#approves maybe isn’t the right word but. hm. i don’t remember the exact wording but I know he comments that the rev suffers to aid others

[legendary-alliance-stance]

okay but sometimes I think a lot about the urn of saint viktor skill

how it’s basically a Self Sacrifice skill to heal others

and I can’t stop thinking about what that implies about viktor

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 5.3

"Oh? I didn't realize I would have visitors today," a mysterious blonde entered the cave, and you tensed despite the pain shooting through your shoulder.

"Oh, hey Albedo!" Paimon greeted in a cheerful voice.

"Aether, may I inquire to the reasons you've stopped by?  I don't recall sending for you recently."  Albedo set his bag on the table and unloaded it's contents haphazardly. He handled his drawings with care, unlike the rest of the vials and glasses of unknown substances.

"We were running from the Fatui," he scratched his head and avoided the alchemist's knowing smirk.

"I'm not even surprised at this point.  Why, you seem to have a honing instinct when it comes to--" His eyes landed on your bloody shoulder.  "--them.  Are you alright, Miss?"

"Me?"  It was a stupid response considering you were the only girl in the room, but his sudden shift in attention threw you off.  "U-uh, yeah.  Bennett patched me up."

"Hi, Albedo!"  Bennett waved excitedly at the familiar Mondstatian.

Albedo returned with a nod, and walked towards you.  "If you don't mind, I would like to take a look at your injury."

"Oka--Ow!"  You bit your tongue when he quickly placed a hand against your injured arm without exercising much caution.  Xiao took a step toward him in response.  

"Apologies." Albedo removed his hand and caught the sudden amber glow that enveloped your eyes, and leaned forward to inspect them.  His supposed guilt for agitating your wound was instantly transformed into curiosity.

H-he's really close, you found yourself leaning backwards to ensure a safe distance from his face.

"That's peculiar," he commented, seemingly more interested in your glowing eyes than your injury now.  "I haven't seen anything like this before.  May I run some tests?"

"What kind of tests?"  Xiao's protectiveness took over and he hid you behind him.  First the Fatui, and now this stranger?  Just how many people were after the two of you?

"Don't worry, he's safe," Paimon teased the concerned yaksha and immediately earned a glare from him.

"For the most part," Bennett and Aether finished under their breaths and made nervous eye contact.

"A simple experiment for the sake of science," Albedo stood and gathered a few cotton swabs from one of the cabinets, then a small needle.  He carefully sanitized it before returning to you.  "Are you also like Aether?"  He only referred to the otherworldliness of the traveler.

"No, I'm from Teyvat."  You watched him as he placed swiped a cotton swab against the drying blood on your shoulder.  He in turn watched for a reaction in your eyes, but found nothing.  He repeated the same procedure, this time closer to your pulsating stitches.  Your muscles tensed at the faint dull pain.  A faint glow emanated in your irises and even though it was barely noticeable he still managed to catch it.

"I see," he nodded to your answer and placed the swabs in separate vials.  Then, while you were still focused on his face, grabbed the small needle.  He turned to face you again.  "How long have your eyes been doing that?"

"Not that long," you caught Xiao's silent warning of 'do not speak of this' out of the corner of your eye.  "Er, I don't know."

Albedo also glanced in the direction of the man that was so obviously overprotective of you and realized the two of you had the exact same eye color.  He didn't say anything about that, though.  "I see."  He quickly pricked your shoulder with the needle when you had your guard down, and you almost backhanded him out of pure instinct.

"Ow!"  You glared at him, and annoyance bubbled inside you when he smiled back in both satisfaction and awe.  

"Experiment one is complete."  He stood and made his way to the table with the three vials of cotton swabs.  Then he proceeded to pour separate liquids into each, shake them gently, and place them back down on the table.  He watched the mixtures settle.

"What do you mean, 'complete?'" You growled and dabbed the miniscule blood off of your skin.

"Your eyes glow in response to pain," he stated simply as he eyed the vials.  "A strange reaction that is tied to a human's fight-or-flight response.  I wonder what else they react to."  Once the mixtures settled, he inspected them with the utmost attention.  He wrote his notes down on a sheet of paper.

"Well?"  Aether joined him at the table.

"May I take a sample from you as well?"  Albedo immediately turned to Xiao, who stood to your left.

"No."  I don't like this at all.  His eyes downcast to you, conflicted.

"Alright, then.  Do your eyes also glow?"

"No."

Albedo looked to you for confirmation, and you shook your head.  Hm, perhaps it is just a coincidence that they have the same eyes, then.  He returned his gaze to the samples.  "What strange results," he murmured to himself.  "You say you are human, yet your blood..."  It isn't like mine or Aether's DNA, either.  What biological component resides within you, I wonder?  "I cannot say for certain what is within you without conducting more experiments, but seeing as though you are running from Fatui, I suppose I'll have to wait for a more opportune time.  Please, return while you have a spare moment."

......................................................

"Your cover was blown?"  Signora raised a brow at her fellow harbinger.  "How did you manage that, Childe?"

"The target managed to convince the others that I'm being dishonest with my intentions.  I can't continue with them further," he lied through his teeth.  While it didn't play out as he had intended, it most definitely resulted in the rest of the adventure team's knowledge of the Fatui's plans if they hadn't known already.

"The Tsaritsa approved my plans," the woman peered down over the balcony.  "Your failure to keep our operation a secret will not impact them, but be aware they'll come back to bite you later."

"There's one other thing.  She received a vision."

"A vision?"  This brought her gaze back to Childe.  "From who?"

"The Tsaritsa.  Was that part of the plan?"

"Not at all," her eyes narrowed in the direction of Snezhnaya.  "What was she--No, no matter.  The plan shall proceed.  A little birdie told me the target and her little posse will be staying here for the time being.  We'll strike tonight," Signora surveyed the City of Mondstat beneath her.

......................................

The adventure team entered Angel's share as the sun set behind the hills.  Bennett had gone to check on all his dads at the adventure guild.  The tavern was teeming with the chatter of loud drunkards, melodies of a lone bard near the entrance, and the clinking of glasses.  Oh, and the hiccups of an incredibly drunk young boy that sat at the bar.

"Ah, the delicious--hic-- wine of Mondstat never ceases to amaze me!"  The boy raised his glass in the air, nearly spilling it over the rim.  His red cheeks provided a striking contrast to his green clothing choice.

Diluc stood on the other end of the barrier with an unamused yet slightly impressed expression.  He noticed your team's entering, and let out an exasperated sigh.  "This is glass fifty-two.  It's been less than half an hour since he started."

"H-How is that possible?!"  You stammered in concern.  "And why is he allowed to drink? He's practically Bennett's age!"

"U-Uh, well you see,"  Paimon fidgeted.  "He has a very high alcohol tolerance!"

Noticing your still-confused expression, Aether leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I'll explain later."  The noise that floated around the room concealed his words from Venti.

"Need anything to drink? Non-alcoholic of course," Diluc's eyes scanned the group until they landed on Xiao.

"I don't drink."  The yaksha left the group to sit at a table in a secluded corner.

"Not very sociable today," Paimon mused.  

"You received a vision," Diluc caught the glint of the pendant hanging from your belt loop.  "Congratulations."

"Thank you!"  You watched as he excused himself to pour a customer another drink.

"Ah, Trav--hic--eler!  It's so good to see you again!"  The boy noticed Aether's presence and waved you all over.  

"Hey Venti," Aether greeted with a slightly nervous grin.  "Long time no see."

"Yes!  Are you old enough to try the--hic-- wine yet? Oh?" His eyes looked to you.  "Hello! Are you a friend of Aether's?  Why don't we all share a drink together?"

"Oh, I'm not twenty-one just yet," you declined, eyes flitting to Xiao.  "Excuse me."

You sat across from Xiao and struggled to come up with small talk. He had been quieter than usual ever since you showed your vision to the group.  "What's on your mind?"

It took several minutes of prodding for him to finally respond to you.  "What were you doing in the moments that led to you receiving the vision?"

"What was I doing?" You were taken aback, but not surprised that he was still cynical of the circumstances.  "Well..." I was trying to protect you.  You wanted to convey those words but were still embarrassed of your actions.  Maybe you didn't deserve a god's recognition for barging into danger like it was normal.  A glum expression took over your face as you slumped in your seat.  You glanced up at him, only to find his cheeks slightly tinged red and that he was avoiding your eyes.  "What?"

"You really are one of the incompetent ones," he grumbled loud enough for you to hear.  

That's when you remembered he could hear every single prayer and wish about him.  It was your turn to blush now.  "U-Uh...um.  I didn't mean any of that!"  

Xiao's eyes flicked to yours, completely unconvinced of your lie.  "Of course."  You hung your head in embarrassment.

"I--Uh," you stood from your seat.  "I'm going to get some air!"  You climbed the stairs to the balcony on the second floor and shut the door behind you.

The cool air of the early night seemed to wipe away the stench of alcohol that had already begun to cling to your clothes.  It was a peaceful evening, what with the bright stars that shone in the sky and the occasional drunk laughter that leaked from the balcony door into the open air.  You admired the constellations for awhile until you felt the air get colder and heard the creaking of a floorboard to your right.  

"Sh--You scared me!"  You let out a nervous laughter when you saw the woman rise from her balcony seat.  "Sorry, I thought I was the only one up here."

"It's easy to be caught off-guard when you're distracted," the woman's lips curled upward slightly.  She made her way toward you, and you could finally make out the details of her figure.

She's dressed a little too formal for a tavern, you noted, yet you still admired how pretty she was.  White hair tied into an updo, a flowing gown that showed off her bust, she was downright gorgeous.  Still, you couldn't help but shiver.  Why was the air so chilly all of a sudden?

"You're not from around here," the woman observed.  "What brings you to Mondstat?"

"I," you started feeling uncomfortable in this dark setting, but didn't want to be rude. "I'm just passing through.  And you?  You don't look like you're from Mondstat."  You crossed your arms to trap the remaining warmth from the tavern around your body.  This woman showed more skin than you, but she didn't appear bothered in the slightest.

"An excellent observation on your part."  She stopped once she was maybe two feet from you.  "We were also passing through.  Isn't that right, Childe?"

Your blood ran cold in an instant, and Signora watched your face pale with satisfaction.

"I think I like it better in Liyue if I'm being honest," the voice you didn't want to hear greeted from behind your ear.  When did he get so close?  "Ambition over freedom.  But nothing compares to the beauty of our homeland."

You spun on your heel and simultaneously began to manifest a polearm in your nondominant hand.  You weren't quick enough, and Childe caught your arm.  Your heartbeat rushed in your ears as time appeared to slow down.

"You're still injured," Childe flashed a proud smile at the sight of the wound he had given you.  "You can't fight."

"Xia--!"  You opened your mouth to scream, but a feminine hand covered your mouth and restrained you.  It all happened too quick for your mind to comprehend, and the next thing you knew, she opened a portal in midair and was dragging you towards it.  Xiao!  Help!

"Prepare yourself, Childe," Signora warned.

"It'd be my pleasure," he conjured his blades and faced the door right as it was kicked down with a powerful force.  Xiao and Aether burst through.

"Let her go!"  Aether charged at Childe, giving Xiao the chance to aim for Signora's head.

"Xiao!" You managed to pull Signora's hand off your mouth and stretched your arm out to him.

He pushed off the balcony towards you, and was instead greeted by the hollow night air.  He crashed into the ground and sprung to his feet again.  The portal had closed.  Childe was gone.

You were gone.

.......................

Up Next:  Darkness, a meeting with an archon, and a quartet of harbingers.

[anonniemousefics]

The Deal Is The Deal

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 7,774

***Rating: NSFW (aged-up characters) -- I’m gonna say this is a 7 on the smut scale***

This piece follows The Trouble With Wanting and is best read second.

Synopsis: Kaz Brekker is not a useless podge who mopes and stews over his personal problems. Kaz Brekker makes deals. Kaz Brekker enforces. Kaz Brekker stays twenty steps ahead. (Or that’s at least what he tells himself.)

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason, but the right reason made him damn near unstoppable. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. Part of crafting a persona your enemies feared involved a considerable amount of convincing yourself of your own fearlessness. And Kaz was very good at convincing. Kaz Brekker always got what he wanted. That’s what he told himself.

Because Inej Ghafa was his perfect reason. Ketterdam had tried to break her a thousand times more than it had broken him, and still she was a better person than he could ever hope to be. He’d always believed the world would be better off if Inej had her way in all things. Making that reality had now become his singular focus.

He had sat in this same spot many times before, at his desk chair in Per Haskell’s old office on the main floor of the Crow Club, considering the terms of their deal and how he would fulfill them. Kaz Brekker was not a useless podge who moped and stewed over his personal problems. Kaz Brekker made deals. Kaz Brekker enforced. Kaz Brekker stayed twenty steps ahead.

(That’s what he told himself.)

Inej had laughed at him when he’d framed it in this way – their deal. But he didn’t mind. If he ever became stranded on a desert island, he could have lived off her laugh alone.

“You can’t just call it something normal?” she had asked him, over a year ago.

They were sitting on the tiles of the roof of The Slat when Inej said this, a blanket of stars overhead. A half-empty bottle of kvas had sat between them, an unspoken boundary he wasn’t sure which one of them would attempt to cross first. Probably her, that’s what he was betting. She always had been braver than he.

“Is what we’re dealing with normal?” Kaz countered.

“A relationship where two people have problems?” said Inej, and she rolled her eyes. “No, you’re absolutely right. We’re revolutionaries.”

“You know what I mean.” Kaz shot her a sideways look. Inej sighed in reluctant acknowledgement. All Kaz had to do to know how the odds were stacked against them was to walk down the street. Men and women all over Ketterdam could hold hands, casually kiss on their way out of their front doors, fuck in dark alleys when they thought they were alone. Kaz and Inej were, as much as they hated it, different.

The only way forward, the only way Kaz knew, was to strike a deal.

“I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know anything about relationships, Inej,” he said, “but I do know deals. And I know how to con. And that’s what will save this.”

“Enlighten me,” Inej drawled. She was raising an eyebrow, her head propped up on her arms as she wrapped them around her knees. Guarded, Kaz noted, and with good reason. He wasn’t offering her romance, and for that, he felt a twinge of shame. Somewhere in him had to be a better man for her, and he hoped it wouldn’t take too long to unearth him. Damn it all, he would try.

“You want me.” He could say it now with more confidence, but it still sounded unbelievable. “And I want you. Mind, body, and soul.”

“Hm.” Inej hummed her approval, lifting her head just a bit. In the dim light from the streets below, he could see a tiny smile play on her lips.

“Those are the terms of the deal. Simple enough, really. Unfortunately,” he stretched out his bad leg, leaning back on his hands, “our bodies are not holding up their end of the bargain. And what do we do when cocky little sods won’t follow through on their deals?”

Inej unfurled her legs then, leaning back as he had. She wore a cheeky half smile as she clucked her tongue with a pitying sigh.

“Penalties,” she said.

“Exactly,” Kaz nodded. “We collect. We learn their histories, we learn their motives, we learn what they love, what they hate, what frightens them, what bores them. We learn all this so we can apply the perfect amount of pressure, combined with just the right leverage.”

“I can’t believe this is making sense.” Inej was shaking her head in disbelief as she took a swig from the bottle.

“The deal is the deal, Inej,” Kaz said. He shifted so he was looking at her face, the thick braid that fell over her slender shoulder. “And if our deal is to each other, and our bodies are violating our terms, then I swear to learn everything I can to give you the leverage you need to break this stupid sod.” And he thrust a hand against his chest to drive the point home.

“He is not a stupid sod,” Inej said, tenderly, her brown eyes sparkling, and slowly, she pressed her fingers over his on his chest. Kaz swallowed hard, feeling his heart in his throat. Alive. Alive. Alive, he told himself. Her flesh was warm, dry, living, her pulse in her palm. Different. Good. Deep breath. Alive.

When his heart rate slowed again, he wrapped her fingers in his and pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand. Alive. Good. It was good. And her smile that followed, breathtaking.

Worth it.

“And I swear the same to you,” Inej promised. She leaned closer so that their shoulders brushed, and she looked up at him through oil-black lashes. He could smell her hair in the night breeze, the sweet coconut oil she used. Intoxicating. Thank her Saints this world isn’t a just one, he thought to himself. He was sure he’d done nothing to deserve such a face. “They say Kaz Brekker never met a safe he couldn’t crack,” she went on. “I suppose I shouldn’t doubt you can figure out my combination.”

His mouth felt dry and his slacks a little tighter as she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. It was barely a peck, but for the first time, it wasn’t enough. He found himself leaning forward, eyes closed, even as she pulled away. From the smirk she wore when he opened his eyes to her, she had noticed.

“I might like your metaphor better,” he confessed, his voice hoarse. And Inej laughed.

That was their deal. Conduct reconnaissance. Apply pressure. Utilize leverage. Crack the safe.

Nina Zenik would have a field day with these innuendoes, he realized. If it had been an actual contract, he should have considered some kind of non-disclosure clause.

Getting sloppy, Brekker.

He had his black-trousered legs propped up on the desk, trying to quickly wolf down the sandwich Pim had brought in for him from a nearby street vendor. He knew he ought to have taken the walk himself. It helped to stretch out his bad leg a few times a day or taking the stairs up to The Slat would be nearly impossible. But he was up to his tie knot in paperwork, and he got distracted far too easily these days. There were reminders of her everywhere.

This chair, for example. He was torn between saving it forever, maybe casting in bronze, or replacing it completely for the sake of his work ethic. It was there, barely a month ago, that they’d somehow found themselves late one night while Inej was portside. He couldn’t even remember now why they hadn’t gone upstairs to The Slat. Maybe it had been the crowd in the Crow Club. Didn’t matter. He’d locked the door, and one thing had led to another, and somehow he’d ended up sitting in this exact chair, Inej straddling his lap.

He thought he’d died and gone to heaven. There were no waters lapping at his ankles. Jordie’s ghost was apparently growing disinterested in his little brother’s dalliance. And Inej showed no signs of vanishing. Rather the opposite. She was above him, running her hands from his chest to his hair, her lips desperate for his. He’d even forgotten to take off his gloves, but she didn’t seem to care as he traced the slope of her hips, the curves of her muscled thighs that gripped either side of his.

“I want you,” she gasped between heated kisses. She held his jaw in her hands, demanding.

“You have me,” he rasped. He slid his hands up the lithe curve of her waist, where the base of her ribs flared with every ragged breath.

“I want to touch you.” Kaz thought he was seeing stars as she worked her lips over his jawline to the shell of his ear. She nipped at his earlobe, and he shivered. “But I’m not ready for you to touch me yet,” she whispered there.

At that, Kaz pulled back from her a moment, hovering his hands over her body. He tried to be a quick student of her, of this maddening, irresistible lock of hers. He knew well enough that when the lock said stop, you damn well stopped.

“Are you ok?” He gave her a quick, concerned assessment. Her demons were cunning, but they were becoming easier for him to spot. But in that moment, Inej was rosy-cheeked and biting her lip, her dark, thick braid coming loose around her face and shoulders. She was breathless, her breasts rising and falling just inches from his body. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t lost sleep wondering when he was going to hold them again, but he wasn’t about to press the issue. Patience. Leverage. That was their deal.

Inej leaned into him, sliding her arms over his shoulders as her breasts pressed against his chest.

“I’m just gathering information,” she insisted, meeting his lips again, just once. “Leverage.” Another kiss to his jaw. He felt like a human stick of butter, sliding down a pan. “Pressure.” And she ground her hips against his, rubbing against his cock so that it throbbed. The sound that came up from his chest was not one he’d ever heard from his body before.

“You do not have to do this, Inej,” he said, in spite of himself, still wary of the last time they’d pushed into new territory.

Inej sat back so that he could see her full face, the streetlight from outside glowing orange behind her black hair like a halo. He searched her soft brown eyes, not understanding the look on her face.

“That’s exactly why I want to,” she said, softly.

It was moments like this Kaz could almost hear the sound of lock tumblers clicking into place.

He sat back, his gloved hands gripping on the arms of his chair.

“I’m all yours, Inej,” he said, his voice husky. He trusted her with his demons. He trusted her with his life.

She had her hands on his torso, raking her eyes over his body, and he felt like he might catch fire. These men who bought their pleasure in brothels could never know the thrill of being so desperately wanted, and, for a moment, he almost pitied them. Almost.

“It doesn’t bother you, when I sit on you like this?” Inej asked, flicking a glance up at him. Kaz could only shake his head, dumbly. If she only knew how incredible she looked up there. They built monuments to this kind of glory.

“And it doesn’t bother you when I do…this?” Inej palmed her hand against his cock, and Kaz drew in a sharp breath. Had she asked a question? Was he meant to answer?

“This,” he was stammering as she slowly stroked his cock through his trousers, “this is what you want?” He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Over him, Inej nodded, her eyes dark and smoldering. The leather on his gloves creaked as he tightened his hands on the chair. He wouldn’t try to touch her, not without instruction. Those were her terms.

Outside the locked office door, the sounds of drunken laughter and broken glass bottles rose as Kaz’s head slipped back against the chair with a groan. Inej kept her eyes trained on him, like she was hungry, devouring his every movement as she applied pressure, slowly stroking him from hilt to head and back again. As his eyes slipped close, his breathing deepening, she leaned in against him again, her body hot and taut, planting kisses up his neck.

In that moment, he didn’t give a single fuck about anything else, not revenge, not profit, not the Dime Lions, not the ghosts of his past. There was only Inej. His Inej. The girl he was determined give the world to, just you wait.

“Inej,” he breathed, and he felt her smile against his face.

“It’s good?” she whispered, checking. Good? That was a pitiful word for what it was. And if he wasn’t currently losing all sense of time and space, he’d have offered a better word.

“This is good information, Brekker,” she crooned in his ear.

Kaz was sure he’d never been so hard in his life. He clenched his fists tighter, his breath quickening, and vowed to meet this offer in equal exchange as soon as he could.

“I’m going to be a better man for you, Inej,” he heard himself spout, maybe a little too loud. He was panting, shaking. There was a crest rising inside of him, a wave of energy stronger than any he’d felt before.

“You don’t need to--” Inej started to say when Kaz let out a moan.

“I’m going to love you the way you deserve,” he swore with a gasp.

“You do; you already do,” and Inej covered his mouth with hers as he broke apart beneath her, a low moan against her lips as the wave crashed over him, sending him out into the sky.

And he didn’t care so much in the moment how gross he felt in his slacks, as Inej leaned her forehead against his. His chest heaved while he caught his breath, still coming down from the clouds, and she whispered to him, “I say your name when I touch myself, too.”

So, the chair had to go. Or stay. Whatever. Either way, in its current state, the paperwork was mounding up, and she was due back any day now, and he had to get caught up. This was not how he wanted to be spending his time while she was back in Ketterdam.

“Kaz!” Jesper Fahey shoved open the office door with a shout, startling Kaz.

“Shit, Jes. Knock,” Kaz swore. “I could have been indisposed.”

“Sure,” Jesper rolled his eyes in disbelief. Kaz pressed back a smirk to himself, thinking of the chair. Maybe the chair stayed after all.

“So, it’s true, then.” Jesper strode to the middle of the office, folding his arms. “There is a mattress in your office.”

Kaz glanced at what Jesper now pointed at, accusingly. It was true. The mattress was pushed vertical up against the wall, to keep it out of the way while he worked during the day.

“Astute of you to notice,” Kaz grunted, pulling at the next piece of paperwork in the pile. Expense reports. This one was last month’s? Fuck.

“Pim and Anika are worried about the mattress in your office,” Jesper said. “So, Kaz, why is there a mattress in your office?”

“I’m having construction done on The Slat,” Kaz shrugged, which was true. “I can’t sleep up there until it’s done.”

“That’s it?” Jesper glared at him, incredulous, his eyes in slits.

