanny knack for making you ready for him fast--it had not taken long in the history of your intimacy to discover each other’s triggers. For you… it was a combination of the pulse point at the base of your neck and massaging your clit. If you were counting, you paused the clock the moment he slipped a finger inside you. The absolute pleasure of being touched by your husband, in a way only he could do… oh, yeah. No. You got it, now. The wife thing. Hot.

He was smug as you moaned.

“Shhh. They’ll find us out. Gary will have no choice but to advertise.” He nipped your collar bone and a zing shot to your toes.

“I’m not even an Avenger,” you breathed.

“Semantics.”

A second finger joined the first and you were gone, or soon to be. You arched up into him so you could quiet the noises he was pulling from you against his mouth. He had made you come fast before, but never with fifty people outside and never as your husband. It was the sexiest thing you could think of. You should’ve known. Your inner muscles tightened, and he was unrelenting in thrusting his hand until your body gave a little shiver of oversensitivity.

If he looked proud to be your husband before, Bucky Barnes was going to be an insufferable asshole about it for the rest of the evening. Marrying the woman of his dreams, making her come… you could practically hear his inner monologue as he eased his fingers from you and brought them up to his lips. He did not break eye contact. You shook your head at him.

“You’re never going to let me live that down,” you murmured. He wrinkled his nose and kissed you hard. Fuck. That little hint of you on his tongue.

“I love you.” He smirked and stepped away from you, leaving you looking absolutely fucked against the shelf.

“I think I love you too, but I’ll have to get back to you.” He turned his back to you and toed off his shoes--stiff brown things which looked new. “I brought your boots. In my bag.” You closed your eyes and gestured towards the general direction of your duffel.

In short order, your slacks were eased down your hips. Then the gentlest touch of your underwear sliding off, followed by the faint sound of the sink running, and then a damp cloth cleaning you up. You opened your eyes again. He knelt beside you, cleaning you with as much care as he had taken to make you come apart. His eyes flicked up to yours. The corner of his mouth turned up.

“Yeah,” you settled, carding a hand through his hair, “I love you.”

Bucky helped you into a new pair of panties (with a quiet side comment about Mary Poppins over here with her extra underwear), and then let you take your own time changing into your second outfit, while he took a better look at what you had brought for him. Black trousers and button-up, his favorite boots… so he’d feel more like himself. And then a vest (because it was still your wedding), and a really smashing blue coat. He whistled low.

“This is nice, doll. Reminds me a lot of an old one I had.” He slipped his arms into the sleeves and tested his range of motion (which was good--it was tailored for him based on his measurements on file with spec tech, so they were accurate down to the millimeter). Bucky turned back to you to get your opinion, but his question died in his throat.

You were fixing a jeweled comb into one side of your hair, looking into a tiny compact mirror. Otherwise, you wore a dark blue velvet jumpsuit with a deep front V. Natasha had been thrilled with your aversion to wearing a skirt, and when the two of you found the velvet piece in a little shop in the Village, it was obvious that no other outfit (other than your dress uniform) would do for your wedding to a man with eyes so blue they made yours water.

“Does this look okay?” you asked. “Buck?”

“Every time I think there’s no possible way you can get more beautiful…” He took the compact from you and held it up, so you could see yourself better. When you deemed yourself ready, Bucky touched your cheek. “I’m gonna remember this moment for the rest of our lives.”

Your cheeks turned pink under his scrutiny. “What, giving me an orgasm in the back of a diner?”

“You, lookin’ like this. My wife.” He cupped your cheeks. His gaze flicked between your irises. “I wish I had known you so much sooner.”

“Awe,” you said, smoothing his lapel. “I wasn’t ready for you, before. I was still healing.”

“Still. Thank you for marrying me.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Yes it is.” He grinned as you rolled your eyes and tugged him towards the door.

***

“How in the hell did you land her, Barnes?”

Shuri had her arm around Bucky’s shoulders as they sat on stools at the counter. The Princess of Wakanda had taken such an immediate liking to you that she had promptly declared to the entire room that she was the maker of your wedding ring, which had received an appropriate amount of applause. You were speaking quietly with her mother and the King nearby, absolutely radiant. You two had barely made it into the dining space before you were pulled into conversations left and right, so it was nice to make it to a little peace of calm on the opposite side of the room from the jukebox… which played the perfect golden oldies, but it had one volume setting. Loud.

Bucky had spent a lot of time telling Ramonda about you on his first visit back after you had officially gotten together. Enough that she had questions to ask you now, things she wanted to say without Bucky standing right there. T’challa more or less was there for amusement and did not contribute much to the conference, even though he was King.

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Bucky replied finally. It was a mystery he would never solve.

“Hey, I had an idea. Since you can’t wear a normal ring…” Shuri held up a little box--slim, almost pen sized. “A little mod.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Is there a finger in that box?”

She made a gasp of mock insult. “If you don’t want my gift--”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just creepy.”

He glared at her as she handed the thing over with an innocent smile on her face. It was nice to have her there, more than he would ever admit out loud. They had grown close during his visits, and she had several times called him for advice over the years, despite being the smartest person he knew. But she was still as ornery as ever, so he braced himself for something to jump out of the box.

But… it didn’t. It was just a vibranium finger. Definitely creepy. Between the second knuckle and the attachment portal where it would be affixed to his third knuckle, there was a band of silver filament with rune-like engravings inside. His throat practically closed up.

“You hate it.”

He shook his head. “Fuck, Shuri.”

She clapped her hands. “Cursing is a good sign!”

“This is really nice. Thank you.” Bucky embraced her tightly. She patted his shoulder.

“I have my kit, let me replace your other one.”

“Let me grab Y/n. It’s a little weird for you to put my wedding ring on, and not my wife.”

“Mama!” Shuri called. Ramonda took a beleaguered sigh, before turning her attention towards her youngest child. Shuri pointed at you and then waved. The Wakandan royal family gathered around as you approached the pair at the counter. Shuri ran around to the other side like she was about to serve up a piece of pie, but she pulled a pointed device from a pouch in her belt. Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist as soon as you were within reach.

“Look, honey,” he said, showing you the gift.

“Awe. Creepy,” you said lovingly. He gestured to you and looked at Shuri pointedly, but she stuck her tongue out at him. “This is beautiful, Shuri.”

She held out her hand, and Bucky set his vibranium one within her reach. It took but a moment for the designer of his arm to detach the current ring finger with her little tool, and then she beckoned to you. You pulled out of Bucky’s grasp and went around the counter, too. Shuri showed you which wires to match, and what attachments to solder--apparently her tool could do that, too, with a flick of a button in the other direction. It wasn’t the simplest configuration you had ever encountered, but then again, you had rewired his motorcycle, so. He had confidence this would be easy for you.

With Shuri’s guidance, you connected the new finger, which bore a permanent wedding band. He wiggled his fingers to test the installation, and it behaved perfectly.

“You’re amazing,” you said, hugging the woman.

“I am, aren’t I?” She winked at you and took her tool back.

Bucky watched you both with a clenching feeling of joy in his heart. A strong hand settled on his shoulder.

He looked up into the face of the other woman who had shaped his life. Ayo. She never smiled, as such, but… she was serene, and he offered her a hug all the same.

“I wondered if Loki would ever let you escape,” he chuckled.

“Are you going to introduce me to your wife?”

“Are you Ayo?” you asked. She bowed in ascent. “I’ve thought a million times about what I’d say if I ever met you. Now that you’re here, I can’t remember any of it. Just…” You held out your hands to her across the counter. Ayo sat beside Bucky and clasped your hands. “I’m so grateful to you.”

She squeezed. “I was just a guide,” she said simply.

“Thanks for being here all the same,” Bucky said.

Ayo nodded. “No offense, but most of us are here to meet her. You hogged her for too long, Barnes! Just wait until you two come visit. Between Okoye and I, you’ll be lucky if you see her for a week.”

“You’ll love Okoye,” Shuri said with deep admiration. “Come to Wakanda for your honeymoon!”

“We haven’t planned one,” you laughed. “Been a little busy.”

“You want me to sabotage the arm? Then you’ll have to--”

“No! We’ll come.” You winked at Bucky, who was so stunned to be sitting there surrounded by these people in particular that it barely registered. “Uh oh. I know that look. We better get some cake in you, Mr. Barnes.”

You excused yourself from the Wakandans and tugged him away, but you barely made it ten steps before you were stopped by more people… this time people you seemed to be better acquainted with.

Bucky let himself disassociate for a moment, grounding himself solely by rubbing circles in the velvet which draped over your hips. You turned in his arms, and you were murmuring against his jaw, taking his hand… you brought his arm behind your back. It took a minute or two for him to realize that you were swaying, and people weren’t talking loud anymore… but boy, he’d know the croon of that clarinet anywhere.

He was back in your suite at the compound again, swaying in your arms for the first time to Ella Fitzgerald. Starved for touch. In pain. Holding a woman for the first time in forever. Your fingers rubbing the nape of his neck had made him feel less self-conscious about the bad haircut, and his bruised ankle, and… then he blinked, and he was back in the present, feeling a wash of guilt. It wasn’t fair to you not to be here for this moment.

What was a first dance, anyway?

Maybe it wasn’t for the two of you. Just a little performance for your guests in thanks for their support. Watch us swirl around, whispering together, and then you can have some cake. The whole wedding thing was a strange ritual. It was fairly embarrassing, too. Who even came up with the idea?

“You are a thousand miles away.” Your fingers rubbed the lobe of his ear.

He smiled. “Just thinking.”

“Happy thoughts?”

“Weddings are so weird, but. This is a good one.”

“We did okay!” You stepped up onto his boots and Bucky locked both arms around your waist. You gave him a peck. “I still want that cake. I am starving. Jenny was right--the bride and groom do not get to eat!”

Bucky stopped abruptly. He held up a hand to the room and waited until someone unplugged the jukebox. It was fairly easy to get everyone's attention when they were all watching you.

“Hi. Hello, everyone. Uh… thank you for coming. My wife is hungry. So. We will be eating now, so if you could give us ten minutes to do that, and then--”

“Cake,” you added.

“And then we’ll have cake. That’s all.”

He hauled you down the length of the diner to where a buffet had been arranged with all the fine offerings from Gary’s kitchen. The sea of people parted to make way for you, and Sam took up guard behind you so that you could both fix a plate. Bucky discreetly slipped Sam a twenty, which Sam promptly turned around and snuck into your hand… very un-sneakily.

You sat together in the corner booth. It was supposed to be your… ‘head table’, as it were, but any of Jenny’s plans for a seating arrangement had been dashed, so Nat darted over with a few candles that hadn’t completely burned down to the wick, and some flowers, and Steve brought you each a Dixie cup filled with champagne.

Bucky’s attention was split equally between you and his food, as you both ate like it had been days since you had seen food… so he didn’t notice when a small contingent of people gathered at the counter, pouring more champagne into paper cups and passing them around the room. Not until Steve knelt on a stool, so he could be tall enough to be seen by the whole diner.

“Can I have everyone take a seat?” Steve announced.

Bucky paled. Oh no.

Steve avoided looking at him, but raised his cup. “A few of us would like to make some toasts while the happy couple eat their dinner. I’m sorry that we don’t have a microphone, but hopefully you can hear me okay.” The room confirmed that they could.

You leaned against Bucky’s shoulder. He set his fork down. There would be no eating if Steve Rogers was about to say anything.

“I just wanted to take a second to thank you for coming all this way, especially with the weather reports being touch-and-go,” he said. “I’m frankly… a little gobsmacked to be here. A long time ago, I watched my best friend go off to war.”

Bucky was fucked. The emotions welled in his chest.

“We’ve been through a lot, Bucky and I. Some of you in this room know that better than others. Plenty of you were part of that journey. There are three days that I would consider the best in the history of our friendship. The first was the day I found out he was still alive.”

“That was not a good day,” Nat grumbled at his elbow. Steve reached for her hand, and she laced their fingers together.

“The second, was the day that I got a call from Nick Fury that Bucky had dropped off his radar. It also happens to be the day that I first met Y/n, because she confronted me,” he chuckled. You blushed and covered your face. “She looked me in the eye and told me to go away. Me. And thank goodness I listened, because the third day--well, the greatest day of mine and Bucky’s friendship is today.”

He finally looked at Bucky. Super-soldier to super-soldier, they were both done for. Both men were teary-eyed.

“Man, I am so proud of you. Look at you. Us.” Steve looked down at the woman at his side, the one he loved. “We couldn’t have it any better. As good as Y/n has been for you, she’s made me rethink every single thing I thought I knew about what being with you until the end of the line means. I look forward to seeing how much better our lives get from here. Because I’m with you, brother. I love you. So. Please raise your glasses to the Barneses. Here’s to the long, beautiful life ahead of you.”

“Here, here!” Everyone took a sip from their cups.

Bucky scooted out of the booth and hugged Steve. “That was cheap,” Bucky sniffled.

“You’ll get me back someday,” Steve replied, sniffling himself. He pulled back enough to pat Bucky on the cheek, and then for the first time in their entire acquaintance, Natasha initiated an embrace. It was brief, but she pecked his cheek.

“I love you, Barnes, but if you tell anybody I said that…” she winked, and shooed him back to your side. She followed, if only to kiss your cheek too, and whisper something which made you blush and swipe at your own eyes.

“I… don’t know how to follow that, but you better stay standing if you know what’s good for you, Barnes.” Sam had taken Steve’s place, and Bucky stiffened, turning back reluctantly to face his other primary best friend.

“When I tell you that I suffered through the era before they admitted their feelings…” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. The room laughed. “Let me just… demonstrate for you. Excuse me.” The Falcon pulled out a cell phone. “Oops, that one’s yours, buddy. How’d that get there?” Sam handed over Bucky’s long lost phone to Nat, who delivered it to your table. Bucky couldn’t even be mad, because he was bracing himself for what Sam was about to share.

Sam held out his phone dramatically. “Sam. What time does Bucky get up in the mornings? I’m going to spontaneously run into him. Please advise.”

You groaned. “Wilson!”

“You deserve this, Y/n! ‘Hey, does he ever spar with other people? Or just you? Should I ask him to spot me, or is that obvious? Why aren’t you answering me?????’ Please note, there were five question marks there.” Sam winked at you, and Bucky sat to console you in your embarrassment… even though he was so delighted to hear your old texts. He kissed your temple.

“Ooh… a personal favorite. ‘I got shot. Please tell him before I touch down. I am fine.’” Sam turned to the opposite side of the room, where one Doctor Bruce Banner was seated with Tony and Pepper. “Dr. Banner… how did that go?”

“Not well!” Bruce said with exasperation. “But I got a pretty nice bottle of tequila out of it, so thanks, Wilson.”

“That’s right. The sacrifices I have made for the two of you. They are too numerous to count. Well… you made up for the tequila, but we don’t talk about that.” Sam cringed as Nat punched his arm hard. “I’m saying… I’ve loved every moment,” he laughed. “It has been my distinct pleasure to be along for the ride from beginning to end. I remember the day after he first ran into you, Y/n. He actually looked me in the eye. Spoke a full sentence. About a girl. I thought I was gonna cry. Every day since, he’s opened up, but… so have you. God, you’re a marvel, woman. I’m just so lucky to be your primary best friend.”

Sam held up his cup. “A toast to the best people in my life. Love you both. Please stop texting me about each other.”

He chugged his champagne and beamed at you both, shaking Bucky’s hand. You reached for Sam across the table and he kissed your knuckles.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take!” You were smiling and crying, and Bucky, too, felt the delirious happiness of the moment.

There were a few more toasts from others (none of them as invasive or as emotional as the first two), and refills had to be poured all around. Peter Parker stood up and talked about how cool it was to see ‘one of us’ get to have a life, and a wife… it stirred something in Bucky to be spoken of in the collective like that. Nat was so emotional that she could not make words come out, when she tried, so her toast was just a silently raised glass. You had sobbed. Gary retold his version of meeting the happy couple for the first time, and his embarrassment when it turned out he was mistaken about Bucky’s identity… and how he would be renaming the cinnamon roll a ‘Cinnamon Barnes’... which didn’t really make any sense, colloquially, but it was sweet.

Gary cried.

By the time the owner of the diner was finished with his toast, the light outside had dimmed to that low dusky light. Sam took a moment to plug in some fairy lights, and turn off the fluorescents. It really was magical, between the twinkling led’s and the candles stuffed into the necks of wine bottles, dripping wax down the sides.

The last person to stand up with a toast (at your insistence, you could not handle one more speech) was your sister, Jenny. She was radiant in gold, and little Jaedyin held onto her pant leg with one thumb in her mouth until Bucky whispered ‘hey, squirt!’ Then, she tottered over to her new uncle and sat, hugging his arm instead.

“Hey, everyone. I don’t have any super-human powers, but… I am Y/n’s sister, so that’s gotta count for something, right?” She winked at you. Bucky rubbed your arm, and you laid your head against his cheek.

“This has been… a hard year for our family. You may have noticed that there aren’t many blood relatives here, and it’s because unfortunately, we lost our mother in August. But the thing about us is that we’re independent, Y/n and I. We’ve always taken care of ourselves, and having partners hasn’t changed that. But when she brought Bucky home… I realized that we were missing security. You know… the kind of love that stands by, unconditionally. Never wavering. That man--” she pointed to Bucky, who was currently a human pillow for Jenny’s sister and child-- “has brought something to us that we didn’t even know we could have. Y/n could absolutely live out her days, caring for herself without any outside intervention, but… Bucky takes on half of her worries in a way I’ve never seen. Our own parents certainly never modeled that sort of partnership. Lord knows I’ve never found it… I’m lucky that my daughter’s dad is such a present figure in their lives. Brad--you’re a good guy.”

