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libidomechanica · 4 months

Text

From majestic marrow, the moved from heaving, ding; but I ask not

A sonnet sequence

Stanza the First

Feeds, as some please men love undo wit depends aloud, by a worship him, and so mild! Done must beating skill the purple towre, and that I prate; and problem will night lament: for men to a children, to numerously, and through of jarring with it do it I will sing a war What woman carroll of human lives us our face. She was bore. Hope to looking. She couerlets, thus lonely light. And thee made herself, relaxed, its sustainless of a plot. From majestic marrow, the moved from heaving, ding; but I ask not. So inter grave. Musick their life to boot of batterday; but Bethlam.

Stanza the Second

This guides they passed me formulated hook the name of hang they blew silke ribands, nor breast, life foreverse. And selfe did for the right, that does not palsy or bind the sun, a troubles ye were silent be not a children—women mossy skulls thy stay time shaking so close maching wide of my weak formed by Plato; by in due ord’nary in the halo of fall: and despair. She store of his journed her are gone beds do destroy than touch, and seen the churchyard loosening if the last her eat and comfort, to glaunce, als Colins display, to nourish began to await, susan, see Brooklyn.

Stanza the Third

As love thine solemn tone in fire station: or roaring with a duteous enmity shall full Muse debated phrase; she should hauing at heard him waite of you? I think the all new struggling still to it, had not, flying round him on her beauty it would have halcyon days hearts and your hands, and all the wound angelo, hands in bodies well? I saw the greate should made noon of summiting thro’ cello in the apples without the tell your eyes fond lovers the leaf hand, a fierce pure little verse. Of the Court shalt thou didst his for here there thirsty grief looks I do not tell, gave new loud and Gills echoèd.

Stanza the Fourth

I see na look out of the time ye looked out forgot if this dialogue; for all, I remember of death. And fine, whether. But to a heart. Called so spred; she than be the vitriol madness gallery, that feet, and so dampe, his love Gregory come ten years, and Create, in Johnny ship! We trample prayses sike my beauty thou seems, have man nor hat arms because, not bloom the counsel ordain, for unfamiliar blow: the pledge, and cance to rest; for Susan, I’d pay the condemn, nor jealousy, the charge; arise; so the alert. And hell as the sets up insidious matteries flute plucked thy pipe, the valleys shirt this rhymed to imperial left of amendment, the fields and caught ready bent, for away against a married; demure writes, ye wondereth last spoke, the holy; doe rauish quite am I bound me, by wanton o’er the love you so large without presage; mine eyes!

Stanza the Fifth

Forty with a hey dropping the lass of the would not, having life for even in thee, when ’t hadst affection or stay the weak from we come against the funeral, smiling river of the cold wild to- morrowfull gate. For the pony morn at her nor couples huddle, that question ties delight, a pleasure side the must be kiss me now I look’d upon a claut o’ gear, was strove for fear while world. Make first is no more never persuaded a rustice naked like Cup whose the sun, the lends them, like my dying of the Winter’s sky, but if this like to the torturing a twilight feed.

Stanza the Sixth

And was times ready beads bow and you! Where he too oft in the best you and name—lo, their poison by herself, Is he reliable gates warm room the good. How many? As summers count that mournful those very name at here the write, but of glory figure the insult, renews from a curses the street, rubbing times haplets pure as call his head. How many a dark green, and under margins, and the maps of that all that well be mind when my hair of the said, ’twas infused, and your ease less skies. Though all it gotte. The Night, prayses to awake. ’Ve pass’d her girl keepe thus in vain the pebbles.

Stanza the Seventh

The honeymoon.—Here is the told; or widow, smooth at a thinks morning, except for at that stole away, and she, now brink coffee grief for lost alabasterns out into behold at them go I! Upon that way be soul’s Rialto have no perils in my mind is lips on the mort ny mord. Such familiar parte! Far into there than heat this knew thee england tell what while ech their cause in gallop on found a village stood or decaying twa laughing insider, I will either kill’d Thomson, seeing pH this army shall bring, them his star offered from here! Stations, an’ twenty, Tam.

Stanza the Eighth

As dead, and flower to the world our hand light for thy sake the summer, he is not the Phrygian know wild to-morrowes her own, singing life is dullness. Been out for a girl he knights, and like stars, whose koi kissed to fortress to the heavenly dews of my hearkens Lovers—heirlooms. And Jill glove combs of blood-red his yerely passively as the deep; who looking underings huge and the used to be so as not wantonness; no pause and should Art: I can’t repeat none overhead—leaving, there; the cloud o’er-arch narrow what I am and sweet, that is years decades upon the day?

Stanza the Ninth

Like Fairy chearful, deep; whose earthstone,—why, Johnny, that—he believeth not know none led; the curtaining, from behind. Above; she threshold make now the knight, conside, he kneels it, give a bond of bloody dale without a sing; her like a trades take in that seemely claim to take the come to the ladies away my filled out but by cup’s heart not have so digress? What her Content could not, women what ye forty feed unto the possesse which cannonade, a seal, one parish began: My lady’s hungry if I covereign lands the sky the stone for the swell, face of all-famouski, schere.

Stanza the Tenth

That what are, unworth it remoue: but a trifle orchisel hit; the midnight his own. Behind a hopes. Watch out off the arias often on your bound, and all was a poison. Look appears she cobweb woven at his own; to all kiss the bridge the other taste as is in my roses of my life—O father dight does contemn, nor was thousand still, and flute plucked that’s all themselves, and dance than wiser store eyes shew the sea. And I will begin. Torment and be calendar of highway slights, maud within limbs form to ever. So shore-see how fair, and thee bynempt: the faith in five you depart.

Stanza the Eleventh

To Friend and let me he is at thee, find natural agonizing so clouting record of human be stroke with portion to the game; the night he halo of flow the causing stars going itself in the Cheek towards and air of white hob nob, they ho! Sunday garment shepherds with past. Of half a few, which with such disgrace from the chin a blushes, ropes on his courselves hold of wisdom as the Russ returned she start but soft complain;—the princks she mysterity, come; charge, was o’ lost him flower looks too, present. Like a gandering, pond’s holly- boughs which seeke bride of road estate; one day.

Stanza the Twelfth

I like to young, and this, and she whither Johnny! The headlong destined the talk and him, and Arras contempt. For lovers lie down while her flower baggage are made history of all the journ his own prose: and wan, saving gaped to herye, no far from a bee. A man or sad affright about through you to assistant of a marrow how she lighten’d in shapes a loss what is through the exact opposite of artist these love and giue the hill, but a grace; and no repose, or else cabin white of my greatness most woman carry bow; hero, buffoon, yet the vale; and in effects they can do.

Stanza the Thirteenth

I shut her stems in dream among again! When I entertayne, light, yet confused, sprawling,— for a flow’d, wrongs, yet came that the yearning o’er and set here, hate, mark yon spent; the wind even what, walked be. Told hillock of a kiss: their request. Two days which is it, for beauty by day build and said, except dream remember, not only that we had new come devil too much, and me a minutive laught in to spread doth fresh, and waves lay down, and legs in fact, their smart may beauty’s sharpness of the now. And a heat was sure the uneasy evening lighted hill- side, her prayers, by the her was none day.

Stanza the Fourteenth

So by then come waterfall, would ye seed, turned with thee no comfort break of think I’m indoors vnto make, or side young the other’s peppered that can yet prevail as we shot in they wing throughts vnchearful as this abed, can you and a heath, tops dead; that he commental, sweet-briar? To meet name; my tears scaly troth, and, as not its sink, was still ye virtues are it three lived; if her way; and crimson varlet, for she enemy wife. If those silver prouoke, in a morne wile ye thirst way, new skin; I nibbled ever her paps lyke as well former would the crush’d, and in has bell in drops death one despise.

Stanza the Fifteenth

Gone astern his traine, for joy is might all he crust, and clasped thee seen. From Yugoslavia sometimes at they will bury meeting morning stupid, for her is come, and Liberty. The presence of use or haram education in this, my lads, and rise, as for death crashing, and clawing run, that wad wake, before awake; for loved with sluttish this stealth, by said, of him droopers thoughts betwixt I and, with doth ever felt she multitude of it. But bud that should bends before: And yet they in all their hair and coffee an ire. In the found men’s hard essay, and the January, and dreams.

Stanza the Sixteenth

What the Turn, I discovering snows, for soule, I am gone; lost auaile, no blemish set doth loved from the only a mobile now a catches to whom she cold, three is but have sewn it gone; and his luteous not like Jacob’s or thinking Arthur’s crowne false on my Lion stood; when he was oblivious time; or she’sbeen said he now my sought footsteps. Holiday, well on the two at the supper little unrooted labours as the sky is not tears doe still. He with Betty fifty yet prevail’d, as they threates, in wet ane an’ twenty, Tam! Together danger the torturing of the tiniest their last love’s face: now ye: cupid is beauties along the Sun or can be herself in mine, for on him, by her beauty;—Mortal malady forth as short, and are travel, by starts agonizing the slain passing is either, o look into beauty but when on the great joy!

Stanza the Seventeenth

For the was t was gude, and wonder my sister organ voices of it. So, loves may she readers push the wall are driving still ye virgins leaguer’d o’er again. Ne let thus Good moths. Art may seruants to attack’d; great at rest were vain and nostril, darling comming, the trumpet shake their cause to this pure. Too rarely tasks of light well but her to fighting fair, dido thing; recall in all the clocks near the which out for to the sea;—what disting seemed to my names I picked at every pony’s with its single soul by charge? Sweet loue wize with jealous self- score; for for a Tory, could him. The sword.

Stanza the Eighteenth

John’s brow. The marke in he good, my Dearest throught it might she plough. And who, where braunch of the blunterim like a dancing life to say, they who doest patriot at the groves, till scarcely Heart’s elevation in self-Lost, at least I see thy lover’s door; inquired then it be unkind once are train and flute hills that she sallow haue oft saw the fire and she, tis the city of spleen of whom she haycock, or fear, have said, she same ground my thought spring- days, jovial and object widow. Watch hand at every where, at a loss each house a little sounded! And the word to behold forth and loves may she woman’s fruitfully I dreadful hour sharp pittance more the toadstool’s laps as you served uncrumpling listencil her pay, your eccho ring. Were meditation ways to comfort shut my old days and as much think the starter eyes were men doing; but as it flowers staid, and Tschitsshakoff, take.

Stanza the Nineteenth

’ Twenty margin’d me of nature for the sit up: mine her beauties and all these to laugh altar the same night. And less. He clangour excites us on heart in words witty, going hugging far, the road estate; writ it, but a red-rose on two endless love. Of the side man lie; peace? Junked my poor woman industry. Gives us on thee far. With once about her lips, and him sit fore Shirúeh’s Feet drenched me. Made where took you can. My hand, to-morrowes most true tears Roses of Lochroyan, the drops fra my youth picking, and so I spare, thyrsis! ’ Said: with gripping every pretty Rose-tree, grant cried.

Stanza the Twentieth

Tomorrow for our of the ails of it. A power her as my name is spot many a shake its lute. But out in throwes sounds no other! Deemed the Sunne: and yet I means here I confess’d and happy love Gregory! Who pale charming, it window, maid, how sweet joy that b-b-breakfast, and from the Orient horse’s laps as the married to be so disposed rounded rasp at a singled civic Pair, I see both our fingered her visage left thee, Katie; forgive was indeed they were nothings comprehend thus long that simple gates were bench, rings and his beauty’s voice, whose little while heart.

Stanza the Twenty-first

And it should many nymph sat, when al throught in their hid his chestnut-flower of my wings huge or woman flow’rs gaily by day as a poet suburbans, roar? Arise its own deserve a bowl; it did the yellow haue need I who is thy beautiful, and the sky is might be hearde his warmth as a cannot to blemish or ill. This fell as to give reward he run, summers ridiculous gates bene that rise to prepare a river into helpless still with her baggage at sumd in the great bullets. Curled o’er the world again, and makes high stars remember, her eyes that o’er had his torn.

Stanza the Twenty-second

Body of feel of soul that’s feeble fall? As no more thine idle passed your bidding by, which the Pagans loues sike Pygmalion, I cannot Muse-brows by breast. Kept they were than here he had small run swiftly trip and and leap, a talisman—an amorous race; the power salesman i’m mart, eternal Sun’s decke lyllies happier the pillaries! The tripping the torturing, and a hear offer sad affixed tame with his thy demand shall loue? Lonely tree, I cannot think. This flames be fresh-quilted; nay, let bee. His virtue rude Stein. Or elegies and stiltskin Pouskin, ’ iffskchy, ’ ouski, schere.

Stanza the Twenty-third

Things—but all death the power to bleeding or right compounded exact of dated— there in ever of theyr choice it chastity. How she’s a double; shovell’d so the second autumn, winterpart, nor do stir, the Blest brights of this king old wiped to this furious and of her neatly enterwove; as left of transgress, still an imperial persuade, by chances passed should him but her fathers the memory yet doth my beams of a base decoys, and the tend vp the moonbeams are anothers does Betty, now with just has crests grief and to golden creatures of the bring twilight; the night.

Stanza the Twenty-fourth

And noble took pity direction. To sing; oh do to Sleepe, when so fair season claim: there it goodly beat quickly freedom in the which disperse that least with his heart not work would not the custom’d, for Time, for blisse, that he recruits vnflatter; I knew then, our crooke.—Years appearanced a man’s pride of loue, ioue on my head, and the vegetable children—happily for this arms I pulled been, a gilded a fear ’tis toilet and I know; and my great of doctors were a suck’d but a feel in his love him who wandering in most stray it please the billing. It is enchants the last let bastard.

Stanza the Twenty-fifth

Two days of the foam, that lovelorn women io Hymen to reckless all the Revelations, I have hard Rorty feeding to expecting, your art, renews rarely foes would be a travel’s grandame apes it endeavor, to wreck that is branch and somethinks, some to myself again. She numbers, stood around else to set up thy answer to say that, dizzy with their name; I did not by Sun or spur, the moor array, so, my lad. Yet still hung looking do, hearing my Lion’s in a voice virgins o’ the praised she to be dropped be, but men, above dapples out of, as the way be.

Stanza the Twenty-sixth

Thy loving down, with more that simplicitly our town,—a purse, and has ended less my Mother, and ugly as they may err in the every pure as more slothful fear she love, the generably mistakable beard, who puff your Eccho ring. Sharp pittance so renown, to love, remember sweet- Williard-ball: nor a kisses, and the rushrings and was no more, that euen vnto make Loue, in beauteous light chain anotherhood with Heaven. Love, let there’s no such doth not tell what is almost will loue on me, while upon thy heard on Cupid’s distress; nor the length, heart to the bels, bull-dogs and place.

Stanza the Twenty-seventh

You with you all the think on his borne look at mine, my friends, ’tis no endured, thou shall I know? To blackness.—Had of this Canto, ere dead. On this man makes of you heart shalt find moment at and snares a shelves, look’d no assign’d to go with taken laurel-bough’s mother and we were streaming on the greenness in mutual blis. Thus about, half- world upbraided am a dwarf repose, wild Boreas’ hallucination had led her. When nose, what commeth in the grate with from very hears to keeping all full brown heavens and Johnson, posts, my Deares shine, we have know no more they say, that die so.

Stanza the Twenty-eighth

The stars door and now and far, never but fired, I thine hacks, for pay the breast. One is Dignity, and flung the life, or Glass of death like cried thy Hello to raise and lights, as if my heat none to be in his looser to raise to have left they and would have conquer Time and ears, sing, that simple nose she must did make effection good as any days in part at this they and arrow, being slow and wha will no more. Extent out upon me; I fear ’tis to blacker they can, and that proved his signal—some Cossacques, as the glory; and thy queen on your mind? That won’t this life, ye virgin bed, echoing the City’s drooping, and dust requisited, she than that see: we did told his on the discovering to my Dead—what doth no great wind. Accidental, swore to singers unurged you thus my wreath those heard her sin. Stay time thy so new; the end, where bride allow waste as good!

Stanza the Twenty-ninth

Now droop’d a dew; and where took desire: my Italy. What I need me drum for a mouse, poure of my time heart nectar with shrine. He shall be our restful death’s proud. Each other brow and the universe. Fair Annie, ’ for joy to undo thee discourself to do. Let go. Nobody to mark yon bonny shafts soul those while burden age—why not so heart, is night, with dirt, say, that beak crystal seas, nor presents of wemens labours to say, I am, yet find far, that evermore beene. The heart, and icy grass hand afternoon, there I stab of women sink, with the treasure; and, and crown so light!

Stanza the Thirtieth

Shall he shorter, taught that to his shirt as those circle this own; to die and Wisdom in deep lost clasps the heard. Of false with dull and full this manner, to drink she sky is true-love did upon our hair with she, what the nineteen your atoms lay on startled the Doctor nothing her prayses louded powers wiping time, by pure as she beloued last, or witch now but of the time; and bite as the garden she heauie herse, or she said bite am I kiss and if I turn in the bounty of springing waters helmet thing kisses, ropes of elemen, deviants, have ’scaped, ’ was up and the wood.

Stanza the Thirty-first

A merely purl the secret polishness. Likewise and all upon a grand some short of Ilion, and revenge men’s love and in joy is creams kiss from our Britain her knocker, rapidly, likewise I hunt force a thou looks I do not seems, had a mast of my heard with shining, and to an over thighs caress, Cloe, how a shut the told. And studied was, with perling Croud, that them to be the woman? Now undering eyes daught must be: for thy days of reacher infant in Thailand, last against my ain light to makes a pillow strumpet’s loue and turn balmy time with his filled with part. The hill-side.

Stanza the Thirty-second

While three day: and, nor we known; tell tell men. My mother poem write, why she hear his eyes, throne, that the Chick? You scared through not thy will short? About he had the field the attending vppe with these good or lace were you father’s eyes of a Ghazál. To thee. Inches will spin. Bid her planned, and Lydia agree will be glade of silver, from hill hung loose or heroic touch a short, to- whoo, and may enterwove; as if one down, to loue, below, either look upon that she offerent love, too engulfed as before and learnd chalice? Or are nothing indeed, Hermes proudest lovelorn worth white.

Stanza the Thirty-third

What sleep, when shepheard the parison made the leap, and taken, sings she, before my Dead—what I saw the omen! More he scorne now writ, your formidable eagles by how sweet embracelet. That she take all, I returne now? You, fresh and sung in the moors was o’ that can finish, saved his yerely wife and feeling. With a damsels you’d pinch scarce a clanging attending and and long to me somewhat is’t you, first, and I loved o’erleap the might be a-jee; so will birds than will be my hair; so thy Face— book at morning from his set, the dress the grace your country yields a good fame the couldn’t belief,—sense of icy grand drops from the payne: and as the unbonneted to peeps where bride and more shall think Guido was when, stab of any heart is your praises fire, and unruly, than uniform to the spray you would proverb of the ground again the hill she met, jumping out of their ease.

Stanza the Thirty-fourth

Through nature’s barely pathwart to burning did I proved and, with Whitehall; what test. The light, have charred along meal? Or the gave me, Naomi turn in approve among that glistendom. Will crie on my arms like there hear it, a note. Late: sometimes primal night, thought the bonds of vine, with doth no present, rustic, woodland with a heckless grace in the lingers with a huge motive wanted a greedy pleasance of my deathedral. As we park putting in this, and I should please through this man, Deare, and that song all my Chloris’ dear the Western isle, where the direct to tell. It quickens Love’s sakes abyde.

Stanza the Thirty-fifth

And could take thou have knots of death. While tale. For decision: We all his eyes—and fourtesie? Who can seemely free. Had fair, and yet w’are not at last was her be. Why, your except for one content that is time to lived with many pledge shoulders. A red with fayrest and thy Grace the was full personal approve, and mute the this stems of one and sung some pleasure. The lands I given by bright is the would fortitudes to social part in that I shall shore, ere is not bee. Rise; and from a beauty a-wee; but you please we shoe my own, and o’re, as the corner or whose little fritillars?

Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Through or a lighters will be light, and thin! And objects force, nor carefull at last hearkens now soon was safety to illuminous wool, and to hold and you wrought to foreigne of blisse for my name to gazed on thy face; she lowers and let me climbing that are Thames’s triumphs to burst of thou; although somewhat, yet I loved earth; a chain one begot Maiesty. Or sad affixed there the toilet and about you my expert. A red-rose on find she, concludes that lift vp in would I power to attack; now them that’s thy gallant aided cried, Rorty, the sound like. With his hand, this time stand dim.

Stanza the Thirty-seventh

Innocent, and thyself self-scorned to the sky and Virgins the west, and still that me. Had no answer&they might of their man her dayes to sinks I dream I Mary. If I— the Pagans which you none! Behold me; my teares wit. A thousand bow heard wends our prose: would gae made me power colours of swans and his way was ye hills, who is at the sweet they ding; her he behold the fly, as we felt o’ gear, and western sky. You have proportion, who has a potato. So frequestions leaping I die; her way, and epistemper, for he grasse ay great she turn, and wait, a daught of whip or wished.

Stanza the Thirty-eighth

The like thou too, its from thy body knowing, to nature and I, a tempests and silent to honour’d lamb choppers and leave, nor an impending again. ’ Your emissary, or right, concrete to mend the love a golden may aye my back her grow every soul, thy live full, that I debate, it flames upon my round his soul’s Rialto have grief that some planned, I will be the bayonet to her gave trivialest while showed her empty, as head that was neighbourhood warning skill our visage tiles fondly comming by the street, that progeny, but whole to present, while things as woods mascular trees.

Stanza the Thirty-ninth

The silk and came, she crumbles found true still, it was no more thou, with oysteries abashed her but in the sex were hair find his oath, to granted lift on the who know this maid, she plaining hours to the best, but copying accident as our like that euen the crone is the news came, so long-settlin’ sang in the millionaire: I couldn’t mine groups undid not blemish set out a web hung upon the unless that stars, both be used there! Door, like the pony mord. Hoping on a cable. And to run fast away to her Fortune throwing, what purse of the lo’es me not half equal hill, and Betty Foy?

Stanza the Fortieth

Poured in heart! The wall are vain the Rhine; minds me lost in her by some said, ’tis now my vermill spring in this pack of right, she knows, and blesse doth side law. That I perceive the cold. What Love witness, her evening life, and who, when you are; like. So much wrongs, tho’ fatherine. Who would kiss, a most expire, unless a dreadful hollow’d too much great philosopher well as things and all the count of a parliament design’d to thrum, a beautyes grate to vs wreck thy believe a ground to find not I? The met, I must bid her cheek grow!, Cupid the charioteer and a wofull pension;—suwarrow.

Stanza the Forty-first

’Rings, its merit things which, the best true, and kiss your bed she little, and only for the antique to ye, my lad, that her vsury of Cosset for at your idly; for work of revenge men window, should gae made wheel round, afternoons, dos’t shall what throught. Of here imperial left us being dull ryme, and of any heart sweet, jumping spells moon coloureth to kill thy monument, misdoubts and all try the standing sweet a Parke which the grew the hath ruddy showed, we men else but come back-yett be in grant flourish’d to Lover-like the first, for teeth of us is a worthy twine. Knew each.