“There is no mystery here, Jes.” Kaz spread his hands out wide. “There is construction upstairs, so I sleep down here.”

“This is weird. Even for you,” Jesper frowned. “Anika thought maybe your leg was getting worse. Like you couldn’t make it up the stairs.”

“I can still beat your ass up and down those stairs. Happy? I have work.”

“So, what are you having done to The Slat?” Jesper was leaning against the far wall, his arms still crossing, looking about as moveable as a mountain. Kaz chewed on the inside of his lip.

“I just wanted running hot water,” he lied. Well, it was true enough, anyway. There would be running hot water up in The Slat when all was said and done.

He wasn’t ready to tell Jesper the real reason, what had happened six months ago that had snowballed into him sleeping on a narrow mattress at night in his office. He didn’t want to admit why aloud, but deep down, he was always waiting for the day when Inej had had enough of this, their deal, enough of him. It would break him when that happened, he knew it would. And if he had to break the news of it to Jesper, too, broken and in shambles… he just couldn’t imagine doing it. It was safer for everyone, Kaz included, if no one knew.

He’d thought that day had come six months ago. Why it hadn’t was only a testament to Inej’s undying patience.

Sometimes, when Kaz’s bad leg hurt in the night, it helped to walk the streets. He liked to think it made him look unpredictable. You never knew at what hour Dirtyhands could appear. A short stroll around the block could get the blood flowing in his leg and send a message to the thugs and goons lurking about the dark alleys at night all in the same half hour. Efficiency at its finest.

He took a slow walk that night. He’d spent too many hours at his desk that day, and his leg was stiff and the ache was constant. It was when he’d paused past the glow of a street lamp that he sensed the shadows flit about behind him, and, without moving his weight from his cane, he began to reach for the revolver in his coat pocket.

“Kaz, it’s just me.” Inej’s whisper stopped him, and as he turned to the alleyway, his girl was leaping silently from a fire escape and his heart stuttered. She could land on her feet like a cat and throw back her braid when she stood, not a bead of sweat on her.

Kaz checked the streets, back and forth, but saw no one.

“You’re following me,” he observed, and was it weird he was flattered? “I wasn’t expecting you to dock until tomorrow.”

“We caught a strong current,” said Inej, who kept to the shadows and leaned against the side of the alley. “And it’s not that I don’t trust your new spider, but I don’t trust your new spider.”

Kaz huffed a laugh. Anika was learning, but it was true there would never be another Wraith.

“Find anything interesting?” he asked.

“Your reign of terror here is making these streets rather boring,” Inej shrugged. “No one’s tried to mug me or shank me all night.”

“I gave the muggers and the shankers the night off. Tuesday nights are strictly for public urination.”

“Is that what you’re doing out and about?”

“Change starts at the top, Inej. No one gets immunity in the Barrel.”

Inej stifled a laugh behind her fingerless gloves, and Kaz desperately wanted to kiss her.

“Were you going to stop by tonight?” he asked instead.

“Depended on what I found,” she replied.

“And?”

“If you’ll have me.”

If he would have her? Saints. Perhaps he hadn’t been clear enough. He would have her every day for the rest of his life if she wanted.

“I’ll meet you in The Slat,” he said instead.

He thought about kissing her all the way home, and he climbed the stairs as quickly as his throbbing leg would allow. But when he locked the door and turned to face her, Inej was sitting on the edge of his narrow bed, her slim body looking a little slouched, as she hid a yawn behind her hand. Of course, she was exhausted. And he offered her something he’d never offered before: a place in his bed for the night.

She’d looked both a little nervous and a little intrigued by the concept, and eventually gave in. He offered her one of his nightshirts to sleep in and couldn’t help himself from gazing over her bare legs, the way the thin fabric skimmed over the supple curve of her ass.

They decided the night was just for sleeping, and while Kaz waited for drowsiness to overtake the ache in his leg, he kept glancing over at her asleep on the pillow next to him, her thick black hair spilling over the cotton like ink, her soft lashes splayed against her golden brown skin. He thought he could die happy after this.

But then, in the dead of night, everything changed.

Kaz awoke with a start, his heart pounding, when Inej screamed, terrified, pummeling at him with closed fists. He recognized the signs instantly; nightmares plagued his sleep regularly, too. He snatched at one of her wrists, trying to stop her from hitting him in the face.

“Inej! Inej!” His voice was hoarse from sleep. “Inej, it’s Kaz. It’s Kaz.”

Her eyes weren’t even open, and, as he tried to restrain her, she pulled one of her knives from under her pillow and leapt atop of him, straddling his torso with Sankta Elizabeta at his jugular in an instant.

“Inej,” he tried again, but his own voice was starting to shake.

She was slick in cold sweat, and her thighs now pressed on either side of his bare abdomen, wet flesh trapping him, pressing in on him. He was having trouble drawing a breath. Nausea churned in his stomach. He forgot all about the knife at his throat. What did it matter when the sea waves were crashing in over him, filling his mouth, his nose, his lungs…

Inej was blinking her eyes and dropped her weapon with a horrified cry.

But all he saw were her vacant eyes, purple bruising blooming from their rims, bloat rotting at her jaw. And he was drowning under her.

“Kaz! Kaz!” Inej took his face in her shaking hands, as if she could pull him back from the darkness that was overtaking him.

“Stop,” he tried to rasp, but it was barely audible. Her hands were a corpse’s, pulling him under.

Without thinking and desperate for breath, he grabbed her waist and threw her to the side. He spilled out of the bed, his stomach lurching. The nightstand rattled, and the washbasin shattered when it fell. Shards of ceramic scattered across the wood floor. He would have vomited all over it had it not been for the wastebasket. He managed to grab its edges just in time, hurling his stomach’s contents into it.

He retched so hard, tears spilled from his eyes and snot ran from his nose, but when he finally sat back, shaking and spent, Inej was there. She had put on his leather gloves before handing him a towel and a glass of water. His strong, level-headed Inej. When he could finally look at her again, her cheeks were tearstained. He could never admit defeat to such a shattered face.

“Fuck.” He released a ragged sigh as he sat back, running the back of a shaking hand along his lips. Inej sat across from him on the floor, still breathing hard from adrenaline. He needed that laugh of hers. He said the first thing that came to mind. “I’d actually really enjoyed that dinner.”

But Inej was too shaken, her brows cinched together, her raven black hair disheveled over the shoulders of the white nightshirt.

“I’m so, so sorry, Kaz.” Her voice was strained against the threat of tears.

“Are you ok?” He reached out of her gloved hands, and she took his fingertips with a little sob.

“This was a spectacular disaster,” Inej said. But Kaz squeezed her fingers, hoping she’d look at him. Needing the reassurance that this wasn’t the final straw. That they were still fighting their way out together.

“This was just good reconnaissance,” he objected, though his throat still burned. “We learned some valuable information tonight. We just need separate beds. How many fat, rich mercher families have you spied on that sleep in separate beds?”

“Those same merchers attack women in brothels, Kaz.” Inej wiped at her cheek with her spare hand, clutching at Kaz’s tightly with her other. “Maybe we just need a bigger bed,” she said with a sigh.

We. She’d said We. She hadn’t given up, hadn’t even considered it, and she’d said We. He’d buy her whatever bed she wanted after that. But The Slat was only big enough for Kaz’s narrow bed. And before he knew it, Kaz was meeting with contractors, looking over blueprints, hiring a foreman, haggling over the cost of materials, picking out new plumbing, new fixtures, and now his home had been stripped down to the studs.

The important thing was, when it was all finished, Kaz was buying the biggest, widest, most luxurious bed in all of Ketterdam, and it was going to fit, damnit.

“This is sending a message I don’t think you want to be sending, Kaz,” Jesper was saying, gesturing to the narrow mattress propped up against the wall.

“Which is what?” Kaz was growing impatient.

“That the Bastard of the Barrel sleeps like a weird little hobo,” said Jesper.

“Hobos don’t have offices to sleep in, Jes. That’s why they’re hobos.”

“Just check into a hotel like every other normal rich bastard,” Jesper begged. “You have the money. Why are you being so weird?”

Because Inej was coming back and what kind of message would that send to her? Meeting him a hotel. After what they had done in the chair the last time she was here. That implied all kinds of things he didn’t want her worrying about.

But if Pim and Anika had wrangled Jesper into confronting him, then maybe he was worrying about the wrong message.

And for all the chaos of the Van Eck Affair, he had enjoyed their stay at the Geldrenner Hotel. Their penthouse suite had been exceptional. It was further from the Crow Club than he would have liked, but the hot running water...and the room service. And Inej could have her pick of beds if she came by. No midnight vomiting would occur there.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said to Jesper, dismissively. Jesper gave a sigh of defeat and turned to leave.

“You’re too rich for this weird ass behavior,” he shouted at Kaz over his shoulder.

“No one wants your financial advice,” Kaz shouted back.

But Jesper turned back in the doorway, one hand on the frame.

“Oh,” he added, “you’re still coming for drinks on Saturday? Wylan needs a final headcount.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, every damn time. Yes, Jes. Yes. I’ll always be there.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go book a hotel room, obviously. Tell Roeder to throw out the mattress.”

“Can I give it to Wylan? That thing looks like it needs to be incinerated.”

Wylan could have the mattress for whatever flammable experiments he was working on in his free time. Kaz was already looking forward to another stay at the Geldrenner.

He took a long walk to the Geldrenner Hotel, where he was pleased to find the penthouse suite unoccupied and currently available. He left the reservation under K. Rietveld. Inej would know.

“What does the R stand for?” she’d asked him months and months ago. Nobody would believe they were both naked when she brought it up. In his defense, it had been Inej’s idea, this new leverage. She’d suggested they undress completely and not touch each other. She had wanted to conquer her fear of being naked with a man, and she thought it was something to be done in steps.

Did she think he would say no to such a thing? He’d literally had dreams about this.

Kaz was holding a box of waffles when she suggested it. He’d brought them in for their dinner, a dinner he mistakenly assumed they would be clothed for, and his first moronic thought was that he ought to have picked a less messy food. Once it finally registered what was about to happen, he set the box down and began to slip off his tie.

“What does the R stand for?”

She was sitting across from him, completely bare, with her long black hair veiling her breasts. He looked up from his dinner. He’d been trying his best to focus on the food, to will his cock into not getting any ideas. She was gesturing to the tattoo on his bicep.

“My real surname starts with R,” he replied.

“As in Rietveld, isn’t that right?” Inej flicked him a glance, one that could set a fire smoldering deep in his guts.

“You knew?” he wondered, and then drew in a breath as Inej began to stand to her feet, leaning across the table toward him. He could see everything, from her dark, protruding nipples beneath her long hair, the smooth planes of her flat stomach, the tight curve of her brown waist. The folds where it all met. His cock throbbed, rebelliously.

“I’m the Wraith, Kaz,” she said, her voice husky. “I’m glad you finally told me.”

“This is cheating,” Kaz pointed out, as she pecked his lips.

She had tasted like apple syrup. What would the rest of her taste like?

So, he wasn’t the least bit surprised when, three days later, he was returning to his suite at the Geldrenner at the end of the day and found Inej waiting on the windowsill. She was the Wraith, always and forever. Kaz quickly unlocked the window to pull her inside.

“Please tell me you haven’t been sitting out there all day,” was his greeting.

“I wanted to watch a Ketterdam sunset again, and I don’t fall, Kaz,” Inej said. She was as brown as a nut from her days in the sun, and her cheeks were a rosy apple red. “And no,” she added, “I haven’t been waiting long. You’re not at least a little be impressed that I found you?”

“My dearest Inej, I am in a constant state of awe around you.”

She looked up at him with a brilliant, toothy grin and big, soft brown eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her waist while he kissed her, pulling her close to his chest. She smelled like salt and sea spray, and he could taste the sweat on her lips and he didn’t care. It had been over a month since he’d held her, tasted her, and his body was falling in line with the terms of their deal. He wanted her, however he could have her.

“I missed you,” she told him, as she curled her head against his chest. He drew long, slow circles up and down her back with his fingertips so that she hummed softly in approval.

“I missed you,” he said into her hair.

“I can smell myself,” Inej lamented, with a disgusted groan.

“You smell perfect.” Kaz didn’t care.

“I need a bath.”

“I’ll draw you one.”

And Kaz ordered up room service, too, while Inej bathed in the tub, filling up the bathroom with steam and lavender. She was still soaking when the food arrived, an elaborate spread, since Kaz had ordered one of everything, not knowing what she wanted, and he nudged his head into the bathroom to let her know.

The bubbles had mostly dissolved, and the water pooled just under her breasts, her brown knees bent up out of the water. She’d pulled her long, clean hair out of the tub, letting it trail over the edge to dry, while she leaned against the side of the tub with her eyes closed.

Kaz suddenly understood the myths about mermaids luring men to their deaths.

“You can come in,” she said, a soft, relaxed smile on her lips.

Kaz still wasn’t sure what to say, but wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to look upon her. He leaned against the bathroom counter, trying not to ogle like a creep.

“This bathroom,” Inej remarked, looking all around them. Kaz drew in a deep breath. This bathroom, indeed. He’d kind of been avoiding it. This was where he’d first felt her skin, had tried to kiss her, and it had sent him reeling into nightmares of his past. He hadn’t thought of it as reconnaissance then. He had just been a boy, trying to be with the girl he liked, and instead only hopelessly embarrassing himself.

Inej seemed to sense how he withdrew at the memory and held out a soapy hand to him.

“Come here,” she said, tenderly. But Kaz hesitated. Wanting. Lusting. But knowing better.

“Wet skin is a non-starter for me,” he rasped, shifting uncomfortably.

“Of course it is.” Inej looked apologetic as she pulled her hand back. She shifted in the tub, pulling at the drain.

“Don’t get out on my account,” Kaz said.

“I need to be with you when you’re making that face,” Inej insisted, and she stepped out of the tub. He still couldn’t get enough of the sight of her wet body, glistening in the lamp light, beads of moisture running in rivulets down her rich golden legs as she toweled off.

“What face?” Kaz asked.

Inej wrapped the towel around herself, tucking it over her breasts, and stepped in front of him, resting her hands on his hips. She gave a playful tug at his belt.

“You get a look when you think something’s broken beyond repair,” she said, and looked up at him with her wide, adoring eyes. “And half the time, you prove yourself wrong within the next 24 hours anyway. I love to watch that part. But not the broken face. Broken face is heart-wrenching.”

Without armor. If he was to ever have her, to love her the way she deserved, she needed to see every ugly truth the armor hid. Every time he got close, that is what her lock demanded. Without armor. He swallowed hard as he rested his hands on the wet terrycloth on her hips, holding her close.

“I half-expected to die that night,” he confessed. How glad he was he hadn’t.

“I would never have let that happen.” Inej’s gaze was steely as flint, and he believed her. But there was something else.

“It would have been a relief,” he said, lowly.

Inej pulled back and held his dark gaze, as if to hold this new plate of armor with all the love she had.

“And now?” she asked, holding him tighter. He felt her intent in the pull of her embrace, the same intent he held in his chest in every battle against their demons. Stay with me. I can’t lose this.

“I was a kid then with nothing more to lose,” he told her, and let his forehead dip to touch hers. “But now I have everything.”

He could sense her smile even as he closed his eyes, reveling in her warmth and how it no longer called to his ghosts. But then she stepped back and turned, hoisting herself up onto the countertop, still holding her towel in place. Her hair spilled loose down her back as she reached to him, pulling him closer again between her knees, the same spot where they’d tried to get close those years ago and had each nearly keeled over from the other’s proximity.

“You know the best part about surviving, I’m sure,” she said, pulling him by his tie.

“Tell me,” he said with a crooked smile. He placed his hands on the counter either side of her hips, leaning in.

“When you survive, your story isn’t over,” said Inej, as she loosened the tie knot. She pulled it off through his collar and let it drop to the floor. “And sometimes, if you’re very lucky, you get the chance to write over parts you don’t like.”

She leaned back on her hands, extending her slender neck out ever so slightly with a pointed look in her eye. The smell of lavender and soap bubbles wafted from her clean hair, and Kaz drew in a breath. He would have to have been an idiot not to catch her meaning. Go on, she was saying. Write the story we wanted.

This time, when he pressed a soft kiss to her neck, he felt her soft pulse against his lips, her fresh scent all around him, and the desire coursing through his body. She gave a soft, contented sigh and slid her hands up his shoulders as he straightened his body to meet her lips again and again, rewriting and rewriting.  

“Better,” she whispered when he finally pulled back, and she brushed the tip of her nose against his. “Much better.”

His heart was pounding mercilessly in his chest, and when he reached up to cup her precious cheek in one hand, she leaned her head into his fingers, kissing his wrist, and it shattered him.

“I never want this to end,” he said, his voice husky. Much better, indeed.

“Then don’t stop,” Inej whispered, and he brought her lips back to his.

He could sense her urgency rising, the desperation with which she began to pull him to her body, to weave her fingers into his hair, and it would have been easy to break, to let her have her way with him again. But they had a deal. Kaz Brekker never made a deal he didn’t keep. So, this was no time to lose his head, to grab at everything he wanted. He’d been preparing for this moment. If he was going to make good and pay back what he owed, he was going to have to run this like breaking into Kerch bank vault.

She was already above him, propped up on the bathroom counter of her own volition. That was a good sign, good leverage. Inej did not like being prone with him or forced into anything, and no one could fault her for that.

He brought his hands to her face, running his fingertips from her cheeks to her hair as she sighed into his mouth. He felt her part her lips to him, felt the brush of her tongue, and, emboldened, he ran his hands down her bare shoulders, her skin prickling in goosebumps.

“I love what your hands can do,” she shivered. She was pulling at the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest where he felt as hot as a furnace against her cool hands. Let her have some control; she thrived with it. She slipped her hands into his shirt, pushing it over his shoulders until it dropped to the tile below.

He held her waist in his hands as she clutched at his shoulders, her thighs tightening on his hips as their kiss deepened. It took every ounce of restraint Kaz had to not taste every inch of her mouth, not pull at the rest of his clothing and beg her to just fuck him already please. There was nothing but a towel separating her bare breasts from his skin, and, Saint fucking hell, he wanted this. He wanted her. Her exposed thighs felt like silk against his sides, and he could only imagine what the rest of her felt like. His hands dipped a little lower, exploring the slope of her ass.

“More,” Inej panted, and Kaz couldn’t hold back a groan. He gave her ass a little squeeze, and she chuckled against his mouth. Running his hands along the underside of her thighs, he pulled her closer, letting her hook her legs around him. Heat from her cunt radiated across his lower abdomen.

“Saints, Inej,” he rasped, breathless. His slacks were uncomfortably tight, and she had to notice. When she pulled back, he was sure she had and braced himself, but there was no look of terror in her eyes this time. No, she had something else in mind.

She held up one hand and, slowly, sucked on two of her fingers. And then, with Kaz’s jaw slack in lust and awe, she slipped her hand between her legs, beneath the towel. And with her eyes on him, she began to knead.

Kaz hardly dared to breathe. He’d imagined, but he’d never seen… he’d researched for advice, like any decent con artist, but he’d only hoped…

He watched the rise and fall of the tops of her breasts in rapture, waiting for any sign that he could approach without setting off alarms. When she let out a little moan and put a hand to his chest again, he gently leaned in, taking her lips once more. He tried to put as much love and admiration and passion into that kiss as he could muster, slowly slipping his hands back to the lithe curve of her waist.

Her breathing deepened as she worked herself, and she moaned softly, her eyes falling shut. Kaz ran his fingers lightly up and down her arm, knowing what he wanted, trying to work out a strategy.

It had to be like picking a pocket. Replacing a wallet with an exact weight, so quick, no one noticed.

He kissed her ear as her head fell to the side, and then, slowly, traced the silky soft length of her arm, slipping under the towel, before gently curling his fingers over hers. She stopped the movement, but didn’t open her eyes. She wasn’t running.

He paused, too, breathing heavily in spite of himself. She was wet, practically soaked, against their fingers, and, for a brief moment, he felt the lapping of water at his ankles. He fixed his eyes on the pulse in her neck. He focused on the sound of her breath, the labored breathing of her desire. He inhaled the soap and the lavender scent of her. She was alive. So very alive. And after a moment, the dread passed, and he was still there and so was she, and his longing for her hadn’t diminished.

“Show me,” he whispered against her ear, and she leaned her head against his.

He traced the movements of her fingers, delicate, like picking a lock in the dark, slow circles around her tender nub of skin.

“Kaz,” she whispered, in a tone he was sure he’d never heard before. Lock tumblers clicking into place.

He moved his fingers as she did, through the velvety skin of her folds, until her hand dropped away from his, her eyes still closed as she bit her lip.

“I’ve wanted this,” she confessed with a groan. Kaz was out of words. Locks didn’t usually talk back, and they were never this gorgeous.

And then when she leaned back further on the counter, the towel began to slip and she did nothing to stop it. It fell away behind her, leaving every bit of her exposed to him, the full swell of her breasts and the tense muscles of her core, and Kaz didn’t mean to, but he swore out loud.

“Don’t stop,” she begged him, her arms starting to shake as she leaned back against them. “Please, Kaz, more.”

His mind was a scramble of every touch he’d ever given, every encouraging sign she’d ever given him. More what? Where to start? With his spare hand, he traced her neck again, down her sternum between her breasts, watching the line of goosebumps spring along her skin.

“With your mouth,” she gasped, and he sprang at the chance to oblige. She quivered while he trailed a line of kisses from her neck down her chest, and, growing bolder, took one dark nipple tenderly in his mouth. When she didn’t object, he ran his tongue around its rim, tasting its foreign sweetness and feeling her gasps of pleasure swell through her chest.

She raked her fingers through his hair as he felt her breathing grow haggard beneath his lips, and her hips bucked restlessly against his long fingers. He had a moment of nerves that she was growing frustrated with his inexperience, and, with a silent prayer, he slipped a digit inside of her.

She let out an audible sigh, clenching at his hair, and he knew he’d hit the right combination. As soft as before, he stroked her ridges along her cunt, still carding his thumb through her folds as she had.

Her arms gave out altogether, and he found himself standing over her as she laid back on the countertop, her hair spilling into the sink, a flush spreading across her breasts. Her body arched; her pussy felt as taut as a bowstring. He’d never seen anything so glorious in his life.

Curses fell from her beautiful lips when she came, head tilted back as a shudder overtook her whole body, spasming on his fingers. She gripped his forearm to steady herself, leaving half-moon nail marks in his skin. And then she stilled, naked, spent and breathing hard, feet on the counter with her knees bent in the air.

Kaz leaned over and kissed her forehead while she gave a breathless hum of satisfaction.

“This bathroom,” she remarked again, heaving an exhausted sigh. Her cheeks were rosy as she smiled brightly up at him. Kaz grinned, crookedly, a victorious lockpick’s smile.

“This bathroom,” he agreed.

Much, much better.

Next work in this series: These Damn Crosswinds

[justsomeoneunordinary]

Wonderwall

T, 1.2k, WinterIron, Fluff & Humor, Idiots in Love | AO3

―

Tony walks into a wall.

It sounds like the beginning of a joke, but unfortunately, it’s not. He walks into a wall quite literally.

Which shouldn’t have happened, because he was aiming straight for the door. And contrary to popular belief Tony knows how to walk straight as long as he’s not drunk, which he hasn’t been since Pepper broke up with him two years ago or so (Tony’s only good with numbers when he needs them for science, otherwise they’re just annoying trivialities). He grew up in a rich society, he had to learn how to walk straight since he’d started to pull himself up on immovable (and movable) objects as a toddler, until he was bathing in his sweat.