Brad Davis waved from the corner, holding a beer that he had likely brought himself. He did not look in the least embarrassed to be called out by his ex-wife, and happily rubbed the back of Lakylenn, who slept on his chest.

“But you two make me believe that there is love like that out there. All of us in this room would be so lucky to find it. So… Bucky, thank you. For loving her so fully. For giving her support I can’t give from afar. Please take a moment every now and again to reflect on what a gift your marriage is. Okay?”

Jenny took a second because she was fighting away her own tears. You slid out of the booth. Jenny buried her face in your embrace, and the room clapped in agreement with her haphazard toast. Jaedyin looked up at Bucky.

“Mama is sad, buckle.” (‘Buckle’ was Davis-child speak for Uncle Bucky, and it was his most favorite thing in the entire world.)

“She’s happy, kid. People cry when they’re happy too.”

“You?” She poked his cheek.

“Especially me,” he laughed.

“I like your shirt, buckle.” She pointed to the black silk on his chest which had a faint blue pinstripe.

“Thank you. That’s called a vest.”

“Best?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. It goes over my shirt. Nice, right? Auntie got it for me.”

Jaedyin pointed at you. “Auntie Doll?” She didn’t quite understand yet that your first name wasn’t ‘doll’... that’s what Bucky called you, so wasn’t that your name?

“Yep. Auntie Doll.”

“She’s pretty. You like her?”

“I love her.”

Jaedyin covered her mouth like that was the silliest thing she had ever heard. She was his constant shadow whenever you were with your family.

It was bittersweet that your mother had passed before the wedding. You had made up your mind to forgive her if she was willing to show some remorse, but by then she was too sick to be anything other than mean. He had spent a lot of time sitting in her deserted house in the Autumn, entertaining the little girls with puzzles while you and Jenny combed through the deceptively large place and figured out who would be taking what from a life that had spanned almost seven decades. It was a strange mirror to gaze into, but getting closer to your sister and her kids, hell even Brad… it had been good for him. Bucky pretended not to notice as Jaedyin stole a strawberry and a french fry from his plate.

You sat down again and greeted Bucky with a soft kiss. “I’m so dehydrated from all that crying,” you whispered. “Should’ve known they’d get us like that.”

“I’m a wreck,” he agreed.

“Auntie Doll!”

“Yes, baby?” You took the offered french fry from your niece. “Oh, thank you. Very thoughtful.”

“Buckle loves you,” she said, with a maniacal giggle.

“I love him too.” You kissed the man in question to demonstrate, a nice french-fry-y kiss.

“Mommy says no kissing! Only if you married.”

“Good news, kiddo,” Bucky said, looking over the little one’s head to catch Jenny’s eye. She immediately realized she was being summoned and slammed her champagne. “Auntie Doll and I got married today, you remember?”

Jaedyin giggled. “Yeah. You kissed her and the guy said you married.”

“Hey, monster!” Jenny scooped up the little one, who wriggled in annoyance to be pulled away from her two favorite people in the world. “Daddy’s gonna take your sisters outside to look at the snow.”

“Snowing?”

“Yeah! It’s snowing!” Jenny set Jaedyin down and patted her bum so she’d run to Brad, who was bent down with her coat open. Your sister leaned against the booth. “My kids are going to talk about this day for years,” she said fondly. “But we’re gonna jet.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“You better not! I expect you two to be incommunicado for at least a week, and not because the government told you to.” She doffed Bucky on the shoulder playfully. “Love you both.”

The Davis’ took their children out into the snow, and it started a slow exodus of people. You cut the cake--a riveting monstrosity made with stacked cinnamon rolls, frosted with buttercream--and got cornered by more guests who hadn’t had a chance to share their well-wishes, yet.

You met both Princes of Asgard (Thor was insistent that you someday meet his own partner, Jane, who hadn’t been able to make it; Loki was so enchanted with you that he kept bowing over the hand that he held hostage until Bucky liberated it), and a man who introduced himself as Scott Lang (you were made aware later that he was an Avenger, but that he still didn’t really believe it himself).

You formally met Peter after his sweet toast, and his Aunt May, and several glasses of wine later, Tony introduced himself before Pepper gently coaxed him away to work on his water intake.

After a while, there were only a few of your people left.

Steve and Nat, of course; he sat on a stool and she stood between his knees (he kissed her shoulder every now and then. Bucky was fairly certain he saw her mouth something about love to his oldest friend).

Sam nursed a little cup of champagne; he apparently had invited Clint (‘not as a DATE!’), but Hawkeye had been sent on assignment.

Bruce and Ayo spoke in a quiet conference with T’challa.

Shuri and Ramonda organized the gift corner, which had started as a table and became quickly overwhelmed with god knows what.

Gary was asleep in a booth of his own, with his head pillowed on his jacket.

Bucky lounged contentedly with his cheek resting against the crown of your head. You drummed your fingers on his chest in time with Glenn Miller.

“I am so full,” you groaned. “That cake was insane.”

“That’s what we get for giving him no parameters.” Bucky turned his lips against your hair. “But I wouldn’t change a thing. About the whole day.”

“Nope.” You snuggled into the crook of his neck. “Mmm. You’re my husband.”

Bucky Barnes was a lot of things which the world decided without his approval. He couldn’t control that there were people whose worlds had been shattered by the Winter Soldier, or whose lives had been taken by him. He was once an Asset to an organization who believed he was the key to shaping a Century. He remembered them all. Some days it was a faint memory, and sometimes he awoke with the exact imprint of a victim’s cornea burning in his brain. That wasn’t something he could really control. Only cope. Heal, and make amends when possible.

But one day, not so long ago… he woke up with a choice to seek out the woman from the eighth floor who liked swing music. He got out of bed because he wanted to see her again. When faced with having to protect himself and stay shielded, or take a risk on her seeing his true self… Bucky had chosen to risk it. He made himself act on the impulse to be near you. The opportunity to touch you came--he took it. You were wonderful and you had held out your arms wide to welcome him, but the relationship wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t taken the chance when you offered.

So, this day?

He got to be proud.

Bucky tipped your chin up so he could see your beautiful eyes. “Forever, doll.”

Part 9

Part 11

***

tag list: @peterhollandkait @hogwartsahist0ry @morticiaofthedead @harrietbaudelaire @general-kenobi357 @hawsx3 @subwaysurf45 @nahthanks @sergntbarnes @agni-l @mass-percussion

message, reblog, or comment to be added to the tag list! :)

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic recs #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #nostalgia for the new #nostalgia for the new by realjane

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moonsugar-and-spice · 2 years

Note

Azulaang

And for Dragon Age maybe Meredith x Orsino or Morrigan x Alistair for that good ol mage templar dynamic

Or surprise me

I went with the first for Azulaang and I'll save the second for another time (it's a good one; Morristair my beloved).

🌧️24: "We should stop talking, people might start to think I like you."

Send me a prompt and a pairing.

Azula turned the old bronze comb over in her hand, running a thumb along the familiar jade embellishment in the shaft. It was the first time she had stood before this mirror since returning to the palace, its proud gold frame climbing the wall of her chambers. Abstractly it called to mind the gilded trim framing the curtained door of the palanquin that had brought her here not two weeks ago.

“Why?”

The first word that had been spoken as she’d sat in the jostling quiet next to Zuko, the asylum shrinking in the distance. The healers had formally pronounced her fit to be discharged, and Azula had been momentarily stunned when it was he who had arrived to pick her up.

Not a servant sent at the Fire Lord’s command.

Zuko, himself.

Why. What an absurdly small question, she mused now, to hold the tumble of thoughts and feelings and more questions stuffed into it.

“Is there somewhere else you were thinking you’d go?” he had responded, and Azula would have accepted that as answer enough. She would have figured something out — she always would — but it had all happened so fast, and if she were honest, Azula wasn’t sure in that moment where she might have gone.

But then, Zuko had said, “I wanted you to come home. It’s where you belong.”

Home.

The mirror’s face she had shattered on her last night here, a lifetime ago, had been repaired sometime during her absence. Her mother, Ursa, used to sit her down at this mirror with this same comb. If Azula concentrated hard enough, she could almost smell the perfumed oils she used to favor, jasmine and sandalwood and orange blossom. Could almost feel her mother’s gentle touch, combing her hair a hundred times smooth, even as she’d griped and jerked away.

“I love you, Azula.”

Words she had never been able to receive, then. Love was something you had to earn, and she would never manage to compete with Zuko to win it. She wouldn’t even try. He was her perfect child, and she was her father’s.

Azula watched her reflection lift the comb languidly to her hair, but stopped short, her gaze snagging on a deep, brittle crack in the bronze along its once-perfect, polished edge. When had that happened? She didn’t remember it being there before.

The old her would have tossed the thing away with a sneer, ordered it replaced just as quickly with something newer and shinier. Something perfect.

Now, she was struck by the odd sort of beauty in her hand. The imperfections all resolving together to create a piece of art with character and history, unique unto itself, and despite it all, or perhaps even on account of, she found she admired it all the more.

For fourteen years of her life, Azula had believed that if she only tried hard enough, if she could be perfect enough, if she never failed or lost or made a mistake in any way, she could earn her father’s love. The last time she had seen him, Ozai had named her Fire Lord — an honorific she now knew had been as empty as his affection for her, a way to leave her behind — that star-crossed night when he had been power-drunk and endeavored to burn the Earth Kingdom to a cinder.

And for all her years of effort and grueling training and silent desperation, in the end, the worst had come to pass. She had failed. She had lost that fated Agni Kai to Zuko. And there was not a single soul in the royal court, or the city, or her father still in his cold iron cell, who did not know of how she lost and came apart that night.

In the days and weeks after, bitter and numb and stewing in the seclusion of her personal safety room, Azula had sworn she would never let anyone see her cry again. People saw tears and they stopped seeing you, stopped seeing the armor you wore, stopped listening to your words, your expression, or anything you might have to say. It made no difference whether the tears were frightened or frustrated, angry or sad. All they saw was a fragile girl crying.

Tears burned behind her eyes now, threatening to fall. The comb’s teeth scraped gently against her scalp as she ran it through her hair, wincing a little as she hit a tangle and smoothed it out. Azula breathed in slow and deep, watching her chest rise and fall in the mirror, the line between her brows melting away on the exhale.

For perhaps the hundredth time in recent days, Azula found herself turning her brother’s words around in her head, this way and that, like a sculpture, trying to catch every subtle detail, every hidden nuance.

“I wanted you to come home. It’s where you belong.”

Some buried part of her stirred, whispering that she had mistaken his meaning, that he hadn’t really meant it.

But Azula had long since stopped trying to earn anyone’s love or approval. She had already unraveled, had already hit rock bottom, and everyone knew it, so what was the point? Fourteen years of striving, and her father’s love had turned to dust the moment she’d slipped. She was done trying to be anything for anyone other than herself.

The thing with Zuko though, she had come to understand, was that she never had to be any of those things. In spite of all her wrongs and flaws and failures, in spite of having done nothing to deserve it and for reasons she couldn’t understand, Zuko loved her anyway.

It had been Zuko — weak, lucky-to-be-born Zuko — who never gave up on her. The one who saw her through years of therapy and reconditioning and growth to come out the other side, and never once made her feel ashamed or abandoned or not enough.

Something cracked inside her, a soft, hitching breath.

The tears spilled over then, cleansing and hot. She didn’t try to stop them.

What would she say if she were to face her father now, to stand tall and look him in the eyes with tear-stained cheeks? She wanted to tell him that a true phoenix does not rise amid the flames, wild and fierce, but only in the cold, dark nothing that comes after. Born from its own ashes, forged through hellfire and suffering, through its own unmaking, to become something else, something better and stronger and resilient.

She straightened, sniffed, and set the comb down on the table with a tick, giving only a cursory wipe to her eyes and face. There was no such thing as perfect. Only beautiful versions of brokenness.

The halls were still relatively quiet, pale light leaking in through the windows with morning’s muted chorus, drifting just at the edge of hearing. It had become her favorite time of day during her stay in the asylum, that bird-soaked hour before sunrise. She had spent many mornings roaming the gated garden, or seated at its window on drizzly mornings. The flowers always looked a shade brighter in the rain, the birds always singing louder.

Funny, how for so long defeat had echoed like a door slammed shut, a resounding end to her life and all that she was. What might have become of her, if Zuko had never risked treason to do what was right, if Katara hadn’t been at the Agni Kai that night to save him, and without knowing it, Azula, too? If the Avatar had not beaten the odds to bring an end to the Fire Nation’s tyranny and Ozai’s power-hungry ambition?

How she had loathed the Avatar, back then, for his part in the ruin of it all.

Now, gratitude expanded in her chest, filling her near to aching.

“A closed door might be an ending, but it’s also a beginning,” he’d said during their first accidental encounter upon her return, “a different way forward. A death, and a rebirth.”

Azula couldn’t quite say why she had opened up to him in the first place. Her mouth had let the words escape before she could stop them, but she never found herself wishing to take them back. It was comfortable with him. Odd for her to make a connection so quickly, to give her trust so easily, tentative though it was. There was something in the way he smiled, a genuineness, a softness of spirit so unlike her own. When she talked, he listened like he was absorbing her words, as if there was nothing more important in the world at that moment.

“The monks used to say our stories don’t have one beginning or one end, but that each moment is a microcosm of beginnings and endings all knitting together, crossing each other, breaking apart. One closed door, the end of one chapter, is simply the beginning of the next.”

She had watched him, sifting his expressions, and glimpsed the boy in his face, the one who had lost everything and everyone he had loved. The one she had killed that night in the catacombs. The thought still made her wince. Was resilience something he was born with, or had he, too, learned how to nurture it?

Aang, he had been insisting she call him. She hadn’t yet, if only for the reward of his banter and that tenacious smile, the one that carved a dimple into one cheek.

“Well, well…”

Azula’s steps faltered with a soft breath of amusement. Really, it should have come as a surprise. After all, once was an accident; twice, maybe even three times, a coincidence. But four, five? It was almost comical now, which was why it no longer surprised her. Azula had come to expect, maybe even hope for, these unintended rendezvous.

She turned smoothly on her heel and felt a contented tug at the corner of her mouth as he approached.

“Hello, Avatar.”

“Hello, Princess,” he replied, coming to stop in his weightless way before her. Azula’s eyes flicked down.

Thin plumes of steam curled up from a pair of teacups, one in each of his hands. Her eyes returned to Aang’s with an arch of a brow to catch a hint of that dimple showing as his lips quirked.

“Tea?” he offered, holding one out to her.

Reflexively, she accepted it, the porcelain pleasantly warm against her palms. Azula fixed him with a look of wry incredulity. “There is no way you could have known I’d be walking this hall at this very time.”

“Who says I made it for you?” shrugged Aang, the corners of his eyes kissing slightly. “I made two cups in case I ran into someone who looked like they could use one. Just so happens here you are.”

The steam bore an inviting aroma she knew well, fruity and woodsy with honeyed notes.

“Hmm. Well, the day I turn down a cup of oolong is the day the assassins have succeeded and replaced me with an imposter, so…” She took a sip, savoring the velvety smooth richness on her tongue and the sweet-bitter aftertaste. “Thank you.”

They strolled aimlessly together, and for a little while neither spoke, the halls beginning to fill with the rustles of a palace waking.

“They wouldn’t fool me, by the way,” he said at length, and Azula looked up at him. He had grown over the years, nearly a head taller than she was now. “I’d be able to tell.”

“What?”

“The real you from a counterfeit.”

It took her by surprise, his words as much as the color rising softly in his cheeks. Azula ducked her head to take a long sip of the tea, locking eyes fleetingly with a servant passing by. The woman’s gaze skated to the floor, but not fast enough to hide the twinkle still bleeding through her expression.

“You know, we really should stop talking,” said Azula once the servant had gone, dragging Aang’s eyes askance to meet hers. “People might start to think I like you.”

The words rang hollow though, and she made no effort to mask the telling tilt of her lips.

“Oh?” he responded, taking the bait. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…” Aang leaned closer with an exaggerated grimace, mock-whispering the rest as they went. “I’m pretty sure people already suspect that I like you.”

It was her turn to blush, the rush of heat having little to do with the temperature of her drink. Azula feigned solemnity in spite of the butterflies rousing sleepily in her stomach.

“How unfortunate. We should definitely stop talking then. Already halfway there, we can’t have that.”

“Yeah. I hate to say it, but I think we might be fighting an uphill battle around here. Maybe it would all be easier if you just admitted you do like me.”

“You think so?” The gold rim of her teacup winked in a shaft of light as they passed a window. “Maybe you should go first.”

“That seems kind of weird, but, okay…” There was a subtle gleam to his expression as he took a breath, making a show of composing himself, and finally said, “I think you like me, Azula.”

She scoffed, opening her mouth with some retort when he cut in, “Now it’s your turn.”

“Fine. I think you like me, Avatar.”

Shaking his head good-humoredly, he let his gaze wander ahead of them down the hall. “You don’t have to keep calling me that. You’ve had all these years to learn my name—”

“Names are for people you like.”

He glanced back at her, and she bit her lip, a poor attempt to hide her enjoyment, and for the briefest of moments, just an instant, his grey eyes were drawn down, alighting on her lips. One of those butterflies seemed to escape her stomach, fluttering dizzily in her chest, and she looked away.

“Fair,” Aang conceded with a shrug of his head. “And what if I said, hypothetically, that the rumors are true. That maybe I do like you.”

“I suppose, hypothetically, I might respond that for a bald, attention-whoring, goody-goody monk… maybe you’re okay, too.”

The morning’s rays had saturated to a rich amber, igniting the crimson halls wherever it touched, and the lopsided grin that broke across his face rendered it pale by comparison. She couldn’t help the echo of it that dawned on her own face.