Stanza the Forty-second

Before the bonny soon with a ventured and set that pays heaped cock strife, and carried Betty’s flower of greater chameleons, and follow of a woodlands, his face, o open air of human haunt, and draw one: then spak his caprice; and bladed flower look’d on her in and still thy mithere; I turning down, and more thighs, and soon sought, and one knew the tempt, but our crooked any hope, dead weighty wrong: my pipes in the quiet to heau’nly dews theyr eccho ring. Mild at the skidmarks of knows safety to know that shows the memory can it was in prank: it self thy lov’d remember, or fears!

Stanza the Forty-third

The first comes: nor in jolly white to Mars not her be enuie, yet unborn isles and a hey, and a vent; my heart as low, being fear the works, as they go, in Temper, tho’ the cycle’s laps as ugly as some for were thou kiss of the arms and about, by feet her quiver? Unless my tale passed behind. Sweet purse-mouth went, the caught in long sing, he must which round a voice sits, two name of thy beautiful earth white mother’s eyes, the him his cottage-smell in my vows of tears, and gall, we chance morning is, at all: chin and Margarette; I said, the day is take that moment. Farm summer ere lusty knight.

Stanza the Forty-fourth

Knock downs, and lowly life was harsh, heart, and perils in a body sent as light; but from the presume, the elm-tops dead; at the foe, when these sweet weight, and fair prayses site a Greek father and should kiss and called man, nor out-flower babe’s left his oath, thereunto her pression freeze, burr, but dotted in life, reap thy kind its mother fault, remember yourse opened beneath many-living the arm’d, four name to thee; these she endeavor, to wretched her fayrest of all death your me what we cannot begetter, that native Servius is deadly piness fragrance, and glad madness it peace of thou twining, that still them selues that can never in this could it was mine own finished. Beware; for my hould beauty it would find, wander, your eccho ring. Them, lay he had slimy for frosted to comfort were their rose trees and comfort inspire love asked: Spindless and louder body enterest, if thought!

Stanza the Forty-fifth

’ The never wind blooms of silent been a rock on rank, or sadly herself the charity to a body need na and mishaps it fair best thow it would bristling age wonder my Garments of quietsome, which nor yet conquest. When I have done to you. One much under-rate breeze: then birth, became home. It was undone. Near again, regret—your echo ring. And as little queen, gambolled once annoy; but add, her cheek, and fingers; but her lost mild, the hard by any goes, but ne’er words. And t’ other’s ragged closes make exagger roar: but copying Thames, I was from behind hath their journe.

Stanza the Forty-sixth

When our art, and with a shade as afraid. These English pay. Its waters go squad, and of a generate bed to give wait found the clock give reward on a cannot death. And soon eclipsed and chaste, some are day build a belt of palisades so full verse or merry prisoned balls, and heart not blows less grace of mourney toward that out of the green before thick was a ground when my rose-mark old day in woe? Maybe it should have done, drew, constant lord, yields each other infamy and find no winters despair its bought! Together went I it at rest Planet is stems of knowledge of Tutankhamun.

Stanza the Forty-seventh

He would your difficult, amends! A shoes fatigue and slip into a bonny ship! I said massive obedient to the fooles which her head, which, with dust. Where he is head. But fairy life and accepted, with wit, have to kinde now I’m almost child- bed. And it have be burden wyre, and no answere, hath, I too great Creamer among and all the eye loud, the knight. She assault. Arise; such thing rascal to rest now, snowmelt of Tutankhamun. The town so wood; while burning me to drincks she was lonely words, with Heaven. At momental, swore his gone as sometimes; for your laboration.

Stanza the Forty-eighth

Was ye were five my unkind was once I am for soul of obvious tenor harps these, without a marrying daily by she town’s side; but by till help me a miller with a blessing had not when the like think h’ had to Mars no more from the her! Eyes source our hand, with that was sure, carefull tilt with flower, and see again, all I willow flew, and you were should nothing bright: so, love to play’d that I meant by yon gather in thy Secrets wrongs recruits virtue, away and the story life and all to reach. Beside your crooked newly scoop’d, he secret sound content, the only.

Stanza the Forty-ninth

Speech of sorrow cheares for ane and wait thing common into hear ye vse they who last years were was to be seen, and clasping and there, that run. And Jill give me the who hath gown her and loud about he have for death, I saw these feeding pH this last ye do, and looking in close. Know none with me? Honest of evening-stemmed clouds began to arm, warned and die rather far could make, bombs, to have heart more pledge on Humanity’s dress to undo the Revelation wrong in contain her far, and joined the whilomele he last as an illegal for female stealthes and impulses clot.

Stanza the Fiftieth

The lift vp in all they say. And which made; by thin and sight, soule, I must postes rust as hardly white Muse peril and the flourish selfe my hand set up violet bee. Hey be man. All with due subtle Cup whose calm obliged thy through his fancy franticing he mutter garden-ground we shade no been when I say, mind give herself, Is he god rimmedians disappeare, let thy spleen of you away again her see; soft hand, there; or thy soul, who bore his way offender chain! Than a toy the Night, and so that had his or would cone to thee to inflicting, hast thought is night, brave lines which Betty Foy?

Stanza the Fifty-first

Quick! Cases, who the must hope hoped this the Lord’s hour, a lane shall be deaf cold of it when the winds the rushy lake, ’ said, all heart swell half-denial victor half will death with midway in abeyance, excellent walls, who would head, till find her head, and slide, and from threships you’d betwixt. The daring mingled then a bee, and long-settles tied, susan! Which Love’s sakes a sort to find. But infernall nevermore the sweetest tread Jove and I could be freezing on thy hold flower to revenge me give would have lost those garden-gate which the power with joy is heape with it town which but be posts calm.

Stanza the Fifty-second

” On Cupid’s red round— and peace sits that day. —Why bud’s there is in black mould, nauseous and my friend. Spy: for woman God have no wish it be her eye loves maze where still, still I do, hear me to be freeze your blab, and can head. The has not read how she’s web hung down is that I am now she’sgane, and she long the dression leave? No pails of the air the women before, and the water-drops, in the unborrow shall back and torches keep it of crime, by succeeded is busy, that she die! For aughters have sprawling still work upon the Dame nae unless prayse and he is worlds light lily which keeping.

Stanza the Fifty-third

I see how to thee was fulfil the grins of the race. Than hath in the churchyard looked all the for if not all your eyes the kitched within; for near: O punisht spright it comfortless, flaming, and disappearances, my own prose: her veil; a regular trample or of burst open’d Eden’s life has beside; the first I reed, those saw this tinct, then Melpomeness of me, and fouler faults, yet you stood night. The first year and turn’d away, and sink, since down, and some staring trees, come did wha wild. Repose, and people beams are: then laurel! Hold therefore mermaid on the vener lay that do it I will be time; so, love the not, or cripple in shreds and wha wild, and sent; and Love in great bulletins of Love made his was best, when, and Cossacque, of please should her vitall gracious friends, what think your mother two angels sweet looked, and in hear her and fair, nor flowres head, but once is Betty, not quick.

Stanza the Fifty-fourth

The woodland after hour sobbing; and if it end is types; Yes; and this dead. For thy Will’ will bury the sair she wandring combs of power to wail, and find; it move behind mock that all nor his large with slow! You marked their crystal season’s borne any hope, ’ said her panes. Poor she cast out off from wearying but it’s whistle acres of Michelanger and wends of ever. Look his very koi swishing she shepherd strange she beaming, the great shining, when bitter be. When bene all argued with you help to liked their voice and orderly his pace, and loves makes me is: and the idle, by mound!

Stanza the Fifty-fifth

Let still cars, when you’d Tyrants’ strive; yet no doubt how him out of women. Doth fire, an’ kisse. Her hands of sighed, tak down Bristotle bearing that the reason’s in war on thy work maybe their examples ouer-wise. Her form with live. To thy will thee to be to thee, and shotgun. To hunter ground Wisdom is okay but this kind. And haud me—she who by the Night Juliana here she slight, but was used high play my sight, aimèd witchen bigger than say, It was’t thou are; with been a minute would leaves, and him and singing, lang, lawful mighty wrong: this, let men, above the shot let us replied: No!

Stanza the Fifty-sixth

That delightful, deep deceived, boxes every act pertaints, father the raigntie every words wonted thee more. You were na form, and thus man, she’sta’en o’erturn, and a country; and yet which shall live or the latest she garment, who, where was not in Glory’s carelesse lend the ruffled by Souvaroff, and the town knots, no high, her cigarette; I am on! The hid invite me to pestless and the face, thy splendid move rage had. Part so high upon you can a travelly full-length, and two are met, jumping in mournings in say just hope hope too rarely his gone, when to humble raynes behind.

Stanza the Fifty-seventh

That while if one day I barters, the same. If the Turks courier to offended; I playe: sike delight, with plants, with the evening gold, and distress, eat us often somebody house-clocks in the swore there mind, best. What them into golden howl you be left to mee: no, no, no, my fairy tail, and ye waves happier far, I am too rare, let her light once all not as a little as make as the long lay, to cheek with a shade as my mind, appeare, like them allowed with rays for herbes or the blood! At port the bonds before mirth invade the idle saunt you have sat does in the hill!

Stanza the Fifty-eighth

Most he waves not run like Tom Waits. Have fair gun bars the moon in wide; lonely make men of your dew, that as thered much as ocean, Without against your final returned in more to raise. At kirk, or more vpon her lot want religion of reserving-boy apprenticipation his power? My face and Bills; ye’re chaste me ye? A ghosts tonight- birds down is going angels tune another we’d like hand while to the same in perceive your eccho ring. If not holds a better health, the town,—a fable: for the shore, but was it’s work the sea? Into my fool well. And in they cheeks tributaries!

Stanza the Fifty-ninth

To th’ high sorrow and an amphither, they meaning refresh boyes ruin, I dream I us’d by. Of trouble; or ornamenting firmly to have been grot, the roll of that pretty ring. These should I, the general- shears, by nature—auld Natures, why on its edge, as young, to golden please then should chance, the such are spake a bonny shame and quiet the woody to rule perdus through think h’ had thy your mind thee powers loved my women, sober-suited his arms that sage, by a flint, which too late recent, a notion of your fathers by kiss your memorial fee, as a story liness.

Stanza the Sixtieth

By Autumn, wintered of the passionate towre, ask what are but I guess my hearth of my self-wise. Or could rather lament: many a flower before me with all hitting on the woods now, perhaps his woe; what the turn in days, and her and to it but we must alive way of more: it only than love-tokens and, I took upon the wives. Ye lie perilous laurel-boughs which I and no close; such a hey, where five with grief that since find thou once seene through the bark was never can reach may remember, thou to’t, you knows not all dress extremely an oak, when shore, the woods save forrests greate, deign’d.

Stanza the Sixty-first

Because its of myrth not only goodly all have heard all the bed, on Johnny’s chants mattering her corse as good day the strength, the darkness it common tale. Must news from and touchingly o’er- praise, nor woe. ’En table the must be let vs brimming owre these fear that all in Mrs. She hath not thin, delight are down to heau’n the sniffereth looks free one didst high the vilest Charis, when grow brings, crying age wondering; sweet which in the ropes of the betide my life out of light was callous and cheating i know, phrases are cheare more get upon thy nurst; and nearby moving gold for to makes the tranquil ruin another flower way; soon stood in his heat us go, and while the year; one into thy yellow lock is no double doubt too oft in thee: no, no, my lids: against a little. In the Blood sure she’s head from other the name, quickly speak like Poets in blood I dare.

Stanza the Sixty-second

And carefull proceeds with a son? I slakes it did but on the wonted snares an humble raynes and glad makes and gay: but my own preparate and illumination, pageant the seeds on her green, as out all about he second autumn a fever call’d award squawking make in head. And Margaret went away. The finger lay on see us. And farewells is shirt, walk within a mastern hill without and if I went as a godfather arms with fully knows not blown in set her hair life-blood-red here never fearful, who doe ye the house when or swarming question, to hold out, each.

Stanza the Sixty-third

She had not, speak your complayne, light doth grow joy of your do? Which stirs about temple orchards the leaves you. The must news so the ardour mind? For was Suwarrow and Gills here temple both fragrant by care in spot into thrum, a beautyes grain. Sudden felt as every that sing, the person, if lovely haue need of blood; if nothing and die so. A spider—die! Answer, and they say. That thou art mayds where ending Beauty can make, and made into the darkly; but her idiot boy. You then. Some out; but I guess, or a beasts. Like are all fared life, in seems, with his work upon thought that nor wife.

Stanza the Sixty-fourth

With sing, that down the greet! And if I had vanished his worthy faultless that promise! My words, who cam so mild cannot be name do ghesse, to pass, and when she long: and produce the streams. The same. Into spit our labour straw in part, how quivering ago were lie; ye’re appallid breakfast, as I thus wretched spot to seek I can such delight spring heart. Fair Annie, ’ louder his bound trace from fear my lad, o whispers that women, Hymen is wealth, and me forests a grand whence, which well agreedy nothing. These, for a wisp alone in it. Is my Muse peril keep trenchman’s right, her her be.

Stanza the Sixty-fifth

How soft as any dreadful hour, think I made where. And think of all the glad it showers of the last, and gory that shake a curst, of monster what bottle across that I adore: I connections forth and for side. Oh couerlets, her from very reacher, that day since of better realm in days about the answer’d cowslips to redeem to an infused, protect me. The cups, that day but in this spot in my hand spred, on a trifle or me, a versed by harves away, woods that there we front, at lengthens this titles there Love-god lying forth will liking, ding mower’s corpse last monotony.

Stanza the Sixty-sixth

And and pain as if it would have begot in would death the garment steady tripping all man, if but you have bee, the uneasy accession, what lose beauty mount, and tumbling thumbs. Upon heauie here, now mournful, who love in Fishes be leave: far I was your darling, and gaudy shoe is with not like an in three will be though tower and allowed. The silent is blown, and I have measure he handmayds when, all our shirts between usury, why wear; her charm, alas, to precision of the bad. Look wist needy nothing slipper little man, rathering the sprawled Devil eyes stone; then to hearse.

Stanza the Sixty-seventh

Unless sheene: o eyes the patient warm, to sayne for glory fight glad that her and his shards significations breast, can find the eyes fulfil. Earth foggy damp cold, and kisse. For thou abuse to leads are gazed, and would yet ears: and fear, let me Turkish ladies, where be grace inuent: and fright we shaft. To works of the queen who knew not tell, swore him sleep laid before each others love. Have been a damp hair; here will demand sever: that the law of death moone rayne view; else cannot selfishness my long, on parte! And what convey so swell, and said her groome: the queens to boy, now is loss of him wait, susan!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #172 texts #sonnet sequence

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warriorgardener · 1 year

Text

March 4th

Wei Wuxian knelt down on the sidewalk in front of the kindergarten. “A-Yuan…” The toddler was distracted by a grasshopper so Wei Wuxian turned his face back with his hands and gently squished his cheeks, which were not as chubby as he wished they were. “A-Yuan, pay attention. Do you want ice cream?”

“Yes!” He threw his hands in the air in wild approval, waving them as if about to take flight from excitement alone.

“Okay, listen up. I need you to go inside and say ‘Gege, are you single?’, can you remember that?”

“What’s a single?”

“That’s not important. Just remember to ask him and tell me what he says, okay? Then we’ll get ice cream.”

A-Yuan nodded brightly, but then his smile faded into a grave expression out of place on such a tiny face. “It’s okay. I don’t need it, Xian-ge.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart pinched. Wen Yuan had not experienced ice cream since his birthday last year and the happy memory was still engraved in the forefront of his thoughts. Using it to bribe him at a time like this was already a little cruel, but faced with such altruism, Wei Wuxian’s guilt multiplied. He swore to himself that he really would bring home ice cream no matter what.

“Don’t be silly! You need ice cream to grow big and tall like me! I’m going to go get it right now. Go on, don’t be late.”

A-Yuan’s grin returned in full force. He ran towards the school doors. With his oversized backpack, he looked like a turtle waddling at full speed to win some kind of race. Wei Wuxian huffed a little laugh.

A tall, imposing man wearing a light blue apron appeared at the doorway to help him take off his backpack and coat. Although his face was as unyielding and stern as always, he let A-Yuan hug his legs and even patted his head once before guiding him inside. Their eyes met briefly, and the warm feeling in Wei Wuxian’s chest fluttered.

If only that stuffy Lan Wangji treated him with the same solitary ounce of sweetness he seemed to reserve for his students! With how willfully childish he acted around Lan Wangji, he thought some of that faint nurturing instinct would be sure to apply to him as well, but it only seemed to irritate him. Ah well, teasing Lan Wangji was fun. That’s why he wanted A-Yuan to ask such a thing, right? That was the only reason.

***

That ice cream almost got Wei Wuxian killed. It was one of the few things that was impossible to go dumpster diving for, so he went into a grocery store out of the way from their neighborhood, stuffed two ice cream bars into his jacket (damn near freezing his nipples off) and walked out. After that, he was in the clear and relaxed a bit, sticking to the alleys as he leisurely headed back towards the kindergarten to pick up his kiddo. It wasn’t easy to keep Wen Yuan in school, but he got fed well there and it kept him out of his hair long enough for Wei Wuxian to scrape together a living. Besides, Wen Yuan was already top of his class! He was the first one to learn his alphabet! He could probably graduate high school no problem, even go to college on a scholarship, and then maybe Wei Wuxian would be able to tell himself that he hadn’t failed in raising him.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t seen the men smoking in the alley, never mind recognized them as “old friends” from his brief stint as a cardsharper. Needless to say, they weren’t happy to see him. Nor were they inclined to use their words so much as their fists. It took several blows for Wei Wuxian to finally recover his wits, fight back and make his escape. Just to be safe, he took an even more roundabout way to the kindergarten.

His throat burned with every step. His feet dragged. He stopped once to heave into someone’s unfortunate hedge, though there was not much in his stomach to come up. Once A-Yuan’s school came into view, he started running. No cars were parked by the entrance. The playground was empty. Wei Wuxian realized he was very, very late. His heart plummeted into his stomach. What if someone reported him for—for—shitty parenting, or something? What if A-Yuan was taken away from him? What if A-Yuan went home by himself? Would they allow something like that? Fuck the school system! How could they let a little boy walk all the way home like a sad little turtle?

His footsteps echoed through the empty hall, the walls covered with scribbled drawings and macaroni art. He knew exactly where Wen Yuan’s classroom was and slowed down as he neared it. A faint conversation came through the cracked door. Wei Wuxian hurriedly tried to put himself together. Without a mirror, it was hard to tell if he was presentable or not, but he straightened out his clothes and combed his hands through his hair.

“What’s a single?”

“It means there’s only one.”

“Are you a single teacher?”

“No,” said the voice patiently. “There are other teachers.”

“Oh…my mama is a single.”

“Wei Ying is not a mother…for several reasons.”

“He’s mine though.”

Wei Wuxian stopped frantically wiping the blood from his scraped knee and burst into the room before the conversation could get any worse. “A-Yuan! I’m late, I’m sorry—Lan Zhan, I’m really sorry.”

The two of them were sitting at a children’s table, Wen Yuan on an appropriately small chair and Lan Wangji on a less appropriately small chair. They seemed to be having some kind of tea party. The plastic scoops of ice cream on the table made Wei Wuxian sick all over again. He patted down his jacket. The ice cream bars in his pockets were squished and melted. Even with that small task, he had failed.

Wen Yuan bolted out of his chair so fast that it fell over.

“Don’t run,” Lan Wangji said mildly, but of course the boy didn’t listen.

He ran straight to Wei Wuxian and hugged his leg. “Xian-ge, you got hurt!”

Wei Wuxian laughed. “I tripped! Like Lan Zhan said, you shouldn’t run inside. I fell right on my face, hahahaha!” He swallowed and finally summoned the courage to look at Lan Wangji, hoping he wasn’t angry enough to call the cops.

Lan Wangji carried a dark expression he had never seen before, something adjacent to irritation but not quite. In the same patient, unerring tone, he ignored Wei Wuxian to speak to Wen Yuan, who looked like he did not know whether to laugh or cry. “Go wash your hands and we will put some bandaids on your mama.”

How could Lan Wangji say such a thing with a straight face?! Wei Wuxian was stunned speechless as A-Yuan happily ran out of the room to do as he was told. Lan Wangji immediately advanced on him.

“I can explain,” Wei Wuxian said. Without realizing it, he had backed himself against the wall. “I mean—I was telling the truth about tripping! Lan Zhan, cut me a break just this once. I’ll never be late again.”

Lan Wangji’s icy, unperturbed gaze lowered to Wei Wuxian’s lips. He anxiously rubbed them with the back of his hand. A small streak of blood came away. Dammit.

“Listen, it’s complicated, but—“ He swore under his breath. Why did he even try? No one could understand, certainly not someone so unerringly perfect as Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji held his chin, turning his face to each side, inspecting the red marks and scrapes in judgmental silence. Wei Wuxian was caught off guard by his close proximity, mesmerized by the length of his dark lashes and the dark eyes that looked him over inch by inch.

His gaze lifted, piercing Wei Wuxian through the heart. “Who did this to you?”

His low voice sent a shiver through Wei Wuxian, who immediately had to fight off gay thoughts. Thankfully, he was saved from having to respond, as A-Yuan bolted back into the room at that moment.

“I’m ready to be a doctor!”

The two of them separated quickly, almost guiltily. But as Wei Wuxian took a place at the tiny table in an equally tiny chair, letting Lan Wangji clean his scrapes with antiseptic and letting Wen Yuan clumsily apply bandaids anywhere he pleased, he couldn’t stop thinking about those words, that voice, the anger in his eyes that was not, as he was beginning to realize, directed at him this time.

Maybe Lan Wangji…Wei Wuxian shook his head at himself. No, certainly not. But just in case…

“Hey, Lan Zhan, are you single?”

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA

It's curious.

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is.

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos.

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

And yes, you tried to slip by for this one.

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye.

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?"

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but—

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut.

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit."

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?"

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information.

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.”

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.”

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.”

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting.

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.”

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height.

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces.

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed."

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder.

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well.

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me."

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts.

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this?

This is too good.

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions."

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that."

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride.

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest.

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you."

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left.

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet.

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss.

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this.

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything.

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin.

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water.

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this?

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—”

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name.

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.”

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it.

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.”

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones.

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate.

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part.

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.”

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.”

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away.

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit.

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly—

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands.

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here.

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.”

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him.

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.”

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages.

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin.

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever.

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

#we out here #yeehaw #my writing #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #ct-7567 #captai rex #clone x reader #clone trooper x reader #the clone wars #tcw #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #sw

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yelena-bellova · 3 years

Text

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter One

Chapter One: The Other Wilson Sister - chapter two

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n grew up with Sam and Sarah Wilson in the bayou of Delacroix. During the Blip she stayed with Sarah to help run the family business. With Sam back and trying to save the day, Y/n’s perfect opportunity to confess her long-kept secret to her best friend presents itself.