So, the math doesn’t add up here. Because he is sober and he was aiming straight for the door ― and here he is, head hurting after the impact with the wall and his shirt soaked in his freshly brewed coffee. Good thing he makes his coffee always in the perfect temperature for immediate drinking, otherwise he could’ve burnt himself. And that just would’ve hurt like a bitch, so hurray for his brilliant inventions.

“You all right there, doll?”, he hears Bucky’s worried voice behind him, which is kind of rude, considering this is all Bucky’s fault in first place. It was him who had thought it might be a good idea to take off his shirt in exact the same moment Tony decided to steal a glance at him.

In the middle of the communal kitchen, mind you.

And, well, Tony is only human ― he had to take a look at those deliciously looking abs. (Not stare, though. Tony Stark does not stare. He knows how to be subtle, thank you very much. (Shush Pepper, no one asked you.)) Thinking about the whipped cream in the fridge in combination with Bucky’s abs might’ve been a reason for his distraction while taking his path to the door.

Also, he’s been awake for more or less 257 hours. (To be honest, this does sound like a wrong number. Humans shouldn’t be able to survive this long without sleep, right? And Tony is pretty sure he is a human. (But he wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t either. Nowadays nothing surprises him anymore. It’s both a curse and a blessing.))

A low chuckle pulls him out of his deep thoughts about his existential crisis and suddenly Bucky is in front of him, all in his muscly glory. Whatever Bucky’s reason is behind his sudden upper body freedom ― Tony’s dick approves. Ten out of ten, he would definitively lick that, please and thank you.

“Dunno ‘bout that, doll, you look pretty human to me,” he says smoothly in his dark, rough, Very Dick Approving voice, though the words don’t make much sense, unless… unless Bucky can read minds. Which would be rather unfortunate, especially after Tony’s mental movie starring the whipped cream and Buck’s abs. And that metal arm. And those cherry red lips. And everything further down he hasn’t seen yet (but his imagination has never let him down, so that’s not really an issue).

Suddenly, Bucky sounds like he’s choking on his own spit. Tony quickly looks up in concern, when ― wow. Would you look at that? Bucky is blushing. Blushing. Holy Newton, Tony has never seen Bucky blush. He didn’t even know that Bucky could blush. This is a Nobel Prize worthy discovery right there.

Tony is so going to jerk off to the memory of that blush.

There’s a glint in Bucky’s grey-blue eyes that makes his knees all wobbly and the insides of his belly sending into a spiral. “I’d say,” Bucky continues that one-sided conversation, “that we should go on a date first and afterwards we can talk about pouring whipped cream all over myself. Whatcha think, doll?” And there is that cocksure smirk, that Tony loves and hates equally.

Tony is hit with the sudden realization that he might’ve been saying all those things out lout. But that can’t be true. Tony knows how talking out loud works, in fact, he does that quite often. You have to move your lips in first place for that. You also have to let out sounds that create actual words. And then you have to put those words together, so you get real sentences out of them. Tony sure as fuck would remember if he did any of those things.

“Well, that pretty mouth of yours is moving rather fast. Admittedly, I didn’t understand everything you’ve been muttering, but I got the most important parts.”

Yeah, okay, that would’ve been totally embarrassing if Tony wasn’t too tired to feel stuff like embarrassment. Which is why he is not dying inside right now. No, siree, not at all.

He thinks about walking into that wall again, when Bucky interrupts his thoughts with an amused tone in his voice, “Maybe you should go to bed an’ tomorrow we can talk ‘bout that date, hm?”

Bed? Sounds boring. Unless there’s a certain super-soldier naked under him, then he is all in, baby. He licks his lips at that mental image.

Bucky’s blush deepens.

Damn, this is like all holidays at once. Tony is going to print a picture from the cameras and frame it. In HD resolution. And put it on his nightstand. Best. Day. Ever.

But before he can voice his very nice ideas (maybe he already did, who knows?), he finds himself in Bucky’s arms, all bridal carry style. Tony would complain, if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on not licking that beautiful chest and those very inviting nipples ― he’s aware enough to remember that this goes under sexual harassment. Also, it’s rather comfortable in Bucky’s arms. All warm and safe and nice smelling.

He hears something about “laying on the couch”, but before he knows it, he just falls asleep.

―

When Tony wakes up the next morning (midday? Afternoon? The sun is shining through the windows so it can’t be evening), it takes him approximately zero point five seconds to remember what had happened in the kitchen with Bucky. The embarrassment hits him like a truck on the highway.

This time he walks deliberately against the wall. Head first and with force. Multiple times.

“Oi, no damaging the merchandise! I still need ya for our date this evening, doll.” Sure enough, there Bucky leans against the doorframe, a cheeky grin on his face and still without a shirt. (This is not California; the fuck is wrong with this man?)

He feels his mouth watering, until Bucky’s words find its way to his brain, which wakes him up better than any coffee in the world. “Date”, he states warily, because he isn’t sure he understood that right.

“Thought we already established that yesterday.” Bucky sounds mocking, and Tony won’t let that pass, no matter how embarrassing yesterday’s conversation has been.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“Sir?”

Tony grins and looks directly without a hint of hesitation into Bucky’s beautiful eyes, before he lets his gaze wander from head to toe and biting his lips seductively. “Put thirty cans of whipped cream on the shopping list for today, will you?”

Bucky blushes. Tony’s grin widens. He is definitely going to lick that. 

―

(Three days later a framed picture of Bucky blushing appears on the same wall.)

―

(Five days later a picture of Tony walking into that wall appears underneath it. Rude.)

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 1. The Case Against Fairytales

'his eyes across a room tangled up in her imagination they had spent a lifetime together by the time he said hello' atticus

My brother died the same way he came into the world: silent, eyes closed, changing my life as I knew it. 

We spent our whole lives trying to convince anyone we could that we were as regular as they were, but here's the first fundamentally different thing when you are royal: the meaning of the word ‘everyone’. 

In our case, we usually mean anyone in the country, most of the international media, and at least a sizeable majority of the world's population. It's not that everyone knew us... it's just that enough people did. Enough for it to be easier to call them 'everyone'. 

When my brother Louis was born, mom had been rushed to the hospital in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. The press was notified, they promptly set up camp at the hospital entrance, and the people started prayer campaigns to the safe arrival of their new prince and heir. Everyone rejoiced at his arrival. I remember, I was there. 

At three years-old, it felt like everyone was every single person in the planet. It was mostly just the people in our country; to everyone else, his birth was a quick, short line of announcement, maybe some notice to the fact that the newborn baby boy was taking his older sister's place as heir, and not much else. 

When he died, everyone was every single person in the planet. The second thing fundamentally different when you are a royal: from a very early age you must learn that tragedy sells more than joy. And in any constitutional monarchy country, a royal family is merely another commodity.

A few people talked about my early graduation from University. A lot more people talked about my boyfriend breaking up with me. There were a few articles about my little sister's victory at the ice-skating junior final. When she fell on her face in front of the cameras while attempting a risky move, she went viral. When my brother came into our lives, a few people took notice. 

When he left us, everyone did.

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

I, too, am a victim of culture appropriation. Since the dawn of time, from the moment humankind developed communication skills, there has been storytelling. And for the past few thousands of years most stories that parents tell their young as they tuck them into their blankets every night, have been about my culture. As far as that goes, it is not the most damaging kind of culture appropriation. But I have a duty today, and I will not shy away from it. I am sorry to say I must, and will, shatter the beautiful image of fairytales that kids have been fed for so many years now. 

I know what you are thinking – oh, boo-hoo, the poor little princess girl; is life too difficult in your beautiful palace with all the money a person could ever need? And yes, I know. I am not a victim. The same colonialism that placed my ancestors, and therefore, me, in the position of privilege and power I am in today has created many more actual victims around the world. But that is also why I must tell this story the way it was always meant to be told: truthfully. With all the weird, awkward, awful, bits and pieces that fairytales tend to skip. 

Fairytales would, for instance, skip straight to the grand, majestic welcome ceremony between the Queen of the United Kingdom and the King of Savoy in a sun floored courtyard with guards on tall, furry black hats strutting around, standing in a red-carpeted dais, with a handsome prince making eyes at me. But in my story, we will start with the train. 

That’s right, in modern fairytales you don’t take a lovely carriage ride to a neighboring kingdom. You take a train there – a commercial train, if you can, because modern times beg for demonstrating to the masses that the Monarch isn’t throwing money around. We were trying to highlight the easy routes of access to our neighbors to the northeast, and so we took the ferry across the Celtic Sea to Hugh Town Island and from there, Eurostar number 2 train that made a quick stop in Penzance, UK, and then went straight to London. 

The train ride isn’t comfortable – even if you have a first class private car. It’s bumpy and crowded and a terrible place to spend three straight hours. On that particular morning, I was in our car with my father, his household secretary Auguste, my private aide, Cadie, and a few other staff members. 

In fairytale world, when a princess does not look the part, there is usually the appearance of a fairy godmother who sings a nice song and magically transforms her into a Proper Princess™. There is no fairy godmothers when you are a real princess- real ones, sure, but they are not magical-, but you do learn from an early age what a Proper Princess™ should look like, act like, and sound like, and god forbid you don't. 

In the train that day, I heard all that was keeping me from being Proper™ from Auguste, who was in many ways the exact opposite of a fairy godmother. He had all the menacing authority of one, with none of the charm. He also didn’t have wings or a sparkly wand; he had greying short hair, and thin, small, reading glasses that he always pushed down to the tip of his nose to look above, which made me wonder what was the point of the glasses at all.

Before our arrival, I had to change my lipstick, which was too dark, my dress, which was too short at the daring height of above my knees, my shoes, which were open toed and therefore wrong, and finally, make sure to brush my hair once more.

My parents never subscribed to the idea that we were forbidden to do anything. They were raised on stern rules and heavily traditional costumes and wanted their kids to live more freely. So, growing up, they revolutionarily told us that we were free to be whoever we wanted to be – in private. In public, we had an obligation to be Proper™. After all, as I heard repeatedly growing up: royals don’t make mistakes, we make history; and history remembers.

So, yes. I, a grown, 25 years-old, law-school graduate, bar-approved acquisitions lawyer, changed out of my dress into a more proper one because my dad asked. Because as a princess, you’re never just yourself; you’re the country. And if your country comes from a Roman Catholic tradition, your hemlines must reflect that, no matter what century it is.

The country in question was just to the south of the United Kingdom, west of France, a large island named Savoie. The English call it Savoy, which is how it was pronounced anyway. It was originally populated by the Irish, but over the years it was conquered by the English, the Spanish, and the Portuguese until finally, in the 13th Century, it was conquered by France. It was bigger than Ireland, but smaller than England, and one of the biggest GDPs in the world, with a population of 49 million. Under the reign of Louis XV, however, France lost most of its possessions after its defeat in the Seven Years' War, and to secure Savoy, the king sent part of the court to live there and to reign in his stead as his emissaries. Louis XV's reign grew weak, including his ill-advised financial, political and military decisions, which discredited the monarchy and arguably led to the French Revolution 15 years after his death. France dealt with its dissatisfaction by revolting, Savoy however, secluded away at sea, decided to declare independence before the Revolution had even taken steam. The political leaders of the Island reached an agreement with the king's emissary, Prince Louis, the highest ranking monarch on the island; in exchange for support for the severance of all connection to France, he was then made King Louis I of Savoy. The Royal House of Savoy grew steady and strong by protecting its people and assuring them a freer, better life than the one they'd known under French reign.

A few years later, I sat on that train in front of the current King of Savoy. My father. 

“You look beautiful, Maggie.”

“Thank you.” 

“The other dress was beautiful as well. Just not for today.”

“Mm-hm.”

A moment of silence went by. I picked up my phone and checked my emails. There was one from Sophie with the subject ‘urgent!’ so I clicked in it feeling my heart race.

It read,

‘Marie, I’m sorry to bother you on your days off, but the depositions got moved up to Monday and we can’t find the notes on the manager deposition, you were the one who did them. Is there any chance you have a copy and if so can you send them to me? Enjoy England! XO Soph’

Sighing, I put down my phone and quickly found my laptop on my suitcase. I turned it on as I replied to Sophie’s email to tell her to expect my deposition notes shortly. 

“You know if we could I’d let you wear whatever you wanted.” Dad added as I logged into my computer.

“I do.”

I moved quickly through my folders realizing the most recent update on my notes hadn’t been uploaded to the cloud. Sighing, I logged on to the train WiFi and checked the storage service online. It didn’t connect.

“Honestly, darling, you look even prettier with this dress.”

I looked up, mentally wondering if the previous versions of the notes would be useful.

“This isn’t about the dress.”

I realized, then, that it wouldn’t matter anyway because I wouldn’t be able to send them to Sophie without internet. I looked out the window, realizing perhaps too late that we were in the tunnel, underwater. Of course there wasn’t internet.

“Well, what is it about?” Dad asked, putting his book marker back inside the page he was on and laying down the book to give me his full attention.

“Work, papa. I have a job.”

“Yes, and it’s your day off. Maybe you should try and turn off from work for the next few days?”

I smiled down to my computer, “maybe this is a conversation for another time.”

Dad adjusted his posture, looking a little taller, and looked around the room to Cadie and Auguste sitting in a booth nearby with our private hair and make-up artist, and dad’s footman, and personal aide.

“Excuse me, everyone, would you be so kind as to give us the room? Or, uh, the car? There is a little lounge outside, isn’t there?”

“Of course, sir.” Auguste said, jumping up immediately with the aide, and Cadie and Cass, the make-up artist, followed.

After they had left and closed the door behind them, I looked at my father. He lurched back in his seat and smiled at me. 

“Go on,” he said. “If you don’t scream I don’t think they’ll hear us.”

“Why would I scream?”

“I don’t know, Maggie. But I don’t know why you would be so passive aggressive, either. Can you tell me?”

“What do you want, dad?” 

In truth, I added the ‘dad’ at the end of the sentence to make it sound less aggressive, but as he stared at me, I felt uncomfortable not explaining myself.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”, I asked, tiredly. “I’m here, wearing a proper, long, not-slutty dress-“

“No one here used that word-“

“My toes will be perfectly hidden away when we arrive, I have hidden my ugly, evil legs under some stockings-“

“Really, Maggie, no one said your legs were-“

“My make-up is light and my hair is simple and non-threatening. I know not to smile too much or too little and to let the adults lead the conversation”, I said, the word ‘adults’ dangling bitterly from me lips. “And not to walk ahead of you, but always behind, taking your lead.”

“You make it sound so stiff and calculated.”

“And I have taken time off of work to be here.” I said. “All other Junior Associates are working overtime and through weekends to cash in as many billable hours as possible to be promoted to Full-time Associates, and instead I took off four days to travel with my dad.”

“Work, for work!”

“So, again, what do you want? How else am I not meeting your expectations?”

I spoke calmly, gently, and as low a volume as I could just to confront his joke not a minute before about how if I didn’t scream the others wouldn’t hear us. I made sure to be as poised and contained as I could. He heaved a sigh.

“I’m sorry you had to take time off work.” 

I waited, as he stared in his usual lovingly, patient way. I smiled, more as a peace offering than genuinely. 

“You know very well they won’t fire you.”

Still, I was quiet, smiling as sincerely as I could. 

“And I know that isn’t fair, but there’s nothing I can do about it. So tell me something I can do and I will.”

“Okay.” I said, nodding. “I want your honesty. Don’t treat me like a child you need to protect, don’t patronize me. All I want is an honest answer.”

He adjusted himself in his seat and cleared his throat. “Alright. Go on.”

“Why am I here, papa?”

He blinked, seemingly confused. I could tell he expected a harder question.

“Your- Because your mother sprained her ankle?” he answered, still unsure. “What- do you mean philosophically? Why are any of us here, really? I don’t understand.”

I tried not to smile. “I mean I have a life. I am not your heir. Louis is your heir, it is his job to help you when mom has emergencies.”

He sighed deeply, finally arriving at the same page where I was.

“Your brother is in school.” He said. “And you are our oldest child. So, I’m sorry if it disrupts your life, Maggie. But you are needed.”

“And after school?” I asked “His graduation is in 6 months. Are you telling me that after he graduates university and moves back home, when he is starting his career, maybe moving to the capital, when you and mom have an emergency, you will call him up instead of me?”

He gave the table a sad smile. “If that is your wish, yes.”

“So that’s all, then?” I confirmed, suspiciously. “He moves back after graduation and you will give me the space I need?”

He smiled. “Is that what you want, then?” it wasn’t a confirmation. It was a tone of accomplishment. Of finally realizing what was it that I wanted, as if this entire conversation that’s what he had been trying to find out.

“I went to school for years. I interned for a year. I studied hard for the bar exams in America and Savoy. Yes, dad, I want to use the degree I worked hard for.”

“Okay, then. We will give you space.” He said. “Space from us, to be who you want to be. To be normal.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling, slightly amused at his dramatics. “That is not what I meant.”

“But it is accurate.”

“Papa...” I sighed.

“I’m just saying, sweetheart, I understand.” He insisted. “It’s why you went to America for University, it’s why you are based on the capital now. As long as you’re too close to us, you can’t live a normal life.”

“I can never live a normal life. We are not normal.”

“But you wish to try.”

I chuckled. “How?! You said it yourself, they will never fire me. My firm, I mean. Wherever I am, I am never just me and my degree and my career. People look at me and see you, as if I am you. I am their King. I am the Royal Family of Savoy. They’ll never take me seriously or afford me the same opportunities as everyone, because I am not everyone.”

He nodded, slowly, then sighed. “Yikes. You’re right. That sounds tough.”

“And I’m the passive aggressive one?”

“Job security and the attention of your bosses. That sounds awful.”

“Papa...”

“You want the space to dedicate yourself to your career without us pulling you away for royal work. Is that it? Okay. You got it. As soon as your brother is back from University, I will make sure you’re only needed for official events, and only if you’re not working.” 

He sounded serious now. Sincere as when he delivered the End of Year address every Christmas, which was meaningful. Getting dad to afford me the same seriousness he afforded his subjects was as much seriousness as I could get from him. Still, there was no mistaking the sadness in his eyes. 

“Even before his affirmation ceremony?” I asked, trying to sniff around for a trick.

The affirmation ceremony was meant to make clear to the country that an heir to throne had the seal of approval of the Monarch, and it usually happened when the heir was 21 years of age, to signify the Monarch believed in the event of a tragedy, the heir was ready to rule.  In modern times, it meant an heir was ready to start working as a full-time royal. Though my brother was 22, the family had decided to wait until he had graduated university to do his ceremony. 

Dad took longer than I wished, but finally, he nodded. “Yes. I promise.”

If you’re paying attention, then you might have noticed the math doesn’t add up. How come my 22 years-old brother is the heir when I said I am 25, the oldest child? Well, as with most fairytales, as well as with most of life, the problem is the patriarchy. For the thing is, though I was older than Louis by three years, because I was born a girl, he became the heir when he was born. So, at three, I went from future-Queen to lower ranking older sister. 

It wasn’t unusual, my father himself had two older sisters who were lower than him and his brothers in the line of succession. As a result we had older cousins who we outranked. I cared about all this at 25 the same as when I was 3: not at all. 

Absolute primogeniture law was passed in Savoy when I was 5, propelled by my birth and the new times. It was, however, not retroactive. This meant the law was changed for future births, not past ones, so all girls born after the law came into effect would be heirs in their own right, no matter how many brothers they got after, and all girls born before would go into history as having missed it by ‘just a bit’.

Louis and I, though, didn’t sit around having long discussions about who would be a better ruler. There has never been an instance in which we were arguing and I yelled something like, “first you stole my throne and now you stole my cookies! I hate you!”. For us this was just a little footnote in the family tree. A little fun fact to tell our future kids one day. And although I couldn’t remember what it felt like, I always knew it was much better not having to be the Crown Princess of Savoy.

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

When we finally reached Penzance, the small town in the tip of the isle of England where sat the second Eurostar station, I was able to finally connect to the internet. My father left our train car to walk about with his security because he wanted to witness the new English policy of installing a check-point at the entry due to the immigrant crisis – a huge part of why we were there. While he did that, I sent Sophie my notes on the deposition, and answered some messages.

There was one from Louis, my aforementioned brother:

‘are you close?’

And one from our baby sister, Lourdes:

‘what do you think??!!!!!!!!’, with an attachment of two videos.

And, lastly, one from my mother, Her Majesty Queen Amelie-Elyse, back home with a sprained ankle.

‘Hope all is well! Let me know when you’re with your brother. Don’t forget to let your hair down before leaving the train!’

She didn’t mean it in a philosophical, have fun kind of way. She literally meant let my hair down, apparently it softened my features. 

I replied to her with a selfie, with my hair properly brushed and down, in preparation for the arrival in London, which was close now. Let Louis know we were almost there. And sent a quick, uncommitted ‘woah!’ to my sister, without opening her attachments. They were always the same: videos of her practicing. There was only so much ice skating I could watch in a lifetime.

My mom answered my text with, “why did you change your dress?!”

I sighed, getting ready to justify this decision as well, already anticipating she would argue that the fascinator wouldn’t go with this one dress, so I told her I already had another fascinator standing by. 

Growing up with fairytales they don’t tell you about the little annoying details. Characters who are annoying usually are the villains, the ones the Princess escapes from, usually saved by the prince. They don’t tell you sometimes, actually a lot of the times, the people you love can be equally as annoying. 

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

When we arrived at the station in London, I was already wearing my disc fascinator in a light shade of blue matching both my lace dress, this time reaching all the way to my ankles, and eyes. We were quickly greeted by the Savoyen Ambassador to England in front of the press, and escorted into government cars towards Whitehall. 

The large parade ground was a traditional courtyard in central London that usually housed ceremonies related to the military and the royal family. When we arrived, the day finally was washed in a feeling of ceremony. 

The place was lined neatly with military guards, security barricades and the Scotland Yard Police kept watchers and paparazzi at bay, the press lined up inside to have the best view of all involved. As we arrived, the traditional 41 gun salute was already sounding on. A military band was playing. People waved and yelled hello as we drove inside. I suddenly knew what to do, as if my body had the gene for it. This was one thing that was definitely genetic.

I stepped out of the car delicately, smoothly, knees together like a proper lady, polite smile on my lips in thanks to the guard who saluted as I left. My father greeted a handler who escorted us to the front of all the lined guards, where three structures had been set up: one large one in the middle, with a red-carpeted stage and a large roof, the British Royal Coat of Arms in the center with the British flag to its right and the Savoy flag to its left. Decorative flowers and elegant plants here and there. Two smaller, simpler structures to both of its sides. Inside all of them, men and women in formal suits and ties and knee-length, appropriate dresses and hats. 

We walked the grovel path to the larger structure as the band played and the press, lined up in front of this platform, took their photographs. My father climbed the steps first, quickly being received by the small, elder, lady in a lavender overcoat and matching hat, impressive set of pearls dangling from her neck. She smiled as he lowered himself down to kiss both her cheeks warmly. 

The queen then looked at me and I approached, just as our handler told Her Majesty:

“And may I present, Her Royal Highness, Princess Marie-Margueritte of Savoy.”

I lowered myself in a curtsy, and as she extended her hands to hold mine, I also kissed her cheeks, trying to avoid knocking her hat with mine. 

“Welcome.” She smiled. “I hope the ride was forgiving.”

“Very comfortable.” My father told her. “Always surprising how fast it is.”

“Yes. You’ll remember, I’m sure, the Prince of Wales.” She said, walking us to the center of the platform where another two men awaited.

My father and the Prince of Wales greeted each other warmly, they were more used to running in the same circles – royal weddings here and there, international summits and meetings, or whatever it is they do. 

“We’re so glad to have you.” He told my father. 

“I don’t know if you’ve met my daughter, Princess Marie-Margueritte.”

Smiling, I curtsied to the Prince of Wales as he held my hand, before kissing my cheeks. 