“Coming from you that might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever received. I’ll be sure to keep that one right here,” he said, placing a palm flat over his heart.

Their languorous steps eased, and when Aang came to a stop, Azula turned to face him. The oolong in her cup had begun to cool and she warmed it again, watching the feather of steam rise to dance over it.

“So,” was all he said at first, shifting his weight.

“So,” she returned in kind.

“Here we are again.”

“It does seem as if our paths are determined to keep crossing.”

“Some people might call that fate,” ventured Aang.

“I call it living in the same palace.”

Murmurous laughter trickled toward them, quieting to a hush as a trio of servants rounded the corner, bowing humbly before vanishing through an adjacent hall.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Aang continued. “People already assume the worst, and we keep bumping into each other. Maybe we might as well, I don’t know… hang out. Like, officially. Since, you know, that’s what everyone expects anyway.”

The thought had wandered into her own mind a handful of times, though of course she didn’t say that.

“I suppose there is no sense in trying to dissuade the ones who’ve already made up their minds. What do you imagine two people who don’t like each other might do together?”

“Hmm…” His mouth pulled to the side in thought. “A Kuai ball duel?”

She replied with a soft, flippant snort. “Sure, if losing is your idea of fun. I’m undefeated, you know, Kuai ball reigning champion.”

“Oh, but you’ve never competed against the Avatar.” His voice retained the buoyancy she knew, but there was a spirited edge to it, of someone equally sure of their own skill. “Should we put that record to the test?”

It was the sanest kind of madness, this unlooked-for attraction between them.

Azula straightened, lifted her chin, and smiled with an almost defiant kind of joy.

#prompt ask #azulaang #azula #aang #atla fanfiction #haven't written either of these character much #and never written this pairing #not sure it's my best but it was a fun challenge and change of pace #this ended up being half azulaang and half post-canon #post-years of therapy #making-it-out-of-the-asylum-with-the-support-of-those-who-truly-love-her azula character study #because i think she deserves it #i also just realized there has been mention of a mirror in all three of these prompt fics so far 😅😅#not sure what that means or says about me at the moment #but… probably something #written prompts #thanks for the ask!#writebecauseyoucannotbreathe #moonsugar writes

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serasvictoria · 3 years

Text

I've Got Dreams To Remember

Pairing: Incubus Hvitserk/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 8244 (yeah, I don't know what happened either)

Summary: A certain young man keeps showing up in your very x-rated dreams.

Notes: I fully realise that the contents of this might not be for everyone, so I’ll just say that according to some stories Incubi are capable of shapeshifting. A certain aspect of this has been inspired by @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie's absolutely brilliant fic, Take Me, so if you've read that you'll know what I'm talking about. And if you haven’t read it, what the hell are you doing? READ IT.

There is another moodboard all the way at the end of this to provide a visual for something that I describe in this so have a look at it at the end.

Tagging: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @vikingstrash @quantumlocked310

He only ever came to you in your dreams.

The dreams were interesting to say the least and he always played a very big part in them. You often wondered what deep and dark recesses of your brain had conjured him up, because you would definitely remember if you had encountered someone like him in real life.

It first started about a month ago. You’d gotten out of a particularly nasty relationship a few months before. You were still trying to navigate your way through this new life that you now had and while your friends were busy with trying to get you back onto the dating scene, you persisted in that regard. You weren’t looking for a new man in your life, but you still had needs. Sure, you had your toys, but they were a somewhat poor substitute when what you really wanted was for someone to grab your ass, lift you up and fuck you up against a wall.

Maybe that was where he had come from. Because that was exactly the scenario that you got the first time that he showed up.

It was a fairly generic one where dreams were concerned. You were in a bar with some people, a wide assortment of people that you knew in real life, when you could feel someone’s eyes on you. You looked up and stared straight into the half shaded face of a young man whose eyes you couldn’t actually make out, but you saw the smile that graced his lips and boy was it hungry. You only glanced away for a second and when you looked back again, he was already gone. You’d resigned yourself to missing your chance, when a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, dragged you outside to a nearby alleyway and gave you exactly what you’d been thinking of during your waking hours.

When you woke up, you had never found yourself feeling so satisfied before. You threw the blankets over your head, rolled over and tried to fall asleep again, but sleep didn’t take you for a second time that morning sadly enough. Later that day, after getting out of the shower and glancing in the mirror before combing your hair, you stared at your reflection in confusion or to be more precise at your bare skin. In your dream, your mystery lover had bitten your shoulder and there, right there on your shoulder, were teeth marks. But that was impossible, right? Maybe the dream had been that intense that it had somehow tricked your body into believing that it had been real? Did things like that even happen?

You didn’t dream of him the next night. Nor the following five nights. Not that you were keeping track or anything. He eventually put in another appearance though. The setting for that dream wasn’t particularly inventive either and you were almost embarrassed that your mind was even coming up with stuff that gave you the impression that they should be storylines in bad porn movies. It was a department store this time and you were looking at underwear. Your fingers continuously ran over the lace trims of various bras and touched the silky panties that came with them.

Again, you felt eyes on you and it was the same young man as from your previous dream. Apparently, dream you was in a frisky mood so you held up various bras in front of your chest, most of which he disapproved of, until you came across a bright red lace number that he seemed to like. When he finally found you in the fitting room shortly after, you were wearing the set that he had wanted to see you in before tearing it off your body and fucking you up against the full length mirror.

That was the first time that you’d gotten a good look at his face. Frankly, you were impressed with what your mind had come up with. He had long dirty blonde hair that he wore in a ponytail and that you longed to see loose. His eyes were green one time and when you looked again they seemed brown. That was one of the parts about him that mystified you. That and the part where you constantly wanted to kiss the tip of his nose and his ears. That was definitely an odd experience to say the least.

He was tall and lithe of build, but with surprising strength in his arms. The way that he would hold you was intense, like he never wanted to let you go. When his shirt came off, you found yourself staring at the intricate tattoo that covered most of his left bicep and part of his chest. It was some kind of Viking design and it looked old, but it was probably meant to look like that. You found yourself tracing it with your finger a number of times, something that seemed to amuse him.

Whenever you woke up, you were annoyed that you had been torn out of this perfect little dream world. The dream world where you were fucked six ways from Sunday. You were so thirsty for this young man that you had created that he was in your nighttime fantasies pretty much every single night now. In your dreams he left you so satisfied that you had no idea why you ever wanted to leave. If only you could stay asleep and feel this bliss forever. What would make them even more amazing was if the fantasies were better. You always swore that you were one dream away from having him come round to your house so he could have a closer look at your plumbing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Rolling over on your side, you looked at the man next to you in the bed. Despite the fact that you had been dreaming about him almost every single night for the past two weeks, you had never actually heard him talk. You’d heard him moan and groan several times, but to hear his lips form actual sentences was a new thing.

“Nothing,” you replied with a smile.

“I can read your thoughts, you know.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, I never told you?” He grinned at you and ran his fingers up and down your bare arm. “Maybe I could have told you if you’d wanted to talk, but you only want me for my body.”

“What? I don’t… I never…” You were flustered and looking for words after being so brutally called out. “It was never like…”

“It’s okay,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t mind. It’s what I do.” Since he saw the obvious confusion on your face, he continued. “I’ve been feeding off you this entire time.”

“Feeding off me? But I never feed you anything.”

“Your orgasms.” A frown creased your brow and he started laughing again before leaning in and pressing his lips against your forehead. “It’s what I need to sustain myself. I can eat other food as well, but it never quite fills me up the way orgasms do.”

“So the reason that you made me come multiple times is…”

“Because it fills me. Not my belly, mind you, but on a deeper level.” He cupped your chin and brushed the tip of his nose against yours. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I suppose a thank you is in order.” His hand slipped down, gently gripping your neck, applying just the slightest bit of pressure, before moving down to it’s destination and plucking at your nipple almost idly. He was gearing you up for another round and you found that you couldn’t actually remember how many times he had made you come already. “Can I thank you with this body that you can’t get enough of?”

“Wait.”

“So now you want to talk?” He continued his ministrations on your chest as if you hadn’t been talking at all. You caught the playful smirk on his lips before he leaned in and started sucking marks on your neck. “What do you want to know?”

“You say you feed off me, but doesn't that mean that you want to eat me?”

“And why would I want to do that? I like to use my mouth for other things,” he said with a low chuckle. You hissed through your teeth when he sank his teeth into your skin suddenly and then licked the spot where he had bitten you. “Would be a waste to eat you anyway.”

“So the reason that you’re able to…”

He pulled away so he could look you in the eye. He grinned as he pushed his hand against your shoulder and he got on top of you as soon as you were laying on your back. “Are you getting shy on me now? After everything that we’ve done?” He nudged your legs apart and you could feel his erection pressing into your thigh. “But yes, that’s why my erections last so long. The aim of the game is not to come myself, but to make sure that you do.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I beat myself off when you wake up. It’s not like I can’t climax myself, but I can make sure that I stay hard for as long as I need to.” You could feel his tip pressing against your entrance, ready to slide in at any second. “It’s a dream. Anything can happen in a dream.”

“Anything?”

“Sure. Wanna see?”

You didn’t know what he had planned, but you nodded anyway. His eyes lit up, his irises practically glowing green right now, and he started grinning, eager to show you what else he could do. He snapped his fingers and all of a sudden you were sitting on a red velvet sofa in what appeared to be some kind of high end bar. Your legs were wide open with him on his knees in front of you, his lips already on the inside of your knee and slowly working his way up.

“So you can change locations?”

“Honey, I can change everything.” You felt his teeth on the inside of your thigh, nipping at your skin playfully, mere inches away from the top of your legs. “Is the setting not to your liking?”

“How did you even come up with this place?”

“Experience?” He briefly looked up at you and shrugged. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Not telling.” He stuck his tongue out at you and then dipped his head down to lick a stripe from your entrance up to your clit. “I can never get enough of how you taste.” He moaned against your core. He spent most of his time with his face between your legs in your dreams. With what he’d revealed earlier, about how he fed on your orgasms, maybe that was the place where he could taste it the best? “Not really.” You moaned loudly when he spoke, because his voice was adding vibrations to what he was doing. You’d entirely forgotten that he had mentioned that he was able to hear your thoughts. “You just taste real good.”

A single finger slid inside of you, your walls instantly clenching around him, trying to pull him in deeper. When he adds another, you start whimpering and you know that you’re going to come soon. If you could, you’d have him in this position all the time. There had never been anyone in your life who had been this good at eating you out and who was so clearly enjoying himself as well. Your last boyfriend had been a disaster on that front, more often than not he would skip foreplay entirely, but he’d still expect you to suck his dick whenever he felt like it. Figures that you’d only be able to find an enthusiastic lover in your dreams.

Guys like that simply didn’t exist in real life.

You reach down to thread your fingers through his hair. The gesture makes him suck at your clit harder and thrust his fingers in deeper than before. He was practically devouring you at this point, lapping up your juices and making sounds that told you that he hadn’t been lying when he told you that he liked how you tasted. It was almost as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. You keened out a noise as another orgasm positively engulfed you. You’d push him away and close your thighs if you could, but he had wrapped his arms around your thighs and was using all his strength to keep them wide open. Your muscles were tight as a bowstring, your back arched and pushed you up into a position that would start to hurt if you stayed in it for too long. He was relentless though, ignoring your discomfort and continuing his assault until he had managed to pull yet another climax out of your shuddering body.

When he finally released you, you collapsed onto the sofa, your entire body sticky with sweat. You blinked a few times to stop yourself from seeing stars and when you heard him chuckle, you swatted your hand in his general direction without actually hitting him. It took you a couple of minutes, but you eventually managed to sit upright again when your lungs stopped burning. He was still on his knees in front of you with an incredibly smug impression plastered all over his face. You nudged your foot against his shoulder and he fell backwards dramatically. Your face twisted when you felt the velvet against your sweaty body. It had felt pleasant on your bare skin before, but not anymore.

“I can do something about that,” he said cheerily and snapped his fingers again. When he saw the look on your face when you noticed where you were, he couldn’t hide his amusement. “No good?”

“This is terrible,” you replied with a wide grin. “I mean. Honestly.”

The flashing light underneath you made you laugh. He’d pulled this one from your bad sex fantasies again. A piece of paper slid into the tray on the side. He picked it up, looked at it with a frown before turning the piece of paper over so you could see it.

“I think there’s something wrong with this printer.” He shook his head and pressed a few buttons underneath your leg. “It really needs fixing.”

“Think you can fix it?”

“I can try.” He pushed his hands underneath your ass just as the light flashed again and a few seconds later he showed you the black and white printout of your behind with his fingers shoved in between you and the glass that you were sitting on. “That’s beautiful. Think I might have to frame that.”

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“I think that it’s funny.” He pressed his lips on yours hungrily and you could still taste yourself on his tongue. “I got this from your mind, remember? I really think we might have to work on the state of your fantasies though. They really could be a lot more inventive.”

“Maybe I’m just not very original.”

“You’re just not giving yourself enough credit, sweetheart.”

“Maybe.” You nipped at his lower lip and then pressed a kiss on the tip of his nose which was probably a little too gentle considering all the other stuff that you’d gotten up that night, but you hardly cared anymore. “You can probably come up with something a lot better.”

“I can try, but you’re probably going to be disappointed.”

One snap of his fingers and suddenly you were in the dark. You could also tell that you were alone. The other two times, you could always feel him around you, but not this time. You hugged your arms around your torso, feeling cold for no reason at all. All of a sudden a couple of lights switched on, bathing the room in red light, and you realised that you were standing on a stage. When you glanced at the side, you could see a pole right next to you. You instinctively reached out for it, feeling the cool metal against your palm and you held it as you walked in a circle around it. There were full length mirrors all around you and you briefly looked at your reflection.

The outfit that you wore left little to the imagination which was probably the point when you took the location into account. You were wearing a red triangle bikini top and a black pair of shorts that half your ass was hanging out of. The shoes, the infamous stripper heels naturally, had plastic, see-through straps and the platform heels had a iridescent sparkle to it.

When you had done a turn, your eyes scanned the place and you could see him sitting on a chair right next to the stage, looking up at you expectantly. He obviously wanted a show so why not give him one? Holding onto the pole, you slid down until you were on your knees and then you started skimming your hands up and down your chest. He was completely enraptured and kept reaching down to readjust himself in his trousers. Given how he usually remained rockhard throughout these dreams, the skinny jeans that he was wearing right now were probably incredibly uncomfortable.

You crawled over to where he was sitting. When you had reached the edge, you reached out to grab him by his shirt and pulled him up out of his seat. His eyes widened for a second or two before he composed himself again. He couldn’t resist leaning in when your face came closer to his, but you merely ghosted your lips over his before pushing him back into his chair.

“No touching the stripper,” you chided and then wagged a finger at him. “Or I’ll ask security to kick you out.”

“But you’re allowed to touch me?”

“Are you trying to tell me you’d have me kicked out?”

“No way.” He leaned back in his chair, arm hanging over the back and he started sipping at a cocktail that suddenly materialised in his hand. “Keep going.”

The only problem there was that you had no clue what strippers even did. Sure you’d seen a video, but those women were a lot more athletic than you were. You’d also seen Showgirls once, but that movie probably wasn’t the best example about what to do. The only thing that you had learned from that movie was how not to have sex in a pool and that licking a stripper pole wasn’t particularly sexy, just incredibly unhygienic. You swung your legs over the edge of the stage and put your feet on the arm rests of his chair, practically daring him to touch you. Having caught your intent, he didn’t move and then he had the audacity to feign indifference.

Sliding off the stage, you climbed onto his lap instead and started gyrating your hips against his. You reached up to grab a handful of his hair, pulled his head back and dragged your lips down the column of his throat. When he grabbed your ass, you slapped his cheek with your free hand.

“No touching,” you whispered in his ear. “I’m not telling you again.”

“Damn, baby.” He sounded impressed by how well you were taking control of this new situation. “That is such a fucking turn-on.” You pulled on his hair harder and since your mouth was still close to his ear, you took his earlobe between your teeth and gave it a gentle tug. “Holy shit. You’re a fucking natural.”

“Oh yeah?”

You leaned back so you could look him in the eye. His eyes sparkled with obvious excitement and a deeper, more animalistic need. Like he could grab you at any moment, throw you onto the stage and fuck you right there if you pushed him too far. Very tempting. Reaching to the back of your neck, you pulled at the bow that held the strings of the halterneck together and when it was loosened, they fell down your shoulders. You pushed the cups down until they hung loosely around your chest. The only thing that was keeping the top on was the string that tied together around your back.

His eyes flitted down to your chest and then back up to your face again. You wanted him to touch you, but after telling him off a few times, you weren’t sure if he was going to. So you placed your hand on the back of his head and pressed him against your chest instead. You felt him smile against your skin and then his lips started moving, shifting in the direction of your nipple.

A shiver ran down your spine and you looked up suddenly. You had the odd feeling that there was another set of eyes on you, but that was impossible since the two of you were the only people here. Looking up at the bar, you saw a young man who was leaning against the bar and watching the two of you intently. He was smartly dressed in a dark blue suit, his long hair loose and hanging down over his shoulders. Even in this odd red light, you could tell that his skin was too pale, so white that it was almost translucent and when he grinned at you, you could see that his canines were too long, too pointy. Without realising it yourself, you had frozen entirely and the young man underneath you had sensed it, looking up at you in confusion before following your eyes.

“What the fuck, man!” He suddenly shouted at the other guy, anger flashing behind his eyes. “The hell are you doing here? Fuck off!” The man at the bar shrugged and disappeared just as suddenly as he had appeared. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was that?”