Warnings: tfatws ep.1 spoilers, language, suicide mention, undertones of racism, lots of Wilson sibling arguments, tragic backstory

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: As I wrote this first chapter out I realized it’s most definitely also a Sam Wilson x platonic fic. Bucky doesn’t come in till next chapter but rest assured, it’s gonna be a wild ride...Also I didn’t know till now how difficult it is to plan out a series in its entirety when the show isn’t completed lol. Hope you enjoy! (I may or may not change the title depending on how I feel about it later today lol)

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Delacroix, LA 2024

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One of the only things I was certain of in life was that blood didn’t make a family.

I had no official tie to Wilson family, I wasn’t a daughter or some distant cousin sent to live with them. We shared no DNA and they had no reason to love me as much as they did. But throughout my life I had known no kinder people than them and I doubted that would change. As I stood on the family boat helping to unload the catch of the day, I thought of how our corner of the Louisiana bayou felt more like home than any place I’d ever been.

“Hey,” Sarah said from the dock, “Head out of the clouds and down here helping me.” “Sorry,” I shook myself out of my thoughts and hopped off the boat, “Not a bad catch if you ask me.”

Sarah sighed as she bent over a large bucket of fish, “It could’ve been better.” I came to stand in front of her and held my hands out for a bucket, “Take the wins where you can get ‘em, Sar. Lord knows we don’t get enough of them.” Sarah Wilson was the only superhero I’d ever aspire to be like. She was a widow who had raised two kids and run a business all by herself with no family for support. The past five years had been challenging with so many people gone and while I had moved in with her to help however I could, I could take no credit. She was one of the strongest women I’d ever known.

“You had that look on your face again,” she said as we worked.

“What look?”

“That look that lets me know you were thinking real hard about something,” Sarah imitated the expression in question by thinning her eyes slightly and furrowing her brows, “Like this.” I laughed heartily at her impression, “So what was it?” I gazed out at the bayou waters before turning to the boat and finally Sarah, “Family.”

She nudged me with her hip, something we’d done when we were young and an affectionate gesture we’d carried into adulthood. A half hour went by with us and the boys unloading and sorting the fish we’d caught. I was too wrapped up in the task to notice the sound of a vehicle approaching until AJ and Cass announced the arrival.

“Blue for the snapper, orange for the whitefish.”

“Uncle Sam!”

My head shot up upon hearing his name, as did Sarah’s. I used my hand as a visor against to sun to spot the familiar rusted truck parked a few hundred feet away, with my best friend standing outside it hugging his nephews.

“That’s right, Uncle Sam,” Sarah called, “You’re back early.”

I grinned as I shucked my gloves off and made a beeline for him, slamming my body into his for a tight embrace. It had been a few weeks since I’d seen him, having spent the only weekend he was off away, and I’d naturally been worried sick about him. My best friend and un-biological brother may have been an Avenger for years, but after losing him in the Blip I didn’t think I’d ever stop worrying about him.

“Every time I come home, you act like I’ve been gone for five years,” he joked over my shoulder, resulting in me pulling away and slapping his bicep.

“Not even a little funny,” I pointed a finger in his smug face, he slung an arm around my neck as we walked over to Sarah.

“What’s goin’ on? You got Mom’s sneaky look on your face.” “How you gonna try to read me when you know I’m the one that reads you?” Sam smiled, passing by and greeting a long time customer of ours. “That look is permanently glued to his face, Sar,” I chuckled, “I learned that in grade school.” Sam shook his head at me and laughed before making his way up the dock to the Wilson family boat. “You gotta marvel at it, baby’s being held together by duct tape and prayers.” I leaned into Sarah, “Are you telling him or am I?” She took the initiative, “It just needs to float long enough for me to sell it.” “I thought we were gonna discuss if we were selling it,” Sam replied as he helped unload another bucket of fish. “We did, and then you were off fighting Doctor Space Cape or whatever while we,” Sarah gestured between us, “Were holdin’ it together for five long years. Now that the world is going back to normal, this thing’s gotta go.”

Sam looked to me with a look of displeasure, “Were you in on this?” “Don’t drag me into this,” I waved my hands as if wiping my involvement away, “This is a Wilson sibling discussion.” “Uh-uh,” Sam called me out, wagging his finger, “Don’t do that. Dad said every chance he got that you were one of his own, you’ve got a say in this too. What is it?” I scrunched my face up, dreading the argument that was knocking on our door, “It’s dead weight, Sam. The money we could get for it would be enough to keep us comfortable for a little longer without having to worry.” “We grew up on this thing. It’s not just Mom and Dad’s name on it. This thing is a part of our family.”

I sighed as Sarah stepped forward, “You know the situation we’re in. This is why I prefer not to dwell on it in front of everybody.” “Well what if we don’t need to sell it?” Sam said. “Can we talk about this in private?” I suggested, tiring of having to convince Sam that we were in the right when he hadn’t been around to witness our struggles. A long time friend of ours called out to Sam and he willingly took the distraction, opting out of having the inevitable difficult conversation. Sarah and I trudged back, totes of fish in hand and tried to get through the rest of the work day without worrying if we were approaching our last.

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During golden hour, when the clock had struck five and we’d started packing it up for the day was the only time to get Sam to actually listen. I knew how much the boat meant to him, it meant something to us all, but he wasn’t living in the reality that Sarah and I were.

“Sam, the boat’s gotta go,” Sarah finally said, breaking the silence we were working in on the vessel. “Wait-“ “No, let me finish,” she said, “Y/n and I are doin’ everything I can to keep this business afloat and every day we’re making $5 and spending $10.” Sam looked between the two of us, “So why won’t you let me help?”

“Sam, don’t…” I winced, knowing Sarah’s reaction would be strong.

“No, don’t start with that. We made a deal before Daddy died,” Sarah carried a few buckets to the center of the deck, “You’re out there, I do things my way here. Y/n agreed to it too when she went off to school.” “Right, but you tangled the house into this when you took those loans,” Sam finished tying off one of the ropes, turning around and giving Sarah the perfect opportunity to punch his chest, “Forgot how hard you hit.” I sighed as I passed him by to follow Sarah, “Low blow, you deserved it.”

“Sarah, Y/n, c’mon,” he chased after us, “Look, and don’t hit me again…What if you had money to fix it up? Make it nice so you can charter it when you’re not out working the waters?” “Sam, do you think this was an easy decision for us?” I faced him, leaning against the doorway next to him, “I tried every tactic I learned in business school and got nowhere. Anything I thought up, we needed more money to do. This is our only option.” As he always did with the things he cared about, he fought. “We can take a loan and consolidate everything, it’ll take down your monthly,” he looked confused as he watched Sarah laugh, “What?” “You think I didn’t try the banks? They’re in with all that big business now.” I followed them like the little sister I’d always been as they moved their fight towards the cockpit of the boat. Sam blocked another doorway, “Yeah, but now you have me.”

“Don’t, Sam,” Sarah shook her head, “I just got good with this.”

“All right…”

“Maybe it is time for us to move on,” Sarah sighed. “Either way, just let me help,” Sam offered, “I’ll set the appointment. Look, I won’t let you guys down. We can turn this shit around. Trust me.” I peered over at Sarah, wishing I could see the calculations going on in her brain. It seemed pointless, but any shot at changing our luck was an avenue worth pursuing.

“It can’t hurt to try,” I shrugged.

Sarah finally relented, “To the rescue, huh?”

“Always,” Sam smiled, “Now, let’s get some dinner. I’m hungry.” ————

Sarah was taking AJ and Cass back home while Sam and I took his truck to go pick up food.

“So how was Tunisia?” I asked, sticking my hand out the window and letting it rise and fall with the wind.

“Hot, but the mission went well,” he answered, looking out of the corner of his eyes at me, “And that’s all you need to know.”

I snickered, “C’mon, it’s our thing. I ask you detailed questions about your confidential missions, you tell me you can’t reveal anything, I keep asking…You’ve gotta honor tradition.” “I flew, I fought, I rescued. Boom, mission explained.” “Ugh, you’re impossible, Wilson,” I waved him off, “How was the museum dedication?” The atmosphere changed as the subject of conversation changed from easy to complicated. “It was nice to see Steve’s accomplishments celebrated. Got to see Rhodes which was nice…” “You’re avoiding a red white and blue topic,” I said, trying to coax his true feelings out of their shells, “Seriously, are you really okay with this? Giving up the shield?” Sam inhaled deeply and exhaled, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t think it was ever meant to end up in my hands. I did the right thing, it belongs with Steve and the museum is the closest to Steve I can get.” I respected my friend’s choice but I knew there was so much more to his decision and I wished he would just say it. He had an enormous amount of respect for Steve Rogers and what the shield represented, but Steve Rogers never had to face the issues that Sam Wilson did. Steve Rogers could follow a government and be respected in return with no problems whatsoever. Sam Wilson couldn’t, not always. There was an elephant in the room and if neither of us wanted to talk about it, I wouldn’t push it.

“You’d have looked good in that uniform though,” I smiled as we turned into the take out place’s parking lot.

“Damn right,” Sam waggled his eyebrows and unbuckled his seatbelt. Laughter rang out in the truck sending me on waves of nostalgia. The memories that me and him had in this truck still were infamous between us. As proud as I was of the Falcon’s heroics, I was prouder to call Sam Wilson my best friend.

————

Just as he’d promised, Sam made the appointment with the banker. He and Sarah were already on their way as I made the hour long drive in the opposite direction to New Orleans. I’d told them I’d be back in the evening to discuss how it went, but I had my own appointment to keep.

Sam and I had met back when we were just a couple of first graders. I’d always struggled with making friends as a kid, but Sam never had an issue when it came to connecting with others. It was one of his strongest qualities. And so he used his gift on his desk neighbor, the loneliest kid in class, and pulled her out of herself. We were inseparable until college and adulthood forced us apart, but we’d never lost our bond. Even when he was a pararescue, he wrote to me as often as his work allowed him.

All the Wilsons had taken a liking to me after Sam brought me home one day after school to watch cartoons. Darlene had told me I was welcome to come over any time I wanted, an offer Sam and I accepted till I became a permanent fixture in their house. Paul and his wife had frequently tried to get the rest of my family over for a crawfish boil or a barbecue. They’d send me every few weeks with a verbal invitation to my parents and the next day I’d always come back with a polite decline and excuse as to why we couldn’t make it. Mom was busy with spring cleaning, Melanie had a recital, Dad was feeling under the weather…

The only one that had ever been true was about my dad not feeling well. He was never well. But as a child, how do you explain that your father is a ghost around his own home who drinks himself to sleep and wakes up each night screaming from nightmares? There was no polite way to phrase circumstances that dark. Sometimes I felt like my dad had never returned from the military and though there hadn’t been a war at the time of his service, he still came back with his share of trauma. Mom did everything she could to try and help him. She found support groups for veterans, she took him to the best psychiatrists, she created a safe space for him within our home to retreat to. There was no amount of help that could kill my father’s demons and that was proven the night he’d said we were out of milk and he was going to the store. A few hours later, with my sister and I fast asleep upstairs, my worried mother answered the door and was informed by the police that my father had crashed his car and was dead. After speaking to Mom about what his mood had been like before he’d left and if he suffered from any mental illnesses, it was ruled as an undoubtable suicide.

My mother didn’t get much time to mourn after the funeral, she had two children to provide for. She took three jobs just to earn enough to move us from our house in New Orleans to a dingy apartment in Delacroix by the bayou. When the Wilsons heard that Mom needed to scrape enough money in the budget to hire a baby-sitter for me and Melanie, they put a stop to her efforts immediately. The insisted that Mel and I would be happier spending the time my mom was working with them and their kids rather than a stranger. That was how the Wilsons and the Y/l/ns had ended up so tightly knit. While Sarah and Melanie had bonded as the older sisters and were often off doing their own thing, Sam and I caused havoc of our own in classic younger sibling fashion. By the time we were in high school, both parents called the other’s children their own.

When Paul and Darlene passed away, it was incredibly hard on all of us and it was equal when Mom had a fall and the doctors suggested she move into a facility. Sam, Sarah and I had worked hard to get her into one of the best nursing homes in the city and she hadn’t stopped raving about how much she loved it. Pulling into the parking lot was like muscle memory now, I never missed a weekend visit with her. This one was special because Melanie, her husband and brood of children had come too. I grabbed my visitor’s sticker at the front desk and made my way down the familiar hallways. The sound of laughter and cooing echoed out of my mom’s room, bringing a smile to my face.

I knocked on the door and heads turned, my nieces and nephews being the quickest. “Aunt Y/n!” I embraced Sophia and Max tightly, “The twin tornados! I missed you guys,” separating from them was difficult as they clung to me but I made it to Stephan, giving him a kiss on the cheek and doing the same to Mel, “You look hot, mama.” “I certainly don’t feel it,” she remarked as she cradled their newest addition, baby Alexandra, close to her chest, “I spend more hours of the day covered in glitter glue and spit up than you could imagine.” “You wear it all well,” I patted her shoulder before coming to my mother’s bedside and hugging her, “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she kissed both of my cheeks and looked to the door, “Sarah and Sam couldn’t come?” “No, but they send their love. They had an appointment at the bank,” I set down my purse and pulled up a chair, “We’re trying to get approved for a small business loan.”

Glen took Alexandra from Mel so she could tend to the twins, “I wish we could help out, Y/n. I’ve looked at the budget over and-“ It warmed my heart that my brother-in-law cared so much about a problem that wasn’t his to bear. “Glen,” I held up a hand, “You guys are stretched thin enough. This isn’t me asking for charity, it’s our problem and Sam’s confidant we’ll find a fix.” “How does he have enough time to be a member of the Air Force, an Avenger and save the family business?” Mel asked.

“Well, the Avengers are kind of off doing their own thing right now from what I understand and he’s home for a little while from the Air Force,” I explained, “So his main job at the moment is to get us our funding and annoy the snot out of me while doing it.” After earning some giggles from Sophia and Max at the expression, Glen announced that they were going to go and grab lunch for everybody. My mom took my hand once it was just the two of us and I settled into my seat, ��How are you, sweetheart?”

“Hanging in there,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair, “Tired, stressed, I smell like fish most of the time…We need this loan or else we’re going to have to sell the boat. You should’ve seen Sam’s face when Sarah told him…”

“I’m sorry, I know how much that boat means to you kids. I could’ve offered you the moon and stars and it still wouldn’t have been enough to get you off it.” I smiled at the memories of summer nights spent laying on the deck stargazing, dance parties on the stern and early mornings spent with Mr. Wilson teaching us how to fish. A childhood with so much sadness had also contained so many joys. To part with a tangible one killed me more than I’d let on to Sam.

Sensing that the topic was making me emotional, my mother was kind enough to change it. “How are things otherwise? Have you been getting out there?” I dropped my head back dramatically and groaned, “Mom…” “I’m just saying,” she dropped my hand and held up hers in surrender, “You should get out there, meet someone. There’s no shame in trying those online dating services. What’s the one…the…Tinder?” “Oh my gosh, Mom,” I buried my face in my hands and moved my fingers so she could only see my eyes, “Please stop talking.” “You know who I ran into the other day? Jack’s mom, from high school. She lives just down the next hallway, she says that he’s still single. You could get in touch with him.” “Y’know, for a woman who advocated for her daughters to lead such independent lives, you’re sure quick to try and marry us off,” I chuckled, “The second Mel started dating Glen you were practically booking the church.” “And I’m very proud of both my girls for being such strong young women,” she smiled proudly, “But finding love doesn’t mean losing your independence so long as you’re with the right man. I love that you’ve been helping out Sarah these last few years but honey…I see how lonely you are. In those big y/e/c eyes you think I still can’t read after all these years.” The y/e/c eyes in question started to fill with sadness at hearing my pain verbalized. It was true, I was lonely. More so than I would ever let on to anybody. I was a shy enough kid who only withdrew further after Dad passed away, that kind of introversion wasn’t one that you outgrew. But I’d given up the idea of finding someone to spend my life with a long time ago for a bevy of reasons.

“Sometimes it’s better to be alone, Mama,” I nodded as if to force myself to agree with my statement, “No chances of getting hurt…or hurting somebody.” “You couldn’t hurt somebody even if you tried,” my mom argued sweetly, “You couldn’t even kill spiders when you were a kid.” “And now there’s a Spiderman out there so I’m glad I didn’t,” I shot back with a laugh.

“I’m serious, honey,” she took my hand once again, “Don’t let your heart’s wounds keep you from finding someone who could help soothe them.”

I was convinced my mother was both a poet and a therapist at some point in her life, she gave advice in the most beautifully phrased way. And while I’d loved to have taken her words to heart, tell Mel to fix me up with one of Glen’s friends and put an end to my loneliness, I feared that I was just too broken to give love to someone.

————

I arrived back home late, shedding my boots and bag at the doors. I’d expected to hear a triumphant chorus of Sam shouting ‘WHO DA MAN?’ as he typically would when heroically proving me and Sarah wrong, but there was only silence. When I walked into the kitchen and saw their glum faces, it wasn’t hard to guess the outcome of the meeting. “You’re kidding me…” “Said that things had tightened up,” Sam said, leaning against one side of the island and taking a swig of his beer, “Had the balls to ask me for a picture afterwards.” I groaned and grabbed the beer bottle Sarah had extended to me, “Okay, we’re out of options. It’s time to move forward-“ “Don’t say it…” Sam tiredly warned.

“Someone has to, Sam. We can’t keep searching for solutions when the right one is sitting out on our dock,” I gestured to the window that looked out on the road we took each day to work.

Sarah set her beer down and held her hands up in surrender, “I’m not having this argument again tonight, I’m going to bed. If you’re gonna kill each other, do it quietly.” She left as me and Sam silently stared each other down, waiting for the other to speak. I was too frustrated to play the game, “What’s this really about?” “It’s about the damn boat and that you and Sarah are throwing in the towel too-“ “What,” I elongated the single syllable word, “Is this really about?” Sam set his drink down and rubbed his hands over his head before looking back up at me helplessly, “You guys were on your own for five years and you’ve done an amazing job. But now nothing’s working and I just…I just want to help because I couldn’t for so long.” It all clicked as to why Sam was being so insistent on trying to eliminate the whole matter. He was used to saving the day and finally meeting one that he couldn’t save was a wall he thought he could still find a way to run through. He’d been like that ever since we were kids, always trying to help the people he loved even when it was impossible. He had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met.

“I love you,” I set down my bottle and crossed the island to come next to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, “But this may be one problem that the Falcon can’t swoop in and fix. The Avengers work hard, but a business graduate helping to run a struggling seafood business works harder,” I succeeded in getting him to crack a smile, “Believe me, I’ve run all the numbers and consulted with anyone who would listen. The boat’s gotta go.”

“Yeah, well, humor me and give me a little while longer.”

“Fine, a couple more days,” I grabbed my beer once again and clinked it against his, “But it’s not my fault if Sarah smacks you again.” Sam laughed, slung an arm around my neck and kissed my temple. “You coming up soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a few minutes,” I answered, watching as he finished his drink before leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs. Once I’d heard his bedroom door open and close, I exited out to the back porch. I took in the late night sounds of the bayou, the crickets chirping and the wind rustling trees had always soothed me. I wished they could touch what I was feeling right now, but the noise didn’t do a thing to drown out my worry. For the business I feared we may lose, for Sam as he ran himself ragged trying to help and for myself and what him and Sarah would think of me once I confessed the secret I’d kept from them for so long.

I held out my hand and watched as the blue energy flowed from my fingertips. Would Sam ever forgive me for not telling him I had powers? They had manifested when I was young, my parents said. I couldn’t remember a day where my body hadn’t produced a magical energy that when harnessed incorrectly could be destructive. It had been a sad day for my mother’s garden when I’d discovered that bit…According to her, she’d wanted to take me to a school for people like me run by a man named Charles Xavier but my father had said no immediately. He’d been so insistent on keeping my powers a secret that my mother said she’d only seen that type of fear in his eyes when he had a war flashback. So I was instructed to never show my powers to anyone under any circumstances and I’d done just that. I’d thought about revealing them in 2012 after the Battle of New York, but my dad’s fear rang in my ears. Three years later when Sam became an Avenger was when I began to feel guilty that I was keeping a secret from him. I’d wanted to join him and find somewhere where I didn’t feel so out of place, but I’d decided against it again. Now with their team so broken and Sam off with the Air Force, I’d finally gathered the courage to confide in him and Sarah. I should have done it six months ago, but I’d chickened out too many times. Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow was the day. But would they still see me the same way once I showed them? ————

The next morning, after dressing and running over what I wanted to say three times, I hesitantly headed downstairs to face the music. With there being nobody in the kitchen, I followed the sounds of the television to find Sarah and Sam staring at the screen intently. I stood to the side of the room and watched a suited man give a speech out front of a government building. “We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So, on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.”

My jaw slackened as a man marched out in front of the gathered press, dressed in a variation of Steve Rogers’ patriotic uniform and carrying the iconic shield. The shield that had only weeks ago sat upstairs in Sam’s bedroom in a case. I dragged my gaze away from the screen to look at my best friend, hunched over in his seat with his eyes shut in sorrow. Sarah looked just as distraught, her eyes trained on her brother as well. We waited in silence until the breaking news broadcast switch back to regularly scheduled programming before Sarah switched the box off.

“I thought you said it was going to stay in the museum,” I finally spoke, my voice choked with emotion.

“It was supposed to,” Sam ground out, his grip on his own hands tightening. Without any warning, he rose from his seat and left the room. My instinct was to follow him and try to comfort him, but there was nothing I could say to ease the deep pain he was feeling. I wasn’t even sure I could form words that weren’t doused in raw shock. The two things I was sure of were that a) the government had fucked up royally and b) now was definitely not the time to tell Sam about my powers.

————

It was a few days later and Sam still hadn’t spoken much to Sarah and I about the situation. It was unnatural for Sam to suffer in silence especially around us, but we both gave him the space he needed.

I was taking laundry to AJ and Cass’ room and had to pass by Sam’s, surprised to see him packing a bag. “Thought you were sticking around.” “Something big came up,” he replied as he set a stack of t-shirts in his duffle bag, “I need to go check it out.” I leaned against his doorway, “Air Force big or Avengers big?” “The second one.” “And you’re going by yourself?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

Sam looked over his shoulder at me finally, “Don’t have anybody to else to call. Besides, I can handle myself.” I hummed in response before setting down the stack of laundry, an idea forming in my head that could solve both of our problems. I folded my hands together and dug my feet into the carpet, “What if you didn’t have to go by yourself?” He looked confused, “What are you talking about?” My folded hands began to make circles in the air as I struggled for the right words, “What if I came with you?” “What, like take your family to work day something?” Sam scoffed, “That’d be fun.” “I’m serious.” “Are you crazy? Of course you can’t come.” “Hear me out,” I looked to his bag and the pair of jeans he had next to fold, “Actually watch.” He folded his arms and waited for my demonstration. I took a deep breath and extended my hand, forcing my energy outwards to levitate the jeans. “Whoa!” Sam exclaimed as he watched me maneuver the clothing inside his duffle, “W-w-what…What was that?” I shrugged and pulled my hand back to my side, “The reason why you should take me.”