“You brighten this day, Your Royal Highness.” He told me, before stepping closer to add, in a whisper. “Sorry you have been dragged to this.”

I giggled, “I’m happy to be here, sir.”

Straightening up, he noticed my father was already greeting the man behind him. “Hopefully we won’t bore you too much. I have tried to bring someone else closer to your age. Have you met my son?”

The handler didn’t know it, but there were no introductions necessary. And yet, all I could do was smile politely as we were introduced to:

“His Royal Highness, Prince Harry of Wales.”

I wondered, for a moment, if he would acknowledge that we already knew each other. 

“It’s a pleasure, Your Royal Highness.” Holding my hand in his, he brought my knuckles to his lips. 

The answer was, obviously, no. So I lowered myself again in a curtsy as an excuse to avert my eyes from his.

I couldn’t understand why, but I had been unprepared for him. With all of Auguste’s preparation, all the briefings, with all the preachings about my appearance, no one had prepared me for him. I don’t know if it was that, like me, he was one of the youngest there, or how absurdly, almost ridiculously tall he was, or maybe how the blue in his eyes contrasted with the red of his hair, but he just… stunned me. When he kissed my hand, his eyes traveled down my legs all the way back to pierce mine, igniting a wave of electricity down my spine I was unable to control. 

He leaned back, and there we stood, hand in hand, wordlessly. 

“You can follow the King, ma’am.” Auguste whispered behind me, his voice making me jump slightly, as I quickly pulled my hand from Harry’s, not before realizing he had something scribbled on his palm.

My father and the Queen were deep in conversation, with Charles besides them, as they reached the center of the platform to watch the guards. The Queen in the middle, my father to her right, and the Prince of Wales to her left, I walked forward to stand beside my father, while Prince Harry walked to his. 

We waited just a moment, and then the band started playing the Savoy National Anthem, and the British Anthem after it. A few words said, more ceremony here and there, and the Prince Wales formally invited my father to inspect the Guards, so they left together, accompanied by one of the military leaders to walk among the rolls of guards,  as the three of us stood behind to watch.

“I was sorry to hear about your mother, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I said, looking regretful, walking towards her, closing the gap left behind by the others. “She was sorry she couldn’t be here.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious.” Prince Harry interjected.

“A sprained ankle.” I explained, looking ahead. 

“Harry is also here after a small hiccup with the Duchess of Cornwall, my daughter-in-law.” His grandmother told me. “An illness in her family, nothing serious.”

“Hopefully I’ll have time to meet her before we leave.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” She nodded. “How did you mother hurt herself?”

“Horse fall. She was never very fond of Polo, I’m afraid this will drive her further away from it.”

“Oh, that is regretful.” The Queen said. 

Harry looked at me. “Do you play?” 

“I do, sir.” 

“Harry is very good,” his grandmother told me, “he will be the one playing with you in the charity match in the coming days.”

“I look forward to-“, I started, but Harry had started the exact same sentence. We locked eyes, and chuckled.

“You first.” I said.

“Please, I insist.” He responded, cheeks reddening.

His grandmother looked between us, and then back to the uniformed men in front. She then said, in a low tone, something I would spend a large part of the upcoming months thinking obsessively about:

“Be careful with him... He will charm you, but he is a heartbreaker.”

The words astonished me so much I looked at her, unsure she had actually said them. But she had, clearly, because Harry was also looking at her, quite shocked.

“Granny!” he complained, in such a whiny tone I broke into laughter.

“Do I lie?” She asked him, grinning. It only made him look more shocked. 

“Don’t ruin my reputation in front of foreign royals!” he said, in a low tone, before looking at me. “Specially such pretty ones.”

My giggle froze in my throat under his intense glare, and I could feel my cheeks reddening.

The Queen looked at me. “Oh, you’re blushing. It’s too late, I see.”

It was.

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

Margueritte’s outfit

The ask box is open! Let me know your thoughts? And if at all possible, like this page so I know you liked it? Thank you so much!

[A/N: Attention: by continuing to read you are accepting that some sad stuff is coming. You been warned. Thanks for checking this out! Let me know your thoughts?? thanks!!!!]

[A/N2: Hey! Nat here. I wanted to talk a little more about the story we are about to go on together.

In the upcoming chapters you will be introduced to the Royal Family of Savoy, a fictitious European country right below the UK, to left of France. When I first posted a fanfiction, FIUYMI, I made the main character latina, since that’s what I am, and I had previously felt that I couldn’t relate to other characters I had read. In this one, however, I decided I wanted to write about a fictitious monarchy, and I knew I wanted to make it as realistic as possible. 

As much as I wanted at many points in the story to make the character look more like me, the idea felt like cheating: Margueritte is a blood royal, born to a life of specific privileges and hardships, and pretending she could look like the type of people who don’t have white privilege would be trying to ignore a very real issue: all monarchies - past and present - existed, lasted and gathered riches on the back of people of color. Most of their descendants still carry white and wealth privilege because these royal families, however many years ago, supported and perpetuated colonialism and white supremacy that left countless countries and their populations still recovering today.

That is a legacy Margueritte didn’t chose, and which she also doesn’t have to face, but in this story she will chose too. As you’ll see, she finds herself in a much more influential position she thought she would have, and as such she realizes she has two options: she can stick to the message her family - and other royal families - have perpetuated for generations and keep her head high, mouth and ears shut, so their legacy can survive; or she can chose to be a modern Queen who will make the institution relevant again. I want to write about this because this issue is important for the times we live in, particularly after the way the Duchess of Sussex was treated in the United Kingdom.

What that will look like will depend on who Margueritte is as a person and whose advice she takes, and that is a journey I hope you’ll take with us =) ]

[burning-clutch]

The Not So Grim Reaper

Read on A03 Here Pairings: None Trigger Warnings: mild blood and cartoon style violence  Author: @burning-clutch (Team Ghost) Word count: 4291 Prompt by:  All-hail-trash-prince / KitKat Cat  FFN: the-trash-prince

-------

 It was the third anniversary of the half death day of one Daniel Fenton and said teen was not exactly sure how to feel about the matter. He had been contacted by none other than the master of the timeline, Clockwork, to let him know that today was going to be a big important day for him…

 So he was understandably nervous…

 The ancient ghost had taken a vested interest in him, sure, but Danny was pretty sure it was mostly to spite the Observants who had their hands in the old ghost’s work. Regardless of the reason though, when clockwork spoke or rather wrote him a note or some other such thing, he knew well it was important and he needed to heed whatever it was.                  At least it was a Saturday, so he didn’t need to worry about school, however, when his ghost sense went off causing him to exhale a wispy billow of cold air, he silently wished that the ghosts could give him a couple of days off a week as well.

 With a reluctant sigh, Danny transformed in his bedroom before taking off and heading off towards the location he’d felt the strongest pull from the ectoplasmic disruption. It was downtown, a great start overall, though what was odd was as of yet there was no destruction… no running people trying desperately to escape an ethereal threat…

 It was uncomfortably calm actually…

 Danny frowned and spun about trying to focus inwards to locate where the pull was. His eyes flashed open in an instant when he felt it, his ghost sense going off for a second time as he honed into the feeling. Whatever ghost had decided to pay him a visit today was powerful. Scarily so to elicit such a strong reaction from his ghost sense.

 He flew up towards the ghost, he was eager but weary. There was no outright attack yet so he wanted to hold out hope that whatever ghost was up here was peaceful.

 Danny was not prepared for a lanky ghost in a solid black robe looking out over the city from the highest building in Amity. Danny opened his mouth to speak but the stranger beat him to it. “Ah, Phantom… or do you prefer Daniel? Or some other such derivative of that?” the ghost asked, not even shifting in the slightest.

 Danny was unnerved by that. The ghost had a deep voice, gruff but buttery smooth… it had a strange resonance in it that made it sound both soothing and unsettling at the same time. Still, Danny was on guard. Ghosts could go from zero to a hundred really fast, and he’d been bitten by that ruse far too often to have not learned at this point… Still, he was always an optimist and any chance to get out of this without a fight he’d take it.

 “And you are?” Danny asked, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible to this potentially dangerous and powerful spectre.

 “Oh silly me, how rude.” The ghost chuckled out before turning around with a flourish. The ghost was bone white and rail thin, with ruby red eyes that shone with mirth around a deep navy blue iris. With the black cloak closed all Danny could see was the white glow around him and the elongated face of the ghost. As he laughed he revealed a long set of fangs both upper and lower hidden away by bone white lips.

 “My name is Mortimer, Morty for short if you’d rather. Most people prefer it anyway.” the ghost, Morty mused with a small tap of his white slender finger to his lips. “Ah well, that’s not important what is as that you’re a prompt kid, and I like that. Pleasure,” he stuck out a hand to shake.

 Danny eyed the hand suspiciously before grasping the pale appendage into his own. There was a cool and electric feeling radiating from Mortimer, that just screamed of power, but the literal grim grinning ghost before him seemed nice enough.

 “Right, introductions out of the way, now we can get down to brass tax hm?” the pale ghost said releasing Danny’s hand and clapping his own together with a soft and chalky sounding smack.

 “What?” Danny blinked stupidly. “You're a tax collector ghost?” he asked, making a face of confusion.

 “What? Oh Ancients, no! I am a collector of sorts and you Phantom,-”

 “Are going to be the newest thing in your weird collection? No thanks.” Danny scoffed having interrupted the ghost.

 “You don’t even know what the offer is and besides it’s not exactly something you can refuse being what you are, and how you have handled yourself up until now,” Morty said with a flippant wave of his hand. “Your fate was sealed into this the moment Clockwork took an interest in you.”

 “Clockwork? Where does he fit into this? With you?” Danny huffed feeling a little more angered by the second now.

 “Well, it’s your third death day right?” Danny nodded. “Well, today is when you officially transition from a kid to a teen, well from a ghostly standpoint anyway,” Morty said with a tilt of his head revealing a thin whisp of flame like hair that looked to be hardly there at all on his ebony ectoplasmic flesh.

 Danny blinked a few times as his mind caught up with that. This guy had mentioned Clockwork and Clockwork had mentioned today would be important… So…  “You’re who I was supposed to be looking out for today?” Danny asked.

 “I mean maybe? Were you told a reaping recruiter was comin’ to get you?” Morty asked in kind. “Because if you were that makes this a whole lot simpler.”

 “A what?” Danny barely got out before the other ghost grabbed his arm and thrust him forward into a ghost portal. Instantly Danny engaged his flight and rounded on Morty, fists flaring only to stop cold when he saw where he was brought.

 The literal valley of death.

 Morty now had out a scythe as tall as he was, with a blade that was half the length of the pole. The blade, seemingly made of a blinding white plasma dipped into the portal and closed it in an instant. Morty then spun the scythe banishing the weapon to whatever unworld it had come from.

 The weapon itself was impressive enough, but the fact that it matched the exact description shape and apparently portaling powers, from what he remembered the reaper ghosts were usually seen to wield… Danny was very glad he didn’t try to attack this ghost now.

 “You really are a reaper.” Danny gasped out, staring wide eyed at Morty.

 “Yes, I thought I’d mentioned that? No? Eh, well we’re here now and we’ve got work to do boy!” Morty said with a motion aimed at the halfa to get him to follow.

 Reaper ghosts were dangerous, said to kill a living person with just a touch of their hand… Danny’s eyes widened as he stared down at the hand he’d shook Morty’s with earlier. Did that mean…? He rubbed at his neck as he followed, thankful to feel the slow and shallow ‘Ka-thump’ beneath his gloved hand.

 “Wait, you mentioned you were a recruiter?” Danny asked moving quickly to catch up to the other ghost.

 “Yep,” came the simple reply with a popping P. “And you’re here because-.”  he trailed off with a wave of his hand urging Danny to put two and two together.

 “I’m being turned into a reaper?” Danny hazarded out his guess.

         “Got it in one kid. Congrats. Morty said with a nod of approval.

 “Wait… Why me?”

 “Well, the main one is you being a demi-ghost. You’re between the life and death binary system. Meaning, you yourself are the focal point in that scale of life and death,” the reaper responded.

 “What about Vlad? He’s a halfa too…” Danny asked, genuinely curious.

 “Indeed he is, but you are not like him in the slightest when it comes to personality. Tell me do you know what we do? What job does a reaper ghost have?” Morty asked, turning to look at Danny over his shoulder.

 “You take the souls of the living, collecting them and forcing them to die…?” Danny asked nervously. “I don’t want to kill people though! Even if they are on some list or however you decide who’s time is up!” he argued to Morty. He really didn’t want to kill people…

 “Ha! No, Why does everyone always think we deal in the living? Life and death are something that can’t be influenced by us.when your number’s up it ain’t us that's coming to kill you, nature does that plenty well on its own.”

 “Then-”

 “We deal in the souls of ghosts,” Morty stated. “When a living thing dies, regardless of whether they become a ghost or not, the souls flow to the ghost zone. If they do become a ghost it means they had an obsession that was stronger then the pull of the zone’s core, the collective.” Morty explained.

 “That much I know… It’s a basic concept.” Danny nodded curiously now as the reaper led him into a catacomb beneath the garden they were standing upon a moment ago.

 “Right, well, what do you think happens to ghosts who’s obsessions get out of hand to the point the ghosts themselves are a danger? Or ghosts that get trapped in the human realm? That’s where we come in. if they’re a danger it’s our job to force them into the collective. And the easiest way is to slice the obsession right out of them, slicing through their core with your scythe. No obsession, no reason to be and the ghost is absorbed into the collective.”

 “That’s still killing people! Even if they’re ghosts I still can’t-” Danny shook his head unable to think of himself potentially killing or ending a ghost… he would be no better than Dan then…

 “Well you’re not killing or ending, you’re returning them to the collective. Alternatively, you can also repair a broken core so long as the ghost isn’t too far gone. Putting down troubled spirits is our main service as a reaper, secondary is that making sure the collective stays as exactly that, a collective. We make sure nothing in the zone ventures too close, and nothing in, comes out.” Morty said with a sharp look about him as he said that.

 Danny offered the reaper a sheepish smile, before turning away from the glowing gaze to look about the catacombs. There were a lot of dirt torches on the walls and doors and really not much beyond that, but suddenly the door to his left was the most interesting thing on the planet.                  “You do not want to know what happens when something comes out of the collective and back into the ghost zone,” the reaper warned in a stern tone.

 Danny flinched his gaze snapping back into the ruby eyes of the reaper.

 “Besides most commonly it’s a reaper’s job to retrieve stranded ghosts from the human realm and lead them home to the zone. A starved ghost is not something to take lightly after all. And that brings us to why we’re recruiting you, and not the other halfa.”

         “Because I’ve been doing that as it is?” Danny tried after a moment of the other ghost looking at him expectantly.

 Morty grinned at that. “HA! Nice once again in one, and they said you were a dunce,” the ghost chuckled as they finally stopped to enter a large wooden door with a golden trim.

 “Who did?” Danny asked as he followed the ghost inside.

 “Don’t worry about it. Just pick out a scythe that calls out to you,” Morty waved him off dismissing the insult on his intelligence easily.

 Danny couldn’t bother to rebuttal though when he laid eyes on the weaponry in the room. They were in a word gorgeous. All glowing with an array of coloured blades and handles and the teen’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

 “Woah…” was about all he could get out as he gently reached out to try to grab a scythe with a bright white handle and a blue blade. As soon as his hand touched the pole Danny recoiled from the shock he’d received from the weapon.

 “Nope, that one didn’t like you kid,” Morty said amused. “A reaper’s blade is special to them, and only one reaper can wield a blade, so much so that if a reaper is destroyed the blade shatters along with them. It’s an extension of yourself,” he explained.

 “So then… how do you know?” Danny asked, trying to grab another one with a black pole and purple blade, only to recoil with a hiss and suck on his now burned finger.

 “You really need me to answer that one kid?” the reaper asked leaning against the door and crossing his arms.

 “...No…” Danny grumbled. The teen sighed looking at all the blades in the rows of weapons. They were all scythes and all slightly different, though some not by much to their neighbours. With a thoughtful frown, Danny explored the shelves.

 Morty watched the teen go eyes shining with mirth as he looked on into the rows and rows of weapons. As a halfa, he would become an angel of rebirth, a force to be reckoned with and eventually a great ruler. Until his one-hundredth death day, he wouldn’t know of that tidbit and instead would remain in their ranks as a reaper.

 Danny sighed after the tenth or so blade zapped him, he decided to try a new tactic. He closed his eyes and focused like he would when normally looking for a ghost with his ghost sense. These weapons felt like more than just average weapons after all perhaps they had a bit of life er, rather death in them?                  And so he focused and walked forward, moving along eyes closed until his hand rested in front of a rack. He blinked his eyes open and scanned the handles in front of him. It was easy to pick out the one that he thought was calling to him after that.

 The handle was deep black with coloured sparkling glowing speckles all along the shaft, swirling and pulsing shifting slowly all along the handle. They looked so much like stars that Danny’s core fluttered eagerly at the sight of that alone. When he grabbed the handle, he felt the sheer burst of power that flowed through him and it was both intoxicating and worrisome.

 He quickly regained his focus to stare at the white blade that pulsed and flickered with just the tiniest bit of blue. It reminded him of a comet’s tail with how it waved along when he moved the weapon. It was gorgeous and he knew it was his.

 “Oh, that’s a beaut’!” Mort said with a low whistle almost right into Danny’s ear, causing the teen to jump into the air and float there staring angrily down at the reaper. “Now you’ve got that I gotta teach ya how to use it, well the basics, then from there you’re to come back here every week til we deem you ready to don a cloak.”

 “I- right… so where do-” Danny didn’t even get the chance to ask as no sooner had he started Morty ripped a hole into space with his own summoned scythe and grabbed Danny dragging him through the portal. “Training…”

 “En- Garde boy!” Morty called, pointing the butt end of his scythe to Danny. “First things first summoning and banishing your blade, then portals, and that should do it for today. I’ve no doubt you’ll figure out fighting with it on your own after that.”

 “Yeah, ghost attacks in my town are far too common…” Danny admitted.

 “Well now you can portal them away,” Morty said with a chuckle. “I think that’s why humans all think us to be bringers of death, we’re often seen bringing newly dead ghosts across the threshold to the zone… but you being a halfa you can stay in the human realm and not have to worry as much about ectoplasm intake. It gives you a huge advantage.”

 With a final amused shake of his head, Morty went into army Sergeant mode. Like the flip of a switch, Danny was suddenly being worked over the proverbial coals. He wasn’t sure how long it took him to be able to summon and banish the scythe, but he was suddenly overly glad that there was only two things the reaper had wanted to work on.

 Once he had successfully done the summon and banish three times in a row they moved on to portaling. And this was where Danny felt the drain.

 He had to push his power into the blade to keep it rigid and allow himself to actually use the thing to cut. That alone was hard, but trying to force his power through the scythe to make the portal… after his third attempt, he was already almost ready to pass out.

 Push the power into the blade then past it, force it to burst out of the blade and reach into the human realm, then spin the energy around the blade to pull open the portal. He knew the concept Morty had drilled it into his skull by this point, but for the life of him…

 Danny panted leaning forward using his new weapon to hold himself up. He was almost ready to transform back…

 “Is that all you got?” Morty taunted. “If it is we’ll be here a lot longer. You’re not getting out of here unless you can portal out yourself. Do you have a clear destination in mind?” he asked again for the fifth time.

 “Yes, I do… I -I don’t think I have enough power.” Danny wheezed out.

 Morty shook his head. “You don’t, but your scythe does. You’re only supposed to use your power to supplement and direct that of your weapon. Now try again with that method.”

 Danny sighed and readied himself before standing up once more. With a deep breath, he readied himself and tried to talk with his scythe as weird as it sounded at first to his tired brain.

 “To Fenton works come on now… “ Danny urged. With a force of power from his weapon pulling from his own energy pool he swung his blade and sliced down. The curve went through space and sliced the fabric between dimensions open.

 With a triumphant cheer, Danny whooped out to his teacher. “You’ve done well kid. Now remember, to close it stick the butt of your weapon into the centre of the portal and give a small pulse of energy.” Morty said with a bright grin. “And I’ll see you next week.”

 With that, the Reaper ghost gave Danny a salute before opening a portal of his own and taking off to wherever it was he went when not on duty.

 Danny on the other hand eagerly flew through the portal, dispelled that, banished his scythe and B lined into bed practically collapsing onto the plush surface with a tired and sore groan. It didn’t take him long after that to fall asleep.  

 -.-.-.-

 It was dinner time when Danny woke up, or rather Jazz had brought up some leftovers to him after telling his parents that he was sick… Still, it was an easy win for him to sleep the day away and he’ll take any chance he can get for that.

 Jazz was easy to dissuade from pressuring him too much after he simply said ‘ghost problems’ she dropped it begrudgingly, and he was able to shoo her out of his room to eat his meal in relative peace.

 Or at least half of it since his ghost sense went off not too long into his meal.

 With an angered groan and a forlorn look to the mac and cheese loaf he had been enjoying, he transformed and headed out to knock some annoying ghost sideways… and for once he was almost hoping it would just be the box ghost.

 When a missile came flying towards him a few seconds later he knew that hope was dashed. Even more so when Skulker moved in himself to try to toss a weighted net at him.

 With a quick blast of his plasma the net was no more but the missile he’d dodged before rounded back on him, slamming into his back and launching him down to the ground.

 He pulled himself up with a groan and a small huff of annoyance escaped him when he saw an almost identical him shaped hole right beside the one he’d just pulled himself out from. “Well at least I’m consistent…” he muttered in annoyance, before launching back up towards Skulker.

 “I have you this time whelp!” The robotic hunter called out aiming a blast towards his prey.

 Danny threw up a shield before grinning to himself and summoning his new weapon. “I got something new for my death day and I wanna try it out!” Danny called. “Hope it gives me a new edge.” he offered quickly, swinging the blade around, doing his best to look cool, before pointing the business end of his scythe at Skulker.

 The self proclaimed Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter paused upon seeing the weapon. “That can not be real,” he scoffed out though the worry in his tone was clear as a crystal bell.

 “Like my new toy Skulky? I got myself a new upgrade!” Danny proclaimed channelling a bit of power to solidify the wispy blade into a solid and keen blade. With one two handed strike the thing struck true and sliced Skulker’s hand clean off as if it were butter.

 Skulker would be sweating if he were capable… as it were he could only stare at the halfa in dread and slight awe. “It’s real, isn’t it…” he gulped.

 “Very.” Came Danny’s amused reply as he decided to try something. Focusing hard on the area in the ghost zone just outside Walker’s prison Danny turned and stuck the air right beside Skulker. To the teen’s absolute delight a portal appeared in all it’s spinning glory. “It worked!” He chirped before kicking at Skulker to toss him through it.

 The bewildered robotic ghost hardly stood a chance and sailed through the portal with a yelp of dismay. To think the prey he’d been hunting all this time was a reaper!? It made him all the more valuable… Skulker reoriented himself before trying to zip back the way he’d come only for the portal to suddenly vanish leaving him stranded on this side.

 Danny meanwhile, was elated. This was going to make his job of protecting Amity a whole lot simpler. He wouldn’t need to worry if he forgot his thermos ever again! It was a good feeling. He swirled his scythe around like the leader of a marching band with far too much flare, simply enjoying how natural the weapon felt to him.

 His exceptional high feeling was cut short however when Valerie’s voice hit his ears. “What… What was that?”

 Danny squawked, he didn’t even hear her coming up behind him! He clutched the scythe to his chest, the blade’s wispy form flickering along with his ghostly tail and aura. “What?” Danny blinked stupidly.

 Ever since Danielle Danny had shared a shaky alliance with the huntress, though it was more of a stay out of my way and I won’t shoot directly at you, sort of thing. Still, any sort of relief from attacks, he’ll take.

 “That scythe… it’s new.” Valerie commented suspiciously.