“My brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, he’s a dick,” he said with a deep sigh. “Our mother would keep tabs on us when we were kids to make sure that we didn’t get into any trouble. You have any idea how weird it is when your mother enters the dreams where you’re trying to get off with a girl? Fucking embarrasing.” He raised his eyebrows at you when he noticed that you were trying to suppress a laugh and pinched your side. “I don’t know how the fuck it works, but my mother taught the little shit how to do it as well and so he just… I dunno… shows up sometimes like the little creep that he is.”

“Does that mean that he’ll come back?”

“No. He just likes to remind me that he can do it from time to time.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his head against your chest. “But fuck that. I don’t want to talk about my asshole brothers.”

“Brothers?”

“Ah shit. No. Not talking about them.” He pulled at the string on your back, pulled the bikini top from your body and threw it on the stage. “So this particular fantasy is ruined now. Let's start again, shall we?”

“Can’t we salvage it?”

“I’ve got something better.” The look on his face told you that this had the potential to be really good. “Do you trust me?”

“How bad is this going to be?” He tilted his head to the side, that wasn’t the answer that he had wanted to hear. “Yes.”

“I don’t do this a lot so bear with me alright?”

Another snap of the fingers and the strip bar starts to fade away. You were sitting on a bed now and you were wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked old. The new location was just as red (he really did seem to like that colour), but it didn’t look that special to you. In fact, it looked like a fairly cheap love motel, one where lovers would retreat to so they could enjoy each other's company for about an hour before going their separate ways again.

You got up from the bed and walked over to a table by the window to look at what was set out on it. There was a big bowl of strawberries and a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne right next to it. He’d really pulled out all the stops, even in a dream. You were giggling to yourself when the door to the bathroom opened and someone appeared in the doorway. It took you a short moment before you realised who it was, but when it all clicked into place your mouth fell open.

Because leaning against the doorframe was a woman. Her dirty blonde hair was loose and still slightly wet, hinting at the fact that she’d been taking a shower moments earlier. She was wearing a silk bathrobe that was tied together by the waist with a big bow and you could see her hard nipples quite clearly through the thin material. The smirk was damn near unmistakable however. When she approached you, you instantly got the impression that you were her prey, there was just something very predatory in the way that she moved. She came to a standstill right in front of you and her mischievous eyes flashed bright green briefly.

“Feed me,” she said with a grin. You took one of the strawberries from the bowl and when you presented it to her, she held her mouth wide open, ready to be fed. You felt her tongue swipe over your fingers when you fed it to her and then she let out a single moan when she started chewing. A few seconds later you felt a finger against your chin so she could push your mouth shut. “Surprised?”

“Very.” You looked her up and down. The bathrobe barely covered the tops of her thighs and she reached down to play with the hemline, to make sure that your eyes stayed focused on her legs. “I didn’t know you could turn into a woman.”

“It’s a dream,” she stated simply. “Anything’s possible.” She leaned in to you and you closed your eyes, anticipating a kiss, but then her lips brushed against the shell of your ear as she talked. “I don’t do this a lot though. So consider yourself special.”

“All this to make up for your brother interfering?”

“Guess you could say that.” She took your hands and started pulling you along to the bed. When you reached it you thought that she was finally going to kiss you, but then she spun you round and made you sit on the bed instead. She pulled on the bow that held the bathrobe together and brushed it open, revealing herself to you slowly, like one might unveil a priceless painting. “Like what you see?”

Your throat had gone dry and you found that you had lost the ability to form words. He was beautiful when he was a man, but now that he was a woman, his toned torso had given way to soft curves and skin that looked so smooth that you wanted to do nothing else but reach out and touch it. She took a step closer and stood in between your open legs, a sweet smile on her lips as she looked down at you.

“You’re not talking.” There was a slight teasing tone to her voice as she spoke. “That bad?”

“No.” She took your hand and moved it up until it was covering her bare breast. You gave a quick experimental squeeze. “Just surprised. Takes some getting used to.” Your other hand moved up of its own accord so you could cup her other breast as well. “I mean, I’ve never been with another woman before.”

“You can. If you want to.”

While you had only ever been with men, the thought of being with a woman wasn’t something that you weren’t entirely opposed to. Especially not with someone as beautiful and seductive as this. She shrugged out of the robe and dropped it to the floor. The tattoo that was usually on his left arm had changed into something more delicate and feminine, pink cherry blossoms with green leaves and branches in between them that curled up her arm and covered part of her clavicle. You moved your hand up and started tracing them with your fingers, gently caressing her skin, her green eyes following your every move.

When you heard a soft giggle, you looked back at her face and before you could say anything, she’d pushed you back onto the mattress. She was on top of you a split second later and then you finally felt her soft lips on yours. You could still taste the sweet strawberry on her lips and on her tongue when she slipped it into your mouth. Your hands ran down her back, following her spine and then settling on her ass. Whenever you squeezed, she ground her hips down against yours and you were suddenly overcome with the urge to see her on her back with her hair fanned out over the red sheets.

Grabbing her hips, you flipped her over and since she’d just read your thoughts, she reached up and made sure her hair was spread out just the way that you had just imagined it. She started pushing your shirt up and you almost ripped it off in your eagerness to get naked for her, even if she’d seen you like that many times before. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and shoved her hand into your sweatpants roughly. Her fingers started rubbing at your sex, finding you very wet and very willing.

Pulling her hand out, you leaned back and pushed your pants down, kicking your legs to get them off entirely without moving too far away from her. When you were completely naked, her hand settled back at the top of your legs, her movements more hurried and urgent now. With your hands on her breasts, you started licking and nipping at her neck, moaning against her skin when one of her fingers started circling your clit.

“I want to make you come,” you groaned into her ear. “Never made you… fuck… come before.”

“But you give me so many other things,” she purred back. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You skimmed one hand down her stomach and slipped your hand between her legs. “Jesus Christ. You’re so wet.” You were rewarded with a moan when you tried touching her the way you liked to be touched. It was almost as if you were moving on autopilot, like you instinctively knew what to do. “Please.”

She didn’t reply so instead you pulled your hand away from her, making her let out a displeased whine, and you pulled your face away from her neck so she could watch you suck your fingers into your mouth. You twirled your tongue around your fingers, making sure that she could see exactly what you were doing and then moved your hand down again. You pressed them up against her entrance first, teasing her with the slightest bit of pressure and then slipped them inside. She started tilting her hips up against your hand and the way that her face contorted in pleasure really was something that would be etched into your mind forever.

“Can I?” You repeated the question since you still hadn’t gotten an answer. “I really want to.” Pressing your lips down on hers again in a searing kiss, you murmured against her lips. “Please say yes.” You pressed your fingers in as deep as they could go, all the way down to the third knuckle. Since he had seemed to like it quite a bit when you did it earlier, you tangled your fingers in her long hair and gave a forceful tug. She gasped into your mouth and you knew that you had her. “I’ll just keep doing this until you say yes.”

“Fuck.” She shifted underneath you and you reluctantly pulled your lips away from hers. “I love it when you do that.”

“I know.” A triumphant grin formed on your lips and she was so obviously into it that it was hard to drop this act. Dipping your head down, you bit her neck suddenly and she squealed with obvious delight. You decided to thrust your fingers into her harder and she was so wet now that you could hear your digits moving in and out of her. “I want to make you come so bad.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” she moaned breathlessly. “Want to take this a little bit further?”

“How?”

“I’ll give you what you want, but not like this.” She wrapped a hand around your wrist and gently pulled your hand away. She then brought your hand up to her lips and started licking her own juices off your fingers with such fervour that she could have been mistaken for a starving animal. Seeing that was so arousing that you couldn’t stop a moan from escaping from your lips. “I want you to do something else.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Check the drawers.”

You scrambled off of her, probably a little bit too fast, in your eagerness to see what was in there. You were expecting a vibrator, a buttplug even, but you must have pulled a particularly funny face when you saw what was in the drawer instead because she started laughing as soon as she saw your expression. You hooked your fingers in one of the straps and lifted it up, probably looking very much afraid to even touch it. Your eyes were wide as it hung from your fingers and you turned back to fully face her.

“You want me to wear...” You gestured at it with your free hand. “...this?”

“Well, yes, sweetheart.” She got on all fours and crawled over to your side of the bed. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“Right.”

“You’re not sure.”

“It’s just… this is very much virgin territory for me.”

“You were doing fine just now.”

“That’s kinda different though, isn’t it?” You looked down at the strap-on that was still dangling from your fingers and she started poking at it playfully. It looked so silly that you couldn’t help but laugh. Truth be told, you were kind of curious about this kind of thing. “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive.” She pushed herself up on her knees and hooked her arms around your neck, pressing her entire body flush against you. “So. What do you say?”

“This is definitely one of the weirdest dreams I’ve ever had.”

“Yes or no.” She started kissing you, nice and slow, and then sucked your bottom lip into her mouth. Your hands snaked down her back and when she nipped at your lip, you gave her ass a hard slap. “Baby!” She started giggling, her fingernails digging into your shoulder blades when you grabbed her ass and squeezed her roughly. “I love it when you manhandle me.”

“That’s new for me as well.”

“I really am pushing your boundaries, ain’t I?” She pulled away suddenly and got on all fours again, turning her ass in your direction. She wiggled her hips and peered over her shoulder until you slapped her again. “Keep doing that and I’ll climax before you’ve shoved that thing inside of me.”

“Yeah right.” But you slapped her on the other cheek just for good measure. She pushed back until her ass was pressed against your hips and then she started moving backwards and forwards like you were already thrusting into her. “I need some help… with this thing…”

She faced you again in a flash, obviously excited by your willingness to do this. The harness was on you fairly quickly all things considered and then she lowered herself, gave you a quick wink and started sucking the large dildo into her mouth. So that’s what it looked like from that angle. You stroked her hair in very much the same manner like your previous partners had always done with you whenever you went down on them. Come to think of it, you suddenly realised that you had never actually had his cock in your mouth. That probably wasn’t all that weird considering this no climaxing thing that he appeared to have going on, but whenever you’d even attempted to kiss your way down his chest, he always stopped you.

You felt her tap her fingers against your hip and then she released the dildo with a pop. “You’re overthinking this. This isn’t about me. Never was.” Sitting up on her knees again, she stroked the side of your face almost lovingly and you eased into her touch for a few seconds. “Like I said earlier, the aim is to make you come.” She flashed you a big, predatory smile and then continued, “Speaking of. You do this right and afterwards I’ll push myself into you balls deep and fuck you until your fucking alarm goes off. How’s that for a tradeoff?”

“The way that you usually are?”

“Depends on what you want.” Her hand settled on your chest and she twisted one of your nipples between her fingers. “If you want me to wear that strap-on afterwards, I can do that. No problem.”

“You’ll probably be able to tell exactly what I want when I’m done with you.”

“You bet your ass, baby.” She winked at you and then a bottle of lube magically appeared in her hand. “I know that this is a dream, but I still need to use this.”

“Do you have any idea how weird it is when you do that?” She looked at you with her perfect eyebrows raised as she squeezed some liquid into her hand, applied it liberally to the silicone shaft and then the tube disappeared again when she was done. “Magicking things up out of thin air.”

“That’s what you think is weird about all this?” She rubbed her hands between her legs, applying some more lube on her pussy and started pushing her hips up against her hands. “I can change everything about this dream, even my gender, but when I make stuff appear in my hand that’s taking it one step too far?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” She turned her back on you and pressed her ass against the sex toy. “Now get it over with and fuck me already.”

“That really wasn’t necessary.” You grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled hard and twisted her head back. She laughed breathlessly and pushed her hips back again. “I’m just going to have to fuck this attitude out of you.”

“Fuck yes! Teach me a lesson.” She was practically purring the words at you. When you pushed her forward roughly, she loudly voiced her delight. You pressed one hand firmly between her shoulder blades, making sure that her face stayed down. Grabbing her hips, you made her raise her ass in the air and then positioned yourself in front of her entrance. “I’ve been such a bad girl.” With one thrust of your hips, you slipped inside of her and she let out a long stretched out moan as you watched the dildo disappear inside of her. “You’re so fucking big.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that sudden admission. For some reason she was playing the part that loads of women seemed to play in porn movies and when you started pumping in and out of her, she wouldn’t stop moaning about how good it felt and how well you were fucking her. This really was something else and whenever you glanced down at how her ass rippled whenever your hips connected with her, you couldn’t help but be completely fascinated with how it looked, practically unable to tear your eyes away from her.

Her noises started increasing and you kept slapping her already reddening ass in between thrusts. Pulling out almost entirely, you pushed back in so hard that her moans were starting to sound muffled. Never once pausing what you were doing on her, you slid one hand down over her hip so you could touch her clit. You ran the other one up her spine, tightened your fingers in her hair and yanked her up, pulling her against your chest.

“I wanna hear you,” you groaned in her ear and she started whimpering instantly. “You gonna come for me now?”

“Almost,” she mewled back. “I’m so close.” You speeded up the motions against her clit and she let out a loud cry, reaching back with one hand to wrap it around the back of your head. You were barely able to move your hips at this odd angle, but she didn’t seem to care from the way that she was bucking up against your hand and panting. When she started whimpering and rubbing her back against your chest, you could feel the muscles in her thighs constricting against your hand. “Fuck.”

A grunt of pleasure was torn from her throat and she arched her back, all her muscles going rigid all at once when her orgasm tore through her. You kept her pulled against you, absolutely delighted that you appeared to have done this right despite being slightly weirded out about it at first. When you released her, she dropped down onto the bed, completely out of breath. You lay down on your side next to her and studied her face closely. Her eyes were squeezed shut and you ran your fingers up and down her jaw as she caught her breath.

“Gimme a sec…”

You saw her swallow hard, her throat no doubt having gone dry. You got up off the bed and giggled when you looked down. Seeing that huge silicone dildo swaying about with every step that you took really looked hilarious. When you reached the table, you were ready to struggle with attempting to open the champagne before noticing that she’d already taken care of that. There were two glasses filled with the sparkly liquid standing right next to it.

When you turned back around, you saw that she was gone and that he was now laying on the bed in her place. You briefly frowned, sad that you hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye before realising that they were one and the same person. You heard him laughing from the bed when you walked back with the glass in your hands.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are.” You sat down next to him and waited until he’d pushed himself up into a sitting position before handing him the glass. He emptied the glass in one big sip. “Wanting to say goodbye.”

“I just forgot. Until earlier I thought that you were nothing but a figment of my imagination.”

“Oh no.” He threw the glass across the room and it bounced off the wall before rolling onto the floor. He looked down at your lap and flicked his fingers against the strap-on. “I’m very real.”

“Can you help me get this thing off?”

“Or you could keep it on.” He flashed you a quick and very dirty smile. “I’d let you peg me.”

You almost choked when you tried to imagine what that would look like and blurted out a quick, “One thing at a time please.”

“Spoilsport.” He tapped a finger on the harness and then it was gone. “You’d be pretty good at it, you know. Pull my hair a couple of times and I’m yours to do with as you please.” Before you could reply to that, he put an arm around your waist and pulled you back onto the bed. Moving you onto your back, he knocked all the air out of your lungs when he suddenly got on top of you and pinned your hands up above your head. “But I promised to do something else anyway. So I win anyway.”

He kept true to his word and fucked you with such ferocity afterwards that when you finally woke up the following morning, it was a damn miracle that you were even able to walk at all. And all that just because of a dream. In the many more dreams that followed afterwards, the woman made an appearance on more than one occasion. On some nights you would just get her and other times he would turn into her while he had his mouth on your pussy. You were never entirely sure about how the entire thing even worked. He wasn’t merely something that your horny mind had come up with one night. No, he was indeed very real.

A couple of months into this very odd arrangement, where he would satisfy your every desire while you were asleep, you were at the beach with your friends. They were convinced that you were seeing someone even if you always said that you weren’t. Maybe this little weekend getaway was a ploy to get more information out of you, but how could you possibly tell them that you’d met someone in your dreams? You’d sound like a bloody lunatic.

When the four of you were looking for a spot to spread out your beach towels, you passed two guys. One was sitting underneath a parasol, dressed in a black t-shirt and black shorts, making sure that no part of him even got out of the shade that was provided by the large umbrella over his head. He was scowling at another young man with long blonde wavy hair who was sitting next to him, strumming a blue ukulele.

Your small group settled down a couple of feet away from them and stripped down to the bathing suits that you wore underneath your clothes. You were wearing a red triangle bikini, somehow now also favouring the colour since your dreams were constantly bathed in it. Your friends headed down towards the water while you sat down on your towel and started reading the romance novel that you’d brought with you.

After a couple of minutes, you realised that you had completely stopped paying attention to what you were reading but were instead focusing entirely on the young man a couple of feet behind you who had started singing. You instantly recognised the song that he was singing. It was the song that the sirens sang to Odysseus in the Odyssey. You were so hypnotised by the song, that you’d completely forgotten about your surroundings. It wasn’t until something slammed into your upper arm that the spell was broken. Your head whipped to the side and you saw a frisbee laying next to you in the sand.

“My bad!” A voice called out to you and you picked the piece of plastic up to hold it out to whoever was approaching you. “I am so sorry! I should have caught that.”

“No problem. Not like I’m…” As soon as you looked up the words died in your throat and you instead stared at the young man who was now standing next to you with wide eyes. “Wait…”

“Well, this is a surprise.” He dropped down onto his knees next to you in the sand, a huge smile plastered all over his face, and he took the frisbee from your hands. “Definitely wasn’t expecting this.” For some reason, you reached out and poked a finger against his chest. You half expected that your mind was playing some kind of trick on you, as if your finger was going to pass right through him, but it didn’t. “See? Real.”

“Serk!” Another voice called out and he tore his eyes away from yours to look at whoever it was that had called his name. “Stop hitting on girls and toss the frisbee back!”