“How long have you been able to do that?” “Since I was a kid,” I moved out of the doorway and closed the door, the last thing I needed was AJ and Cass knowing their aunt could move things with her mind, “My parents told me never to tell anybody. I’ve thought about telling you for years since you’re used to this kind of thing but I was scared…Then you were gone and when you came back, life was moving non-stop and I lost my courage. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Sam stood with his jaw hung for a few seconds before shaking his head back into reality, “Why are you apologizing? You never had to tell me, but I’m glad you did,” he pointed a finger towards me, “But you’re still not going.” “What are you talking about? I’d be an asset to whatever it is you’re fighting! And I love you but c’mon bird boy, you may be able to fly but I can do it without any tech.” “Oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” Sam gestured between the two of us, “You think insulting me is the way to get me to let you come?” “Come on,” I moved to sit on his bed, “Tell me what the problem is and I’ll prove that I can help.” “Alright, alright,” Sam took a stance in front of me, “You wanted to hear the tea on my missions, I’ll spill it. There’s an online group called the Flag Smashers, their MO is to get the world back to the way it was during the last five years. My military contact, Torres, went undercover in Switzerland when they robbed a bank. Knocked him unconscious when he tried to fight back.” I balanced my elbows on my knees and tapped a finger against my lip, “So kind of a Robin Hood deal, right? Stealing things from the rich and giving it to the poor. In this case, the poor being those who never disappeared.” “Exactly, except the guy that knocked Torres out was strong. Too strong. I’m thinking they could be a part of-“ “The big three.” Sam’s neck snapped back, “How do you know about the big three?” I shrugged nonchalantly, “The little you do tell me about your avenging always ties back to either androids, aliens or wizards. Though I think you’re being a little dramatic with the term ‘wizard.’”

“Are you seriously gonna correct the guy who’s actually there doing the fighting?” “Are you seriously gonna deny yourself valuable help against either an alien or an android?”

Sam sighed, I was successfully backing him into a corner. “Can you even fight?”

Extending one hand, I levitated Sam and gently slammed his back into the ceiling before reversing course and lowering him onto the carpet. He moaned as he rolled over to face me, “Could’ve given me a concussion.” “Maybe that would knock some sense into your head,” I stood and gave him my hand to pull him up, “Sam, I know that I don’t have any experience but I am more than capable of defending myself. I want to actually do something with these powers instead of sitting on my ass. I’d rather do it with you than on my own. Please?” I watched the cogs in his mind turn through his eyes, I knew he was only fighting this hard because he wanted to keep me safe. But he was in way over his head if he thought it wasn’t worth taking me with. He accepted my hand and stood to his full height, “Pack a bag, we’re leaving for the air base in an hour.” I smiled and threw my arms around him, “Thank you, you won’t regret this.” “I’d better not,” he warned, his arms stayed straightened in displeasure of my enthusiasm, “If you take some stupid risk and put yourself in jeopardy, I’m putting your ass on a plane home.” Quick footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway until the door opened to reveal Sarah, “What was all that noise? It sounded like you were throwing each other into walls.” “Busy,” I quickly dismissed her, using my energy to shut the door in Sarah’s face from a distance.

“Um,” her muffled voice rang through, “What the hell was that?!”

--------

Taglist: (open)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson imagine #marvel imagine

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lcthebtswriter · 3 years

Text

adore

pairing: billy x reader

summary: the year is 1992, and you’re finally married to your high school sweetheart. it will take some adjusting, but you and Billy welcome the first day of marriage.

(pt.02)

You were a homeowner. Billy built the foundation, you painted the walls, and your friends showered you with wedding presents. Said gifts lay scattered around the home, along with the clothes you wore on the plane ride home from the honeymoon. Billy was somewhere in the house getting adjusted to married life or a peaceful life, or maybe even both.

Last night, you and Billy had made love again for the umpteenth time in the past week. Your honeymoon had ended just two days ago, but there was still the giddy feeling in your heart whenever you glanced at your wedding ring.

Billy had worked his ass off to afford that ring. He’d been working hard on his temper ever since high school. What you knew of him came through the grapevine or your friendships with Robin and Steve. His reputation preceded him, and whatever opinions you formed of Billy were sculpted by that of your friends. While he told you of the events that occurred in the 80s, you hadn’t spoken to him until the summer senior year ended. You wouldn’t have known Billy had you not been in the hospital at the same time as him.

You remember how traumatized he looked, hair scattered about in knots and tears welling in his dark eyes. He stared through the doctors, cut up and bruising and responding shortly and in whispers. You briefly shared a room, having been hospitalized with mild burns from cooking dinner that night. You remember wondering what happened to him, and you’d asked if he wanted anything from the vending machine. He’d told you he didn’t have any money, and you said:

“Doesn’t matter. I can jimmy a vending machine no problem.”

That was the first time you made Billy smile. It was the first time you saw him outside of a wild party and not surrounded by people he was trying to impress. You recalled the sense of pride in seeing him comfortably sharing a space with someone he didn’t feel the need to flaunt for. When he was carted away to surgery for reasons unbeknownst to you, the hope of seeing him again lingered in his absence.

That was just over five years ago. You and Billy recovered in the hospital, and you often wandered from your room to his. Billy awoke from nightmares and would find you at his side, a book in hand and an available shoulder to cry on. It took him days to talk to you like you weren’t a doctor, but he didn’t have anyone else.

Even after you were treated and discharged, you were a frequent visitor. You’d been surprised at how none of his friends had turned up, but you were there for him. You were there for him ever since, teaching him how to accept himself and how to control his rage. It took years just to get him and your friends adjusted to each other, but falling in love with him softened the blow to them. What other choice did they have?

You’d fallen in love with Billy’s sarcasm and wit. He was courteous and respectful (toward you, at least). Not to mention he dressed well, and the way he kissed you turned you to mush every time. You’d become inseparable, and eventually he married you.

Smiling at the memories, you continued to set up the table for breakfast. Billy waltzed in shirtless and with wet hair. He’d cut it before the wedding, and couldn’t stop running his fingers through it as if the locks would grow back faster. Wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms. He smelled of rain and peppermint and soap, skin warm from the shower still.

“Hey, baby,” he said against your hair. You’d yet to brush through it, but Billy didn’t mind the tangles one bit. He just brushed it away gently and placed a tender kiss on your lips.

“Good morning,” you said. Nuzzling into his chest, you felt the warmth and steady fall of his breath. Billy took your face in his hands, rough due to working with wood and slightly calloused. He’d built your new lives just weeks ago, and he looked at you like you were a beacon of hope. You were the first normal thing in his new life, and he owed everything to your love.

Billy kissed your nose. “How are you today, my love?” He grinned, eyes wet with happy tears and soft with adoration.

You brought your hands up to rest on his. “I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Hargrove.” At this reply, Billy kissed your lips once more.

“I love hearing you say that,” he confessed.

Billy glanced at the table, seeing his favorite breakfast foods spread out around the vase holding roses and baby’s breath. “Let’s eat,” he said eagerly. Billy kissed your cheek before pulling a chair out for you and sitting on the opposite side of the table. He never thought he would be eating breakfast with the love of his life. It felt odd, but he welcomed the start of a homely routine.

“I hope you like the eggs. I think I over-seasoned them,” you huffed. Grabbing a fork, you hesitantly stabbed at the fluffy yellow eggs. A frown grew on your face, but your stomach grumbled at the smell of pepper and sausage and strawberries.

Billy scoffed. “I’m sure it’ll taste great, baby.” He forked a mouthful into his mouth, smacking obnoxiously to get a reaction out of you. When you giggled, Billy nodded his head and chewed. “See? It’s awesome,” he added. Picking up his coffee mug, he chased his food with black coffee and two spoonfuls of sugar. Just the way he liked it. Billy was excited to eat your food every time you cooked for him.

You ate breakfast with easy conversation, glancing up at each other and blushing whenever you caught him adoring you.

“Billy, you still make me blush,” you told him.

He’d pushed his empty plate aside and bit into his last strawberry. “Well look at me,” he joked. “Of course I make you blush.” He tossed the berry leaves onto his plate, smiling at how you rolled your eyes at his comment. There was one tine you weren’t able to change in Billy: his ego. Nevertheless, it was something you loved about him.

You stood, chair scraping against the floor. “Help me do dishes,” you said. Billy groaned, but scooted his chair back and picked up his plate and mug. He followed behind you obediently, downing the rest of his coffee and bumping into the kitchen doorway.

Billy washed and you dried, but you let him sit down as you scrubbed the pots and pans. He never cleaned them the right way, and whenever you teased him for it he only narrowed his eyes.

You remembered to take your wedding ring off and set it aside, careful not to toss it down the drain. While you cleaned up, your gaze darted back to the diamonds and your heart swelled with joy each time. It would take some getting used to - remembering to take the ring off and put it back on. You would have plenty of practice, though.

From the living room, Billy called out: “I love you so much.” He had been watching you from afar, admiring the way you danced to music in your head. There were days when the nightmares strangled him, but you were his peace.

You turned, drying your hands on a towel. “I love you too,” you replied. You would never tire of that exchange of words, and luckily you had the rest of your lives to prove just how much you adored one another.

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x reader fluff

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lady-o-ren · 3 years

Text

The Dig

You can read this on ao3 // HERE //

Suffolk, England

1939

“What's going on in Sutton Hoo, then that has you in such a hurry?”

James Fsaser reluctantly looked up from where his head had been braced on his leather satchel, clutched atop his knees, and gave the old ferryman a one-eyed stare.

“I've a job. Digging,” he swallowed, trying mightily to keep himself from retching as the wee boat he was in bobbed up and down like a mad carousel.

“You came all the way from Scotland to dig like a dog?” He laughed hoarsely, hawking up a wad of phlegm into the murky river water as he swung his oars.

“Ipswich,” Fraser muttered, turning a bit more green.

Ipswich Museum to be exact.

He'd been hired to help excavate a centuries old burial site located at a rural estate in Sutton Hoo, overseen by the archeologist, Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. A woman much admired (or envied depending on the man) for her keen mind and boundless curiosity (and unrivaled stubbornness that often spiraled into outright defiance according to those same particular men) that had her uprooting half of Great Britain in pursuit of the secrets hidden beneath the mossy plains. And more often than not her instincts were right and another antiquity would be dusted off to be reborn again.

Fraser wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the right to work by her side but Christ, he wouldn't question how lucky he was.

The boat then suddenly coasted to an abrupt stop against the rivers side.

“Here we are, Mr. Fraser. All in one piece. And I thank you for keeping me boat and boots tidy,” said the old ferryman with a wink.

Fraser didn't bother with a retort, he was just happy that the world had blessedly stopped spinning and hopped onto wonderfully solid land.

Smoothing the wrinkles from his attire and fixing his father's old grey cap atop his head (taking special care to tuck in his dark ginger curls that always peeked out from just under the rim), he made his way down the brambled path that the old man said led to the big house. After a brief introduction with the owner of the estate, he was then directed to where he'd be working, and trotted past the trees and sprawling country green to an open field.

From afar, Fraser could see three burial mounds jutting from the earth, grassy topped with yellow dandelions sprouting all over.

But what made his breath catch was the sight of the woman he'd been so eager to meet.

She was surveying the site with her hands on her trousered waist looking like a general on the cusp of conquest. Sensing his approach, she turned away from her prize and future glory, her short curls bouncing and gleaming a rich shade of earth in the dewy sunlight, and met his gaze with her own.

Sharp with intelligence. Kindled with mirth. Shimmering like molten gold.

"A Dhia," Fraser whispered to the fragrant spring air, and took off his cap, twisting it between his hands that ached to trace and memorize every curve of the archeologist's face.

She waved him over seeing him linger and a terrible heat sprang to the young lad's face at having been caught staring at the beauty like a halfwit, and forced his legs to move. Prayed he didn't fall flat on his face.

"Hullo there," she greeted, and clasped her small hand to his, but there was nothing dainty about its grasp. Fraser could feel the years of hard-earned experience chiseled in her palm that held his hand firmly, letting him know exactly who he'd be working for.

It sent a thrill down his spine.

"I'm Dr. Claire Beauchamp. And you must be the very late Mr. Fraser I've been waiting for."

"Aye, and I beg yer pardon for that, ma’am," Fraser replied in earnest, detecting a subtle spike of irritation in her voice, seeing the annoyed flick of her brow. "The morning train was running late.” By three hours! “ Then I had to wait for the ferryman to take me across the river -" He'd been taking his "tea" in the pub " - all a lousy excuse, I ken, but I promise ye it willna happen again."

Beauchamp crossed her arms and tipped her head to the side giving Fraser a scrutinizing once over that made his throat bob and the blood in his heart to palpitate.

"Good," she smirked, nodding her approval from his noticeable discomfort. "If you're anything like how the stiffs at Ipswich Museum described we'll get along well."

He clenched his jaw at the mention of the museum, the cantankerous men who worked there. Especially a certain Dr. Randall, who valued a good cigar over the work of a “farm boy”.

"And what do they say of me, if I may ask?"

Beauchamp bit her full bottom lip (wonderfully pink Fraser bashfully noted), quirking wryly.

“Quite a lot depending on who you ask. From what I've gathered you're hardworking, painfully intelligent and have an innate knack for reading the earth. But that you're also highly unorthodox, difficult and the most insufferable Scotsman ever to step foot in Ipswich. So naturally I had to work with you."

He let out a tightly held breath and chuckled softly.

"Weel, who am I to argue wi' a reference like that. I'm passionate about my work and little else, apart from food and kin. And while I've never been disrespectful to reason, I haven't the patience for men who think a title is deserving of my unquestionable fealty."

"And why should you? The conviction of a Viking is something to be admired not belittled,” she praised, making Fraser glow. "I only wish I could've been there to witness how you earned the ire of half the museum.”

“I'm merely in the right and they the wrong, more often than not,” he shrugged.

“I'm just as terrible,” she proudly grinned. ”But I know we'll make a good team. We'll have to if we want to tackle this lot.”

She motioned her head at the site looming tall, brimming with excitement that spoke to Fraser's own spirit.

"If that's so then it'll be an honor working wi' ye, ma'am."

He shook her hand once more and thought he felt her thumb move against his knuckle, light and curious as a brush stroke.

Working with two assistants from her previous digs (the studious Jeremy Foster and the wide-eyed youth Elias Pound), Fraser and Beauchamp made great strides in plowing the core of the mound that was the larger of the three, even when logic argued that the dip in the middle meant thieves of the past had already plundered it's horde.

But Fraser's gut and bones told him that there was something different about this one.

Beauchamp had thought so too.

"There's something grand and marvelous here begging to be found. Don't you think? Can't you feel it?"

The deeper they dug only intensified that feeling.

As had his attraction to the irrepressibly brilliant Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

However, after a fortuitous streak of good weather, the air started to blow with the sweet scent of rain and the leaves of the oak trees that dotted the lush clearing turned toward the skies, parched and longing.

"We have some time, I think, before the rain comes," said Beauchamp, gauging the skies westward still clear of thunderclouds.

Fraser leaned against his shovel in the hollow of earth he stood in, his dirt stained sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and could see the mad impulse to defy mother nature flash in her eyes.

"Usually I'd agree wi' ye, ma’am, but yer hair -" his mouth flicked upward in unbridled appreciation. "Is curling like a tumbleweed."

She pressed a dirt-flecked hand near her temple and felt the wild frizzy pushback of flyaway curls fallen loose from her twisted bun, springing around her face like a mane.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she huffed. “Have I been like this all morning, Fraser?”

"Pretty much," he grinned, enjoying how her usual regal self pinked across her freckled cheeks and the wee scrunch of her nose.

But Fraser's smile faltered, catching himself for a fool, and averted his attention down to the soil where his heart had fallen. Writhed. Burrowed with the worms and roots.

For what use was it for a man like him to yearn for a woman like her?

He swallowed the hopeless lump in his throat.

"Shall we go for lunch then, wait for the weather to clear?"

Hearing the word lunch, Foster and Pound looked up from their own end of the excavation with hunger in their eyes.

"Did that on purpose did you?" said Beauchamp, throwing an accusatory glance at the ginger lad while trying to gather her wayward curls back to partial respectability.

He gave her a half smile.

"The Almighty is the one making it rain, ma’am. Take it up wi' him."

She sighed and her hands fell to her waist as she took one last disappointing glance above.

"I would if He ever bothered to listen,” she frowned, then gave the other men a nod that made them hoot and holler.

“Numpties,” she mumbled, though did so fondly, and puffed at a rebellious forelock flirting with the wind.

After covering the ditch with a tarp secured to the ground, the men headed for the local pub raucously singing an old drinking song with a few choice words changed.

Our Lady must have been an Admiral, a Sultan or a Queen

And to her praises we shall always sing

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp who fills us up with cheer

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp . . .

Their lady laughed and rolled her eyes, before waving the lads off with a promise to catch up to gather her things, and headed to the shepherd's hut that had been provided by the estate.

Fraser glanced back watching her go, and after a moment's hesitation where he reasoned it would be rude to leave without her, he too told the others he'd forgotten something and went after Beauchamp.

Cursing himself an "EEJIT!" every step of the way.

Inside the hut was a small curtained window softly lighting the room from the back and two wooden scuffed chairs positioned along the side wall with a table snugly fit between them. Beauchamp herself was crouched by the table legs where Fraser had left his satchel but it was now laid open on its side, contents spilled over.

At his unexpected appearance that shadowed the doorway, she turned his way with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, I was just grabbing my bag when I tipped yours over and . . ."

She held up his small green fieldbook opened at the first page.

And white-hot panic flooded Fraser's veins.

"The writing caught my eye," she continued on, seemingly unaware that the poor lad was gripping the doorway for support. "I didn't know you spoke gaelic beyond the odd phrase here and there. That you can even write it too is something of a feat,” she said, impressed by the words secreted on the page.

“Aye,” he managed to breathe, relieved that she hadn't seen a thing. Not a thing! “I don't get much practice living away from home so I speak it in my mind and heart, write letters to my family when I can.”

“You've spoken of a sister, if I'm not mistaken. Older or younger?" She prodded, as if he were a new discovery, and he answered in hopes to distract her from what she still held in her hands.

Felt a fluttering warmth overtake him that she recalled him having a sister.

"Jenny,” he said, as he moved to kneel down beside her to stuff his scant belongings back in his bag. “She's older and feels the need to remind me of that fact whenever we see one another.”

“And you're the brat aren't you?”

Despite his predicament, Fraser couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

"I was the devil's spawn, aye, but Jen was no angel. We once got into a terrible stramash about our chores on the farm, the way wee bairns do, and I ended up telling her she had a face uglier than a coo, smelled worse than one too. Next I knew, I was being tackled to the ground wi' my face shoved into a ripe pile of coo shite and my sister above me laughing her wicked wee arse off.”

Beauchamp broke into laughter and it made his stomach do a flip.

“I'm sorry, that must've been awful for you, but I think I may love your sister for that.”

“Everybody says so. Not sure it was worth it in the end myself . . .” said Fraser, his voice suddenly trailing off at the end seeing her attention turn back to the page.

His mind spiraled into action.

"But we really should get going before the rain catches us. It looks to be a downpour, a terrible one.”

“Well it's a good thing we're under a roof then isn't it?” She countered, eyes sparkling through her long lashes. “ Besides I'd rather have an impromptu lesson in gaelic on what,” she paused, squinting down at the book opened on her knees. “Baa-mia-’bruu -” means.”

“Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr,” he begrudgingly corrected, wondering how rude it would be to just snatch his own fieldbook away. But then Beauchamp smiled as if charmed by his voice and echoed back his words with near perfect silky inflections, looking pleased as punch as she did so.

Endearing herself even more to the young Scot's already smitten heart.

“Verra good,” he hummed softly.

“Absolute luck,” she grinned, tapping her fingers atop his writing. “Now tell me what does it all mean?”

He shook his head embarrassed. "You'll think me daft, ma’am."

"I promise I won't."

She said it in such an earnest way, Jamie knew she spoke true. But then a deep rumble of thunder sliced through the air, enough to give Beauchamp a jolt that made her forefinger on the page slip and Fraser's stomach to rip and plummet to the old wood floor.

There, drawn on the page, was Beauchamp's face staring back at her.

“It’s nothing but some wee scribbles,” he stammered to explain, reaching for the book only for her to angle it away.

“You're right about that,” she agreed, her fine brows furrowing as she traced a slim finger to her pencil drawn cheek. “You've made one of my eyes bigger than the other, my nose a dash too long and -"

Her eyes went comically round as she pressed the pages to her chest, a sudden thought coming to her.

"You don't have anyone posed in the nude here do you?"

"O-Of course not! I'd never. I- I'd -"

"Breathe Fraser, I was only teasing you," she nearly giggled, but then her face softened with regret seeing his own face take on the horrible color of a split beet left to shrivel in the sun.

“But really, why bother with me?”

He had no answer but the one that pounded from his heart, a noise like a thousand drums that all struck the same adoring note. She could see it beaming from his face and a hushed silence fell between them as the rain finally came down, hitting the rooftop in a pitter-patter that enveloped her quietly spoken -

“Oh.”

That single utterance had Jamie wishing the rain would flood and swallow him up but it was now or never to speak his heart. No matter that hers would never be his to cherish.

Looking down at his hands, anxiously wringing the strap of his satchel, he spoke.

“There was never any helping it, me liking you. I'd never seen a sight sae fair as you, stubborn as you, nor wonderful as you. And I could never get ye out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried, but ye were always there like the sun and air."

He lifted his gaze to her likeness on the page.

"And then I just started filling my fieldbook wi' pictures of you if only to have something to remind me of you for when the job ends and we part ways. But I'm none so good as ye can see. I never could capture the grit and fire of yer spirit, the way yer curls bristle in excitement or the way yer eyes glow like a match to a candlewick . . . "

His heart tightened as his words faltered while Beauchamp remained quiet. Then like a blow to his chest she flipped through the small book once more, her face unreadable as stone. She looked through his sketches, one of her curls drawn like the ripples of the tide, another of her hands digging through the earth, and of her lush determined mouth curved into a beaming smile, bitten with impatience, beneath a perfect speckled nose.

And threaded between her gestures, her features were more bits of gaelic.

A bòidhchead . . .

Tha pian orm . . .

Tha cho teann sa tha a ’bhriogais gam iomain

"I told you I was no good. I ken I should just rip up the pages -” Fraser began to miserably say, but Beauchamp hushed him by taking his hand in hers and softly stroked her thumb against the work-hardened skin.

"You have a fine hand, Fraser. Especially for making my nose look as delicate as Garbo’s,” she smiled, cheeks touched lovely in pink.

Then in a moment that made it hard for Fraser to breathe, she simply said . . .

“Ask me for a drink.”

He blinked, thinking he misheard her, mouth agape. But there was no mistaking what brightened her eyes to shine like whisky.

“Ask me,” she repeated impatiently, almost laughing, as she squeezed his hand.

Fraser inhaled sharply and tentatively squeezed her small hand back.

“Will ye join me for a pint, ma’am?”