 “Oh, Yeah! I’m three now so I got a cool toy! Apparently, I’m a reaper ghost. Neat huh?” Danny grinned doing his best to keep up his playful hero persona.  He spun his weapon around a few times before vanishing the thing and taking a bow.

 “A reaper?” Valerie asked carefully, floating a little bit further back from the male now.

 “Yep!” Danny exclaimed popping the P and straightening back up to properly face Valerie. “Oh! But I’m a reaper for ghosts, not one for humans,” Phantom added placatingly, hands up in a hopefully soothing manner. “You can still touch me it’s fine!” he added barely making out the frown behind the face shield the huntress wore.

 Valerie grimaced further at that. “I’d really rather not.”

 “No seriously, it’s fine. Come here! Let’s hug it out!” Danny called arms open wide and a shit eating grin in place.

 Valerie called out a curse to him and fired a volley of blasts forcing the halfa to dodge and fly back. “Try that again and I’ll put a hole through your head.” she hissed.

 Danny’s grin never faltered and instead simply used his bodily manipulation powers to do just that. While Valerie shuddered Danny tried again for the hug arms wide.

 “Ugh, you're impossible.” She grumbled, firing a blast with pinpoint accuracy through the hole he’d made in his face.

 “Come on Val~ That’s not nice.” Danny teased smiling brightly, only to yelp and zip off when she brought out her thermos threateningly.

 The citizens of Amity park that night were witness to an hour’s long game of cat and mouse, as the Red Huntress chased the elusive Phantom about. Though if asked about it later Phantom would insist it was all in good fun. Even if the burn on his backside begged to argue otherwise…

 And as Phantom learned more and more from the reaper ghosts, he became a better and more efficient hero to the people of Amity.

 The approval ratings going up felt nice too.

 -.-.-.-.-

 Complete:

 Total word count: 4291

[bettydice]

(Planning the Day) To Meet You

Wangxian, Modern AU, Slow Burn, E-Rated

[READ ON AO3]

Chapter 4

Tuesday, Eleventh Day with…

Wei Wuxian does not come.

Lan Wangji keeps looking at the pathway between the bookshelves, hoping to see a messy bun and a blinding smile.

What if Wei Wuxian has decided that he has no interest in going to the library to read random books anymore? What if something happened to him? What if anything happened to A-Yuan or Wen Ning? What if he moved to a foreign country? What if he never sees him again?

Lan Wangji curses himself that he’s declined Wei Wuxian’s offer to exchange phone numbers.

( “We’re friends now, Lan Zhan! What if I need to contact you?”

“No reason for Wei Wuxian to contact me.”

“What if I get offered one million Yuan on the street but I can only have it if I sign something and I don’t have a pen and Lan Zhan is the only person I know who carries pens???”

“No reason for Wei Wuxian to contact me. Don’t sign things on the street. Scam.” )

If only Wei Wuxian had asked him again a few days later. But he didn’t. And Lan Wangji didn’t ask, because he’s never asked Wei Wuxian anything, hasn’t he. He has not asked, nor has he shared anything about himself. Nobody would know to tell him anything because Lan Wangji is nothing to Wei Wuxian.

He waits through lunch and into the afternoon. He could… he could call Nie Huaisang. Wei Wuxian is a real person and not a figment of his mind and he knows people Lan Wangji knows (this still sounds surreal to him, because Lan Wangji barely knows any people). He could call and ask. And Nie Huaisaing would ask him questions back, he’s sure.

Lan Wangji stares at his phone for twenty minutes, willing it to give him an answer, to make a decision for him. When it suddenly lights up, because someone is calling him, he almost throws the phone across the room in shock.

Nie Huaisang is calling him.

“Huaisang.”

“Hellooooooooo, Wangji.”

This does not bode well.

“... Hello.”

“Mhm, you must be wondering why I’m calling you, why I went through all the effort even though I know I won’t get more than single word answers that are brimming with the sentiment that I should please just hang up and text you whatever information I have, so you can leave me on ‘read’ for months.”

Lan Wangji really wants to hang up, but there are bigger issues at play here, so he’ll have to suffer through this.

“Why did you call?”

“Are you really just going to ignore what I said?”

“Mn.”

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I expected. Anyway, I’m calling you, because Wei Wuxian wanted me to tell you something.”

Lan Wangji almost drops his phone again and then squeezes it hard, so there’s no chance of him missing what Nie Huaisang is about to say. Except the line stays silent.

“Huaisang . ”

“Hm? What is it, Wangji?”

“Tell me.”

“Oh, I will tell you, don’t worry. But will you first promise to at least reply ‘No, thank you’ the next time I send you an invite? You know, I spend a lot of time making the graphics for my party invites and-”

“ Nie Huaisang. ”

This would not be happening if they were talking in person. If Nie Huaisang could see Lan Wangji’s expression right now, he would not be drawing this out.

“Just chill, will you? Wei Wuxian wanted me to tell you that he can’t come to your library date today because something something daycare holiday and he has to take care of Wen Yuan because Wen Ning is feeling under the weather?”

“Tell me his exact words.”

“Are you being serious? I don’t know, dude! Can’t you just give him your number? I offered it to him but he said some bullshit like ‘respecting Lan Zhan’s wishes’ or whatever. I said I’d prefer to disrespect your wishes instead of playing messenger, but-”

Lan Wangji ends the call.

Wei Ying is okay. He’s not leaving the country. His husband does not seem to feel well, but it doesn’t sound like something serious is going on. Wei Ying even went to the trouble of making Nie Huaisang inform him.

He’s not nothing to Wei Wuxian.

A knot in his chest becomes undone and the rest of his body follows.

Wednesday, Eleventh Day with…

He hears Wei Wuxian before he sees him.

“Ghost!”

“No, I don’t think they have the Ghost General book here, A-Yuan. And remember, we have to be quiet! Shhh!”

“Shhh!”

“Yes! Or Lan Zhan will be annoyed with us! We don’t want that.”

“Quiet!”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Gege quiet!”

“Wonderful. A-Yuan, you’re so smart!”

Wei Wuxian is here and he brought… his son. They’re here, together, in the library. And every moment now, they’ll appear between the bookshelves and Lan Wangji will have to interact with them. Are children even allowed in this library? He has never seen one here! Though just because Wei Ying brought a child, doesn’t mean it is allowed.

Then he feels bad about thinking about children as things to be “allowed” or “forbidden”. But he might be panicking a little, because he didn’t expect this and he does not know how to interact with children and what if Wei Ying’s son hates him? What if he accidentally makes him cry? What if -

Oh no, there’s Wei Ying’s hair… and there’s the rest of him. He’s holding A-Yuan perched on his hip and carrying a very large, very stuffed messenger bag.

As soon as Wei Ying spots him, he smiles one of his beautiful smiles.

“Lan Zhan! You’re here!”

“Mn.”

He wants to say more, wants to say “I missed you yesterday” and “I was worried” and “Please, let’s exchange phone numbers, I cannot do this again”. But A-Yuan is staring at him, eyes huge in his little face and Lan Wangji isn’t sure what to do.

Wei Wuxian laughs and then comes closer and sits down on the table again. Lan Wangji doesn’t dare to break eye contact with A-Yuan. Wei Wuxian seems to find this hilarious.

“Lan Zhan, are you scared? Don’t worry, A-Yuan is the sweetest kid! He won’t destroy your books or disturb the peace of the library! A-Yuan, say hello to Lan-gege?”

A-Yuan stares some more and Lan Wangji tries his best to look friendly and approachable. He doesn’t have a lot of practice though, so he’s sure he’s doing it wrong.

“Hello.” A-Yuan even gives a little wave. His stare has become less threatening too.

“Hello, A-Yuan. Nice to meet you.” Lan Wangji awkwardly returns the wave and then looks at Wei Wuxian, hoping that he takes a hold of the conversation.

“Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry about yesterday.” Wei Ying is now perched on top of the table, sitting on Lan Wangji’s notes and his thigh almost touches Lan Wangji’s fingertips. A-Yuan has grabbed a strand of Wei Ying’s hair and is in the process of chewing on it. “Were you waiting for me? Did Huaisang call you?”

Whenever Wei Wuxian asks several questions at once, he finds it overwhelming. But he is glad that Wei Wuxian never expects him to actually answer all of them.

“Were you waiting for me?” He’d been waiting for Wei Ying for all his life and hadn’t even realised it.

“Mn.”

“That’s good, that’s good. Ah, it was just a bit chaotic at home and poor A-Ning isn’t feeling so well at the moment and needs some peace and quiet and the daycare is closed this week and obviously there’s no peace and quiet when me and the radish are around and-”

“Gege quiet!”

A-Yuan puts his hands over Wei Ying’s mouth. Lan Wangji makes a soft noise of approval. Wei Wuxian puts on a look of exaggerated betrayal.

“Shh!”

This is followed by a short interlude of Wei Wuxian opening his mouth to make weird growling noises and A-Yuan trying to cover his mouth with his little hands, while switching between laughing and shushing him. Neither of them is quiet, but Lan Wangji simply enjoys watching the scene. Until he finally says: “We’re in a library.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, of course.” Wei Ying turns to look at him, lowers his voice an insignificant amount and somehow manages to talk casually while moving his head around to evade A-Yuans flailing hands. “We’re leaving now, don’t worry. Just wanted to… well, I wanted… to make sure that you’re informed-” (“Gege quiet!”) “Not that I expect you to care what we’re up to, but just in case you were… “

“I care.”

“Oh…” For a moment, Wei Ying simply stares at him and it is long enough for A-Yuan to hit his mark. Wei Wuxian extracts his lips from A-Yuans grip and smiles at Lan Wangji. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re so sweet. Of course you care when someone misses their library time! Anyway, we’re off to the playground now, I think, maybe visit some ants-” (“Ants!”) “Do you want to… no, what am I saying, you’re busy and you don’t like grass, I imagine that sand is even worse.”

But Lan Wangji wants. He wants so much that he ignores his need to think about his actions for a long while before they happen, closes his laptop, packs his bag and gets up.

Lan Wanji stands in front of Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan, both lifting their heads to stare up at him, and gives them a determined nod.

“Playground.”

“Huh? Lan Zhan, do you mean…?”

“Let’s go.”

Wei Wuxian looks as though he would have fallen over, if he wasn’t already sitting. Before Lan Wangji can start thinking instead of going ahead with this reckless spontaneity, he turns around and leaves.

Lan Wangji hasn’t been on a playground since his mother died. (Lan Qiren didn’t have an explicit rule against it but that’s more due to the fact that even the idea of asking Lan Qiren to go to the playground had seemed ridiculous and scary.)

It feels as though he’s walking in a memory. It is colourful, yet very quiet; they’re the only people here. If he turns around, maybe he’d see six year old Lan Wangji running through the sand into his mother’s arms. Lan Wangji wonders if he also stopped running eventually… He runs on the treadmill, but when was the last time he ran because his heart wasn’t patient enough to walk to his destination?

Loud shrieking pulls him out of his thoughts and he turns to see A-Yuan basically throwing himself out of Wei Wuxian’s arms and running towards a little house with a slide as fast as his legs will carry him.

Wei Wuxian drops his bag onto a bench with a heavy thud and then sits down with a slightly lighter thud. Lan Wangji painfully realises that he is wearing white trousers and everything on this playground is very sandy, even the benches. Well, it is too late to back out now. Not that he wants to. He was going to do laundry tonight anyway.

He gingerly sits down next to Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian demonstrates once more that he cannot sit properly. He turns around to Lan Wangji, puts one foot on the bench and rests his arm on his knee. Because he’s wearing shorts again, Lan Wangji can see the tiny mole on his knee. Lan Wangji determinedly moves his gaze to Wei Wuxian’s face, which is only marginally better, because Wei Ying is smiling at him.

“Lan Zhan, you’re using this as an excuse to take a break from studying, aren’t you? Even Lan Wangji must get bored in the library eventually, right?”

Lan Wangji frowns slightly. Yes, he should be working on his paper instead of irresponsibly abandoning it, before lunch even, and spending time on a playground. However, he’s still unwilling to look closer at his rash decision, lest he can manage to talk himself out of it, so he says:

“Is it alright to let A-Yuan play unsupervised?”

“Huh?” Wei Ying turns around to look at A-Yuan, who is using the slide over and over again while talking to himself in a language Lan Wangji doesn’t understand. “Oh, he’s fine! You’ll hear it if we need to give him attention, don’t worry.”

Lan Wangji is not convinced, but he’s not a father.

Wei Wuxian is looking at him again, smiling and not saying anything, which is very unnerving.

“Wei Ying.”

“Hm?”

“Is your… is Wen Ning feeling alright?”

“You’re so sweet, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying puts his hand on Lan Wangji’s arm. The tips of his fingers brush against the sensitive skin in the crook of his arm. It’s difficult to notice anything else. “So nice of you to worry, but Wen Ning is fine. He just needs a few days of rest and quiet!”

Wei Wuxian’s hand is still on his arm. He’s sure Wei Ying doesn’t mean anything by it, doesn’t collect every touch to keep them close to his heart. Wei Ying’s touches are not deliberate, they come naturally to him and usually, Lan Wangji envies him a bit for it.

However, they’re currently talking about Wei Wuxian’s (probable) husband. In light of this, his fluttering heart is a shameless thing.

Lan Wangji moves his arm slightly to the right, so that Wei Ying’s touch is no more than a lingering memory on his skin.

A frown hushes across Wei Ying’s brow and the fingers that had just been touching Lan Wangji curl up into a fist. But as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, and Wei Ying’s expression is as clear and sunny as the sky above them again.

“GEGE LOOK!”

They both turn around, just in time to witness A-Yuan flying down the slide headfirst, on his belly. He lands with his face smushed in the sand. Wei Wuxian jumps to his feet. Lan Wangji’s heart skips several beats. For a second, everything is quiet and then… A-Yuan lifts his head, sand all over his face, and he laughs.

Wei Wuxian laughs too, as he walks over to A-Yuan to wipe the sand from his face.

“A-Yuan, not on your belly! Do you remember the last time, when you got sand in your eye and it hurt?”

A-Yuan doesn’t care for this walk down memory lane and instead runs back to do it all over again. Wei Wuxian rushes over to him and holds on to him, so he can’t slide down.

“Ah, ah! Only on your butt, feet first! Do radishes get planted upside down? No, no, you put the feet in the ground first.”

“Gege mean!”

A-Yuan complains, but lets himself be lifted and turned around until he’s in a proper sliding position again.

“Stopping you from getting hurt is not mean. That is not a convincing argument; you need to do better, if you want to sway me!”

A-Yuan sticks out his tongue, Wei Wuxian replies in kind and Lan Wangji watches them make faces at each other.

Playgrounds are… stressful. When he looks around, he only sees places children could fall down from, or get their hands jammed in. But seeing Wei Ying be so sweet with A-Yuan, who is clearly very fine, has calmed down his heart.

But why does A-Yuan keep calling Wei Ying ‘gege’? Maybe this could lend credibility to Xichen’s “Wei Wuxian is not married” thesis. But…

Wei Wuxian is crouching down at the bottom of the slide, so A-Yuan can slide down right into his arms. It is an image so full of warmth, how could they be anything less than the closest family?

Eventually, A-Yuan loses interest in the slide (to Lan Wangji’s relief) and starts playing in the sand. Wei Wuxian returns to the bench and his improper sitting pose. He also goes back to smiling at Lan Wangji, who had just managed to calm down his heart.

“Wei Ying”

“Lan Zhan.”

“May I ask… Why does A-Yuan call you ‘gege’”?

Wei Ying looks terribly confused and Lan Wangji’s palms begin to sweat. Has he overlooked something very obvious, has he somehow insulted him, is this an improper question, has he-

“Well, he’s two - all boys are gege to him.”

Mhm. He supposes that that is possible.

“Besides, what else should he call me? Shushu? Xiongzhang? No, no, I’d feel so old!”

“... Mn.”

He should ask now. He really should. “Wei Ying, is this your son? Are you married?” There’s plenty of evidence pointing at the possibility that maybe it isn’t so. But the moment passes and Lan Wangji stays silent. Would it really make a difference if he knew for sure?

A-Yuan calls for Wei Wuxian again after a while, to show him his sand creations. Wei Wuxian is appropriately impressed. And then…

“Tall-gege!”

They’re both looking at him, expectantly. Lan Wangji realises that he must be ‘Tall-gege’.

“Tall-gege, come!”

Lan Wangji slowly gets up and walks over to where they are both sitting in the sand. He does not sit down, but crouches down next to them, careful to not mess up his trousers more than necessary.

“What can I do for you, A-Yuan?”

“Cake!”

A-Yuan points at a pile of sand in front of him. Ah, that must be the cake.

“That appears to be a finely baked cake.” It has a good colour and is decorated with little pebbles. Lan Wangji is not an expert, but he thinks as far as sand cakes go, this is a very good example. “Well done.”

A-Yuan stares at him, waiting. Lan Wangji glances at Wei Ying, unsure what is expected of him. Wei Ying mouthes “Eat” at him and then makes a gesture that could be interpreted as eating. Oh.

“A-Yuan, this looks wonderful, but I can’t eat sand.”

A-Yuan’s expression is crestfallen and Lan Wangji desperately looks at Wei Ying again.

“Ahaha, Lan Zhan just doesn’t know how to properly eat one of your delicious cakes! Don’t worry, I’ll help him!”

And then Wei Ying pretends to take a piece of cake and holds the pretend cake in front of Lan Wangji’s lips. Lan Wangji takes a pretend bite of the pretend cake. He should feel silly, but instead there’s heat crawling up his neck. Wei Ying grins and winks at Lan Wangji. His ears feel hot, too.

“Lan Zhan, how is it?”

“... Wonderful.” He’s still looking at Wei Wuxian as he says this. Wei Ying slowly lowers his hand, blinking rapidly and then busies himself with helping A-Yuan make more sand cakes.

After baking a few more, A-Yuan insists that only Lan Wangji is allowed to taste his creations, not Wei Wuxian (despite loud protests and lots of pouting), and Lan Wangji never knew that pretend cake could taste so sweet.

Eventually, they move on to eating real food. Lan Wangji shares his lunch with both of them, though he’s glad to see that Wei Wuxian isn’t feeding prawn chips to A-Yuan and brought some fruits and milk bread. When they’re done, A-Yuan becomes… moody and refuses to get down from Wei Wuxian’s lap.

“Ah, I think it’s time for us to leave. A-Yuan needs his nap. I hope the bus isn’t full; it’s not easy to stand with a sleeping child on your arm, haha!”

“I live close.” Lan Wangji’s mouth really is reckless today.

“You’re so lucky! You can sleep much longer, even if you have an early class! Ah, I’m so jealous.”

“I mean… “ Wei Ying misunderstanding gives him an out. One he doesn’t want to take. “A-Yuan can take his nap at my apartment.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open and Lan Wangji resolutely looks at A-Yuan, whose eyes are getting smaller and smaller.

“Lan Zhan, are you serious?”

“Only seven minutes walk.”

With that, he stands up, dusts off his trousers and holds a hand out to Wei Ying.

“Bag or A-Yuan - what should I carry?”

And that’s how Lan Wangji ends up carrying a sleeping A-Yuan back to his flat, Wei Wuxian chatting happily at his side. He should be reckless more often.

[the-pallid-king]

“What? Chad? No. But like I would tell you if I was after all those threats.” But really, no. Still. He wouldn’t tell you. He blinks though and throws you a dry glance, not at all amused.

That question and the following statement make him smile. He kind of wants to touch you while he’s at it, but not with their current audience. “Nah, I already just assume you’re thinking it most of the time.” He almost chokes on a snort about that afraid comment. “You wouldn’t even be the first.” He glances at Karin and snorts again. “Remember Yuzu’s first boyfriend.”

And since she can’t see or hear him, he doesn’t have to worry about pissing her off, but she does miss the point of why you’re saying that and begins very seriously and with much heartfelt assurance telling you that they aren’t as bad as they seem and that you don’t need to be scared at all, while Ichigo tries not to snicker.

Karin almost chokes she snorts so hard. Which earns her a reproachful look from Yuzu, while Isshin just stuffs food in his mouth and smiles vague and indulgent.

He flicks a glance to you when you assure Yuzu you believe she knows how to handle herself and mutters, “Yeah, just remember you said you’d kill.” Just in case it ever comes up and he’s not around. Though he’s sort of, vaguely, morbidly, almost not serious. Maybe. He won’t be sad if you misunderstand though.

Isshin stands and goes to bring a pitcher of water back to the table, looking for all the world like he’s trying hard not to hear the conversation. Probably because Karin and Yuzu used to rail him mercilessly about staying away from their boyfriends and out of their business. Something which never worked for Ichigo, even when he didn’t even have any prospects and beat the old man unconscious.

Ichigo pauses mid bite when you laugh and answer Karin, thinking even you might end up with a cero hole if you try calling Grimmjow that. But it’s kind of funny and he’s always up for watching you kick Grimmjow around, so he hopes he doesn’t miss it.

He ignores the way Karin sits back with a gleam in her eye and a rare expression of approval. “That’s the one that used to beat up Ichi-nii, right?”

“No.” Except you go and say that thing about him calling you King, and he’s pretty sure that’s a reference to what went on upstairs, which makes his mouth fall open while he tries to think of something to say back. He’s never going to admit that he said anything of the sort. He’s so affronted, he can’t even keep denying Karin‘s comment about him getting beaten up. But in the end, there’s nothing he can say without admitting it. So he grits out, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t want guys fightin’ over you?” That’s probably good honestly because it’s pretty obvious who would win. It doesn’t escape his notice that instead of telling him not to underestimate your friend, like you did with the scaring away thing, you’re instead protecting him. He nudges you a little, “I’m kiddin’ anyway. I wouldn’t hurt any of your friends without a really good reason. And hurting your friends even if you did like them romantically wouldn’t be a good reason, because it wouldn’t help him earn your favor back. It’d only hurt his chances worse. 

He smirks, nodding; you’re not wrong. He doesn’t really think it in those exact words, but the appreciation is still there. He starts to frown curiously about this first boyfriend that was apparently afraid of your family, though he can honestly see why that might be appropriate, but then Yuzu is offering comfort and he blinks over at her, completely unable to be anything other than gently amused. “I just spent three years surrounded by hollows that want nothin’ more than to eat each other. Your family isn’t bad at all. I’m not really afraid of you guys, I like all of you.” He pretty much just ignores your and Karin’s reactions.

Though he does glance back over at that reminder. “I’m aware. Why would I take back what I said? I meant it.” He’s not sure what you’re getting at, if maybe you think he shouldn’t have said it, or if maybe you think she might actually take him up on it. Or maybe you meant it exactly the way you said it and you want him to remember he offered to kill for her. Pushy boys can’t settle well with a protective older brother. It’s not like he’d lose sleep over doing it for you.

He watches Isshin stand, feeling the vague twinge of unease at being seated while others of notable power are standing around him, but it’s easy enough to ignore. He finally picks up his chopsticks, somewhat grateful that no one seems terribly invested in what he does or doesn’t do with this plate of food in front of him.

Grinning, he starts to answer Karin’s question, but is interrupted by your emphatic no. He turns back to her with an even wider grin. “Hm.” You kind of answered the question for him, but he can’t help but tease you so he nods anyway, “Grimmjow really likes tellin’ those stories. I’ve heard about it at least a dozen times.”

Watching your struggle, he smirks a smug expression, very patient while you mentally trip over a come back until you settle on that poor excuse of a denial. But he’s not too interested in pushing those particular buttons down here in front of your family, so he shrugs easily. “Hypothetically, then.” Obviously there’s nothing hypothetical about him liking it when you called him King, but he doesn’t actually need to point that out because you already know it.