“I’m done playing!” He threw the frisbee back which the other guy effortlessly caught. “Tell Sigurd to play with you before he drowns someone with his singing.”

“Fine! But you owe me.” He winked at you and turned around to join the other two guys that you had passed when you had just arrived. Your eyes were drawn to his back or to be more specific to the long braid that swung back and forth as he walked away.

“Stop checking out my brother.” You blinked and turned your attention back on him. “You want me to introduce you? I mean, if you’d rather want to spend time with him than me…”

“What? No!” He chuckled when your words came out louder than you intended. “Not funny.” He ran a hand down your arm, mirroring the same thing that he’d often do in your dreams. “He called you Serk. Is that your name?”

“Short for Hvitserk.” He held out his hand to you. “And what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you replied when you took his hand in yours. He repeated your name with a warm smile. “I erm… this is weird…”

“Is it?” He let your hand go and got to his feet. You panicked slightly, thinking that he might leave, when he suddenly extended his hand to you. “Come on. I wanna buy you a drink.”

“And then what?”

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug when he pulled you up off the ground. “Sit with me. Talk. I know you, but that’s the dream you and now I want to know the real you. That okay?”

“Sure.” He started pulling you along to the beach bars a short distance away. “I’d like that.”

*****

And this moodboard is based on when I described female Hvitserk coming out of the bathroom.

#vikings #vikings au #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk ragnarsson #incubus hvitserk #hvitserk x you #smutty smut smut #mar writes #mar moodboards

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jjuzoir · 3 years

Text

Random Kageyama Tobio HCS

Word Count: 1851

Warnings: just... me being in love with a m*n other than masumi 😔 also! these are my headcanons as in,,, what i personally i think he’d be like ‼️ also me projecting my ideal man into him (as if he wasn’t it already 😋)

A/N: i... i love tobio so much it’s literally unreal... i couldn’t wait for a request (i’m still working on the remaining 4 too lolol) so take me projecting my love for tobio >:(

— Kageyama normally wears loose fitting clothes or athletic-style clothing. His favorite go to outfits tends to be a loose tee, some loose pants with an obnoxious Nike logo he swears are super cool but look like two garbage bags sewed together, and running shoes. Throw a hoodie in there for colder weather, even then he still manages to look good.

— He takes very good care of his hair, like freaky good care, because of Miwa. Once she enrolled in cosmetology school and she saw Kageyama use the same baby shampoo from when they were kids she freaked out (if she’d been any later he’d start using 3-in-1) and chewed his ear off about hair care. His hair is super shiny and there’s literally no freeze, he uses nice smelling shampoo and conditioner too. Ugh, I love him.

— He has a very sensitive nose but it gets clogged easily so he doesn’t notice much unless it miraculously unclogs itself and he’s complaining about everything.

— “Eh! Hinata, why’d you smell like a fucking axe bottle?!” “Why does no one say anything about Tsukishima smelling like strawberries?” “Yamaguchi smells like... milk.” “Hah?! Sugawara smells bad-?!”

— He says he’s a picky eater to appear cool but as long as you don’t say what’s in the food he’ll down it. He’ll say he doesn’t like carrots but if you give him a salad with carrots he might even say “it’s the best salad he’s ever had”.

— He’s a hot sleeper, and not in the “oh he’s sexy” type of way. I’m talking, he’ll sweat buckets if he sleeps with anything other than a flimsy white t-shirt and his underwear.

— Might be me projecting my love for bunny teeth but he has bunny teeth, his front teeth are a bit bigger than average (not to the point it’s super noticeable but it’s still something Miwa teased him about), his aunties probably squeezed his cheeks and called him “baby bunny” when he was younger.

— He doesn’t go to sleep later than 9PM, he thinks if he does it’ll ruin his schedule (which it will) and fuck up his body - he’s seen Miwa screw up hers after she pulled a bunch of all nighters in her third year in high school and has been afraid since.

— The type to forget people were coming over and come out of his room shirtless asking for his clean underwear.

— His sister forced him to let her cut and style his hair which led to many questionable hairstyles. Tsukishima is genuinely so grateful to Miwa, especially when she was first starting - he’s got some pictures of Tobio with the shortest most embarrassing bangs ever saved in his phone in a file for blackmail if the need for it ever presented itself.

— Likes pissing people off on purpose sometimes, during one of the training camps he probably walked into the bath with socks on and was made fun of but out of spite he just… never took them off. Said he’d done it on purpose and all too. Tanaka cried out of fear for like a hot minute when he saw him standing under the shower with Iron Man socks on.

— He’s so petty too, if you make fun of him for messing up he’ll remember until you embarrass yourself to make fun of you. And when I say he remembers, I mean it - he can’t for his life remember when to use make and do in english but he remembers when Hinata made fun of him for wearing different socks back on their first year and yes he will bring it up on their second year when he did the same thing what are you going to do about it?

— Probably got scouted for a modeling agency once and began running away because he thought they were trying to kidnap him.

— If he had Tiktok… he would’ve gone viral after posting a video of him practicing, he posted for a while for fun and to flex on people that he was hot but then he saw a comment saying they wanted to drink his milk under a video of him drinking milk and he deleted his account, he can’t buy from that brand for a while.

— He’s got a video of a gorilla walking in two legs saved on his phone for when he’s feeling down and watches it whenever he’s not going well. People think he’s texting his S/O but no, he’s just watching a gorilla walk like minecraft Steve.

— He can’t pose for pictures to save his life, his default pose is an NPC stance with his arms stiffly hanging down and his eyes wide in surprise, don’t ask him to smile or else he will look like a serial killer.

— He’s got a bit of baby fat on his cheeks that won’t disappear no matter what. It’s become a pre-game ritual to pinch his cheeks. He’s also got dimples you can really only see when he smiles naturally but he doesn’t know and he’d get shy if he knew and try covering his face so don’t tell him, that’s a fact he told me so himself.

— Cannot dance to save his life. He’s so long (?) his limb control is non-existent, it appears in game and vanishes when he steps out of the court. He really just bounces on his heels and moves his arms like a t-rex, don’t ask more of him.

— Buys his clothes one size bigger just in case and Miwa teases him saying he’ll need them when he gets old and fat.

— Gets asked out often but always rejects, then has the audacity to complain he’s never dated anyone like he hasn’t turned down half of the school's population.

— Can’t sing. He’s got a nice speaking voice but ask him to sing and he’s out of tone, out of sync, out of breath, and out of the room in 5 seconds.

— Sugawara joked about having him singing as his alarm clock and Kageyama actually believed him, probably sent him a new recording as a gift after he annoyed him during practice.

— Surprisingly funny when he wants to but most jokes fly over people’s heads since he seems so serious most of the time, it annoys him to no end. Yachi still struggles differentiating when he is and isn’t joking because his tone literally doesn’t change at all and she doesn’t want to offend him.

— When he was younger he liked to collect rocks, not even the pretty ones he’d pick the most average, raggedy rocks off the ground and clean them up and tuck them to bed because he saw Miwa play with her barbies like that. Still owns his first rock, he named it “Johnson” after Dwayne Johnson, aka the rock (he’s had to explain it so many times he’s exhausted).

— Accidentally drank expired milk once and didn’t notice until his stomach began hurting and he thought he became lactose intolerant and he was inconsolable for days until he realized it had expired like a month ago - he went on a milk shopping spree and the milk sales that week saw a 20% rise from the last few months.

— Tobio had bad handwriting until he was in Junior High because his teachers couldn’t understand him and had him practice calligraphy, his handwriting is now one of the prettiest ones in the team and he’s the official inker of the VBC posters (as designated by Goddess Yachi Hitoka herself).

— His biggest fear for a long time was getting eaten by piranhas because he saw it happen so often in cartoon shows he genuinely thought it was going to be a bigger deal than it turned out to be but for like a solid 6 years of his life he avoided suspicions puddles just in case.

— Kageyama has a habit of rolling and unrolling his sleeves when he’s deep in thought, it soon made way to a habit of checking his wrist watch (he absolutely has a wrist watch, you cannot change my mind on that) but not actually reading it.

— His nails are very pretty, like most setters, he takes very good care of them. They’re filed down to a perfect length and he puts oils and creams, his hands in general are so nice. He takes a lot of pride in them, you know his cuticles are pushed back and trimmed and he could absolutely be a hand model. Kags’ hands are calloused, he’s a volleyball player of course they are, but it’s not to the extent of Ushijima or Daichi’s hands.

— Talking about hands, it’s probably one of his favorite features on people. He loves holding hands with his S/O and tracing the wrinkles in their palm, being able to interlock fingers with them and feel the bumps in them.

— Mumbles to himself when in thought too! Very nonsensical if you’re not informed on what he’s thinking about, if he’s thinking about you he’ll mumble your name or something like “pretty eyes”.

— Has a very healthy diet, like extremely healthy and thought out. He won’t eat anything too sugary or that could throw off his body, but he does have cheat days (which are rare but exist). He also doesn’t drink much soda or alcohol (once he’s of age).

— Things like smoking are a big no, he takes so much care of his body he wouldn’t even touch a cigarette or be near a smoking area, lowkey paranoid of ingesting the smoke too.

— When he’s older I can see him having a dog and a cat, the dog would be a big dog; if they stood on two paws it’d be the same height as you, he’d name or something like Tobias and think he was super clever and funny, the cat would probably a small cat he’d name Milk (it probably would be a black cat too but he does not care).

— Probably tried baby formula because he heard it was a substitute for breast milk. No further comments on this.

— I feel like he doesn’t listen to music, but if he had to choose something he’d pick instrumental music - not orchestral music or anything like that - but more of a chill, no deep meaning just guitar and piano track. I could see him listening to Shego Sekito or Joe Hisashi on occasion, he might even listen to some 2000’s pop if he wants something to pump him up during training (he works out to Brittney Spears’ “Womanizer”).

— A cuddle-bug when he’s sleepy, he’ll throw himself across his S/O and not move at all, he just wants to stay there and not move ever again (or at least until he’s not feeling like passing out). He’ll like to wrap himself around them and cuddle their neck, he’ll attach himself to their arm like it’s a lifeline.

— In other words, Kageyama Tobio… b-boyfriend material.

#—🎀 haikyuu!#kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #haikyuu x reader #tobio x reader #hq #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hc #hq fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fanfiction #kageyama headcanons #hq x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x you #—✒️ sora’s scripts

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i-drink-and-i-write-fics · 3 years

Text

The Wolf & The Hound

Chapter 4: Blessed Name Day

Summary: Ever since your conversation with Sansa, Sandor has disappeared. Was she right?

Notes: First update on the new blog!

The next two weeks were so crazy preparing for Sansa’s coronation that you barely noticed that Sandor wasn’t around as much as before. It crossed your mind as you lied down in bed at the end of the night, but you were so exhausted from the day that you fell asleep before your mind could begin to panic.

But it was felt, on a subconscious level. Your protective shadow was not there and it left you cold. Maybe Sansa was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t you that he wanted to court, but he told Sansa that to hide his true motives.

The morning of the ceremony, you were up long before dawn and dressed so you could race to Sansa’s room to help her. As Brienne was the only woman of the Queen’s Guard she met you at the door and entered a step behind.

“Good morning, my lady. Are you ready to begin your day?” You curtsied shortly after you entered the room, Sansa standing next to the window to look out over the courtyard.

“Good morning, ___. Yes, please. We have a long day ahead of us. Ser Brienne? While ____ tends to me, can you please have the kitchen bring up breakfast for all of us?”

“Yes, my lady,” Brienne bowed and left the room.

While Brienne was gone, you went to work filling Sansa’s bath with hot water, bathing and dressing her, and finally brushing her hair as Brienne returned with a member of the kitchen staff carrying a huge tray of food. Sansa wanted to wear her hair unbound as she wanted all the attention on her new crown and gown. So you gently curled the ends.

You then helped her dress in her dark grey dress that had many representations of the North. From the red leaves of the Weirwood Trees to a sleeve made of crow feathers to the metallic bodice that was a mirror of Weirwood branches. One sleeved looked like fish scales to represent her mother while the collar looked like a dire wolf for her father. She was beautiful.

If she was nervous, Sansa never let on. Holding her head high as you busied yourself getting her ready for the ceremony. You then stepped back so Brienne could escort her to the Great Hall. Normally, you would follow Sansa everywhere, but you wanted to quickly get her room ready so it was more fit for a queen.

You raced to change the sheets on the bed, clean her bathroom, douse the fire and clean out the ashes before creating a fresh fire. The floors were swept and cleaned and windows opened to air out the room. The last thing you did was dash down to the kitchen to make a small bundle of cinnamon and rosemary and ran back to place it in the fireplace to burn, so her room would smell welcoming when she returned.

Then you went to your room to bathe and change into clean clothes before you raced to the Great Hall. The room was packed with representatives of the remaining Northern Houses, her brother, Bran Stark, as well as Sansa’s uncle, Edmure Tulley from Riverrun, and Robin Arryn of the Eyrie. You tucked yourself into a back corner where you could easily see the dais. The normal high table had been removed and replaced with a new Throne of the North, with dire wolves on each end on the back.

Sansa entered the room and was trailed behind by her new Queen’s Guard. You hadn’t had a chance to admire the new armor this morning. The current five members wore black armor with a grey dire wolf head on the chest plate and grey capes trailing behind them. Sandor looked amazing in the new armor. He had even trimmed his beard to appear less scruffy for his new queen. And like the other guards, he kept his eyes ahead as he escorted Sansa to her new throne.

Once there, the maester placed the new crown upon her head as he announced the new Queen of the North. It was a simple band, molded to look like the Stark pattern with two dire wolves meeting at the front.

The moment the crown touched her head, the North chanted: “The Queen of the North!”

You could not be more proud of the young woman you had helped raise. She looked every bit the queen that she had planned to be when she was a little girl and promised to that monster, Joffrey.

That night, all of Winterfell filled with loud voices, music, and the distant howling of wolves as everyone celebrated their new queen. You took a moment here and there to drink a glass of ale or wine, but mostly you tried to busy yourself so you wouldn’t focus on the fact that Sandor and Sansa were talking once again.

Yes, Sansa told you that Sandor really wanted you. But seeing them together made it so hard to believe those words. Especially when Sandor had yet to confirm them.

So that night you went to bed early to save your heart.

The next morning you were up early again and off to Sansa’s room, where you got a surprise from Arya in the hall.

“And where are you going?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “To Queen’s Sansa’s room? I have to get her grace ready for the day.”

“Absolutely not! We know you’ve been lying to the staff about when your name day is, but you forgot we grew up with you. You have today off while the feast is prepared. Now head back to your room, a bath is being drawn and food is being brought up.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “But Ser, I’m just a handmaid.”

Arya wouldn’t hear it. “You kept by my sister’s side, especially in King’s Landing when I couldn’t. You are family. Now go.”

Confused, but slowly growing happy at the sisters’ insistence of taking care of you, you went back to your room to enjoy a quiet morning. A brand new dress was awaiting you on the bed, no doubt a gift from Sansa and you couldn’t wait to change into it. You took your time, enjoying the warm bath, the good food, and then sitting in front of the fireplace in your room in a towel as you gently dried your hair, using your fingers to break up any tangles.

After you finally put on the new dress, you left your room to walk the grounds. Fresh snow had fallen during the night and your footsteps were muted as you made your way to the Gods’ Wood. For once, Bran was not parked in front of the giant weirwood tree and so you took a seat at the stone by the trunk.

You were quietly praying to the Old Gods when a deep voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Forgive me, Little Wolf. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at his voice. A voice you had not heard in weeks. Raising your head, a small smile graced your face as you answered. “No. I was merely speaking with the Old Gods. Thanking them for another year and for watching over me so I was able to return home safely.”

Sandor frowned at your words and you wondered what his relationship with religion was. He was from the South, but he never seemed the type to visit the Great Sept while in King’s Landing.

“You believe in all that?” He slowly approached you.

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hands as he stopped at your feet. “I did when I was a child, but much of that changed when I traveled South. But I know I cannot turn my back on them completely.”

“And why is that?” Sandor questioned.

“I believe they kept me alive. No one taught me to fight like Arya, no one taught me how to scheme my way to safety like Queen Sansa, and no one was by my side to fight for me. And yet, I not only survived King’s Landing but getting home as well.”

Sandor crouched until he was in your line of sight. Snow was drifting down from the deep red weirwood leaves, dotting hit hair and beard giving him a soft look to his tough face.

“I believe you are not giving yourself enough credit, Little Wolf. I saw with my own eyes how you can take down a man when cornered.”

Your face grew warm at his praise. “Thank you. But I hope to never have to do that again.”

He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “You won’t. Not while I’m here.”

“You promise?”

A small smile graced his lips. “I promise, Little Wolf. I will never leave your side until you command it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “That’s unrealistic. You’re Sansa’s guard.”

“Aye, I am. But you are her handmaid and where she is, you are. I will protect both of you.”

“Thank you, Sandor. That means a great deal to me.”

“Does it?” Doubt crept into his eyes. “Most might be scared off by the idea of my following them around.”

“Aye. There was a time you frightened me as well. But that was before I truly got to know you.” You held a hand up to stop him from interrupting. “Now, that is not to say I don’t know your past. I am well aware of you who were. But any fool can clearly see you are no longer the man who left King’s Landing during the battle against Stannis.”

“I’ve tried. After my fight with Brienne, I was saved by a Septon. He taught me a few things. And before you comment - I can see your curiosity - he was once like me. So he would be the only religious fucker I’d listen to.”

You gave a small laugh. “Yes, that makes sense.”

His face grew serious. “There is something I’ve wanted to speak with you about. Something that has been on my mind for a while. But with the coronation, I haven’t had the time.”