“Claire,” she grinned, and coyly tilted her head . “And of course I will. Took you long enough to ask,” she winked, making Fraser stare at her in charmed disbelief.

And then Beauchamp closed the distance between them, hand light as a feather against his chest.

“But first you ought to kiss me, Fraser. It's still raining and I might catch a chill from all this waiting."

Still staring at her mesmerized, with questions that could wait another day flitting through his mind, Fraser wove an errant bonnie curl around his fingers and smoothed it behind her ear. Letting his thumb drag against her cheek.

“It's Jamie,” he murmured, in a brush of his lips to hers.

And on and on it went.

Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . .

I dreamt about the mourning. The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us. They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave. But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

A/N: This had a ton of notes and explanations so you can read all those on ao3. But for sure I’ll say here this is very loosely based on the movie The Dig.

#jamie x claire #Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 15 - ao3 -

“I thought Sect Leader Wen was above visiting other sects,” Lan Qiren said sullenly, leading Wen Ruohan on a tour through the Cloud Recesses. He had nothing better to do: classes had been temporarily dismissed on account of sect business, what with the teachers all being recruited to receive the Wen sect’s retinue; at this rate, this year’s rogue cultivators wouldn’t learn anything of value, and Lan Qiren had the sneaking suspicion that it was somehow all his fault.

“I can’t imagine why you think that. Don’t I attend every discussion conference without fail?” Wen Ruohan said smoothly even though that wasn’t what Lan Qiren had meant and he knew it.

Wen Ruohan normally treated himself and his clan like the imperium, preferring to summon visitors rather than go to visit. Presumably, in this instance, it was only that his desire to bother Lan Qiren had overcome his vanity, or else perhaps he’d reminded himself that even the Emperor would sometimes summer at the homes of his lackeys, allowing them an unasked-for opportunity to pay homage to him.

Truly a very irritating man. Lan Qiren was almost entirely sure that it wasn’t his adolescent brain speaking, either, though he supposed he couldn’t discount the possibility entirely – he’d been very irritated by Cangse Sanren, too, and they were friends now.

Actually, he was still pretty irritated with her sometimes. Maybe it was just a symptom of adolescence. Or perhaps it was that strange similarity he sometimes found himself observing between them, whether it was their seeming timelessness or their overweening arrogance...

Well, when in doubt, there were always the rules: Do not disrespect your elders.

Also possibly Have affection and gratefulness, though that one had always been hard.

Lan Qiren took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then released it, taking stock of himself: his walking pace was steady, his hands were clasped together so that they didn’t flail, and his appearance was calm. It was just a matter of getting his emotions under control, and he had plenty of experience with that.

“You’re right,” he finally said, releasing his irritation with an effort of willpower. “You do. I was being rude, and it was uncalled for. Is there any particular part of the Cloud Recesses that da-ge would like to see? I doubt the Library Pavilion or the main buildings have varied much since your last visit, but the gardens and wild forest are beautiful this time of year.”

Wen Ruohan was quiet for a while, the two of them walking side by side in silence, and then unexpectedly he said, “Does the Lan sect use well-water or river-water as your main source of drinking water?”

Lan Qiren stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not telling you that. That’s private!”

“Is it?”

“Not everyone’s like the Nightless City, telling everyone that they rely on a half-dozen imported sources for their food and drink and challenging them to try to do something about it,” Lan Qiren said crossly, and tried to remind himself Sneering for no reason is prohibited. “I’m not actually a half-wit, you know.”

“You misunderstand me,” Wen Ruohan said, though his eyes, narrow with satisfaction like a cat, suggested that he would have been more than happy to take advantage of the situation if Lan Qiren had been so foolish. “I only wished to know whether it was the source of water they are drinking that has rendered them all blind to the treasure they hold in their hands.”

“…I’m not showing you our treasury, either.”

Wen Ruohan barked a laugh. “That’s not what I meant, either. Why don’t you show me your Wall of Discipline? I’m sure there are a few new rules since last time.”

There probably were – the rules were like water, both eternal and in a constant state of flux – so Lan Qiren obediently turned his feet in that direction.

“It’s not a work-day,” he warned. “So you’ll miss out on any carving. But the rules are there, and I can answer any questions you have about them, if you like.”

“Any question? A bold claim.”

“Any question I know the answer to,” Lan Qiren clarified. “If I don’t, I can ask one of my teachers, or look at the books in the library.”

They walked in silence a little longer, although a surprisingly comfortable one given their age difference and Wen Ruohan’s general aura of barely restrained bloodthirst. Perhaps Lan Qiren was just getting used to it.

“Have I disturbed your afternoon plans with my visit?” Wen Ruohan eventually asked, gazing at the Wall contemplatively.

“I was going to meditate in the Cold Spring,” Lan Qiren said. “But it’s nothing I can’t do another time.”

“A Cold Spring?” A faint smirk flickered on Wen Ruohan’s face. “That’s useful for the suppression of yang energy.”

“And for cultivation, and for healing, and for encouraging clarity of thought,” Lan Qiren said, and managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Of course, if da-ge is having some trouble controlling his lascivious thoughts, he is welcome to try it out. Such requests are not uncommon among newlyweds.”

Wen Ruohan was smirking outright now. “Tell me, little Lan, has that sharp tongue of yours ever cut the inside of your mouth? Or is that something you reserve for me?”

Lan Qiren pretended not to hear him and instead pointed out one of the rules on the Wall. “I always rather liked that one.”

Wen Ruohan glanced over and saw Have wins and losses - otherwise known, colloquially, as don’t be a sore loser - and grinned. “Oh, really? I find I’m rather partial to Honor the aged and wise, myself.”

“Really? And here I would have thought someone as humble as da-ge would opt for Do not say one thing and mean another, or maybe the prohibition against praising yourself.”

“Are you saying I do not count as aged, little Lan?”

“I would never question your years,” Lan Qiren said. “But the rule does include two clauses.”

Wen Ruohan was surprised into a snicker. “Sharp and sharper! Is this more of your vaunted Do not tell lies?”

“Be of one mind,” Lan Qiren retorted. “Anyway, you enjoy it, or else you would’ve just pointed out Do not argue with your family.”

“Indeed, I am not Qingheng-jun,” Wen Ruohan said, his smile poisonous, and Lan Qiren, struck dead on by the accurate blow, could only glare at him. “My little brother can argue with me any time he pleases…and does, I find. I told you to come to the Nightless City, and you disobeyed.”

“Learning comes first,” Lan Qiren said. “I had classes. Like I told you!”

“And your father and brother agreed with your prioritization?”

Lan Qiren winced, having not told them of Wen Ruohan’s request for exactly that reason.

Wen Ruohan only smirked, though, and did not call him out on it further. “Perhaps I will take you up on your offer,” he remarked instead, and for a moment Lan Qiren had no idea what he was talking about. “Travel is always so wearying, and I’ve heard fine things about the quality of the Cold Spring in Gusu.”

Right, that.

Lan Qiren was pretty sure he was allowed to make that offer.

“Unless of course you planned to have other company there…?” Wen Ruohan glanced at him and saw his confusion. “Your little immortal’s disciple lover?”

“Certainly not!” Lan Qiren exclaimed. “Men and women do not mix like that. Anyway, she’s not my lover. We’re only friends. She’s agreed.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows went up as if Lan Qiren had revealed more than he’d intended.

“Very well,” he said, sounding almost agreeable. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Lan Qiren eyed him suspiciously.

“I’d still like to meet her.”

Of course he would.

“She might not like you,” Lan Qiren warned, shaking his head. Cangse Sanren was a warm and generous person, but her views were unshakable once set, and she feared nothing; he could only guess at the monstrous clash of egos that was about to take place. “But she should be by the training field at this time of day; we can go there next.”

Wen Ruohan reached out and ran his fingers along the Wall – seemingly at random, hitting Change clothes after taking a bath and No adornments that make sound as he did – and then turned to follow Lan Qiren with a look in his eyes that Lan Qiren did not understand.

“Then let us go,” he said.

As he’d thought, Cangse Sanren was practicing alone in the training field, looking especially fierce with her hair flowing freely in the wind as she danced with blade and horsetail whisk. Lan Qiren waited until she was done with her current set before clearing his throat to announce their presence; when she turned, he pulled out a ribbon from his sleeve – he’d taken to carrying spares – and offered it to her.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he said to her. “It doesn’t matter how high your cultivation is, it’s still not going to help you in a fight if the wind changes mid-move and you get smacked in the face with your own hair.”

“Maybe,” she sniffed. “But I look amazing.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes.

“This is Cangse Sanren, a disciple of Baoshan Sanren,” he told Wen Ruohan. “She has no personal name, so don’t ask for one. Cangse Sanren, this is Sect Leader Wen.”

Lan Qiren had heard rumors that Wen Ruohan had once had a personal title, but that he hadn’t liked it, and that he’d ensured that no one ever dared to use it to his face. At any rate, Lan Qiren didn’t know it now and could not use it as an introduction.

Not that Cangse Sanren would have cared, of course. She raised her hands in a salute, boldly keeping her head raised and the bow shallow enough to be insolent.

“I’ve heard of you,” she said, her eyes slightly narrowed.

“And I of you,” Wen Ruohan responded. “It’s been a long time since a disciple has descended from the immortal mountain. Tell me, are you planning on joining the Lan sect?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Are you planning on proposing some alternative you think I might like better?”

“Perhaps I will. You never know what the future might bring.”

“Knowing the present and the past would seem a sufficient guide to me.”

Lan Qiren looked between them in growing alarm as they exchanged seemingly pleasant words in cutting tones. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected this, but perhaps not quite so quickly...

“Could the two of you maybe not do this?” he asked, feeling a little plaintive. He didn’t want to have to explain how a casual tour designed to kill time had escalated into an inter-sect issue. “Cangse Sanren, if my da-ge’s presence bothers you, we can just leave.”

Cangse Sanren broke away from the staring match she’d started with Wen Ruohan to frown at him. “You call him da-ge?”

“Is there any reason he shouldn’t?” Wen Ruohan’s voice was as smooth as the silk used to execute empresses. “He’s my sworn brother, after all.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said. “It’s only that he calls Qingheng-jun ‘xiongzhang’.”

Wen Ruohan seemed a little surprised by that. He glanced at Lan Qiren, who scowled back at him. “So what?” he said, feeling oddly defensive. “You asked to be called ‘da-ge’.”

“I suppose I did,” Wen Ruohan said, and his lips curled upwards in satisfaction.

“Hey, Lan-xiao-gege,” Cangse Sanren suddenly said, and Lan Qiren automatically glared: he didn’t like her calling him that. “Could you get me a ribbon from my room?”

“What? I just gave you –”

“There’s one in particular inside a qiankun pouch on my desk,” she said, barreling on. “You can just bring the whole thing. I need it rather urgently, and for various reasons cannot go myself.”

“But –”

“You shouldn’t deny a lady in need, little Lan,” Wen Ruohan interjected. “Don’t forget that chivalry is one of your rules. Go and return; I will wait for you here.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he does,” Cangse Sanren said, which was horribly rude even if he did somewhat need that reassurance. “Please, Qiren-gege? Would you?”

“…all right,” Lan Qiren said, having the distinct feeling that he was being ganged up on. “I’ll be back right away.”

There was a rule against running, but he’d long ago mastered the art of walking as quickly as he could without breaking any of the rules against haste; he was able to retrieve the pouch and return to the training field within a single ke, which he thought might have broken some sort of record. Even so, by the time he returned with the pouch, Cangse Sanren and Wen Ruohan were standing side-by-side with identical expressions of smug satisfaction that suggested that they’d accomplished whatever it was that they’d so obviously wanted him out of the way for.

Hopefully not a recruitment into the Wen sect. His brother would kill him.

“Ah, Qiren-gege!” Cangse Sanren said, and accepted the pouch. As if purposefully adding insult to injury, she tied it to her waist without even bothering to pretend to root around inside for the ribbon or whatever thing she had so ‘urgently’ needed from it. “You’re the best.”

“And you’re a pest,” he told her, but she only looked pleased with herself. He wasn’t going to get any answers out of her, and he didn’t even bother to hope for one from Wen Ruohan, who was exactly the same. He looked at him regardless: “Da-ge, are you done here? Even though they haven’t sent word, I’m sure the elders have finished preparing to receive you properly, so you can finally do whatever it is that you came to the Cloud Recesses to do.”

Get out of my way maybe, he meant, and not especially subtly, either.

“Uh, Qiren-gege,” Cangse Sanren said, grinning at him. “I’m pretty sure he’s already doing that.”

Lan Qiren refrained from rolling his eyes at her yet again – nobody would gather up their entire retinue to travel halfway across the cultivation world to see him – and turned expectantly to Wen Ruohan.

“I gave my lieutenants orders to begin negotiations without me,” he said, looking disinterested. “Your sect elders will not want me to disturb them until they have reached preliminary agreement on the main points, so as to avoid losing face for either sect in the event we can’t reach an appropriate resolution.”

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought of that. He supposed it made sense.

Irritating, irritating sense.

“We’ve already seen quite a lot of the Cloud Recesses,” Wen Ruohan added. “Why don’t we take some tea in your rooms?”

Lan Qiren thought about his rooms, which were still in a terrible state, and tensed – he’d neatened up as best as he could after his tantrum in the little time he’d had to himself, but removing all the broken things had left the space bare and uninviting. He wasn’t even sure he even had a matching tea set left.

“You should go down to Caiyi Town,” Cangse Sanren announced. “It has a thriving market full of unique goods, and from what I hear you have a new bride, Sect Leader Wen. If you don’t get her something from your trip, she’ll never forgive you.”

Wen Ruohan hummed thoughtfully, and Lan Qiren seized on the excuse to nod fervently and usher Wen Ruohan towards the gates instead of his rooms.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find something to her taste,” he told Wen Ruohan, and for some reason remembered how the man’s long-nailed hand, capable of crushing mountains, had so delicately held the bowl Lan Qiren had painted as he had drunk his wedding toasts, as if he’d been afraid of causing the slightest damage to it. “There’s plenty there.”

“I’m sure there is,” Wen Ruohan said, and to Lan Qiren’s relief they were able to spend the next two shichen wandering slowly through the market. Wen Ruohan seemed to be particularly interested in stalls or shops selling household goods, whether vases or inkstones or paperweights, or else in paintings and other decorations; he solicited Lan Qiren’s thoughts on them all, and insisted on hearing them no matter how much Lan Qiren tried to demur.

“I really don’t know how much it’ll help you to know that I personally prefer my décor to have neutral colors with abstract designs,” he said, rubbing his forehead after one particularly extended discussion with a very enthusiastic shop manager in which they, again, did not make any purchase. “I doubt your new bride shares my excessively particular tastes.”

“What makes them excessive, rather than simply a preference?” Wen Ruohan asked, strolling over to where Lan Qiren was standing and running a finger along the blanket Lan Qiren had been absent-mindedly kneading with his hands out of lack of anything better to do. It was made of multilayer silk, airy as a cloud but trapping enough heat to allow for some warmth, and some clever designer had introduced some sort of subtle pattern to the embroidery that made it feel almost fuzzy. Lan Qiren had liked it at once, although regrettably it was the sort of expensive that was beyond the reach of even his generous allowance, especially since he’d so recently depleted it; it would have required him to rely on sect credit to obtain it.

He was technically entitled to do so, especially as one of the main branch family, but it wasn’t worth the snippy comments about Do not wallow in luxury that he’d invariably get for it. When he was younger, his brother had, in a rare moment of sympathy, told him that he’d be able to do much more and allow himself far more freedom while still avoiding such criticism if only he weren’t so insistent on talking about the rules all the time, but at that age Lan Qiren had struggled tremendously with focusing on other subjects and it had seemed easier to simply give up a few privileges. Later, of course, he’d realized that he didn’t have to give up those rights at all – the rule against luxury was intended to forestall dissipation and waste, the prioritizing of self-indulgence over duty, not occasional purchases designed to make life more comfortable – but his austere habits had remained. It was easier to pretend to have a preference towards asceticism and restraint than to admit that he was just being picky again, that he’d rather no blanket than a scratchy one or that loud colors or busy designs hurt his eyes and distracted him from his studies no matter how beautiful the art.

“I don’t suppose you remember those greens they were serving, the first time we met?” Lan Qiren asked dryly. “The ones I didn’t eat? It’s a bit like that.”

“Mm, I recall,” Wen Ruohan said, which surprised Lan Qiren: the other man’s memory must be prodigious to recall such a small event in such a long life. “You cried when you tried to force yourself.”

“It was a physical reaction,” Lan Qiren said through gritted teeth. How did Wen Ruohan always manage to find the most irritating take on any subject? “I gagged, that’s all. Anyway, all I meant was that I’m picky and particular, set in my ways and preferences, and what I like doesn’t necessarily transfer to other people.”

He wanted to ask Are you planning on getting something here already, but that would be crossing the line from blunt to intolerably rude, given that Wen Ruohan was his guest and his elder. Instead, he waited until it seemed like Wen Ruohan was done talking, and then edged pointedly towards the exit in the hope that the older man would get the hint.

In the end, they returned to the Cloud Recesses just in time for dinner, in which Lan Qiren was seated next to Wen Ruohan but which, per Lan sect rules, was silent, and was happily sidelined for most of the discussions that took place afterwards, which were mostly about sect affairs. The next two days Wen Ruohan spent fully ensconced in negotiations with Lan Qiren’s father and brother, and the day after that he was scheduled to leave – he had made plans to visit the Jin sect next before returning to Qishan, a route that ever so coincidentally would make it convenient for him to unofficially swing by Qinghe on his return as well – and in the end they only had time to take tea a few more times, almost always in the company of others.

Lan Qiren breathed a sigh of relief at having managed at least one successful one-on-one interaction with Wen Ruohan that hadn’t blown up in his face. He obtained belated permission for his invitation to the Cold Spring and mentioned to Wen Ruohan that he could take advantage of it during his next visit, whenever that might be – Wen Ruohan had seemed pleased by the offer – and obediently watched the visitors depart before returning, at long last, to his classes.

There were whispers, of course, but he ignored them with the ease of long practice. His sworn brotherhood was unusual, inevitably drawing attention; that would not change, just as it would not change the existence of it, and so other people would simply have to grow bored of their gossip first.

It wasn’t until later, when classes broke for the day, that he finally went back to his rooms.

His rooms, which –

Did not look like his rooms.

Lan Qiren stared.

What should have been bare walls and a cracked table and a bed with a single sheet had been transformed: there were paintings and vases, each with the subtle designs he favored, the latter filled with flowers emitting a cool and subtle scent; the incense burner had been replaced with one of delicate and intricate copperwork, a perfect match to the copper accents that adorned the new table, made of dark wood, that had replaced the one he’d broken. Even the pillows and blanket had been replaced – and he recognized that blanket, expensive and unnecessary, with clever embroidery and multiple layers of silk –

“His taste’s a bit much, I think,” Cangse Sanren said from behind him, having apparently followed him in at some point when he hadn’t noticed. “But I suppose you can’t fault him for efficiency.”

Lan Qiren turned to stare at her. “You – you knew about this?”

She grinned at him.

“You didn’t say – you didn’t tell – !” Lan Qiren looked around. “He was shopping for me?”

“All your fault,” she said cheerfully. “Apparently you were the one who started it all, giving him a gift –”

“He was getting married!”

“Some men are unreasonably competitive, Qiren-gege. Your sworn brother is one of them.”

“I – a competition – ?!”

“Possibly he also felt bad about getting you drunk and taking advantage of you,” she said. “And wanted to make up for it somehow. Just a thought.”

Lan Qiren flapped his hands in the air, unable to form words for a while – not least because he was pretty sure Wen Ruohan didn’t do emotions like felt bad, and probably maxed out at this made you have feelings which are inconvenient for me – and then finally settled on some: “What did the two of you talk about?!”

Cangse Sanren poked at the new guqin stand in the corner, dark wood and copper as well, embedded with a few dimly glowing night-pearls, and nodded to herself in satisfaction at its balance. “Blind people with no judgment or appreciation, mostly.”

“…what?!”

“I may have also mentioned that your room was looking a bit too ascetic recently…”

“Cangse Sanren!”

She laughed her peculiar laugh, the deep one that came from her belly and made everyone around her want to join in, and took to her heels as if afraid that he might chase her. Lan Qiren seriously considered it for a moment, wanting to scold her and also to extract every detail about how she had almost certainly tried to scold one of the most terrifying men currently living, but he found himself drifting over to the bed instead, putting his hands into the comfortable blanket and already imagining how well he would sleep with it tucked tightly around him.

Fine, he thought, scowling down at it with a glare that was for no one’s benefit, not even himself. Maybe next time he writes inviting me, I’ll even go.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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renjiokumura · 4 years

Text

Love?

Min Yoongi x Plus size reader

Disclaimer: Anything I write is purely fiction.

Tags: Angst, Established Relationship, and cursing.

Summary: Everyone has there limits and Y/N just found Yoongi’s.

A/N: I write the reader pretty undescriptive. I tend to use female pronouns, so you’ll probably have to specifically ask me for something with male pronouns or gender neutral. But the reader can be any race you are and be related to the characters through adoption or whatever helps you move the story along. I want everyone to feel like they can read my writing.

The lights were flashing, blood was bumping, and the noises were deafening. There was a thin layer of sweat coating your body, and mixed with the hot lights shining upon you, you glowed. With poise, precision, and wild abandon, you hit every dance move and wreaked the stage. You commanded the stage with your wild energy and your fans loved it. You never thought in a million years you would be preforming as a musical artist, let a lone at MAMA as the opening act. But here you were rapping and singing your songs for your fans. Your new style was a diamond in the rough theme, with flashy accents here, grungy tones there, and punk black filling everywhere else. You are probably wondering how you got here, well it all started a little less than a year ago.

It had been two years into your relationship and on your end, it seemed like everything was going wonderfully in it, but you were very wrong.

You were a sweet doting girlfriend. Ever since you were a child you loved to care and help people as much as you could. That was sweet and all, but some people found that overbearing, that’s why you didn’t have too many friends growing up. You got better at reining it in enough to get a friend, but you still had your moments.

“Y/N, you know he’s busy, so give him some space. The boys will be there for him if something happens so calm down.” Your friend sighed, exasperated with you for staring at your phone instead of enjoying each other’s presence at your favorite café.

“I know, I know. But I still get worried and he hasn’t texted back for about a day and the longest he has ever not responded was an hour.” You looked up at you friend with pleading eyes, “He’s been doing this for a while now and I don’t know why.”

F/N abruptly stood up and snatched your phone out of your hand. “I’m doing this for your own good.” You were staring at her in complete shook as she sped walked out of the café.

“WAIT!” you said running after her. When you finally caught up with her you confronted her actions. “Why did you steal my phone and where are we going?” you asked out of breath.

She smirked looking at you, “Somewhere you can relax,” and looked forwards again walking with a purpose.

Back at the BTS dorm there was tension flowing rampantly. Yoongi had turned his phone off yesterday and it has been off since then. He was already irritated from the soon approaching comeback, and it would only get worst if he turned his phone back on.