[dearlazerbunny]

Business Deals

Pairings: Kylo x Reader

Genre/Rating: CEO!AU, Rated M for smut

Words: 5000

Summary: for the lovely @mauvemountains, who requested some CEO smut! It went on a little longer than I planned, but I loved this idea. I hope you enjoy, and happy birthday sweetie!!

“Oh goddamnit.” Kylo is at the hotel bar with a bourbon on the rocks when he spots trouble at the other end of the room. “Of course she’d be here.”

Armitage doesn’t even have to look up from his drink to know who he’s talking about. “I thought they were slated to speak at another conference.”

“They were, I double checked- I can’t have anything distracting me.” Despite his statement, his eyes wander over to you nevertheless. He takes in your tight black pencil skirt and grey blazer that hugs you in all the right places; how your hair falls over the side of your shoulder as you pull it free from its bun-

“Kylo! Get ahold of yourself!” Armitage hisses from across the table. “What would the investors think if they knew you were mooning over a rival company’s CEO?”

Kylo’s eyes snap back to his business partner. “You’re right, you’re right. As always.”

The redhead sighs. “You need to get a handle on this infatuation, Kylo. It’s beginning to run on the edge of childish.”

“What, and become a stone-hearted bastard like you?”

The other man takes a sip of his drink then bares his teeth in a grin. “Exactly. Much more efficient that way.”

Kylo wants to groan in annoyance but takes another pull from his glass to cover it up. He knows it’s childish, and ridiculous, and dangerous, and all sorts of other adjectives that should turn his heart away from you in an instant. But he can’t seem to get you out of his head. Ever since he’d seen you speak at an innovators conference- oh god, what was it, two years ago? Three?- he’s been completely taken in with your voice, the way you articulate your ideas, the cleverness with which you maneuver through the corporate world. He’d been a nobody then, just a hopeful wanting to make  it big like those he idolized on stage. But since then, his own company has taken off- in direct competition with your company, of course. That pretty much crushed his dreams of ever getting anywhere near you for good.

“Go over the list of investors with me again.” He nods at Armitage’s black briefcase sitting beside him. This is the most important conference of the year, with hundreds of potential new clients and investors swarming the hotel- he can’t afford to lose his focus. Not now. Not when so much potential is at stake.

As much as he might want to.

“Glad to see you’ve come to your senses.” Armitage gives him a professional, approving tilt of the chin. “So the first and most promising group is Organa Tech…”

“Oh goddamnit.” You walk into the hotel bar pulling the pins out of your hair, wanting nothing more than a relaxing evening before your keynote speech to kick off the weeklong conference tomorrow. So much for that. “Of course he’d be here.”

Poe doesn’t even look up from the email he’s sending to ask who you’re talking about. “I saw they were on the roster.”

You stare at him. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

He sighs. “I was hoping you wouldn’t see him until after your speech tomorrow, so your head wouldn’t fly off your shoulders. You need to stay focused.”

He’s right, of course. But as you’re walking up to get the bartender’s attention, you can’t help but sneak a glance at the tall, suited, handsome man sitting in the booth across the room. Despite his size, his suits always fit him immaculately, and those curls are just begging you to run your hands through them-

Your train of thought is thankfully cut off by Poe pressing an ice cold glass into your hand. The cold shocks you back into reality, much to his amusement. “Are you going to be okay? I feel like this is getting out of hand.”

You glare at him. “Nothing shakes me Poe, remember? I’m a stone giant. I’m infallible.”

“Until he walks into the room.”

You resist the urge to smack him very unprofessionally on the arm. You hate it when he makes a jab at your silly crush on the other CEO. And believe me, you know it’s silly- and ridiculous, and dangerous- but you just can’t seem to avoid the overwhelming feelings that crash over you whenever you see him. Kylo Ren is the enemy, for god’s sake. When his business took off two years ago, your bottom line took a substantial hit. But when you first met him, he wasn’t any of that- just a newbie entrepreneur with big dreams and a cheap suit. Kind of like you, when you started out almost a decade ago. Maybe that’s why you were initially drawn to him. That, and his gorgeous brown eyes, and they way he’s incapable of keeping his feelings from running across his face despite his intimidating nature. So when you see him, he’s never a rival, never the competition. Just a hopeful who wants it all. That’s probably your problem. But you can’t get that image of him out of your head.

“Earth to Y/N.” Poe waves a hand in front of your face. He leads you to a seat on the exact opposite end of the room than the guy you’re mooning over, which probably isn’t a coincidence. “Seriously, you’ve got to stop this. If anyone ever finds out you’ve got the hots for this guy…”

“I know, I know. The gossip mongers would be all over it.” You sigh. “I just… can’t seem to help myself.”

“Ah, love that will never be.” He takes a long pull of his drink. “So sad, so tragic.”

“I hired you to be my assistant, not a damn poet.”

Poe grins. “Poe, poet. It does have a nice ring to it.”

“Shut the hell up.”

…

You breathe a sigh of relief as you walk off the stage to resounding applause. Your speech had gone off without a hitch, which almost surprised you given your extreme nerves about this being televised all over the globe. Luckily, your fears were unfounded. Poe claps you on the shoulder backstage with a winning smile on his face. “You did amazing!”

“Thanks.” You smile at him exhaustedly. After an hour of all eyes on you, your nice, quiet hotel room is sounding really good. “I’m just going to head back to my room for a bit…”

“Oh no you don’t.” He glances at his watch tucked into his sleeve. “You’ve got a reception to go to. Everyone is waiting to congratulate you.”

Damn. You try to put a little more energy into your step as you follow him down the corridor. “Sounds good.”

He glances at you. “I know it’s not what you want right now, but the exposure will be good for us.”

“You’re right, as always.” You straighten your suit jacket. “Let’s do this.”

The reception is being held in the same bar you had a drink in last night, but this time with nicely dressed waiters and waitresses circling around with trays full of decadent looking food and glasses full of bubbling champagne. A low murmur fills the room, no doubt talking of business deals and who’s outdoing who.

“I’m going to get a drink.” You nod to the bar as Poe snags a glass off a passing tray. “Try not to seduce as many girls as last time, hm?”

“Y/N, I’m shocked.” He holds a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I am always the epitome of professional.”

You snort. “”Yeah, right. That’s why you slipped your business card onto that waitress’ tray.”

“Guilty.” He looks off in the direction of said waitress. “I’ll meet up with you tomorrow?”

“Eight o’clock sharp.” You nod. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“The same to you.”

“Please, I’m making the requisite rounds and going straight to bed.”

“All work and no play,” he says in a singsong voice.

You roll your eyes. “Goodbye, Poe.”

He salutes and heads off in the direction of the blonde. You sigh and take a sip of your drink. You knew these things were always full of scandalous hookups- seriously, it’s like nobody grew up past the tenth grade- but you’d never partaken in any of the, ahem, festivities. You’re above that- you have a job to do and that’s it.

“Ms. Y/L/N.” Someone speaks behind you in a low voice. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your speech.”

You put on your best polite smile and turn to face the speaker… only to come face to face with none other than Kylo Ren. You immediately falter. Come on, Y/N. Get ahold of yourself. “Th-thank you.” You take a drink to hopefully settle your nerves. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Then, because you apparently have no chill whatsoever, you quirk an eyebrow and add, “learn anything?”

He grins at you. “A thing or two, as always. I never fail to learn something from you.”

You blush at the complement, hoping he doesn’t notice. “And I look forward to your talk as well.” He’s slated to speak tomorrow at around noon. “Perhaps you’ll teach me a thing or two.”

“Doubtful.” He tosses a piece of black hair out of his eyes. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.” You nod at his noticeably empty side. “Where’s the red-headed ghoul who’s always strapped to your side?”

He raises an eyebrow and surveys the bar. “Probably off schmoozing with a waiter somewhere.”

You’re surprised when a laugh bubbles out of your mouth- and at Ren’s reaction, who smiles at the sound. “Now why is it both our partners are always having more fun than we are?”

“Hm. Because we’re supposed to be the uptight, professional CEOs?”

“Makes you want to say fuck it all and move into a shack somewhere.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “I’ve had the same thought once or twice.”

“After only two years? And you’re already a burnout?” You tease. “I expected more from you, Ren.”

He looks a little surprised. “Wow, you know my name. Color me shocked.”

You blink. “You stole nearly a fifth of my sales in the first month you opened up shop. Of course I know your name.”

“Ah. And here I was hoping it would be for more amicable reasons.”

Now what in the world does he mean by that? He couldn’t… could he? No. that’s insane.

Unless…

“It was a pleasure talking to you.” You hold out your hand and he takes it, shaking it firmly. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Likewise.” He nods pleasantly at you and wanders off. You have half a mind to stop him, turn him around, and yank back that hotel room number you had probably not-so-subtly slipped into his palm. You tip your head back and swallow the rest of your glass in one swoop. He’ll probably think your crazy. Maybe laugh at you, probably most definitely laugh about it with Armitage. God, what if he tells someone else? You look around the bar, which sometimes feels like it’s full of people just waiting to take you down. What you did was beyond risky, and probably wouldn’t pay off in any sense of the word.

But if it did… a small shiver rolls down your spine. A girl can dream.

…

It isn’t until he gets back to his own room that Kylo finds a wadded up piece of paper in his pocket, with the name of a nearby hotel and room number written on it. Someone must’ve passed it off to him and he’d stuck it in his pocket unconsciously. But who? He thinks back over the evening. His hand was usually glued to a glass of champagne, which was giving him a lovely haze right about now.

The only person he’d shook hands with was you.

Wait… what?

Had you slipped him this? Was this your room? Was this an invitation?

It was probably just a mistake. He’s about to throw it in the wastebasket when he glances at it again. What if it wasn’t? It’d be pretty difficult to absentmindedly lose your reminder of what hotel you were in in someone else’s palm.

Did you… You couldn’t possibly think of him like he thinks about you. That’d be impossible. That’d be… absolutely unbelievable.

But what if-

Okay. Think of the pros and cons here. Cons: if he shows up at your door, it could have been a mistake. He’d probably look desperate, and she’d probably laugh at him. His dreams would probably be crushed once again.

Pros… well. They speak for themselves. A small shiver runs its way down his spine just thinking of the possibilities.

That’s it. Decision made.

“This is room 405. I need a taxi as quickly as possible.”

…

You’ve been pacing frantically in your room mulling over your decision for the better part of the night, stealing sips from the hotel minibar, when there’s a knock on the door.

Had you ordered room service? You didn’t think so. You uncover the peephole in the door and almost choke on your own breath when you see Ren standing there, hair mussed and wet and with a raincoat thrown over his shoulders like he left in a haste. Quickly, you unlatch the door and pull it open.

The two of you stand there blinking at each other for a minute. And then, stupidly, all you can think to say is, “you’re wet.”

A little half grin appears on his face. “That tends to happen when it’s raining outside.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t even noticed.

“So…” he shifts awkwardly, then pulls out what looks to be your note from his front pocket. “I need to know if this was a mistake or not.”

This is it. This is your chance to say oh, sorry, I must’ve lost it, so sorry you came all the way over here, say goodnight and shut the door in his face.

But hell, you’re tired of being responsible. And if he came all the way over here in a rainstorm, he must’ve had a damn good reason. So you look him square in the eye and say, “do you want to come in?”

He runs a hand through his wet hair, spraying droplets everywhere, and for one terrifying heartbeat you think he’s going to say no. But instead, you stand aside and he walks in, and you shut the door behind him.

Once he’s inside, some sense works its way into your brain and you toss him a clean towel from the bathroom. “Thanks.” He runs it over his hair in typical messy boy fashion and goddamn why is this man so attractive. He notices you staring. “Thinking about something?”

“Um.” Now’s your chance. Say something witty and sexy that’ll make him putty in your hands. Or something like that. “I think the wet hair works on you.”

Slowly, he raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Mhm.”

He takes off his coat, revealing the same suit he was wearing earlier. You hadn’t changed either, so you were still in your business dress. “So…”

All at once, you laugh, and cover your hands with your face. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

Luckily, by the smile on his face, he seems to think your admission is cute. “Let’s start with, why am I here?”

“To… talk business deals?” You say weakly, not wanting to play the cards you’ve been holding close to your chest for three years now.

Then, wonder of wonders, he walks over to you and leans over so close you can smell the cologne on his neck and the bourbon on his breath. “I sincerely hope that’s a lie.”

“Yes,” you breathe, the combination of alcohol and closeness making for a heady combination.

“Excellent.” Giving you plenty of time to pull away, he slowly raises a hand to the back of your neck, sliding his hand under your hair. It’s… god, it’s good, and you haven’t even done anything yet. When you don’t back away, angles his head and puts his lips on yours in the gentlest of barely-there kisses.

That’s enough to strike a hunger in your belly. You kiss him back, but definitely not as softly as he kissed you. Grunting in surprise, he pulls you closer while you throw your arms around his neck, pushing yourself into him for all you’re worth. He feels strong, and angular, and exactly like someone you want all over you right this second.

He pulls away after a minute, breathing hard, and you run a hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face. “Sorry. Too much?”

“God, no. I’m just wondering why we haven’t done this sooner. How long have you…?”

You slide your hands down to his very well defined waist, tugging up at his shirt so your fingers can slip under the hem and dance their way across his skin. “For a very long time.”

“Damn,” he breathes, and you pull him down to kiss him again.

This time the both of you are rough and heedless, caution thrown to the wind. His teeth graze your bottom lip and when a whimper escapes your throat, he gently sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly, ratcheting your want up to 11. You return the favor by sliding your tongue into his mouth, which he gladly accepts. He tastes like bourbon and champagne, and the promise of something really, really excellent.

His hands have been wandering everywhere, but not quite where you want them. He hesitates at your breasts and your butt, not sure how far you want to take this. So you take his hands and place them firmly on your ass, giving it a squeeze, and break away just long enough to say, “Listen up, Ren, I did not invite you here to be cautious or to think of the consequences. Now, do you want me or not?”

“Fucking hell.” At first you think you’ve gone too far, but then he practically throws you onto the bed in the center of the room, climbing up on top of you and pressing long, wet kisses to the side of your neck. You tilt your head to allow easier access and wrap a hand around his head, finally giving in to the urge to play with it. Experimentally, you tug a bit on the ends, making him moan.

He sits up, straddling you at the hips, and pauses there just to look at you. You look so beautiful splayed out across the bed, face flushed, want clearly in your eyes. And of course, his vantage point couldn’t be better.  He’s already hard, and he rolls his hips a little against yours while he works on the buttons of your blazer, then tugs the shirt you have on over your head.

He’s rewarded with the most gorgeous bra he’s ever seen, mauve and lacy and lookin sinful against your chest. “Fuck,” he mutters, and you smile.

“Like what you see?”

“I’ll like it better when it’s on the floor.”

Holding his gaze,  you reach around the back and undo the clasp, casting it off to the side of the bed.

Your breasts are spectacular. Round and perky but with enough weight to them to make you want to feel them for all they’re worth. Without thinking, Kylo puts his mouth down on your left breast and swirls his tongue around the nipple, making you gasp and arch your back, hands squeezing his shoulders for all you’re worth as sparks of pleasure shoot down to exactly where you want them. He continues for a few minutes, sucking and tonguing  one nipple and rolling the other between his fingertips, and good god you think you’re going to come right then and there-

Swiftly, he gets off the bed and begins tugging at your skirt, which you happily unzip from the side and let him pull down and off of you. Matching lacy panties are revealed against your creamy skin, and you can practically see the lust dripping off of him as he hooks a finger around the waistband and pulls them down towards your feet.

You should be anxious, or self conscious, being laid out bare like this, but he’s looking at you with such a worshipful gaze you can’t help but stretch a little bit, letting him see all your curves and what you have to offer. It feels good, to be wanted this much. His hands caress your stomach, running over your hips and back again, counting each rib that sticks out of your skin with his fingertips. You’re squirming desperately, trying to get some friction to offset the growing heat between your thighs, but it would seem Ren has a plan for that.

Slowly, his hands make their way down to your thighs, scratching at your ass lightly and he squeezes. “Spread those legs for me.” His voice is husky and low, and it sends a shiver right through you. Obediently, you do so, revealing your sex to him, already glistening with the thought of him touching you exactly how you like it.

He runs a finger from the top of your slit to just above your hole, and when you gasp he adds another, running them through your slick folds. “You’re so wet for me.”

“God, yes, Kylo-”

Abruptly, he kisses you long and hard. “Say my name again.”

“Kylo,” you breathe, and that seems to be his cue, because he pushes off of you, slides your hips down to the edge of the bed, and begins kissing the inside of your thighs, leaving little love bites here and there. “Oh, stars,” you groan, spreading your knees a little wider. He takes that as an invitation to begin swirling his tongue around your clit, which makes you buck your hips in surprise. “Fuck!”

He holds down your hips with both hands, tonguing your clit lightly, then harder and with more pressure, alternating patterns and pressure until you’re not sure which way is up anymore. Then, as if that weren’t enough, he slides one finger into you, then another. You’re so wet it doesn’t even hurt, and you instinctively clench around his fingers, trying to get more sensation out of the deal.

You can feel his grin as he continues sucking on your clit, fingers working in and out of you, slick with your wet. “Jesus, Kylo, I’m- I’m not going to last like this-!”

“Good.” He blows a small stream of air onto your clit, cold and good, before once more giving it a kiss. “It’s okay. You can let go.”

That does it. As his fingers curl to hit just the right spot, you rocket up to orgasm, putting your hands in his hair and tugging for all you’re worth. Stars explode behind your eyes and your breathing is erratic and heavy as he lightly gives you a few more kisses around your sex and on your thighs.

“Fuck.” You can’t do much more than lay on the bed and breathe, letting the sensations wash through you in waves. “I want you so bad.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmurs, looking at your body loosely splayed on the bed like you haven’t a care in the world.

“Oh really?”

“Since the moment I met you.”

“Well, at lest we’re in agreement then.”

That stops him for a second and you whine at the loss of heat. “You’ve… wanted me?”

“Is that not obvious?” You sit up and begin tugging at his belt, letting it fall to the floor, and pop his button and fly until you can see the head of hip peeking out through his boxers. “What else do I need to do to prove it?”

He seems to be at a loss for words, which you have to admit, you very much enjoy. Grinning, you tug down his trousers and underwear in one swoop until his cock is free, already hard and waiting for you. “All this for me? I’m flattered.”

“God- can you just- please-” You hum as your take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking lightly on the tip. “Ohhhh, fuck, fuck me.” His voice is practically guttural.

“All in good time, love.” You start at the base of his shaft and lick upwards, curling your tongue around his dick until it’s slick and you can use your hand as well as your mouth. Your tongue works the underside of him while your hand strokes him, head bobbing up and down as you take him into your mouth again and again. Your free hand wanders to his balls and gently plays with them until his knees are practically shaking.

“Stop, stop.” You pop off of him with a sinfully wet noise, and he groans. “I can’t last much longer.”

You lay back on the bed, back flat, knees in the air as you spread your legs once again. “Then come have me.”

He stares at you for just a moment before crawling up to meet you, slowly, like he doesn’t want to muss the sheets. You’re both breathing hard, and the air is thick and smells like sex. He pumps his hand around his cock once, twice, before lining up at your entrance and smoothly pushing into you.

You hiss, feeling him stretch you out so good. He’s hovering over you, like he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you pull him down until your stomachs are touching skin-to-skin. “I want all of you,” you whisper, and he groans before dragging himself back out of you and plunging back in.

It’s simultaneously sweet and rough. One moment he’ll be pounding in and out of you, the next he’ll be rocking his hips back and forth to where he’s fully inside you, filling you up so deep you can feel his entire length inside you. There’s lots of kisses, and some laughter, and a lot of noises that escape both of your mouths. You’ve never been super vocal, but with every thrust another noise of pleasure falls from your lips, and Kylo is eating it up, using your noises to guide himself on the best way of pleasuring you.

Simply put, it’s heaven, the two of you pressed to get her so sinfully perfect it’s like you were made to be there. You can feel his abs curling as he thrusts in and out of you, and your hands scramble for purchase on his back, trying to find some grip against this onslaught of sensation.

Your name falls off his lips like a symphony, so sweetly you wonder where he’s been all your life. Then with one final thrust, he’s coming apart inside you, shaking as he fills you with himself. After a few more minutes of him teasing your clit with his fingers, you fall over the edge once again, this time in his arms. He holds you as the stars return and then settle, leaving you humming with an energy you haven’t felt in years.

“Holy fuck,” he says softly, and your only response is to curl into him, head resting on his shoulder, lips pressed into his neck. He wraps his arm tighter around you protectively.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” you whisper.

He hums. “Can I… can I stay here?”

You smile against his skin. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

He sinks back into the bed like he’s been waiting to hear those words. “Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”

You press further into his side, soaking up his body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” When you kiss again, it’s like a piece you didn’t know was missing is suddenly there right in front of you.

…

He does his speech in the same suit he wore yesterday, but no one seems to notice. Clapping loudly as he walks off the stage, you make a beeline for backstage, wanting nothing more than to just see him again. The events of last night keep playing through your mind, a mixture of sweetness and desperation that could only be categorized as love.

“Congratulations.” He smiles as he sees you, a technician taking the mic off his collar.

“Learn anything?”

“Maybe a thing or two.” You grin at him, going up to give him a kiss, which he eagerly returns.

“Oh, shit.” Another voice speaks from behind you and you both break away, only to find Poe and Armitage side by side looking at the two of you with a combination of pity and relief.

“Ha!” Poe pokes the redhead in the arm. “Told you it would happen here.”

Armitage sighs and pulls out his wallet, handing a crisp twenty dollar bill over to the beaming assistant. “I really needed you to hold out a little longer, Y/N,” he says dryly, which brings flames to your cheeks in a level of embarrassment you didn’t think was possible.

But Kylo wraps his arm around your shoulder and gives you a peck on your cheek, effectively calming your nerves. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. We all know you wanted to see this happen.”

“Guilty.” Armitage, the more reserved of the two, has a small smile on his face, while Poe looks like he’s about to break out into song and dance. “I happened to see that the both of you are free for several hours before your next event. Do with the time what you please.”

As the assistants wander away, an unlikely duo united in their bosses’ hopeless crushes, the two of you begin to giggle as you fall into his arms. You’ve never been happier in your life.

“My place or yours?”

You kiss him on the corner of his mouth. “Wherever you are, I’m there.”

[allthekpopimagines]

NCT Greek Gods!AU Part 2

Word Count: 1459 

Hello my children!! Sorry if that was weird....but anyways here is Part 2 of my Greek God AU for my ub group NCT. This was more of a filler chapter but this does have some important parts to it!! I promise. Sorry for the late updates guys, college has been KICKING my butt.....but I promise I’m trying to keep you guys up to date on this series. I mean, you guys are the first ones reading it so. But I hope you all enjoy this part. Part 3 will be up very soon, promise! I love you all so much! <3 -Admin M

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

“She was one of the rare ones, so effortlessly herself, and the world loved her for it.” -Atticus 

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

This is ridiculous. I look around Jaemin’s room and I see a lot of photos of him and another guy or an animal. I grab one of the photos and I see Nana and 17 other boys with in a family-looking photo. I see that Nana treasures a lot of these things because it’s mainly what he has that are consuming his room. I sigh as I sit on his bed not knowing what to do. Should I come downstairs? No, Nana said to stay up here until he called me back down or when he came to get me again. Are they talking about me? Probably.....Jaemin did bring me here so they could explain things to me. I don’t feel very comfortable here....maybe I should leave. What if they’re planning on how they’re going to kill me....because Nana knew what to do and say to get rid of that creature from before. Okay, Perry, you’re overthinking this too much. But I do need to leave from this place, I feel like I’m a trapped prisoner here. New plan, get out of here before they come upstairs looking for me. 