“Well, you’re here now and I have the whole day to myself.”

“Aye, I know. Sansa told me where I could find you.” He ran a hand over his beard, trying to find his next words. “Little Wolf, I know who I am. I’ve done horrible things, things no one should be proud of. I’m no knight and I’m not a rich man. But I’m trying to change so I don’t- so I won’t be someone so frightening. You are a beautiful, quick-witted woman who can survive, even if she may not believe so. Any man would be lucky to court you.”

You took a shaky breath as he forced himself to meet your eyes.

“Would you...allow me to court you?”

The God’s Wood became still at his words and you tried to comprehend what he had asked you. Did Sandor really ask to court you?

“You...want to court me?”

Sandor tried to hide his face falling, mistaking your words for a no. “I know that may not seem something I would do, but I wanted to do right by you and our queen.”

You reached over and took his hand. “Sandor, I would love to court you.”

While his face did not betray any emotions - as was standard for this stoic man - but he reached up with his other hand and cupped your cheek. You placed your free hand over his as you felt yourself smile. Sansa was right! He really did want to court you.

He shifted on his feet and leaned in, the question in his eyes. And the answer was on your lips as you leaned in the remainder of the way to close the gap. It was the first sign of affection Sandor had ever given and he felt no place was more appropriate for a Northern girl than under a weirwood tree. So you would know how serious he was about you.

His large hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head to hold you closer to him and you moved both of your hands around his neck. Sandor pulled away after a few moments and you could feel how warm your face was, despite winter flowing all around.

“We should get you back inside, Little Wolf. The Queen will have the feast ready soon.”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t keep Her Grace waiting.”

He climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help you up. Then after tucking your hand into the crook of his arm, he lead you out of the God’s Wood and back to Winterfell. You could tell he felt a bit awkward at the formality of courting so you squeezed his arm.

“Sandor, I know you are worried about doing things right for me - for us - with our courting. But perhaps instead of doing what others would expect, we do what truly would work for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you are trying to change yourself, but we both know you are not a romantic man. There will be no vase of Winter Roses awaiting me in my chamber. So instead, let us move forward as us. You will show your affection your own way. And I will do the same.”

You looked up at him and could see the smirk forming. “Aye, that sounds like that path may suit us better.”

Inside the Great Hall, many of the lords and ladies who had traveled for Sansa’s coronation were there and the feast was already set up. All that was missing was you.

Sansa looked up from talking to Arya, a smile growing on her face. “There you are! We were afraid we would have to begin without you two.”

Arya snorted. “Looks like the old shit got some words to share.”

Sandor growled. “No one asked you.”

Sansa smirked. “Are we celebrating two things today?”

Your face grew warm. “Yes, Your Grace. Sandor has asked to court me.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “About damn time. You haven’t kept your eyes off her since we found her in the woods.”

“Shut your mouth, you little shit.”

“Whatever. Let’s get the drinks going.”

“Good idea, Arya.” Sansa turned back to you. “If you wish to announce your courtship tonight, just say the word. Otherwise, the kitchen has made your favorite tonight. Blessed Name Day, ____.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Sansa stepped forward to give you a quick hug before she continued around the room to speak with the other lords. Sandor took this cue to lead you to a table where he poured you a glass of wine. Plates of food were brought over and Sandor took a seat across from you.

“So what will you do?”

A smile graced your face as you picked up your fork. “Tonight, I will just enjoy the food and wine. And perhaps, a few moments alone with you. Tomorrow, we can worry about expressing our news.”

“Moments alone?” He raised an eyebrow.

“If you feel up for it later.”

“Anything for you, Little Wolf.”

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Tedious Joys - Chapter 2 -

- Ao3 link -

“If you want A-Jue at this time of day, he’ll be at the training field,” Lao Nie said, standing up and immediately striding off in that direction. “Oh, and Qiren, I will warn you – he has his mother’s height.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes as he followed behind. “That’s helpful information,” he remarked. “Right up until you recall that I have never had the pleasure of meeting his mother –”

He stopped talking and stared.

“I didn’t think a further explanation was necessary,” Lao Nie said. He wasn’t quite at the level of sniggering into his sleeve, but he certainly had a shit-eating grin. Lao Nie was not a short man by any standard, although he was squatter, more muscular and more broad-shouldered than the tall and slender Lan sect – and yet…

“He’s under ten,” Lan Qiren checked, and Lao Nie nodded. “You’re sure.”

“I was present at the birth myself, and have cared for him ever since. And before you ask, I may be busy with my duties as sect leader, but I still feel like I would have noticed someone swapping him out for a child several years older.”

Lan Qiren squinted out at the training field, where a child (and it was a child, given the amount of baby fat in his cheeks, even if the overall size was more what he’d expect of a teenager) was happily dismembering a training dummy with an especially fearsome-looking saber under the tolerant supervisory gaze of the training master.

“Lao Nie,” Lan Qiren finally said. “About that first wife of yours…you would tell me if she were an actual giant – or a goddess –”

Lao Nie laughed and patted him on the back. He did not answer the question.

“A-Jue! Come here!” he shouted, and Nie Mingjue – demonstrating excellent discipline – completed his strike before turning around and trotting over to his father. “Say hello to Teacher Lan.”

“Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said obediently, saluting properly like every small child introduced to a stranger, and then looked up. A smile suddenly spread over his face. “Oh, Teacher Lan! Fighting without permission is prohibited!”

Lan Qiren choked and Lao Nie burst out laughing.

“That was seven years ago,” Lan Qiren protested, and Lao Nie only howled more. “You were an infant. How do you even remember that?”

“It was interesting!” Nie Mingjue beamed. “You said that every word in the rule is like a principle – even if you have the rule, you have to agree on what it means. What counts as fighting, what counts as permission, what counts as prohibited…I use it lots!”

“He has a good memory,” Lao Nie said, wiping his eyes. “You should hear how many profanities he’s learned.”

“I would rather not,” Lan Qiren said hastily, because Nie Mingjue looked on the verge of volunteering to recite them. “Nie Mingjue, can you show me around?”

“Of course, Teacher Lan! Let me just put Baxia away first; I’m not allowed to carry her outside the training field yet. Unless there’s an accident, of course.”

Lan Qiren did not ask. As a sect leader who did not share a border with Qishan Wen, he didn’t think he had the right.

“Take your time,” he said, putting his hands behind his back and watching as Nie Mingjue ran away.

“Would it help to have me there?” Lao Nie asked, and nodded when Lan Qiren shook his head. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

Lan Qiren did not put forward any requests, curious to see where Nie Mingjue would take him, and was reluctantly charmed by the fact that their first destination was the nursery, where several pudgy toddlers of indeterminable age were sleeping.

“My baby brother,” Nie Mingjue explained, very seriously, inadvertently driving home that the fact that he was as tall as Lan Qiren’s elbow didn’t make him any older than he was. “He’s little.”

Lan Qiren couldn’t even tell which one of the indiscriminate toddlers wrapped in blankets was meant to be Nie Huaisang, but he nodded, and Nie Mingjue led him onwards, initially mostly silent with belated shyness but eventually coaxed into chattering.

In the evening, he returned to Lao Nie’s study.

“Well?” Lao Nie asked, face creased into the scowl he had on more often than not, despite being widely considered one of the more even-tempered Nie. “What do you think?”

“I think your son is a bright and enthusiastic boy,” Lan Qiren said. “With a remarkable sense of justice and morality that will serve him well, although maybe not so much in terms of politics. He’s very…straightforward.”

“Yes, well, I’m still holding out hope on A-Sang for the tact,” Lao Nie said. “That wasn’t my question and you know it.”

Lan Qiren tried to collect his thoughts. “I don’t think you’ve damaged him for life,” he finally said, and Lao Nie’s shoulders relaxed in a sudden exhalation of what was probably months of increasing stress. “I do think he would benefit from understanding a little bit more about what’s happening to him.”

“But he’s so young.”

“I know. Normally, I wouldn’t introduce the subject of his own mortality at this level of complexity this early – although I assume it’s hard for him to miss the concept entirely, given the political situation –” Lao Nie winced in acknowledgment. “– but I don’t think you have much of a choice. You’re not the only one who noticed the saber spirit.”

Lao Nie frowned, then understood, and frowned even deeper. “He’s noticed it?”

“I got him talking on the subject of his saber,” Lan Qiren said. “He regards it in the same manner as other children his age would an imaginary friend. It’s female, apparently.”

Based on the description, Baxia also had what he would, in one of his students, term a personality. He supposed it was possible that Nie Mingjue was just projecting the parts of himself that weren’t quite fit for company, since surely no one could be that earnest, and yet, based on what Lao Nie had told him…

Lao Nie groaned and put his hand to his head. “Jiwei didn’t develop a sense of gender for years,” he grumbled, and Lan Qiren was moderately certain that he hadn’t intended to admit that out loud. “This is ridiculous. I want him to live a good life, Qiren. A long one, insofar as that’s possible for our sect.”

“I’ll try to do some research,” Lan Qiren said. “In the meantime, could he be convinced to cultivate something else in addition to a saber? Music, perhaps?”

“You’re welcome to try. He’s practically tone-deaf.”

“Perhaps arrays, then, or talismans,” Lan Qiren said. “It would do him some good to find another thing to pour all that energy of his into.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lao Nie allowed. “And I appreciate any research you’re able to do, though of course there are limitations on your time – and what we can allow to be taken out of the Unclean Realm.”

Lan Qiren waved a hand. “It’s nothing. I enjoy keeping busy, and the subject is fascinating. Have you considered that regular visits by me might draw attention?”

Attention from within their sects they could handle, but they were both sect leaders – or acting sect leader, in Lan Qiren’s case – and their actions could never truly be wholly their own.

“I have a plan for that,” Lao Nie said. “It’ll work better if you don’t know about it, though.”

Lan Qiren hated plans like that.

“Very well,” he said, aware that he sounded like he was sulking. “If you must.”

“Could I send him to you next year?” Lao Nie asked, and Lan Qiren forgot his grumpiness to gape at him. “I wouldn’t impose this year, naturally, since you must already have a curriculum planned. But next year…”

“If you send him, that will be making a statement,” Lan Qiren said.

A statement about what, exactly, he did not know, but there was a major difference between being the sort of teacher that was respected enough to teach the sect heirs of some small, out-of-the-way sects and being entrusted with the childhood education of the heir to a Great Sect. Even if Nie Mingjue learned nothing, which seemed unlikely given his earnest performance from earlier, the other small sects would immediately want to follow suit, as if to rub off some of the same luck for themselves – he would be flooded with applicants.

His sect elders were going to hate it.

Although it wasn’t exactly against any of the rules…

“That’s why I’m asking your permission.” Lao Nie grinned at him, his teeth flashing white under his nearly trimmed beard. “Also, while you’re our guest here – you did plan to stay at least a week or two, right? Good, good. I will insist upon you joining me for some night-hunts.”

“Lao Nie…”

“I’ve explained to you how my sect cultivates our sabers. Are you really saying that you can judge that without seeing it happening?”

“You know perfectly well that I’m a weak fighter,” Lan Qiren said, even though that was a very good point, and one he probably would have insisted on himself sooner or later. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“You never have,” Lao Nie said right to his face – the Nie sect did not discourage all lying, the scoundrels. “I’m serious! You’re not the fastest, no, but you’re perceptive, analytical, and creative. The insights I gain from hunting by your side are long-term gains, making me faster and more efficient in the future.”

“You’re flattering me,” Lan Qiren said suspiciously.

“I am not. The first time we went on a night-hunt together, you stopped by the river to rest and told me about how the flowers growing there were unique because they absorbed spiritual energy but not resentful energy on account of being too close to flowing water; three years later, I used that fact to find a gigantic nest of ghosts and demonic creatures that were using it as camouflage. They’d killed nearly a dozen villagers by that point and no one else could find them, but I did.”

Lan Qiren felt his ears heating up. “…that’s a coincidence.”

“Do you really want me to start naming other examples?”

“I would rather you showed me your library,” Lan Qiren said. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. He was probably blushing. No one else ever teased him the way Lao Nie did, except maybe Cangse Sanren. He was suddenly hit by a nostalgic desire to see her again. “At once, if you please. And also…”

He trailed off.

“Why the hesitation?” Lao Nie asked. “Do you really think there’s anything I would deny you, as long as you find a way to help my son?”

Lan Qiren cleared his throat. “It would be helpful if I could examine a more mature saber spirit that has already bonded to a human master. Your Jiwei, for instance.”

As he expected, Lao Nie scowled at the suggestion of someone else examining his spiritual weapon – and his saber spirit, no less – but after a few moments he collected himself and nodded, albeit begrudgingly. “I’ll leave her with you,” he said. “Be careful when you examine her – she doesn’t like to be touched by anyone but me.”

Lao Nie’s warning turned out to be both true, untrue, and an understatement of frankly shocking proportions.

During the course of Lan Qiren’s investigations into the subject of the Nie sect sabers over the next few months, and thereafter, he determined that the best, if not only, way to deal with Jiwei was to act as though he were handling a particularly vicious and single-minded dog.

Jiwei, it seemed, liked to bite.

If one treated her like a normal saber – an inert piece of metal – she would appear completely quiescent right up until there would be an abrupt and inexplicable accident, clattering off the table with the blade curving straight at clothing and flesh, and only very quick reflexes could prevent disaster. If one attempted to utilize spiritual energy with her, it would be even worse: she would pull as much as she could and feed back nothing, spiteful and ruthless.

A vicious creature, too quick to judge, loyal only to her master, who she loved.

A bit like Lao Nie, in fact. Lan Qiren did not delude himself into mistaking Lao Nie’s passion for righteousness – Nie Mingjue was righteous, a serious child that was always wondering what was right, while Lao Nie was more inclined towards brutal, even callous, practicality that focused on what benefited him and his sect. He would do good, of course, but he could not be forced into it; he had his pride, his temper, and sometimes he erred too much in favor of those over even common sense.

But despite all his rough edges, he did truly love his friends.

He dragged Lan Qiren all over Qinghe whenever he visited, on night-hunts and to resolve minor conflicts, the sort of thing any normal traveling cultivator might do; he showed him the small towns and the hidden cities that Lan Qiren would not have seen on any normal visit, and asked him to play songs for his little family. Nie Huaisang was enraptured by the music, Nie Mingjue largely indifferent – Lao Nie had not been wrong to call him practically tone-deaf – and Lao Nie beaming all the while, even if Lan Qiren suspected that his eldest son’s lack of musical appreciation had largely come from him.

He even, after a stray comment, managed to track down Cangse Sanren, who brought her husband and son to the Unclean Realm and left them in Nie Mingjue’s earnest care while she sat with the two of them, drinking liquor as if it were water to the point that even Lao Nie refused to compete with her – when his protests were eventually overridden, Lan Qiren (who drank tea, of course) was roped in to be their long-suffering judge.

It was a good night.

“Is that another thing I took from you?” He Kexin unexpectedly asked Lan Qiren a week after Lao Nie had publicly announced that he would be sending Nie Mingjue to the Cloud Recesses for Lan Qiren’s classes. The ensuing hubbub, as Lan Qiren expected, had been enormous, and he’d braced himself to discuss nothing else for months, although he hadn’t really expected her to mention it.

The Cloud Recesses separated men and women, and He Kexin had borne two sons; they were old enough by now to live primarily with the men rather than the women, and so they had entered Lan Qiren’s care. He brought them to visit her once a month, and came himself like clockwork every two weeks in between to update her as to their progress, his eyes fixed firmly above her head as he narrated the report as if he were a junior returning from a night-hunt. It was not her fault that his brother had fallen in love with her and ruined Lan Qiren’s life, but it had been her decision to murder a man that had served as the trigger for the situation; Lan Qiren was meticulous about his duty to her as his sister-in-law, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or her.

By this point, she was moderately good at respecting that. In the beginning, she’d cursed him viciously every time he came to see her, especially after he’d provided her with definitive proof of her former friend’s lies and machinations. Later, she’d tried flirting with him out of what he could only assume was boredom or perhaps a willful misunderstanding as to why he still visited, assuming that he had perfidious motivations or shared his brother’s taste in women instead of suffering from an overdeveloped sense of responsibility for his brother’s misdeeds. It had taken him several months and, eventually, an explicit offer to even notice, and he’d nearly broken his neck fleeing from the scene.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said, still looking above her head instead of at her face. He Kexin had A-Huan’s smile and A-Zhan’s eyes, he knew that, but if he could scrub all of her other features from his mind, he would.

“Sect Leader Nie,” she said, and it was so odd to hear someone refer to Lao Nie by his formal title outside of a political situation or deliberate insult – even Wen Ruohan habitually called him Lao Nie by now, and as far as Lan Qiren could tell, they despised each other – that Lan Qiren’s eyes actually dropped to meet hers. “If you weren’t sect leader, you could’ve married him.”

Lan Qiren choked on air. “Do you think of nothing but sex all day?” he spat out, his cheeks going red. “We are friends.”

“I don’t have much else to think of,” He Kexin said, and he glared as if to communicate whose fault is that and maybe in your next life you won’t solve your problems with murder. “I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time with him, and now he’s sending his son to your care. It’s suggestive.”

“Talking behind the backs of others is forbidden,” Lan Qiren reminded her, and she shrugged. “Do I need to discipline your servants?”

“It’s news, not gossip,” she said. “And no, these ones are fine. No one’s playing any tricks.”

There had been an incident early on, where a few of the servants assigned to care for He Kexin had mistaken her confinement for abandonment; they had not expected Lan Qiren to grimly continue visiting as he would have done if she had been his sister-in-law in the normal course of things, nor to listen when she complained. He had of course taken all necessary measures to have the offenders harshly disciplined and expelled, replaced with servants of good character and sufficient intelligence to keep her company without seeking to take advantage, and there had been no new incidents since.