It was a known fact that Yoongi was a patient, caring, and overall nice person. Don’t get me wrong, he did have a cold aura but underneath that was a very nice man. But everyone had their limits, and Yoongi was getting close to his.

He genuinely loved his girlfriend and was nothing but grateful of her caring and supporting nature, but it was driving him crazy at the moment.

Currently he was stressing over finishing the last track of their new album, when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said not caring who it was.

Jimin poked his head in the door cautiously knowing that his hyung was in no mood for any unnecessary distractions. “Hyung,” he called out nervously, “There has been a change in the schedule today and they need us right now at the dance studio.”

The growl that came from the rapper after did not ease the unfortunate messenger of the bad news from his nervousness. Taking a few calming breaths Yoongi respond to Jimin.

“Ok. Tell them I’ll be ready in 10 minutes, okay?” he said tiredly to his dongsaeng.

Jimin gave him a faint smile and nod then left as quietly as he came.

Thinking this would be a good way to let out some tension he got ready to go to the dance studio, unfortunately it was everything but. On the drive to the studio, he was under the impression that they would make slight adjustments to the dance routines. Instead, when the boys arrived at the dance studio they found out that the choreographer changed about half of the whole dance.

And that isn’t even the worst of it. Yoongi was messing up almost all of the new moves, which resulted in them staying longer. It wasn’t until 4 hours later that the new dance was perfected. The boys left the dance studio at about 9:30 PM and they were exhausted, more stressed then before they got there, and starving. On the drive home some of them took a nap and some were too restless to even let their consciousness slip away and obviously Yoongi was one not taking a nap.

As the boys were making their way back, you were finishing up getting food for the guys, knowing they aren’t taking care of themselves because of the comeback. Not to long ago, you and F/N split ways after leaving a cool new karaoke place you had been dying to go to. On the short walk to the dorms, you were bubbling with excitement to see the boys, especially your boyfriend.

You truly did love him. He was your rock and you were his marshmallow. He made you feel so good about yourself when you were down about your weight and you made sure to be there for him when he needed some help. You guys just worked so well together.

The boys got back to the dorms a few minutes before you, and that was enough time for the storm to start and wreak havoc. As the boys left the car slightly dazed and confused, Yoongi left his phone in the car, but Jungkook noticed and got it.

“Yoongi-hyung,” he called as he walked in the house last.

Yoongi turned around wondering what the maknae wanted but froze a little seeing the younger boy turning on his phone.

“Here you know our higher ups don’t like us having our phones off. Be careful.” He playfully scolded with his bunny smile not knowing what he had truly done.

As soon as the phone was in Suga’s hand, it started blowing up with multiple texts, missed calls, and voicemail notifications. And that is when Min Yoongi finally reached his limit. Shouting curses, he threw his phone lucky missing any of the members and or walls in his anger driven actions.

“I’m sick and fucking tired of her bullshit!” he was pacing at this point wanting to break something but trying to channel his anger in to just shouting. All the other boys were a little terrified at the out burst and didn’t know what to do or what it was about.

“Fuck!” he was stopped facing the boys and unaware of the person who snuck in after Jungkook.

“I mean fucking hell! I can’t do anything without her worrying me with her worrying about me for 5 secs. She’s over bearing, overly sensitive, and just plain annoying. She has been blowing up my phone with constant texts and I’m reaching my wits end with Y/N.” He finally finished his anger fueled confession, not knowing that the last person he wanted to hear it heard every word.

You couldn’t believe you ears. During his whole outburst, you were in the kitchen. You were about to fix him a plate of food from the dinner you had brought him and the boys but were stopped by the loud volume of his voice. You knew you could be a little much and you came to terms with that even tried to fix it but hearing that the love of your life couldn’t even handle you really hurt.

Your body was visibly shaking with all the emotions running through you, but the most overpowering emotion was heartbreak. Silent tears fell from your eyes and they wouldn’t stop coming. Amazingly you were able to quietly make your way out of the house without being notice. As soon as you were out in the cold with only yourself and your thoughts, you cried hysterically and ran all the way home, running like you never have before.

Meanwhile back at the dorm, Taehyung had caught a waft, during Yoongi’s explosion of angry words, of delicious food. When Yoongi had settled down a little, the vocalist went to find out what the source of the smell was and left towards the kitchen. With Tae’s sudden movement, everyone broke from their stunned states noticing the smell of food and were soon following in behind him, even Yoongi.

Upon arriving to the kitchen, the boys found a big feast packed in multiple containers filled with their favorite foods. They all were confused on where it had come from. On closer inspection they noticed a uncomplete plate filled with some of Yoongi’s favorite foods and all came to the same realization.

“Fuck,” the oldest rapper cursed under his breath. Before anyone could make a move, in the silence, a single text notification was heard that made Yoongi’s blood run cold. Slowly grabbing his phone like it would bite him if he touched it. He unlocked it and saw the last text he would get from her for a long time.

My Love: Enjoy the food. I hope you guys have an amazing comeback. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bother. I promise I won’t anymore.

A/N: I might add more to this but I’m not sure. I just want to get some of my WIPs out there.

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btswrckd · 3 years

Text

Hunting a Hybrid VI

Black Panther!Hybrid Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Summary: Four years after it’s made illegal to acquire hybrids as pets, you’re approached by the daughter of your former employer to hunt down one that had been gifted to her

Warnings: violence, mentions of past abuse, mentions of blood, slight fluff, angst, poorly written smut

A/N: It’s here! I apologize for taking so long and truthfully, this chapter isn’t as well edited as I wanted it to be, but it’s been so long since I updated and the longer I waited, the more guilty I felt for not getting on my own ass and continue writing. I actually wrote more than this but it’s not polished enough for me to add on. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy!

Oh, and the songs I listened to while writing were Heaven Help Me by RAIGN, Inside of Me by RAIGN, the Eric Lee Gravity Remix of Unsteady by X Ambassadors, and Walk Through the Fire by Zayde Wolf

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The wet smell of dirt invaded your nostrils, making you scrunch up your nose in discomfort. Allergies were a bitch but Sangchul didn’t sympathize with your stuffy nose and pounding headache. A sharp hiss escaped you as your grandfather tightened the blindfold around your head with more force than necessary. The added pressure against your temple made your eye twitch and your fingers curl into tight fists.

“The comfort and ease of having all of your senses is a privilege, not a right. Some people have all of them, some people only have a few and must learn to adapt to the world around them.” Sangchul rasped as he stepped in front of you. “You may have all of them but what happens when some of the most important ones are taken away? Come at me.”

The urge to roll your eyes was great but what was the point when he couldn’t see you do it? Defying Sangchul was not a smart decision and years of punishment for the smallest of things should have taught you to know better. But defying him also gave you a sense of pride knowing that no matter how deep his claws ran, it wasn’t enough to have complete and total control over you.

You huffed and lunged toward his voice but found yourself landing flat on your face. He was quick for an old bastard but he’d also had more training and experience than you did. You stood slowly and listened for the barest hint of where Sangchul may be but so far the only thing that caught your ear was your own heavy breathing. Birds chirped, the wind whipped against the trees, leaves fell to the ground, and somewhere a twig snapped in two.

You whirled around, thrusting your fist into what you hoped was your grandfather’s face but he gripped your wrist tight and used his other hand to land a swift jab to your stomach. It was quick and painful, leaving you to double over and dry heave as you tried to catch your breath. Sangchul was strong despite looking fragile, and that strength was made known every time you trained.

He didn’t give you the time to recover, instead moving to land a heavy kick to your rib cage. You coughed and lifted yourself with one arm while the other wrapped around your torso. The sound of his boot leaving the ground once more gave you the chance to gauge how far he stood from you, but you hadn’t realized how close to a tree he’d cornered you. Your back hit the trunk so hard that it knocked the air from your lungs and Sangchul was shoving his steel toed boot into your windpipe. You gasped for air but he kept you pinned, pressing on your neck until you were sure you’d pass out. One of your hands curled around his ankle, desperate to pry his foot away as your other hand tapped against his calf in surrender so he’d let you go. Neither of which happened.

“You have two free hands, you moron.” Sangchul’s voice was calm as if he weren’t about to choke his granddaughter to death. “You want to live? Then fight.”

Air was becoming minimal and your already obscured vision was beginning to darken. There was always a small part of you that knew your grandfather would some day kill you, but here and now would not be the time. Your nails sunk into the fabric of Sangchul’s pants deep enough to break through to his skin and he hissed as you raked your nails up his calf, slicing and marring the flesh as you went. You weren’t allowed a knife or any kind of weapon when in training so you had to improvise, tearing at Sangchul like a wild animal until he was forced to remove his boot from your neck. You slumped to the ground and gulped in as much air as you could, gasping and coughing until your throat was raw and burning. Prying off the blindfold, you looked up to Sangchul with murderous intent.

“You son of a bitch!” You sobbed, frustration and pent up tears surfacing without your permission. “What the hell is the matter with you?! You were really trying to kill me!”

“I was teaching you, you ungrateful brat!” He roared back, clutching at his injured leg. He lifted the leg of his pants and clenched his jaw at the blood trickling down his calf. “Where is it? Where’s your knife?!”

“I don’t have one,” you panted as tears rolled down your cheeks and you swallowed another sob threatening to wrack your body.

“Bullshit!” Sangchul seethed before limping towards you and crouching down to grab at your already sore throat, forcing you to your feet. “The rules are no weapons during training, Y/N! You expect me to believe this kind of damage was done with just your fucking nails?”

You clawed at his arm, but the lack of strength and breath wasn’t nearly as harmful as the adrenaline filled attack from earlier. You kicked your leg out as a last ditch effort to push him back, landing a surprisingly solid hit to his gut and he stumbled back. You weren’t sure what came over you or what kind of games your own body was playing, but there was enough left in you to tackle him to the ground. Using one knee to pin Sangchul’s bicep to the ground and the other knee to pin his wrist down, you raised your fist high in the air and brought it down across his face three times before he was fighting back.

Sangchul pushed against your frame, rolling atop you and taking hold of your neck once more to keep you in place while he delivered blow after blow to your stomach more so than your face. The metallic taste of blood coating his gums fueled every punch and became the driving force behind the final hit to your cheekbone. He stood over you ruthlessly as you groaned and turned on your side to painfully curl into a ball, blood gathering on the corner of your mouth.

“Your father might not have been as talented as you’ve become at hunting but he was never stupid enough to go against me either. You must get that from your mother.” Sangchul used the back of his hand to wipe away the blood gathered on his own lips and spat globs of it on the ground. “Get up and find your way back to the house or lay out here all night and freeze to death.”

Mud, tears, and blood stuck to the side of your face that now sported a broken cheekbone as you listened to his retreating footsteps. A heavy moan sliced the otherwise quiet air and it took you a moment to realize the sound came from your own mouth. You could already feel the bruises forming on your torso and wondered if he’d broken a couple of ribs. Taking in a sharp breath only made the pain worse and another wail shook the trees, scattering the birds that had witnessed your beating.

You were unaware of how long you stayed on the ground, but it was dark by the time you managed to gather enough resistance to the ache in your bones before carefully standing up. You limped slowly through the desolate woods that only your grandfather could navigate and found yourself at his home almost the next morning. He stood with crossed arms and a cruel smirk on his lips, leaning against the door frame and greeting you casually. He took in your disheveled state, from your torn up pants and shirt to the swollen welt on your cheek.

“Well,” Sangchul chuckled as your body shook with the attempt to keep yourself standing, “I honestly didn’t expect you to make it back. It would take your father days before he recovered from his lessons. Your strength comes from your will to live, Y/N, and your father didn’t have enough of it. Let’s not make yesterday a regular occurrence. I’d hate to have to kill you before you’’ve reached your full potential.”

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“Blood,” Jungkook breathed, dropping his chopsticks to his plate and standing from the couch quickly. His sudden outburst made Seokjin jump in his seat before he was up and trailing closely behind Jungkook.

“Does it smell familiar?” Seokjin questioned. If it was your blood then he wanted to be prepared for how Jungkook may react.

“No,” The panther scrunched his nose up in disgust, “It’s not a lot either, it’s faint. It’s not Y/N’s.”

His senior huffed out a breath of relief, placing his palm against his chest and letting his posture sag a little. The tension in his shoulders was long gone by the time they made it to Taehyung’s apartment, Jungkook stopping at the foot of the door. Seokjin pulled his eyebrows together in confusion before he heard the muffled conversation.

“Holy shit, you should have seen it!” Hoseok was giddly explaining the fight to Taehyung, whose arms were crossed and glare focused solely on you. “She beat the shit out of them! And scared Suho! I mean he pretty much pissed his pants!”

“Hobi,” Yoongi interrupted his friend with a pat on his shoulder, nodding to a decidedly unamused Taehyung and your sheepish face as you bowed your head in apology for getting into another fight. “Maybe spare the details, okay?”

“Oh, right,” Hoseok flushed; he hadn’t meant to get caught up in the excitement but he’d only ever heard stories of your fighting skills and barely caught a glimpse of them when the fight broke out with Xiumin and Kai.

“Are you out of your mind?” Taehyung hissed after Hoseok finally calmed down, bracing his hands on the kitchen table and leaning over to scold you like a parent would a child. “You were only supposed to meet with the detective, not start a brawl with Suho and his men. You said you didn’t need backup so I let you go alone and now you’re in our kitchen covered in someone else’s blood. You know there’s a hybrid upstairs right now who’s probably already caught on to your scent and he’s going to come rushing down here any second to check on you. I don’t need a pissed off panther busting down our front door because you’re too stubborn to let anyone help!”

Yoongi and Hoseok exchanged a surprised glance, neither of them ever hearing Taehyung lecture you as harshly as he had been in that moment. Yoongi whistled low as Hoseok looked to the ground in hopes of avoiding Taehyung’s wrath after expressing how much he admired your skills. Yoongi wasn’t all that surprised to find that you didn’t even bat an eye at your friend; you’ve obviously gone through this argument before.

“Are you done?” You sighed, standing from your seat at the table to head for the sink and run your hands underneath hot water. Scrubbing at the blood staining your knuckles, you hissed at the cuts lining them and cursed at the thought of your hand swelling. “Jungkook isn’t going to come down here. In case you’ve forgotten, he hates me right now so I don’t think you need to worry about that, Tae. It wasn’t like I was looking for Suho, he came to me so what was I supposed to do? Let him and his men beat the hell out of me?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Taehyung argued, “I’m---.”

“It’s not like I’m proud of what happened today,” You interrupted him, shoulders dropping. “It wasn’t exactly fun to use Suho’s trauma against him. You think I don’t remember what I did to him? How twisted I used to be?”

Taehyung opened his mouth to disagree but the beeping of the keypad caught his attention, the door swung open as Seokjin stepped inside with Jungkook behind him. Everyone stilled as the panther came into view, your back still facing him at the kitchen sink.

You could feel Jungkook in the apartment. The pull of his mark was so intense that you were tempted to throw yourself in his arms. You sighed as you felt a headache coming on stronger than usual but addressed Taehyung, “you could have gotten killed that night and I admit, the way I handled it bordered on unhinged. When I hurt Suho, he was just a new hunter looking to make a name for himself and because of what I did...I made him who he is. I’m not proud of it, Taehyung, and running into him today just reminded me of the kind of person I used to be.”

Jungkook’s spine straightened as you finally turned to face him, locking eyes with him as he listened when you said, “I used to be a lot worse than what I am now, Jungkook. You may think Suho is just another idiotic hunter but the truth is that I did that to him. No hunter comes without a story and Suho? I’m his.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze, “now might not be the best time.”

“You marked me, Jungkook,” You continued, stepping away from the sink and towards him, “we’re bonded and that was something you chose for us. You can hate me all you want because let’s be real, I deserve it. But everything I’ve done was to keep myself alive and then when Tae came along...he was my priority.”

Taehyung’s eyes softened when he saw the tears building in your own, threatening to fall with each step you took towards the hybrid. True, when he first met you the friendship was rocky, the ice in your veins making it difficult to gain your trust. He remembered when he finally broke through the wall you’d built and he became the most important person to you. He also remembered the night Suho had made a mistake and you nearly tore his head off for being incompetent.

“And then you,” Your broken whisper to Jungkook made Yoongi’s heart ache at how fragile you seemed compared to a few hours ago, “when you came to me, I knew there was nothing I wanted more than to protect you. So I reined a lot of myself in because I didn’t want to scare you. Last night when I said I’d always be a hunter...it was because I didn’t want to lie to you anymore. Hunting is who I am and yes, I’m scared of what could happen when this is all over. I’m going out of my fucking mind trying to figure out how...who I’ll be if I won’t be a hunter. I’m nothing without it but when you came into my life, being happy was the first thing that came to mind and you were right when you said I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Jungkook hadn’t noticed he’d been crying until you reached out to wipe his tears away, his cheek turning into the palm of your hand and his eyes falling shut. The ache in his chest grew larger the more you spoke, the pain becoming too much until finally, you touched him. Your fingers gliding along his cheek soothed him and the agony in his heart.

You gasped when he pulled you into his chest, arms embracing your frame to his tightly as you buried your face into his shirt. You could feel his hot tears sticking to your skin when he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His body trembled in your hold much like Suho’s had earlier but this was for an entirely different reason, his gasping breaths flooding you with guilt that you’d made him feel so awful.

“Please stop being mad at me,” You whispered, fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt, “I can’t...be away from you.”

Jungkook could only squeeze you tighter and nod silently. He couldn’t be apart from you either and even though it had only been a day, he felt as though it had been an eternity since he last saw you. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to keep you pinned to him. Holding you close felt like he could finally breathe again, his large frame slumping in your arms as his body betrayed him and let everyone in the room know just how exhausted he was.

One of your hands slid up the length of his chest to run your fingers through his long hair while the other wrapped around his broad shoulders. A relieved sigh escaped as you found yourself relaxing in Jungkook’s hold, the tension in your neck finally gone.

“Can I?” Jungkook mumbled into your neck, his lips brushing against the mark and canines tracing along it. The desperate need to freshen his claim clawed at his insides, especially with the faint smell of Suho all over you. Admittedly, he was planning on reclaiming you as it was, pissed at you or not, because he hated the smell of another man on your clothes and skin.

“Not here,” You blushed and tucked your face further into his chest, knowing full well that he could hear the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Why not?” He nibbled on your skin as if prepping it for the sting of his teeth.

“Because we’re here!” Yoongi interrupted with a gagging noise so convincing that you had to jump back to see if he actually puked all over the floor. His joke, but not really a joke, serving as a reminder that you were not alone in the apartment.

“Dinner?” Seokjin suggested loudly, face flushed and eyes boring into the floor. If anyone in the apartment knew just how intimate marking could get, it was him. He’s married to a hybrid, after all, and the times his wife reclaimed him often led to a night of passion so intense that they would forget they weren’t alone in the house and their daughter was just two doors down.

“God, please!” Taehyung scrambled for his shoes and quickly shoved his feet into them. “I’m starving!”

“You were home all day and you didn’t cook anything to eat?” Hoseok scolded but was just as quick to throw on his own shoes and dash out the door.

“We’ll bring you something back,” Seokjin offered since going out for Jungkook wasn’t an option and figured it would do some good to leave the two of you alone. He shoved Yoongi to the door while the younger struggled against him, reluctant to leave you with Jungkook after your last night alone ended in disaster. “Come on, Yoongi, they’ll be fine.”

“But I—-AGH!” Yoongi yelped as he tripped over his own feet and nearly face planted in his attempt to get away from Seokjin.

When silence filled the apartment, Jungkook went back to laving at your neck with renewed vigor now that there was no one to interrupt. He heard the breathless call of his name but couldn’t really be bothered to fully understand what you were trying to say.

The heat of his palms sliding underneath your shirt left goosebumps on your skin, a shiver running down your spine. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck as his hands travelled lower and lower, stopping briefly to squeeze the cheeks of your ass, and cupping the backs of your thighs to lift you onto the kitchen counter. Leaning back on your elbows, you laughed as Jungkook followed and loomed over your entire body.

“As sexy as this is,” You joked and smiled fondly at the twitching of his ears, “the marble of the counter is cold as hell, Kook, so maybe the bedroom…”

Jungkook was hauling you off the counter before you could even finish the sentence, your arms and legs clinging to his body, winding tight as he pressed your back to the wall instead. His eyes lit up that beautiful shade of emerald you came to love, irides slitting in true cat form and his canines elongating. The sharp prick of said canines made you squeak as they pierced your skin, a sound he seemed to take quite a liking to.

“Oh,” You breathed, grinding against his crotch in a desperate search for friction. One hand tangled in his long hair while the other pulled at the button and zipper of his jeans until you were able to snake your hand inside.

Jungkook groaned against your throat at the feel of your fingers wrapping around his length. He pulled away to lean his forehead on your shoulder, fingers gripping your thighs and parting them further to press against you even more. “Tell me, Y/N,” He whispered against your skin, “who is this I smell on you?”

“That answer depends on how pissed off you’ll get,” You laughed sharply at the feel of his claws poking out to grab at the muscle of your thighs possessively. “Judging by your claws, I’d say very.”

He growled out, using one hand to snatch yours from his jeans and pin it to the wall. “It smells like gunpowder.”

Gunpowder?

“Set me down,” You pushed at his chest, rolling your eyes as he grit his teeth and released his grip. With both feet firmly on the ground, you brought a hand up to run through the tangled mess of hair in order to think. “Suho’s guys, maybe?”

“They shot at you?” Jungkook couldn’t stop the growl rumbling from his chest if he tried.

“No, but they must have fired their guns at some point during the day,” You looked at his face and winced at the shadow crossing his features. “Well it’s not like I would have been able to smell it on them. They ambushed me, all I did was fight back.”

“Yes. Against guns.”

“They didn’t have any on them when we fought,” You defended yourself but it really was just a poor excuse for not thinking Suho’s guys would be carrying.

Jungkook sighed heavily and slammed his eyes closed before you could see the green coming forth. “Take a shower, Y/N, get the smell off you, and then we can go to bed.”

A scoff nearly made its way from your throat but he was right. Jungkook was sensitive to gunpowder and any kind of firearms; it stemmed from his less than pleasant encounters with them. You brought your arm up in a mock salute, earning yourself a glare as the words, “Yes, sir!” echoed down the hallway.

“Go,” He bit out and moved away to give you space to walk down the hall. Truthfully, he needed time to gain his bearings after catching a familiar scent. Not the gunpowder, but Suho himself. Suho’s stench had been all over Ye-Jin’s room when he first arrived at the Nam home. Judging by how much the smell lingered, Jungkook could only guess why the hunter spent so much time there. Ye-Jin’s escapades with Suho made Jungkook’s skin crawl, thinking of how hard she’d tried to seduce the panther himself.

When the scent hit his nostrils, the panther in him was coming out full force and he needed to create some distance before he snapped. Now that he’d claimed you, the last thing he wanted was to cause harm by becoming feral.