I look around for anything that could get me out of this room. I could just walk out of the door but then they would see me and I would never be able to escape. There’s a window but I’m in the second floor of the building. If I jump out I would be committing suicide. I look around Nana’s room in order to find a way out of this house. I go into Nana’s closet and I think of a way to get out. I smile and get to work quickly but quietly. 

<<--->>

Jaemin’s POV: 

“Hyung...what’s going on?” Jisung says concerned. Jeno pipes in, “Who was that? Who did I basically tackle?!” Mark then gets confused and asks, “Wait you tackled someone?” Haechan adds, “Wait he doesn't tackle you?” I sigh in anger and I yell to get their attention, “Yah! Listen.” They all get quiet and I can finally talk, “Do you guys remember the daughter of Demeter?” 

“You mean Persephone?” Chenle adds in. Renjun says, “Man, I’m sad about what happened to her and her mother.” I fidget in my chair and I then say, “What if I told you guys that Persephone isn’t dead?” They all get confused. Mark speaks up, “That’s impossible. Her mother is basically dating Hades and Persephone got killed by a Cerberus. Hades’ Cerberus to be exact.” I shake my head and they all get confused, “What’re you saying Jaemin?” Haechan asks. I sigh and I collect myself before saying, “Persephone isn’t dead. I know that you guys think she is....but that’s her, the girl that’s in my room right now is Persephone.” Chenle tries to run upstairs to see, “Chenle! Stop!” Mark says.

I look at Mark and I mentally make a note to thank him later. As Chenle walks back to his seat Mark adds, “You could scare her more than she already is,” Mark turns to me, “How did you get her to follow you here?” I sigh and I say, “That’s the story. I stopped the Chimera from basically trying to ‘play’ with her but she just thought that she was going to be eaten. She doesn’t know how she saw the Chimera and she doesn’t know how she understands Greek.” Jeno pipes in, “Wait, she doesn't know who she is?” Renjun steps in, “No. Her mother got rid of her memories when she got to see her. She has an adoptive mother and father. She remembers her name but that’s about it.” 

Jisung then says, “You didn’t explain this to her?!” I look at Jisung as if he’s crazy, “Of course not! She doesn’t remember anything and I just say, ‘Oh hey by the way I’m a demigod and so are you and you’re the daughter of Demeter and your mother is in the underworld with Hades.’ Because that won’t sound absolutely insane to her.” I say sarcastically. He looks away. “Well, we have to tell her sometime, she doesn’t even know where she is.” Haechan says. I nod and say, “I’m waiting for Taeyong or Ten to get home. They can probably explain it better to her. Plus, I can’t just keep her here forever without their approval.” The rest of the dreamies agree and I think, what have I done?

<<--->>

I get down to the ground and I brush off my hands while being super quiet as well. I smile at myself and I think, Good job Perry. I take off running in the direction we came from the road and as I’m running I think I hear someone open the front door and I turn around to look but there’s no one. I then run directly into something that had the stiffness of a tree. 

I end up on my butt and I squint up to the figure hoping it’s just a tree and I’m just oblivious. There’s a person’s face right where the sun should be blinding me. The person speaks, “Whoa. Where are you going in such a rush?” I stand up and I try to run but the persons strong grip on my wrist prevents me to do so. I just look up at the person and their vibrant red hair, “Please let me go. I just want to get out of here.” The person looks at me confused, “Are you okay? I won’t hurt you.” I look into his eyes and he has a sincere look in his eyes and I sigh and I try to not pull away and I say, “Not really. I’ve had a rough day and then Jaemin brought me here to this house and now I’m supposed to be waiting for someone but I don’t know if they’re planning to actually kill me or not. I’m just trying to get home and pretend this day didn’t happen because I’m already claimed to be the towns psychopath. But I’m not actually crazy okay? There was a giant creature that was a lion, but also part goat and snake chasing after me. But I’m not crazy because Nana saw it too! He saved me from it.” I say looking down at the end. 

The man is towering over me but to get down to my height he bends over a little and says, “Hey, don’t be so upset.” He lifts my head and he smiles at me, “You’re not crazy. That was a Chimera. There are creatures like that around here.” I get confused and I look at him with concern, “Are you okay sir?” He laughs and says, “I’m fine. But please, call me Taeyong.” I nod a bit and I can’t remember where I heard that name from but I did hear it somewhere. “Hopefully you don’t mind me asking, but what are your parents names?” He asks me. I say with hesitation, “Hanna and James Wilson. Why?” He nods and says, “Do you by chance believe in the gods?” 

I get shocked by the question, “What’d you mean?” He thinks for a minute and says, “The gods. Like Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades?” I shake my head quickly and I say, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. If you’re asking if I believe in God, then the answer would be, kind of.” He laughs a bit and says, “No. Greek mythology....or, what people believe to be Mythology.” I shake my head, “I don’t know anything about that.” He sighs and nods, “Okay well, you said Jaemin brought you here?” I nod and he mumbles, “Hm, I thought it would’ve been Lucas.” He lets go of my wrist and he holds out his hand, “Will you come inside and let me explain to you what’s going on? No lies and I will not let anyone hurt you. Trust me.” I think for a minute and I am intimidated by Taeyong but not in a way that he will hurt me, in a way that he will protect me and I’m not worried about it. I nod and I take his hand. 

We begin to walk a little and he asks, “Oh, one more question. What’s your name?” He looks at me and I look at him and then away as I say, “My name is Persephone but my friends call me Perry.” He stops dead in his tracks and I stop as well, confused on why we stopped walking. The front door of the house flies open and I see Jaemin standing there and he’s out of breath and he makes eye contact with Taeyong and he looks down and then back at Taeyong and he says, “Surprise?” 

[tearlessrain]

all right time for Scorpion King: Book of Souls Liveblog Part 2

we last left bootleg xena and zach mcgowan’s abs in ancient egyptian jello narnia with a mostly naked lady who is also a book and her wildly unnecessary comic relief rock golem friend and there might even have been hints of a plot. I have a feeling it’s only downhill from here.

we’re back to the people who gallop around menacingly on horses and their completely normal bird that keeps getting screentime for some reason. their specific objectives remain unclear, as they have been for the entire movie.

oh hey they found the mad max tribe, maybe there actually was a point to the interlude earlier

shut up mediocre henchman 5 I still hate you

hm, nope, still no point to this. they just rode away again. menacingly.

please someone make the cockney rock golem stop talking

she has been trying to seduce matthias since she first came on screen and despite the fact that they’ve known each other for five minutes I have a sinking feeling that it’s going to work before this movie is over

ookay the rock golem is afraid of fire, that makes sense.

WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT ABOUT THIS BIRD IT’S A NORMAL GODDAMN BIRD IT HASN’T DONE ANYTHING

oh thank god they’re leaving the rock golem behind in jello narnia

living the dream, book lady

yep here we go with the romantic subplot nobody asked for between two people who met like three hours ago at most

is he the only man she’s ever seen because like. talk about setting the bar high

here come the menacing riders, riding menacingly

NOBODY LIKES YOU, MEDIOCRE HENCHMAN 5

oh yes I think xena’s finally gonna kill this fucker

and now we can just watch zach mcgowan kill people which is really what 90% of the movie’s content should have been in the first place

HE KILLED MEDIOCRE HENCHMAN 5 WE ARE FREE.

oh fuck the rock golem is back and they’re bringing him to a market

this movie’s plot is so vague as to be on the verge of doing a full 180 into “dadaist masterpiece”

now I’m not saying I expected better from the direct to DVD fifth sequel of a spinoff of a reboot of The Mummy but it needs to be said just once: why is the scorpion king a white guy

okay there we go back to killing people don’t worry about things like plot and why they all have vaguely british accents

ah he has learned from the last time he beat up a bunch of ninjas, no getting shot this time

[Black Sails theme playing on a single kazoo in the distance]

at least the boat’s too small for them to get any time alone together and progress the unneeded romance

oh hey it’s glowy eye dude who we haven’t seen since the prologue despite his being the main antagonist. I like that dude. mostly for his rad aesthetic.

ooooh glowy eye dude killed bootleg xena’s brother who we’ve literally never seen or heard of before book lady explained it

and apparently she’s the last remaining heir so we’ve got the queen of nubia, the king of... scorpions, I guess, a human book, and a golem all on a boat. I feel like I’ve literally been in this D&D party.

there’s that bird again seriously why, there had better be payoff for this. maybe the bird is secretly anubis or something. which would be weird, since anubis is the one with the jackal head, but I can’t think of another reason to keep drawing this much attention to it.

there had also better be a damn good payoff to the golem being afraid of fire because it’s getting really annoying

OH MY GOD A GIANT ROCK

they very clearly didn’t give zach mcgowan any direction regarding what accent he’s supposed to have because he’s just trying them all out

imagine if he’d just smashed the head clean off that stone sphynx and it turned out there was nothing in there

book lady has taken over for prologue narrator I guess

what is with this anubis, this is like a deviantart anubis. this is just “abs for days: the movie”

okay evil xena, “men are simple” isn’t really a fair thing to say considering you shot him with a poison dart. falling over after someone shoots you with a poison dart isn’t really a gendered thing. and like she didn’t try to seduce him first or anything she just walked in, shot him, and said that as if it was somehow relevant.

oh it’s the mad max tribe yet again. maybe THIS time they’ll have a purpose.

nope they’re just here to comment as the plot coincidentally passes them on the way to somewhere else. okay.

okay so maybe the blacksmithing and hunting and badass fighting and full on nudity haven’t been enough to distract you from how bad the writing is. don’t worry fam we’ve got you.

it’s like they’ve got a checklist or something

at least the ugly and useless leather armor thing is gone though

okay know what as an aside, shoutout to this random ass bird that gets almost as much screentime as the actual protagonist yet has done nothing except completely normal bird things for the entire movie

“before I kill him let’s see how he fights” well you just signed your own death sentence. see even your wife who can see the fourth wall knows this is a mistake.

glow eye dude is entirely too good of an actor for the lines he was given, this is like watching jeremy irons in eragon

wow I mean you could just kill book lady, setting her on fire seems excessive.

uh I was joking before but he appparently actually is the literal king of scorpions. and getting stung by them is I guess what activates his powers. being the scorpion king SUCKS.

wow it didn’t half work though, he just samsoned right out of those chains. good thing it wasn’t a bamboo and string cage, or he would have been trapped for good.

hell yeah finally a showdown between glow eye dude and zach mcgowan. this is why I’m here.

wait, the mad max tribe is back. maybe THIS time they’ll do something relevant!

yeah there they go. finally. killed psychic wife

random bird approves.

and now it’s just everybody fighting everybody so in other words the movie is looking up

evil xena vs good xena FIGHT

I can’t believe the fucking golem was the one who finally destroyed the sword.

so now the mcguffan is just freaking gone and matthias and evil guy are just punching the shit out of each other for the hell of it and I’m not even mad

I mean I guess one of them still has to be defeated but still

he just fuckin Simba’d that guy right into the fire

like can we please take a moment to appreciate that this is the exact fight choreography and aesthetic from the lion king

to the point that there was a literal lion roar sound as the guy died??? I’m not even kidding what the hell

“and we helped!” - the mad max tribe

oh the sword wasn’t destroyed. but at least the rock golem is gone so that’s something.

“remember who you aaaaaare” - the mad max tribe

ooooh he must choose between destroying the evil sword and the life of book lady, his true love who he met yesterday

I mean don’t get me wrong I’m sad to see her go she was one of the least annoying characters, but still you could have cut out the mad max tribe and developed her more so this would have more impact

aaaand THERE’s the obligatory tragic kiss

honestly though know what I can’t begrudge her this, it’s not like I wouldn’t do the same thing if I were a human book living alone in a tomb and some absurdly attractive dude just showed up one day and was like “climb on my horse so we can gallop sexily across a beach.” that’s completely reasonable.

matthias... I don’t feel so good...

(I’m sorry I had to)

that looks like it should be the cover of a drug store romance novel. maybe after the cowboy fad dies the next one will be “white guys who are kings of ancient egypt for absolutely no discernable reason”

NARRATOR! I missed you my dude.

he never forgot his destiny again. still no mention of exactly what his destiny is or even what exactly he’s king of aside from about two dozen literal scorpions

but seriously “getting stung by scorpions” is the absolute worst superpower ever. no wonder he abandoned his destiny to be a blacksmith, I would too.

there he goes

well that was pretty much exactly what I expected it to be but somehow even more so. gratuitous fanservice and absolutely no substance or meaningful plot, 10/10 would not watch again but had a great time watching it once. roughly on par with Eragon but this time ancient egypt flavored.

that bird never ended up doing anything, by the way. 10/10 completely useless but extremely photogenic bird.

[mldrgrl]

The Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots

by: mldrgrl Rated: R Summary: Stella has some second thoughts

Stella peruses the file in front of her with the most critical eye she can muster.  Her interest doesn’t really lie within the casefile itself, but the file handler.  The new detective under her purview is young, but seasoned.  She’d read his records upon his transfer and she liked what she saw then, but she likes it more even now.  She likes what she sees a lot.

Detective Charlie Moore is ex-military; four years with Her Majesty’s Armed Forces and six with the NCA upon his discharge.  His records reflect a by-the-book approach to the job, diligence, and a high solve rate.  One of his previous superiors noted that he is tough on criminals, empathetic with victims, and docile with authority.  She likes a man who knows how to be told what to do.

It’s been awhile since anyone has sparked her interest like this.  Over four years, to be exact.  There’s been a handful of people that have caught her eye, but nothing she seriously considered.  She couldn’t, of course.  That’s what being trapped in a relationship does - it takes the rest of the world out of consideration.  She misses that thrill of the unknown.  She wants that freedom again to explore a new body.  To have someone touch her who knows nothing about her.  Something purely physical that ends there without any other expectations.

The ‘wedding’ is only weeks away, and as it draws closer, she gets more anxious.  This isn’t supposed to be her life.  She had been quite content to be alone and to continue to be alone, so how had she let Hank disrupt her so completely?  How had she let it go this far?  And marriage?  Who is she kidding?  She’s not the marrying kind.

As she sees it, the only way to successfully put an end to this charade is to make sure the ties are severed thoroughly and with the utmost finality.  An affair will hurt Hank, deeply.  She worries a little that it isn’t enough of an unforgivable offense, considering his past with Karen, but they have a child together and she tells herself that it makes all the difference.  She and Hank share nothing.  The only thing that keeps them together is their will to do so, but it seems she’s lost the will.

As though he knows what she’s thinking, her cell phone rings and it’s Hank.  She silences the call and let’s it go to voicemail.  Detective Moore is due in her office in just a few moments and she needs to keep the pretense of his being summoned for a case review in mind and she’s only made a few notes so far.

As befits her expectations, Detective Moore is prompt, rapping at her door at the precise time she called for.    She puts down her pen, stands, and smooths her skirt down the front of her thighs before she crosses her office.  She purposefully wore an outfit for this meeting that Hank told her was ‘un-fucking-believably sexy as fuck,’ when she’d worn it before.  Black pencil skirt, low-cut red silk blouse, hair loose.  It’s stunningly easy to visually seduce a man.

Straight away, Stella can see how serious of a man Detective Moore.  He shakes her hand briefly and firmly, grunts out a quick ‘ma’am,’ and stands at attention until she offers him a seat in front of her desk.  He is rigid and a bit imposing, but she’s not in the least intimidated.  She sits across from him and opens up the copy of his casefile she was just reviewing with the tip of her pen.

“My apologies we were never properly introduced,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“I’ve a few questions regarding your progress report.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She proceeds with the official, business side of the meeting, questioning him on his casefile, offering insight on his working theories and giving him a few names and numbers of approved contacts the department uses for outside help.  His answers are short and blunt, and she wonders if he has a casual bone in his body.  Thus far, as far as she can tell, his eyes haven’t even drifted from her face.  The eye contact is not meant to be disarming, but a sign of respect.  She can certainly tell the difference.

She closes the file eventually and he prepares to leave, gripping the armrests of the chair with the intent to stand, but she lifts her hand a little and halts him.  She clicks her pen off, brushes her hair off her shoulder and sits back in her chair a little.

“Tell me about yourself,” she says.  

“What would you like to know, ma’am?”

“Why did you want to be a detective?”

He finally relaxes a bit and tells her about a childhood encounter that led him down his current path and she studies him as he speaks.  She looks at his hands, which are large and felt callused when he shook hers.  She likes a man’s hands to be a little rough, but not too rough, and not too large.  Hank has wonderful hands, maybe a bit too soft, but long, strong fingers and perfectly proportionate to the curves of her body.

Charlie Moore’s eyes are a dull shade of blue, nearly grey.  Eye color doesn’t mean much to her, but she sees no expression in his eyes when he speaks, not like Hank whose emotions seem to radiate from his hazel gaze.  She always feels like she can look at Hank and know exactly what he’s thinking just by the look in his eyes.

Stella can’t remember if she’s ever told Hank this, but one of her favorite parts of him are his arms.  The forearms are lean and tone, the biceps are muscular and strong.  As lean as he is, he’s stronger than he looks, and most of his strength is in his arms.  She feels it when he holds her up against a wall or lifts her easily into his lap.  Charlie Moore has broad shoulders and arms that bulge beneath his suit jacket, most definitely strong, but with breakable strength.  The shape of a gorilla, his was a body that snapped twigs, whereas Hank’s body is from the mold of Greek statues.

Stella stares at Charlie Moore’s mouth as his lips move.  He has thin lips, ones that disappear when his mouth is shut so that all you see is a dark slash across his face.  Nothing like Hank’s mouth, especially with that lush and overripe bottom lip that always seems ready to burst.  Sometimes she feels like Hank’s mouth was made for her pleasure.  He certainly knows how to use it.

Charlie Moore drones on.  She assumed him to be a man of few words, but given a topic he has clear interest in, detective work, he doesn’t seem to want to stop.  She blinks languidly and tries to imagine his body under hers, his mouth on her breasts, his hands at her hips, looking down into his eyes as she fucks her relationship with Hank out of her system.

And she can’t.  As much as she tries, it’s only Hank’s face she sees and his body under hers and his hands she can practically feel on her body, making her thighs ache and her breathing shallow.

“Newlywed?” Charlie Moore asks suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“I can’t help but notice the way you twist that wedding ring on your finger like you haven’t yet grown accustomed to it.”

She flexes her fingers and looks down at her hand where she has indeed been rolling the ring round and round with her thumb.  Detective Moore is the first person at work to ask her about it.  She’s seen others stare and take surreptitious glances at her hand, even heard a few whispers, but no one has asked her about the ring on her finger in the two months it’s been there.  Charlie Moore has only been with the department for a scant two weeks though and he doesn’t know her, which was the whole point of this meeting to begin with - to get to him before the rumors did.

“Are you married, Detective?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Neither am I.  The ring is new, yes.  The wedding is next month.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m a bit surprised.”

“At what?”

“You’re well known outside of the department.  People talk.”

She shows no signs of surprise on her face, but she is surprised that he would be so bold as to bring outside conjecture into the conversation.  Most people don’t.  His voice contains no hint of malice, just a matter-of-fact tone that seems to imply he knows why he’s in her office.  

“What do people say?” she asks.

“That you’re tough.  You have high expectations, but you’re fair.  And you’re good at what you do.”

“What else do they say?”

“Nothing else worth repeating.  But, I was always under the impression you were a bit of a lone wolf.”

“Hm.”

“I’m also a bit of a lone wolf.”

Suddenly, she’s uneasy with this game.  She’s forgotten how distasteful she finds the mating dance to be.  Four years ago, she would have propositioned him directly, but she can not get a read on whether or not he’s interested.  And there’s too much at stake now to be so assuming.  Again, she tries to imagine fucking him right here and now, tries to imagine him bending her over her desk and giving her exactly what she wants.

And she can’t.  Who is Detective Moore to know what she wants?  He doesn’t know her.  Therein lies one of the inherent problems with a one-night stand.  If the sex is unsatisfactory, it’s just unsatisfactory.  If it’s good, it’s only fleeting.  She’s had regularly pleasurable sex for the last four years, so why she should take that risk now?  

“You may return to your case, Detective,” she says, dismissing him.

“Yes, ma’am.”  Detective Moore nods and stands.  She lowers her eyes and picks up another file on her desk, but watches him leave as soon as he turns his back.

“Detective,” she says, holding him back.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Please keep in mind you are not in organized crime any longer.  Time is not a luxury in a murder case.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Close the door behind you.”

She waits until Detective Moore is gone for a full minute to drop her head and press the pads of her fingers to her face.  What is she doing?  This is not the life she envisioned for herself, but all things considered, she’s not unhappy.  She loves Hank.  She loves coming home to him.  She loves fucking him.  She loves how he makes her feel.  She loves his daughter.  For fucks’s sake, she even loves his ex.  But, she is terrified that the love will fade and then she will have failed.  Stella Gibson doesn’t fail.

She remembers that Hank called her earlier and she rubs the bridge of her nose before she checks her voicemail.

“Hey, Sherlock,” Hank says, voice low.  “I’m at the dry cleaner’s and it reminded me that even though I was half-asleep this morning when you left, I seemed to notice you were looking especially sexy today.  It should be illegal, Stella, it really should.  And I’m picturing you at work, busting balls and taking names and looking like that.  I rubbed one out in the shower today, thinking about it.  

“I wasn’t going to call you at work, but then I thought, fuck it, you’re the one that let me see you in that skirt before you left and you know how I feel about that skirt.  So, I just wanted to warn you.  As soon as you walk in that door tonight, I’ll be waiting.  I’m gonna hike up that skirt, tear your panties off with my teeth...wait, on second thought, I don’t want you wearing any panties.  Take them off at work before you come home, so when I do hike up your skirt, all I have to do is bury my face between your thighs and oh hey, they’re back with the pick-up, gotta go.”

Stella gives a little snort of amusement, but she’s also salivating so hard she’s nearly drooling.  Hank is the only man who’s ever been able to do this to her; get her so aroused, so quickly, and with only words.  Her thighs ache and her ring finger itches.  Damn him.

The End

[anghraine]

“per ardua ad astra” - chapter ten

Jyn and Cassian are under a lot of stress. They also are a lot of stress.

last chapter:

“Krennic. You met him.”

He lifted a brow. “I did?”

“Well,” she said, “you shot him. In the Citadel.”

“Ah.” Cassian considered that, then met her eyes again with a slight smile. “Good.”

Smiling back, Jyn felt less gratitude than fierce satisfaction. “Good.”

this chapter:

“That’s what goes for blowing off steam with you?” The sign on the elevator blinked to Seven, and she let uncertainty drain out of her. “Good to know. But maybe you should get a hobby.”

“I have not given up,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry. I will be with you to the end.”

Remembering the collapse of Krennic’s body on the catwalk, Jyn pushed the hoverchair out of the elevator and into the med bay.

She said, “I know.”

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine

Minutes passed in the amicable silence Jyn had come to associate with ... not just Cassian. With them, here.

When they weren’t having nonsense arguments about nothing. And even that had been more snide venting than a real fight.

It occurred to her that, for perhaps the first time in years, she didn’t want to fight. Not him, though she itched to do something, something more than the interminable waiting. But she didn’t want to fight Esten or Brakas or Efrah, either. Even that idiot Zekheret.

She didn’t want to think, either. Even as she craved action, she felt a deep weariness in her mind, some reservoir drained out. Bodhi, Princess Leia, the Rebellion, her father, Alderaan, Kay’s head, Baze and Chirrut scattered and reunited in the Force: they all spun orbits through her head, together and separately, and she was tired.

“We got you assigned a commanding officer,” Jyn said, sitting up. “Commander Tor—he’s in cryptanalysis, I think. Esten’s reports were on your record and sent through, so hopefully he won’t need any justifications.”

“Good,” said Cassian. She couldn’t tell if he was tired or not. Probably, since he’d been sleeping when she woke him, but he didn’t look it. Not more than usual. “Did you learn anything else?”