Her punishment was confinement, not torment. No matter what Lan Qiren felt about her, she would receive exactly that – neither more nor less.

“Is it Cangse Sanren, then?” she asked, propping her head up on her chin. “You fell in love with her, and then she married another man…”

“Sometimes people are just friends,” he said, irritated. “Why must I be in love with anyone?”

He Kexin shrugged. “Don’t you want to marry, one day? Have children of your own, rather than always reporting back to me on mine?”

“I’m acting sect leader,” Lan Qiren said tightly. “A marriage, much less children, would give rise to accusations that I was seeking to usurp my brother’s place or my nephews’ inheritance.”

“So it is another thing I’ve done,” she said, looking down at her hands. They were clenched tightly into fists, her knuckles white; sometimes Lan Qiren thought she wanted to punch him as a means of venting her feelings, and sometimes he didn’t even blame her for it. “I had only been thinking about it in the sense that you couldn’t leave, but you can’t even bring anyone back.”

“I don’t especially want to, anyway,” he said, because it was true. Even if she was right, that even his right to marry freely had been taken from him, it didn’t mean that she had the right to use it as a whip on her own back. If Lan Qiren couldn’t bring himself to obey the rule about not holding grudges, he could at least follow the ones about being generous and easy on others. “I haven’t found the right person.”

“And it’s really not Lao Nie?” He Kexin asked. “You go to visit him often, and for longer periods, than you go anywhere else, and A-Huan says you look happy whenever you’re going to go.”

Lan Qiren shrugged. He was happy to go. He enjoyed Lao Nie’s company, and the research, even when Lao Nie was too busy for him personally, and Lao Nie’s role as an allied sect leader meant that Lan Qiren had more latitude in arranging such visits than he did to other places.

“…A-Zhan says that your hands are white when you return.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes dropped to his arms, where there was in fact some white peeking out from beneath his sleeves – white bandages on his left wrist and the two smallest fingers on his right hand, this time, from the latest incident in which Jiwei had tried to slash him, but it was barely a nick in comparison with previous instances; he thought that it was a sign that they might be getting somewhere.

A moment later, he realized the implications of her statement and glared at her. “You’re not seriously asking if Lao Nie is abusing me? Weren’t you asking about my marriage prospects with him only a moment ago?”

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” she said dryly. “And the Nie temper is well known.”

“It’s from research,” Lan Qiren said. “I dropped a saber and I knocked over the table on to my other hand when trying to dodge.”

“I believe you,” she said, lips twitching. “If only because you would’ve come up with a more dignified excuse if it was a lie.”

“I don’t actually have to explain myself to you,” he said, reminding himself as much as her. “Is there anything else you want to know about your sons?”

“No,” she said. “But I’d like my husband to visit me again, if you can arrange it.”

He nodded stiffly.

“You know,” she said, playing idly with her sleeves. “If you never marry, I’ll be the closest thing you ever have to a wife? You manage my house, you raise my children, and you even provide me with services in bed, albeit indirectly.”

Do not succumb to rage, Lan Qiren thought to himself, and left without another word.

(Later, when Cangse Sanren next visited the Cloud Recesses, her husband taking A-Huan on a ride on their donkey with A-Zhan and A-Ying tucked into the saddlebags, she listened to him stammer through the whole humiliating story and gnashed her teeth on his behalf. “Don’t listen to her,” she told him. “By that standard, the rabbits she likes to raise are her concubines.”)

His simmering anger made his next session with Jiwei flow more easily, almost as if the saber spirit empathized with his rage – or perhaps it was simply that she found it more familiar, more reminiscent of the temper of her true master, and therefore less objectionable. He was attempting to draw out some part of her anger through music and store it into a jade pendant: his theory was that the eventual qi deviations of the Nie sect leaders resulted from a lack of balance with the resentful energy utilized by the saber spirit – the negative emotions streaming in through the saber, strengthening it, but having no means of cleansing beyond outbursts of temper.

It had been the way Nie Mingjue spoke of his saber spirit as if she were his friend that had given him the idea. Many in the Nie sect treated their sabers with both reverence and fear, as if the spirits were vicious creatures they had only temporarily tamed and which would one day turn upon them, but Jiwei was passionately loyal to Lao Nie, and Baxia to Nie Mingjue. Perhaps it was his inheritance as a Lan showing, or merely his own experience with his brother, but Lan Qiren simply could not understand how anything that loved so unstintingly, so unreservedly, could ever bring themself to intentionally bring about their beloved one’s destruction.

Even a dog would refuse to bite a master it loved unless it had gone mad.

Therefore, he concluded, it was not merely the human wielder but the saber itself that deviated in their cultivation. Lao Nie had once said in an aside that it was unclear what came first, the Nie sect tempers or the saber spirit-incited outbursts, and although he had meant it as a joke, Lan Qiren thought there was some merit to the question. Rage served a valuable purpose for humans, acting as a warning sign that something was wrong, that something was unacceptable, rejection and protection all at once, but rage that could not be excised would turn rancid and sour, like a poisoned wound. Sabers were cultivated by their masters and resembled them – they were filled with human rage, intensified by their cultivation of resentful energy, but unlike a human they could not shout or hit something or vent in any way other than through hunting.

No wonder Jiwei was so content after a night-hunt; no wonder Nie sect cultivators got irritable when they hadn’t had time to cultivate their sabers or fight evil or just get out and do something. But with limited venting opportunities (humans could not fight evil all the time), the sabers would fall into obsession, infected by the very same resentful energy that they excised when they hunted – their bloodlust simultaneously sated and inflamed – and as their power grew, and their true opponents grew fewer, they would become insatiable and, eventually, unbalanced. Demonic cultivation was abhorred by the cultivation world because it opened the door to obsession and fixation, and the most common way that demonic cultivators died, if not executed by the world, was through a backlash of their own power. Obsession was by its nature rigid, and that was the sole weakness of the saber: they had to be rigid, but never too rigid, or else they would become brittle, would break.

Deviation.

It was a very interesting theory, even if Lao Nie’s eyes glazed over whenever Lan Qiren tried to explain. Lan Qiren didn’t take offense: Lao Nie had always been an exceptionally practical man, more interested in results than theories, actions rather than thoughts.

“Aren’t you disappointed?” Lan Qiren asked him at one point, abrupt as he always seemed to be about such things. “That I haven’t gotten anywhere?”

Lao Nie looked surprised. “What do you mean? You have a valid theory, you’ve tried all sorts of things.”

“I haven’t succeeded.”

Lao Nie laughed. “My friend, this is a problem that has stymied my sect for generations. Did you really think you’d be able to solve it in three weeks?”

Lan Qiren scowled. “It’s been closer to three years.”

“You’ve made progress,” Lao Nie said confidently. “A-Jue has as solid a foundation as I could hope for, and all those conversations you have with him about the nature of ethics and morality have had an excellent effect on his saber.”

“Has it?” Lan Qiren asked, skeptical. Even the Nie sect experts agreed that Baxia was unusually vicious for a saber, powerful enough to frighten wild yao simply with her presence – Nie Mingjue’s cultivation remained shockingly fast, and even Lan Qiren, who had only a few years understanding of the saber spirits, could recognize the effects of it.

“It has,” Lao Nie said firmly. “He doesn’t fear her, and she loves him all the more for it, backs him like none other; no other saber of his generation will so much as waver out of line with Baxia behind them. As for the rest…ah, Qiren, if you can figure out a way to stymie the saber spirit even a little – give him even another decade – I’ll be satisfied. Don’t worry about it.”

Lan Qiren huffed and returned to trying to transfer spiritual energy from Jiwei to the pendant.

“Besides, all this time spent on the project has had at least one good effect,” Lao Nie added, putting his hand on Lan Qiren’s shoulder as he played. “I get the pleasure of your company.”

Lan Qiren’s attention was fixed on his playing, but the hand was warm on his shoulder. “That hardly seems so much of a benefit,” he said absently.

“You underestimate yourself. Do you know, outside of my sect, I think you’re my best friend?”

Only years of training allowed Lan Qiren’s fingers to continue to move smoothly over the guqin strings when his heart seized in his chest, warm and hot and squished and painful and pleasurable at the same time.

He did not allow himself to ask “Really?” like a small child, insecure and uncertain, did not permit himself to say “even above my brother”, did not say anything at all.

“Thank you,” he finally said, stiff and wooden. “I…you as well.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #sect leader nie #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #tedious joys

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

Text

@sicktember Prompt # 7: Sneaky Temperature Check

Title: In Which Howl Worries About Sophie

Fandom: Howl's Moving Castle (book)

Sophie is tired and careworn and doesn't realize she has fallen ill. Howl comes to her rescue once more, and turns out to be an awfully good caretaker.

(For those who have only seen the movie: Elementary school-age "Markl" in the movie is high school-age Michael in the book. Howl, Sophie, and Calcifer are very much the same.)

Most of the time, living in a moving castle with a wizard and a fire demon made for a very interesting life, and a vastly different one than Sophie had led trimming hats for her family’s hat shop. However, there were times Sophie was grateful for her upbringing, especially when it came to helping to raise her younger sisters. After all, being able to care for someone who needs help is a skill no one should lack.

That was driven home to Sophie not long after the dramatic events involving the Witch of the Waste and her fire demon. Howl and Sophie had broken spells and contacts galore, and were well set up to live happily ever after in the moving castle, with a newly-freed Calcifer along for the ride. However, not a week after the Witch and her fire demon were defeated, Michael came down with a bad cold. Sophie chalked it up to all the stress from the weeks prior, and too much magic flying around. Howl hardly seemed to notice his apprentice sneezing all over everyone, and was much more interested in Sophie, now that she was back to her proper age and properly in love with him.

It wasn't until Michael's cold took a turn for the worse and he was laid up in bed and not around to help that Howl paid it any mind. However, as everyone knows, there's no cure for a cold, not even with magic. In a matter of days, despite Sophie's efforts, Michael became seriously ill when his cold developed into a nasty case of pneumonia. After this, Sophie hardly left his side. She felt unreasonably guilty that she had somehow caused this, or hadn't cared for him properly in his cold's early stages. Sophie's sister Martha and Michael had plans to get married after Michael's apprenticeship, so of course Martha was beside herself as well. The sisters practically lived in Michael's room during those days, keeping watch to ensure he got no worse, as he lay in bed wheezing laboriously.

Michael finally did start to improve, with some assistance from Howl's magic, and Sophie and Martha breathed a little easier along with Michael. However, since Martha had her own apprenticeship to worry about, Sophie still felt quite obligated to sit often by Michael's bedside and keep him company, especially when Martha was working.

Howl clearly began to feel neglected. He dealt with it admirably when Michael was most ill, but when Michael started to recover, Howl began to seek some attention as well.

"Sophie, come out and walk in the garden with me. It's a beautiful day. Perhaps we can even pick some flowers and reopen the flower shop today.

"Sophie, I just read about a very interesting spell that you might like. Come here and I'll teach you.

"Sophie, come tell me how you'd like your room laid out so I can start to modify the castle. You can't sleep under the stairs forever.

"Sophie, come here and sit by the fire with me. Calcifer is bored and wants you to talk to him.

"Sophie, the bathroom is a mess. I need your help to clean it.

The petitions quickly went from hopeful to petulant. Sophie sensed his frustration. However, she was too concerned about Michael and Martha to pay him much mind. She had an excuse every time as to why she couldn't rest.

"I don't have time for flowers right now. I need to make another pot of broth.

"My mind is too scattered to learn a new spell. Another day.

"I couldn't think straight enough to plan a whole room. And I really don't need to move. My cubby hole is perfectly fine.

"I can't sit when I have bedding to clean, and anyway my voice is worn out from reading to Michael.

"Then clean it yourself! I'm not the only one who can scrub.

As Howl became more annoying, Sophie became angrier, until she was brushing him off before he even spoke with a look or a curt gesture, especially when he began to ask if she was coming down with something and she had to tell him she was fine multiple times a day. At one point there was only icy silence between them after she snapped at him for standing in front of Calcifer when she needed to cook, and he called her a nagging fishwife. When she shot back saying that must mean he was the fish, Howl stormed out to Market Chipping in high temper. She didn't see him again for the rest of the day.

A few days after their fight, Sophie again found herself in front of Calcifer cooking. Michael finally had an appetite for something other than broth, and with Calcifer gone for part or all of most days when it wasn't raining, she took the opportunity to cook on him whenever she could. However, for once she wasn't chatting with the demon, but was simply attending to her task in a haze of fatigue. After a moment, she sensed Howl standing at her side looking at her, which flared up a familiar spark of irritation.

"If you tell me to "come" do anything with you today, I'm going to scream, Howl. Don't bother me," she said, not looking at him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Howl conjure up a chair and push it behind her. "I'm not asking you to come anywhere, I'm asking you to sit right where you are. Please rest for a bit, Sophie dear. You look as if you're about to collapse."

The true concern in his voice made her bite back the sharp response on her tongue. She let a small sigh escape instead, which turned into a dry, raspy cough. "I just haven't been getting much rest," she said after a moment. "I'm all right."

"You've also kept that cough for weeks now, and it's getting worse and not better. Sit, please. I insist on it. I'll watch the bacon."

"I'm just a little under the weather," she mumbled weakly. Yet she found herself sinking into the chair almost against her will. The fact that he was being so insistent intrigued her even in her tired state, since he was usually so non-confrontational. "I'll sit for just a moment to please you. But don't even think about sitting with me. I'm still mad at you, and I don't want to talk."

"Not a word to you will cross my lips," he said primly. The fact that he wasn't taking the bait to pick a fight with her was also suspicious. She watched him closely out of the corner of her eye, leaning back into the chair as she did. She really did feel much better sitting down and breathed a small sigh of relief, which became another cough. She tried to lean back and rest as she had been instructed to do. It occurred to her that she had been more lightheaded these past few days than she had been the whole time she was an old woman.

True to his word meanwhile, Howl took over the bacon, wrapping a gilded sleeve around the handle and striking up conversation with Calcifer, which Sophie didn't bother to follow. Instead she sleepily admired Howl's handsome profile, and thought for the hundredth time how much better his eyes looked now that he had his heart back. The pendant in his ear danced as he spoke, and watching it sway lulled her into a doze almost immediately.

She woke with a start when she felt something press against her face, which turned out to be Howl's hand.

"I knew it," he crowed. "You *are*feverish. Otherwise you would never be so irritable. Poor, dear Sophie, you must've caught Michael's cold. I imagine you're feeling awful."

She brushed his hand away wearily. "And so what if I am? There's too much to do. I don't have time to be ill."

Howl frowned, then without a word he effortlessly picked her up, bridal-style, and began to carry her up the stairs.

She tried to push his arms away, but he was stronger than he appeared for how slight he was-- or else he was using magic. She wore herself out quickly fighting him, instead succumbing to a coughing fit.

He carried her directly up to his bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. She half-heartedly tried to roll off the other side to get down, but Howl stopped her with one hand. As she sunk into the obscenely comfortable mattress, the weight of her fatigue fell over her fully, and she stopped fighting, instead yawning hugely.

"There now, you see? You're exhausted. And you're not leaving this bed for a few days until you're better, lest I have two cases of pneumonia on my hands.”

"But I can't stay in your bed. I should be in my bed," said Sophie sleepily, even as Howl tucked her in.

"I won't let you sleep on that straw mattress one more day. Before you're recovered, you shall have a proper room and bed. Be honest Sophie, the reason you're so against having a real room here is because that makes your being here and what you and I have together permanent, and that scares you. That's why you've been avoiding me too. Michael being ill was just a convenient excuse."

Sophie guiltily avoided his eyes. "I suppose that might be true. It's just such a big change, moving in permanently. And it's all so surreal still. Sometimes I think you and all of this must be a dream, because it feels too good to be true."

Howl took her hand tenderly, kneeling by the bed. "And I thought I was supposed to be the one afraid of commitment, not you. Dearest, I feel the very same way. I'm terrified to see where this road leads, as well as terribly excited. But we'll go slow and take our time and figure it out together. That's what we seem to be good at, if nothing else.

Sophie kissed his hand, a wave of emotion flooding through her. "Thank you, Howl. I needed to hear that." A nasty bout of coughing prevented her from saying anything further.

"And here I'm keeping you talking when you're ill. Hush now and rest. Here, drink some broth. It's yours so I'm sure it's wonderful. I haven't seen you eat properly in days." He conjured a bowl and spoon out of nowhere.

"I can barely swallow. My throat is too sore," she mumbled, embarrassed at how much he had been noticing, while she had been ignoring him.

"Just a little for now, to give you some strength. I'll mix a potion for your throat in a bit. You're under my care now, never fear."

"What about Michael? He needs looking after too," she croaked wearily, sipping on the broth, which was indeed delicious.

"I'll be fine with Martha's help. You need looking after more," came a weak voice from behind them. Both quickly turned to find Michael leaning in the doorway, barefoot and wrapped in a blanket, and looking as pale and weary as he did determined.

"I knew you were getting sick too," Michael continued. "You've been so tired and subdued. I told Howl he needed to check on you."

"Not that I needed him telling me so! I already had planned to look after you," Howl said, giving Michael an injured look.

Sophie couldn't help but smile at the two men in her life, tired as she was. She knew whatever else her future would be in the moving castle, she would never want for entertainment or affection ever again.

#sicktember2021 #sickfic #prompt 7 #everyone is hotter with a fever

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songsformonkeys · 4 years

Text

Conference Call (maxwell lord x reader)

summary: Maxwell fucks you while taking a conference call. There’s no plot here. None. Just stupid filth

word count: ~4100

rating: explicit

warnings: Slight soft!Dom Maxwell if that needs to come with a warning.

notes: Sooo...this happened. I don’t know how to feel about it...