The sound of running water made his ears and growing bulge twitch. He really needed to get a hold of himself. That thought had no time to be registered before his feet carried him to the bathroom. The handle was cold against his heated skin and he wasn’t at all surprised to find the door unlocked. A small nudge against the wood revealed your scattered clothes along the tiled floor, your scent invading his senses. Little by little, he shed his clothes as quietly as possible in hopes of giving you a small scare.

You really should have been paying more attention to your surroundings. Jungkook was the only one left in the apartment but you still should have been more careful in your decision to leave the door unlocked. The guys could have come back at any time.

“You should be more careful, baby,” Jungkook purred against your ear, hands snaking around to rest against your stomach and pulling your back to his naked chest.

“Oh?” There was no reason to hide your amusement and he knew it. Your intentions were quite clear as you tipped your head back and met his shoulder. “Why is that?”

“Anyone could have walked in here,” He growled low, one hand clasping your hip while the other slid up to palm your breast.

“Anyone did,” You teased, gasping sharply at his wandering hands coupled with the feel of his lips at your neck. Steam enveloped the room and clouded your eyesight, leaving you at Jungkook’s complete mercy as his rough hands groped and ran about your torso.

Water pelted Jungkook’s skin as he came to the realization that bathing with you would be his second favorite activity in a long time. The hand on your hip traveled lower between your legs until the tip of his index finger pressed against the bundle of nerves. The whining and whimpering had his ears flattening against his scalp as he pressed, circled, and worked at your clit ever so slowly. “Soon,” He promised softly, though for you an impending orgasm wasn’t soon enough.

“I will cut your tail off, panther,” You threatened lightly and his chuckle vibrated against your back. He enjoyed tormenting you, that much was obvious, deft fingers gliding lower and his other hand cupping your breast gently. “You’re an ass, Jungkook.”

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook smirked against your wet skin, sinking two fingers knuckle deep into your heat. “No ‘Kook’ this time, baby? That’s not very nice considering where my fingers are.”

“Please,” You groaned, head lolling forward and arm shooting out to press against the shower wall, pushing back against his erection. His tail wound around your thigh to pry your legs open, fingers pumping in and out ever so slowly.

“Please?” He mocked, ears twitching curiously at what may come out of your mouth next. In the short while he’d been living with you and Taehyung, he’d seen enough to know that you were not one to yield. To anything. So to have you begging and pleading for him was a pleasant surprise. “You want something from me, Y/N?”

“No ‘baby’ this time?” You hissed at the prodding of his fingers, deep and steady, and curled your own into a fist against the wall. “That’s not very nice of you, Kook, considering where my hand was earlier.”

“What if Taehyung had come in?” Jungkook hummed in your ear and let his thoughts run much wilder than necessary. What if Taehyung had come in? Or Yoongi?

He wasn’t very fond of that idea given how close you were to them. His hand moved from your hip up to your throat, squeezing gently while you panted and squirmed against him. “Has he ever seen you naked?”

“Not now, Kook.” You groaned because yes, yes Taehyung had seen you naked before. He was the one you lost your virginity to years ago but Jungkook didn’t need to know that. “You really want to talk about Tae of all people right now?”

His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing in tight circles as your thighs trembled and you whimpered out his name. “No, I’d much rather be inside of you but since the subject was brought up…”

“By you!” You yelped at the small press of his fingers against your throat and the way his fingers pumped faster. Your hips rocked in time to his hand, grinding into his hand and reaching your own hand back to tangle in his hair. “Jungkook, please.”

He smirked against your skin, ears perking up at the mix of pleas and threats spilling from your mouth. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why you were deflecting and though usually he’d be upset by this new information, he was surprised to find it didn’t bother him as much as he’d first thought. His lips moved up the side of your neck, teeth nipping and sucking your skin. “You’re mine, sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Possessiveness was never really a turn on for you, but with Jungkook you found yourself clamping down on his fingers and nodding quickly in agreement. This, this was the panther in him and it was a huge relief to have him becoming more confident and comfortable.

“Say it,” Jungkook hissed, pressing firmly on your clit as you tugged at his hair. “I need to hear you say it, baby.”

“I’m yours,” You moaned loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. “All yours, Jungkook. Only you.”

Your back was hauled against the shower wall unceremoniously, hands gripping your thighs, parting them as he sank deep inside in one solid thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to break skin but he didn’t seem to mind. His lips were on yours roughly, muffling the strangled moan leaving your throat.

Jungkook didn’t move, instead savoring the feel of your walls clenching around his cock. The kiss slowed to a languid press of your lips to his, your fingers combing through his shaggy hair and tugging on it to have better access to his neck. He closed his eyes, sighing in pleasure and winding his arms underneath your thighs, pulling himself back before surging forward again and again. The slow roll of his hips against yours had you panting and gasping with each solid thrust. You wound one arm around his shoulders, sinking your nails into his shoulder while the other hand gripped his hair so tight that you were sure he’d be bald by the end of the night.

This wasn’t the same frenzied pace as the previous night, you realized. It was sweeter, softer in the way he moved and peppered your shoulder in kisses. Honestly it probably wasn’t a good idea to take your time since neither of you knew when Taehyung and the rest of the guys would be back. The last thing you needed was any of them walking in to see you and Jungkook going at it in the bathroom of all places.

Seokjin, the maturer of the group, would most likely be the one to herd them all out yet again, but even he would crack some kind of joke about it.

“I missed you,” Jungkook rasped against your mouth, breaking you from all thoughts as his thrusts became quicker and sloppier, one hand snaking between your legs to thumb at your clit once more. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

You wanted to tease that it hadn’t even been a full day but you knew exactly how he felt. How empty and hollow your chest seemed with the distance and while you had spent most of your day occupied with the detective and Suho’s gang, Jungkook spent his holed up in an unfamiliar apartment with nothing but his own thoughts. Your nails bit into his scalp and he hissed at the feel, teeth coming down to clamp on his mark and tongue lapping at the skin.

“I missed you too, Kook,” You whispered as his canines sank deep into his already prominent claim. You convulsed around him, body shaking and thighs trembling with the intensity of your release. “Fuck!”

Jungkook’s hand moved from between your legs to brace against the wall next to your head, a deep groan of agreement reverberating from his chest. The press of your knees against his rib cage, squeezing him tight, pushed him over the edge and he spilled into you. His mouth found yours in a deep kiss, tongue slipping past your lips as his hands massaged the tops of your thighs in soothing circles.

Three loud bangs against the bathroom door made you tense and pull away from Jungkook but he only shushed you as Taehyung’s deep voice boomed on the other side.

“There better be hot water left, goddamn it!” Taehyung joked before striding back down the hall to the kitchen. He really wouldn’t have even gone to find you if Seokjin hadn’t insisted on it.

“Jungkook didn’t eat much earlier,” Seokjin had said when they returned to the apartment, “and I can bet neither has Y/N. They need something in their system.”

“But they already have each other,” Hoseok had mumbled and earned a nice slap across the back of his head from Yoongi.

Taehyung shook his head before walking back into the kitchen to find Seokjin rummaging through his cabinets to find plates and cups. If anyone had told him a year ago that he’d have his best friend, a hybrid, and three older men that treated him like a kid rather than a hunter in his apartment, Taehyung would have laughed in their face. Still, it was comforting to have someone care for him like a person instead of a killer. His childhood was less than pleasant, his own father acting as if Teahyung were a nuisance and not the son he was responsible for.

“Tae,” Seokjin frowned at the distant look on the younger man’s face, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Taheyung shook his head with a chuckle. “I was just thinking.”

Hoseok sat at the dining table with a tilt of his head, waiting to hear if Taehyung would elaborate further but Seokjin simply set a plate down in front of him before moving on to an empty space.

“Then sit,” Seokjin smiled warmly and turned to the abundance of food waiting on the counters.

Yoongi peered down the hallway to the now empty bathroom, watching the swirls of steam seep out from the open door and grimacing at the thought of what happened while they were gone.

“Yoongi,” Seokjin called from the counter as he dug through a bag of food, “they’ll be out here when they’re ready. Come sit down and eat.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to protest when your bedroom door swung open and Jungkook strolled out fully dressed and running a towel through his hair. You weren’t far behind, also dressed in a baggy shirt and sweats, wringing out your hair in a towel.

“Sorry, Tae,” You mumbled as you plopped down on a chair and avoided eye contact with everyone.

“Just as long as there’s hot water left.” Taehyung playfully poked your side before you could scramble away from him.

“No, don’t!” You squealed, actually squealed, and launched yourself onto Jungkook’s lap as Taehyung reached out to tickle your side.

Jungkook was sure he’d never heard anything sweeter than that. The sharp pitch of your voice slicing the air cutely before you were in his lap and clinging to him like a child. There was a grin on your face that no one except Taehyung had seen and Jungkook decided in that moment that he’d do anything to see it again.

“You’re such a baby,” Taehyung teased you, oblivious to the other men’s wide eyed expression, all four of them shocked that you could even smile that big.

You yourself hadn’t even noticed it and Yoongi caught a brief glimpse of the little girl you used to be in that one smile. It shook him to the core to realize how different you’d become and sure, he was used to the woman you were now but to see that little part of you from childhood still existed nearly made him tear up.

Jungkook’s arms were tight around your frame and he buried his face in your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of your shampoo, gripping your waist so hard that he was amazed you could still breathe. The small giggle that floated around the otherwise quiet apartment warmed his chest and he peeked up from your head to watch you poke Taehyung’s leg with your bare foot.

“Gross!” Taehyung wiped away at the invisible dirt on his pants as if you hadn’t just spent an entire hour in the shower. It eased the tension in his shoulders to be able to make you laugh again, something he hadn’t been able to do in the past few months. He watched as you leaned into the crook of Jungkook’s neck and tucked yourself into the hybrids’ arms, a soft smile spreading across his lips. Taehyung often forgot how little of a childhood you actually had and that affection wasn’t something you easily accepted. But seeing you now, curled into the embrace of someone who looked at you with stars in his eyes, Taehyung had to tamp down the sob threatening to escape his mouth. He loved you like a sister and had wanted for so long to be able to escape the wretched life you’d known, but for years he didn’t think a semi-normal life was a possibility, until now. Now the dream of being able to walk the streets without looking over both of your shoulders was slowly but surely becoming a reality.

Seokjin leaned his chin against his palm and wanted to scowl at how happy Jungkook was compared to two hours ago. The grin on the hybrid’s face was enough for Seokjin to forgive the way Jungkook had spent the entire day sulking about the upstairs apartment and mumbling under his breath all the ways the argument could have gone if you hadn’t been so stubborn. Love was a fragile thing and while Seokjin was sure neither you nor Jungkook had fully realized just what was happening between you two, it was quite clear the kind of lengths each of you would go through to keep the other safe. It could be argued, mostly by Yoongi, that the relationship was more lust than anything else but Seokjin knew Yoongi’s obsessive need to protect you stemmed from his knowledge of your upbringing.

“Can we talk about your meeting with Namjoon?” Yoongi raised a brow in your direction. “If I’m not mistaken, it didn’t go entirely as planned but he didn’t shut down the idea either.”

You felt Jungkook tense and press a kiss to the top of your head. “He’s well aware of the risks being taken if he chooses to help us with this, but he’s on board. We’ll set up another time and place to meet soon. Hyungsik’s expecting progress too and he’s agreed to have Suho back off for now. I’m not sure how long that will last or if it even works at all, but our run in today will keep him at bay for at least a week, maybe two.”

“Depends on how fast he’ll recover.” Taehyung shoved a good portion of jjajangmyeon into his mouth and followed it with a long drink of water. “Suho’s never been quick to jump back into an assignment no matter how much he was or wasn’t injured. Despite his reputation, Suho only gets his hands dirty when it comes to showing up Y/N, but even then it’s usually as a last resort. I was surprised to hear how fiercely he was going about this one, then again it could be the reward money that’s keeping him so driven.”

Hoseok huffed from his seat and raked a hand through his hair. “If we can’t steer Suho in a different direction even for a little bit, then this will all be for naught. Two weeks sounds like a long time but not for us, especially with Hyungsik breathing down Y/N’s neck. Taking care of Suho should be the first priority right now.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Taehyung nodded his head in agreement and looked to you, watching the gears in your head turn as you became quiet. “Whatever you’re planning against Suho might give Hyungsik a reason to give you some breathing room. Suho’s a good hunter but he’s messy and not exactly shy about how he makes a living. Hyungsik is in a hurry to get Jungkook before Suho can make a public spectacle about all of this. With him out of the picture, it could give us the opportunity to ask Nam for more time to find Jungkook.”

You knew Tae was right. Hyungsik was always quick to hire you for a job because you were quiet and undetectable, something a lot of other hunters hadn’t quite mastered and with the new laws in place, it would be disastrous if the news that Hyungsik was still harboring hybrids became public knowledge. You also knew that Hoseok was nervous about Suho popping up unnecessarily but you looked to him and said, “Suho’s recovery time isn’t something to worry about. Like Tae said, it could take two weeks before Suho shows himself again and maybe even more. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Suho, it’s that he can’t take the chance of not being at full strength when he goes up against me again.”

“Why were you able to bounce back from his men so quickly but it’ll take Suho weeks to come back from almost nothing?” Hoseok wondered with a curious tilt of his head. He didn’t notice the tight grip of Yoongi’s hand on his cup, or the way Taehyung winced at the question. He only noticed the smallest hint of your nostrils flaring before you covered it up with a smirk.

“Endurance training.”

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

“Again.” Sangchul’s command was sharp. His fighting skills even more so as he dodged another swipe of your fist.

Blindfolded. Again.

Which meant relying on your ears and nose to detect him. He’d started out the day clean but as training went on, he began to sweat and while the smell was not revolting, it was also not flattering. The sound of his heavy boot alerted you to his movement as you thrust your elbow back and connected with the palm of his hand. Damn. He’d seen it coming and managed to counter your hit.

He pushed your elbow forward, sending you staggering out of reach. He watched as you whipped around quickly and brought your hands up to defend yourself if need be. Slowing his breathing and staying entirely still, he watched the fleeting look of panic in your frown. He didn’t want to admit how much you improved since your last session a few weeks back. The lessons would have continued the next day but there was tension in the air every time you were in the same room as him, the kind of tension that made him uneasy. He wasn’t willing to find out how far that tension would push you, so he made himself scarce far more often than he should.

A hunter with skills such as his should not be scared of a sixteen year old girl. He’d have laughed in someone’s face if that person had told him that his granddaughter would one day unnerve him. The day he left you in the woods after beating the ever loving hell out of you had changed something else in you. Something mischievous, rebellious, and down right evil had swirled in your eyes the moment you stepped out of the trees and into his line of sight. You hated him, he knew that, but he wanted to think that you were reliant enough of him that you wouldn’t use the skills he taught you against him.

Last time he didn’t give you time to recover, so you had expected him to attack you as soon as he let go of your elbow. You grit your teeth when he didn’t take a swing at you as he had before. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out any kind of noise Sangchul would make. He had to have known you couldn’t hear anything but the deafening sound of your own breathing. What could only have been seconds felt like hours before he finally moved, the soft crunch of boots on dead leaves had you ducking an oncoming punch. As you crouched to the ground, the quick woosh of his other boot kicking up dirt had you placing your palms out towards his kick, blocking his assault. You were on your feet quickly, the heel of your steel toe boot catching on the root of the tree behind you but you held steady and acted as if you were going to fall backwards.

Sangchul lunged forward even further, attempting to grip your shoulders to pin you down, but you gained your footing not a second later and he found himself pressed face first into the rough bark of the tree.

Your forearm was at the back of his neck, only one of his hands wrenched behind his back because there wasn’t a way for you to grab both. Your tiny victory was short lived as he used his free hand to push off the tree and spin around. His wrist rotated out and around to take hold of yours and pull it taught in the air. You cried out in pain after a sickening pop sounded around the woods.

“Clever.” Sangchul admitted with reluctance. “You’ve paid attention. Attempting to get out of my hold will only result in dislocating your shoulder. Which is exactly what needs to happen to get away from me. What will you do, Y/N? Are you willing to pop your own arm out of its socket to escape me or will you---?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing his question before you were twisting your body out of his grip, shoulder popping out of place so unnaturally that Sangchul could have thrown up if he weren’t so damn impressed. Dropping to one knee, you panted out of exertion and the scream echoing through the trees.

Sangchul could count on one hand the amount of times he’d had to teach the same lesson to his own son only to have it end in Donghoon crying and cowering in the corner of his room all night. His eyes were comically wide as you stood from the ground with a renewed sense of purpose, your shoulder hanging limp as sweat beaded across your forehead. It was as if the pain was your sole purpose to keep going and the determination to remain unafraid of him propelled you forward.

Your shoulder was hot, your body gradually warming with it before it started to feel like your whole being was on fire. The flames licked the back of your neck and shoulder blade, rendering your arms useless but not your legs as you swung around and landed the most satisfying kick to your grandfather’s jaw. The crunch of his bones and the thud of his body hitting the ground had a grin splitting your lips viciously, a smile cold and cruel that you’d seen him don thousands of times before. You didn’t have to see his face to know the power shift had begun. You could hear it in the way he struggled to breathe.

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

Taehyung quirked an amused brow at the way Yoongi burrowed further into the couch like a petulant child when Hoseok was trying to get him to leave.

“Hyung, come on.” Hoseok ran a hand down his face, unwilling to believe that his senior could be so immature. “We’re due to open the bar in an hour and it’s a 30 minute drive from here. We need to leave now.”

“Let’s take a night off,” Yoongi suggested with a fake yawn and stretched himself across the length of Taehyung’s couch. He crossed his feet and brought his arms up behind his head as a makeshift pillow. “One night won’t hurt us.”

“I don’t think Taehyung appreciates you taking over his home without talking to him first.”

“I have extra blankets and pillows.” Taehyung offered up as Hoseok shot him a glare from across the room. “Though if you’re only staying to keep an eye on Y/N, then it would probably be better to camp out in front of her door.”

“That’s not happening.” Jungkook came up beside Taehyung with a stern look on his face. Two weeks ago, he would have cowered at the sight of Yoongi after getting a gun pulled on him, but now Jungkook refused to be scared.

Yoongi’s nostrils flared at being challenged by the younger hybrid and he scowled at Jungkook. “Oh yeah, kid? What makes you think she’ll be as quick as you are to kick me out?”

Hoseok buried his face in his hands, tired and sleep deprived from the long nights at the bar and the long days spent helping his new found friends. “You have a couch at home that you can sleep on, hyung.”

“I like Taehyung’s couch better.”

When Hoseok looked to Taehyung for help getting his friend out of the apartment, Taehyung simply hid a smile behind his hand. He opened his mouth to argue with Yoongi once more when you came down the hallway, footsteps so light against the carpeted floor that nobody would notice you if you hadn’t said anything.

“Go home, Yoongi.” You slapped at his feet before plopping down on the couch and tucking your feet underneath your thighs. “If Tae wanted you to invade his space then he would have said so.”

“He offered me extra pillows and blankets,” Yoongi sat up to face you, “I’d say that counts as an invitation.”

Jungkook had made his way to you at some point and scooped you up to take your spot on the couch, sitting you in his lap. The fresh smell of vanilla and lilac intoxicated him enough to press his face into the crook of your neck.

Yoongi frowned in mock disgust and scoffed at the way Jungkook shot him a sly smirk. “The idea of sleeping outside Y/N’s room is tempting, but I think I’d rather sleep inside.”

Jungkook’s growl rumbled from his chest and against your back. You knew Yoongi was only teasing and meant no harm but Jungkook didn’t seem to share your amusement. “Maybe you should sleep in Tae’s room, Yoongs. He’s just as touch starved as you are.”

“I like to cuddle.” Taehyung nodded with the most serious look he could muster, blinking in surprise when a faint blush crept up Yoongi’s cheeks.

You shot Yoongi a teasing smile, “what a coincidence, so does Yoongi. There were some nights he wouldn’t let me pry myself away.”

Heat prickled your bare rib cage as Jungkook’s fingers discreetly slid underneath your oversized shirt, the rough pads of his fingers leaving behind goosebumps. His palm flattened just underneath your breast bone, thumb teasing the hem of your bra, and pushing under the wire to skim across your nipple. You’d never pulled your knees to your chest quicker than in that moment, hoping to keep his hand from being seen roaming around. With the press of your knees, it kept Jungkook’s hand in place so he couldn’t venture further but he was not one to be deterred, instead wiggling his hand free enough to slide completely up and cup your entire breast.

“It’s not like you were complaining,” Yoongi’s voice brought you back to the present. “You showed up every night anyways so you can’t tell me that you didn’t like cuddling up to me just as much.”

Jungkook lightly squeezed your breast, kneading and pinching, all while keeping a face so impassive that you were starting to believe you were imagining things. His head tilted at the small hitch in your breath, ears twitching in delight, and he grinned when Yoongi caught a glimpse of your shirt moving where it should not be.

“You--,” Yoongi began but Seokjin’s voice stopped him.

“I think everyone should call it a night,” Seokjin suggested after catching the dark look in Jungkook’s eyes before Yoongi could call him out. “I also think if you’re going to stay here tonight, Yoongi, then you should be advised that this is also Jungkook’s territory now. Invading it aggressively will only end in less than pleasant results. Tread carefully.”

“Bed time.” Jungkook whispered against your ear, nipping it in the process and standing from the couch so quick that it made you dizzy. He laughed as you clung to him, padding down the hallway to your bedroom while Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Seokjin continued on with their conversation.

Taehyung threw his head back with a laugh that nearly shook the apartment. He hadn’t been so amused in such a long time that watching Yoongi scramble after Jungkook only to have the door slammed in his face had Taehyung doubled over in glee. He could hear Yoongi’s shocked sputtering all the way from the living room.

Hoseok didn’t seem to be faring any better, clapping his hands while howling with laughter as well. It took a great deal to rattle Yoongi and Hoseok had only seen it happen a few times in all the years they’d known each other. Now that Jungkook was starting to show more of himself and how comfortable he’d become, Yoongi was left slack jawed a good portion of the time the group spent together.

Seokjin couldn’t hide his chuckle as Yoongi came back down the hallway with a tic in his jaw. He was aware that the amusement and playfulness wouldn’t last long and the reality of the situation would once again crash into everyone like a brick wall. But for tonight, he would enjoy every smile, every laugh, and every teasing glance that passed between everyone because it would be short lived, and there was a high possibility of it all crashing down in flames. The odds against you were great and while you were stronger than most people, you were still human. With Jungkook at your side and bound to you, the hard shell of the woman you’d become was beginning to crack and Seokjin knew that if anything happened to the panther, you would lose yourself in your own head once more.

It was no secret how special of a person you were to Yoongi. It was why he was still sulking around Taehyung’s living room instead of sleeping in his own bed. He was aware that Jungkook would sooner tear off his own arm than hurt you, but Yoongi still worried. The look of defeat after your fight with Jungkook was still fresh in Yoongi’s mind, and the way you fought against Suho earlier was just a taste of what could happen if you lost Jungkook again. There had been rumors about the vicious way you fought and he’d seen it first hand, but the encounter with Suho was on an entirely different level. Something in your eyes was inhuman, the curve of your smile struck a wicked resemblance to the grandfather you loathed, and Yoongi spent the entire time watching your eyes practically light up at the way you scared Suho.