“Not much. There’s some dissent in the ranks, apparently. It seems like a small minority, but runs up to some general called Tagge. Efrah and her superiors don’t agree with how the Empire is fighting us.” She rubbed her face. “Fighting the Alliance. They think Starfleet is too overconfident and too passive. Can’t disagree, really.”

“No,” he said, and then— “Did you agree with her out loud?”

“More or less. I tried to stay out of it at first, but I backed her up when she was arguing with Zekheret about it.” Under her breath, she gave a short laugh. “Pretended to regret the Imperial mistakes on Scarif.”

“Zekheret?”

Oh. She’d forgotten to tell him, forgotten that Cassian couldn’t know anything she didn’t tell him. Even now, Jyn wasn’t quite used to that.

“He’s a friend of hers,” she told him, “a corporal. Apparently they’ve served together for years. He’s a sort of pleasant fool—they’re very brains-and-brawn. I figured that she’d be a better target.”

The word felt dirty on her tongue. In a fight, she might lump people into back-up and bystanders and targets, but it seemed a very different thing with those she knew by name, talked with, ate with. She’d never thought of Efrah that way. Still, if she hadn’t used the term with herself, she couldn’t take it back, either. It wasn’t wrong.

“Hm.” With his face wiped clean of anything like an expression, Jyn couldn’t tell if the sound meant approval, disapproval, or something else altogether. Regardless, she shrugged it off.

“It’s harder to get Zekheret to stop talking than to start,” she said. “I could focus on him, but …”

“No, you made the right call,” he replied, and now she could hear the approval. It didn’t matter, she told herself. Much. “Just be careful.”

“I am.” She rested her palms against her back, pressing her spine straight. The series of cracks sounded loud in the room, more painful than they were. At least the pain in her body eased, while the panic she’d marinated in for that hour in the elevator subsided to … she hardly knew. One more problem to be solved or survived. “Efrah said she’s helping me because women in Starfleet have to stick together. I don’t know if it’s true. I can believe Starfleet is rough enough, but she’s difficult to read.”

“You don’t need to know,” said Cassian.

On the face of it, that sounded insane, but she supposed it didn’t make much difference pragmatically. Jyn checked the chronometer on her comlink again. She still felt grimy; she’d much rather shower before they left on another multi-hour odyssey through the bowels of the Death Star.

I should have done it before, she thought, feeling rather ridiculous for caring at all. But she’d had no clean clothes in the fresher, which would be one thing with Cassian in a drugged sleep, and quite another with him awake and half-recovered. In fact, he was sitting up again now.

She asked him, “Either way, act as if she’s trustworthy and assume she’s not?”

“Something like that,” he said, glancing at her as she headed over to the drawers, mind made up. “You don’t need to act too credulous. Lyr isn’t, unless you’ve changed her.”

Jyn shook her head. “I—she’s been pleasanter, outside the med-bay. But not exactly warm and approachable.”

Cassian looked at her again, his mouth tucked into the usual flat line. But his eyes crinkled up, alight where they stayed cold through so many of his smiles.

She added, “I’m sure that’s a shock.” A week ago, it would have been bitter. Now, Jyn felt a peculiar quiet amusement, something peaceable and friendly.

“I will live through it,” said Cassian. He did smile, then, if only for a moment. “In this case, some doubt will be suitable. Efrah probably expects it.”

“So I need to be grateful, yet suspicious,” said Jyn, opening a drawer to extract a fresh uniform. Then she snorted. The drawer was full, all the clothes folded with sharp exactness, divided into piles by type. “Speaking of which—”

He made an indistinct sound in his throat that suggested nothing in itself. It seemed undoubtedly a Cassian sort of laugh.

“You did my laundry?” She looked over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at the man on the bed. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“Droids did our laundry,” he said, exuding guileless confusion.

“Droids?” She peered around. “I see so many of them in here.”

“I assume droids,” said Cassian. “The clothes came out of the chute a few hours ago.” With a regretful note, he added, “They only took fifteen minutes to organize.”

Well, Jyn thought, everyone had their own ways of going stir-crazy. But her own mood lifted, knowing it wasn’t just her.

“Pity that the Empire is so tediously consistent,” she told him, taking out each article of the uniform and tossing them on her bed. “Otherwise you could have colour-coordinated them, too.”

Though Jyn still had to relegate their multitude of problems to the periphery of her mind, she felt more alive after the shower. Toweling her hair dry and dressed in a fresh shirt and trousers, she wandered out to the common area. Cassian had gotten up and leaned against his dresser, apparently lost in thought.

“There you are. We need to head out in a minute.”

His eyes darted from her face to the towel and back again. It could have meant anything, if not for the same startled look as before stealing onto his face. Again, it only lasted a moment before he withdrew into his usual impassive composure, but long enough. That could have nothing to do with her completely banal remark.

Cassian replied, “Yes, I suppose so.”

Maybe he hadn’t roomed with women much. Odd, but there certainly didn’t seem many in the Rebellion. She herself had spent so much of her life crowded in with strangers that it never even occurred to her to feel self-conscious. At least not about trivialities. Mostly.

She didn’t feel self-conscious now, either—just amused that Cassian did. It was such a little thing; it must be, or he would have concealed it.

Jyn dropped her towel into the laundry chute and moved towards the hoverchair.

“Ah.” He took a decided step back, eyeing the chair with distaste. “I can walk.”

To be fair, she considered it for a full three seconds. He did seem to be walking without trouble. More to the point, while slim and not much taller than average, Cassian towered over Jyn and heavily outweighed her. Without some sort of assault, she couldn’t move him anywhere.

Instead, Jyn stared him down. “Yes, but you won’t.”

“Why—”

“I didn’t save our skins to get killed by Esten,” she said. “I’m supposed to be supervising your recovery, remember?”

Sure enough, he saw reason; grumbling under his breath, he made his way to the hoverchair and sat down. Cassian in a nutshell, really.

Jyn removed the last nutrient tins from the chair’s compartment and turned the chair around.

“You can say it,” she told him.

He seemed genuinely puzzled as he glanced up at her. “Say what?”

“I wasn’t the only one who saved us,” said Jyn. 

After their hours on the Death Star, it took awhile to recognize the edge to her mood, the crawling of her skin and twisting heaviness in her stomach that accompanied it. She’d grown accustomed to dread, even more than usual, and the shifts between danger and safety made it somehow worse than the prisons she knew, where there was only danger. She forced herself to inhale. 

“I couldn’t have done it without Bodhi flying and your codes. I don’t think I’d ever have slipped past without him screaming in his uniform and you—”

“Bleeding?” Cassian said, sober-faced.

“You bled magnificently.” Some of the clanging of her nerves quieted. Striding back to the fresher to comb her hair and recover her clean jacket, she added, “The Alliance should give you a commendation.”

“Make sure you remember that if we get out of here.”

When would have insulted her. From Cassian, anyway.

“I’ll speak for you as long as you speak for me,” she said, trying to replicate his jacket protocols from the morning.

“Of course.” He sounded as light as she’d ever heard him—and then only with Kay—but she didn’t doubt that he meant it. Cassian was all slippery duplicity or blazing sincerity, with none of Jyn’s comfortable in-betweens. Perhaps if they got to know each other better, that would change, but privately she doubted it. She wasn’t sure they could know each other better, just—more.

Jyn scowled at her reflection. The jacket looked … her size, which was an improvement, but not right.

“Oh, fine.” She stalked back to the hoverchair, hat in hand. “Fix it, will you?”

It couldn’t have sounded less like a request. Without so much as a twitch of his facial muscles, Cassian managed to look amused.

“Almost right,” he said, reaching out to adjust the jacket at her sides. Every brush of his fingers was brief and careful, even when he smoothed down the fabric with an expression of intense concentration. She tried to think about ... not that.

“You broke half your bones very effectively, too,” she said.

“And I contracted an infection,” said Cassian. “I am a man of many talents, clearly.”

Jyn glanced down at his bent head and ran her tongue over her teeth. “I’ll take care to mention that.”

“Thank you.” He dropped his hands. “There you are.”

She stayed in place as she clapped her hat on her head, not wanting to seem unsettled. She wasn’t—it wasn’t—anyway.

Jyn fled to the back of the hoverchair and steered it out of their quarters. The silence might have been easy enough, stained only by the low murmur of machinery and distant footsteps. But just the act of stepping past the door wound her nerves up again. She wanted out—and maybe she often did, but never so much, like a living thing that fed on her. Desperately, she reached for something to say, anything.

“See? I did know what you were thinking.”

“No,” said Cassian. “That is not at all what I thought.”

“Oh?” A trio of NCOs nodded as they approached. She was tense, not stupid, so she met their eyes and nodded back.

He stayed quiet even once they passed, their stretch of the hall clear again. Normally, she would retreat into her own mind, but it didn’t make for a welcoming place at the moment. Instead, Jyn poked the back of Cassian’s neck, gratified when he flinched.

“I am of little use until I recover,” he said. “I must regain my health to return to my—to our efforts, and I must do it as soon as possible. I was reminding myself of that.”

“Otherwise known as listening to me?” said Jyn. “Good.”

Cassian just sighed.

After several minutes, the clusters of officers and soldiers growing larger and more frequent, he said,

“You would have done it in any case.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Survived,” said Cassian.

Jyn almost glanced around to see if she’d missed half of some silent conversation. If so, she wasn’t privy to it.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said that I believe you would have failed, without us,” he said, voice very even. “That is wrong. You would have found a way.”

She shouldn’t have been that gratified, or even that surprised. Yet startled pleasure ran through her, a prickle on her skin and along her nerves. She couldn’t define it beyond that, but she felt it bright and formless in her mind, blotting out thoughts and words. For several seconds, Jyn blinked at the back of Cassian’s head.

It’s not true, she thought at last, veering around an obnoxious crew of officers. They’d stopped in the middle of the hall, apparently oblivious to everyone trying to pass through. Without the suits, the codes … hell, the shuttle. I’d never have made it on my own.

Not a welcome thought. But she wouldn’t have, unless—Jyn pulled her mind back from useless detours into speculation. Survival would have taken some doing, at the very least, more than she suspected she’d had in her at the end. If Cassian thought differently, then … well, three weeks ago, he certainly wouldn’t have.

But turn that around, and: in three weeks, he’d come to think higher of her than she did. And she thought quite well of herself, really.

“I might have,” said Jyn. “I’m good at surviving. But everyone’s luck runs out, eventually.”

“Luck,” Cassian said contemptuously.

She smiled.

In a considerably more benevolent frame of mind, Jyn made their way through the blocky turns of the halls, pooling her recollections of the med bay path with Cassian’s. Luckily—ha!—their memories exactly coincided, and they arrived even earlier than she’d anticipated.

He was right about luck in this case. Jyn would have been dead by ten if she hadn’t learned to memorize every route she took, and dead again by eighteen if she hadn’t kept doing it. She couldn’t imagine it was much different for Cassian, a Rebel spy from childhood. Nothing but talent and training and practice. And the Force, naturally.

In a stroke of actual fortune, the analgesics held through the hour-long trip in the elevator. People walked in and out, the two of them rarely alone for more than a few minutes, but the shuddering stops didn’t do much more than irritate both. Jyn, in particular, was bored and impatient enough that it took very little effort to revert to Lyr as Cassian crammed himself into Willix.

“—I’m hoping we get shore leave,” another captain was saying as they approached the ninth floor. “We lost out with Scarif, obviously, but maybe Aldera? I’ve always wanted to see it. They say the mountains are unbelievable.”

“Yes, rather,” said Cassian.

“A bit chilly, of course,” he went on.

“A bit.”

The captain grinned. “Though the women aren’t, I hear.”

“Oh, do you?” Jyn snapped, obscurely grateful for Lyr.

She’d tried her best to put Leia Organa out of her mind until she could do something. But she didn’t know of any other Alderaanian women; when she thought of one, she thought of the princess, caught and tormented in Galen Erso’s creation. She could hear Zekheret again, his repellent theories and laughing small and shouty, see Senator Organa speaking up in that cluster of cowards—

Hot with anger, Jyn looked over at Cassian, who had said something she didn’t hear. He was smiling more widely than before, meeting the other captain’s gaze even more steadily. Somehow, the man seemed to take this as friendly.

Ignoring Jyn, he said to Cassian, “You know any?”

She could have sworn the temperature plunged ten degrees.

“My mother,” said Cassian, unblinking.

The captain flushed. “Ah. Didn’t realize, sorry.” As soon as the door opened to Floor Nine, he hurried out.

“Well,” Jyn said, “if we all die, there’s one person I won’t regret.”

Cassian’s wide smile faded to a tug of his mouth, barely perceptible and vastly warmer. “I’m sure we could find a few more.”

She didn’t know if she’d even regret Efrah and Zekheret. Maybe. Jyn liked fighting and she liked winning, but she wasn’t really bloodthirsty. She wasn’t even—she’d thought of herself as callous, both by necessity and as a matter of pride, but she was starting to think perhaps not. Just practical.

“I don’t want to tell you how to do your job,” she began.

Cassian lifted his brows, eyes gleaming. “Since when?”

Before Jyn could stifle the impulse, she wrinkled her nose. It was childish—in fact, she didn’t think she’d done it since she was a very little girl.

“Remember that I saved your life, captain.”

“And I owe you a life debt for that,” replied Cassian, sobering.

“What?” Vehemently, she shook her head. “No, you don’t. You saved my life first, and you took the worst damage getting to me.”

“You’re not helping yourself,” he pointed out, amusement flickering back into his face.

“As if you’re any better,” said Jyn haughtily.

“So what is your advice, sergeant?”

Almost prim, she said, “Baring teeth and locking stares are signs of aggression in most species.”

Cassian’s lips pressed together, but the smile lines at the corners only deepened, and his eyes stayed bright. “Is that so?”

“Including humans.” She let a few seconds tick by. “Which you must know.”

Don’t get careless, she didn’t say, because she didn’t need to. Another addition to the things she’d never have imagined a week ago—that she’d be the one urging caution. Urging Cassian to caution. But he was tired and injured, and obliteration by the Alliance remained their best hope. This might well be a suicide mission, as much as the strike on Scarif had been for all the others.

But it wasn’t any reason to give up. She refused to give up, as long as a single strand of hope remained. It was hard to believe that he, of all people, felt any different. But she had to be sure.

“He wasn’t dangerous, in the circumstances,” said Cassian, plainly understanding. “Nor useful.”

He sounded like the Cassian she’d first met, his tone cool and analytical. She welcomed it now.

“That’s what goes for blowing off steam with you?” The sign on the elevator blinked to Seven, and she let uncertainty drain out of her. “Good to know. But maybe you should get a hobby.”

“I have not given up,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry. I will be with you to the end.”

Remembering the collapse of Krennic’s body on the catwalk, Jyn pushed the hoverchair out of the elevator and into the med bay.

She said, “I know.”

“I’m impressed,” Esten told them. “I thought I’d have to send a search party.”

Cassian, perched on the edge of a bed, scowled. Jyn glowered, too, aided equally by her own fear and Cassian’s chest. He’d disrobed to the waist at Esten’s command, and entire swaths of bruises still mottled his torso, faded from mauve to browns and yellows. An improvement, and she’d seen worse—she’d seen him worse—but it still turned her stomach.

“We need to get back to work,” he said, effortlessly slipping into Willix’s growl. “That means following your orders, regrettably.”

“You have better sense than I expected.”

Jyn gave a pointed cough.

“Or she does,” added Esten, giving her a nod of distant respect. About as much as she could hope for, all things considered. “Okay, lift your arm—just a little, don’t strain it. I need to check the blaster wound.”

As she bent to examine his side, the quiet weighed down until Jyn felt like screaming. They had to get out. She couldn’t see a way, just yet, but even if she had, they couldn’t seize it with Cassian still more bedridden than not. C’mon, Esten, she thought, as if his condition rested on the doctor’s whims rather than his own body. He wouldn’t get a clean bill of health, obviously.

She’d known he wasn’t better yet. But she hadn’t thought he was still this badly off. How much had the drugs and his own reserve hidden? Jyn lifted her eyes to his face. Normally, meeting his gaze when they stood so close could be difficult, or … not difficult, but complicated. She wanted to look away, or keep looking, her nerves strung tighter than ever, or collapsing into dangerous ease, affinity and alienation wrangling in her mind. All messy and heavy and more than she quite knew what to do with, but at this point, she’d take all of it over looking at his battered body.

“Looks good,” Esten announced.

They both blinked at her.

“The wound is completely healed, no trace of infection. Let me get my scanner to check your bones.” She recovered the scanner from a nearby tray, and began dragging it up and down in front of his chest, never touching him. At irregular intervals, the scanner screeched out high beeps, some short, some wailing for seconds. It only gave a few near-inaudible blips when she ran it over his legs.

“Hm. Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Jyn demanded, dreading the worst. She pressed her palm against the crystal in her pocket.

“These are healing much more quickly than I expected,” said Esten.

Jyn and Cassian both exhaled.

“It’s not an unprecedented rate,” she went on, squinting at him, “but still … perhaps the bacta. I haven’t had many patients receive that quantity. It’s not like we can experiment with this sort of damage.”

“We can’t?” said Jyn, thinking of her father. “News to me.”

“Well, it’s hardly public access,” she said irritably.

Cassian looked from one to the other, then asked, “I can return to active duty, then?”

Considering the bruises still blotching most visible skin, Jyn repressed hope. But maybe, if—

Esten gave a strangled laugh. “Are you out of your mind? No. Tomorrow, I want you to try walking around for about fifteen or twenty minutes every other hour, breathing deeply. You can start eating solid foods, but you”—she pointed at Jyn—“bring it to him. I don’t want him standing in those lines. Make sure you get plenty of fluids and rest.”

“How much longer is this going to take?” he said, voice slightly rising. “I have duties, doctor, I must—”

“Not until I say you do,” said Esten. “Don’t think you can triangulate with command, either. I’m putting my recommendations straight into your file.”

His eyes narrowed. “How kind of you. Dr Esten, you don’t seem to understand—”

“How much pain have you been in?” she asked. “On a scale of one to ten.”

Frowning, Cassian said, “I don’t know. Five, perhaps.”

Esten glared at him.

“Eight.”

“Eleven,” said Jyn.

He shot her a look of betrayal. “Thank you for your contribution, Lyr.”

“He’s actually taking your medicine,” she informed Esten.

“Good to hear.” Esten set the scanner aside. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll give you some bacta patches for your chest. If the bones fuse at the same pace and your pain subsides significantly, you might be able to take up some very limited duties the day after.”

“But I—”

“Thanks,” said Jyn hastily. “I’ll see that he follows your recommendations.”

“Be sure you do,” Esten said, in what passed for a friendly tone. Walking over to a cabinet, she extracted a set of large, squishy bacta patches and handed them to Jyn. She muttered, “Keep the analgesics going.”

“I will.”

“My ears are not broken,” said Cassian.

Esten ignored that. “Until tomorrow, Captain Willix. Sergeant.”

The moment she left, Jyn and Cassian brightened.

“That could have been worse,” she said, tossing his clothes over to him. “Do you need help?”

He was already pulling on his shirt. It would have been much more interesting if she didn’t wince with him as he worked his arms into the sleeves.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, and shook his head at her skeptical glance. In the space of the gesture, he got half the shirt buttoned. “I expected worse.”

He’d be used to changing quickly, of course. She was, too, when it didn’t involve regulation uniforms.

“So it does hurt,” Jyn said, snagging the jacket away from him.

“Some.” He grimaced again as he climbed off the bed. “Not eleven.”

Pretending not to hear, or at least not to care, she said nothing and stuffed his coat under her arm. She pushed the chair towards him.

“I need my jacket—”

“No, you don’t,” she said firmly. “Yesterday you left here in a medical gown. And it’s terribly wrinkled.” She scrunched it up some more.

Cassian inhaled what she could only assume to be a calming breath. Then, once again, he sat in the chair.

“I am really not in much pain,” he told her.

“You will be,” said Jyn, handing him his bacta patches and datapad. It came out more threatening than she intended; his pills were obviously wearing off, and they had another hour in elevator hell. “Ah, I didn’t mean …”

His mouth twitched. “I know.”

The ride back up to their floor wasn’t quite as bad as Jyn expected, but only just. Enough drugs lingered in Cassian’s system to cushion the jolts and shudders of the elevator, or he’d recovered enough, but it was still awful. Thankfully, fewer people joined them; it must be a slower hour. Jyn even tried to hail Bodhi’s comlink during a long solitary stretch. The call failed, but they often did in the moment, between his night shift and the relentless scrutiny he lived under.

It must be a nightmare. Bodhi really got the worst of it.

The elevator jerked between floors, then hurtled up. Cassian’s breath hissed.

Probably.

Forty minutes up, her comlink buzzed.

“Trooper,” she said, relieved. “Are you secure?”

“Yes, sergeant,” said Bodhi, his voice disconcertingly mechanized. “I think I am. Do you need help? I hope nothing’s wrong.”

“No, no. Just an update.”

“I haven’t heard much else,” he said. “I mean, people are still talking, but not about anything new. If something’s changed, nobody here knows about it. The Commander is still saying the princess is a troublemaker.”

“That’s a mild way of putting it,” said Jyn. Cassian, settled again, gave a low hum of agreement.

“Uh, it’s … not the word he used.” After a pause, Bodhi added, “Any of the words he used.”

“I can imagine. Well, no change is better than the alternative.” Jyn glanced at Cassian. “Isn’t it?”

“At this point,” he said.

Even through the distortion of his helmet, she could hear Bodhi’s voice cheer. “Is that Ca—Captain Willix? Both of you are there?”

“Yes,” said Jyn. “I was just taking him to an appointment in the medical bay. We’re done now.”

“Oh.” The comlink crackled as the floors whooshed past. “I hope he’s … well, how are you, captain?”

She adjusted the comlink on her wrist, then moved her arm over to hold it near Cassian’s mouth.

“I’m fine now,” Cassian said. With each word, she felt his breath on her hand. Obviously, it’d be much stranger if she didn’t, and they’d spent enough time in close proximity that she’d often felt it before, against her cheek or ear or temple. Her wrist was nothing. Still, the skin over her veins tingled.

“He’s better,” she corrected, yanking her thoughts and her arm back. “Which is to say, only some of his bones are broken now. And I assume none of them are puncturing his organs any more.”

“Puncturing—!”

Cassian’s fingers curled about her arm and pulled it back. “Ignore her,” he said. “I will be completely healed in two or three days.”

“Not if you keep telling him to ignore me,” she retorted.

They heard a fuzzy sort of squeal, and then Bodhi’s nervous laugh.

“Sir, with all due respect,” he said, his voice clear once more, “I haven’t gotten this far by disregarding what Sergeant Lyr says.”

“Thanks,” said Jyn, grinning triumphantly at Cassian. “And the doctor said it might be two or three days if everything goes as well as possible, which has not exactly been our experience. He’ll have to be much luckier than we’ve been so far.”

“I’m not sure luck’s had anything to do with this,” Bodhi said. “I’m not sure it exists.”

Now it was Cassian who smiled, though his gaze dropped to the com. “You’re a wise man, trooper.”

“I … well, I … thank you, captain,” said Bodhi, sounding a bit puzzled. “I—I’m glad you’re up there together. And safe.”

Jyn and Cassian looked at each other. In a peculiar way, the warmth of emotion in her chest felt gentle: not fierce or anxious or exhausted, but something soft that she saw reflected in his face. Mild and fragile though it was, the feeling seemed to drown out all her usual intensity, and his.

“As are we,” Cassian said at last.

Through a thickness in her throat, she added, “RK. You stay safe, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” said Bodhi.

Like them, he spoke with an unfamiliar note in his voice. Not quite the same as theirs—but she thought she could hear a laugh in it.