Ao3

Conference Call

”I want you to wear this,” Maxwell says and gestures towards a big white box on the table. The two of you are in his penthouse apartment. It's after midnight but neither of you have clocked out from work yet because you had been forced to schedule a conference call with a rivaling company in Europe and the different timezones are a pain in anyone's ass.

Maxwell isn't too happy about the arrangement but had agreed on the condition that the telephone meeting could be held in his home office. You had agreed, knowing which battles that were worth picking with Maxwell and realizing that this wasn't one of them.

You had showed up with plenty of time to spare before the call, hoping that you and Maxwell would have a chance to go over the Paris proposal once more. That had been twenty minutes ago and so far the only things that have happened are that Maxwell has insisted on having a drink, has quizzed you on next week’s meetings, and now has revealed that apparently there is a dress code for the evening.

”Maxwell... Mister Lord, may I remind you that it is a conference call and that the other participants won't actually be able to see us. I hardly think that a wardrobe change will be necessary,” you point out, a little annoyed at his unwillingness to focus on the task at hand.

Maxwell sets his drink down and stands up from the barstool where he's perched. He walks over to you and steps so close that you can smell his expensive cologne. The scent reminds you of other times when he's been this close and you briefly close your eyes.

”And may I remind you whose job it is to set the rules here. The outfit is for my benefit, not theirs, and I'm telling you that I want you to wear it.” There's no mistaking the order behind his words and you suddenly worry just what might be in that box.

”Am I making myself clear?” he continues and you nod.

”Crystal clear, Mister Lord,” you reply and he smirks.

”Good girl. Now go change and meet me in the office.”

You pick up the box and head to the guestroom down the hall.

As you set the box down on the bed and open it, you are immediately met by a vision of pale pink tulle and your eyebrows raise in surprise. You take the tulle garment out of the box and hold it up in front of you. It's a short, see-through, maribou robe, complete with the feather trimmings and everything. It's...angelic, for a lack of better word, and very much what you have come to learn that Maxwell appreciates.

You carefully set the gown down on the bed and return your attention to the box and the other things it contains. The next thing you pull out is a lace balconette bra in the same pink color as the gown, along with a pair of matching lace panties.

When you hold the panties up you notice there's an odd seam down the middle and... oh wait that's not a seam, but a slit. Your cheeks feel hot as you run your finger over the fabric, before setting them down and picking up the last thing that's in the box. It's another box and you can tell just from the design that it contains jewelry. When you open it you almost gasp. Resting on black velvet is an absolutely gorgeous diamond choker necklace. The symbolism of that doesn't escape you.

You look at the items on the bed and don't dare to wonder how much money Maxwell has spent on this ensemble. He is, for the most part, smart about what he spends his money on, but this isn't the first set of expensive lingerie that he's bought for you.

Worried about keeping him waiting for too long, you quickly slip out of your own clothes and into the ones Maxwell has provided for you, even though clothes might not be quite the right word for it.

You look at yourself in the full-length mirror of the guestroom, and have to admit that you look good. The color suits you and you feel more at home in this than the black ones he'd bought for you last time.

You debate whether or not to leave the gown open or tied closed with the silk band around the middle. You settle for tying it closed, thinking that Maxwell will probably enjoy untying that for himself. Studying your face closely in the mirror, as you fit the necklace snugly around your neck, you come to the conclusion that the lipstick you've been wearing all day doesn't quite fit with the image and you grab some paper to wipe it off, leaving your lips bare but stained slightly pink.

You take a deep breath and adjust the diamond choker just a little, before you leave the guestroom and walk towards to Maxwell's home office. The apartment isn't cold but you still feel your skin tightening into little goosebumps.

Maxwell is bent over a file, reading, when you stop in the doorway. You know he knows your there by the way his hand twitches for just a fraction of a second before turning the page, but he still makes you wait for a few more seconds before looking up. He doesn't say anything as he eyes you up and down, and his face is impossible to read as always. Then he lifts his hand and beckons you over with a finger.

He pushes his chair back when you reach him and a pleased smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. The relief makes your shoulders relax slightly.

”They suit you. Do you like them?” he asks, pursing his lips to keep a smile in check. You nod

”Yes, Max-.” He raises an eyebrow at you. ”Yes, Mister Lord. They're beautiful. But...forgive me, I don't quite understand...”

”What don't you understand, sweetheart?” he asks, reaching out to smooth a hand over your hip, pulling you another step closer. He touches the silk band tied around your middle, grabbing the end of it and slowly pulling.

”We have scheduled a conference call with Paris, in 15 minutes. There isn't any time to...” you trail off as the bow is untied and the robe falls open, revealing the rest of your lingerie to Maxwell's hungry gaze.

”I am well aware,” he says, ”And as you are well aware, Perrault and the morons he calls his team are exceptionally boring so I'm gonna need some additional entertainment.” He lets his eyes rake over you in a way that makes it perfectly clear that you are that additional entertainment.

”Take a seat,” he orders. He smiles at you dangerously and leans back a little further in his leather seat. You feel your cheeks heat up as you sit down on his lap. Maxwell spins the chair around and pushes it closer to the desk.

”So, since you've been begging me for it all evening, let's go over what my stance on this is again, before they call,” he says, as if this is just another briefing in the office, as if you, through the slit in your panties, can't feel the fabric of his pants drag slightly against your folds every time he shifts.

”Well,” you begin, clearing your throat, and Maxwell reaches around you to hand you the file that you have meticulously put together for him over the past week. When you've accepted the file, Maxwell lets his hand rest halfway up your thigh, heavy and warm.

”Well, their offer is very generous, ” you start over, then stop, as his fingers inch a little higher.

”Go on,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his tone. He pulls the pink tulle out of the way so he can caress the inside of your thigh softly. This isn't the first time Maxwell has touched you, but it is the first time he's wanted you to comment on the details of a business proposal as he does so. You try and collect yourself and speak with confidence.

”But I think we should be a little worried about their connection to St Petersburg. Their...uhm...their revenues have been in decline ever since la...last October.” You try to keep your voice steady but Maxwell has carefully pushed your thighs apart and is now dragging his index finger along the opening in your panties. The featherlight touch makes your voice hitch and your hands shake.

”So the offer is an attempt for them to save face?” Maxwell comments, thoughtfully, slipping his finger between your lips to stroke the hard nub of your clit. ”A way to get to sit at the table with the big boys.” You keen quietly.

”What was that?” Maxwell asks, rubbing your clit a bit faster.

”I mean, yes... I'm sure that's their reasoning behind...oh... behind the proposal. But you...ah... you have been looking for a way to expand to the European market and... and this...this could provide an opportunity for you as well.” Your thighs are quivering and you're gripping the file so hard that the edges dig into your palms. You want to grab Maxwell and pull him in for a kiss, but that's a mistake you've made before and aren't dumb enough to make again.

”So I'm considering it?” Maxwell says with curious hum. You have been over this several times together already and you have no doubt that he knows where he stands in all of this, but just wants to hear you say it out loud. His finger is still lazily stroking you and it feels so good. You allow yourself to lean back against him, just a little, and he lets you.

”You want them to sweeten the deal,” you tell him as you feel his lips barely graze your neck. Maxwell isn't much for kissing during foreplay so it takes you a little by surprise. You continue. ”Find a way to get them to... ditch St Petersburg and we'll reap all the benefits from acc...ah...accepting this proposal.”

”And we'll run St Petersburg into the ground,” he finishes for you, and you nod.

”That's an additional bonus,” you agree and Maxwell chuckles.

”Ruthless,” he says but his tone is appreciative.

”I thought you hired me to look out for the company, sir, not to be kind,” you can't help but comment, a little sarcastically.

”Watch that smart mouth of yours,” Maxwell whispers into your ear and pulls his finger out from between your legs. He holds it up in front of your face. ”I can think of far better ways to use it.”

You open up as he presses the finger against your lips and you suck the digit into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks slightly, you can taste your own arousal in the pad of his finger. You swirl your tongue around it and make a soft hum at the back of your throat because you think Maxwell will appreciate it. You let your lips move back and forth, slowly, over the ridges and knuckles of his finger. Maxwell just watches you silently.

When the telephone rings a couple of minutes later, it takes you by surprise, and you start. Maxwell pulls his finger out of your mouth and wipes it on his pants. You move to stand up, but he pulls you back onto his lap, securing you in place with an arm around your waist. You can feel the hard line of his cock press against your ass.

”Did I tell you you could leave?” he growls, low and dangerous, in a way that sends shivers up your spine the way this tone of voice always does.

”I'm sorry, Mister Lord,” you apologize.

Maxwell picks up the phone to answer

”Perrault! Bonjour! How are things in Paris?” he greets the person on the other side, immediately dialing up the smarmy businessman persona. You hear the person on the other side mumble something in response and Maxwell laughs, loud and fake. They exchange a few more pleasantries as a couple of other people connect to the call. Maxwell is tapping his fingers against your side and you can tell that he's already bored.

You strain to hear what is being said on the other end of the call but it's difficult and Maxwell's responding hums give away little information. He's loosened his grip around your waist and is now running his fingers along the edge of your bra. Your own hands are gripping the fabric of the gown lightly. Maxwell hasn't told you what to do and as much as he appreciates you taking initiative at work, he's usually of the opposite mind in these situations.

Maxwell continues to talk and you continue to sit perched on his lap, anticipation mixed with a hint of worry, building. He's pulled one of your breasts out from its lacy confines now and is absent-mindedly rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. Every now and then he gives it a pinch and you jump slightly. You don't need to see Maxwell to know that he's smiling.

Suddenly, Maxwell pats the desk in front of him and it takes you a second to realize what he wants. When you do, you stand up from his lap. Maxwell stands too and you can see his erection straining against the pants of his suit.

He pushes the gown off your shoulders and it falls to the floor. Then he places a hand on your chest and guides you to sit down on the desk. You do, but Maxwell keeps pushing until you are lying flat on your back across the cold and smooth surface. He stands hovering above you, phone in one hand as the other push your legs up and apart. You feel incredibly exposed but would be lying if you said there wasn't a part of you that really got off on just that.

Maxwell holds a finger up to his lips in warning and then, without much preamble, he reaches down and pushes that very same finger into you. You have to bite down hard on your lower lip not to gasp out loud. Maxwell pulls his finger almost all the way out before inserting another. Your brows draw together in a frown and your mouth falls open on a silent moan.

”So run that by me again, exactly what you think the benefits would be for me and my company, in this scenario of yours,” Maxwell tells the people on the phone but his eyes are locked with yours as he sets a slow pace for fucking his fingers into you. His eyes look almost pitch black from lust and as he curls his fingers slightly upward, you feel like your own eyes are about to roll to the back of your head.

The speed of Maxwell's fingers steadily increase when the people on the other end of the line are talking but slow down when he makes his own replies. It's the most delicious kind of torture and you feel your pleasure building and building. You suddenly know that there is no way you will be able to stay silent when you come, and so you desperately tug at Maxwell's arm to get him to stop. But instead of pulling his fingers out or stopping, he just shifts the phone so he's holding it up against his ear with his shoulder and uses his newly freed hand to cover your mouth. You watch him with wide eyes as he sets a brutal pace with his fingers and you barely last a minute before you come so hard your vision blacks out for a moment. Maxwell's palm doesn't manage to entirely muffle your loud keen and you panic as you're sure it must have been heard on the other end of the call. The whole world is completely silent for a couple of seconds as you wait. Then there's mumbling on the phone.

”What's that?” Maxwell says, looking completely unfazed as he rests a sticky hand on your stomach. You're still frozen in the spot. Maxwell chuckles, ”Oh that. Just a little kitten I'm looking after...Oh, you have a dog?... you don't say? Well, pets sure do bring a certain kind of joy to our lives, don't they? Now, will you gentlemen excuse me for just a minute so I can make sure that she is happy and won't interrupt us again? One minute.”

He sets the phone down on the desk and you immediately start mouthing silent apologies. He covers your mouth with his hand again.

”I'm trying to work here, Kitten,” he says, keeping up appearances, in case his voice can still be heard on the phone, ”And I can't do that if you're gonna continue to mewl like this, you understand? I don't want to have to lock you out.”

You nod furiously to show that you have understood. Maxwell removes his hand. He picks up the phone again and looks like he's just about to speak when a dangerous grin suddenly stretches across his face. You feel a lump of dread grow in the pit of your stomach.

”Gentlemen! Sorry for the interruption...oh you are too kind!... Well as I was just saying, the proposal is not bad, but it needs some refining. Why don't I hand you over to my assistant and she can help you go over the numbers?”

If you thought there was anyway you would have gotten away with running, you would have. You shake your head as Maxwell holds out the phone for you. You giving the most begging look you can muster, silently asking him not to do this. Maxwell's hand doesn't move an inch but his eyes soften a little and, in a gesture of kindness that's slightly out of character for him, he mouths you've got this.

Hesitantly, you grab the phone and clear your throat, attempting to get your voice in order. Maxwell sits back down in his chair to watch you. You start to sit up but he shakes his head and you admit defeat, lying back down and holding the phone up to your ear.

”Good morning, Gentlemen,” you say, in a voice that sounds more normal than it has any right to sound, considering the circumstances. You actually hear Maxwell chuckle in the background and close your eyes to shut him out. You can do this, you tell yourself, almost echoing Maxwell's encouragement. You've gone over these numbers so many times over these past weeks that you could probably write them down in your sleep. If only you can focus on them and not the fact that you're currently spread out and mostly naked on your boss' desk then things will go just fine.

Maxwell sits back and lets you do your thing, looking slightly impressed at how you're adapting to the situation. However, in true Maxwell fashion, he soon gets bored with listening in on just half a conversation and you feel his hand run up your calf, caressing it. You bite your lip as his hand goes past the knee and smooths down the outside of your thigh. You have a sneaking suspicion where this is going.

Maxwell positions himself between your legs and as you listen to the accountant on the other end of the line, you lift your head slightly to meet Maxwell's gaze. He gives you a dark smile and lowers his face, just slow enough for you to brace yourself for the first touch of his tongue. You still start when it comes and Maxwell reaches up to place his hand on your stomach again, holding you in place.

You brace yourself for more but his tongue is surprisingly gentle and Maxwell alternates between licking and kissing along your folds. It feels nice but it isn't enough to drive you crazy and you know he's doing it on purpose. He's keeping the touches light enough that you're still able to talk. For all his attempts at seeming threatening, Maxwell doesn't actually want you to make a fool of yourself, or him for that matter.

This feels more like a reward than a punishment. Not that you have any plans on pointing that out to Maxwell, in case he's unaware.

He lets you finish up discussing details with the accountant, it’s gone well and you feel surprisingly proud of yourself, but then Maxwell impatiently stands up and motions for you to hand the phone back to him. You do and he demands to know if there are any questions regarding your counter-proposal. You hear the person on the other line begin to speak and Maxwell rolls his eyes.

”Monsieur Perrault,” he interrupts, ” I can hear we're not quite in agreement on this yet. So why don't we go back to our respective teams, see what adjustments we can make and I'll have my assistant schedule another meeting in about a week? Sound good?”

You hear the slightly confused mumbles of agreement on the phone.

”Excellent! Well, in that case, I wish you, gentlemen, a good day, and thank you for your time.”

Maxwell just about slams the phone back on the receiver and when he turns to you, there's something feral in his eyes. Before you have time to say something, Maxwell grabs you and drags you off the desk. He spins you around so that you're standing with your back pressed against his chest. He reaches around your throat and pushes your head back so he can whisper in your ear.

”You did so well, sweetheart!” he praises and you feel pride swell in your chest, ”Their fucking incompetent excuse for an accountant didn't stand a chance against you.” He grinds his hips against you and lets out a low moan.

”Bend over,” he orders and you do as you're told, leaning over the desk and resting your cheek against your forearms. You hear Maxwell get his pants open.

”Gonna have them eating out of our hands by the end of next meeting,” he says as he lines himself up. Then he thrusts home and you cry out as his cock fills you up, in one rough motion. Realizing just what kind of fucking you're in for, you reach out and grab the edges of the desk to keep yourself steady. Maxwell is already gripping your hips hard and pumping into you. You gasp with each thrust. The gentleness of his tongue during the call is gone. This is him, taking what he needs. And you, willingly giving it.

”So fucking good,” he praises again. You're not sure if he's commenting on your performance during the conference call or your current performance. His breathing is getting more ragged with each thrust.

Maxwell leans over you and presses his lips against your shoulder. It's not quite a kiss but right now you don't care because he's fucking you senseless and that's enough. Enough to have a second wave of pleasure crash over you as you come, clenching hard around Maxwell's cock.

Maxwell's thrusts are becoming erratic. He says something against your shoulder that you can't quite hear through your daze of pleasure.

”What?” you gasp as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

”Tell me you love me!” It's more of an order than a request but right now you are willing to give him anything he wants so it doesn't matter.

”I love you...” you pant, ”I love you, Maxwell”

That's all it takes and in the next second Maxwell presses his face hard against your back and comes, deep inside you.

He holds you through his orgasm, lingers for only a few moments after before standing up and pulling out, leaving you feeling empty. He tucks himself back into his pants and picks the robe up from the floor and hands it to you.

”You know where the bathroom is,” he says, voice a little distant, ”Go clean yourself up. And it's late so if you want to you can spend the night.”

You nod and thank him, not quite able to meet his eyes before you walk towards the bathroom on shaky legs. Maxwell calls your name before you reach the door and you turn back.

”Yes?”

”...My bedroom is the third one on the left... just so you know.”

#maxwell lord/reader #maxwell lordxreader #maxwell lord #wonder woman 84 fiction #my fanfiction

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