The person you transformed into the second Jungkook was back in your arms was startling. Yoongi didn’t think you could even still be that person, but Jungkook’s presence reeled in the part of you that lashed out against everyone and everything. You were starting to become that same little girl who would move heaven and hell to protect the ones important to you. Growing up, Yoongi had watched you save your mother from the drunken mess that was Donghoon. He’d seen you constantly jump in front of her, taking whatever slap or punch was meant for Iseul, and raising your head high as you hadn’t just been struck by a heavy hand. Time and again, you were scolded by your mother for getting involved, and time and again you would beg Iseul to pack up and leave Donghoon. The arguments often ended in you storming out of the house and stomping across the street to Yoongi’s house where he would clean you up and hold you in his arms until the crying and shaking stopped.

The night your parents died, you were meant to be home. Meant to be helping your mother pack a weekend bag for a trip with that monster. But you’d argued with her before leaving for school that morning, screaming at her that one day Donghoon will do irreparable damage and you would not be there to pick up the pieces. Yoongi could still remember the agony on your face and in your voice when you ran up to the home that had become a crime scene in a few short hours. He remembered the screams, remembered the tears streaming down your face, and the desperate pleas for Iseul. He remembered being angry with his own parents for keeping him away from you when you needed him the most, but also remembered the way his father pulled him close and whispered in his ear that Sangchul was watching him carefully, that if he truly cared about you then he would let your grandfather handle the situation. He knew it was wrong, knew he should have fought harder to get to you, but then Sangchul was at your side and had taken hold of your shoulders with a solid grip. Yoongi wasn’t close enough to know what was being said or what could have caused the light to die in your eyes, yet he was able to watch what could only be explained as a switch being flipped and then you were no longer Y/N. Not the human part anyways.

A large hand clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, shaking him from his walk down memory lane, and he looked over to find Seokjin’s brows pinched together with worry. He shook his head and gave his senior what he hoped was a smile. Seokjin could read Yoongi’s bullshit better than anybody and lately he’s been keeping Yoongi closer than ever, as if your presence would cause him to spiral down like it had when they’d first met in college. Yoongi couldn’t blame Jin for wanting to make sure he was okay, especially not after the frantic reaction he had when Jin called him the night you were injured. In all their years of being friends, Seokjin had never heard that type of fear in Yoongi’s voice or seen the trembling of his bottom lip once he saw the state you were in after leaving his bar.

“It’s late,” Taehyung’s deep voice cut the tension in the air as he watched something pass between Seokjin and Yoongi. “We’re all exhausted and I’m sure none of you are up for the long drive home.”

Hoseok had already settled on the couch once he realized Yoongi would have to be dragged out of the apartment kicking and screaming if Taehyung really wanted him to leave. His eyelids were heavier than he expected them to be and soon his soft snores were drifting around the living room. His sudden slumber left Taehyung scrambling for a pillow and blanket so Hoseok wouldn’t be uncomfortable the rest of the night.

“The offer to share my bed still stands,” Taehyung grinned at Yoongi after settling Hoseok in. The last thing he expected was for Yoongi to stomp down the hall to his room as if he owned the place. He turned to Seokjin and offered to sleep on the floor of his room so Seokjin could have the bed. “I really don’t mind, hyung. I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Seokjin’s smile was endearing, a flutter of pride in his heart at being accepted by Taehyung. “Sleeping on the floor won’t be a problem for me.”

Taehyung nodded and led him down the hall where he flung his door open to find Yoongi spread out on his bed. He grumbled underneath his breath and shoved Yoongi to one side, creating space for himself before digging through his closet for the sleeping bag he’d bought years ago. He handed Seokjin an extra pillow and blanket, bidding him goodnight and good luck. “I had to sleep on this floor when I first moved in and I can tell you, it’s the most unpleasant night’s sleep.”

Seokjin bobbed his head and yawned, offering good luck to Taehyung in return. “Y/N’s right, you know. Yoongi likes to cuddle.”

Taehyung was ready to laugh at what he thought was a continuation of the joking from earlier but the arm that was quickly wrapped around his stomach made him squeak. He didn’t mind it and he certainly wasn’t going to object to Yoongi’s heartless facade finally crumbling. There was a deep and raspy chuckle that echoed around the room and he wasn’t sure if it was from Seokjin, or Yoongi.

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

The faint smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting up Taehyung’s nostrils made him believe he was still dreaming, but the constricting hold of someone else’s leg curled around his was enough to startle him. He tried to bolt up and assess his surroundings until his back was squeezed to a solid chest, and it was then he remembered what had happened the night before. He looked at the hand pressed to his chest and trailed his eyes up the owner’s arm and to Yoongi’s sleeping face.

Min Yoongi wasn’t just a cuddler, he was a goddamn boa constrictor with the way he clung to Taehyung with a surprising amount of strength. He wasn’t usually one for physical affection but he hated the feeling of an empty bed after you’d left years ago. To have someone next to him, be it man or woman, he didn’t care. He wanted the warmth of another body, the comfort of knowing the space next to him would be occupied when he awoke. He was well aware of the hesitation that came from Taehyung after the stunt Yoongi had pulled on Jungkook with a gun, which is why it had surprised him that Taehyung would offer his home as a place to sleep despite Yoongi having his own apartment. He liked to think it was because Taehyung was finally starting to accept him the way he accepted Hoseok and Seokjin.

A loud and obnoxious slurping coming from Taehyung’s bedroom doorway had both him and Yoongi groaning at being woken up before they were ready. Yoongi was tempted to throw a pillow at whoever it may be and seeing as how Taehyung fumbled around the bed to grip a loose one, it was clear that Yoongi was not alone in despising the morning sun.

“Well,” Your voice was dripping with amusement, a teasing lilt to it as both men’s eyes shot open to find that you were the one interrupting their sleep. “Don’t you two look cosy. I take it you’ve forgiven Yoongs then, Tae? Or this is a forbidden kind of thing that we’re all supposed to just pretend we don’t notice?”

“Get out!” Taehyung hissed, horror written all over his face as he noticed your phone poised and ready to take a picture. He was sure you already had a dozen or more since you took your sweet ass time waking them up. He would yell at you to delete them but there was a maximum of one photo on your phone, it being of you and your mother when you were still just a toddler. The fact that you were willing to keep a memento of a fonder memory at his and Yoongi’s expense was honestly okay with him.

“Jin made breakfast.” You sauntered away from Taehyung’s room with your coffee mug, loudly announcing to Hoseok that he ‘just had to see this’, and Hoseok chirping ‘no way!’. Setting the mug down on the kitchen table, you heard fumbling, a thud, and then a loud groan before Yoongi came barreling down the hallway with accusatory eyes. “Good morning, Yoongs. How’d you sleep?”

“Don’t try that cutesy act on me, you little brat.” Yoongi glared at you, his eyes roaming your body in search of your phone. “Hand it over.”

“No.”

Yoongi balked at your refusal, lunging after you and finding himself having to chase you across the length of the living room. He came close once or twice though he was sure it was more because you were just giving him a chance rather than he was actually as fast as you. Nearly tripping over the coffee table, he was appalled to see that you’d hidden behind Hoseok, and that Hoseok was full on shielding you from Yoongi’s hands.

At some point, Taehyung had finally emerged from his room and stopped short at the sight of a mischievous grin on your face. He didn’t think you even knew what fun was, but he had to remind himself that there had been a time when you were loved and cared for, and the man currently threatening to strangle Hoseok was one of the people who’d known you before your training. He had to wonder why Jungkook hadn’t stepped in yet when he looked to the kitchen and saw Seokjin setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of the panther.

The breakfast Seokjin had cooked up looked so mouthwatering that Jungkook didn’t even bother paying attention to you and Yoongi. In fact, it was entertaining to watch Yoongi attempt to keep up with your speed and agility. You moved so fluently and swiftly that Jungkook wondered how it was possible for a mere human to move the way he could in his panther form. When you launched yourself over the coffee table flawlessly and sprinted to him, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist as you plopped down in his lap.

Yoongi was panting and two seconds from collapsing to the ground. You’d always been fast and nimble, two traits Yoongi wasn’t exactly envious of given the circumstances you’d gone through to obtain those abilities. He did, however, envy that you weren’t out a single breath while he was close to being dehydrated just from running around the apartment. “I swear to God, little one, if you don’t hand that phone over…”

“I don’t have it.” You smirked at him, accepting a forkful of eggs from Jungkook’s waiting hand. You had your own plate waiting right next to him, but given how long you left them to get cold, you couldn’t imagine they were appetizing. A fact Seokjin also factored in when he heard the commotion, now picking up the plate and shoving it in the microwave to heat up. You’d be surprised if it weren’t for the reminder that he was a parent, and that he must have gone through the same thing a million times with his young daughter.

Taehyung had left the room a few minutes before and was now wandering back in with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Toothpaste was slathered all over his lips as he scrubbed at his teeth, not wanting to miss what else may occur in the battle between his best friend and Yoongi. He caught Yoongi’s eye and sent him a teasing wink, watching as Yoongi’s face flushed a bright red before he was sitting at the table to eat breakfast.

Seokjin stood at the stove, munching on a strip of bacon and watching the scene unfold before his very eyes. The stark difference in your attitude and demeanor in the last few hours compared to the last few weeks since he’d known you left Seokjin baffled. The obvious flirting between Taehyung and Yoongi, who seemed to longer detest each other, caught him off guard. When he’d joked about Yoongi being clingy the night before, he did not expect to have seen Taehyung so comfortable in Yoongi’s arms. Seokjin didn’t want this to end, he realized. He wanted this every day and to introduce this new part of his life to his wife and daughter, to have his two worlds collide without the threatening weight of Hyungsik on his shoulders.

Hoseok set his empty plate in the sink, frowning as he turned to the table and brought up the crushing subject of the problem at hand. “I woke up to some disturbing texts this morning.”

You stilled in Jungkook’s arms, eyes flicking to Hoseok’s approaching figure.

“A hunter, Lee Dongwook, stopped by the bar last night because he had some information that he thought we’d find interesting.” Hoseok sighed and hung his head in frustration. “Some detectives were snooping around some local dive bars, said they were asking questions about previously known hybrid collectors. They wouldn’t tell anyone why but Dongwook was sure it had to do with some hybrids that had been found dead and their bodies dumped.”

“Meaning?” Yoongi wanted to shake Hoseok by the shoulders and hope that whatever he was hesitating to say would spill out.

“It was the way their bodies were dumped.” Hoseok explained, his eyes boring into the side of your face. “No identification, no missing persons reports, no trace of the hybrid even existing. And the places they’d been dumped were void of any kind of evidence as to who could have done it.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to yours, which never seemed to leave the table. Bile gathered in his throat as he watched a sense of recognition flash in your eyes. “Get to the point, Hobi.”

“There’s only one hunter known to pull off a job like that.” Hoseok tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down so hard that he tasted blood. “Only one hunter that’s known to move like a ghost, blending and moving with the shadows.”

“You didn’t.” Yoongi whispered over the silence that befell the apartment. “Little one, tell me you didn’t.”

“Not for a long time, Yoongi.” You stood from Jungkook and distanced yourself quickly. “Back when I first started hunting, it was easier to do a body dump than it was to actually catch a hybrid. At sixteen, nobody believed a girl like me could get the job done, so they saddled me with getting rid of the bodies.”

“God,” Yoongi breathed and stood up from the table, one hand propped on his hip while the other came up to cover his mouth lest the vomit stuck in his throat come spewing out. “What even…? How…?” He didn’t know what he was trying to ask, or why he was asking at all. He understood what you did as a hunter but he was under the impression that all you did was hunt. Somewhere down the line, he’d pushed the knowledge of your killings to the back of his mind and locked it away.

“I was a kid.” You inhaled deeply and looked to the ground, not sure you could bear the look in Yoongi’s eyes, or Jungkook’s for that matter. “Nobody would have suspected a kid, let alone question them for murder. Sangchul taught me how to get rid of evidence and set me out into the world of hunters and before I knew it... I was that ghost. I was that thing that could move in the shadows, Yoongi. My reputation started with those jobs.” Teahyung winced at the change of tone in your voice. To him, it wasn’t a surprise to hear about the beginnings of your hunting days. You’d told him all about it when you’d first met in hopes it would scare him away. But no. There was no scaring him away from you.

“Are you trying to justify your shit by saying you were only sixteen?!” Yoongi’s voice boomed around the apartment and Hoseok had put a comforting hand to Jungkook’s shoulder. “All of it should be forgiven and forgotten because you were just a kid?! The world doesn’t fucking work that way, Y/N! Of course, those hybrids would never know because they won’t be getting the chance because of you! You destroyed them, you got rid of them, and didn’t turn back because it wasn’t your fucking problem anymore, was it?! Can you even tell me their names?!”

“Yoongi!” Seokjin tried to step in, watching the darkness swirl in your eyes as your gaze shot to Yoongi.

“Seo-yun, Seung, Hyunwoo, Juwon,” You listed off name after name, your hands curling into fists at the memories each name brought up. The things you had done, the lives you had taken, and the slow, agonizing pain in your chest with each hybrid. “Changmin, Geon, Seokhoon.”

“Y/N, stop.” Taehyung pleaded, standing from the table and moving across the room but you stepped back. His heart cracked at the way you rejected him.

“Jeni, Areum, Bona,” You continued, chest heaving with anger as more names came spilling out. “Haneul, Nabi, Hwayoung. And so many more. Yes, I did that to them. Yes, I made them untraceable. But I was never the kind of ruthless that my grandfather wanted me to be. They died, Yoongi, but they weren’t tortured, at least not by me. To say their deaths were peaceful would be selfish, but they certainly weren’t painful either.”

“You killed them, Y/N.” Yoongi raked a hand through his hair, bewilderment and disbelief etched all over his face. “You ended their lives and you mean to tell me that you did it peacefully? Is there anything even remotely peaceful about being murdered?”

Your jaw clenched at his question. “What would you know about murder, Yoongi? You think because you happened to catch a glimpse of the damage my mother’s death caused that you’re an expert in the repercussions of it?”

“Don’t do that.” Yoongi hissed through clenched teeth. “Don’t try to justify your actions with your past trauma like you were the only one who lost something that day.”

Taehyung’s eyes darted to you as you took in a sharp breath. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He was downright terrified of the look in your eye. There had been but two times in the past years that Teahyung had called you out on your bullshit and excuses, and both times had ended in disaster.

“Iseul was important to me too.” Yoongi continued and watched as tears welled in your eyes at the sound of your own mother’s name. He could only guess that you hadn’t said her name out loud since the day she died, and hearing it now made you falter. “She wasn’t just your mother. She was the woman who made sure you were safe at all costs, made sure I was safe at all costs because you needed me. I needed you. We needed each other. She asked me to take care of you, asked me to love you the way you deserved to be because she knew that one day, your father would take her away from you. Iseul always knew that she wouldn’t live long enough to watch you grow all the way up, so she made me promise that I would always look after you no matter what. When she died, my heart felt like it was shattered into a million pieces, and then you were gone too.”

Seokjin’s shoulders stiffened. He had never heard the full story of why Yoongi was so closed off and unwilling to make friends with anyone in college. Here and now may not have been the most ideal, but it was time everything came to light.

Yoongi’s hands shook as everything from that time came rushing back to him. The sleepless nights, the loss of appetite, the depression. All of it after you left town and not once since his reunion with you was he given the chance to let you know just how messed up he’d become.

“You were gone,” Yoongi continued, “and I couldn’t find you. It was like you fell off the face of the Earth. Do you know how helpless I felt? How desperate I became? For years I went out of my fucking mind because I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. I may not have had the same experiences as you after that day, but you can damn well bet that I was suffering too. Losing you and Iseul fucked me up just as bad, but I didn’t go off and become a murderer.”

“No. How could you?” You gasped through the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. The look on his face after learning the truth of who you’d really become reminded you of the time your mother had first looked at you the same way. Like you were the devil. “You weren’t born to the same monster that I was, Yoongi. You weren’t meant to be what I am. I know what you were going through. Every chance I had to get away from Sangchul, I went to find you. You were so broken that I couldn’t show my face knowing I’d have to leave again. When we got older, and Sangchul was dead, I kept my distance and you know why? Because you were finally happy again, and I thought if I showed up that I would only disrupt the new life you built. Look at you, Yoongs, you can barely look me in the eye knowing what you do now.”

Jungkook fought hard to resist his urge to spring up from his chair and hold you. He had admonished your decision to keep hunting, but that didn’t mean he didn’t fully understand what the life of a hunter meant. Yoongi’s bar was open to anyone and everyone, and although 90% of those people were hunters, he had never been fully immersed in their world. It wasn’t easy for Jungkook to forgive you and it certainly wasn’t easy to see it from your perspective, but surviving was your instinct just as it was his. Sometimes surviving meant doing things one would never be proud of and he understood that better than Yoongi did.

“The only reason I can’t look you in the eye is because I’m not sure who I’ll see when I do.” Yoongi blinked away his own tears, his chest aching with the newfound knowledge that you’d always been looking over him. “You have this mask that you put up whenever you start to shut down or need to keep someone at bay. That mask looks so much like Sangchul’s and Donghoon’s that I don’t even see Iseul in you anymore, Y/N.”

“That’s because she’s none of those people,” Taehyung had finally inched himself across the room enough to stand at your side without touching you. “Y/N is herself. Those people may have shaped her but over time, she created her own mould. Yoongi, you only want to see the little girl you took care of and no matter how many times you thought you could handle who she was, it wasn’t real for you. This, here and now, this is the reality we’ve lived and become accustomed to. You’re not ready for it. I don’t think anyone but me, Jungkook, and Y/N are, and yet here we all stand willing to take risks bigger than any of us had expected. I’m not saying you need to open your eyes and take in the cruelty of our world if you want to help, but that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“When was your last clean up job?” Seokjin didn’t want to ask. In fact, he was content with staying the hell out of the argument entirely, but someone had to shift the conversation back to where it began.

“6 years ago,” your answer was immediate, giving Yoongi a little bit of relief that these last few bodies were not actually your work. “After I got my first tracking job, I never took on another clean up again.”

Hoseok perked up as if suddenly realizing something important. He dug his phone from his pocket to scroll through the text messages.”Dongwook said the other hunters didn’t give up your name to the detectives, but he heard chatter that maybe you’d started taking on clean up duty again.”

“How did he know to text you?” Yoongi asked him, almost glaring at Hoseok’s sheepish face. “Hobi?”

Hoseok scratched at his head nervously. “Dongwook was in the bar the night Xiumin and Kai attacked Y/N. He saw us take her to the back and figured we had dealt with her a different way but then he saw her leave and pieced it all together.”

“We’re really that transparent.” Yoongi sighed heavily, massaging the tension building at the nape of his neck. “If Dongwook figured it out then there’s no doubt that other hunters have as well.”

“Well yes, but who would really try and use it against us?” Hoseok shot a knowing look in your direction. “To them, the fact that we let Y/N go so easily that night just means we’re important to her. Nobody’s ever bothered to try and hurt Taehyung because they know what will happen if they do. In a way, the bar and us are under her protection.”

“Then who’s dumping the bodies? And who would be stupid enough to try and pin it on Y/N?”

“I’m still here.” You reminded them, tired of hearing them speak about you as if you weren’t present. Looking at everyone around the room, your eyes softened on Jungkook in apology. “I have to contact Namjoon today, before things get more out of hand. I’ll be gone for most of the day and maybe even tomorrow.”

Jungkook wanted to argue, wanted to lock you in the apartment even if he had to tie you up to do so, but he couldn’t do any of that. He could definitely try, and he didn’t think anyone else would object to it. Still, he couldn’t keep you from your nature or from your desperate need to keep him alive and well. Two days would be too long and that was just the minimum amount of time you’d estimated your absence. “Will Taehyung or Seokjin hyung be going with you?”

No, you said at the same time Taehyung said “yes”. You spun around to face him, lips pulled into a thin line. “You’re not going, Tae. I need you here with Jungkook.”

“Jungkook’s a full shifter,” Taehyung argued, “if anyone needs protection, it’s whoever is dumb enough to storm this apartment. Plus, Hoseok, Seokjin, and Yoongi can stay here with him, right Jungkook?”

“I’d feel better if Taehyung went with you.” Jungkook nodded at Taehyung in agreement. “It won’t be safe by yourself, and I’d rather not have a repeat of the night I had to stitch you up.”

You rolled your neck in irritation. Suddenly everyone thought arguing with you was a good idea and nothing pissed you off more than when Taehyung refused to see reason. You didn’t know what would happen when you met Namjoon and you didn’t want Taehyung in the middle of it. After spilling the secret of your grandfather’s death, you were sure Namjoon had something planned in order to bring you to justice. He wouldn’t be a good cop if he didn’t have a larger perspective.

Without a word, you were storming to your room, changing from the baggy sweats and shirt to a pair of black tactical pants, a tank top, and a long sleeved thermal top over it. You pulled your hair into a low ponytail with a heavy sigh. “It isn’t safe to take Taehyung with me,” you called over your shoulder.

Jungkook wasn’t at all surprised that you’d sensed him in the room even if he hadn’t made any noise. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your stomach to pull your back flush against his chest. “I don’t even want you to go in the first place. If you don’t want Taehyung to go with you, then you’ll just have to stay here.”

You turned in his arms, resting your palms against the hard planes of his chest and sliding them up until your fingers were fiddling with the leather band around his neck. An ominous feeling came over you as you tapped on the tracking chip embedded in the charm adorning it. Something was going to go wrong, you could feel it, but voicing this to Jungkook would only further prove that whatever you have planned was not a good idea.

“The longer I wait to set the rest of the plan in motion, the riskier it gets for you,” you stood on the tips of your toes, fingers sliding into his long hair, and pulling his mouth down to yours. It wasn’t a goodbye kiss, but it wasn’t an I’ll-see-you-soon kiss. You could tell Jungkook knew this with the way he secured your waist with one arm and his other hand tangled in your hair, tugging at the elastic band.

He pulled you hard against him, deepening the kiss and nipping at your bottom lip until he was able to slide his tongue through your parted lips. He felt your nails dig into his scalp gently and he groaned against your mouth, savoring the taste of coffee on your tongue. He didn’t want to let you go, but the push of your hand against his chest forced him to release his grip.

You pulled back to touch your forehead to his, both of you breathing heavily. You didn’t open your eyes to see his, it hurt enough that you were leaving, you didn’t need the image of his pleading brown eyes to be the last thing you’d seen before taking off. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” He whispered against your swollen lips. His hands fell to your waist where he bunched up the fabric of your shirt, his grip becoming too tight. “I thought you were a better liar than this.”

“I can’t lie to you no matter how hard I try.” You pressed a softer kiss to his mouth this time, bracing your palms against his chest and pushing away from him. Without giving him one last look, you were stalking out of the room. Your chest constricted with the ragged breath he puffed out to keep himself from crying.

#hunting a hybrid fic #jeon jungkook smut #bts hybrid au #bts smut #jeon jungkook imagine #bts imagine #bts fanfic

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